#As though those are just symptoms that pop up out of thin air. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

suchalonelysunflower · 4 years ago

Text

Be Alright (l.h)

Pairing: Luke Hemmings x Fem!Reader

Requested: Yes!

Summary: You go on tour with Luke and the boys for the first time, but things don’t go as planned as you try to fit in.

Warnings: Angst with Fluff. Anxiety, panic attacks, low self esteem. Language. Hostility. Some grammatical errors (English is not my first language, I’m sorry)

Word count: 6.9 k

Author’s Note: This fic takes place after the pandemic. It deals with anxiety and panic attacks, but please remember that the symptoms as well as what the person experiences it’s always different, this is just how I see and experience these cases. Please, if you want to learn more about them get informed by a reliable source. Remember that Reblogs, Comments, Likes and Feedback are much appreciated and you don’t know how much it helps me! ❤️ Hope you like it and Happy Reading 🌻🦋✨

My materialist // wanna be part of my taglist?

Picture taken from Pinterest

@theshyspy : (...) So I was wondering if you could write something with Luke or cal (whoever feels most natural?) where the reader just gets really anxious and he takes care of her and calms her down? maybe making sure she eats and/ or drinks enough, that she gets some rest, perhaps he sings for her? Idk just some fluff🤷🏼‍♀️ (It’s totally ok if you don’t want to, or don’t feel comfortable writing it !! I know it can be triggering for some people so just leave it if it bothers you in any way!!🙆🏼‍♀️💕)

The feeling of an ice-cold touch shook you out of your dreamless sleep. You nearly jumped out of your seat before remembering where you were and what you were doing.

The light came through the small window, illuminating your seats and the small aisle that separated you from your friends. The air conditioner was turned off and you made a mental note to thank Luke later, he knew how cold you get on these travels.

Speaking of “Why are your hands so damn cold?!” You scolded your boyfriend as you rub your eyes, trying to wake up and steady your heartbeat from the scare you just got.

Luke just pressed his lips in a thin line, not wanting to laugh at your sudden reaction but also not to smile like an idiot due to your sleepy state. Even after a 15-hour flight you still looked cute as hell in his eyes.

“Sorry, love,�� He said with a smile once you looked at him “I was having a drink, and then came time to wake you up. I didn’t notice my hands were cold”

You murmured some gibberish close to an ‘okay’ and yawned “How long was I out?”

Luke cringed “20 minutes”

“What?!”

It was no surprise, you could never sleep well in places that were not a proper bed. You didn’t want to think about how it would be like to sleep in a bunk next to your six-foot-four Australian boyfriend.

“I thought I slept longer” You pouted “Although it didn’t feel like much”

“Another bad dream?” He asked, placing his head on your shoulder as he intertwined his fingers with yours, slowly playing with them.

“A lack thereof, actually,” You said, yawning again “But don’t worry, I’ll sleep when we get to the hotel”

Luke smiled and brought your hands to his lips, softly placing a kiss on your knuckles as you cuddled next to him.

Your heart was beating loud and you hoped he wouldn’t notice, or if he did then he did not say anything and you were grateful. It was stressful enough to travel on tour for the first time and to know that you might bring him down with your anxious overthinking was not doing great with you.

Luckily, your mind grew quiet as Calum popped his head from the seat in front of you.

“Excited for your first tour?” He asked with a grin. He looked brand new, and as you looked around you realized they all do. For a moment there you had to remind yourself that this is what they do for a living.

“Mmh hmm” You hummed, head still placed over Luke’s while you played with his hair “Kinda nervous, though” You admitted.

“Why?” This time it was Ashton the one who asked, popping his head from the seats next to yours as he joined the conversation “It’s going to be fun! Like a big road trip” He chuckled.

“Yeah but-” Your voice was cut out by the pilot who announced over the speakers your arrival at the airport.

You thought about sharing your fears with the boys, given that this was your first time flying across the world with them you didn’t exactly know what to expect and you were scared to find that out in the worst situations. But then, how could they know? After all, how much pressure could they have when they pretty much secured the love of everyone? You, however, were just the girlfriend and it almost felt like you have to earn that place on tour.

The fans will be looking at them but criticizing you. It’s not like it would be your first time dealing with it since you went public with your relationship, God knows it’s not easy dealing with that But it won’t be just them this time, there’s also the paparazzi, the crew, the boys themselves even if they don’t notice; they are all expecting you to be ready and up for it, perfect all the time. Not to mention the stress of traveling and the schedules, the jet lag and the-

Once again your thoughts were put on pause before you could finish overthinking them as you felt Luke shake next to you. You met his gaze but he was looking to the side, trying hard to stiffen his laughter as Ashton dropped an ice cube into Michael's back under his shirt, waking him up with a jump and a mix of curses.

You shook your head and laughed along with them. You should be thankful for having them, after all, they are your friends and they could help you manage all of those pits of anxiety that started to grow. Anything could happen on this tour and, at least you know that you won’t be bored.

Luke helped you with your carry-out and let you walk in front of him, all while placing his hands on the sides of your waist and walking -or actually more like waddling along with you. You giggled as he placed his head on top of yours, making it difficult to walk for the both of you but he wasn’t going to let go. That’s one of the things you love about him; he is never afraid to show his affection and be close to you, almost in a protective manner. You feel safe with him and you know the feeling is mutual.

You laughed with the rest of the boys as you made your way to claim your luggage, joking around and teasing each other much to the annoyance of the other passengers. You felt how Luke’s chest rumbled with laughter, and in the few quiet moments, you got while waiting for your bags he managed to hold you closer and press little kisses around your forehead and cheeks, making you giggle in his tight embrace. You almost forgot how tired you were from the flight.

Almost. But your body had a different plan.

As your bags were taking their sweet time, you could hear the distant voices of the boys drifting away from you. Slowly, you began to drift away too, your eyelids becoming heavy as you struggled to stay up. Soon enough, the notices became a light buzzing sound inside your head.

“Y/N?” Luke asked as he felt you become heavier on his grip “Baby?” He looked down at your face and saw you fight to get your eyes open and failed to do so as they kept shutting without your permission.

He cringed as he saw your tired face, knowing that he was once again tasked with the job of waking you up. If it were up to him, he would’ve carried you in his arms all the way to the van just for you to get some sleep. But it was common for them for fans to welcome them in the airport accompanied by some paparazzi who tried to get a bad shot out of them and, despite his wishes for you to be completely rested and healthy, he needed to wake you up.

“Y/N, are you alright, love?” He asked whispering in your ear, rubbing his hands up and down your arms hoping that in that way he could somehow share some of his energy with you.

You quickly came back to your senses once you felt Luke’s arms leave your waist and hold you by your shoulders and elbows. A red flush covered your face as you realized where you were standing -and almost falling, asleep.

“Y-yeah,” You said, standing up straight as you pull away from his hold, somehow trying to prove your point “I’m just-“

“Tired. Yeah, it’s okay” Luke reassured you as he came closer and wrapped you in his arms by the waist “I was just like you when I experienced my first jet lag. It will go away”

You scoffed “Yeah? In how long?”

“In like four months when we get home” He teased, immediately bursting into laughter when he saw you glare at him.

You slightly punched his chest, mocking anger. But soon enough you found yourself laughing along “I think I just need to eat something”

Luke stopped laughing, replacing his smile with a concerned gaze “Didn’t you eat on the plane?”

“I couldn’t. I tried to eat while you were asleep, but my stomach just rejected the food so I chose to wait until we were on land”

Luke shook his head and was about to say something when Calum interrupted him to give you both your bags.

“Those were the last ones,” He said “We need to get going”

Luke nodded as he watched him walk away, turning to you once he was out of sight.

You could feel his worried stare, but you just smiled at him as you placed your hand on his cheek “Don’t worry love. I can buy something from here and then eat some real food at the hotel if that would make your worries go away”

He just sighed and nodded. You smiled reassuringly at him and brought him closer to peck his lips “Love you”

“Love you, too,” He said with a love fool grin “Ready to start the tour?” He asked excitedly.

You nodded enthusiastically as you grabbed his hand and started walking along with him towards the gates, feeling ready to face up anything.

Well, you weren’t ready to face up to what ensued.

As soon as those gates opened you were bombarded with flashes of cameras and screams from thousands of people.

Fans were gathered outside the airport gates, waiting for their favorite band to arrive. Of course, this led to the paparazzi being there as well, waiting to get an inside scoop of the boys’ first arrival on their world tour after the pandemic.

There were too many people for you to be able to see more than three meters in front of you. All of them were shouting Luke’s name as he tried to make his way out of there and lead you to safety.

You lifted your gaze and saw how he was smiling at the fans, waving with his free hand as his grip on your hand became tighter. Strangers were approaching the both of you very quickly, pushing their way to the front as they asked and demanded a picture of an autograph.

Your personal space was becoming smaller and smaller as they pushed through you, trying to separate you from your boyfriend’s grip. They bumped your shoulder and kicked your sides with elbows and frantic arms. You felt your voice getting drowned out as you called for Luke, hoping that he could hear you over the commotion and come help you out.

It all happened so fast. Luke let go of your hand by accident for just one second as he tried to look back at you. His heart shattered as he struggled to find your eyes in the crowd of pleas and flashing cameras “Y/N?!” He called, trying to appear calm in front of those strangers, but on the inside he was desperate, kicking himself over and over for ever letting go of your hand.

And then, he heard it “Luke!”

Your eyes were wide and filled with tears as people pushed through you to get to him. His eyes filled with regret as he sucked on a breath and walked towards you, easily making his way back as all of the people who were standing there stepped aside to let him through. No one pushed him, no one yelled at him for stepping into their place. No one dared to disrespect him as they disrespected you.

In a matter of seconds, Luke was standing in front of you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him. You felt like you could breathe again.

“You okay?” He asked, mumbling as he kissed your head. You heard the faintest “aww” coming from the fans witnessing this little gesture and confusing with something cute instead of what it was: he was shielding you from them, protecting you while comforting you the best he could. Yet, all you could hear was Luke’s beating heart as you hid your face in his chest.

“Let’s get out of here,” Luke said, tensing his whole body as he pulled you to the side, not letting go of his grip to your waist as you walked rapidly towards the exit.

You both ignored the calls and flashed from your surroundings. You could feel your breathing becoming heavier as you tried to keep up with his steps, not really relaxing until you saw the van’s door opening and Calum making space for the both of you.

You jumped inside the car and Luke quickly followed, closing the door and letting out a breath he was holding.

“So…” Ashton said, breaking the silence after they drove away “That was fun. Nothing like a little chaos to start the tour”

For the first time in your life, you wanted to punch his face. Your heart was still beating loudly inside your chest and they were all so calm. It truly seemed like they didn’t care that you just went through one of the scariest experiences of your life.

Yeah, you know you might be exaggerating. But it’s your first flight with the boys, first time in a foreign country, first time with a multitude of fans and photographers where they all pushed you to get to your boyfriend. And they were all fine? Like it wasn’t a big deal? And they say it was fun?

The chattering continued, all three of them talking about the fans they saw and how they reacted to them. Joking around and teasing each other for various reasons. No one noticed how your hands were shaking or how you didn’t say a word since you got up in the car.

You tried to steady your breath and to hide your hands somewhere until they were cool. You still feel a sting where one girl elbowed you, knowing it might leave a bruise. You tried to close your eyes and think about nice things to get you off your mind for a while, but all you could see was how Luke drifted away from you, going farther and farther as you lost sight of him; and no matter how hard you yelled his name, your voice was drowned and lost among all the others.

The tears started to pick up in your eyes and you held them back as hard as you could. You needed to be strong, this is just the first stop of the tour and you needed to toughen up if you want to keep up. You just hoped you could do it before anyone noticed it.

Luke was sitting beside you, not participating in the conversation of his bandmates, but rather he was looking at you and how your leg bounced up and down in a rapid motion.

He knew your mind must be going ten miles per hour at this moment. You weren’t used to this whole lifestyle and for that to be your first experience must be nerve-wracking. He wished he could just erase all those bad feelings and bring you the comfort you deserve.

“Hey,” He finally said, softly enough for you to hear as he leaned closer to you. Your eyes quickly snapped in his direction, finding some kind of peace in his baby blue eyes “Are you okay?”

He knew the answer was no, but he also knew you would never admit that, so it was no surprise when you smiled at him and nodded. Only this time the smile didn’t reach your eyes like they always do.

“You know just… a bit tired, that’s all,” You said, not wanting to worry him. But it was a little bit late for that and you noticed that the instant he furrowed his brows and gave you the ‘I know you’re lying’ look.

“Are you sure? Because that out there was pretty crazy and-“

“I’m fine, Luke” You reassured him, scooting closer to him and leaning against his frame. He immediately rounded his arm around your shoulder and started drawing circles on your skin with his thumb “I don’t really want to talk about it right now. I just need you close for a while, is that okay?”

Luke sighed and held you tighter “Yeah, of course, love. Whatever you need. You should try to get some sleep, I’m sorry we couldn’t buy you anything to eat back in the airport”

You look around you. All the boys were singing and joking around, not paying attention to you and Luke; making it difficult for you to just drift back to sleep.

“No, don’t worry. I’m okay. I’ll eat and sleep when we get to the hotel”

You watched the scenery pass by as the car drove you to your destination. You tried to focus on the conversations going around you, but you were too distracted by the beauty of it all.

It amazed you how after such a scary experience could come such comfort; you were surrounded by your best friends and your lover, experiencing new things and memories you knew you needed to treasure forever.

From time to time you could feel Luke staring at you, almost like he wanted to make sure you were okay and you would reassure him with soft smiles and little pecks on the cheeks as the other guys reminisced about their previous times abroad.

Suddenly, the car came to a stop and you found yourselves parked in a huge parking lot. You looked at Luke with a confused expression and he did the same. You didn’t know where you were.

“Uh, why are we stopping?” He asked as Calum and Ashton opened their doors and stepped out of the van.

“Because we are here?” Michael asked, not getting his friend’s confusion.

“This is the hotel?” You asked.

“This is the venue…” Michael said, pulling a lever so he could push Calum’s seat out of the way and step outside “We are not going to the hotel till tonight”

“What?!” Luke half asked, half yelled.

“Yeah, dude. We’re behind schedule so we need to do a quick soundcheck and then hop in the car and go do a couple of interviews in radio stations… did you not read the email?”

Luke facepalmed himself “No…” He lamented as he rubbed his face with the palm of his hand, then he looked at you with apologetic eyes “Oh my god, Y/N. I’m so sorry, love”

“It’s okay, Luke” It was not okay, you really wanted to take a nap and a shower before the show. But you couldn’t have avoided this at any cost and it wasn’t his fault at all, so there was no need to bring him down because of this.

“No! Of course, it’s not okay. You need to rest and eat a proper meal. This is it fair to you and I’m so sorry”

You could tell that he was kicking himself inside his head and you hated to see him all worked up and anxious. It broke your heart to see him so frustrated with himself.

Your palms cupped his face and made him look at you “Luke, baby. It’s fine, I promise. It will be fun! Plus, I can always nap on the couch” But he didn’t look conceived at all “I’ll be fine”

He sighed “Promise you will eat something there? And drink some water?”

You nodded with a smile “I promise. Now go! You have a soundcheck to kill” You winked at him and pecked his lips before jumping out of the van.

“What would I do without you?”

After the quick soundcheck, the boys changed clothes and got ready for an afternoon filled with interviews and quick appearances. It was going to be a wild ride, so you opted out of staying in the venue until they got back.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Luke asked for the tenth time.

“Of course she will!” Intervened Ashton “She’s Y/N/N, she can take care of herself”

You rolled your eyes at him and stared back at your boyfriend “I’ll be fine, love. I’ll just stay right here and maybe I’ll take a nap”

“And you know where the catering room is?”

You certainly didn’t, but he didn’t need to know that right now. You would manage well enough.

“Yes, dad” You teased

“Y/N!” Luke mocked a shocked expression “Not in front of the boys!”

You scoffed and lightly pushed him in the chest “You pig! Not everything has to be dirty!”

“You started it!”

“Go!” You laughed, kissing him one last time “Give your fans some content”

You saw the four of them walk through the door and you let out an exhausted breath. This is the first time you allowed yourself to relax since you boarded the plane almost 24 hours ago and you were beyond tired at this point.

How did they do it? Fly across the world and still look like superstars, what kind of deal did they make, and with whom?

You looked around the green room, your eyes landing on your reflection. You physically cringed at the image in front of you; dark heavy bags rested under your eyes and your hair, although pulled back, seemed oily and tangled in knots; your clothes had wrinkles in them and you seriously regretted sending your luggage directly to the hotel, leaving you with this shirt, a hoodie, and your black jeans.

A sigh escaped your lips as you tried to think of nice things; things that would keep your mind out of overthinking every single detail that has gone wrong since the minute you left home. How were you supposed to prove that you belong on the tour if you couldn’t even handle the first day? You needed to gain your energy back before the guys came back, and what better medicine than a little nap?

You moved Ashton’s heavy bag from one corner of the couch and laid on your back, but the awaited relief never came. You tossed and turned in different positions, hissing every time the warm leather glued itself to your skin only for it to be peeled off with every movement.

The sounds from outside of the room grew louder as the crew hurried to put everything in its place on time for the show. People were running in and outside the green room, not paying attention to you laying on the couch trying to find an ounce of sleep as they focused on their tasks.

You don’t know how long it’s been and, honestly, you’re afraid to ask. It was clear that you were not going to get any sleep here, not while everyone’s acting frantic because of a scheduling mishap and not while your mind is still preoccupied trying to keep up instead of relaxing as Luke told you to do.

You tried one last time to get at least a five-minute nap, but it was almost impossible. You opened your eyes with a groan and got up, so frustrated that you didn’t even feel the burn on your skin when you separated yourself from the uncomfortable couch.

The second your feet touched the ground and you lifted yourself on your feet, everything started to spin. You felt how your blood seemed to have disappeared from your body, leaving only a carcass that couldn’t stand for itself, making you fall on your ass back into the couch.

You felt nauseous, but the growling in your stomach reminded you that you haven’t eaten in all day. You had to eat something before you passed out, but the mere thought of eating made you feel even dizzier if that was possible.

You counted to ten, ignoring the way your head pounded with loud warnings and stood up. It took you a few seconds to find your balance again, but once you started walking you felt like you couldn’t stop.

You got out of the room, not really knowing where the catering was but you were determined to get there. You couldn’t let Luke and the rest see you like that, so weak and pathetic. It’s just day one and you are already passing out? How stupid is that!

The loud bangs in your head increased with every step you took, soon becoming voices that screamed inside your mind, drowning every ounce of clarity you might have; turning to the right and then to the left, then to the end of the hallway and back to the right. Did you even know where you were going?

Did you even know why you were here?

It was bound to happen, sooner or later, that Luke would ask you to accompany him on tour. Bet he is regretting that decision now. You tried, you really tried to be the supporting girlfriend, but how could you be of any support when you were the one who needed it? He didn’t come here to be your nanny and yet all he’s done is worry about you! You should be able to take care of yourself, yet you can’t even do that for him.

What a terrible girlfriend you were. He will surely break up with you and send you back home on the next flight. He didn’t need this kind of energy, this cloud of darkness you were becoming, ready to drown out his light with your problems. If only you could do better for him. For Luke.

Luke, the simple thought of him brought you to the brink of tears. You loved him so much, so much that it hurt to love him yet at the same time it was the best comfort in the world just to be standing by his side. You wanted to be by his side and never let go, but you were pushing away from him. Your mind and meaningless needs were separating you from him, telling you that he deserves someone better, more equipped to handle the lifestyle you weren’t ready for.

He is the brightest star in the universe and you are just a firefly, trying hard to be something you’d never be and everyone can see it. The fans see it, the media sees it and even your friends will someday. They will realize that you were nothing more than a girl who just hoped she could be enough but ended up becoming one more burden to carry with.

You couldn’t survive out here, not right now, and not without Luke. You are falling and you feel like if you stay you might drown him with you. You were disappointing him right now, pacing around the-

Where the fuck were you?

The voice inside your head died down as you didn’t recognize the place where you were standing.

You were supposed to be on your way to catering, and you were… but you didn’t know where it was and now you don’t know where you are.

Great.

The screams of the fans reverberated through the walls of the narrow hallway, you only now realize that the doors must be open and the show is about to start. You brought a hand to your back pocket, thinking about calling Luke and telling him your situation and asking him how to get to where they were. But your pockets were flat and your phone was nowhere to be seen, you must’ve left it in the greenroom.

“Fuck!” You yelled, voice hoarse from not having drunk anything since this morning. You looked to your left and there was just a blank wall staring back at you with no way out. You thought about going back, but you weren’t paying attention to where you were heading, so you risked the fact of getting more lost before someone could find you.

Fuck it.

You turned around and started walking, faster and faster. You were almost jogging through the deserted hallways trying to find your way back. You were panicking with every turn, every curve. To the right, then left, then a left, and a right again. You could hear the faintest riff of a guitar, so you speed up your pace. Your exhaustion had nothing compared to the fear in the pit of your stomach, you needed to get back. You needed to be there for Luke, to find your way back.

The desperation you held inside made you ignore the tears that were spilling out of your eyes without permission. You didn’t want to be alone anymore in a place you don’t know. You are sure your mind is playing tricks on you, making the hallways longer and the seconds everlasting, constantly repeating in your head how you were nothing more than a little lost girl who was playing something she shouldn’t. Something she wouldn’t ever be.

People passed you as you turned around corners, your heart beating loud as you recognized some faces from the crew, getting closer and closer to where you were supposed to be.

And finally, you arrived.

You let out a breath, you didn’t know if it was from relief or just a way to drown out the sob that was threatening to come out. You made a move to open the door but you noticed your hands were shaking. A cold feeling ran through your body, making you shiver as you wiped your sweaty palms on the front of your jeans. You were so close but why did you feel so far away? Drifting and drifting further and further….

What was happening?

“Y/N?”

You heard your name being called by a familiar voice. You lifted your head and saw Michael standing at the door of the green room, his eyes scanning you carefully. You swore you could see a hint of fear in them. He quickly moved out of the way, opening the door wider so you could step in.

You lifted your gaze, your teary eyes meeting Luke’s as he stood in the middle of the room, pacing back and forward with his phone in his hand, gripping it so tightly you thought it might crack.

“There you are!” He said, pressing a button on his screen. He was smiling, relief visible on his features as his eyes took you in “I’ve been looking for you, the opening band already started playing and- Y/N?”

Suddenly, everything stopped. Luke’s eyes denoted fear as he saw you collapse to your knees the moment you stepped into the room. He saw everything happen in slow motion: the way you wrapped your arms around your stomach; the shaking of your entire frame as you let out a heavy breath mixed with a sob; and the tears in your eyes as you tried to make sense of what was happening to you.

He acted fast. In one swift move, he was kneeling in front of you, taking you in his arms as he pulled you closer to his chest “She’s having a panic attack!” He said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, but none of his friends moved as they were still shocked by the image of you falling into the ground.

“Michael!” He called, remembering that people act better in an emergency if given direct orders “Go find a doctor. Ashton, bring her something to eat. And Calum, find water and soda. She’s dehydrated and needs some sugar”

All three of them didn’t think twice before jumping out of their seats and running through the halls to find those things for you. But you couldn't hear any of that.

“I’m sorry,” You cried, over and over again “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Shh, love” Luke cooed, lifting you and sitting back down on the couch, placing you on his lap as he rocked you back and forwards “It’s okay love. Nothing to be sorry for, I’m here. I’m here”

You kept crying into his chest, struggling to breathe as every sob seemed to tear your throat in two. You knew Luke was touching you, but you couldn’t feel his hands anywhere as you shook through your cries.

“Baby- Y/N, listen to me. Okay?” He said with a calming voice, completely contrasting how he was feeling inside “Listen to my voice, baby. Breathe with me, okay? One,” He inhaled deeply, his finger tracing a line up your back so you could follow him “Two” He exhaled, bringing his finger down “Good, do that again, please? One, two”

He was trying so hard not to panic along with you. Seeing you so frail in his arms made his heart break into a million pieces. He didn’t know what was going on in your mind or why or what you were apologizing for. All he knows is that he would do anything not to hear your broken cries again, so desperate and hopeless. He would do anything to make sure you are alright and safe.

You imitated Luke’s breathing pattern as close as you could. Breathing in and out every time he asked until you could feel his finger running up and down your spine, his touch finally bringing some comfort to your body and mind as they recognized him. They recognized home.

Your cries died down the moment Michael stepped through the door accompanied by a nurse, Ashton, and Calum who all brought some type of food and drink to lay down on the table.

Luke made some space so the nurse could sit down next to you, but he never once let go of you or stopped moving his finger on your back. He needed you to know that he was still here and he was not going anywhere.

“She seems good,” The nurse said after quickly giving you a check-up “It was just a panic attack. You did well in calming her down” He said to Luke, giving him a pat on the back “I’m gonna leave here some pills for her to take once she eats and drinks something, these will help with the body ache and headache she will feel later and also will help her sleep”

The four men thanked the nurse as Michael closed the door again. All eyes were fixed on you as you rested your head on Luke’s shoulder, eyes closed as your breathing became even and lighter again.

“Is that-? Is that a half-eaten burger?” Calum asked, pointing to the table filled with foods and drinks, and breaking the silence that had set upon them.

“I panicked!” Ashton answered.

“Could you guys give us a moment, please?” Luke asked, eyes never leaving your face as he held you closer. His friends nodded and walked out of the room, leaving the two of you alone.

“I’m sorry, bub,” You said, voice broken and soft.

You slowly opened your eyes and suddenly felt like crying again when you met Luke’s gaze. Surprised at the fact that he didn’t seem angry; all you could see in his eyes was a relief.

“Why are you sorry, love?” He asked, voice as soft as yours as he caressed your cheeks with the back of his free hand “You have nothing to apologize for. These things happen and we can’t really avoid them”

“No,” You said, pushing away from him as you separated from his lap and went to sit on the spot next to him.

Luke’s heart broke at your actions, but it completely shattered when he saw the tears picking up in your eyes again.

“I’m sorry for ruining everything” Your voice broke as you started talking “I’m sorry for being one more burden in this tour that hasn’t even started yet. Look at me! Not even a day in and I’m already falling apart! This is not what you expected of me, Luke and don’t try to deny it. I’ve disappointed you, the band, myself-”

“You did not do such a thing” He tried to say, but you weren’t listening.

“Maybe I’m not meant for this” Your words took his breath right out of his mouth, he didn’t like where this conversation was going “Maybe I’m better off at home. At least there I’m not embarrassing myself in airports or with your fans or with your bandmates and crew- I want to be someone you would be proud of but all I do is overthink every little thing that I forget the rest. I tried so hard to keep up, to prove to you and the others and even myself that I could belong here on tour; that I could live this life with ease as you all do and I just keep failing everyone. I love you, Luke. But I can’t stand the thought of slowing you or pulling you down with me, and you don’t deserve to be tied up with some mess like me-”

Your words were cut off by Luke’s lips clashing with yours. It took you a minute to respond and kiss him back, letting all your worries slip away for only one minute. Only one minute where you could pretend that everything was alright.

Luke pulled away first, placing his forehead against yours “You uplift me, Y/N”

“What?”

He cupped your cheeks, making you look at him as he spoke with such care and love.

“You could never bring me down, you are the one keeping me above the water, my love. I deserve to be with you as much as you deserve to be right here with us”

“Luke-”

“It’s my fault,” He said with a sad voice, you opened your mouth to say something but he beat you to it “Don’t try to deny it, Y/N. It’s true. I should’ve prepared you more for what was coming instead of throwing you into the lion's den without a single warning. I knew from the moment I saw your face in the crowd back at the airport that I had failed you, not the other way around. But you stayed, you pulled through and told me that it was okay when it clearly wasn’t. Y/N, you are stronger than any of us and much more caring and loving… I’m so proud of you and that I get to call you to mine that sometimes I can’t even believe it”

He carefully wiped a tear from your cheek, his heart fluttering with joy at seeing you smile back at him “I love you. And if you say that you are not ready for this, then I will book you a flight tonight. I don’t want to see you in pain, my love, even if you try to hide it. I couldn’t stand the thought of being the one who breaks you” He took a moment, thinking over his words “But if you decide to stay. I promise you I will make every single minute of it worth it. I’ll protect you better. I’ll do my best to take care of you the same way you take care of me. You’re my angel, Y/N. And I need you close”

Tears were falling down your eyes again as you pulled him closer into a hug. Luke quickly swung your legs over his lap and held you as tight as he could, almost fearing that you would slip off his embrace if he ever let you go.

You could hear him mumbling something as he rocked the two of you back and forwards again, this time to comfort you both. You pulled your head slightly from his chest so you could hear him better, he was singing the words from “Still”, your favorite Niall Horan’s song.

”Oh, we'll be alright

Oh, it'll be alright”

You always loved when he sang to you, always bringing you the sense of peace you so much needed.

But as you cuddled closer you noticed that not only was he singing, but you could also hear the guitar, the melody, the crowd…

Luke noticed your confusion and chuckled “I asked the opener to cover this song for us; for you. Wanted to surprise you on your first day”

You swore your smile couldn’t get bigger if you tried. Your eyes filled with tears as you chuckled “Well,” You said, sniffing as you knocked your forehead to his “I can’t wait to see what other surprises you got for the rest of the tour”

Luke’s eyes sparkled with the happiness of a little boy on Christmas day “You’re staying?”

You nodded “As long as you want me to”

“Forever, then” He smiled before connecting your lips with his once again. Letting go of all your worries, for all you could feel was love.

The concert was going great. You were convinced this was their best show up to date, but you were saying that since the tour began two months ago.

Luke stayed true to his promise of making everyday worth it. Although you knew that every day that you woke up next to him, whether it was in a bunk or a plane or a hotel bed, that it was worth more than enough. You were home, wherever you went, as long as you had him.

You smiled, laughed, and danced along with the songs on your side of the stage, looking proudly at your boyfriend who lived to do what he loved. But your favorite moment of the night was this; seconds before he started their next song, he would look for your eyes backstage and once he’s found you, he would smile at you and say.

“This is ‘Lover of mine’, everyone. Sing with your heart”

Tags : @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @mystic-232 @talksoprettyjjx @theshyspy @sarcasticallywitty15 @hoodhoran @flaneurcth @notinthesameguey @bubblegum18 @myloverboyash @nicebasscalum @calumspupils

554 notes · View notes

kylorengarbagedump · 4 years ago

Text

Defy Your Authority: Chapter 4

Read on AO3. Part 3 here. Part 5 here.

Summary: David Rose voice: Oh, my god!

Words: 3200

Warnings: dude

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: First: Thank you to @bastila-ren and @elmidol for their beta-kindness.

I'M ALIVE. I got super burned out at my job, took 5 weeks of FMLA, got incredibly depressed, but now I'm back! Very thankfully, my COVID symptoms were extremely mild. Thank you very very much for your well-wishes and your concerns.

I wish I could express enough apology for my lack of activity, but hopefully uploading a chapter is thanks enough. You all have been so supportive and kind to me. I am SO thankful and appreciative of everything y'all offer me!

(as a side note: I know some people do not like dude, that it throws them out. I am very sorry, but in the politest way possible: I am not going to stop using it. I like it too much.)

I also hope you enjoyed the chapter! God I wonder what's going to happen next chapter. I just don't know.

Love you all so much <3

“Piece of shit.”

Growling, you tugged out another panel from the silencer’s dash. At this point, about a dozen slats of buttons boxed you into the pilot’s seat, crowding you in the cockpit. All of them looked flawless upon inspection, and this new one was no exception. Wires were attached and the circuits were complete, every switch was grounded. You’d gone over a handful of systems already, trapped in this cockpit for hours. The silencer’s refusal to function made no sense. There had to be something you were missing.

The memory of smoke and flames licked at the perimeter of your mind. Yeah, there was a lot you were missing.

Pain burrowed, opened a well in your chest, and you shook your head, rubbing your tired face. There wasn’t time to think about anything else. Sitting forward, you started reattaching the panels to the console. You needed to focus on this. Even though the answer to where you’d go and what you would do once you were finished remained nebulous. Even though you were now apparently unknown and unloved by almost everyone in the universe, including the one man you’d waited on for months.

You caught a sigh in your chest, exhaling into your palms, shutting out the urge to cry. Crying right now was a waste of time. You still had about fifty systems to check, and you’d only read through about half of Kylo’s post-flight novella. Swallowing, you grabbed your datapad from the seat and flipped to the report, forcing yourself through the urge to skim.

It wasn’t like you weren’t interested. Normally this sort of thing was like a buffet for your freakish little brain. But you kept tasting embers on your tongue. Kept seeing your crew--completely unarmed, helpless fuel outpost workers--drowning in destruction. Kept hearing Hux’s voice: Multiple Resistance fighters… Heat gripped your neck, clogged your throat. Multiple fighters for a tiny station. Multiple fighters against three soft, fleshy bodies.

The First Order was not your creed; just your employer. The machine of war had always been an inconvenience to the prestige of working on elite starfighters. You knew that the loss of three cogs was nothing to that machine. In the past, it’d been nothing to you too. But you’d never eaten meals or laughed with or supported those lost cogs when they’d cried. This loss wasn’t just to war. This loss was horrifically and uniquely yours.

“Stop.” You shook your head, tossing your datapad back on the seat. You’d finish putting the console back together, then you’d figure out what to do next.

Jaw tight, you grabbed another panel, and your grip slipped. The sharp edge sliced your palm where the wood had lanced you earlier.

“Fuck!” You dropped it and clutched your hand, seething while you tried to squeeze away the agony. Everything from your fingers to your wrist throbbed, and your chin quaked, tears burning your sight. “Fuck! Fuck!” Snarling, you kicked the panels at your feet. “Fuck!”

The thin cut felt like a sobbing gash. You tore off your jacket and wrapped the sleeve around your palm, wincing when you tightened it to the wound.

“Stupid fucking panels!” you growled, kicking the panels again. “Stupid fucking ship, stupid fucking Kylo, stupid fucking Resistance!” The final kick dented a panel, popped off a shiny button. “Gods!”

You covered your face in your jacket and screamed until your throat crackled, until your lungs were dry. Head spinning, you drew in a breath and screamed again, stomping the floor until dizziness dropped you into the pilot’s chair. Warmth glowed at your cheeks, leaked down your back. Tremors rippled to your toes as you took in a long, steadying breath, exhaling in reluctant relief.

You considered sitting there forever. But it only took two seconds for you to remember how Kylo also sat in this chair thinking of and dealing with everything that wasn’t you before you grunted and climbed out of the cockpit.

The rest of the hangar seemed wholly unconcerned or otherwise ignorant to your tantrum. Wiping your eyes, you hopped to the ground, wagging off the lingering fury in your limbs. Maybe you just needed a walk. You cleared your throat and kept your hand clutched to your chest, the whispering ache pulsing in rhythm with your heart.

In all the hours you’d been in the cockpit, the Steadfast had continued to orbit Orinda. Xi-class shuttles whirled beyond the hangar entrance--probably staffed with crew collecting reconnaissance from whatever the Resistance left behind from the attack. Your feet carried you to the fuzzy blue edge of the magnetic shield’s barrier, meters from vacant space. A quiet hum resonated from its perimeter through your soles.

You gazed into the galaxy. Orinda was a glimmering grain of sand, adrift in the celestial trenches. A fuel outpost turned graveyard. An acceptable casualty of the Resistance. Another home where you couldn’t return. That whispering ache rumbled to a hiss and cast itself over your skin, raking it over with misery, with exhaustion. Your chin quivered. The only place you could think to sleep was the silencer. Eyes falling to the floor, you turned back to the hangar.

“My quarters.”

You squealed and jumped, clapping your hands to your chest. Feet away stood Kylo Ren.

“Shit!” you said, exhaling in relief. “How the hell do you do that?” When he said nothing, you continued, “Like, sneak up on me like that.”

“You’re not perceptive.”

You frowned. “Okay, well…” He wasn’t wrong. You sighed, shrugged. “Anyway.”

Kylo stepped forward, assessing you in your tank top, scrutinizing the tourniquet you’d made of your jacket. “Your hand.”

“It’s fine,” you said, holding it behind your back. “Your quarters?”

His stare lingered on your exposed shoulders, on your neck. “Stay,” he said. “Until the silencer is repaired.”

“That could be as early as next cycle.”

“Given your skill, yes.”

It was difficult to look in his direction. Every worn nerve screamed for his touch. “And then what?”

“You’ll depart to another station.”

You tried to flush the pain from your voice. “So,” you said, “you want me to stay with you through, like, one cycle, and then leave.” You looked to the ceiling in faux-consideration. “Cool. I think I’ll pass.”

Kylo’s eye twitched. He moved closer, tone icy. “You have nowhere to sleep,” he said. “I…” He paused. His tongue rolled in his mouth. “You mean to tell me you prefer the silencer.”

“Well,” you replied, “I’ve never fucked the silencer. I never told the silencer how I felt about it. The silencer has never treated me like a stranger who just walked off the plains of Lothal.” You tapped your chin. “So, yeah, I prefer the silencer.”

He grit his teeth. “You’re no stranger.”

“Sure could’ve fooled me!” A couple of heads turned in your direction.

“Quiet,” he hissed. “It apparently takes very little for you to be fooled.”

“Excuse me?” you replied. “Run that by me again, Supreme Leader?”

“Now your hearing fails you.”

“This is great.” You offered a false smile. “This conversation is going really well.”

Kylo snarled, shoulders bunching with restraint. “You speak this way and then question why you’re unwelcome,” he replied. “Deaf and foolish.”

“Oh!” A frustrated laugh escaped. “Okay, then. Talk to you later, Your Excellency. I need a nap before I keep trying to fix your dumbass ship.”

Shaking your head, you folded your arms over your chest and stormed past him, anger blurring your vision. Stupid fucking asshole--

You made it three steps before a warm leather glove grabbed your shoulder, and you stalled, goosebumps shooting to your hands. Kylo spun you, your face inches from his, your breath fleeing and forgetting to return. His lips trembled, his jaw tightened, his gaze boring into you before it met the floor, seeking to stare anywhere else. The pressure of his fingers was firm, then floating. And then he swallowed, grip crushing your shoulder, his eyes finding you again.

No one else in the hangar would’ve known, looking at him. But this Kylo Ren was familiar to you.

This Kylo Ren was terrified.

“I don’t…” His voice was a feather in the air. “You are…” He averted his attention, stiffening. “You have a home.”

Your chest swelled. Water stung your eyes. “I do?”

“Yes,” he replied, utterly sincere. “But not here. Not now.”

Hairline fractures crept into your heart.

“Kylo.” Your composure cracked. All of you wanted to melt, to disintegrate into his being and know each word trapped on his tongue. There was a reason you could not find him, that he would not unfold himself to you. “Please. Why do you want me gone so badly?”

His lips parted, as if he were about to speak--and he paused. He drew in a breath through his nose. “Complications,” he replied. “Factors you do not understand.”

You stepped closer, throat tight. His breath brushed your nose. “Tell me, then.”

Kylo huffed, shifting on his feet--and his face froze. His limbs locked, muscles taut. His gaze widened, fixated on something over your shoulder. Air leaked from him, like time was slowing to a close. You blinked, looked behind you. But nothing was there.

Frowning, you cleared your throat. “Kylo?” He didn’t even acknowledge you. “You’re really just going to leave it like that?”

His pupils were pinpricks.

It wasn’t like you were heartless. You knew that he was attempting wasn’t easy. But what you were feeling wasn’t a sail on a skiff either. You didn’t just deserve more. You needed it.

“Okay,” you said, backing out of his hold. “This was nice. But I have a TIE fighter to repair. So.” He didn’t respond. Didn’t even move. “Whatever.”

You turned--Kylo’s focus flicked to you. His mouth dropped, like there were words he wanted to and couldn’t speak. Instead, he remained silent, fury simmering in his gaze while you pivoted away. You didn’t say anything either. You didn’t think you had to.

When you arrived at the silencer, you clambered into the cockpit, like it was a hole you could hide in until he disappeared. Shame, stubbornness, or surrender--you imagined one of these was responsible for why he didn’t pursue you, but you didn’t care. This ship repair would be your parting gift to him, and you could take off, probably spending the rest of your life wondering how you’d managed to fuck up your affair with the galaxy’s most ineligible bachelor.

Loose panels still swarmed the pilot’s chair. You sighed and put on your jacket, settling in and throwing your feet on the dash. Your hand thumped with irritation as you closed your eyes.

Just a couple of hours. That’s all you needed. Then you’d keep working like the foolish little--

Clank.

You yelped, flinching in your seat.

Clank.

Heart fluttering, you scanned the cockpit before realizing the noise came from outside the ship.

Clank.

It was behind you. Someone was messing with the refuel port. Or the solar lines. You couldn’t tell. Grumbling, you scrambled out of the chair and hoisted yourself up the escape. If they were fucking up this stupid ship even further--

Clankclankclank.

“Hey!” You popped your head free. “Will you...”

For a split second, you’d thought Kylo had decided to rip the solar line access open and tear into his own power supply. But then your vision focused. The man crouched over the ship was a different intimidating masked man dressed only in black. Your stomach twisted. It was the one from the Buzzard. The one who’d shoulder-checked you.

“Kuruk.”

His head whipped in your direction, the talons of his predator’s gaze gouging your chest. He pulled his hands free of the solar lines, his gloves greasy with reactant.

“Lieutenant.”

Previously you’d thought absolutely no one but Hux could spit that word with that degree of acidity. But if Hux spat it like acid, then Kuruk hocked it--dragged it up through his throat and sputtered it like necrotic phlegm.

You crawled onto the dorsal plane with the coordinated majesty of a blurrg, trying not to heave and ruin any level of authority you might have tricked him into thinking you maintained. When you’d made it to both feet, you straightened, as if you did this all the time, and moved toward him.

“What are you doing?”

“Repairing a starfighter.”

You snorted. “Really,” you replied. “Tearing out a power supply is repairing?”

Kuruk jerked his arm, wrenching free another line, spewing collector dust into the air. “Closer to repairing than sleeping in the cockpit.”

Heat rushed your spine, swathed your neck. “Yeah, well…” You examined him, watching as he cocked his head to avoid the blinders attached to his helmet. “At least I can see properly when I work on a ship.”

“Magnification’s built into the visor.”

More heat, this time crackling in your cheeks, drying your tongue. “Look,” you said, “this is my job. I don’t need amateurs screwing it up for me.”

He paused, turned his gaze on you again. “Amateurs?”

You shrugged. “In comparison, yeah, probably.”

Kuruk leaned on his heels, wiping his gloves on his jacket. “I don’t think so.”

“Uh, I do.” This man looked like a weapon. Not an engineer. “What experience do you have?”

“It’s called the Night Buzzard,” he replied. “You might be familiar with it.”

You paused, brow raising. “You…” It was impossible to restrain your laughter. But he didn’t move. “You’re kidding. Right? That’s a joke.”

Kuruk’s hands tensed.

“Dude, that ship’s the ugliest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” you replied. “Did you modify it with a boiled chokeroot?”

His head tilted. He rose to stand, so controlled he looked to be fighting gravity. “I can do more work with a boiled chokeroot than you can do with an entire Star Destroyer’s worth of resources,” he drawled. “Lieu. Tenant.”

The hair on your nape stuck straight, your pulse leapt to the ceiling. But the knowledge that Kylo was within thinking distance abated your fear.

“Might wanna get one then.” You grinned. “You’re not making much progress here without it.”

He stared, filthy fingers furling into fists--and then relaxed, the tension sloughing like reactor slime from his frame. Silent, he returned to a squat, rending more lines from their channels. For some reason, a tiny, irreverent part of you was disappointed.

No, that was a lie. You knew why you were disappointed. But this man wasn’t the one you wanted to be taunting into a wild sexual rage. Exhaling, you crossed your arms.

“It’s still my job,” you said.

“And I’ve been told that once it’s done, you’ll be gone.”

“What?” You gawked. “What the fuck? You, too? I didn’t even do anything to you!”

“Debatable.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re mad because your Master didn’t want you to disrespect an officer.”

“No.” Kuruk’s attention snapped to you. “You’re loud.”

Blood drained from your face. “I’m…”

Moments blinked in your memory like a holodrama. Like how you’d spent the entire time aboard the Buzzard thinking about Kylo slamming you against the dashboard and breaking your pussy open. How you’d mentally undressed him, verbally taunted him, physically ached for him. How you’d blazed with hatred for him and stoked it with longing. And how you’d just noted that you were desperate to wind him into a state of frenzied lust so he’d wreck you entirely.

“Oh, fuck.” You glanced at the hangar’s entrance and wondered how quickly you could hurl yourself into the vacuum of space. Speaking of hurling… “Oh, fuck.”

You couldn’t spare Kuruk another glance. With shaking hands, you fumbled your way to the ground, steadying yourself on your weakening knees. There was no way you were going to spend another minute on this ship trying to fix a starfighter while getting thought-eavesdropped by multiple men, one of whom seemed hell-bent on doing your job for you anyway.

All you needed to do was find General Hux and get him to reassign you to another station. You’d figure the rest out later when you had time to process your myriad of losses and crippling rejection. You held your breath the entire trek to the command center, only releasing when the doors opened and you spied Hux at the head of the room, briefing someone on something you didn’t care about.

Wiping your forehead, you trudged over to him. Hux’s gaze darted between you and the other officer, his brow furrowing as you approached.

“A moment,” he said to the man. “Can I help you, Lieutenant?”

Yeah, it definitely sounded worse out of Kuruk’s mouth. “Can I get a new station? I, uh, I need a new station.” The officer peered at you in horror. You coughed, standing at attention. “General. Requesting a new assignment, sir.”

Hux’s lips pursed, his eyes narrowed. “The silencer is already repaired?”

“Uh, no. No, sir, it’s not.” You stared at your shoes. “Still requesting a new assignment. I believe my work here is complete.”

A pause hung in the air. Hux observed you like you were a recently apprehended criminal. He sighed.

“Dismissed, Captain.” He waited for the man to depart before turning to you. “What do you mean, your work here is complete?”

It was hard to find the appropriate words. “I mean. Uh. Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“No.”

You groaned. “Okay.” A long breath, flooding your lungs with air. “Well. My services are no longer required. My presence is redundant. I cannot return to Orinda. I’m requesting another station.” You exhaled. “Sir.”

Hux’s pink face pinched together. “Something happened with Ren.”

Warmth flushed your neck. “Uh, no--”

“Lieutenant,” he said, like the words were thorns on his tongue, “I unfortunately believe your insight and skill may still be of use to the First Order.”

“Sir?”

“The TIE project has been approved. You may be just the person to manage it.”

You balked. “Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea--”

“No?” Sharp green eyes pierced you into silence. “I thought you might leap at the opportunity, considering how cruelly the Resistance slaughtered your staff.”

Your heart clenched, your chest speared with pain. Better TIE units wouldn’t save them. But you could at least ensure their loss wouldn’t be in vain. Though you’d never supervised an undertaking of that scale before, the excitement of a challenge glittered in the distance. Glittered, then dimmed under a brooding, Kylo Ren-shaped shadow.

“Well…”

Hux glanced away, gazing through the thick panes of transparisteel, as if offering you any more praise would blind him. “Go to the Supreme Leader. Inform him of my plans.” He offered a slight shrug. “If he disagrees, then so be it. We’ll find you a new station.” The thought was left unfinished--he seemed very confident Kylo would not disagree.

Too bad you disagreed with him. “Yes, sir,” you replied. “I understand. Where might I find the Supreme Leader?”

Hux frowned. “Am I his keeper, Lieutenant?”

A brief, blissful image of your fist connecting with his chin flashed through your mind. You shook it away.

“No,” you said. “No, sir. I’ll find him. Thank you.”

He nodded. “Dismissed.”

Shooting him a glare, you pivoted on your heel, marching out of the command center. All you needed to do was find where Kylo Ren might be by searching the entirety of this huge Star Destroyer. That would be easy.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren #defy your authority #fya2 #fanfiction problems #GOLLY-GEE WILLIKERS

135 notes · View notes

simplyclockwork · 4 years ago

Note

You know that (awful) scene on Christmas Day S3ep3 where John forgives Mary and tells her he accepts her for whatever she is; well I would love to see something like that but with John telling Sherlock he accepts him; possibly post season 4 and in the context of Sherlock having been diagnosed with depression. I’d like to see Sherlock struggle with the diagnosis and John encourage him and validate his experiences. I’m over 18. Though I don’t necessarily see this as an explicit fic.

-----

Hello, anon! Sorry, this took a bit to get to filling. I wasn’t planning on writing today, then I looked at this prompt and my Muse ran away. I hope you’ll enjoy what I wrote. The rest of the fill is below the page break. You can also read your fill on Ao3 here.

Feel free to send me a prompt anytime! :)

-----

“Sherlock.”

John’s voice reached him as if through a thick fog. A haze permeated Sherlock’s Mind Palace, wrapping intangible curls of mist down the halls and around his shivering form. The rooms looked faded and lacklustre, the diminished splendour of his surroundings marked by two words. Two words, repeated over and over, hanging in the air with the fog.

Clinical. Depression.

“Sherlock.”

Emphatic this time, and spoken with moderate anxiety that made Sherlock lift his head and open his eyes. He looked up from where he lay curled on the couch and blinked at the face hovering over him. Dark blue eyes, a creased brow and a mouth that turned down at the corners with concern stared back at him.

John.

“Hey,” John murmured, catching the focus in Sherlock’s glassy gaze. “There he is.” His eyes darted over Sherlock, taking in his tangled hair and rumpled clothes, now going on their third day in a row of wear. The creases deepened. “You okay?”

Sherlock felt thin—was he thinner? Had he lost weight? He couldn’t remember eating, couldn’t remember wanting to. Hunger was a faint memory of sensation, just like everything that had ceased to exist. Emotions, always so abhorrent, were seemingly out of reach. After feeling so much, so many terrible, tearing, terrifying things, Sherlock felt empty.

Clinical depression, the doctor said. Not unsurprising, considering your history of trauma and the recent events in your life.

A bottle of pills sat on the coffee table, prescribed by the same doctor who put a name to the negative space growing inside Sherlock’s head. He had yet to take them. Sherlock stared at the bottle with a listless weight on his chest. Maybe he was having a heart attack. Wasn’t that one of the symptoms, feeling like an elephant was sitting on your chest?

Sherlock felt like he had an entire herd crushing him into the cracked leather of the sofa.

“Sherlock.”

The anxiety in John’s voice deepened. Definitely present, and when Sherlock looked back at him, he saw the corners of John’s mouth shift, his lips pressing into a hard, thin line. Sherlock blinked at him with marked disinterest. Wetting his lips, he found his voice and rasped, “Hello, John.”

Instead of easing John’s apparent concern, Sherlock’s greeting sharpened the creases in his face. “When was the last time you ate something?” His words were gentle, and his eyes were sharp as he studied Sherlock’s form, squinting as they settled on his torso.

“Not hungry.” Sherlock rolled onto his other side, facing the back of the couch. Every movement required a Herculean effort, and he was tired. Bone-deep weary and exhausted.

“How about a cup of tea?” John was relentless. Like the ocean, he was as predictable as the tide and as changeable as the world the water’s surface. Sherlock stared at the back of the sofa and thought about erosion. About the sensation of being washed away.

Instead of answering, he said in a flat, empty voice, “I’m tired, John.”

A hand hovered over him, a tangible presence before it settled on his shoulder. Sherlock considered pulling away, but there were no more than a few inches between himself and the couch back, and moving felt impossible. More effort than he had to spare. It was easier to stay still and let the warmth of John’s palm seep into his body from a single point of contact.

Slowly, Sherlock realized he was cold.

“Why don’t we get you into bed?” John said gently, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on Sherlock’s shoulder through his dressing gown. “Can’t be comfortable on the couch, not with those long legs of yours.” The attempt at humour was weak, and they both knew it. Silence followed and settled heavily over them.

Sherlock made a low grunting noise when John’s expectant quiet stretched into something unbearable.

“Talk to me, Sherlock.” John’s request was nearly as heavy as the silence, making Sherlock curl into a tighter ball. Hugging his knees to his chest, he pushed his face into the cushions. John’s hand hesitated, stroked up his arm, fingers sliding to his nape. Feeling a light, gentle tug, Sherlock realized John was painstakingly working out a tangled mat of hair against the base of Sherlock’s skull.

Sherlock closed his eyes and let him, incapable of pinning down his feelings on the matter. There was only the emptiness, yawning wide and deep down. John’s fingers in his hair took the edge off, just a little, and Sherlock didn’t protest when John’s untangling shifted into a slow massage of fingertips over his skull. A soft sound escaped his lips before he could bite down on it, and John’s fingers faltered. He picked up the rhythm again, the pad of a thumb drifting over Sherlock’s temple.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” John finally said. By the sound of his breathing, he was kneeling beside the sofa. His other hand landed on Sherlock’s side, just above his hip, a firm, sturdy anchor keeping Sherlock in his body when all he wanted was to drown in his head. The hand on his waist gripped gently, and John added, “But I’m here if you do.”

Sherlock stared at the back of the sofa until his vision began to blur, then he closed his eyes and breathed a long, slow sigh. The fingers in his hair faltered again before continuing to work out the tangles and massage his scalp.

“On the table.” The words dragged out of Sherlock’s numb mouth like molasses. After a beat of silence, the hand caught in his curls disappeared, but the hold on his waist remained. Sherlock heard the sound of pills rattling in a bottle and John’s soft breathing as he no doubt read the label.

It was a few minutes before plastic clinked against the coffee table, and John’s hand reappeared in his hair. This time, his fingers combed through the untangled sections before coming to rest on Sherlock’s nape with a firm but gentle grip.

“Anti-depressants?” John asked the question without inflection or emphasis, just a soft inquiry that made it easier for Sherlock to nod silently against the cushion. John’s thumb pressed into his side with reassuring pressure. “Did you just fill them today?” A jerky head shake and silence in Sherlock’s mouth. The thumb smoothed over his waist. “Not taken any yet, then?” Another head shake and John sighed out a little breath before murmuring, “It’s okay, Sherlock.”

The words hit him like a freight train, and Sherlock tensed, curling tighter inward with his arms around his chest and his knees pulled up to his stomach. John reacted at once, pressing forward until he was against Sherlock’s curved back. His face dropped into the dip between Sherlock’s neck and shoulder, first his forehead, then his nose and finally his lips, brushing the skin in a tender touch that made Sherlock’s body vibrate with agonized surprise. The hand on his waist curled forward to draw Sherlock closer, one palm cradling the back of his skull with stunning, unexpected care.

Flashing back to the one time Sherlock held John in his arms as John fell to pieces in much the same way Sherlock felt he might, Sherlock breathed out a strained, choking gasp and pressed his knuckles against his eyes.

When John spoke, his voice was a warm whisper of air over Sherlock’s neck, his arm tightening around Sherlock’s waist. “I’ve got you,” he said, the words made tangible by the way his lips shaped them against Sherlock’s skin. “I’ve got you, Sherlock.”

“The doctor is wrong,” Sherlock finally managed, forcing the statement out through his teeth.

John’s hand stroked over his stomach, a slow, soothing movement. “Maybe,” he said, petting Sherlock’s hair with gentle repetition. “But if not—”

“He is,” Sherlock growled, curling tighter. John responded by pressing forward, keeping the contact between them.

“Okay.” His lips drifted over the bony ridge of Sherlock’s vertebra, where his neck bent forward. The touch was an electric shock, and Sherlock shivered. After days of feeling nothing, John’s warm grasp was nearly overwhelming, but not enough to make him want to pull away. “Okay,” John repeated, breathing out a sigh. “Maybe he is. We can get a second opinion.” Sherlock’s eyes popped open at the word we, but John continued before he could speak, adding, “Whatever it ends up being, if anything, it’s okay. You’ve… you’ve been through a lot, Sherlock, and I want you to know that it… well, it’s okay not to be okay.”

Sherlock made a quiet noise, neither agreement nor argument, as his eyes closed again.

Shaking his head, John pressed his cheek to Sherlock’s neck and whispered, “When we met, I was so far from okay, I didn’t even know what that word meant anymore. And then you came along and, well.” He paused, his swallow audible and physical, where their bodies pressed together. “I know things have been a real mess over the last couple of years, and worse with what all just came to pass, and I just need you to know that there’s absolutely no shame in it, Sherlock.” John’s grip tightened, voice deepening with fervency as he pulled Sherlock closer. “Whatever you’re feeling, it’s nothing to feel ashamed of. Whatever you need, we’ll make it happen. As cliche as it sounds, and you might scoff at it, you’re not alone. I…” John faltered before his lips brushed lightly over the skin beneath Sherlock’s ear, making him shiver. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Sherlock’s face felt wet and salty, and he grimaced at the sensation before opening his eyes. His vision wavered, lashes clinging together. Blinking the moisture away, he tilted his head to the side and felt John’s nose press into his cheek. “John,” he said in a voice that was tight and raspy.

The reply was an immediate, “Yes, Sherlock?” as John’s nose drifted along his jaw, up to his temple and into his hair. Sherlock winced at the fleeting thought of how greasy his unwashed curls must be but managed to push the concern aside in favour of breathing John in.

“I’m not okay.” The admission slipped from his lips as a jagged exhale, and his body tensed with trepidation.

But John nodded and pressed a feather-light kiss to Sherlock’s brow, brushing tangled locks away from Sherlock’s eyes. “That’s alright,” he murmured, steadfast and unshakeable in the face of Sherlock’s confession. “I’ve got you.”

#Johnlock #Sherlock #Depression Tw #Mental Health #Hurt/Comfort #Supportive John #Pre-Slash #Simplyclockwork #Prompt #Anon #Anonymous

198 notes · View notes

vannahfanfics · 4 years ago

Text

Before you read, here’s the previous chapter. New? Start from the beginning!

Cherry-Orange Blossoms

Ao3

Katsuki released a small, satisfied sigh after popping the noodle bowl away from his mouth, tongue swiping the last dregs of broth still clinging to his lips. He’d gotten much better at suppressing the disgusted shiver that gripped his body every time he forced himself to eat. As nausea roiled in his belly with an angry yowl, he physically suppressed it with a few thick swallows. Though the cough, fatigue, and sore throat were annoying, he’d have to say that the variation in his appetite was the worst symptom. At least it was the easiest to hide.

He set the bowl down on the lunch tray with a small exhale. As he moved, the nausea forced its way back up, making him clamp his hand over his mouth in a pitiful effort to combat the strong urge to retch. No! Stop bein’ a weak little bitch! You have to keep this fucking food down, he yelled at his rebelling body. His stomach flopped a few more times for obediently settling back down, though with a few more indignant grumbles. He scrunched up his face as he sucked in a few tentative breaths, praying the beast would stay quiet this time.

I’m not fucking kicking the bucket until this whole country knows my name, he thought lividly. Basketball was the only thing he had to live for now; he’d be damned if this fungus growing in his lungs was gonna take that away from him, too. For better or for worse, he was going to make the best of his final basketball season.

Just as he had finally settled down and was debating forcing himself to grab seconds, Ochako’s cheery voice calling his name floated above the cacophony of conversation clouding the air around him. He lurched into the table as his lungs spasmed, the flowers inside his tissue blooming in reverence of her siren call. The noodle bowl jumped as he slammed his fists down and his glass overturned, spilling water all over the red tray and the table. He frantically righted it and grabbed the few napkins he had to try and mop up the puddle of clear liquid as the brunette came trotting up.

“Katsuki, Katsuki, listen to this— Oh, no! Here, let me help you!” Ochako cried as she spotted him using the sopping-wet napkins to try and wipe up the remainder of the liquid. She snatched some napkins from a nearby container and scurried over, squeezing into the space next to him to furiously dab at the spreading water. As her arm brushed against his, Katsuki locked up and began to shake so hard he wondered if he was having a fucking seizure. Before Ochako could notice, he pinched his leg hard to make his mind stop spiraling into insanity.

His throat still burned as he swallowed repeatedly to force the rising petals back down, and a thin sheet of sweat bloomed on his skin from the tremor that so suddenly gripped him. Ochako turned her pretty brown eyes on him in a look of inquiry. He appeased her unspoken question by languidly reclining in the booth and running his fingers through his hair, though he cringed as the salty perspiration slicked his fingertips.

“What’re you lookin’ at me like that for, Cheeks? I just knocked a glass of water over.”

Ochako’s eyes fluttered a few times as she processed his nonchalant excuse. She seemed to believe it, smiling brightly with a slight nod.

“Right, right! Of course, haha,” she hummed as she dropped the wet napkins onto his tray. No seconds for me, I guess, he thought with a frown as he regarded the menagerie of soaked brown paper slips that littered the plastic plate. “What was I going to say?” Ochako frowned, pressing the pad of her index finger to her lips as she straightened. Again, her arm gently brushed his, and Katsuki felt electric fire sing through his nerves. He clenched his fists under the table, silently suffering as Ochako stood oblivious next to him.

“Oh, right!” she exclaimed after a second, clapping her hands together to turn on him with that brilliant smile that he lived for yet killed him slowly. “Katsuki! I made an A on the math quiz! Look, look!”

Katsuki jerked when she thrust a piece of paper into his face. He edged back a little so he could appreciate the series of red marks inked over the neatly written numbers and equations. Like Ochako had said, there were few incorrect answers. After a second, she pulled back the page to give him a smile that was brighter than before.

“It’s all thanks to you, Katsuki.”

“Nah,” the blond muttered, rubbing the back of his neck while a pink hue rose to his cheeks. “That’s all you, Cheeks. I mighta helped a little, but you didn’t do anythin’ you weren’t capable of.”

Ochako’s eyes grew owlish, making him flinch uncomfortably. Then, like a flip had switched inside of her, she started blubbering.

“ Kahhhsukiiii !” she wailed in between hiccuping sobs, clutching the quiz to her chest so hard that it crumpled under her grip. The blond’s face grew a shade darker at the strange (and adorable) reaction, prompting him to hide his face with a hand.

“The hell you cryin’ for?” he chastised half-heartedly. Ochako moaned woefully and tried to stifle her tears, but they continued to pour in thick globs down those round cheeks of hers, which were beginning to turn a ruddy red. Katsuki snorted and stood up, leaning over the lunch table. “Jeez, what am I going to do with you?” he sighed with a tiny smile as he scrubbed at her cheeks with the ends of his sleeves. Ochako let out little squeaks with each swipe of the fabric across her skin, the paper crinkling as her fingers twitched.

“Always such a crybaby,” he said affectionately when he finally pulled away, the ends of his sleeves damp with Ochako’s tears. “Less cryin’ and more eatin’, Cheeks. I don’t wanna hear you complaining that you’re hungry later!” To emphasize his point, he turned her around by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shove. She gasped as she stumbled forward, then turned around to flash him a giddy smile. Katsuki couldn’t help the way he looked at her then, the way his expression softened and his heart fluttered.

He was thankful she turned around to leave right as his lungs spasmed again. He hunched over while slapping a hand to his mouth, trembling at the disgusting feeling of the soft, silky petals crawling up his throat. He could see her form retreating through the tears flooding his eyes, the skip in her step as she rejoined the other girls at the lunch table. His chest burned with the strain to suppress the coughs, like a fire had started in his lungs hell-bent on burning him up to ash from the inside out.

Why did he do this to himself, he wondered as the tears faded and his vision cleared. His answer was immediate, illuminating the room in the form of Ochako’s happy smile. He’d rather live out the rest of his days in total misery than deprive himself of that pure, innocent light of an angel come to earth.

Idiot, he thought with a slight wheeze through his fingers. This is why you’re dying .

Katsuki’s vermillion eyes were stinging and still slightly bloodshot when he finally eased himself back into his chair. He looked down at the lunch tray, which was covered with damp napkins, and then pushed it away with a huff. As he plopped his chin down on his crossed arms, Hanta and Denki leaned over each of his shoulders with matching grins that just spelled “annoying.”

“Yanno, you’re awfully chummy with Ochako lately,” Denki hummed with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Hanta chimed in agreement, “ awful chummy, way too chummy to be with someone else’s girlfriend. You wouldn’t want Izuku getting any ideas about your intentions, now would you?” As Katsuki shot the ravenet an irritated glare, he popped a corndog into his mouth with raised eyebrows.

“You think I give a fuck about Deku’s ideas ?” he snorted derisively. He shifted to press his cheek into his hand, glowering at Hanta. “What, I can’t be friends with her because she’s dating that shitstain? Get off my case,” he grumbled.

“Hey, hey, no need to get offended,” Denki said in a sing-song voice. Katsuki looked at him to see him biting down on the tip of his tongue mischievously. “We’re just making an observation.”

“Yeah, an observation!”

“Observe this , assholes,” Katsuki retorted and flipped them both off. Before they could annoy him further, he pushed himself up from the table. He slid his hands in his pockets, ignoring the two pleading for him to come back in between laughter. As he sauntered around the table, he found himself glancing in the direction of the girls— and noted the absence of bouncy brown hair and rosy round cheeks.

He barely had time to wonder where she went before the nausea roiled in his belly again. His hands flew out of his pockets to clutch his belly, and then one slapped to his mouth as he was overtaken with the strong urge to retch. He shouldered through the double doors of the lunch room to stagger down the hall; through his blurry vision, he could spy the bathroom sign hovering against the wall. However, Katsuki’s pride burned inside of him; he was going to try his damnedest to resist. He slumped against the wall and slowly slid down into a squat, then pried his hand away from his mouth to begin gulping down air.

For a few seconds, the deep breaths only heightened his urge to vomit; gradually, however, his writhing stomach slowly settled. He slowly leveled out his breathing until he was just sitting against the brick, exhausted by the effort. He ran his shaking fingers through his hair, and when he pulled it back, he found his fingertips glistening with sweat.

“ Fuck ,” he cursed quietly and leaned forward to cradle his head in his hands. It had barely been a month since those damn petals had blossomed in his lungs; how was he supposed to cope with the later stages of his disease, when he was so damn miserable? Tears of frustration sprung to the corners of his eyes and he gripped his hair between his fingers, tugging at the spiky strands. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Katsuki?” he whispered hoarsely.

He knew why. He knew damn well why, and yet he wouldn’t— couldn’t — do a damn thing about it.

He jumped when he heard a bang echo in the wall behind him. Startled at the idea of being found like that, he scrambled to his feet and turned around. It took a moment for his disoriented mind to recognize the sign for the women’s bathroom above his head. He looked down at the entrance when another bang sounded in the depths of the bathroom, followed by the unmistakable sound of miserable retching. Someone’s sick…? He thought in confusion.

He was even more confused when Ochako came toddling out, looking a little green in the face and wiping at the corner of her mouth with a palm. When she spotted Katsuki, she froze like a deer in headlights, eyes growing enormous. They just stared at each other for a few seconds, stunned by this strange reaction, until Katsuki sputtered the first thing that came to mind.

“Cheeks, you aren’t pregnant , are ya?”

“ What ?!” she shrieked, turning a bright shade of crimson. “N-n-n-n-no! Oh my God, Katsuki, no !” She buried her face in her hands, but Katsuki could still almost see the air sizzling around her head from the heat rolling off her face. “I-It’s some medications I’m on!” she explained through the gaps in her fingers. “I-i-it’s really heavy-duty stuff, with nausea and vomiting as the number-one side effect… Pr-pr-pregnant ? Why on Earth— D-Deku and I don’t— w-we don’t do— oh my gosh!”

As she turned so red Katsuki began to worry her head might actually explode, he jumped forward and waved his hands placatingly.

“All right, Cheeks, all right! I’m sorry I asked; that was pretty fucking stupid of me, okay! Calm down!”

Ochako was close to the point of hyperventilating with shock. Smiling wanly, he gently peeled her hands away from her face to find it bright red and shining with nervous sweat. Her eyes were glued to her shoes, watering with tears of embarrassment. Her teeth worried into her bottom lip to shred the fine skin. “Hey,” he laughed, admittedly charmed by her cute overreaction, and cupped her cheek. “Cheeks, look at me. I’m sorry, okay? That was dumb of me.”

Hesitantly, she looked up at him. Tears clung like dewdrops to her lashes, which fluttered nervously as soon as she met his gaze.

“I can’t believe you asked me that,” she pouted. He had to chuckle at the adorable way she jutted out her bottom lip; then, the flowers in his lungs began to stir again. He hurriedly stepped back from her, his palm missing the warmth of her soft cheek as soon as it vanished. He stuffed his hands back in his pockets and looked off to the side, but unable to keep his eyes from sliding back to look at her out of his peripheral vision.

“Tch. I said I was sorry, okay? I mean, what was I supposed to think, with you hurling in the middle of the day? You’ve already had Hanahaki and it’s impossible to relapse when you’re dating Deku.”

Something flickered over her face, lightning-fast, but Katsuki still caught it. He raised an eyebrow at the strange emotion that passed over her features; he couldn’t name it, but it was nonetheless strange. Ochako hummed thoughtfully and turned, her gaze growing cloudy as she walked to the vending machine across the hall. Katsuki’s body turned of its own volition to keep her in his line of sight.

“You’re right,” she said quietly, surveying the selection of drinks. “It just took me by surprise, that’s all…” Robotically, she removed a yen bill from her wallet and slid it into the machine, then pressed the buttons to select a bottle of water. The robotic arm within the vending machine jerkily retrieved it and deposited it into the slot. Before Ochako could bend down to get it, though, Katsuki had already closed the distance between them and plucked it from the machine.

“Cheeks,” he said and poked her in the side of the head with the end of the bottle. She blinked as he pushed the cold plastic into her temple, not sure what to make of the sudden action. Katsuki’s face was pensive, trying to riddle out just what had caused Ochako’s mood to shift so suddenly. But he could glean nothing from that sweet round face and warm brown eyes; whatever it was, Ochako had buried it deep inside.

I guess we all have our secrets.

“Cheeks,” he repeated, his lips curling up into a smile. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Idiot, he thought once more when a smile slowly bloomed on her face, making his heart flutter like a baby bird preparing for its first unsteady flight. He loved that smile so damn much it hurt; it filled his soul to the brim with joy, that illuminating flash of her teeth and bulge of her cheeks and the scrunch of her eyes. Idiot, he thought again as his lungs spasmed in his chest, the fungi digging deep into his cells to bloom cherry blossoms in the dark. This is why you’re dying.

Yet it felt like he was dying without her, in the moments alone when the nights closed in and he wheezed in his dark room and sweaty bed sheets that were tangled around his legs from fitful, painful sleep. He was dying all the time, so he might as well die within the reach of the light of his life, rather than alone in the dark.

A flower alone in a patch of light with the shadows closing in, clinging to every last sunbeam it can before the darkness finally washes over it and causes it to wither slowly, painfully, tortuously… Yet for every second he would rage, rage against the dying of the light, until he drew his last ragged breath.

Because in the light, Ochako bloomed.

Enjoy this story? Here’s the next chapter! Please consider perusing my Table of Contents.

#kacchako #bakuraka #bakugo x ochako #bakugo x uraraka #ochako x bakugo #uraraka x bakugo #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #ochako uraraka #uraraka ochako #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha

20 notes · View notes

pynkhues · 4 years ago

Note

C&C prompts!!!!! someone is sick?? preferably someone who is a horrific patient and it's early enough in that the whole little family unit is still trying to find their footing together and the whole thing's a mess???

Attempting this challenge has been a real reminder that I am no good at short things, haha, but look! 2k isn’t too bad for me?????

(I hope you like it 😘)

Set in The Center & Circumference Universe.

(Early in the relationship, as requested ;-))

It goes like this:

Elizabeth sneezes.

She sneezes and it ain’t some cute little ladylike nothin’ sneeze neither. It’s some loud, fucked-up-sinus, mucous-mouthed thing that echoes around the warehouse and makes everyone stop working, and shit, even Demon looks taken aback. Rio bites his tongue, gaze sliding from him back to Elizabeth, who suddenly stands up taller to meet his look, squares her shoulders, and he has the sudden, vivid memory of Jane doing this at the foot of their bed last week.

“What?”

And yeah, Jane had said that too.

Elizabeth though, she’s got this indignant edge to her voice that means she’s getting defensive, like her hair ain’t frizzing at her sweaty temples, like her skin ain’t flushed, peaked, her eyes ain’t starting to water, and he’d known it this morning before she’d left ahead of him for school run, but okay - - maybe he’d let himself believe her. Maybe he’d let her bat those baby blues at him, let her distract him by leaving the top couple of buttons undone on her ugly floral blouse so he could see the flushed curve of her breast, let her tell him - -

Rio works his jaw, huffs out a breath.

“You said you were good.”

“I am good,” she says right away, voice a little too loud, like he won’t hear the hoarseness that way and when Rio squints at her, she flails out a wobbly hand. “It’s allergies.”

He pops an eyebrow at that.

“In July?”

Behind him, Demon snorts on a laugh, and he sees Elizabeth’s focus snap to him, her own jaw rock, the flush at her cheeks deepening. She shifts her weight, side-to-side, and that ain’t good either, because she looks halfway to wobbling too far and topplin’ over, but still, she blinks.

Takes too long to blink.

Like her eyes close and she doesn’t entirely wanna reopen them.

She does though, just enough to glare.

“Not all allergies are seasonal,” she says, and her voice cracks a little at the end, and he can see it – how much she needs to sit down, and he’s of half a mind to get her arm over his shoulder and drag her over to a seat, but also is she really tryna play him like this?

It’s the latter thought that wins out, because - - whatever. He’ll catch her if she passes out.

“So it ain’t got nothin’ to do with last week?” he asks, and shit, it’s like some game of chicken, because Elizabeth firms her look, wets her lips, tilts up her chin.

“I’d tell you if it was.”

And this has pretty clearly proven she wouldn’t, but still, Rio rolls his shoulders back, and turns on his heel, starts walking again to the meeting room in the back where they’re supposed to be hearing a pitch from some new associate, because fine, if this is what they’re doing, it ain’t no skin off his nose. And okay, maybe they set up in the meeting and he spends most of the time watching her, because her skin’s less flushed now and more paper pale, and maybe she wobbles a little in her seat as she trains glazed eyes on the kid pitchin’ them the idea for smugglin’ hormone pills to Cleveland across Lake Erie, and maybe she tries to subtly swipe at her damp forehead as she curls her hair behind her ears and maybe he can hear her swallowing coughs, and maybe he should’ve taken her home before she passed out, but, y’know, he said he’d catch her, and he did, so he can’t really be faulted for that.

Last week went something like this:

Danny sneezed.

Danny sneezed then Jane sneezed then Emma, Marcus, Kenny, and Rio was vaguely reminded of sitting in front of the TV and watching A Christmas Carol as a kid himself, seeing the ghost of Christmas past, present, future in symptoms across the five of them while he and Elizabeth both wrangled tissue boxes and kiddie aspirin, cough syrup and glassy eyed tears over Frozen, Frozen 2, Wreck It Ralph, Frozen, Moana, Frozen, Zooptopia, Moana, Frozen.

(He might have thrown the bluray of that fuckin’ movie out before Annie came over with extra supplies and cooingly installed Disney+ on their TV, and shit, he’s had a lot of reasons to kill her before, but they all pale in comparison).

And okay, maybe it was a thing, because they were still pretty new to all of this and Rio didn’t need to be as good at math as he was to know that handlin’ five sick kids was gonna be worse than one, but still. He doesn’t think he’ll ever feel as close to burnin’ a house down as he did tryna handle three sobbing, snuffling kids at once, and they’d gotten well and the handover had happened and he’d maybe never been happier to give a mostly-better Marcus back to Laura and see the rest of them (also mostly-better) off to Elizabeth’s dumbass ex, and piling into bed after.

Him and Elizabeth hadn’t even fucked, they’d just collapsed back onto the mattress and looked at each other.

“If you get sick, I’m leaving you.”

He can’t remember which one of them said it.

It goes something like this:

Elizabeth sneezes.

Elizabeth sneezes and Rio throws a tissue box at her bedridden form as he works on his laptop in the reading chair in the corner, his own legs propped up on the ottoman he’s dragged up from the living room, as he works on the specs for the associate’s Cleveland pitch.

“Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, you know that?” she asks him, nose so blocked at this point her voice comes out somehow both hoarse and reedy, and Rio glances up at her over the top of his laptop, biting back a grin.

Thing is, she really does look like hell. The bags beneath her eyes are so purple they almost look like bruises, her skin so pale it’s almost translucent. He’d managed to get her into her favourite, ugliest pyjamas when he’d hauled her back into the house, and she looks comfy, between them and the approximately 800 blankets she’d demanded he pull out to cover her.

She’d sweat the fever out pretty quick, and he’d made awkward but proficient work of takin’ care of her – wiping her brow, feedin’ her flu medicine, and making thin, tasteless soup he somehow hadn’t managed to completely fuck up (then again, the only ingredients had been stock, salt and slivered vegetables) – and hours had gone by and she’d slept and glowered and offered frail excuses, and now - -

Well.

“Ain’t what you said last night,” he hums, clicking through the spreadsheet, and he feels more than sees Elizabeth’s eyeroll in reply.

“I said bedside manner, not - - in-bed manner,” she sniffs, before pulling out a tissue and blowing her nose, and Rio glances up at her red cheeks and wet eyelashes and grins.

“Figured what we did counted more as bed-side.”

And maybe it was semantics, but whatever. It was fun in the moment of it, rememberin’ both their toes curled in this carpet, her body bent like an L atop their sheets, ass up towards him, and - -

“Bed-over,” Elizabeth corrects, and it surprises him enough that Rio barks on a laugh, glancing up at her again, grinning when he spots the subdued but still-a-little-playful look in her eye.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that, huh?”

The look on her face is as close to affectionate as she ever gets, and he shifts a little in his seat, feels himself warm beneath it, as she flops back into their pillows, still snuffling. He can pretty much smell the sweat on them at this point, and he wonders vaguely if he can change the sheets before he slips in tonight, because shit, they are damp, and he’s spent enough time hovering over the kids’ feverishly moist beds over the last week to like the idea of somethin’ a little crisper, when Elizabeth suddenly says:

“You stayed though. So that’s - - you know. That’s some sort of bedside manner.”

His gaze darts up, takes in her pink, mottled cheeks, her crooked nose, her dimpled chin, and her voice was high. Light and airy in that way she ain’t, and there’s a knot between his shoulders when he shrugs.

“Well, we got a mortgage now,” he drawls, eyes skirting back down to the spreadsheet on his laptop screen but not taking any of the figures in.

“A big one,” Elizabeth agrees, like they don’t both know they’ve paid it outright, and Rio hums, willing her complicity in the moment of it, because fuck, if that ain’t just - -

Easier.

And he can’t really think about what that means, not really, but maybe he doesn’t have to, because suddenly Elizabeth says:

“I bet you’re terrible when you’re sick.”

Rio jerks his head up, eyebrows raised, and Elizabeth snuffles, closing her eyes briefly, shuffling back into their pillows. The air around her is thick, her body tired, slumped, but glowing with the sheen of her fevered sweat. He wets his lips, works his jaw, meets her eye.

“You’re probably like the - - the poster child for man flu,” she adds, which is a little rich comin’ from the woman who passed out halfway through a meeting. Rio arches an eyebrow back at her, and somewhere in the pocket of his jeans, his cell buzzes. Somewhere outside of here, he can hear afternoon traffic and a neighbour yell. He can hear a lot of things, but he can’t see anything that ain’t Elizabeth, awkward and beautiful and a straight up fuckin’ mess, sprawled out in their bed.

“You talk to every man who takes care of you that way, or just me, huh?”

And her head jerks at that, neck forcing at an odd angle, shoulder shoving up to suffocate the pillow against the bedhead.

“All of them,” she decides after a moment, and Rio snorts on a laugh, closing his laptop and putting it aside. The knot between his shoulders is settling, and he ain’t exactly taking in the specs anyway (he thinks the deal’s a no-go, but he figured lookin’ it over was the least he could do for the kid, given one of his potential bosses rolled out of her fuckin’ body halfway through his pitch), so he starts towards the bed, planning on folding in directly beside her, when Elizabeth shakes her head, pushing him gently away.

“No,” she says. “I’m not - - I - - ”

She’s fumbling for the words, and Rio looks at her, taking her in all over again, seeing the uncertainty not the set of her, and so he ignores her, returning her gentle shove with one of his own and lying down in their bed, and he can’t explain it. The feeling in his chest when she casts wide eyes at him.

“What?” he grunts, and she opens her mouth once, twice, says:

“I - - Dean - - ”

Her mouth clamps shut.

She stares at him, and Rio stares back, watching her mandible clench, her lips twitch, her bambi eyes blink. After a moment, she shakes her head, wriggles down in the bed.

“You’ll only have yourself to blame if you get sick.”

Rio snorts.

“Darlin’, we both know I probably already got it.”

She rolls her eyes then, but keeps wriggling down until they’re eye level again, and Rio leans over, just enough to hook a finger beneath her chin, flick it up over the dimple there, and he watches as her tired eyes glaze over or - - maybe not. Maybe they’re just overtaken somehow. By somethin’ that just makes her look at him in a way he still ain’t used to. Naked almost, open and tired and warm.

“Probably,” she agrees quietly, and she turns into him. Rio’s fingers lift from her chin to brush over her wet lips.

“’Sides,” he tells her. “Where else would I wanna sleep?”

Like they don’t have at least five other bedrooms in this house.

Like there ain’t the promise of something warmer, cleaner, fresher, safer somewhere in this house, but he don’t want it.

This is his bed.

She’s his - -

“Fine,” she says, pointedly closing her eyes, and Rio does the same, and maybe he pretends he doesn’t notice the way she shuffles – ever so slightly – closer before they both fall asleep.

It goes something like this:

Rio sneezes.

Rio sneezes and Elizabeth fuckin’ laughs.

#beth x rio #my fic #the center and circumference #beth boland #rio #welcome to my ama #mego42

63 notes · View notes

strawberry-skies-xx · 4 years ago

Text

hold me, lover, like you used to

summary: he shouldn’t have left him alone, not in a crowd like this.

word count: 1,603

tags: martin blackwood / jonathan sims, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff

main masterlist | story on ao3

Martin feels it first as a very distant ache in his head - not quite a headache, but still a slight pain. The vendor in front of him winces, a movement barely noticed as Martin looks up quickly from his phone, but then he’s giving a little grimace and shifting on his feet as he continues making the crisps.

Someone bumps against Martin; there’s a quick exclamation, and the woman jumps far too much for a normal encounter. “S-sorry,” the woman says, as Martin’s head snaps towards her quickly, but she’s already glancing away as she moves swiftly forward, sort of paranoid little jerks to the movement of her head, as if she feels like she’s being watched.

Martin feels it then, too - a distant terror inside him, a pressure on him like he’s taking an exam, or being judged in some sort of way. As if he’s being watched.

Fuck.

Martin turns to the vendor, who’s hissing in pain now. “You know what, cancel the order,” he says quickly, and then he turns, doing his best to slip through the crowd as quickly as possible. It’s a bit difficult - his symptoms are nowhere near as bad as what he knows the others are feeling. A gradually building headache, the feeling of being watched, a sort of intense terror for survival suddenly flaring up.

Every person he bumps into as he fights through the crowd jumps hard enough as if Martin’s burned them, most of them grimace in pain and put hands to their heads, quite a lot are glancing around nervously, eyes wide with terror. None of them, in and out of the radius of effects, seem to notice the abnormality of it all.

Martin sees it, then, like green mist in the air, glowing faintly as it hovers. It’s two thin strands with eyes between, wide and staring out as the strands undulate up and down in waves, all circling around one man’s head.

Jon’s glowing faintly green as well, arms wrapped around himself. He’s nearly pinned against the wall by the people trying to enter the Tube, backpack crushed against the wall, and Martin can see the panic in his entire posture.

He shouldn’t have left him alone, not in a crowd like this.

“Move,” Martin hisses - his head aches distantly again, and he has the sudden, faint urge to flee for his survival. He ignores it, continuing to fight through the crowd, using limbs and words to scare everyone enough into letting him through.

It’s not hard, given the effect Jon’s powers are having on them, and Martin eventually slips through to the wall Jon’s at. “Jon,” he says, “Jon, I’m here.”

Jon’s staring at the ground, breathing too quickly, wreathed in a faint green mist with that glowing crown above his head. Martin steps forward just as someone bumps into Jon hard - he stumbles a few steps towards Martin, head snapping up, and Martin can see the green flash in his eyes as he sees the person apologize quickly before practically fleeing through the crowd. They may not consciously understand Jon is the source of their sudden fear, but their subconscious does.

Jon hits Martin as he stumbles; Martin takes the opportunity and reaches out to put his hands on Jon’s shoulders - lightly, never harsh, not hard at all, but turns Jon towards him. “Jon, it’s Martin, it’s me,” he pleads, even as Jon continues shaking. “You’re safe, you’re safe, I’m here, Jon.”

A minute shift, barely noticeable, but Martin knows this exact cue and pulls Jon close to him as he leans just a little into Martin’s hands. One arm wraps around his back, light enough so as not to feel suffocating, and Jon��s cheek is pressed against his sweater.

Martin knows he has to ground him, but he knows how delicate a process it is. Like a balloon; pop it, and it’ll fall to the ground quickly. Jon will spiral faster if he’s trapped and he’s not comfortable, but leave him to his panic attack alone for too long, or don’t be smothering enough, and he’ll simply float away, spiral deeper into this panic.

So he spends several long minutes holding Jon lightly. Breathing, shoving down his own panic, hoping that it still works, that he does this right. He failed it, once, and setting aside the effects of his Archivist powers leaking out with his lack of control, Jon wouldn’t let anyone touch him or talk to him for two days. Even Martin couldn’t come near him.

Martin’s made a promise to himself to never ever let Jon spiral that far again, and he desperately hopes he won’t break that promise today.

There’s a breath, then, soft and barely audible, carried away entirely on the wind if Martin wasn’t listening for it.

“Martin,” Jon breathes. The green glow flickers just a little, the mist is ragged at the edges. Martin’s head doesn’t ache at all, though there’s still a faint whisper of run echoing in his head.

“Yes, yes, it’s me, Jon,” Martin says again, quickly. He wraps his other arm around, holds a little tighter. Small increments, he knows. “Martin Blackwood. Your boyfriend. Poet, uh, Archivist Assistant? In a broad sense, I guess. Or, really specific if you consider, well- anyway.” He stops himself, shoving down his panic and focusing. “Martin. I’m Martin,” he repeats. “Jon, you’re safe, it’s Martin.”

Another quiet breath, this time wordless. The mist is shifting and there’s a brown flicker in the glowing green of Jon’s eyes. His face tilts just slightly more into Martin’s sweater, and Martin holds a bit tighter.

“It’s Martin,” Jon repeats a moment later, in a soft whisper. He increases his grip by another increment; Jon’s face turns more into Martin’s sweater, the green becomes a glint in his eyes and the mist is faint and getting fainter. His breathing is steadying; the people around Martin are quieting down, are returning to normal, and he himself can’t feel even the faint whisper of the symptoms he gets anymore.

“Yes, it’s Martin,” Martin says, his voice softer now, without the desperate edge. He moves his hand up and down Jon’s back in a forcefully rhythmic motion. It has to be steady, Jon likes to focus on it. It’s constant, smooth, rhythmic. No change, no suddenness.

Jon relaxes in increments now, breathing evening out as he buries his face in Martin’s sweater. The people around them are settled down; they get occasional glances and nothing more. Martin glares out at them from above Jon’s head at their quizzical looks.

He feels Jon’s hands reach up and his fingers curl tightly in Martin’s sweater; he holds him a bit tighter. “Martin,” Jon says, quiet but steady.

“Yes, it’s me,” he whispers back. Jon doesn’t look up at him, simply stands still, pressed against Martin with his face buried in his sweater and a death grip on the fabric with both hands. Martin is quiet, ceasing his rhythmic motion down his back to simply hold him.

It’s a long moment before Jon pulls back. Martin lets him, feeling the slight tensing up that signals the touching is too much now, and drops his arms completely. When Jon looks up at him, his eyes are fully brown, a little bit pained and sad and warm all at once.

Jon keeps his arms around Martin’s waist, holding loosely, close enough that they’re almost touching but not quite. “Thank you, Martin,” he says quietly.

“Anytime, love,” he replies, just as quietly, and Jon gives a small smile, a slight tilt of the lips upwards. Martin grins and slips an arm around Jon’s waist. He pulls a little, meets no resistance, and finishes the action, pulling Jon close to him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, feeling Jon melt into it as he tilts his head up.

Martin lets Jon pull back and rest his forehead against his collarbone. There’s a long moment of silence save for the crowd of the Tube station, and then Jon releases a long breath, his entire body seeming to sag with it.

“I-I’m good now,” he says, louder and steadier. He doesn’t look up from where his forehead rests on Martin’s sweater. “Just- don’t- leave me- again,” he continues, stilted with a pained pause between each word. “I- I can’t- not today. Please.”

Martin pauses in the silence. “Is this an octopus mood?” he asks suddenly, subtly teasing. “You haven’t had one of those in months. I kind of miss it.”

Martin sees the smile grow along Jon’s face, feels him start shaking and a quiet laughter sound out, and he can’t help the grin on his face. Jon shakes his head, still laughing a little.

“Well,” Martin continues, softer and sober once Jon’s laughter dies down and he can feel the quiet question hanging in the air - Jon’s question, Martin knows, of whether he’s finally become too much of a burden.

He wasn’t a burden when Martin was incapable of doing pretty much anything because Jon was wrapped around him like he might disappear if he let go, and he isn’t now, so Martin looks down at his hair, forehead still against his sweater, and rubs his hand a little along his back. “Would you like to go get crisps together, then?” he asks.

Jon’s quiet for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

Martin smiles as Jon straightens and looks up at him, trailing his hand down Jon’s arm until he can lace his fingers with his. “Let’s go, then,” he says.

Jon smiles and turns to follow Martin’s lead to the crisps stand.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #tma fic #jmart

16 notes · View notes

prurientpuddlejumper · 5 years ago

Text

Strangers [18+]

Toshinori x Female Reader

Did someone say “traumatize poor Toshi”? Hello, I am here to make All Might hate himself for losing control of his pent-up sexual urges. Feral sex and angst! Mmmm

Warning: Dub-con (sex pollen/”fuck-or-die” fic)

Summary: Your neighborhood gets blasted by a new quirk-based drug that makes you irresistibly, painfully, potentially lethally horny. Your libido won’t stop growing until you fuck someone - but you haven’t completely lost your mind! There’s no way you’re going to bone a friend. It has to be someone you don’t know so you never have to talk to them ever ever again.

That blond scarecrow over there will do!

6,264 words | NSFW

You never worried much about getting caught in a love dust attack. It wasn’t that hard to just not have sex with someone, no matter how horny you were.

It was all over the headlines for the past month. An unsolvable string of crimes with this stuff at the center. The media was calling it “love dust” because, well, it was dust, and you can’t say “orgy-riot fuck dust” on the evening news. Think of the children.

After the first attack, authorities thought they were looking for a villain with natural quirk, but a new synthetic drug soon surfaced as the culprit—a concentrated, fine-tuned derivation of a seduction quirk, sold under the street name “Hathor.” Anyone with the right underground connections could get their hands on it, and criminals were getting creative. Release it into the air at a bank, and the guards will open up the vault on the promise of a handjob. Assassinate a CEO and walk out the front door as the heroes sent to stop you turn into a quivering mess on the floor. There have already been a dozen scandals with big-name heroes caught sleeping with civilians at love dust crime scenes.

Kind of pathetic, honestly. Considering how important their reputations are, you’d think they could manage to keep their pants on. Have some self-control.

Although… The effects only last until you do the nasty, so maybe heroes should have a quickie with the nearest volunteer and get back on their feet before the criminals escape.

Or, you know, wear a damned mask.

Of course, it wasn’t as simple as that. There were physical symptoms, too. They say those who are unable to find anyone to “satisfy their urges” with experience increasingly severe libido, elevated heart rate, capillary damage, and all sorts of hormonal spikes that sometimes last days. One guy actually died of a heart attack. But you were young and healthy. It couldn’t be that bad.

If you don’t want to fuck someone, just don’t do it.

The night the dust rains down on your neighborhood, you finally understand.

You are sitting at the outdoor café in front of your apartment complex with a few friends when there is a loud pop, like an engine backfiring. The sky fills with a pink haze that glimmers with iridescence in the street lights. It’s beautiful. A few wiser residents scream, cover their faces, and run, but you watch the glittery powder in awe, not making the connection until you’ve breathed it in.

It has a cloyingly sweet scent, like cherry blossoms and bubble gum. Your throat tightens, and your mouth begins to water. A warm tingle spreads under your skin and you start to feel the urge to go home and watch porn.

There is a change in your companions, too. The conversation abruptly stops. Someone next to you moans, and it sends shivers racing straight down between your legs. Your thighs clench together trying to satisfy the growing need as you try not to moan yourself. Hot… it is getting so hot. Your breathing is starting to come out shamefully hard as your arousal rapidly builds, and suddenly watching porn doesn’t sound like nearly enough. You want to fuck someone—anyone, honestly.

Shit.

It finally hits you what you’ve been caught up in. And now you realize why this drug is so dangerous.

It’s the feeling of being on the cusp of an orgasm, where nothing feels more important, more urgent. Rational thought gives way to the singular focus on finishing. You’re so close, oh god… Your walls clench around the nothingness inside you. So empty. Fuck… you want to come, but you need to be filled. You need it.

You could resist the physical symptoms, but the problem you never accounted for is, you don’t want to resist.

All around the street, people are falling on each other, mouths smashing together in wet, sloppy, passion. Your next-door neighbor is dry humping the waitress at the café as she works to undo her uniform. The florist is already fucking a customer’s mouth. Their wet noises and grunting rise into a sexual cacophony that has your cunt dripping, aching. You need to find someone.

Your friend Ren grabs your arm, eyes heavily lidded, a crazed look in their eyes. “Do… you wanna?” they slur, voice thick with the same lust you are drunk on. Your cunt spasms painfully at the offer, and a throaty vibration rumbles deep within your chest. A primal part of you almost starts ripping off your clothes, but the small voice in your head that is still rational forces you to pull your arm out of their grasp. This isn’t right.

Not with a friend. Things would be too weird later. It can't be someone you know.

You mumble something that was meant to be words, and run from the table. Mei grabs Ren’s shoulder and their bodies instantly intertwine in a mess of limbs and sultry moans. She was just starting to get over them. That’ll be trouble tomorrow. That’s why it can’t be a friend—no ruined relationships or awkward next days for you!

The small rational voice says you should go back and pull Mei away—stop her—but if you did that, you’d definitely end up in a threesome. It's all you can do to keep your feet moving away.

You need a stranger.

A spontaneous orgy breaks out around you, bodies tangled and undressing right in the road, cars honking at them, people stumbling out of cars and joining the fray. You pick your way through them. No, no, your inner voice scoffs. None of this is right. As much as you’re burning to be filled, none of this was right.

The musky smell of sex is overpowering. Your walls expand wide as if expecting to be filled, yawning open until the muscles burn, then crashing shut and clenching down hard against nothing. The contractions rock your body so hard it’s difficult to walk, and it isn’t long before the muscles start cramping with overexertion.

Why didn’t you just join one of the writhing piles on the sidewalk? Your heart is beating out of your chest, and you’re deafened by all the blood pounding in your ears. Your eyes dart between faces and exposed body parts, frantically searching, but none of them click whatever primitive part of you is hunting for a mate. With every breath, it feels like you can’t get enough oxygen. You’re drowning.

A convulsing ache rips through your body again. It hurts. It hurts being so empty. What are you waiting for?

Something slips into the front of your pants and starts rubbing your clit—you realize it’s your own hand. It feels good, but doesn’t help. Rational voice reminds you that it won’t help. Skin-to-skin contact was a necessary condition of the quirk; something about pheromones or something? You stagger on, rubbing and fingering yourself, not even caring who sees, none of it bringing you over the edge of the climax that feels like it’s almost there—just a little more! Please!

You turn into the alleyway behind the apartment building. A short passage leading nowhere with a 90-degree crook that serves to hide unsightly utility boxes and storage containers for the complex. It’s quiet here, away from the chaos in the street. Except you hear it… breathing. Deep, half-stifled grunts of a man trying to keep quiet, labored breathing, and a soft, rhythmic slapping emanate from behind the corner.

Struggling toward the source, you see a tall yellow-haired man doubled over. He braces one hand on a metal box set against the wall with wires snaking out of it, while the other hand furiously works his cock. Slap. Slap. Slap. It’s glistening with precum, but his teeth are grit in distress at an orgasm that will never come.

A scarecrow of a man, he looks to be middle-aged, and has a face like a skeleton, with sunken cheeks and eyes lost in deep shadows—all bones and sinew. Definitely a stranger. You would’ve remembered a guy like that.

Something primal thrums within you. Blood surges red-hot in your veins.

Him.

He is perfect.

“Help!” you call out, voice shaky and fevered.

He startles and tries to hide what he was doing, shoving his dick back under his waistband and crossing his legs before turning to you. As if everyone else on the entire block isn't doing the same thing.

When he sees you, desire clouds his eyes. They’re a shocking vibrant blue, though watering with frustration, and they linger on you for what would have been an uncomfortable length of time under normal circumstances, but right now his overt desire is exactly what you hoped to see.

Encouraged, you close the space between you, but he takes a quick step back, staying just out of your reach. At this distance, you realize “tall” was an understatement. He towers above you.

At your close proximity, his hips start rocking of their own accord, his cock striving for relief against the fabric of his pants. You are too close. You smell so good, he wants to devour you. He has to squeeze his legs together and bite his lip hard enough to draw blood to regain his composure.

“I... I can help you, young lady. E-everything will be fine... Are you hurt?” With every ounce of willpower in his narrow body, he forces his voice to sound normal and helpful, and not like he wants to tear all your clothes off. No damned pink dust is going to make him—

He doubles over not in pain, but arousal—a spasm pulsing through his frame—and has to fight to shove it down again. He bites his thin lower lip, but the gesture only makes him aware of the string of saliva dripping out.

“Yes, it hurts.” You’ve still got your hand between your legs and must look as much of a mess as he does. He can’t pretend not to know what you’re asking. “Please… help me,” you ask again, this time dropping your voice into a husky whisper. You lean into him, splaying your hands out on his chest, running them down the rippled bones and muscle beneath his white t-shirt. His hands place themselves instinctively around your hips.

“Do you have a boyfriend? A partner? I’ll h-help you find them.”

Would he really take you to someone you’d be more comfortable having sex with when he could have you for himself? It’s obvious how much he wants you—how much his body is screaming for you just like yours screams for his.

You shake your head. “There’s no one else.”

“I… I can bring you to the hospital…”

He trembles, his breathing is hard and fast, fanning in hot bursts across your neck. You get lost in the smell of him, the salty smell of his precum driving you wild. Your core twitches painfully again, but you’re so close to relief, you let yourself moan with it, and reach for the hard erection in his pants. The outline through the fabric is massive. Beyond massive. You shudder and stroke it greedily.

He draws in a sharp breath at the contact, and the warmth of him spreads out under your palm, spreading through your whole body. His muscles tense, still trying to fight it, but his cock pulses under your touch, betraying his desire.

“Let me feel it,” you beg, slipping your hand through the fly of the pants he was too distracted to zip back up. Your fingertips find it, hot and velvety, and hard as steel.

Even though he’s just as deep under the spell of the dust as you are, he manages to pull away again, another step back, trapping his back against the alley wall.

“N-no, you don’t have to… to do this. I’ll take you to the hospital!”

Not, I don’t want this, you note his phrasing. You don’t have to. How can he be flustered with this need overpowering his every sense? Your entire life is narrowed into a tunnel where all there is and all that matters is being fucked.

Without warning, he doubles over, coughing. Coughing up blood. A lot of it.

He wipes his mouth, grimacing, in obvious pain. A convulsion wracks his body, and he squeezes his thighs together, moaning.

You put your arms out—an honest, compassionate instinct to help him stay upright, but then you’re touching him again, and suddenly you’re pulling at his tall, scarecrow shoulders to bring his body close again.

He’s so strained, blood trickling through grit teeth. Maybe coughing blood is a symptom of resisting the effects for too long. Your own lungs are starting to burn with such intense continual use. Why is he trying so hard to fight it?

“Don’t want… a hospital. Just… fuck me. Please. I want you. So empty... it hurts. I need you to fill me… please,” you pant, desperate to convince him. To talk him out of his shy, moral rigidity.

He swallows, prominent Adam's apple bobbing in his thin neck. He's cute, too, a small, still-conscious voice says, though you barely notice through the pounding, driving urge between your legs. Your clit is so hot it burns, and your pussy is dripping, soaking through your panties so much it’s made a wet spot through your pants. You grind against his leg. It doesn’t give you any relief, but makes you want to fuck him even more desperately.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you...” He looks so sad, so protective when he says those words in his soft, deep voice. Then he cringes as another convulsion hits him, and his hips drive themselves into you as if acting on their own. He’s horrified. A wave of pleasure surges through you, leaving you a babbling mess.

You whimper, desperate for more. “I’m going to die if you don’t fuck me! Help me. I want it, I swear. I want you, please… please.” You're like an animal, mindlessly humping his thigh, grasping at his shirt. “I’ll find someone else if you won’t. Please, it’s the only way to make this stop!”

It’s too much. The urge was so strong even when he was alone, and your body is all over him, awakening things in him.

You’re drugged!

His cock won’t stop throbbing until it finds a warm body to fuck, and your pussy is grinding his thigh, inches away. Relief is so close. It’s unbearable. You’re so cute and helpless—

He shouldn’t!

—disheveled, begging for him to take you. You’re so lewd. It has been so long since he felt desirable, and here you are, begging like the sluttiest of his fans without even knowing who he is, without his power. Driving him wild. Every second like this is torture—his heart pounding so hard, his single lung can’t take it much longer. You want him… You want him as much as he wants you. Why was he refusing, again? All the reasons seem to fall away…

A dam within him breaks.

He lets out a long, shaking breath as if he had thrown open a valve shut off half a lifetime ago, and all the pressure repressed and denied was finally being released. He crumples around you, lanky arms closing around your back, his face burying into your neck with a sob. A line of teeth bite down on you hard enough to bruise.

Your body responds, hips bucking into his, your nails digging into his back, as you scream out in pleasure and pain, “Yes!”

He snarls into your skin, leaving a trail of bruises claiming the length of your neck.

“Fuck, I need this,” he growls between bites, sounding like a completely different person. Sounding starved. With the last pretense of control given up, he is a beast freed from its cage.

His hands slide under your shirt to roughly palm your breasts. You unclasp your bra, and he artlessly pushes it up out of the way, too hurried to remove it.

“I want you so bad...” He kneads your breasts, pushing them together and rolling them apart, thumbs abusing your hard tits while his teeth sink into your shoulder. He is ravenous.

Fuck, he feels so good. You can only helplessly cry out as your body spasms with warmth, pulses of electricity running down your back, your cunt dripping and clenching, but still so empty.

Your lips clash together, wet and eager, nearly missing his mouth as you part and smash together again, but you don’t care. His tongue sloppily reaches for yours, and you open for him eagerly, saliva mingling, his taste entering your mouth—coppery and sweet. This is right, your body tells you. He is just right.

Another torturous spasm rips through your body. This isn’t the time for foreplay. You already feel like someone has been eating you out for five days straight—it’s time to fuck him. You tug your pants and underwear down and let them hang around your calves, not bothering to take them all the way off.

Now. You need him now.

His cock is back out of his pants, slick with precum, and rubbing your entrance. It’s so huge, you wonder how it will ever fit inside you. You would never expect something with that much girth from a guy so narrow. How does he have enough blood to support this thing?

Normally, you wouldn’t actually want a dick that big, but your sex-crazed brain starts drooling. You want to lick it from head to balls, to worship it. The size doesn’t intimidate you. All your muscles are loose and stretched and aching for something to fill them, and only his cock could fill you enough to satisfy this artificially-heightened need.

Rubbing the blunt, throbbing head over your opening, his intense eyes study the way your folds part and twitch around him, and the adorable way you struggle to open your legs wider with your ankles still shackled in your pants.

“Look at you... fuck, you’re perfect.”

So small and cute. So breathless and needy and whining for him.

Before he pushes inside like every muscle in his body is urging him to do, he checks in with you one last time. His sharp blue eyes meet yours, and, sweating and trembling with the effort of holding back, he asks, “You’re sure?”

“Please!” you cry, voice cracking. You jerk your hips to help push the swollen head inside, gasping as you feel the pressure of it spreading your opening.

He needs no more encouragement.

Releasing control over his inflamed libido that took every ounce of his willpower to wrestle down, he thrusts sharply inside you. It knocks the air out of your lungs. A scream tears from your throat at the intense pleasure and discomfort of being finally, finally filled all at once by something so large. He grunts into your shoulder, large fingers digging into your skin as his body shudders and trembles. He pulls back out a little, and thrusts in again.

You clutch at his shirt and his yellow hair, balling them in white-knuckled fists as you sob out, “Thank you. Th-thank you.”

It’s almost too much pressure—almost. Your walls twitch and contract happily around the thick shaft. Satisfaction. This is what your body has been demanding. The pain stops, but the need urges you on stronger than ever.

It won’t let you go until you come.

After a few rough, choppy thrusts, he can’t get enough leverage standing facing you. He pulls out, and your entire body sets off alarm bells in protest, your hands clutch at him, trying to pull him back in. Empty! So empty! It hurts. The fevered look in his eye tells you he’s still as desperate for this as you are. Strong hands flip you around and bend you over the metal utility box, your ass in the air, presented to him.

“There you are,” he purrs.

He meant to enter you again right away, but the view triggers something voyeuristic in his brain. He grabs your whole pussy possessively, rubbing circles over your bare skin with his thumb, spreading your lips apart.

“Look at you. So beautiful.” His voice is thick and husky—drunk. His whole body shudders as you moan for him, pussy twitching around his thumb, hips writhing, whining for him to enter you. “You'll look so beautiful wrapped around my cock…”

Why is he looking at it? If you had any shame right now, you’d be dying of it, but your whole face is already flushed and sweating. Just put it in already!

A low chuckle. “Be patient.” Did you say that out loud? “Fuck, I want you… I need this,” he growls.

“Need it... need you…” you echo, drooling.

His warm chest leans over your back, soft bangs hanging down next to your cheek, his hot breath in your ear. “I deserve a reward, don’t I? Something for myself for once,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, barely audible even with his lips so close. His cockhead rubs against your drenched slit without pushing inside, the pressure of it maddening, teasing.

His muscles tense suddenly, and you brace yourself against the cold steel surface, fingers curling as he penetrates you from behind and sets a relentless pace.

The aphrodisiac already had you dripping and ready, so you feel deliciously split open and stuffed, and not torn by the sudden invasion. The friction and pressure drive you insane, mewling and whimpering as you reach between your legs to stoke your clit. The heat that’s been building up and pooling between your legs without getting any closer to relief is building toward a crescendo now that he’s inside you.

“More,” you whine, even though you’re already past your limit, “Give me everything!”

He starts thrusting wildly, uncontrolled, eager to obey you. His movements are unrestrained and so fast—inhumanly fast. “So good, you feel so good,” he praises, words hitched and slurring. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” A moment of hesitation breaks through the fog, “Am I hurting you?”

“Don’t stop,” you snap, “don’t you dare slow down!”

His sharp hip bones collide with your ass, leaving bruises with every hard thrust, his balls swinging against you, slapping your fingers working your clit, as he frantically jackhammers into you. He’s completely feral, head thrown back, not holding back his strength as he hits you so deep and hard you could break, but it’s exactly what your body wants right now—to be animals.

“Harder!” you urge, trying to jerk your hips up to meet his thrusts, and spread your legs farther apart—but your efforts weren’t enough. However hard he's going, you want even more. Deeper. You want him to rip you in half.

Obeying, his bony hands grip the soft fat of your thighs, yanking you down onto his cock as he thrusts into you. You yelp as he hits something deep and sensitive, and your muscles quiver and melt with gratitude.

It could be minutes or hours that he has been pumping into you with forceful abandon, turning you into a sweaty, quaking mess, sobbing into your arm for his frail body and powerful cock. You’ve lost all sense of time, all sense of sense—of anything besides the sinful friction and being stuffed full to bursting. You may as well be stray cats rutting in the alley. The dark echoes with the steady percussion of flesh smacking into flesh, and a harmony of your own whimpering cries melding into his hard, ragged breathing.

“Don’t stop! Don’t ever stop! It’s so good,” you sing out for him. It must be the effect of the drug, but you have never felt so complete.

He growls low in return, “Mine, you’re mine.”

His arms cross around your chest and he leans his body over you, pressing himself closer and closer to you as his thrusts hit you deeper and longer. Beads of sweat drip from his body, wetting your clothes and your neck. His strong hands serve the dual purpose of holding you firm against him and grasping your breasts, roughly pinching the hard peaks, twisting and pulling.

The sensation is overwhelming—jolts of pleasure ripping through you, shooting through your spine, winding you tighter and driving you closer to the crest. Your fingers work your clit faster until he forces them away with his own hand, taking over, abusing your sex with long, calloused fingers with the same reckless abandon as his fucking you. His erratic breath is humid against your ear. Something breaks inside him, and he starts grunting loudly with every wild buck of his hips like an unhinged beast. Every forceful thrust throws your body forward, thighs striking the edge of the metal container.

“More,” you urge. “More!” You’re so close.

The muscles of his lower abs twitch and contract against your ass, and he bites you hard on the shoulder, bearing down until it draws blood. He lets out a helpless, unrestrained noise that is almost a roar and almost a sob as he empties himself into you, filling you up with so much hot seed you can feel the pressure of it inside you, his release trapped tight against your cervix by the nudging head of his thick cock stuffed as deep as possible.

His fingers circle powerfully over your clit, and it drives you over the edge after him. Your hips jerk, riding his cock as he comes down from his climax, walls clenching around him, milking every drop from his twitching, overstimulated cock.

“Thank you,” you mutter, breathless and slurring, cum dripping down your thigh. “Thank you…”

It's over.

Like a veil being lifted, your brain function returns to normal. The fog of lust evaporates and you're back to rational, non-horny you.

What. The fuck. Are you doing?

Oh my god.

An alley. You're in some filthy alley with a total stranger and no condom. Fuck. What the fuck. You're going to have so many diseases.

Your “partner” pulls out, and a flood of semen gushes out from between your legs. Oh, god. How is there so much? Does this guy have some kind of disorder, or is it the love dust’s effect? Either way, it's gross, and starts to feel chilly as cool air hits it and it runs down your thigh.

Purse.

That's right, you have a purse. It's somehow, by pure luck, still attached to your body. You rummage through it, pushing aside keys, and—oh, look, a condom. You roll your eyes. Where—aha, there it is! You knew you had a little pack of tissues. You wad up a few sheets and catch the copious glob of cum before it can run all the way down your leg and sully your pants.

“Uhhh, here,” you offer tersely, really not looking forward to making eye contact now that you’re remembering your actions through the eyes of a sober person. So embarrassing! He probably thinks you’re a slut. Worse—what if he’s some weirdo who thinks you’re his girlfriend now?

You hold out a few tissues so he can clean his sticky red cock, still impressively large even as it softens and begins to droop downward.

Why are you looking at his dick stop looking at his dick!

He doesn’t seem to notice you peeking.

He’s struggling to catch his breath, bangs stringy and clinging to his face and neck with sweat. More than that, he’s vacantly staring at his hands like they might not be his own. Like he hopes they’re not. His eyes snap to the source of movement, and he tentatively takes the tissues you’re holding out to him. The action brings him back to reality somewhat. He blushes and turns his back to you, and gets to work wiping himself off.

Good. He’s not trying to talk to you or anything. He’s embarrassed too. That’s good.

When you’re both dressed and as decent as you’re going to look (though it’s impossible to hide that just-been-ravished glow), you turn to him, lips pressed tightly together.

“Well, that’s that, I guess. Um. Are there any STDs I should know about?”

He jolts out of the quiet stupor he was in, face growing redder at the implication. “Oh! N-no.”

“OK, good. Me neither. Though we should both get tested again anyway.”

It’s unclear whether he processed that, eyes unfocused, only giving a slight nod. “Oh! Oh god!” He lurches backward against the wall, remembering something even more devastating. “We didn't... I didn't use—”

“I’m on the pill. No babies.”

His shoulders relax by a few millimeters, at least that weight off of them, but he's far from relieved.

“Alright, well…” you back away, making finger guns out of nervous, idiotic reflex, eager for this embarrassing scenario to be over with and forgotten. “Thanks for helping me out with… a medical emergency, let’s call it. Hopefully we never see each other again, and never think about what happened today. Ever again!” Yup, that’s about that. “Bye.”

He nods weakly as you walk away. The adorably oversized Adam’s apple bobs in his skinny neck as if he’s trying to say something, but only a small, choked noise comes out. He’s still too dazed to give any other acknowledgment.

No contact. No reminders. You did what you had to do, and that’s it. He agrees that this is for the best, right? At least he will once he… processes what happened.

You sigh.

Pausing at the mouth of the alley, you chance a look back. He’s slowly sliding down the stained wall, and coming to rest on the ground with his head between his knees. He looks devastated.

He isn’t processing, is he?

This is your fault, you know. He was trying to avoid people until you found him in his little hiding place. How many times did he offer to take you to the hospital, to tell you that you didn’t have to have sex with him? You could have fucked anyone else tonight, but you chose a sensitive old man.

You broke him. So, go fix him.

You lean back against the concrete wall beside him and lower yourself to the ground by his side. Eyes forward. You wrap your arms around the top of your knees, mimicking his pose. Your eyes flick to the side to observe him.

“Hey. Are you OK?”

He doesn’t look up or acknowledge that he heard you, but a low, wavering voice emerges from his hidden face: “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I lost control. I took advantage of you. Violated you. I should turn myself in to the police…”

Despite how somber he sounds, you snort a laugh. “Is that what you’re so worried about? I asked you to, remember? I literally begged you.”

His hands clamp down over the back of his head, pulling at his messy yellow hair. “No. You were being controlled by a synthesized quirk. You had no way to consent, but I did it anyway.”

You wouldn’t have guessed he was such an anxious guy when he was pounding your insides into oblivion, or from the bruises you were going to be covered in by tomorrow. He’s falling apart. Well, you’re here, and there’s no way you’re going to let him beat himself up over this.

“By that logic, I’m as guilty as you. We were both hit with the same stuff, completely out of our minds. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have been able to resist,” he says firmly, voice rising. “I’m…�� he makes a noise from his throat and trails off.

“Even heroes have trouble with this stuff—that’s why it’s, like, the cover of Villain’s Digest, you know? At least you tried, which is more than I can say.”

“I have to be better than that!” he snaps. What will the world do when it comes out that Japan’s number-one hero is a rapist? That even All Might was helpless against a simple aphrodisiac? He sets his jaw. “I was the one who ultimately went through with it. It was my fault. I failed to protect you.”

You rest the back of your head against the wall, letting out a long, pitying sigh. “Do you want me to punish you? Are you just going to keep saying it’s your fault until I agree? Because that’s not going to happen.”

He doesn’t answer.

“You don’t have to better than everyone else in the world, you know. I thought I’d be able to resist, too, but there’s a reason nobody ever does. That stuff rewires your priorities so you don’t want to resist. It… all felt really good in the moment…” You blush and suddenly look anywhere else. Why’d you say that last thing? “The point is… it was stupid to think I was somehow above the hundreds of people who’ve been victims before. So, stop holding yourself to some higher standard. If you want to blame someone, blame me. You… you should blame me.”

His head shoots up from his lap to lock eyes with you, his gaze protective and firm, horrified that you would feel at all culpable. “I don’t blame you.” Just as quickly, he looks away—down, to the side, anywhere else—hand gripping the back of his neck.

“Then why do think it’s your fau—oh my god, you’re married aren’t you?!”

Blood sprays from his mouth as he coughs and sputters denials. “I wasn’t cheating on anyone! I just… shouldn’t have.”

At this point, you’re more interested in the coughing-blood thing. Since the dust wore off, your breathing has gone back to normal, so it seems it wasn’t a side effect after all. Does he have Ebola? Can you catch Ebola from sex?

“Is that… something I should be worried about?”

He gapes in confusion before following your gestures to a blood stain on his shirt. “Ah! No, it isn’t contagious. It’s from an old injury…”

He pulls up his shirt to show you a scar disfiguring the entire left side of his body. It’s not just marring the surface of his skin—it looks like a whole chunk of his chest was removed, with pink arms of surgically reconstructed flesh spiraling over his torso, as if the center of it were a black hole slowly pulling the rest of his body inside.

You forget to not stare.

He shakes his head and chuckles darkly, misinterpreting your stunned silence. “Of all the people you could have come to your senses with… must be disappointing to find yourself with a sickly old man.” He stops laughing. In a quiet but biting tone, he adds, “You must be disgusted.”

Maybe it’s a bad idea, considering how much trauma you’ve already caused him today, but you can’t help it. You lean against him and let your head rest on his shoulder. “I’m not. I’m glad it was someone sweet, and not some gross perv.”

A touch of warmth comes to your cheeks, feeling the pressure of his body against yours again. It’s comforting. You can only hope it’s comforting to him, too.

He doesn’t push you away, at least.

“You shouldn’t have to try to cheer me up,” he sighs after a long pause. “It must be hard to be near me, after what I did.”

“It isn’t, really.”

Strangely, that's true. You had wanted to get as far from him as possible and avoid any reminders of the humiliating act, but oddly, being close to him is nice.

“As far as I’m concerned, I was suffering, and you helped me. Have you read the articles about this stuff? Those symptoms only get worse the longer you don’t… you know.” Why are you blushing like a virgin to the guy whose dick you came on five minutes ago? His cum is still leaking out onto your panties. “I was in agony, so I’m glad we got it over with instead of spending days in the hospital. ‘Met the conditions of the quirk,’ as they say. It was the best possible option.”

“That’s a very practical way of looking at it.”

“What can I say, I’m a pragmatist!” you grin.

He nearly returns your smile out of reflex, but his face falls again. “But I wasn’t thinking about helping you… I was being completely selfish.” I enjoyed it. How could he tell you he enjoyed it?

“I don’t care.” You give a pointed look at his bony frame and flecks of blood clinging to his lips, and raise an eyebrow. “No offense, but I don't think you’d have lasted 48 hours under that kind of stress.”

He grumbles and lets out a sigh, but he doesn’t have any argument. You were probably right. There was no antidote but to wait, usually sedated. That would have been a long time to not be able to do any hero work. This was the best way… But not at your expense.

“I’m sorry, you were trying to leave earlier. You don’t have to stay any longer because you’re worried about me. I’ll be fine.” He smiles like the wounded soldier in a movie telling his brother-in-arms to leave him behind and finish the mission, while the violin soundtrack hits a dramatic crescendo in a minor key.

Should you take the opportunity to escape?

Your plan was to get the drug out of your system with a stranger. Getting to know him any better will throw a wrench in that plan, but the thought of leaving his side makes your throat tighten.

This guy… he’s sweet. He carries so much sorrow inside of him, you want to stay and help him with his burden. A primal instinct urges you to throw a blanket around him and feed him soup. He’s handsome, too. He doesn’t seem to think so, but you understand why your drug-soaked brain latched onto him over anyone else. Excessively tall, with sharp features, and electric eyes. If it had to be anyone, you made the right choice picking him.

You want to get to know him better. You want to learn everything about him.

“It’s OK,” you coo softly, like you were approaching an abused dog. “If you want me to go, I will. If it’s hard for you to be around me. But I’d rather stay with you for awhile.”

He looks up from his own lap at last. Two blue halos study you from within broken, dark-shadowed eyes, finally really seeing you. He looks like he’s about to cry, but does not. He glances down again, but tugs the corners of his mouth into the best effort of a smile he can manage, and this time, it doesn’t suggest he’s going to die in the next scene. “Thank you.”

You sit with him for awhile, talking. Reassuring him, while mentally kicking yourself for hurting the sweetest man on the planet.

“Yagi Toshinori,” he introduces himself.

So much for staying strangers, you think, smiling as you tell him your name in return.

#Toshinori Yagi #toshinori x reader #all might x reader #bnha #all might #small might #hurt/comfort #lemon #my writing

291 notes · View notes

creepy-carrion · 5 years ago

Text

Scents

Ticci Toby x reader

This... really isn't that good lol. This wasn't intended as something grand, just a scenario that popped into my mind. The last time I wrote an actual piece of fanfic was 5 years ago. This is kind of an attempt to get back into the flow of writing fanfiction, but I hope someone out there enjoys it nonetheless?

Toby has always been very sensitive to smell. It’s one of the senses he relies on the most, and its accuracy was enough to even unsettle some of the other creeps. You, being the one and only Tob’s S/O, got to experience the extent of his little superpower all too often. Naturally, his nose was always buried in your hair or clothes. Especially after he had a strenuous mission, the proxy would crawl in your bed with you, invited or not, and just take some deep breaths. You would always feel his tightened muscles relax, the breaths he took would slow down, until he finally fell asleep squeezing you against his chest.

Sure, sometimes it could unsettle you just a little. This boy could sense the slightest change in mood or health just by scent alone. Sure, you could usually kind of smell whether someone is sick or not, but a whole day before you started showing symptoms? And it was even beyond EJ how he could sense your mood dropping just by taking a whiff. It was odd, but you didn’t really question it too much. It was pretty nice how he would always try to help you before you, or anyone else, realized you needed it.

You never really minded, anyways. It was actually kind of adorable in its own little way. However, you did start having an issue with it when random objects from your room vanished into thin air. Objects you needed. Sure, when your hairbrush was nowhere to be found, you could just ask Jane to borrow hers, she didn’t seem to mind. Towels… egh. Kind of annoying. But right now, you were missing all of your pajama pants, your sports bras, and even your damn toothbrush. That was just fucking nasty. He steered clear from (most of) your underwear, though, probably aware of the storm he’d have coming.

And of course, once you’d confront Tobster with the facts, he’d deny it like a child who just stole from the cookie jar. It was incredibly obvious he was the culprit, but he’d still shrug and lie through his teeth. Didn’t exactly matter you encountered one of your t-shirts in his closet. He was determined to convince you he wasn’t the culprit. And if you were bold enough to take back one of the stolen objects, well, you would be met with crossed arms and a pout. Admittedly, the both of you could be petty sometimes. When Toby didn’t know how to deal with a setback, he would often get really petty with everyone in the house, while it didn’t even really stop him from doing whatever he felt like. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t fight fire with fire from time to time.

So that was exactly what your current plan entailed. You knew he had an assignment from the big man upstairs today and would actually bother getting a proper breakfast for once in his jammies, so there you were, sneaking into his room like a thief in the night. Toby’s regular outfit was dumped unceremoniously dropped on the floor, which only made your little mission easier. You quickly piled all the items up before shoving them against your chest and making a dash for it to your own room.

Apparently, Toby was still busy with breakfast. Perfect. This gave you the last few minutes to put everything on. This ended up being more of a task than you’d initially guessed. First of all, his legs were longer than yours, making the fabric cover your feet and inevitably drag over the floor. His goggles just… fell off your face. They awkwardly hung around your neck, bumping against your collarbone whenever you moved. And his mouthguard just kind of made it difficult to breathe, so you left it on your nightstand.

His sweater was nice, though. Really nice. It was obviously old, and the fabric was a little worn out and rough from all the washing, but it… it had a nice scent to it. Very nice. You felt some of the tensions you didn’t even know you had melt away as your body relaxed. It reminded you of the times he’d just hold you against his chest when you were scared, sad, upset, just to make you feel safe… Fuck, this was exactly why he’d been nicking your belongings, huh?

A clicking noise behind you caused you to turn around, and the man of the hour himself was standing in the doorway, clacking his tongue at you. Whether he was disapproving of your theft or if it was just one of his tics, you couldn’t tell. But still, that little pout of his was back on his lips as his dark brown eyes scanned over you. You felt your lips curling into a sly little grin, and you two just stared at each other.

“I need those to- to- to work, you know?”

With several long strides Toby was in front of you, grasping at the fabric and tugging at it gently, but not forcing it off of your form. You guessed he didn’t mind as much as he tried to convince you he was. Your suspicions were confirmed when he just tugged you closer to him and placed his nose in your hair, breathing in slowly.

“I know… But sharing is caring. Surely you of all people would understand that, huh, Tobs?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle when his little pout grew even more prominent. He could truly act like a dissatisfied toddler sometimes.

“Wipe that expression off your face, you baby. You’ll get ‘em back. Here, I’ll-“

“In a minute…”

His grip on you tightened as he snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you into his form. His head moved down to your neck, lips ghosting over your skin but never being placed down. You felt a shiver ripple down your spine, and you instead you just opted to press your face into his chest, sometimes feeling him twitch as he pulled up his shoulders or cracked his neck. You both just took a moment to appreciate each other’s presence, taking in the other’s scents, just being in the moment before Toby would inevitably have to go.

“We sho- sho- should do this more often.”

The proxy snorted as he took a step back, taking another look at you in your new outfit.

“I am g- g- g- going to need them though.”

“I know, I know… But… Toby?”

“Hm?”

“Please give me back my fucking toothbrush.”

#ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta reader #ticci toby reader #tobias erin rogers #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #creepy-carrion #creepycarrion #creepypasta fluff #toby rogers #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta blog

272 notes · View notes

psychosistr · 4 years ago

Text

Meet Me Halfway- Chapter 1

Summary: Dr.Reginald Bushroot, a meek, not-overly-attractive botanist, considers his life fairly boring and lacking of anything noteworthy....well, except for a certain liquid-themed supervillain who seems to take a liking to him- THAT may be a LITTLE noteworthy..

Notes: So, ages ago I read @sandyferal ‘s story Halfway There on AO3 (go read it, it's SO good xD) and said in the comments that I liked their version of the two meeting with Bushroot mutated and Buddy unmutated, and that if no one else wrote the opposite, then I'd probably do it. Well, here we are xD

Ah, the scenic countryside of Saint Canard: Large open spaces. Fresh air. Trees and uncut green grass as far as the eye could see. It was probably one of the most natural areas around for miles and miles. The only thing that stood out as remotely man-made was the gleaming glass of a small building- and even THAT was full of more lovely, all-natural vegetation and greenery.

Walking up the path to the greenhouse on the hill was a short male duck who looked far too glum for such a lovely backdrop. He had white feathers, but those looked thin and unkempt- similar to the few wispy strands of hair that seemed to only refuse falling out just so they could give him the unfortunate appearance of age even further than his own. He had bright blue eyes, but the eyelids around them were dark with a few bags under his eyes that just made him look exhausted. Even his basic outfit of a yellow shirt, dark tie, blue pants, simple shoes, and a gray overcoat only seemed to make him look both older and more exhausted from how rumpled they looked.

After fishing the keys to the greenhouse out of his pocket, and a brief fumbling with the lock, the duck walked into the greenhouse with a weary sigh. “Hey everyone, sorry I’m late.” He mumbled while taking off his coat and hanging it on a tree branch. “You must be thirsty, huh? This heatwave’s been hard on all of us.” He headed straight for the gardening hose in the corner of the greenhouse while rolling up his sleeves, unsurprised by the lack of a response from the various flora around him.

What he was surprised by, however, was the fact that the hose had come uncoiled since he’d last wrapped it yesterday. Wondering if maybe he’d just forgotten to wind it up properly, the duck took a brief look around the humid building and was surprised to see that the soil around most of the plants looked damp- as if it had just been watered.

“Huh? How the heck did that happen?” He quietly asked nobody in particular. Setting the hose aside, he followed the trail of watered plants and a glistening trail of dew on the grass from one end of the small building to the other.

It certainly looked like someone had been watering his plants, but who could have done such a thing? And why? It’s not like that many people took an interest in botany in this town- most of them worked down at the university with him (and most of that select few were jerks)- and, even if it were one of them, he was the only one with a key to the greenhouse. Maybe it was Rhoda? The two of them had been getting along rather well lately, maybe she-

That thought quickly died and gave way to a million more when he pushed aside a large leaf from one of his bushes and spotted the helpful culprit kneeling down by his cluster of nigella damascena.

It certainly wasn’t Rhoda.

It wasn’t even a duck.

He wasn’t really sure WHAT it was.

Startled by the sight of the oddity in his greenhouse, the duck tried to step back the way he came in hopes of running away without being seen, but his plans were uprooted- by a literal root, no less. “Ah!” He let out a startled yelp when the heel of his shoe snagged the root of a nearby tree and he fell to the ground, landing squarely on his quickly bruising tail feathers. “Ouch! I’ll feel that in the morning..” He mumbled while rubbing his sore backside, momentarily forgetting about the intruder he’d just been avoiding.

“Well now,” A watery voice said as a blue, nearly see-through hand pulled back the very same leaf that the duck himself had been peeking through a moment ago. “Let’s see what’s behind curtain number one!”

With the leaf gone, the duck could now see the creature even more clearly: It was a being made entirely out of water. From its features, it was likely a canine of some kind before…whatever happened to turn it into some weird water monster. It was also taller than the duck (which, honestly, didn’t take much with how short he was), making the way it looked down on him with a taunting smirk and a raised brow even more intimidating.

“I-I was just, uh-!” The smaller man stared up at the unknown water-creature in fear, trying to slide further away from it but wincing when his bruised tail bone hit one of the thicker roots nearby. “Yeowch!”

“In a rush to get away? Experiencing symptoms of fear and anxiety?” The liquid canine sounded like a door-to-door salesman as he extended one of his limbs to pick the smaller duck up by the collar of his shirt. “If so, then you may be dealing with a SUPERVILLAIN!” He flashed that deadly smirk up at the helpless duck once he had him raised high up off the ground. “As part of today’s peeping-tom special, say your last words now and you will meet a swift and painless end- act now, this is a limited time offer!”

The duck was frightened. Obviously. How could he not be? He was dealing with a living body of water that seemed perfectly fine with ending him simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. While he really didn’t want to die, there was one thought that crossed his mind between boring flashes of his life and fits of existential panic-

“C-Can you make sure my plants are watered when I’m gone…?” He stuttered a bit at first, trying in vain to grasp onto the shifting liquid arm currently holding him up in an attempt to feel more stable.

“??” That actually made the aggressive mutant pause, blink twice in surprise, and look up at him with a more baffled expression than his previously sinister one. “Your plants?”

“Well, yeah..” The duck looked around at the variety of lovingly cultivated greenery across the building. “These guys require frequent watering- especially when it’s this hot out! I was worried some of them would start to wilt before I got to it today, but you helped them out a lot. You even got the ratios right for the more temperamental ones, so, thank you.”

The dog still looked confused by the duck’s words. “Wait, wait, wait.” He cocked a brow up at his hostage, though it was more curious than threatening like it was before. “You’re being threatened by a dangerous mutant- one that broke into your building, by the way- and you’re going to compliment and ask favors from him?”

“Um.........yes?” The duck answered hesitantly. “I mean, I’d rather you NOT kill me, but if I’m going to die I’d at least like to know that my plants will be okay and you seem to like them- OW!” He let out a startled yelp that turned into a pained groan when he suddenly fell to the ground. “Owww, did you have to drop me like that?” He whimpered while placing both hands on his sore back, feeling like something had been pulled the wrong way during the fall.

“Oh, not again..” He heard the mutant mutter quietly, his voice almost inaudible.

When the bruised and sore mallard looked back up at the mutant, he was surprised to see that he was missing an arm now- the arm that had been holding him up earlier, to be precise. The aquatic dog was also glaring ruefully down at a small puddle of water on the ground between himself and the duck. He kept glaring at it for a while, but it looked more like he was concentrating. Perhaps he was trying to get the water to do something?

It was then that the duck realized a few other parts of the mutant’s body didn’t look very stable at the moment and were dripping down into a growing puddle where his feet would be.

Despite the fact that mere seconds ago this mutant had been perfectly at peace with ending the duck’s life, he couldn’t help but ask the question on reflex.

“Are you alright?” He carefully got to his feet, using the tree he’d tripped over earlier for balance so as not to further agitate his back.

“Just experiencing some technical difficulties.” The increasingly drippy mass complained as he continued glaring at the puddle that was still growing around him.

“Is there anything I can do?” The duck asked after popping a stiff joint in his back and relieving some of his discomfort. “Do you, I don’t know, need more water or something?”

“Probably..” The mutant muttered absentmindedly. It wasn’t until the duck had walked away and returned after a few moments that he finally looked back at the other man since dropping him, and the sight of him holding a garden hose that was already swelling with the pressure of an unreleased stream made him let out a mildly amused but pitiful chuckle. “You know, nine out of ten doctors would advise against helping dangerous supervillains who just tried to kill you.”

“Then it’s a good thing for you that I’m the tenth doctor.” The duck joked with a nervous smile before twisting the nozzle on the hose to release a steady stream straight at the living puddle.

The extra dose of water seemed to do the trick and soon the watery villain was back to his previous form. After moving and flexing his arms and hands a few times to make sure they were stable again, he looked back to the duck with a tilt of his head. “You know, I could go back to attacking you now.”

“I-I know..” The shorter man turned off the hose when it looked like the taller one no longer needed his help and set it aside. “But…do you really want to?” He offered up that nervous smile again, hoping that would be enough to convince the canine to spare his life.

The dangerous dog stared him down for a good minute before letting out a light huff and shaking his head. “Not really. That was a limited time offer that’s already expired.”

The duck sighed in relief. “Oh, good.” There was an awkward, tense silence for a while between them. A distinctive “What now?” moment weighed heavily between them. What are you supposed to say/do after nearly killing/nearly being killed by a complete stranger and then being saved by/saving said stranger? “So…uh…what’s your name?” The duck tried to break the ice, cringing internally at how forced the politeness sounded.

“Names are still being run through a test audience.” The dog said before leaning back against one of the trees. “But ‘The Liquidator’ seems to be scoring well on the customer surveys.”

“The Liquidator? Wow, that does sound like a cool name for a supervillain.” The duck smiled a bit, still feeling reasonably nervous around the villainous mass of liquid. “My name’s Dr.Bushroot, but you can call me Reginald, if you want.”

The Liquidator gave a light huff of a laugh and smiled back slightly as well. “Dr.Bushroot? Quite a marketable name for a botanist- you should try making your own miracle grow, consumers would go crazy for ‘Dr.Bushroot’s Plant Medicine- just what the doctor ordered’!”

Bushroot laughed as well, his face lighting up with a less nervous smile. “I never thought of that. Then again, I don’t exactly have a good face for TV.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough to fix.” Liquidator reached over and poked at Bushroot’s head. “A little make-up, a decent toupee, and a catchy jingle can sell anything, trust me!” He chuckled before catching himself and glancing away. “Not that I ever needed to wear make-up or a toupee, of course- I’ve always been a top ten contender for ‘best looking men in business’, so I never needed to go to those kinds of lengths…” His eyes shifted back over to Bushroot and narrowed dangerously. “Making any claims otherwise will void the extended-warranty on your life, got it?”

“G-Got it..” Bushroot swallowed nervously before regaining a bit of his earlier expression. “Besides, even if you DID do that-” He quickly held up both hands and shook his head to show he wasn’t suggesting otherwise. “-does it look like I’ve got any room to judge? I’m not exactly a Mr.Corn-Fritters’ pageant finalist..”

“Hmm..maybe not a finalist..” The other man agreed with a slow nod while looking the short bird over slowly from head to toe. Whatever he saw, he seemed to like, however, because the smile he regained had something a bit more..enticing to it than before. “Perhaps a runner up, though.”

“Huh?” Bushroot blinked in surprise before waving the comment off with a short laugh, figuring it for a joke. “Ha-ha, good one.” A beep from his watch made him check his wrist and realize the time. “Oh! I need to finish watering everything so I can get started on the weeding.”

When he went to pick up the hose, however, a cool, wet hand stopped him. He looked up into the crystal-clear face above him and saw that same grin from before, now coupled with a wink. “Why deal with the hassle of clunky dollar-store garden hoses when you’ve got the amazingly mobile and purified-powers of the Liquidator at your disposal?”

“Really?” Bushroot blinked in surprise at the generous offer.

Liquidator’s smile softened slightly at the edges, but he tried to play it off with a casual shrug. “It’s the least I can do after my rude introduction. A good salesman should always show respect for the man of the house, after all!”

“Well, if you’re sure, that would be great. Thanks!” He gave his new acquaintance (possibly friend?) the brightest smile yet before running off to get his gardening gloves from the supply locker in the corner of the room.

“…......” With his back turned to his new intruder-turned-acquaintance, Bushroot missed the stunned look on the mutant’s face that slowly morphed into a fond smile. “No thanks are needed- I pride myself on quality customer service, after all.”

As the two began their individual assignments within the greenhouse, Bushroot decided to get to know his new friend (he was allowed to be hopeful, darn it). “Sooo…a supervillain, huh? What made you want to go into that line of work?” He tried to get the conversation drumming up again with basic small-talk while pulling some weeds that had sprung up around his rose bushes.

Liquidator glanced over his shoulder at the small scientist and gestured to his body with one hand, his other one currently transformed into a facsimile of a watering can as he went about watering the plants he had not gotten to before Bushroot’s arrival. “One look at this one-of-a-kind product should answer all your questions about my new career path.”

“O-Oh, right, sorry…” Bushroot’s face heated up in embarrassment- he supposed that should have been an easy answer to come to, he just hadn’t thought of it before opening his mouth. “I haven’t seen you on the news before, are you new in town?” That one felt a bit safer to talk about.

“New to town in general? No. New to town as the incredible aquatic supervillain known as ‘the Liquidator’? Yes.” Liquidator explained while sprinkling water over a cluster of vines. “I haven’t quite had my big break as a supervillain yet- I’m saving THAT for a special occasion.” He let out an irritated growl when his hand lost its previous watering-can shape and he glared at it for a moment. “And for when this body’s out of beta testing…” That part caught Bushroot’s attention, he wondered ho- “And if you’re about to ask how I became the tall drink of water you see now, I’m afraid that’s going to be voiding a few confidentiality agreements, so save that question for a rainy day.”

Shoot, he really wanted to hear that story…

Wait, he said it could wait for another day? Did that mean he would be seeing him again after today? Did that make them friends??

“Okay…” He tried not to let on how excited and hopeful he felt over that prospect- it had been so long since he’d actually had a friend! “How’d you get in here, anyway?”

“You’re choosing NOW to ask that?” Liquidator chuckled after finally getting his hand back to its previous shape so he could continue his work. “You know, most people would want THAT answer first.” He shook his head with an amused grin before pointing at the gardening hose that Bushroot himself had used to assist him earlier. “I wanted some fresh air, and this was the first exit I found that didn’t smell like bleach or a petting zoo. Like any good salesman, I knocked first, but nobody was home.”

“That’s because I got held up at work.” Bushroot explained with a frustrated frown and roughly pulled out a weed from a different spot in his garden. “The dean keeps calling me in for meetings, wanting to see if I’ve made any new breakthroughs.” His frustration turned to disappointment as he paused in his work. “At this point, I think he’s just calling me in to rub my failures in my face…”

“It’s always hard getting someone to invest in your ideas…” Bushroot’s back was to Liquidator again as he worked, so he missed the sympathetic frown on Liquidator’s face as he looked at the other man. “What sort of research are you working on?” He asked while bringing himself around casually to water the shrub next to the one that Bushroot was currently rescuing from the weeds at its base.

“Oh, it’s nothing special..” The duck said with a sigh that sounded defeated before he even began. “You wouldn’t really want to hear about it….”

“Oh, but I do!” He lowered his form with some difficulty so that his feetless legs were kneeling by Bushroot, putting him at eye-level with the botanist so he could see the grin on the dog’s face. “Hearing out every unusual or impossible theory and business plan was part of what made me a success in my previous line of work. So, please, inquiring minds are eager to know: What brilliant breakthrough is the soon-to-be-famous Dr. Reginald Bushroot working on?”

Bushroot really wanted to dismiss the question altogether. He’d had enough of his coworkers laughing at him, he didn’t need it from anyone else…

…………

But there was just something in the way that Liquidator looked at him that made it hard for him to deny him anything.

“Well..” Bushroot began after a minute, still a bit hesitant but pushing himself past the feelings of doubt and uncertainty he was so used to. “I’ve been conducting research on how to give people the ability to photosynthesize and live off of sunlight and water like plants.”

Liquidator’s eyes widened in surprise, looking genuinely shocked to hear such a thing. “That’s actually possible?”

The way he said it made a warm feeling bloom in Bushroot’s chest: It was a sincere question. The disbelief in his voice came from surprise that someone would be able to make such a thing reality, rather than the mocking disbelief that such a thing would ever be possible- the disbelief that he was used to hearing when he told people about his work. The only other person who had ever shown genuine interest in his theories was Rhoda, and she was a fellow scientist who could look at his findings and research from a logical perspective- not like this stranger who didn’t appear to have a background in botanical research (though he was good at judging how much water his plants needed, so he must have at least worked with them at some point).

“Yes, it is.” He was practically beaming as he turned to fully face his new friend and go more in-depth with his explanation. “We already get a few minerals from drinking water and absorb radiation from the sun to create vitamin D, but plants are able to get all of that plus many other benefits from things like the very air around us. All it should take is the right infusion of plant cells into a person’s body and they should be able to gain the extra nutrients from water and sunlight that plants get- not to mention the ability to breathe in carbon dioxide and exhale oxygen would really help cut down on the world’s growing pollution problem. It’s been my life’s work, and I’m very close to a major breakthrough in my research!” He realized towards the end of his explanation that he’d gotten overly excited and had started leaning in closer to the water dog. Quickly becoming embarrassed, he backed off and rubbed at the back of his neck nervously while avoiding eye contact. “Sorry, that was a bit too much, wasn’t it?”

He was surprised by the feeling of a cool, wet hand on his shoulder. When he looked back up to meet the dark blue pools that made up the other’s eyes, he saw a genuine, understanding smile on the mutant’s face. “Not at all. Passion is the driving force behind many great breakthroughs and achievements in life. If you’re not passionate about what you do, how can you expect others to get invested in it?” The hand on Bushroot’s shoulder gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze. “Never give that up, Dr.Bushroot.”

The duck felt his heart skip a beat the same way it did whenever Rhoda stood up for him in front of his colleagues- the same way it did when she smiled at him and listened to him about his research. Maybe he just liked having someone believe in him. Maybe he was just touch-starved and feeling the weight of someone else’s hand on him, even if it was made of water and not quite as warm as one made of flesh and bone, was enough to make him feel a connection with someone.

Or maybe, just maybe, he really was forming a genuine connection with the watery supervillain who had broken into his greenhouse and threatened his life.

“C-Call me Reggie.” He managed to say after swallowing down a lump in his throat and fighting to keep the blush from his cheeks (his thin feathers wouldn’t have done much to hide the change in pigmentation).

“Reggie,” The Liquidator began with a grin that spread quickly across his blue face. “I think this is the beginning of a wonderful new relationship!”

Bushroot hadn’t agreed with anything (or smiled) more in his entire life.

Next Chapter->

End Notes: So, just a heads up, this is another one of my Halloween "trick or treat" stories, so it's a WIP that may be a while before I fully update ^^"

#darkwing duck #dwd #bushroot #liquidator #liquiroot #meet me halfway

30 notes · View notes

tardis-sapphics · 4 years ago

Note

46 cause why not.

i didn’t forget!! i’m just shit at consistency. anyway, here’s my attempt -- tw for body horror

It is difficult to find the things you cannot see.

Good things come along in life in a myriad of ways—sometimes with a fanfare, a parade, and sometimes without acknowledgement. They have been loud, and they have been quiet, and stubborn. So stubborn. They entered Yaz’s life on the back of a beautiful stranger. They have ruffled through Yaz’s hair like the winds of space, cool on the fingertips with a whispered promise of worth, and deserving, and relief.

But they do not come alone. In the spirit of balance, of course, the sinister creeps in without a trace.

It starts—somewhere. She doesn’t know. She can’t possibly know; neither of them can. But it starts somewhere, stalking her through distant lands and keeping a close eye on her.

They travel. Always. New sights—so many new sights, her brain is filling up with them—with new temperatures, new peoples, new curiosities. The mountains of Poboba, where they swim upright through swarms of glowing insects. Underground caverns populated by mammoth butterflies, fluttering high above them and casting frantic shadows in the green firelight. Glass cities and beach huts clustered in their millions. A whole planet dedicated to sculpting.

It follows her.

The problem is that she can’t keep her energy up.

They stay in for a couple of a days, instead of a couple of hours. The Doctor spends time reading on the Second French Revolution in the 2500s, whilst Yaz struggles through sleep on the sofa beside her. When she is tired of being tired—and the Doctor, though she’ll never admit it, is tired of being in the same spot—Yaz pushes herself upright and asks to see Eartha Kitt in concert.

She lasts an hour. It’s not Eartha—at a sudden burst of brass, she jumps awake in her chair. It’s hard to fight an invisible force. Not for the first time, she sees the Doctor glancing at her, frowning—and then smiling placidly when she is caught.

‘Maybe it’ll go away,’ Yaz shrugs when the Doctor insists on sonicing her. It picks up something unusual, but it can’t say what. Too many variables, too many possibilities. It almost short circuits.

‘It better,’ the Doctor grumbles, the frown producing a deep line in her brow.

‘Doctor,’ she says, struggling to keep a yawn out of her voice. She places a hand on the Doctor’s arm, and it makes her look at Yaz. Still frowning. ‘I’ll be fine.’ Yaz aims for reassuring. ‘I just know it.’

‘But what if you’re not?’ the Doctor counters. There’s more to her worry; there’s centuries’ worth of concern that Yaz cannot comfort by herself. Always, it shines in her eyes—the guilt of living too long.

She should be so hard, Yaz thinks, like stone. And, yes, some nights she is stone, unreachable, stuck in the wallows of memories.

But here, on this night and on most others, she is soft and living. And worrying so deeply, Yaz cannot perceive the bottom of this well. If the Doctor were to fall in, she would be screaming for miles.

Yaz tries to push that thought out of her mind. She has no energy for misery.

‘Then we’ll deal with it,’ she says simply. ‘We always will.’ The Doctor’s expression tightens, and Yaz corrects her mistake. ‘We always can.’

No absolutes. No certainty. Just the certainty of themselves, existing now, together.

They are preferring 1950s New York to the south, though the laws here are still restrictive. If they go anywhere, they prefer public places; Yaz particularly enjoys the parks, where she can sit and regain her breath.

But the New York air is brittle. Winter is always what it says it is here; unlike in Sheffield, where icy winds give way to disappointing drizzle. Yaz shivers in the cool of the night. ‘Let’s go back.’ Her teeth are chattering.

When they return to the hotel, she finds herself shivering still. She hides under the duvet to keep herself warm, but she hardly feels it. Putting on the Doctor’s coat does nothing either.

She can’t feel much at all. The world lurches around her and her arms shudders as she reaches to put a hand on her forehead. Sweat. Lots of sweat.

‘Doctor,’ she manages to spit through clattering teeth. She looks toward the bathroom, where the Doctor has popped in to further investigate the ‘suspicious’ showerhead. ‘Doctor.’

The Doctor reappears in a flash, and her face falls further at the sight of Yaz bundled under the covers.

A pale hand on Yaz’s head, a finger on her pulse point. ‘You’re burning up, Yaz,’ the Doctor murmurs. Her voice is not quite frantic, but it is certainly on its way.

Yaz rolls her eyes. ‘Think I’d guessed that by now, thanks,’ she huffs, and she can hardly think about how similar to the Doctor she sounded then. Blinking down at her lap, she slides her hands back just so and laces her fingers with those just checking her pulse. ‘D’you know what this is?’

Now the Doctor settles on the bed, one hand still entwined whilst the other reaches for the sonic on the beside table. ‘No idea yet. Could be your bog-standard human fever, but I have a sneaky suspicion it’s something more…’ She purses her lips.

‘More…?’ Yaz enquires.

‘More rude,’ the Doctor finishes, her face scrunched in concentration. She scans Yaz with her sonic again. ‘In any case, the planets we were last on were quite remote. Unique, and with plenty of unique illnesses. That’s always the risk with these adventures—but they’re really very beautiful—’

‘So I’ll have to let it take its course?’ Yaz interrupts. A yawn overthrows all her functions, until another bout of tremors cuts it short.

‘Unfortunately. But I’ll be here the whole time, I promise.’

Yaz refuses to leave the bed. She is not quite sure how the Doctor does it, but she manages to secure their residency for over the week—and it is a necessary foresight, as Yaz deteriorates rapidly. Both are helpless in the face of it.

The shaking is joined by a fluctuating body temperature. The Doctor tells her that technically, she is experiencing both hypo- and hyperthermia; this ‘fun fact’ is made ‘fun’ only by Yaz surviving both of them. She manages a couple of hours of fitful sleep, but her waking hours are hell on earth, with added perspiration.

And then the shadows start creeping.

She can feel them in amongst the delirium of her fever. They are black in the flog: clear and defined when everything is unfocused. She cant anchor herself to this bed, this room, but she knows where the shadows are at all times.

The Doctor joins her on the bed; Yaz is eighty percent sure about that. But Yaz’s words are crashing into each other as soon as she tries to speak, like cyclists falling over the starting gate. An eagerness, and a purpose—but a shoddy execution. She struggles against her own incompetence, eyes fixed on a shadow crawling closer, as she tries to warn the Doctor of the impending danger.

She tries and tries until it’s the only word tumbling out of her mouth, garbled and destroyed—but necessary, necessary, please, not the Doctor, anyone but the Doctor—

Two hands encapsulate Yaz’s face and the Doctor takes up all her sight—blurred and unsolid. Yaz blinks, maybe.

The Doctor is speaking to her. But then half of her face is cloaked by shadow and her smile starts melting—melting, dusty pink dripping down onto peach skin—then onto blue—and the stripes—she can’t remember the colour of the stripes before they were sullied by the Doctor’s wax-melted mouth—hardly breathing, Yaz watches in horror as the Doctor’s nose succumbs to the same fate, then her left eye, the eyeball sliding down the rest of her face, red coating what was the white of an eye, hazel-green that held a universe—her Doctor, Doctor, melting—

Yaz screams, wrenching her eyes shut, heart pounding, writhing against the secure clamps around her head, crushing her wafer-thin—

Then something lands on her, in her brain, and she sleeps.

The sheets smell of sweat. Gross. Yaz turns onto her other side, but the stink persists. When she breathes out, her mouth tastes dry and wrong, unclean, and she resolves to take a shower. She must be strong enough by now.

Everything comes back to her with the subtlety of a brick wall, and she bolts upright, wide eyed.

From the edge of the bed, fingers fidgeting, the Doctor stares back at her. Face fully intact.

‘Oh, Yaz,’ she breathes, more a sigh than a verbalisation, and immediately strong arms are enveloping her.

Yaz relaxes into the hug, her own arms reaching up to grip onto the Doctor’s shoulders, tightening as the thudding of her heart quickens. She’s still covered in multiple days of sweat but she couldn’t care less. The Doctor is fine, she’s here, she’s alive, she is fine.

Unexpectedly, the relief pours out of her in a sob—then another, then another. When she breaks away from the hug to save herself from drenching the Doctor’s coat, thumbs brush across her cheeks to clear them of salty tears.

She stares at the Doctor’s—fully-structured—face, kind, old eyes wide in their delight. They are blurry again, but this time it’s just the tears, some pooling in the Doctor’s eyes too.

‘You made it,’ the Doctor grins. Her palms are soft on Yaz’s cheeks, her fingertips calloused. ‘Was all a bit touch and go for a while.’

‘Your face isn’t melty,’ Yaz blurts.

The Doctor starts. ‘Oh! Right. No wonder you screamed in my face,’ she responds a moment later, absorbing the information. ‘I was about to be a bit offended, to be honest with you.’

It’s said lightly, but her voice is too tight to deliver it correctly. Yaz collects the Doctor’s hands to hold in her own, playing with fingers on her lap.

‘What was that, Doctor?’ she asks. ‘Never had a fever like that.’ She never wants to again.

The Doctor clears her throat. ‘I’m fairly sure that’s shadow fever,’ she explains. ‘There’s a bunch of similar viruses that produce those symptoms, which tend to be grouped into one term—nearly all of those viruses come from the galaxy we’ve just travelled from. Rare, but not impossible to get. No wonder my sonic had a hard time identifying it—you probably had multiple strands jostling for your attention.’

Yaz sighs, the movement causing a strand of hair to fall in front of her face. ‘Fantastic.’

The Doctor brushes it away for her. ‘That’s why I had to send you to sleep,’ she admits, her face gall and guilty. ‘Old Time Lord trick—I really am sorry about that.’

Yaz nods the apology away. The sleep has helped enormously—now what matters to her is that shower.

Except, when she looks for the bathroom door, she can’t find it.

‘But I need to warn you,’ the Doctor continues.

‘Yeah?’ Yaz mumbles. Her voice feels like static. She tries to cough it away. Still no door. Weird.

‘You got through the worst bit, and you’re definitely gonna live, Yaz, I promise.’ The hands recede from her own. Yaz looks at them, familiar brown skin and all ten digits—but they feel odd, like they are not her own. ‘But you’re gonna feel the effects for a while. You need to stay in bed for a couple more days. Your body’s not strong enough to move—and neither’s your mind.’

Now the static is growing. Fuzzy. All’s fuzzy.

‘That was round one, Yaz. Might help if you sleep off rounds two and three, I think.’

Why did the Doctor stop holding her hands? Was it because they feel fuzzy?

‘Just tell me if you need my help, yeah?’

Yaz follows the sound of the voice, up the waxwork, until she looks squarely at the Doctor again.

The Doctor, perched on the edge of the bed again, her mouth dripping down around her chin, her hands trying to hold her eyes in place.

Yaz screams.

#my fanfiction #my writing #thasmin #thasmin prompts #it's thasmin if you squint really they're just Close #thirteenth doctor #yasmin khan #kp answers #kp writes

18 notes · View notes

eldritch-araneae · 5 years ago

Text

Stagnation

“Moonjumper has returned and took Hat Kid under his control, using her against Snatcher. The Ghost of Subcon emerged victorious, but aftermath showed how little he knew about himself as Hat Kid is desperately trying to save him!”

Thank you Nox ( i forgot to ask you username, I’ll add it later!) for beta reading and editing! <3

Warning: This story contains illness depiction, display of severe pain and suffering.

-----

You are worried.

You step into dark woods, looking for your best friend. As you walked, images of the serious fight with him that happened two days ago are still lingering in your mind.

It wasn’t even your fault. You don't know exactly how it happened, but before you could react, you felt strings wrapping around you, taking you under control. That part of the memory is hard to recall, like a hazy dream—like you were watching the fight through tissue paper. Then suddenly something woke you up, and you found yourself fighting Snatcher. Your body moved against your will, throwing attacks you never knew you could use!

You were able to stand on thin air—you were able to teleport! You were summoning bright arrow projectiles that moved incredibly fast and homed in on your shadowy friend. He managed to dodge most of them, but some left nasty cuts all over his body. One arrow even went right through his abdomen! Snatcher was covered in yellow wounds as his inner energy seeped through them.

You wince at the memory, but it wasn't even the worst part.

The worst part was when you unleashed a truly devastating attack that unleashed a massive explosion in the space near him. Snatcher saw it coming, but he was too slow to get out of explosion range in time and got hit. Screams of intense pain shook the air; his right arm and side were cracked badly.

You come to a slow halt in the woods, sniffing as your eyes start filling with tears.

It was a miracle both of you emerged alive and victorious. A combination of Snatcher’s determination and you warning him about the upcoming attacks managed to keep him from dying (again). Eventually, Snatcher managed to sever all the red strings that controlled your body, ending the terrible fight. The attacker, someone who Snatcher referred to later as “Moonjumper,” suffered a rebound from the power he expended and was forced to retreat.

The aftermath was, to put it delicately, unpleasant. The entire area where you were fighting was destroyed; the trees were broken, and great furrows were gouged in the soil. Thankfully, it was just a small section of the forest; still, the damage was likely irreversible.

Snatcher was in awful shape—in fact, he looked absolutely terrible. You were afraid to touch him for fear of adding more pain to what he was experiencing already. Somehow, he still managed to smile, relieved that you were no longer under his enemy’s control.

You helped Snatcher to get to his tree, and after flopping into his chair, he assured you that he’d be okay. You’ve seen him healing while he sleeps, but something told you that he would need more than that this time.

Despite your initial relief at the fight being over and Snatcher not being dead (again?), the guilt that later consumed you was terrible. Even though it wasn’t you fighting him, even though you were being controlled against your will by that “Moonjumper” person, you couldn’t help but feel that this was all your fault.

You had tried to sleep earlier, but sleep was impossible. You were so caught up in feelings of guilt and worry that you ended up getting out of bed after a few hours to go check on your friend. But on your way to his tree, you passed the area where you had fought and...everything came rushing back.

So now you’re just standing in the middle of the clearing, biting your lip and trying to pretend that there aren’t tears streaming down your face.

“Kid! Please help!” A Subconite’s voice shocks you out of your thoughts. Their voice sounds desperate. You get a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach—you can already tell what’s wrong. The minion crashes into the clearing, landing on their face. They pop up instantly, looking panicked.

“Boss is not getting better!”

You knew it!

You give them a curt nod to show you heard them and activate the sprint hat, heading off in the direction of Snatcher’s tree, running as fast as you can.

Soon you reach his tree and bolt inside. You see Snatcher, still in his chair. He seems to be asleep, with his eyes closed tightly, but his pained expression suggests otherwise. You take a careful step towards him and peer at the dark wounds scattered across his spectral form.

Wait...dark?

Upon closer inspection, many of the shallower cuts healed, including the big stab wound in his abdomen. But the cracks from the big explosion… they don’t have his yellow glow anymore. Instead, they’re a necrotic black and oozing along the ghost’s damaged arm and side.

For some reason, you reach out and lightly brush a hand over one of the cracks, which you instantly regret. Snatcher jolts, letting out a pained whine.

“I’m so sorry!” you apologize instantly. Why did you think that was a good idea? He looks like he’s in even more pain than he was two days ago!

He cracks open his tired eyes to look at you.

“Hey, kiddo...” he breathes weakly. “Looks like it’s taking more time than usual.”

“Snatcher, this is really bad!” you exclaim, motioning to his wounds. Something about it is familiar. You could swear you’ve seen this black rot somewhere before.

“Ugh, tell me about it…” he winces, letting out a shuddering sigh. ”I can’t feel my right side, or move my arm. The pain got so much worse...”

You stare at him for a few moments, then you reach out and take his good hand.

“We are going to my ship.” You gently pull his hand.

Snatcher opens his mouth to protest, but quickly closes it. You can tell that he knows it’s not just a regular injury. It’s hurting him a lot more than he’s letting on. It’s clear that he has no idea what are you going to do, but a silent understanding passes between the two of you: it’s better than nothing.

So Snatcher slowly rises from his chair, wincing and gasping from the pain, and giving you a nod.

You nod back and activate the magic that connects you to your ship, and, in a few seconds, you are standing in the main room. You carefully lead him to your bedroom. Upon entering, you drop his hand and look around, trying to deduce where he can rest until you notice him on the floor. He’s laying on his back, completely still.

The floor is covered in soft carpet, but it’s not the best place for a sick person to rest. You might at least try to move him onto the pillow mound.

“That’s better.” he croaks, relaxing for a bit before you could say anything. It seems like being in this position hurts him a great deal less. You walk over the mound, grabbing a few pillows and carefully placing him under his head.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “Do you know what's happening to me?”

“Not exactly, but I have an idea!” you jump into the pillow mound and squirm into your secret fort. Your gaze falls onto the small bookcase stuffed with your favorite books. Quickly scanning though titles, you find what you’re looking for, grabbing the book and emerging back to your room.

Snatcher stares at the book. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“‘How to Treat Injuries and Sickness of Energoids,’” you reply, opening the book as you settle near him.

“Energoid?” Snatcher tilts his head.

“That’s what you are!” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the universe. Well, it is obvious for you; for him, though…

“Kid, I’m a gh—”

“Yes, and ghosts are energoids, scientifically speaking. You are made of energy! And what’s more, you are an energoid with an inner core!” you interrupt him, pointing at the middle of his chest, where you can feel his warm core pulsing when he hugs you. Snatcher stares at you in surprise, while idly drawing circles on his chest with his good hand. He sighs, not arguing with you about it.

“I think I saw something is this book before that looks like the black rot that you’ve got.” You flip through the pages, scanning for symptoms matching Snatcher’s. In few minutes you finally stumble upon something that looks similar.

As you read carefully, your heart drops.

“Kid, don't leave me in the dark, yeah?” Snatcher's voice startles you. You look at him worriedly. Right, he must have at least some idea of what's going on.

“A-alright...it’s called Stagnation.” You pause, looking at him again. He frowns, and yes, this sounds like nothing good. You take a deep breath and proceed to read the information presented in the book.

“Stagnation is a condition that prevents inner energy from circulating inside an energoid’s body. It’s usually caused by massive damage that destroys the connection between injured areas and the core.

“When this happens, the energy exchange between the affected area and the core ceases, forcing the remaining inner energy near wound become stagnated. In this scenario affected wounds cannot be healed. The stagnated energy begins oozing thought the wound, “rotting” outer energy layers (that still responds to the core) in the process and causing intense pain.”

You stare at the book, than look at Snatcher. Now you can see that cracks are indeed bigger than before...and they’re spreading, albeit slowly. Now properly horrified, you continue to read.

“If Stagnation is left untreated, the best-case scenario is that the energoid’s core will shed stagnated body parts. It’ll stop illness from spreading, but the patient won’t regenerate those lost parts. In the worst-case scenario, the Stagnation will spread, taking over the entire body. The core will decay, resulting in...in death.”

Your eyes are wide with shock and horror. You turn to Snatcher; his expression matches yours for a moment before he winces in pain, shutting his eyes. You grab his left hand, holding it tight.

This is awful! If you won’t do something, Snatcher either will lose his arm and side permanently, or die!

“I’m so sorry, Snatcher, it’s all my fault!” you are crying, feeling like the worst person alive for hurting your best friend so badly.

“Stop!” he hisses. “It wasn’t your fault! You were under HIS control!”

Snatcher lifts his arm you are holding and pulls you to his chest, then places it onto your back, rubbing comforting circles. You feel his core racing under you—he’s as scared as you are.

You sigh heavily. You know you were under someone’s control, but you still feel guilty. You had no idea you were capable of such destruction! If only you had known...

“Is there a treatment?” Snatcher sounds almost calm despite the pain and the urgent situation. You sniff, wiping your tears with your sleeve, and look into the book once more.

Thankfully, the treatment is written right there!

“Treat—” a sob interrupted you. You muffle it into the back of your hand and keep it there until you’ve composed yourself. ”Treatment for Stagnation includes using Beacon Needles and rest. It’s advised for the patient to not move too much as the needles repair their inner energy network.”

“Beacon Needles...” you repeat, this sounds so familiar.

A memory surfaces in your mind.

Between your visits to Earth, you went to other planets to collect scattered Timepieces. One planet was inhabited by advanced water based energoid species. They were very nice, giving you Timepieces without fight or bargain. One of them was curious about you, asking about your adventures and places you’ve been as they were intergalactic adventurer themself.

At some point you told them about Subcon and Snatcher.

“Wow, this guy seem reckless if you ask me.” they hummed.” I hope he has Beacon Needles in case of bad situations.”

“Beacon Needles?” you tilted your head, curious what they're talking about.

“Yes! Like these!” they pulled out the case their inventory and open it. Inside was a set of needles: one is big, resting in the middle, surrounded by ten smaller ones. Each one had a small panel on top with white crystal inserted into it. The middle one had few small buttons. You assumed this is how you turn on the device.

“No, I never seen anything like it when I visited him.”

“I see.” they said, closing the case and suddenly handling it to you.

“What?” you look surprised as you took it.

“Your friend must have a set of those, or he’ll die very easily.” they sounded dead serious. You stare at the case for a moment. Well, it won’t hurt. But...

“What about you?”

“Oh don’t worry, child. Those needles are common, it’s not a problem for me to get another set.” They winked at you. “Now, let me explain to you how they work!”

“Thank you!” you smiled.

You reach into your pocket dimension and pull out the case. You open it and see the same set of needles. You can’t believe you forgot about them! You were going to give the case to Snatcher as soon as you arrived, but then you got caught in this accident and well…

You shake your head, no time for moping!

You take the biggest one into your hand and push the button. You hear a sound and the crystal top lights up, signaling that device is turned on.

Hopeful smile appear on your face - Snatcher has a chance!

“Whoa, kiddo, slow down! Do you know how to use them? What they even do?! ” Snatcher rumbled nervously about unknown device in your hand.

“Of course! The person who gave me this explained everything.” you moved closer to Snatcher, showing him the needle. “Those needles beacons the inner energy from the core to areas where your core cannot access anymore.”

Snatcher looks closely at the device, his face is partly suspicious, party curious.

“So, what are you going to do?” he asks, concern filling his voice.

“This one is main needle, it receives the energy from the core and redirected it to smaller ones. It need to insert it close to your core as possible.”

“And by “inserting” you mean piecing it through my body?” Snatcher points out, wincing again.

“Oh…!” you didn't realise it, even though those things are literally big needles! You have you poke them through his outer energy layers. It’s gonna hurt! Unless…

You grab the book and flip through the pages to find anything about energoid’s anesthesia. Peck, you probably should have looked this up first to elevate his pain!

Soon you stumble across it.

“Anesthesia can be performed with various methods: using electromagnetic pulse, using any sense based magic spells or the patient themself can reach out for their core and temporarily shut down their senses.” you read it out loud.

You frown, you don’t have anything to produce EMP or know any magic spells...

“Snatcher, can you do it? I don't have anything else!”

“I have no idea!” he hissed again, both at pain and frustration.” I didn’t know I could do something like it,... but I guess I could try.”

He closed his eyes and concentrated. You sit in silence for a few minutes that seems like an eternity. Then Snatcher sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“You know what, do it now!” he suddenly said with resolve in his voice.

“What?!” you yelled, surprised by the volume of your voice.”But it’s gonna hurt! You are in pain already! Can you try aga—”

“We have no time, kid!” he interrupted you.” By the time I’ll figure this out, I’ll probably lose my arm or worse!”

You sniff as new tears are gathering in your eyes. You don’t wanna bring him any more pain, but you have no choice.

Snatcher moves his left hand, then places index finger on his chest, right below his mane. “Here.”

You’re holding the needle with both hands, gently placing it’s sharp tip on the spot and getting ready to push it inside. You look at Snatcher one more time. He slowly nods, bracing himself.

You took a deep breath and push...The needle didn’t go inside. You try a couple more times, but for unknown reason you don’t have enough strength to break thought surface tension. You growl in frustration as you keep trying. Snatcher moved his arm, hovering it close to the needle.

“Let me hel—AUGH!” he yelps.

“AGH!” you squeak.

The needle suddenly went inside, startling both of you. Only the crystal part remains outside. In second later it picked up onto Snatcher’s core energy, now the crystal is burning with blue flame.

“Snatcher, how are you?” we placed your hand on his forehead in an attempt to comfort him.

“I..well, I expected it to hurt a lot more to be honest.” Snatcher said with relief. The blue flame dancing on his chest, it looks so pretty! Curious, you carefully reached toward the flame, it’s so warm and it doesn't burn?!

“Yeah, the soul flame doesn't burn anything on it’s own. I need to will it into destruction.” he explained, noticing your puzzled expression.

You smile again, no wonder Snatcher’s hugs are so warm and nice.

Sadly, you are not done. You reach for the case, taking smaller needle into your hands.

“Now I need to insert small ones into your wounded parts…” you winced, looks at his oozing injuries.”It’s gonna hurt... a lot! ”

Your expression somber as you move to his right arm. Like before, you gently place it’s tip in top on wounded surface, but this time Snatcher gasped in pain. Again, you look at him in silent question if he’s ready.

“Do it kid.” he grimaces, bracing himself for the worst.

“I’m sorry, I will be quick!” you said and pushed the needle into his palm. It went inside much easier...But scream of pain shook the air in the bedroom. You turn around to see Snatcher squirming in pain, gasping for air. His tail hitting the floor with such force you feel it might break you if you’ll be in its way.

You quickly get up and rush to the left side, then you sat and hugged his head. He’s trembling like leaf in the wind, breathing heavily as you try your best to comfort him. In a minute he calmed down a bit, but his expression was filled with pain.

Peck, peck, peck! It was only one, but you have nine to go! This is gonna be absolue torture. You nuzzle his face, repeating “sorry” over and over.

“Ke...p goin…” he breathes, his voice shaking.

You stand up and take the entire case, walking to the right side again. You set case on the floor, taking the next one. You set it above where his wrist would be. Then push. You try your best to not listening to Snatcher's agonized wails and his tails smacking the floor. You wait for him to calm down before inserting another one. You kept repeating the same process, until you reached his shoulder. The next needle does in. Suddenly, you noticed how silent room was.

You eyes widened in fear, panic is filling your mind.

Did he died?!

No, if he died his body would disintegrate, leaving the empty core behind. You place your hand onto his chest to check the pulse. His core still beating, so he must have passed out from all this pain.

Poor Snatcher...but at least he won’t feel anything now.

With that you proceed to his right side, inserting remaining needles. When you finished, you stood up to take look at the whole thing. You can see the main needle burning bright. Small ones started to picking up the signal from it as well

Looks like it’s working! Now you have to wait, but for how long?

You walked to the book and open it again. Maybe there’s something you can do to speed the healing up.

The book says you can make it easier if you put the patient near their element or provide the right temperature.

Snatcher is fire based energoid. While you can’t put him in fire, you can surround him with warmth!

In few minutes, Snatcher was covered in multiple layers of warm blankets, only the top of his head and closed eyes are poking out of them.

That’s all you can do right now. Hoping for the best, you collapse into your bed, completely exhausted.

In the next two days, you kept checking on his arm. Healing is slow, but you can see that most of stagnated energy were renewed, filling cracked surface with yellow glow again. The cracks closest to the main needle are almost healed.

“Kid?” muffled voice got your attention. Snatcher was looking at you with sleepy eyes.

“Hey,” you said softly, moving closer to him.” How are you?”

“Better, it’s not hurting so much anymore.” he lets out a content sigh.

Yes, he is getting better, you can't help but smile widely

“That’s great!” you barely can hold your excitement, but do it anyway. You don’t want to overwhelm your friend.”You probably should go back to sleep.”

He sinks into blankets, then look at you again.

“I‘m hungry…” he mumbled, sounding embarrassed.

Oh...oh right, Snatcher needs energy from outside sources, especially now as he recovers from heavy damage. Yes, energy beings have to eat too. He eats souls right? But how you will get one? You don't want to go around and kill people to be honest, but what can you do?!

A sudden realization hits you...Snatcher used to be an organic lifeform before he become what he is now! You rush towards the table and spot another book, “Classification of Energoids”. Soon you’ve found an info that confirms your thoughts.

There is a specific type of energy beings, that used to be different lifeforms until they went into conversion. This process can be triggered by various reasons, mostly in order to survive.

Now to think about it, Snatcher, scientifically speaking , didn’t die in the cellar, but “evolved” or something like this. Same goes to other ghosts in Subcon: dwellers, who are energoids with outer cores; Snatcher’s minions - energoids wearing material shells; Vaneesa is like Snatcher as it seems.

All of them used to be different lifeforms!

One of the distinctive traits that those guys have is the fact they can keep relying on previous energy source after the conversion, despite being made of energy themselves.

That makes things much, much easier!

You close the book and run to the kitchen. You look for a pie that Cooking Cat made you for today in the morning. Quickly you take it and return to the bedroom. You offer it to Snatcher. Confused, his gaze darts between the pie and you.

“You can consume food!” you exclaimed happily!

“What? No way!” he looks at pie in disbelief, it smells delicious.” Is your smart alien books says so?”

“Yep. Try it!” you’re insist.

With a groan, he wiggles from the blankets and takes the pie from you. He hesitates for a bit before taking a bite. His eyes widen in surprise.

“Fhat’s delifious!” he spoke with mouthful of pie. You giggle at his reaction, looks like can feel it’s taste as well. Then he swallowed it and froze in place.

“Okay, that was weird!” he said, staring at the pie like it about to reveal all the secrets of the Universe.”It felt like it just turned into energy immediately...”

“Yeah, it’s because energy and matter are the same thing and convert into one another.” you explained.”So it’s totally normal!”

Snatcher shrugged and continued eating the pie.

“Isn’t this amazing, you don’t have to eat souls anymore!” you can’t resist but comment on this. That made Snatcher choke, even thought you have no idea how, but it happened!

“Is this what you planning, huh?! To turn me in your friendly neighborhood ghost?” he sounded irritated, but you can hear mirth in his voice. You start giggling, he’s such “soon-deh-ray”!

“First you infect me with morals, making me soft, now this!” he keeps complaining as he devours the rest of the pie while you’re laughing on the floor. You missed those interactions so much, you are glad he’s getting better.

After finishing the pie he falls back to sleep.

You keep repeating the same cycle for a week now. Once in two days Snatcher wakes up and eat the food you bring him, then falls asleep. He finally had bacon in centuries, that actually made him cry for a bit. Then he ate some of your food, surprisingly liking the tentacle burger. You brought him some food from the Metro as well.

Needless to say, when he discovered he can consume normal food, he became excited to taste something new! You can tell how much he missed eating normal food.

Even though now Snatcher don't know what to do with intruders. The food is more satisfying, he says he doesn't want to eat souls anymore. But still he doesn want intruders to walk around Subcon like they own a place!

“Oh, I know! You can make you contractors to bring you new food~!” you grinned at him, this plan sounds perfect to you!

“Of course, what if they’ll try to poison me?” he huffed in annoyance.

“Psssh, come on, Snatcher, anything converts inside you, even poison. It won’t affect you at all.” you’re giggling again. You can’t help, but his ignorance on this subject is so amusing sometimes.” Peck, you can even drink acid and you’ll be totally fine!””

“Language, young lady!” he said in stern fatherly tone. He is acting more like guardian rather than friend lately. That makes you happy, you don't have anyone to take care of you after all.

After a short pause he spoke again.“You know that’s actually good...even though I’m not sure if I ever be willing to find out what acid tastes like.”

You both burst into laughter.

You also didn't forget to drop in Subcon; making sure that this Moonjumper person isn’t tyrin to take over the forest, telling Snatcher’s minions that their boss is recovering and will be back soon. They were so happy to hear good news!

You woke up and stretch.

It’s been two more days after this fun acid conversation. Still in pajamas, you want to check on Snatcher. You have a feeling he’s gonna be fully healed soon.

You get up and see something that instantly wakes you up.

Snatcher is sitting on the floor, stretching his right arm! You don’t see any cracks anymore as he moves it freely. You noticed Beacon Needles being placed back into case- Snatcher must pulled them out himself.

Noticing your footsteps, he turned around to see you. His grinning at you.

“Hey, kiddo, check this out!” with those words he ignites his hand, brilliant blue soul fire is burning bright. He can use magic with this hand as well!

Snatcher is officially recovered from Stagnation!

You jump into his arms, he catches you and cradling you close to his chest. You both are hugging each other tight, relieved that this nightmare was finally over!

“Thank you so much!” he whispers into your ear as he affectionately caressed the back of your head.”I don’t know what I would do without you!”

“I’m so happy you’re okay!” you’re almost crying, nuzzling his neck.

You both sat like this for a while, then Snatcher pulled away bit. Then he pickled up “How to Treat Injuries and Sickness of Energoinds” from the floor.

“Can I borrow this book?” he asks, waving the book in his hand. “Looks like there is a lot of things I need to learn about myself.”

“Of course! And I can give you “Classification of Energoids” as well!” you beamed at him. Good thing you taught him your language.“Alright, let’s get some breakfast!”

“Yep.” he responded and placed the book on the table. Then he floated, still holding you in his hands, towards the kitchen.

Finally, both of you can relax.

#a hat in time #au of convergence #au of au yes #lol #my fanfics #snatcher #hat kid

107 notes · View notes

scottybrock · 5 years ago

Text

Someone Like You - Colby Brock

A/N: Requested by a lovely anon: “Can you write something about the reader being sick with a bad cold and also being on her period. And not wanting Colby around so he doesn’t get sick but doesn’t listen anyways and tries to comfort/take care of her”

“Leave me here to die,” You groaned, burrowing yourself further into the comforter, pulling it over your head. Colby laughed, trying to tug the blankets out of your hands, but you held on tightly. “Stop,” You whined, yanking the covers out of his hands. He let go, his expression twisting into one of concern. He ran a hand over the top of your head, his frown deepening when he could feel the heat radiating of off your body. “Baby,” He started, but was cut off by deep, chest-rattling coughs coming from underneath the blanket.

When your coughing fit stopped, you peered up at him from under the blankets, your eyes fever-bright. “Go,” You wheezed. “Save yourself. I have the plague.” Colby laughed again, rolling his eyes at your dramatics. You shoved at him weakly, trying to shoo him away from you. “Seriously, Colbs,” Your voice was raspy. You looked horrible. You had deepset bags that seemed to take up half of your face. Your skin was a ghostly pale shade of white, except for your cheeks, which were an alarming shade of red, due to your fever.

“Baby,” Colby reached out a hand to you, but you swatted it away, releasing another chest rattling cough. “Colbs, seriously, I don’t want you to get sick,” You rasped. Colby ignored you, his hand resting against your bright red cheek. It was burning hot. “What are your symptoms, other than an obvious fever and a cough?” Colby asked, concerned once again.

You struggled to sit up, but you finally managed to do so. Your tired eyes peered up at him, and he felt his heart clench in sympathy. “It’s just a cold, Colby,” You assured him. “It just sucks, because I’m also on my period, so my body is really achy.”

You flopped back onto the bed, closing your eyes. “I just need some rest, that’s all.” Before Colby could reply, you were out cold. Raspy snores filled the room, and Colby couldn’t help but smile at your sleeping form. He quickly slid off of the bed and made his way to the kitchen. He found his shoes piled haphazardly by the front door and slid them on carefully, not wanting to make a single noise that would disturb you.

Colby hopped into his car and drove to the closest pharmacy. He parked, then quickly made his way inside of the pharmacy, grabbing a cart on the way in. He strolled down each aisle, humming thoughtfully. He grabbed a bottle of cold medicine and plopped it into the cart. He studied the bottles of over-the-counter medication, then grabbed a bottle of aspirin, a few bags of cough drops, some throat spray, fever reducer, and a bottle of pain reliever, tossing all of it into the cart.

Next, he walked down the feminine products aisle. He quickly grabbed a few packages of tampons, and then a pack of pads. He knew that you preferred tampons during the day, and pads at night. He tossed those into the cart, then strode to the candy aisle.

Colby scanned the array of chocolates and candies in front of him, then grabbed all of your favorites. He wasn’t finished yet; he purposefully made his way to the chips were, yet again grabbing all of your favorites. But wait! He wasn’t finished yet! He hurried over to the freezer section, scanning the cartons of ice cream displayed in front of him, and- you guessed it, he selected all of your favorites.

Satisfied with his bounty, he made his way to the cash register. However, something caught his eye on the way there. There was a tiny stuffed koala sitting right there, right amidst the discarded DVDs. Random, but it felt like a sign to him. Without a second thought, he scooped the koala and stuffed it into the nearly overflowing cart.

He stopped once more on his way to the register, distracted by the different colored roses that were displayed right near the front of the store. Amidst the bouquets of random was a bouquet of dark blue roses. He was riveted by them; he’d never seen roses of that color before, and he was intrigued. He plopped those into the cart as well.

Finally, he made his way to the cash register. The cashier gaped at the sheer amount of shit that was in his cart, then glared at him. He glared right back. His girl was sick. The cashier scowled, but obligingly scanned each item, with Colby watching intently. If the cashier purposely crushed the bag of Doritos, he was going to lose it; that was the last bag in the store.

Thankfully, the cashier didn’t. The cashier flatly told him his total, Colby paid, and then Colby placed each bag into the cart carefully, then made his way back to his car.

He drove back to the apartment complex. He carried each bag to the apartment, determined not to have to make a second trip, because, well, pride. He successfully managed to carry all of the bags in one go, nearly tripping over his own feet. The door slammed open, and he cringed at the loud bang that echoed throughout the apartment, mentally cursing at himself.

“Colbs?” Your hoarse voice floated out from the bedroom. “Is that you?” Colby kicked off his shoes, then prepared to carry the bags to the bedroom, even though he knew that he was going to have to carry them all back to the kitchen eventually. “Yeah, it’s me,” He called back.

There was loud rustling, then Colby tripped into the room. His arms were loaded with plastic bags, that seemed to be bursting with food. You spotted the tampons and pads through the thin plastic, and smiled at your boyfriend gratefully. You were glad that his masculinity wasn’t threatened by buying tampons and pads, like so many other dudes out there. He grinned back at you, his beautiful blue eyes sparkling at you.

He dropped the bags onto the bed unceremoniously. “I got you a lil’ something,” Colby announced. You raised your eyebrows at him, then dropped your gaze back down to the countless bags that littered the bed. “A little?” You teased. Colby laughed, his cheeks flushing the tiniest bit. “So, I kinda went overboard,” He shrugged. “You don’t feel well, and you know that I had to treat my baby.” Your cheeks flushed, and it had nothing to do with your fever. You shook your head at him, smiling softly. “Thank you,” You told him, your voice soft. Colby beamed back at you, batting his hand in the air like it was nothing.

Colby dug through the bags, handing you the medicine first. You placed it on the nightstand next to you, your smile never wavering. You opened a bag of cough drops, popping one into your mouth and sighing at the instant relief it brought you.

Then, Colby showed you all of the junk food he got for you; all of the ice cream, the chips, the candy. You clapped your hands excitedly at the sight, your gaze especially focused on the ice cream. It would be so nice and cold, soothing against your aching throat.

Finally, Colby brandished the bouquet of blue roses and the tiny stuffed koala, offering them to you. “For you, milady,” His tone was joking, but his expression was unbelievably soft and sweet, a shy smile curling at the corners of his lips.

You promptly bursted into tears. Colby’s eyes widened, and he dropped the roses and koala onto the bed, crawling onto the bed to pull you into his arms. “Baby?” His voice was soft, worried. It only made you cry even harder. Colby opted to just hold you in his arms, rubbing your back gently as he waited for your tears to stop.

You sniffled, burying your face into the soft material of his hoodie. You were getting snot and tears all over the front of his hoodie, but he didn’t seem concerned about that; more concerned about you, rather than his expensive designer hoodie. The simple thought of him caring more about you than a hoodie made tears well in your eyes all over again.

“I’m sorry,” You croaked. You looked up at him through your lashes, tears still clinging to them. Colby let out a soft hum, his hands continuing their soothing path up and down your back. “Did I do something wrong?” He wondered, his brows still furrowed in concern. You let out a soft sob, shaking your head, the action causing more tears to spatter onto your cheeks. “No,” You choked out, a shudder running through you. Colby pulled you closer. “I just,” Your voice cracked. “I’ve never had someone care about me, not this much.”

Colby’s heart practically shattered in his chest. What he thought was a normal, small little thing, you thought the world of. He briefly wondered who hurt you so badly, that him taking care of you while you were ill seemed like something monumental. “Hey,” His voice was soft, gentle. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.” His hands continued rubbing up and down your back soothingly. “I love you. I want to take care of you, for the rest of our lives.”

You smiled at him tearfully, reaching up to brush the hair that had fallen into his face away. He smiled back at you, his eyes bright and full of adoration, aimed directly at you. “You’d do the same for me,” His voice was nonchalant, but you nodded fervently. “I would, I so would.” You told him. You stroked his cheek, marveling at the feeling of smooth skin beneath your fingertips. “For the record, I love you, too.”

Colby leaned in for a kiss, but you dodged him, albeit, regretfully. “You’re going to get sick,” You told him, your brows furrowing in concern. Colby simply chuckled, then pressed his lips to yours gently. When he pulled back, he shrugged. “Totally worth it,” He replied. You opened your mouth to argue, but his lips were on yours once again, and you couldn’t help but melt against him.

Colby pulled back, his eyes twinkling at you. “You’ll always be worth it, baby.”

#colby brock #sam and colby #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock x reader #cole robert brock #xplr #traphouse

88 notes · View notes

timotey · 5 years ago

Text

Ficlet: Their House, So Quiet

Dark Blue Kiss/Our Skyy. PeteKao. Post Our Skyy. A coronavirus fic!

I know nothing about the quarantine regulations in Thailand, so I based it all on how it’s done in my country. Just... hand-wave all inaccuracies. Creative licence is my Get Out Of Jail Free card!

They’ve been so careful - and yet!

😷😷😷

The coronavirus? Is a bitch.

It’s invisible and it spreads like wildfire. One of Kao’s students brings it to school and then Kao brings it home and both he and Pete get infected. They’ve been so careful - and yet! When the test results come in, they’re so very, very glad that they live alone and not with their parents anymore.

They’re put in quarantine - on house arrest, basically - with meds meant for handling the symptoms rather than curing the illness since nobody really knows how to cure this damn thing in the first place, and they’re told to call if anything changes; the hospitals are too busy to admit people who don’t really need it.

And Pete doesn’t need it. Headaches, muscle pain and fever, that’s what falling ill with COVID-19 feels like to him. It’s the worst case of flu he’s ever had, sure, and he feels just awful… but, well, that’s it.

Kao, though…

(Nobody will ever tell him why that fucking bug hit Kao so hard and not him.)

“I’m sorry.”

That’s the last thing that Kao says to him - he only mouths it, really, soundlessly, voicelessly, because he simply doesn’t have enough breath to spare and say it out loud - before they take him away. The fool. The idiot. The… Pete would be furious with him for... for apologizing of all things - if he weren’t so scared.

He’s been scared ever since he woke up to Kao gasping for breath, to his lover uselessly trying to suck air into his starving, uncooperative lungs. The fear came with the realization that Kao, Kao was sick. That Kao wasn’t just feeling lousy, that it was really bad. Serious.

When the EMTs in their scary white suits and masks and shiny goggles finally leave and the front door clicks shut behind them with a terrifying finality, silence settles over the house again and Pete sinks to his knees. And he cries. He feels terrible, he aches all over and he’s hot and just a little dizzy - and also terrified and sad and lonely. He wants Kao but Kao’s not there with him and it’s… it’s breaking his heart.

(He never knew their house could be this quiet.)

Over the following weeks, Pete talks to his dad. And to Kao’s mom. And to his friends. Even Mork, his old arch enemy, calls him! He talks to all of them on the phone and through the door when they deliver groceries to him so that he doesn’t starve to death. He has so many people to talk to - but the one person he wants to talk to, whose voice he needs to hear and desperately so, is out of reach. He feels a loss as profound as when his mom and his little sister left him.

Kao ends up in the ICU and they keep him there for over a month. They put him on a ventilator, then on something else, some even more sophisticated ventilator - when Pete realizes what that means (that Kao’s not getting any better, just the opposite), he smashes half the dishes in their kitchen in his rage and despair, so terrible... so impotent - and then, then they try out something new on him, some experimental medication, as if he were a guinea pig and not… not Pete’s Kao.

But it helps. It helps!

When they tell Pete - Pete keeps calling the hospital as often as they allow it, if he can’t be there with Kao, for Kao, then he at least needs to know - his relief is overwhelming that his head swims with it and there’s a buzzing, rushing sound in his ears. He sits down so hard he misses his chair and hits the floor, bruising his tailbone. He doesn’t care. Because Kao… Kao is better. Pete’s never heard more beautiful words spoken in his whole life.

(When he tells that to Kao later on, about his bruised ass, Kao laughs!)

It takes another week for Kao to get well enough to be able to talk to Pete. By then Pete’s given and confirmed a clean bill of health, yet when his phone rings and he picks it up and Kao’s face pops up on the screen so very suddenly, so very unexpectedly, he’s so overcome with... with feelings that he gets a little dizzy.

Kao looks haggard and sallow and he must’ve lost good twenty pounds in the six weeks that Pete hasn’t seen him. Kao’s voice is raspy and cracked and he can’t get more than ten words out without having to put his breathing mask back on to pull oxygen into his rebellious lungs. He’s so weak that a nurse has to hold the phone for him. But when he smiles at Pete and croaks out, “Hello, love,” Pete’s heart could burst. And when they hang up only moments later - Kao’s eyes are already falling shut again - Pete just sits there, clutching the phone hard in both hands, and shakes all over.

(He loves this man, he loves him so much!)

It’s two more weeks before Kao’s finally, finally allowed to go home. Kao’s mom and Pete’s dad pick him up from the hospital because, though he’s now officially virus-free, he’s nowhere near healthy. It’ll take time for him to get back on his feet. Time and care - that Pete’s determined to provide which means staying as bug-free as possible himself to protect Kao’s broken immune system. And that means venturing out as little as possible. Little price to pay for having his lover back home.

Their parents drop Kao off early in the morning when it’s still cool outside and the driveway is dappled in sunlight, passing through the trees. Pete’s waiting for them at the doorway, impatient, excited and a little nervous. Why, he doesn’t know. He just… he wants Kao, so badly!

In the end, Pete can’t wait anymore. He doesn’t let Kao’s mom help Kao out of the car, he runs up himself and he pulls the backdoor open and… and there he is, his Kao, smiling up at him a little shyly with his eyes, his mouth hidden by a black mask. Pete takes Kao’s hand in his and pulls him out of the car carefully. And then he just… he hugs Kao.

He wraps his arms around his lover and he buries his face in Kao’s neck and he breathes in Kao’s scent - now almost overwhelmed by sharp smelling chemicals - and when Kao hugs him back, something tightly wound in Pete’s gut loosens. Kao’s so thin - Pete can feel his ribs even through the hoodie Kao has on - and he’s leaning heavily against Pete, letting Pete hold him up… But it is Kao, his Kao and he’s back home.

(“Hello, love.”)

Kao’s road to recovery is not smooth. His cough is unrelenting and his joints still ache. As it goes on, the doctors reluctantly admit that it might be permanent, the damage done to Kao’s lungs, at least. Pete doesn’t know what that would mean for Kao’s career as a teacher - he needs to be able to talk in class and the whole day long, really, whereas now, anything longer than a few sentences leads to a coughing fit - but they learn to work around it for now.

Moving their bedroom downstairs, inhalations and massages - these things, they don’t really fix anything but they lessen the strain on Kao’s body. And they make Pete feel better. Which is something that Pete can’t seem to explain to Kao, that helping Kao helps Pete, too.

Because there’s something… off-kilter inside Pete. It’s been there ever since he held Kao in his arms, urging him to breathe, just breathe, please while he called for help. In that off-kilter place, his fear that Kao will die resides, still eating away at him even now, when Kao’s back here with him, in his arms.

But when Pete’s allowed to help, when Kao lets him run his hands across Kao’s back, along his spine, massage his sore muscles and relieve him of his aches, it makes Kao’s presence real to Pete. Because in that moment, Kao’s right there, under his hands, warm and alive, even if a little too thin for Pete’s comfort - and Pete doesn’t have to think.

(At least not about the bad things. Those are left for private moments, shh!)

And when Pete’s done with his massage, he kisses Kao’s shoulder lightly and Kao, half-asleep and boneless, smiles and mumbles into his pillow, “Love you.” And Pete’s heart is so light.

“Love you, too.”

#dark blue kiss #our skyy #petekao #dbk drama #my petekao fics #my fics #mé #tw: coronavirus

14 notes · View notes

hardforbenhardy · 5 years ago

Text

period | benxfem!reader

summary: your period is the bane of your existence, and makes being in a new relationship a little awkward. you don’t want ben to know, because your too embarrassed; but of course, he finds out

warnings: fluff, fluff and even more fluff

word count: 2.6k

i love ben just as equally as i love roger so i decided to write one for him, hope you enjoy :)

The stabbing pains in your abdomen wouldn't leave, you felt like you could barely even move without going to throw up. It felt as if your stomach had been tied in a knot a million times, so tight that it was impossible to take a breath. An ear-splitting thumping resided in the back of your head, the sensation of a hot rod being pressed against the right side of your head. Your eyes filled with hot tears which allowed themselves to roll down your reddened cheeks, wetting the surface indefinitely. The pain was almost unbearable; no matter how often it happened, you were never able to get used to it. It happened every single month - the same week, the same amount of days, the same symptoms. Your period was the utter bane of your existence.

You had been to the doctor about it multiple times, all they could do was prescribe pills to ease the pain, though they barely did anything. The only benefit of said pill was that you and your boyfriend, Ben, didn't have to bother with protection when you went at it (as long as you'd both been tested recently of course) Thankfully, it wasn't something the two of you shied away from conversing about; you were both very open to each other about your sex life and that's what made it so much better. You both knew exactly what each other liked, what each other didn't like, the best positions; after only 4 months of being together, you and Ben were inseparable. Which honestly confused you a little considering you still found it extremely awkward and embarrassing to talk to him about your period. You didn't really know why, you knew it was nothing to be ashamed of and that it happens to everyone; but it just made you feel that little bit weak and kind of gross. Thankfully, your period did only last 3-4 days usually, so it wasn't hard to hide away from Ben's company during the time period; you would usually explain you have a lot of paperwork to get done so you couldn't allow yourself any distractions. Admittedly, Ben was a little suspicious that you were always so busy that you couldn't even text him, at the same time every month; but he believed you and he didn't want to bug you about it. Even if you were lying to him, he knew it must've been for a valid reason. Or at least, he hoped. This month, however, he wanted to see you; he had major news that he wanted to share as soon as possible.

The alert on your phone broke the silence of the room suddenly, making you jump a little, which sent a shot of pain surging through your body. You rolled onto your side as carefully as you could, clutching tightly onto your stomach in an attempt to alleviate any pain you could, to pick up your phone and squint your eyes to read it.

Benny💓

Love, I know you're busy, but I need to see you - can I come over? I have some major news and I want to tell you first! x

You felt a wave of anxiety rush over you as you tried to think of an excuse to keep him away. Though the idea of 'major news' intrigued you, you were in no shape at all to even see Ben, let alone get excited about whatever he had to tell you. Therefore, in an attempt to scare him away, you texted him back.

You

Sounds lovely babe, but I'm really really busy and if I don't have this work done, I'm getting fired for good! Wait for tomorrow x

Benny💓

But I can't wait! It'll probably be all over the news by tomorrow - I promise it'll take like 10 minutes of your time. Surely you should take a break, you've been at it for 3 days straight now x

You

Ben, if it's that important, then you can text it me. You can't come over.

Benny💓

Love, are you okay? You sound a little off x

Have I done something wrong?

Love?

You knew he hadn't, and you knew you shouldn't be taking out your pain on him; but your hormones were making you much more impatient than usual. You didn't answer, instead just threw your phone on the other side of the bed and groaned loudly, the tears began to roll down your cheeks again. You hated, absolutely hated, being rude to Ben; especially when he did nothing to deserve it at all. But your patience was running thin and if the only way was to ignore him and his texts, then that's what you'd do. Of course it didn't work at all, because about 10 minutes later you heard the front door to your apartment click open and Ben's voice shouting through "Y/N?"

You shot up off the bed, ignoring the huge amounts of pain it sent through you, to his deep voice echoing through your flat. Ben was partly expecting to either see you at the dinner table surrounded by a sea of books, or strangely to be met with the sounds of your moans; but instead it was just silence. You admitted defeat, knowing you now had no chance of hiding away from him any longer, so you just remained curled up in your duvet. "In here" You rasply shouting through to the hall, hoping he would hear you're dishevelled voice. You knew he had once you heard his footsteps racing down the hallway towards the door, his excited voice shouting through "I got the best news today, babe, it was from the producers of that film I auditioned for a few weeks back- Babe?"

You could sense Ben was now in the room due to the fact his voice was loud enough and not to mention the fact the room was now flooded with a bright light which sent you blind for a second or two. The pounding in your head only worsened with the sudden beams entering your sight, making you groan loudly in excruciating pain. You felt the bed dip slightly beside you and a hand shake your shoulder, but you resisted turning to face him as you knew full well you looked like an absolute mess. "Babe, what's wrong?"

"Ben, would you just fuck off" You snapped, the anger surging through your body after he blatantly went against your orders to not come over. However, you instantly felt regret and turned to face Ben - "B-ben, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean that, I-I-"

"Y/N, please just tell me what is wrong, h-have you been crying? Have I done something wrong?" He breathed, his eyes beginning to glass over a little too at the sight of you, his mind searching for things he may have done to upset you in any way so he could reverse it, or at least try to. You went to sit against the headboard, trying your hardest to ignore the stabbing pains in your abdomen from the movement, which were making you wince loudly and more tears come out your eyes. Ben immediately grabbed the top of your arms to help lift you up, easing the strain the little and therefore the pain.

"N-no Ben, you've done nothing wrong I promise. I've just been ill for the past few days and I didn't want to trouble you was all" You rasped, your throat completely giving out. Ben furrowed his brows but immediately jumped off the bed to dial down the light to a more suitable level, knowing that it probably meant you had a headache and a bright light was the worst of situations for you right now.

"Love, not to be rude, but this isn't just feeling 'ill'. There is something seriously wrong with you - you are in pain whenever you move, you've got a migraine, you look like you've been crying all day every day, and you have bags under your eyes. Look, I'm calling the doctors and I'll get you an appointment, and in the meanwhile I'll stay here and keep you company, okay?" He explained, going to grab his phone out his pocket and dial the doctors.

"N-no Ben, you don't need to call the doctors! I promise, I'll be fine tomorrow, there's nothing to worry about"

"Y/N, there's a lot to worry about - you are in a lot of pain, and this happens every month at the same time, you block me out and by the sounds of it, everyone else. Please just explain-"

"I'm on my period Ben! Okay!" You snapped, your patience running thin. You honestly expected him to catch on to it by now, considering you weren't hiding it very well, but you had no choice but to shout it out. Your cheeks blushed when you realised what you had just admitted, and you went to pull the covers back over your head to hide yourself, but that didn't stop Ben from comforting you. You didn't notice his reaction to what you said considering you were too busy burying yourself in the silk sheets of your duvet.

"Honey, why didn't you just say so?" He comforted, making you peek your head out to look at him sat next to you. He climbed under the covers with you and pulled you tightly into his warm embrace, letting you sob softly into his chest.

"Because it's embarrassing Ben! We've only been together for a few months! It makes me feel weak, and I feel like a bitch all the time because of my hormones, a-and I feel gross" You stuttered, the positioning of your head mumbling the words and vibrating his chest softly. You felt Ben release a large puff of air and his arms tighten around your waist.

"Love, I'm not one of those guys who thinks you're disgusting because you menstruate. It's completely natural, and I couldn't care less if you are bleeding from your vagina or not - you tell me when you don't feel well and you let me care for you. I don't like seeing you like this - now I'm going to pop out for 10 minutes and then I'll be straight back, okay?" Ben grinned down at you, stroking his hand through your knotted hair in a calming manner. You groan a little at the idea of being alone again, but you know that Ben wouldn't leave you unless he absolutely had too so you nodded your head slightly, the movement straining your neck a little. A smile was plastered on your face at Bens word, however, feeling a little better about your period. At least you could talk to him about it now, and you would feel a little less removed or awkward. You felt shivers course through your body when Ben released you from his snuggly embrace and stood up beside the bed, pulling on his coat and grabbing the car keys. The ten minutes he was gone, you felt awful again - you felt nauseous, your headache was back, you felt like you we being stabbed a million times, but most of all you felt confused. With Ben by your side, you realised how alleviated you were of the pain from before, but all that was different was Bens comfort.

You were knocked out of your thoughts when the door slammed shut again, hearing Ben shout "I'm back" through the corridor. A grin stretched across your face when you looked up to see Ben stood in the doorway to your bedroom, holding 3 full shopping bags and also carrying multiple blankets and hoodies - his, to be exact. "I didn't really know what to get but I remember you telling me a few weeks ago that there were some movies you hadn't seen yet but wanted to watch, so I got them. I also bought you some chocolate - your favourite, obviously - and some ice cream. Oh, and I stopped at mine to grab you some of my hoodies because you always say how you like them"

"Only because they smell like you" You chuckle breathly, lifting your body to rest against the headboard and make grabby hands toward the bags, like a child asking for its sippy cup. Ben chuckled back, bringing the bags over to the bed and rushing to the kitchen to grab spoons so the two of you could dig into the ice cream. "I-I seriously can't thank you enough Ben, what did I do to deserve you"

"Love, you don't need to thank me. I love you so much, I don't want to see you like that ever again okay, so you tell me when you feel ill or upset so I can help you"

You couldn't really respond, your voice giving out, so you nodded gently and took a large bite of the mint ice cream. Ben laughed when you moaned at the sensation of the cold hitting your tongue, making you laugh too. Soon your mood changed, not in a bad way, but you found yourself crying instead of laughing. You seriously couldn't fathom how you had scored a boyfriend like Ben - he could have anyone he chooses, but he still chose you. Ben noticed that your laughter had turned to tears, and immediately dropped his spoon to help you.

"What is it love? Are you okay? Is it your cramps again? I got you some heating pads but I'm not sure how they work, let me just-" He fretted, but he was quickly stopped when he noticed me laughing again. "N-no, just hormones babe I'm fine. In fact, I'm a lot better now you're here- I guess you're like my cure or whatever. Could we watch one of those films you got and cuddle?"

He took one of the films out the bag and put in in your tv, while you stripped your top off and threw one of Bens baggy hoodies over your head, letting it bunch around your chin so you could smell the scent of Ben easily. It was your absolute favourite scent- there were all kinds of smells combined into one like some magical concoction; the smell of his cinnamon spice shower gel, his tea tree shampoo, cigarette smoke (which you didn't particularly like, but when tied in with everything else, it was like the cherry on the cake); but most prominent of them all was sandalwood. You considered this to be his natural scent, which you thought was a little ironic based on the fact that sandalwood's fragrance is closest to the human pheromone and is traditionally considered as an aphrodisiac, and you had never been more attracted to a man in your life. He chuckled at the sight of you taking a big inhale through your nose to really take in the smells, but you didn't care because you felt like you were in heaven. Ben threw himself back onto the bed, and cuddled up close to you, wrapping his arms around you waist and resting your head on his chest. Then you remembered the actual reason Ben had come round in the first place:

"What was your big news?"

"Oh, I completely forgot about that. I got that role I auditioned for a few weeks back, you know the one for that action movie." He grinned, making you squeal in excitement

"Really?! Ben that's amazing! I'm so proud of you!! How could you forget something like that!"

"Because whenever I'm with you, I swear everything else just disappears"

"I love you Ben Jones" You grin, your heart skipping a beat at his words. You had found the cure to your pain, when it had been there all along. It didn't surprise you one bit, but you were just glad you now had even more excuses to cuddle to the love of your life.

What did you do to deserve this man?

#ben #hardy #ben hardy #bohemian rhapsody #reader insert #oneshots #writing #fiction #ben x reader #borhap #borhap cast #queen fanfiction #fanfic

40 notes · View notes