#I used to wake up with intense stomach pain every day in high school because I was so hungry

[neverendingford]

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[timelesslords]

I’ve Got This Fever

Read on AO3

In which Annabeth catches the flu, and domestic fluff ensues 

Annabeth woke up in pain. 

This wasn’t exactly an unusual occurrence. Being a demigod, Annabeth was no stranger to pain. She’d had broken bones, burns, cuts, stab wounds…. you name an injury, Annabeth Chase had probably experienced it. 

But this was a different kind of hurt, a hurt Annabeth hadn’t felt in a long time. Her head was pounding. Her mouth was drier than the Sahara desert. Her muscles ached, and even the soft sheets and pajamas she was wearing felt like knives on her skin. Despite being under a mountain of covers, she was shivering, bitterly cold.

There was no doubt about it. Annabeth was sick. 

Annabeth never got sick.

She groaned, sitting up. That turned out to be a bad idea as a wave of nausea rolled over her, and she lowered herself back onto her pillows, falling the last half of the distance. She felt Percy shift beside her, woken from her movement. 

“Hey,” he said, the smile fading quickly from his face as he saw her own expression, which was probably nothing short of miserable. “What’s wrong?” 

“I feel like crap.”

She surprised even herself with how horrible her voice sounded, raspy and dry. Percy frowned, reaching out and touching her forehead. He normally ran hot, but now his fingers felt cool against her skin, almost painfully so.

“You’re burning up.” he said, frown deepening. 

“I’m freezing.” Annabeth croaked. As if to prove her point, she shivered involuntarily.

“That’s the fever talking.” Percy said grimly, “Hold on.”

He climbed out of bed. His warmth left with him, and Annabeth was left just that much colder, trembling under the covers. Percy couldn’t have been gone more than two minutes, but it felt like an eternity. 

When he returned he was holding a thermometer and a glass of water. 

“Temperature first. The water might mess with the reading.” He said, apologetic. She wanted to hate him for that because she was so thirsty she thought she might die, but she knew he was right. 

Annabeth sat up slowly. Thankfully this time she just felt a little dizzy and not nauseous. The thermometer was cold and uncomfortable under her tongue, but Percy kept a steadying hand on her back, rubbing small circles into her shoulder with his thumb. With her oversensitive skin it almost hurt, but she leaned into the contact anyways. 

When the thermometer beeped, Percy traded it for the glass of water. Annabeth nearly downed the entire glass in one gulp. 

“A hundred and one.” he announced, flipping the display so she could see. The number was lit up in red, signaling that she did, in fact, have a fever. 

“I can’t be sick. I have class.” Annabeth said. Her voice was a little improved by the water, but she still sounded kind of terrible.

“Just email your professors and tell them you can’t make it.” Percy said, as if this were the easiest thing in the world. 

For him it probably was. He did his best with school, but he also wasn’t opposed to ditching class every once in a while and blaming it on a fabricated stomach bug, something Annabeth found absolutely abhorrent. She hadn’t missed one class in her entire college career, and she wasn’t about to start now. 

“It’s fine. I’ll just take some tylenol and I’ll be good to go.” Annabeth said. Percy gave her an exasperated look. 

“Beth. You probably have the flu, you can’t go to class like this.” 

“It’s just a little fever.” Annabeth protested. Really, she was already starting to feel better. It was just waking up that had been the hard part, and some ibuprofen would knock her headache and high temperature right out. Percy didn’t look so convinced, but what did he know.

“If you say so.” Percy said, crossing his arms over his chest. Annabeth looked at him suspiciously.

“You’re not going to fight me on this?” she asked. Percy just gave a shrug, though his expression was a stubborn one.

“Nope. You can go right ahead.” Percy said, gesturing his hand off the bed. There was no way he should be giving up this easily, but if he wasn’t going to argue with her, Annabeth wasn’t going to be the one to start it. 

She swung her legs carefully over the edge of the bed, glancing again at Percy. He gave her a go ahead look, so she did. The second she tried to put weight on her feet, her vision blacked out and her knees buckled. She would have fallen flat on her face if Percy hadn’t been waiting there to catch her. Her headache immediately doubled in intensity, and Annabeth groaned.

“Still wanna go to class?” Percy asked. He at least had the decency to sound sorry for her, even though making fun of her would have been just as deserved. 

“That was mean.” Annabeth complained. Percy lowered her back into bed, gently pushing her shoulder so she would lie down again. Annabeth didn’t need so much convincing this time. 

“It was the fastest way.” Percy said apologetically, brushing some hair out of her eyes “You would have fought me on it all day, otherwise.” 

Annabeth sighed, but didn’t deny it. She probably would have been unbearable. She probably still was going to be unbearable.

“How am I sick? I never get sick. I’ve never had the flu in my life.” Annabeth said. She glanced upwards at Percy, who was looking very much like he was trying to not say something. 

“What?” she asked. 

“Nothing.” he said quickly, but Annabeth knew his expressions better than her own, and she knew when he was holding back. 

“You’re thinking something.” Annabeth said accusingly. A smile cracked through his holding-back face.

“Should I not be?” he asked. 

“You know what I mean.” Annabeth grumbled. 

“Okay. I mean, I’m sure your immune system is very high-quality. I mean, it's yours, how could it not be?” 

“Stop trying to butter me up.” Annabeth said, but she couldn't keep a smile all the way off her face. 

“Who said I was buttering you up? I was complimenting your robust immune response” Percy said innocently, still grinning.

“Now you’re trying to distract me, but it won’t work.”

This was a complete lie. If he tried a little harder, it probably would work, and he knew it as well as she did. He caved anyways, which meant he probably did actually want to tell her what he was thinking. 

“Okay, fine.” Percy said, “I was just going to say, you spent most of your winters at camp, which is totally isolated from the outside world, which means you haven’t really had a real flu season since you were like seven.” 

“I went to boarding school.” Annabeth reminded him.

“Yeah, and you spent winter breaks at camp, or at your dad’s.” 

He neglected to mention that she had spent one such break kidnapped by Luke and forced to carry the weight of the sky, which would have proved his point further, but Percy was not so ruthless during little discussions like these that he needed to bring up every last piece of evidence. Annabeth envied that restraint sometimes. 

“Are you trying to tell me that my immune system probably actually sucks because it hasn’t been exposed to anything real since I was eight?” Annabeth asked. Percy bit his bottom lip.

“You said it, not me.” he said, with an apologetic shrug. Annabeth groaned again, rolling onto her stomach and shoving her face in her pillow. The sudden movement did nothing to relieve her headache; in fact it started pounding away with renewed vigor. 

“But I got my flu shot and everything.” Annabeth complained, “I wash my hands all the time.” 

“If you hadn’t gotten your shot you’d be feeling twice as bad right now, believe me.” Percy said. Between his ADHD-induced forgetfulness and his living in the city during flu season, Annabeth was inclined to trust him on that one. 

“What do I do?” she asked, turning her face halfway off the pillow so she could look at him again. The sympathetic look he was giving her did not make her optimistic for his answer.

“Drink a lot of water and wait for it to pass.” 

“That’s it?” Annabeth asked in disbelief. 

“And keep an eye on your temperature.” Percy amended, “If it goes over a hundred and three I’m taking you to the ER.” 

“Modern medicine is a sham.” Annabeth said. That elicited a laugh from him, at least.

“Go back to sleep. You can send your emails later.” he said, brushing a few stray curls behind her ear. 

“I don’t know if I can.” Annabeth said, and it wasn’t even a lie or her being stubborn. She was still freezing somehow, shivering even though she was under blankets again. 

In response, Percy crawled back under the covers, wrapping his arms around her. She snuggled into his chest, stealing his warmth, even though she knew she shouldn’t.

“You have class.” Annabeth protested. She felt his laugh, a sturdy vibration in his chest, more than she heard it.

“Not anymore. I’m probably just as contagious as you at this point.” 

Annabeth tried again.

“I’m going to get you sick.” 

“Maybe.” Percy said, not sounding particularly bothered by it either way. 

“But…” Annabeth trailed off. She didn’t want him to leave, but it also didn’t feel fair to keep him here, knowing she was probably condemning him to the same misery she was feeling now.

“Don’t worry about me.” Percy said, reading her thoughts, “I used to ride the subway everyday, I think I’ve had every strain of the flu known to man. And if you think I’m just going to leave you here shivering, you’re crazy.”  

“I guess I’ll allow it.” Annabeth mumbled, scooting a little closer to him. The shakes were finally starting to dissipate, driven off by Percy’s warmth. 

“Oh, you’ll allow it?” he asked. She could hear the smile in his voice, even if she couldn’t see it. 

“For now.” Annabeth said, though she had absolutely no intention of changing her mind, and he knew it better than she did. 

“Go back to sleep, Wise Girl.” Percy said, kissing the top of her head. 

“Fine.” she said, too tired to think of a good retort. “Seaweed Brain.” she added sleepily, for good measure. She felt him laugh again. 

It took a while, but eventually she managed to drift off to sleep again, curled up against his chest. 

[keigoslovebird]

Next Chapter

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

Warnings: Manga spoilers!! Pregnancy and references to pregnancy, you have a child (obvi), aged up characters, breeding kink, negative self image (on Toshi’s part), references to alcohol, self deprecating language, very fluffy Daddy Toshi shenanigans

Genre: Fluff, smut

Word count: 8.3k

Author’s note: I had so much fun writing soft husband Toshi, if it isn’t obvious by the word count. I just want to rub his soft belly and tell him how much I love him. Hopefully you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!

Note: Flashbacks indicated by italics

Wakatoshi Ushijima has always been a man of few emotions and even fewer words, with just one thing on his mind—volleyball. 

Since he was a young child, he has always slept, eaten, breathed volleyball. Nothing came close to his fiery, burning passion for the sport, not that he had the time to care about anything else.

That all changed when he retired from professional volleyball at the ripe young age of thirty-one, the years of wear and tear on his body finally catching up to him. He knew it was time when the pain in his joints was so severe he could no longer keep up with his much younger teammates. It was a difficult, emotional decision, but he ultimately viewed it as passing the torch to the next generation of volleyball players.

The announcement of Wakatoshi’s retirement was met with great sadness from the sports community at the loss of such a talented, renowned player, but he left behind an exceptional legacy marked by achievements and historic wins. 

His final game with the Schweiden Adlers concluded in a symbolic victory, this chapter of his life drawing to a close the same way it began—with Wakatoshi as an indisputable champion. Every player, coach, and audience member rose from their seats, clapping and screaming words of encouragement. Each of his teammates got on their knees, lowering themselves to press their foreheads into the floor of the stadium, bowing in an ultimate show of respect. The sight of his peers, his coaches, the entire auditorium giving him such an impassioned send off made a heavy lump form in his throat that refused to go away, no matter how many times he tried to swallow it down. Tears pricked at his eyes but he didn’t want to cry, not in front of all of these people.

The dam broke when you sprinted across the court, wrapping yourself around him in a bone crushing hug.

“You did so well Toshi. I am so proud of you,” you praised through choked sobs, pressing your tear-stained face into his neck. Your watery eyes and trembling smile shattered whatever willpower he had, his own tears streaming down his face like a waterfall. All those late night practices away from you, the excruciating injuries, the heartbreaking losses, all led up to this moment. This was the last time the Super Ace would step foot on a volleyball court as a professional player, but all good things must come to an end. 

The screaming and clapping was so loud you could barely hear his quiet, trembling whisper of, “I love you.”

----

It took him awhile to adjust to what one would call a “normal” life, one that didn’t include daily flights from country to country or backbreaking practices that lasted from sunup to sundown. Sure he still went to the gym and practiced with the volleyball net strung up in your backyard, but it was nothing like his grueling schedule when he was a pro athlete. To make matters worse, the blinders he wore his entire life that blocked out anything but volleyball prevented him from finding any real hobbies of his own. This meant for the first few months, your husband followed you around the house like a lost puppy, just wanting to be a part of whatever you were doing.

You would be cooking dinner, some soup simmering on the stove, when Wakatoshi’s massive form would come up from behind you to shyly peek over your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” he wondered, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

You could feel a smile tugging at your lips at how cute he was being, getting used to domestic life, something you never really got to experience until now. Before, you would often be sleeping when he came home at night, and still be asleep when he left in the morning. “I’m just cooking, do you want to help me?” you asked, holding a knife out to him to cut some vegetables. He nodded silently as he took the knife from you. 

His chopping skills left much to be desired, but what could you really expect from a man who only ever held a volleyball?

Another time you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through Twitter on your phone. You could feel your husband staring so intensely you were afraid he’d pop a blood vessel in his head.

Looking up at him, you cleared your throat and asked, “Did you need something, Toshi?” You set your phone down and gave him a questioning look, hoping to solve whatever was troubling him.

He was pensive for a moment, his eyebrows scrunching as he figured out what he was trying to say. “No, I just… There’s nothing to do,” he answered finally.

You nearly burst out laughing at his concern for simply being bored, but you held it in. “Of course there’s something to do!” you exclaimed, “You can go on a walk, read a book, watch TV, or even just take a nap.”

His head tilted quizzically, unsure of what you were suggesting. “A… nap? Why would I sleep? It’s the middle of the afternoon,” he questioned, sounding like you had proposed he eat sand and not to take a quick snooze.

You chuckled and walked over to the chair he was sitting in, plopping yourself down into his lap. “Sometimes people sleep in the middle of the day because they’re tired, or just because they want to,” you clarified, “We can go take a nap right now if you would like.” 

Suddenly Wakatoshi stood up, causing you to squeak in surprise, his arms securely carrying you bridal style.

“W-what’re you doing!?” you squealed, panicked by your sudden lack of solid ground, slightly struggling in arms. 

He tilted his head again, reminiscent of a pet confused by its master’s orders. “We’re going to take a nap together, yes? I’m taking you to our room,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of your shared bedroom. 

You stopped squirming once you took in his words, your belly fluttering with affection. Sighing happily, you snuggled your face against his chest, giving him a simple “mhm” in response.

That day Wakatoshi took his first nap since he was six years old and to this day, he still swears he’s never had a more restful, peaceful sleep in his life.

Those instances happened less and less often as he figured out ways to occupy his time that didn’t involve volleyball. 

You adopted a dog, a commitment you didn’t want to make in the past due to both of your busy schedules, but your lives became a lot less hectic after Wakatoshi’s retirement. Your husband made it a daily ritual to take your puppy Leo out on a morning run, both of them returning tired and sweaty before promptly passing out for an hour. He took up a job at the local university to help coach their men’s volleyball team, deciding to try it out when the requests to lend his wisdom and skills kept coming in. Although, his favorite pastime now consists of him standing outside on the patio, beer in hand as he sweats over the flames of his fancy silver grill.

But perhaps the most significant change in your lives came in the form of your son, Hidetoshi. 

Much like your refusal to commit to taking care of a dog, neither of you wanted to have kids while your lifestyle was so unfit to raise a child. You didn’t mind making those compromises for your husband, having known the path he would take since you started dating in high school. Frankly, you didn’t mind not having children at all, so it surprised you when he was the one to broach the subject. 

“What if we did?” he inquired under the darkness of your bedroom.

You turned over to face him, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek. “What if we did what, my love?” you murmured.

His eyes flitted across your face with an uncharacteristic nervousness. “What if we decided to have a child?” The shock on your face made his stomach churn uncomfortably and he almost regretted saying anything at all, but his fears quickly vanished as your expression melted into a soft smile.

“We’d have to talk about it more but I’d love to have your children, Wakatoshi Ushijima.”

You had a deep, lengthy conversation about your wants, needs, plans for the future, and whether or not a kid would fit into them. Once all of your cards were on the table you decided to start trying to get pregnant, a mission that your husband took very seriously.

Even as a teenager Wakatoshi’s sex drive wasn’t very high, and his frequent absence and exhaustion in his adult life made it somewhat difficult for you to have sex often. You made up for it where you could, having phone sex and masturbating together over FaceTime, once you convinced him to do it. When he was bewildered as to why you would suggest such a salacious act, you explained you were a grown woman with needs and if he wasn’t there to take care of them, he’d have to help you in other ways. Once he realized how serious you were, he agreed. 

But your husband as a young adult and your husband post-retirement are almost two  completely different people in regards to sex. He has seemingly unlimited reserves of stamina, built up over years of rigorous, intense training, and he no longer had an outlet to expend them. So, his new outlet to test his endurance became you and your body.

He began fucking you every chance he got with the vigor and gusto of a hormonal teenager, seeking to make up for lost time. He asked for sex at all hours of the day, waking you up in the middle of the night with the insistent prodding of his arousal and lazily thrusting between your thighs in the early hours of the morning before you had to leave for work. He fucked you in every room in your house and on every surface—on the dining room table, in the shower, on the living room floor, and even on your back patio when you both got a little too drunk on some cheap rose. 

You welcomed Wakatoshi’s insatiable hunger with open arms, unable to resist your strong, ridiculously handsome husband, but that, coupled with his seemingly limitless stamina, spelled trouble for your muscles and pelvis. In the first year after his departure from professional sports you had to call in sick to work seven times, too tired to function, too bruised to look presentable, and too sore to walk to the bathroom. At first he felt guilty for fucking you out of commission, but the way you begged him so sweetly to pound your needy, gushing cunt deeper, harder, faster and how you whimpered with delight when he bit bruises down your throat, he didn’t feel that bad. A baser, more primal part of Wakatoshi’s brain purred at his marks covering our body and relished in the way you limped. You were just too tempting, too irresistible not to ravage you every chance he got.

After you agreed to start trying for a baby, your partner’s already voracious sexual appetite became downright menacing now that he had a goal to strive for. 

“Gonna breed you, gonna fill you so full with my cum and knock you up,” he grunted as he battered into your sore, dripping hole, your body folded in half in a mating press.

“P-please Toshi! Ah~ please,” you babbled, nonsensical and uncertain what you were even asking for. He had been fucking you for so long everything was muddled into a singular dreamy, intangible haze of pleasure and ecstasy. 

Wakatoshi gave your clit a slap, hard enough to make you cry out. “Please what? Please breed you like a bitch in heat? Please stuff you full with my cum?” He leaned down to wrap his fingers around your throat, squeezing with enough force to make your head swim and forcing you to look into his wild olive eyes. “Well, what is it?” he demanded.

“W-want you to b-ah! Want you to breed mee,” you slurred, too drunk on the delicious feeling of his cock dragging against your pulsing walls to form a more coherent sentence.

His thrusts grew sloppy and uncoordinated with his impending orgasm. “G-gonna give you what you want, you cock hungry slut, I’m—” He came with a choked, shuddering groan, his warm cum flooding your awaiting womb.

You were both basking in the afterglow, exhausted and soaked in sweat and your combined fluids, when you noticed the furious blush spreading across your husband’s cheeks. “I apologize for what I said during sex. I… I don’t know what came over me,” he confessed, giving your shoulder a remorseful squeeze.

Giggling, you leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I really enjoyed it,” you proclaimed, “I love it when you get rough with me.”

Trying to get you pregnant gave your husband a new goal to strive for and he has never been one to do anything with less than his all.

Thanks to your husband’s dedicated efforts, you got pregnant six months after you started trying, to your shared elation and delight. Those two little lines filled you with as much excitement as they made you anxious, but as long as Wakatoshi was by your side, everything would be okay. 

Seeing your little bundle of joy in a 3D ultrasound changed you, changed Wakatoshi forever. Up until then you had only seen him as a colorless little blur on a computer screen, but getting to watch his precious face scrunch and his chubby legs kick reminded you that he was a real living being. The late night sprints to the bathroom, horrible morning sickness, and miserably aching back were all worth it when you were able to hold Hidetoshi for the first time. With his olive eyes, brown hair and chubby cheeks, he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen and to this day he still is. 

Taking after his father from the start, Hidetoshi was a happy baby that rarely fussed or cried, not that you complained. He slept soundly through most nights, so soundly you slept in a chair by his crib for the first month to periodically check he was still breathing, despite your husband’s insistence the baby would be fine. Your mother-in-law had insisted that you and Wakatoshi would be exhausted for the first several months after the birth. Imagine her surprised when you and Wakatoshi looked just as well-rested as usual, better even, since you no longer had to deal with pregnancy. Many people, relatives and strangers alike, were astounded at how charming and polite your son was, even as a newborn. He was happy to just sit and play with his toys as you had lunch, smiling and waving at everyone who passed by.

A man as attractive as your husband with a boy as sweet as your son meant that, much to your irritation, women were tripping over themselves to flirt with him. To make matters worse, Wakatoshi picked up your son alone most days due to your office job preventing you from leaving early enough to go with him. This meant many of the moms at Hidetoshi’s school thought your husband was single and they weren’t shy in their pursuit.

A crowd of women surrounded Wakatoshi as he waited for school to end so your son would come running out with his arms spread wide, confident his daddy would always catch him. Most of the moms simply stared at your husband with dreamy looks in their eyes, attempting to make small talk with him.

One especially bold mother reached out and stroked his bicep, slightly squeezing to get a feel for his muscles. “My my Ushijima, you’re so handsome and strong,” she purred, batting her eyelashes at him.

“My wife thinks so as well,” he grunted as he gently but firmly removed his arm from her grasp. 

The woman looked as if he had slapped her across the face and cursed her family. “Y-you’re married? But you don’t even have a wedding ring!” she spluttered, “If you have a wife then where is she everyday?” 

“I do have a ring. I just don’t wear it on my finger because I’m afraid of losing it,” he clarified, lightly tugging on the chain around his neck for emphasis, his ring clinking softly against the metal. “I’m happily married to my wife who cannot be here because she is hard at work providing for our family. Do not disrespect my wife or my marriage again or we will have a problem.”

After that the other moms kept their distance, choosing to admire Wakatoshi from afar. It did not, however, stop them from staring with envy on the rare occasion you came with him to pick up your child, glowering at you with an intensity that surely wished you would drop dead. Your husband paid them no mind and neither did you because at the end of the day, you’re the one he chose to marry and have a child with. They can all flirts and look as much as they want, but they’ll never have him like you do.

----

Fast forward to present day, Wakatoshi is seven years into his retirement at the age of thirty-eight and Hidetoshi is now six.

Your husband is an assistant coach part time for the men’s volleyball team at an up and coming university, the rest of his time divided between you and taking care of your son. Hidetoshi just started kindergarten, growing far too fast for your liking. He seems to have gotten a double dose of his father’s genes as he’s already several inches taller than his classmates, though you can tell by the way he smiles and the slope of his nose that he’s yours as well. He’s the perfect combination of both of you—he has Wakatoshi’s tenacity, work ethic, and confidence and your sense of humor, intelligence, and empathy. He continues to amaze you every single day and you nor your husband couldn’t imagine a boy more wonderful than him. 

These days your lives are a lot less busy than they were when your husband was still a pro, but sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. With all the playdates, school functions, and parent-teacher conferences combined with your own job, Wakatoshi’s games, and regular house chores, sometimes it feels like you’re right back where you were ten years ago. This time, however, you have your incredible husband and son helping you and you wouldn’t trade your life for anything, no matter how hectic it may be.

Today is Saturday, it’s the weekend, and you’re only awake because of the bright sunlight that’s streaming through your bedroom window and hitting you directly in the face. You rub the sleep out of your eyes with the back of your hand, yawning loudly as you stretch your tired limbs. As soon as you try to get out of bed Wakatoshi’s arm around your waist tightens, pulling you flush against his solid, muscular chest. 

“Don’t leave. Don’t need to be anywhere,” he mumbles into his pillow, voice even deeper and raspier with sleep. His legs entangle themselves with your own so you’re completely enveloped in the warm, comforting embrace of your husband.

“Need to start getting ready for the party,” you sigh drowsily, but make no efforts to remove yourself from his sleepy but surprisingly strong clutches.

“Not yet,” he says simply, and that’s when you realize when he’s doing. He’s slowly, lazily grinding his morning wood on the soft curve of your ass. You’re a little more awake now.

“Oh I see what this is about,” you chuckle, wiggling yourself against him teasingly. 

He groans quietly under his breath, but you can feel the sound rumble in his chest. “Want you,” he says, still groggy from just barely waking up. His fingers find the hem of your shirt and he slips them underneath it, trailing his digits lightly down your stomach, making you shiver.

“Little man will be up soon,” you halfheartedly protest, but you can feel the warmth pooling between your legs.

“He’s not up yet, we have time.” The movements of his hips become more insistent, more demanding and you have to stifle your mewls behind your hand. Wakatoshi easily maneuvers his hand into the waistband of your panties, making a satisfied hum when he discovers you’re already dripping for him.

You’re still resisting, though it’s weak and feeble. The list of all the preparations you have to make for the barbecue still manage to just barely cut through your sleepy arousal. “We have so much to d—ahh~” You try to sound firm, but it just comes out as a breathy moan when he begins rubbing your swollen clit. 

He uses his other hand to push up your shirt that’s actually his shirt, tracing small circles around your nipples with his rough fingertips. You try to push your hips into his hand in hopes to gain more friction, but his arms keep you locked in place. 

“No need to rush. Let’s just enjoy this,” he insists, but the finger massaging your bud gets faster, knowing just how to make you whine after all the time he’s had to learn your body. He pinches one of your nipples between two fingers and squeezes with just enough force to make you gasp.

His erection has gotten even harder at the sound of your mewls and whimpers, hot and achingly hard against your ass and your cunt clenches in anticipation. Your slick is dripping out of you in thick, syrupy strings that makes your thighs sticky, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Please Toshi, need you,” you beg, desperate for your husband to stuff you full just as he’s done so many times before.

Wakatoshi doesn’t respond, opting to push his pants and underwear down to his knees and you almost sigh in relief, just needing to satisfy the desire that’s threatening to burn you from the inside out. You’re so hot you feel like you’re burning and you throw the comforter off of you to try to escape the heat. He removes the hand that was in your panties, instead using it to rub his hard length along your slick folds. You’re keening and so so needy, gasping each time the head catches on the tight ring of muscle around your entrance. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he grits out, barely able to control himself.

Your breath is coming in short, uneven pants as you try to sink yourself down onto him. “I love you so much I...”

That’s the moment when he sheaths his entire cock inside you in a singular fluid movement. You let out a strangled moan, relishing in the familiar burning as you stretch to accommodate how thick he is.  Your pussy clamps down on him like a vice, molding perfectly around his length.

“It’s like you were made for me, made to take me,” Wakatoshi growls, sending another wave of arousal rippling through your body. He stays still for a moment, breathing deeply because he doesn’t want to cum and have this end so soon.

He starts moving his hips, thrusting slow and deep to reach the spongy spot inside you that makes you scream. The hand on your breast reaches around to grab your throat, stifling your moans into small, stuttering gasps. You whine each time he shoves himself deep inside you, his cock dragging deliciously against your spongy walls.

You stay like that for a while, bodies joined in the most intimate of ways as Wakatoshi moves his hips in leisurely, unhurried strokes. Your body is hot, sweaty, thrumming with the pleasure that’s so overwhelming all you can focus on is the intoxicating feeling of your husband’s cock deep inside you. The tightening in your core signals your impending orgasm, but each time you get close to the edge, it escapes your grasp over and over again. You need him to pound into you faster, harder. You need more.

“Toshi please, I-I need,” you manage to stammer out, but your words are stolen from your throat as he sharply thrusts as deep as he can, the tip of his cock smashing against your cervix with just the right amount of pressure. 

“Don’t worry. I know just what you need.”

Wakatoshi is fucking you with so much force that your eyes are rolling back in your head, and all you can hear is the wet slapping sound each time he’s sucked back into your wet heat. He’s close, you can tell by the breathy groans he’s making, but so are you. You clench and spasm around him, growing impossibly tighter and bringing both of you closer to climax. His merciless pounding of your insides just gets faster and rougher, and his other hand moves down to rub your clit in tight, fast circles. 

The pleasure that clouds your senses is overwhelming, just dancing on the edge between pleasure and pain and your body can’t take it anymore. Your vision goes white as you cum, cunt clamping down so hard Wakatoshi can barely move. You clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming, your body shaking and trembling as you gush around him. The endless clenching of your muscles practically milks his orgasm out of him, a stifled groan leaving his lips as his thick, hot cum coats your insides. All you can do is moan softly in appreciation, too incoherent to say anything else. 

Your husband presses a kiss to your sweaty neck. “Are you okay?” he asks, taking in the sight of your limp, spent body. 

You haven’t caught your breath yet and your lips won’t form proper words, so you make the only noise you can, “Mmfmm.”

You whine as he slowly pulls out his softening length with an audible pop, sensitive cunt spasming at the slightest stimulation. He untangles himself from you and you want to reach out for him, but you’re too boneless to even attempt to do anything yet.

As Wakatoshi gets out of bed to get a warm washcloth, you hear the familiar sound of little footsteps making their way towards your room and you shoot up in bed, fully alert. You quickly pull the covers over your body, just in time for Hidetoshi to come bounding in.

“G’morning Mama! Where’s Daddy?” he wonders, his little head poking around the corner.

Your husband comes out of the bathroom, now fully dressed and washcloth in hand. “I’m right here, Hidetoshi.” The boy runs straight towards his father who picks him up effortlessly, swinging him around in the air as he squeals with delight. “Did you sleep well?”

Hide bobs his head enthusiastically, “Mhm! I had a dream I was a professional volleyball player just like you.” 

Your loud, exaggerated sigh draws both sets of olive eyes to you, but you train your gaze on your husband. “Have you been putting ideas in his head?”

Wakatoshi shakes his head no, but the child in his arms pipes up first, “Daddy has been showing me videos of his old matches from when he was with the Schwimmy Addles.” Your husband makes a noise of surprise, a guilty look on his face now that he’s been found out.

“You two are going to be my undoing, I swear,” you chuckle as you flop back into the fluffy pillows.

Hide squirms in his father’s arms, reaching out to you, but the man recognizes the warning look in your eyes and tightens his arms around him. “We should let Mama finish waking up first. Why don’t we go downstairs and make breakfast?” he asks, tickling his sides.

The boy shrieks with laughter and wriggles even harder in Wakatoshi’s arms. “F-fine Daddy! Stooop it!” Your husband stops his tickling and hoists your son over his shoulder, gently patting his back.

He passes the washcloth to Hide. “Why don’t you give this to your mama? Then we can go have something to eat.” 

Hide uses his little arms to hold the cloth out to you and you take it from him, nodding with gratitude. “Thank you sweetie, now go with your daddy.”

Your husband starts walking towards the door as a small, chubby hand waves bye to you and you blow kisses to them as they disappear into the hallway.

Using the washcloth, you clean the mess between your legs and muster the monumental effort it takes to get out of bed. You begrudgingly walk over to your dresser to put on clean pajamas and brush your hair so you’re presentable for a meal with your family. The sound of the fire alarm going off has you racing downstairs to the kitchen where Wakatoshi and your son should be.

As you slide into the kitchen and almost fall on the slippery hardwood in your haste, you realize your panic was for nothing. There’s a pan on the stove, grey smoke billowing out of it. Upon further inspection you discern that it’s eggs, you think, that are simultaneously under and overcooked. The guilty parties are sitting at the kitchen table a few feet away, a jug of milk and a couple of boxes of cereal surrounding them. Hide is shoveling spoonfuls of Cheerios into his mouth as your husband eats his own breakfast, only slightly neater in his approach.

“So… you tried to cook?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow at the large man chewing his Wheat Chex. He looks over at you and nods, mouth full with milk and cereal. “I’m guessing it didn’t go very well, judging by all the smoke,” you say slowly. Your husband simply shakes his head no, unbothered by the fact that he nearly gave you a heart attack.

Deciding it’s not worth the argument or the work to make a proper breakfast, you sit down next to Hide and pour yourself a bowl of Cheerios. He smiles at you, mouth open and full of disgusting half-chewed food, but you still return his beaming grin and ruffle his hair. The both of them are troublemakers in their own ways, but they’re your troublemakers nonetheless.

After you’ve all eaten breakfast, you lay a notepad in front of them that has a list of all the things you have to do before your guests arrive for the barbecue. 

You’re standing between them, pointing at each task on the list. “I still have to sweep and vacuum the house, Toshi you need to go to the store and buy all the food, and Hide you need to pick up all your toys that are in the backyard. We have a lot to do today and everyone has to do their part, okay?” you urge, looking between the males on either side of you and they both nod emphatically.

With everyone so busy, it’s difficult to find weekends where they’re all available so this get together has been planned for months. You’ll all be seeing friends and loved ones you haven’t seen in a long time, and it’s a team effort to make sure everything is ready for tonight. 

----

You finish all of the tasks on time, with an hour to spare thanks to your joint efforts. 

Hide is playing in his room while you and your husband get dressed and ready for what will likely be a long night of socializing and entertaining.

As you’re doing your makeup and getting ready for the party, you notice Wakatoshi staring at himself in the mirror, shirtless. His brows are furrowed, a deep frown on his face as he scrutinizes his reflection. He pinches his belly with both hands, scowling at the softness that used to be hard muscle. Tracing a finger along the stretch marks on his stomach and arms, he sighs heavily.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” you ask from the bathroom. 

Your husband walks over to lean against the wall behind you, his unreadable expression reflected in the bathroom mirror. He hesitates before answering, “I’ve let myself go.”

You set your mascara down on the counter and spin around to face him. “Wakatoshi, what in the world are you talking about?”

“I just said what. I heard a couple of my players say that I’m not as strong or as fast as I was when I was a professional.”

You loosely wrap your arms around his torso, squeezing gently. “Of course you’re not what you used to be, Toshi.” At the sight of his deepening frown you quickly add, “You’re so busy being a father, husband, and coach you don’t have the time to work out like you used to.” Getting on your tippy toes, you press a kiss to his nose, “And that’s okay.” It’s a rare occasion that he looks this vulnerable. His anxiety and self-consciousness are so clearly written in his features and it makes your heart ache for him. 

“It doesn’t bother you that I don’t look like that anymore?” he asks, pointing at the framed photo of his first win with the Japan National Team that hangs on the wall.

“Why would it bother me? This is the body races my son across our backyard, helps me fix our home we bought together, and makes love to me every night. I love you just as much as I did back then, and even more now that we have Hide,” you reassure him and you mean every word of it. Sure he’s not the most romantic of husbands, but he’s your husband and you love him just the way he is, with or without muscles.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he squeezes you even tighter to him. “I know I probably don’t say this as much as I should, but I love you.”

You pepper kisses all over his eyelids, lips and nose. “And I love you more than anything, Wakatoshi. More than you will ever know.”

Your hands lovingly caress his chest that’s softer now, but still sturdy and muscular, and his arms that are not as lean anymore, but are still just as powerful and capable. “For the record, I love how soft you are these days. It’s great cushioning for when we cuddle.”

“Hidetoshi says the same thing,” he recalls, smiling at the thought of your beloved son.

After giving him a knowing look, you go back to putting on your makeup. “See? I told you. That boy is just as smart as his mother.”

It’s nearing five o’clock so Wakatoshi goes to the backyard to start grilling the food for everyone, while you and Hide finish plating the fruits and vegetables you prepared earlier.

You work in comfortable silence until your son turns to you, his eyes shining with unanswered questions. “Hey Mama?”

Putting down the strawberry you were holding, you sit down on the stool next to him and hold his hands in yours. “What’s on your mind, sweetie?”

“Do you not want me to be a volleyball player like Daddy? Is that why you got mad when I told you he showed me the videos?” 

You almost break your neck with how fast you shake your head in denial. “Of course not! I wasn’t mad, it’s just…” you start, trying to find a way to phrase your thoughts that he’ll understand. “Daddy’s job was very hard. His body still hurts a lot from all the times he got injured when he played volleyball. And… his job took him away from me and I missed him a whole lot.”

The look on his face is so reminiscent of his father, it’s like young Wakatoshi was frozen in time and plopped into the chair right next to you. With the way his eyebrows are scrunched up and his mouth is downturned as he thinks, he really is the spitting image of your husband. “Did it make you sad?”

Taking a deep breath, you hold your arms out to him so he can climb into your lap. “Sometimes it did. Mostly at night when I was all alone and Daddy was really far away.”

He rests his head against your shoulder, looking up at you. “Do you wish Daddy had a different job?”

You look out the window at your husband who’s starting up the grill, then look back at the sweet, round face of your boy. “No, I don’t. Daddy’s job was really important to him and it made him so happy that I grew to love it too, even if it made me sad sometimes.”

He sits up in your lap, thinking hard about what you said as he plays with your necklace. “Does Daddy still wish he could do it?”

“Probably, but it’s okay. If he hadn’t stopped, we wouldn’t have you, and you make our lives so much brighter and happier. Your Daddy and I love you so much, you couldn’t even imagine it.”

He spreads his arms out as far as he can. “This much?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Even more.”

“Wow, that’s a lot.” Hide’s eyes are wide with surprise, mouth slightly agape as he tries to imagine something so large and vast.

Laughing, you press a kiss to his head. “It sure is a lot, baby. Now why don’t we finish putting out all the food so we can go see what Daddy’s doing?”

Your son leaps out of your lap to grab handfuls of grapes and blueberries from the cartons on the counter, dropping them into the divided sections of the serving platter. “Aren’t you going to help me, Mama?”

You give him a look of mock offense before standing ramrod straight, giving him a mock salute. “As you command, Commander Ushijima.”

You carry both trays of food out to the backyard, not trusting Hide’s ability to hold them upright, while he carries a volleyball in his arms. Wakatoshi turns at the sound of footsteps, a small smile on his face as your son drops the volleyball, barreling straight into his legs with a force that makes the man grunt.

Hide looks up at his father, both arms wrapped around his legs. “Whatcha doing Daddy?” he asks.

Your husband reaches a hand down to ruffle his hair, a slight look of pain in his eyes from the boy slamming into his shins. “I’m just getting ready to start cooking the food for tonight. Do you want to help me?” He bends down to pick him up and Hide quickly hops into his arms, well practiced and effortless with how strong your husband is. The man points to different parts of the grill, explaining what they do, taking care to keep the boy far away from the flames. 

Setting the plates down on the table, you inform Wakatoshi, “Hajime and Tooru should be here soon, so should Tobio and Eita. Satori called and said he might be late, something about his luggage getting lost.” At that moment the doorbell rings, signaling your first guests are here. “I’ll get it. You two stay here and get the food on the grill.”

You open the front door, greeted with the familiar faces of Hajime and Tooru. “It’s so nice to see you two! Come on inside, don’t be shy,” stepping aside, you hold your arm out to welcome them into your home. 

“Mrs. Ushijima you get more and more beautiful each time I see you,” Tooru teases as you snicker in response.

“I see marriage hasn’t changed you at all, has it?” you question, more so directed at Hajime. 

“I tell him people are going to get the wrong idea,” the shorter man replies, sounding exasperated.

You usher them towards the backyard before picking up various soda and beer cans. “Wakatoshi and Hide are both in the back. You two go ahead and keep them company while I bring these out.”

It takes a few trips before you join them in the backyard, handing each adult a can and a juice pouch to Hide, who’s sitting at the picnic table with Tooru while Hajime chats with your husband. 

“How old are you now, little man?” the brunette asks.

Hide holds up five fingers plus his thumb as he swings his legs back and forth. “I’m six! I just started kindergarten.”

They both wave at you as you join them, sitting on the other side of the table. Tooru leans in towards you, a hand cupped around his mouth, and you tilt your ear towards him. “He’s so… polite and well-mannered. Are you sure Ushiwaka is the father?” he whispers, narrowing his eyes.

You lightly smack his head, glaring daggers in his direction. “Yes, obviously. Look at them, they’re basically twins.” Tooru looks at the boy sitting next to him then at your husband standing at the grill, then back to your son, then back to your husband. Hand on his chin, he takes in their matching olive eyes and hair and similar expressions, nodding seriously.

“I was just making sure.”

The doorbell rings a couple more times, Tobio and Eita arriving one right after the other. With almost all of your guests present, everyone is drinking and catching up, some casually passing a volleyball back and forth with Hide.

You’re in the middle of telling Tobio that Hidetoshi is too young to be thinking about his future career when the doorbell rings once more, indicating the last of your guests has arrived. You rush inside to get it, not bothering to check who’s there because you already know who it is. Swinging the door open, you pull the man into a tight hug. 

“Satori! We’re so glad you made it,” you exclaim, giving his back a few hard slaps.

The redhead pulls away from you, smiling. “I’m so glad I was able to make it in time. The airport lost my luggage, then my parents forgot to leave me a key to their house so I had to wait until a neighbor could let me in. To make matters worse, I got stopped by security when I landed because of this,” he says, holding up a white box with a bow around it.

You quickly grab the box, shaking it to try to hear what’s inside and sniffing it for good measure. “Ooh la la, did you bring us some fancy French chocolates?” you ask. “Actually, don’t tell me, Hide will want to open it.” You hand the box back to him and gesture him to follow you, “Everyone’s in the back so just follow me.”

With Satori in tow, you step onto the back porch and call your son’s name. He hands the ball to Eita before running over, eyes lighting up when he sees the man standing next to you.

“Uncle Tori!” he shouts, launching himself into Satori’s arms.

“Hey there Little Toshi, how you been? Keeping your dad out of trouble?” he asks, hugging the boy tightly.

“I think so! Well… we burnt some eggs this morning and the smoke machines started beeping, but that doesn’t count, right?”

The red-haired man waves his hand dismissively. “Of course it doesn’t. Any crimes committed in the name of breakfast are excused,” he insists. Pulling the box out from behind his back, he offers it to Hide. “I brought you something all the way from France, do you know where France is?”

Hide takes the present from him, “Yeah, it’s in Europe! Daddy showed it to me on a map.” He struggles a bit with the bow before he decides to just rip it off, lifting up the lid.

Satori points to the various chocolates laid on top of wax paper. “This one is filled with something called ‘ganache,’ which is basically just more chocolate, but it’s liquidy. That one over there has caramel, and the one right next to it is a bonbon filled with strawberry jelly. I picked all the best ones just for you.”

The boy smiles, eyes wandering over the chocolates like they’re bars of gold. “Thank you Uncle Tori! I bet they’re really yummy.”

He pats Hide on the head. “I hope you enjoy them lots. Now I gotta go say hi to your daddy, where is he?” Your son points to where Wakatoshi is standing at the grill, a spatula in one hand and a beer in the other as he chats with Tobio. “Thanks Little Toshi,” he says, ruffling his hair.

Satori walks over to your husband, pulling him into a crushing bear hug before he can say anything. “Wakatoshi, it’s been too long! I sure get lonely all the way in France, have you guys ever thought about moving?”

Wakatoshi freezes for a moment before giving in, hugging the man back, though slightly stiff in his movements. “We will not be moving to France. Hidetoshi will be raised here in Japan.”

The redhead releases him, sensing his discomfort. “Well, it was worth a shot. How’s your retirement? You miss being a pro?”

“I do miss it sometimes, but it was necessary to let a better, younger player take my place. I wouldn’t trade a few more years on the court for the life I have now with my wife and my son.” 

 Satori lets out a loud whistle. “I never thought I would hear the day that Wakatoshi Ushijima would say he cares about anything more than volleyball.”

“Volleyball was my entire life before, but they’re my entire world.”

The shorter man just smiles, silent for a moment before pointing to the apron your husband is wearing. “I didn’t think you’d actually wear that thing, Wakatoshi!” The apron black with bright red lettering that says ‘Wakatoshi: Grill Master,’ with a drawing of a flaming steak next to it.

“It keeps my clothes clean. Why wouldn’t I wear it?” he asks, genuinely curious. The redhead just laughs and shakes his head, patting him on the shoulder.

Your husband finishes grilling the food, much to the excitement and relief of the many hungry men who have been circling him like a hawk. Everyone takes from the piles of meat and vegetables, noticeably happier now that their stomachs are full. You’re all sitting around the picnic table, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

Hajime recalls a story from when he first signed on as the athletic trainer for the national team. Wakatoshi had approached him after practice, saying he had a serious issue that he wanted someone to take a look at. Concerned for his player’s wellbeing, naturally he took him into the locker room and Wakatoshi took off his shirt. At first, he thought he might’ve stretched one of his ligaments too far or had even torn his rotator cuff muscle. Imagine his surprise when Wakatoshi pointed to an ingrown hair on his back, saying it was inflamed and causing him pain. It was then that Hajime had to explain that he’s not that type of medical professional, and that he should make an appointment with a dermatologist.

 The sun starts to set, but with the fun everyone is having they barely notice. The night begins to wind down once Hide yawns, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and it sets off a chain reaction of yawning that reaches every person at the table. Your son starts tugging on your sleeve, informing you he’d like to go to bed. Not wanting to leave him alone in the house and taking note of the exhaustion on everyone’s faces, you politely suggest to end the night early. A chorus of heads bob, indicating their desire to head home and sleep. 

All three of you hug and kiss everyone goodbye, waving to them as they drive away. You sigh from exhaustion and head inside to put Hide in bed. You and your husband hold each of his hands and take him to his room, pulling back his covers so he can climb in. 

He yawns again and closes his eyes, settling into his bed. “Night night Mama, Daddy. I love you.” 

You stroke his cheek lovingly before placing a kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight sweetie, I love you too.”

Your husband comes up from behind you to kiss Hide as well. “Sleep well, Hidetoshi. I love you.”

With your son asleep in his own bed, all you have to do is take off your makeup and brush your teeth before you too can sleep. 

You’re in the middle of washing your face when Wakatoshi comes into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“I enjoyed tonight, I hope you did too,” he says.

You turn around to look at him and smile. “I did, it was amazing to see everyone in one place. It’s been years since we were all able to see each other.” After you finish washing your face, you stretch and yawn loudly, telling your husband, “I’m getting in bed now, join me when you’re done.”

Climbing under the sheets, you nestle yourself into the softness of your bed. You nearly doze off right then, but the shifting of the bed under Wakatoshi’s weight keeps you awake just a bit longer.

He slides in behind you so he can spoon you, an arm slung over your waist. 

“Goodnight Toshi, I love you.”

“Goodnight, I love you too.”

Before he falls asleep, Wakatoshi thinks of all the things in his life that led him here, to you, his wonderful wife, and his precious son.

Leaving professional volleyball was one of the hardest decisions he’s ever had to make in his thirty-seven years of living, but the end of that chapter of his life gave him Hidetoshi.

He knows that every moment of uncertainty, suffering, and hardship was worth it because it ultimately led him to you and your son, to this life you’ve built together. 

He’d do it all over again a thousand times over if it meant that your beautiful, shining face would be there to greet him in the end.

[mypoisonedvine]

how about a dark bucky x naive reader where he always gets nightmares and she is always trying to help him (making him tea, laying with him til he sleeps, etc.) and one night she laying beside him and he’s having a nightmare and he traps her and says “this is the way to help me” and then there’s non/dubcon since she does want to help him 😳🥺

oh my godddd i love this!!  anon your mind.... this idea has been living in my brain rent free ever since you sent it it.

noncon, yandere-ish bucky, breeding kink, slight somnophilia and more below the cut people, watch out

he would definitely be really sweet at first, even with his brooding and aura of mystery

so it’s impossible for you to resist trying to get to know him better even as he seems to avoid you sometimes

eventually he opens up enough to tell you about his nightmares, and you feel awful about it.  he struggles to get enough sleep and sometimes he’ll try to get you to hang out late and you realize it’s because he’s afraid of trying to sleep at all.

you tell him to spend the night in your room and you guys can hang out and have a classic high school-style sleepover with junk food and movies.  you figure maybe it’ll distract him and maybe he’ll stay up so late that when he’s exhausted, he’ll be able to fall asleep easily.

it’s a lot of fun but it doesn’t seem to help much.  and it gets awkward when he makes a move on you and you do your best to gently rebuff him.   i like you a lot but i don’t like you like that-- i just want to be your friend, if i can 

it’s never an easy conversation to have but he seems to take it well, or as well as he could be reasonably expected to

your next solution was tea with melatonin.  he got to bed easier but he still had terrible nightmares and you had to wake him up because he nearly choked you out in his sleep.

finally, he asked you to sleep beside him in his bed, and you felt a little conflicted about it.

I know the last time you were around me while I slept went... really poorly... but I promise, I won’t hurt you.  I could never hurt you.

you agree only because you want to help him so badly

at first it’s normal, even sweet.  you brush your teeth together in the bathroom, you change into your comfiest pajama set and try to ignore that he’s sleeping shirtless.

you fall asleep pretty easily, and hope that he’s doing the same

but not so much later, you wake up to metal fingers pushing up the bottom of your shirt, running over your hips and waist

you mumble through the haze of half-sleep to ask him what’s going on but stop when you feel his hand slide under the fabric and wrap around your breast.

you open your mouth to speak but no words come out. you're totally paralyzed.

he slides closer and you feel his entire body pressed against your back. he's so warm, it's almost hot to the touch. hottest of all is the hard outline of his cock pressing right into your ass.

he rolls his hips against you and lets out an incredibly soft moan-- that's when you realize that he must be having some very strange dream or nightmare, that he isn't meaning to do this to you.

bucky, wake up! you're having a nightmare...I think...

I'm awake, the voice right beside your ear informs you. that or I'm having the best dream of my life.

you stammer because you have no idea what is going on. w-wait...

this is the only thing that's helped. I never told you, but the nights where I tired myself out by jerking off and imagining you, those were the ones where I slept the best. but it didn't fix it completely. I just know if you help me, the nightmares will go away.

before you can even speak again he's talking over you, sounding less sweet and more stern.

don't you wanna help me, doll? don't you wanna help me feel good? don't worry, I'll make you feel good too...

the hairs on the back of your neck are standing up because you know something is horribly wrong, but you want to give him a chance. still, you're unsure. I don't know...

you don't know? you said you were my friend. friends help each other.

you gulp and answer sheepishly, o...okay...

thanks, doll. I knew I could count on you.

he grabs your hand and pulls it down. you gasp as he wraps it around his manhood-- it's thick, and hard yet silky.

you've never touched a cock before have you?

you feel embarrassed, you realize you must be doing something wrong already if he noticed your lack of experience.  um, no... I haven’t...

oh I don't mind! it's a good thing. your hands are really soft... so much softer than mine.

you stay still and let him fuck into your hand, your face burning with shame even though you began to feel arousal tingle between your legs.

after a little more of that, he moves you around until he’s hovering over you, his hips between your legs.

I wanna try something different-- it’ll be better.

before you can stop him he’s rubbing his cock against your crotch, through your flimsy little shorts, and the sensation sends shivers up your spine.  you had touched yourself before, but this felt totally different.  

with him on top of you like this, you feel so small. his body towers over and envelops yours, but even with all that strength his little moans sounded gentle and vulnerable.

he leans down and you can feel his breath on your neck, his long hair falling down and tickling your face while his stubble scratches against your cheek

fuck, I love you, he murmurs into your ear.

what?! you try to recoil but you're trapped between him and the bed.

don't you love me too? I know you do.

you shake your head, you can’t even believe what’s happening.  I told you, we're just friends

he grabs your jaw suddenly, forcing you to look at him, and even in the dark you can see his eyes burning with anger.

I know you love me. if you don't, you will.

he starts to move his hips back and pull your pajama shorts to the side, and for all your naivete you know exactly what's about to happen.

bucky, please-- don't put it in me-- no, stop, wait--!

he shoves into you, groaning as your unwilling body is forced to accept him

hnng, you're so tight doll. can't you feel how wet you are? that's how I know you love me. god, you feel so fucking good.

you sob and try to push at his shoulders but he's like fucking granite.

don't fight it, it’s gonna feel good for you soon... you just need time to get used to me.

you can’t imagine how this could ever feel good, it stings and makes you feel nauseous-- that is, until he reaches down and swipes his calloused thumb over your sensitive bud.  

your whole body jerks and your fingers dig into his shoulders.

oh, do you like that princess?  

you want to deny it but you’re too busy bucking your hips involuntarily, chasing more sensation

fuck, you’re a needy little thing, huh?  you need me so bad... don’t worry, I’m here to take care of you.  god, you don’t know how long I’ve waited for the chance to take care of you....

suddenly the burn inside you begins to subside and you feel the tip of his cock rubbing against something that makes your walls tighten around him with every thrust. 

you hear your whimpers of pain morph into moans of pleasure, and you can hardly believe the noises are coming from you.

feels good, doesn’t it?  god, you’re such a tease... inviting me for a sleepover-- you don’t even know what that means for adults, does it?

guilt burns in your stomach as you wonder if you really did lead him on, if it means something different than you thought and that’s why he came onto you.

and before that, spending nearly every day with me and talking with me about things I’d never told anyone before... you may have fooled yourself but I knew you wanted me so damn bad.

had you??  you couldn’t remember now.  of course you’d always thought he was cute, that was objectively true, but you were just trying to be his friend...

and now you act so shocked and confused when I fuck you, but within a few minutes you’re moaning and begging for more.  

you don’t remember any begging.

his thrusts get a little rougher and you choke on nothing.

I know you want it.  I know you need it-- need me.

you can tell you’re going to come, but it doesn’t feel like how it feels when you’re by yourself.  it feels so much more intense, electric even, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to handle it.

god, i’m so close-- you’re close too, aren’t you?  you feel so good, doll.  feel so good around my cock.  fuck, you want me to come inside?

no, buck, you can’t-- i’m not--

oh it’s gonna feel so fucking good to fill you up, doll... and i know you’re gonna love how it feels when i come inside you.

you start to cry again, terrified that he’s going to get you pregnant when you’ve never even had sex before now.  please-- stop... i’ll help you again tomorrow, i’ll help you whenever you want, just please don’t come inside me...

oh doll, you’re gonna help me every night now, don’t worry about that.  gonna fuck you again before the night’s over, more likely than not.  gotta keep those nightmares away until I can only dream of you.

against everything in you hoping not to, you come suddenly.  you feel yourself tightening and fluttering around him as your whole body convulses.  

when your back arches, he slips his arms under you and holds you close, fucking into you with brutal speed and force.

fuck, right there-- fuck, doll, i’m coming, oh fuck!

with a deep growl he pushes his hips against yours as hard as he can, burying himself in your pulsating warmth.  you whimper and cry as his cock flexes with each spurt of come emptied into you.  it feels like it goes on forever, his come coating your walls while he sucks on the crook where your neck meets your shoulder.

fuck, baby... you’re incredible...

you shiver, waiting for him to pull out and roll off of you, but he just relaxes and kisses all along your collarbone.

god, I could fall asleep like this.  I sure as hell couldn’t have any nightmares with you keeping my cock warm in my sleep.

bucky... what if you got me pregnant?

oh, don’t talk like that, he purrs, you’ll get me all worked up and I’ll have to fuck you again.

he kisses you on the nose and it’s so disgustingly intimate.

I think I’ll be able to sleep again, at least for a few hours. come on, let’s move over to my side of the bed and you can be my little spoon.

[devilrainbunnie]

Midnight Train

Dabi x Fem!Reader

cw: smut 18+ minors DNI, chikan, dubcon/noncon, pet names, pervy dabi

You stood in the train station, feeling a bit out of place. Looking around at your surroundings, and wondering when your train was going to arrive. It was running a little too late for your liking. Not to mention the fact that it was late, and cold, you didn’t even have a coat. You were wearing a long sleeved shirt, a short black skirt, and matching thigh highs with some simple school girl like shoes. Which was kind of ironic for you to wear. At the moment, you were currently in your second year of university. Just coming back from an outing with your friends, and cutting it off early because you had work the next morning. You were always overly cautious anywhere near trains, just due to the nature of pervy men, and the amount of times you’ve had experiences with them. Not even to mention how intense it is around this area. You berated yourself internally for deciding to wear something like this out, but now you had no choice but to just try and deal with it for now.

Absent-mindedly you scrolled on your phone, to give you some sort of distraction from the anxiety you felt beginning to stir in your stomach, tightening your thighs together, and keeping your purse close to your body. Then soon, the sounds of a fast moving vehicle, and wheels breaking to a halt brought you out from beneath your phones gaze. Looking up to greet the train. You patiently waited until it’s gears locked into place, and the doors opened. Waiting until the small crowd of people walked out of the cart, and then following into it. The cart was decently full of people. But to your absolute demise, there was some substance on some of the seats that looked like a spilled milk tea boba. Which was why you had to stand. Opting for the back of the cart that had some people also standing around. One of them meeting your gaze. Hooded, cerulean eyes following behind you, as you reached your spot to stand. He must’ve got on with me, you thought to yourself. The person was a bit of distant from you, staring at you without remorse. It was hard to make out their features with the large hood they wore over their head, and it made you anxious. Holding your body closer to itself.

He was looking at you like a predator stalking prey, hungry, and ready to devour. A look that quite honestly was making your heart absolutely flutter against your rib cage. Then you did something kind of stupid, pulling out your phone again, and trying to focus all of your attention on it. Trying to pay the hooded man no attention, out of your peripherals, you saw him lift his hood back. But again, you were too scared to see what he looked like. No matter how intense your curiosity was. After a short while into the trip following that, you checked again to see if he was there, and surprisingly he wasn’t. 

That’s when you froze, instantly recognizing the feeling of someone standing just behind you. Too scared to gaze behind you, and the train suddenly causing the cart to jolt, your body mushed right against his, as your wobbly knees made you unstable on your feet. Perfect timing.

“S-Sorry!” you cried out, lurching yourself forward. His body following yours.

“It’s quite alright, doll face.” a husky voice whispered behind you. “I like your skirt, it’s cute on you.”

You didn’t respond to this, your blood was running cold, and your breath hitched inside of your throat. He made it a point to step closer to you, the heat radiating off of him was almost too much. The stranger was only an inch or so from touching your body, a hand reached to you hair, tucking it to the side as he leaned in. Body flush with yours, as he whispered to you. “It’s not nice to ignore people when they compliment you.”

“I’m s-sorry.”

“Is that all you know how to say?”

“I-I’m sorry I’m not trying to offend you--”

“Oh baby, you already did though. You hurt me real bad. Don’t you think I deserve something for my bleeding heart?” he taunted. Hands traveling in different directions, his large hand groping the flesh of your ass. This stranger just reached under your skirt to grab you, and  you to let out a little yelp, and his hand colliding with your mouth forcefully. “I don’t think you want to find out what happens to little girls who are loud, and bratty. I’m not gonna hurt you baby, just be a good girl, an’ let me take care of ya.” he raised the hand from your mouth to show you the tiny blue flame in his palm. Instinctively you shuddered, gulping down the lump in your throat. “Am I understood?”

You nodded, he grabbed your jaw, which forced you took look at him as his head appeared by you shoulder. “Use your words, like a good girl. Remember what we talked about?” he was quite attractive, despite all of the deep scars on his face. His black locks framing his face evenly, and looked quite fluffy. His scars looked painful, and so did all his staples. The piercings on his nostrils were cool though-- despite that, he looked like he had been through hell and back. It made you all the more confused, he was good looking enough to score any girl he wanted. Even with all of the scars and staples, girls probably drooled over it. So why did he bothering harassing you on a train? The man was probably just a full blown predator, and it made you start to panic worse.

“Y-yes, I-I’ll be quiet. I’ll be good.” you said with a wavering voice, tears forming in your eyes at the situation. 

“Mmm, such a good girl. Nice an’ sweet, just like I like ‘em.” he murmured against your neck, leaving a wake of wet kisses across it. Taking some experimental bites to try to find your sweet spot, and when he did, you writhed against him. Letting out the cutest little whimper. “Look at you, you’re so fuckin’ sexy.” he was thankful he spotted you initially, he really found a prize that night.

He was walking back from a bar, and he saw you approaching the train station. You looked so sweet, so soft, and so easy to taint. The way your squishy thighs looked in your socks, and how your ass’ curve was more prominent due to the skirts little ruffling drove him to you. Eyes lingering over ever inch of your body, he needed you the second he saw your cute face too. He just knew you were a sweet little girl, and he wanted to taste you before he lost you for good. Honestly, you were such a good girl for him right now he debated on taking you home. Sure, you’d be a lovely little pet to have around the house. He could sure use the company, and you were just so goddamn cute. The man would love to wake up every morning to face fuck you, or violate you a little bit before he started his day. I mean how could he not— just look at the way your pretty e/c eyes leaked tears out, and your plump lips pouted as his fingers dove for your pussy. So pretty.

This sick man decided to lick your face to wipe away the tears from your stained, heated cheeks. His long, calloused fingers rubbing against your clothed slit, making your hips buck at the pleasure of it. Little strangled moans being held down in your throat. Waiting for your slick to seep through the pretty light blue cotton, and keep it for later. “Has anyone ever touched you like this before? Hmm? Does it feel good?”

“N-No, plea-ah, please j-just stop.” you cried out, sniffling after you choked out the words. His fingers began to push your pretty little panties to the side, moving his fingers up and down your cunt. Finally able to feel that you were actually becoming a bit wet, he chuckled behind you. You let out a soft moan, the first one he was able to actually get out of you.

“Mm, you’re getting more wet by the second. You sure?” he teased. His opposing hand sleeping inside of your sweater, pushing a breast out of its cup, and squishing the flesh in his palm. Tweaking the nipple between his fingers, arching your back and wincing at the pleasurable pain. “You’re so sensitive, and I haven’t even put my dick in you.”

“Pl-please. I- just want to g-go home.” you whimpered as he continued to violate you, finding your clit and pinching the bud between his fingers. Watching as your breaths became ragged, and the way your knuckles turned white as you held on to the metal pole. The way his fingers were working against your untouched pussy right now, was making it drool. You hated how much that was turning you on.

“Turn your head.” he commanded, and you did. Meeting once again, his face at your shoulder, this time his hand slipped from your breast. Grabbing the opposing side of your face and slamming your lips against his. Surprisingly, his kiss wasn’t at all overbearing, or forceful as you thought it was going to be. It was slow, and somehow passionate, despite the situation. You kissed him back, just trying to be compliant. His lips were soft, despite his lower lip being badly damaged, and he knew how to use it well. The hand quickly knotted itself in your hair, causing you to gasp, and open your mouth for him. His wet muscle tangling in with yours, and with that, a deep guttural groan left the back of his throat. Combined with your little whimpers, created an odd symphony of pleasure.

With your mouth occupied, two of his fingers began running across your slit. Gathering the arousal between his fingers to act as lubricant. Then plunging the digits straight into your throbbing, and tight hole. Which made your body act on instinct, and you gasped loudly in his mouth. He pulled back, chuckling at how much you were reacting now. Panting like a bitch in heat, biting back a plethora of moans inside of your throat. He really wanted to hear you crying out to him, and moaning, but he didn’t want to cause too much of a scene. Who knows, if he’s really feeling up for risking everyone’s safety, mostly his own for some snatch— he’ll fucking do it.

“Do you feel good?” he asked you, kissing up your jaw again.

“Y-yes.” you whispered, your small hands struggle to stay up against the pole. The pace of his fingers began to speed up, causing a horrid squish-y sound to be heard in the atmosphere around the two of you. He was practically cumming at the sound of your wet sex being violated and how well you were taking him.

“Mm, I wish I could hear all those pretty sounds you’re tryin’ to hold back. God, you are just killin’ me tonight.” he moaned into your ear, taking it upon himself to start feverishly pepping your skin with his kisses as he pumped you closer, and closer to your end. 

He began noticing the way you were starting to clench against him, he assumed you were beginning to enjoy yourself fully now. His other hand snaked its way down your body to toy with your clit again as well, without intent, you mewled at the sensation. One of your hands coming you to cover your mouth, you anxiously looked around the cart. For some reason, no one was looking. Either they really didn’t want to look, or they were utterly disturbed by the sight in the far corner of the cart. Since no one was paying attention, you decided to act purely on desire since you were now worked up. Letting go of the pole you were holding on to, which the man behind you was quick to notice, thinking you were about to try to fight him off, the hand toying with your clit put a bruising hold on you midsection. You winced, both at the sudden loss of your breath, but also the fingers now violently crashing into your cunt, his breath ragged in your ear, causing a chill to run down your spine. “C-can I turn around?” you asked him. His movements stopped, you couldn’t see but he was looking at you completely dumbfounded.

“Why?” he said, sounding a little offended.

“Well t-there’s not a-lot of people in here. No one i-is going to care, I... liked uhm, kissing.” you murmured shyly, feeling pathetic and disgusted with yourself for wanting more. But the throbbing inside of your womb was now becoming almost unbearable, you could use something to take the edge off.

“What’s your name, baby?” he asked, his chin now resting against your shoulder.

“F/n, why?”

“F/n... you’re very naughty, you know that? I mean what kind of dirty slut wants to start kissing someone who just grabbed ‘em on the train? Maybe I was right, you are a special girl, huh?” he was quick to turn you around, pulling his hood back over his head, but not all the way. Your bodies were touching, and resting against the pole. So that way you could actually look at him. The fingers that were inside you, stuck straight into his mouth. Cleaning off your natural essence off his fingers like he had eaten the best meal he’d ever had. “At least you taste good. Sweet. Like fuckin’ honey or somethin’. C’mere pretty, I’ll let you try.” he leered down at you, his jagged scars twisting up in a cocky smile. Grabbing you by the back of your head, and crashing his lips against yours, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth immediately, snaking a hand of his into your hair. The other one traveling down south once again, pushing right into your slippery walls. Mewling against his tongue.

The sight must’ve been so erotic, they way you were pulling his face closer to yours by holding the back of his neck. Moaning, and panting into the heated kiss. His fingers inside of your pussy scissoring, and harshly pressing right against your cervix. God his fingers are so long.

He yanked your head back, looking at your features. Drinking in the sight of your half lidded eyes, kiss swollen lips and flushed expression. Your eyes silently begging him to keep at it, removing your arms from his. The man bit his lip, leaning back a tad to put his hand around your neck, reveling at how pretty and soft you looked like this. His hand never stopping it’s assault inside of you. “Sweet, right?”

“Y-yeah.”

“How close are you?” he asked, picking up his pace.

“Mmm, c-close. So close. Nngh.” The hand around your neck squeezed harder at the sides, making your eyes roll back as the thrusts of his hand picked up. The man stood over you once more, watching how your eyes kept rolling back into your skull, and how you biting so hard on your lip he was worried it might split. 

“Dabi.” he said, waiting for you to reply, and giving your neck a break from the squeezing. 

“H-Huh?” 

“My name, I want you to say it. Say it when you’re cummin’, I want you to remember who made you feel this good.” he kissed your cheek. “Will you be a good girl, an’ do that for me?”

“Yes D-Dabi. I’ll- be good.”

“You’re completely falling apart with just my touch.” he chuckled, leaning to your ear again, his hands dropping from your neck, to your thigh. Feeling to flesh of your ass again, this time he tried to hold your thigh to his hip, like he was expecting you to let him carry you. But in all honesty, it’s so he could rut his hips against your thigh and try to pretend for a second he was fucking you. Dabi reveled in the feeling of your soft skin against his fingertips. Bet it would feel even nicer against his dick. “I could fuck you right now, just whip out my cock, and stick it right in. I bet you’d like that huh? Me fucking you in front of all these people? I bet you wouldn’t even try to be quiet. Dirty, dirty girl. Maybe I should, huh-”

“No! No, p-please not here. Not in public. P-please Dabi.”

“I like seeing you beg like that, so I won’t this time ‘round.” he attached his mouth to your neck. Making it a point now to mark his territory, and watch you squirm. Wait-- this time around?! In that moment, you felt you were seconds away from bursting and his words meant nothing. His fingers inside of you continued to curl, and push you in all the right places. Your body quickly beginning to flood with a familiar euphoric sensation, knees growing weak, and the blissful feeling of stomach growing tight was all you could think about.

“D-Dabi.” you mewled out, mouth left to hang open. Your hands quickly clutching the jacket he was wearing, trying to feel like you had some control. “Please d-don’t stop, p-lease- oh!” 

He stared into your face as you grew closer. Dabi liked how hard you were tugging at his jacket, it confirmed for him that you were actually growing a lot closer than he thought. Despite the feeling of your gooey walls clenching around his fingers as if it was trying to suck them in. “Cum for me baby, you’re so close.”

“Dabi-- oh God, fuck- Dabi!” you cried out, a little bit louder than you intended. The coil in your stomach finally snapped, releasing the overwhelming feeling of your formerly restrained orgasm. Your tight cunny was clenching vigorously around him as he continued to pump into you, enjoying as you struggled to breathe due to how hard you had just came. Every inch of your body was jolting, trying to adjust to the come down of the feeling, and the man above you was watching with a smile. Dabi brought his free hand up that wasn’t covered in slick, and wiped some sweat, as well with stray hairs from your face. 

“Open up.” he said, removing his hand from your aching, and pleased cunt, shoving them into your mouth. Suddenly alarmed by the feeling of tasting your own arousal, and having his fingers try to climb their way down your throat. “Suck.”

So that’s what you did-- suck on his fingers, and he pumped them as well. Watching your pretty mouth try to take all of his abuse, and after he deemed them clean enough, he pulled them out. “You did so well for me tonight. We a couple minutes left of this ride, let’s make out.”

Before you could even respond, his tongue was already in your mouth and silencing you. During the time it took for you guys to get to your train stop, you did exactly that. Passionately making out for all to see, against a pole inside of a train cart. His hands palming your ass under your skirt like before, and your hands running through the tendrils of inky black locks. Honestly, you really should feel more ashamed than you currently are. Making out with the same man who was making you cry not even fifteen minutes ago, and letting him grind his erection against your thigh. But, you needed to fix that ache in your womb. You needed someone, or something, to make that coil snap.

Then soon, the train was beginning to halt to a stop, and the two of you pulled away. Your hands still locked into his hair. Holding his face close to yours. “That was fun, but I oughta head off now. I’ll be lookin’ out for you, so don’t do anything stupid, or run off on me.” you nodded, feeling threatened by his words, but also excited at the opportunity to see him again. Never in a million years would you think this of all things would happen, but it wasn’t anything to complain about. He pulled you in for another kiss, and following it by pressing another one to your cheek. “Get home safe now, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” you said in a hushed voice, as he pulled away from your body. Pulling his hood further over his face. Leaving you a stick, sweaty mess in the now emptying train. Adjusting your skirt, and top, combing through your now horribly messed locks. 

Before stepping out, you got a disgusted look from an older woman in the back of the cart. Shaking her head at you. But it made you let out a little laugh, stepping out of the cart on to the platform. Eyes scanning the scene for any sight of your scarred, and disturbed prince charming. But by that time he was long gone. Which kind of made you sad, but also relieved. Your mind was hazy, and clouded with a confused lust. Wondering if his words were true— were you going to see him again? Did you even want to? Why weren’t you freaking out right now? What is going on?

The entire walk home, was filled with your mind being so loud it was drowning out all of your senses.

Including the one that could’ve sensed the man following you home.

Don’t worry though, he just wanted to make sure his pet got home safely.

[kyloswarstars]

ROOMMATES • Part 3

Divergent • College AU • Eric x Reader

ROOMMATES masterlist 💫 Divergent masterlist

You escaped your current living situation by moving in with your friend Christina – and five other college students. Little did you know that one of them was the guy who was your ultimate pain in the neck since your first semester. Now, you had to find a way to not strangle him in his sleep out of pure frustration. Also, you had to find a way to get rid of those weird butterfly feelings for him that slowly grew in your stomach.

Words • 2.9k

The enemies to lovers story no one needed.

/////

Still sleeping on only a mattress slowly took its toll on your back. You woke up at least three times a night. Twice because of your back and once because of some knocking against the wall. Every time that happened, it was in another rhythm how knuckles tried to keep you from sleeping.

For a while you observed how the morning sunshine dipped your room in a warm orange. Dust particles were dancing through the air and made their way to the floor. There was something about waking up to the sun on weekday mornings you never were able to enjoy during your semesters. Summer break was perfect for that.

That comforting silence didn’t last forever, though. Low knocking echoed from the other side of the room. You turned your body to face it. That rhythm was new. Different than those in the middle of the night. You paid attention.

Short, long. Short, long, long. Short, long. Long, short, long. Short. Short, short, long, long, short, short.

AWAKE?

You blankly stared at the wall and couldn’t believe it. During your childhood you had done the weirdest things, such as learning the morse code, to keep you occupied. Had Eric done that too? Or did he use a chart to knock you with little messages out of your sleep?

You didn’t care. You just wanted some little more peace before getting up. So you responded.

Short, short, short. Short, short, short, short. Short, short, long. Long. Short, short, long. Short, long, long, short.

There was a small laughter to be heard from the other side of the wall but then it stayed quiet.

Even though Eric’s teasing was quiet disturbing, you still rather lived here than back with your ex. You could somehow handle Eric whereas you never really knew what to expect from your ex after breaking up with him. After all it had not been the funniest of times.

You grabbed the nearest shorts and rummaged through the pockets to find a paper. Hilbert’s ninth problem. You focused on that. Until you heard Eric’s door making that cracking open sound. His foot steps trailed to the kitchen and when the coffee machine made its ‚PING‘ to signal it was ready to brew, you got up yourself and out of your room.

Eric didn’t say ‚good morning‘ so neither did you.

Reaching out for the shelf to grab a cup, you once again didn’t reach it. He leaned over, almost right into you with his bare chest – why did he never wear shirts in the mornings? – and grabbed two cups from the shelf. Eric placed them right next to the coffee machine and then turned, crossed his arms and just stared at you.

First, his intense eyes locked with yours. There was no way you could possibly guess what he was thinking with the harsh face he was wearing. Eric’s slightly pinched eyes made you lose some of your self esteem, though. His unapologetic stares weren’t that new to you, but only wearing your sleeping attire, a tank top and some sleeping shorts, made you feel insecure when his glance diverted to the rest of your body. You crossed your arms to have some little cover at least.

„Where’s everyone at?“ You asked, trying to fill that damn awkward silence. The apartment was empty, with all of the doors open.

„Don’t know.“

Another ‚PING‘ chimed. You walked around Eric, since he was still occupied with weirdly staring into your face, and poured some coffee into a cup. You hesitated to put back the pot into the machine and actually poured coffee into the second cup as well. Then you quickly grabbed your cup and went out to sit on the balcony. Gladly, you noticed him leaving for his room.

A morning coffee, a refreshing shower and an after shower coffee later, you continued with the study. You finally had found a way to properly lock the bathroom from the inside. The trick was to just drag your chair across the hallway and slam it under the door handle. That worked just fine. Unpleasant was, though, that there was not much that had to be done for the study today. No new data yet, still you tried to blindly swim around the model and work on some problems you weren’t able to solve yet. Free time wasn’t your favorite thing to have during summer break, especially not this summer break. You were still a little peeved that your friends had just abandoned you on the day of you moving. So meeting up with them wasn’t on your to do list for this summer.

Neither was visiting your parents since they were living out of state. You didn’t really want to head down to the hell the Florida Keys were in summer. It would be even hotter than here in Chicago. None of your hobbies sounded appealing enough to you today and all your roommates were gone. Except for one.

The only thing on your to do list was to buy a new bed frame.

„Shouldn’t you be out and do something instead of constantly crouching over your desk?“ Again, he leaned in the doorframe and you didn’t know for how long Eric was already there.

„Can’t,“ you were actually tracking down a possible solution and couldn’t be bothered to concentrate on anywhere else than your calculations.

„What is it that’s so important?“ It was the first time he entered your room. You noticed him move out of the corner of your eye and sensed him coming to a stop right next to you. He must’ve checked your computer screen and the papers in front of you. You couldn’t really care, though. Whenever one of those problem-solving-trains hit, you just physically couldn’t stop yourself. „Is that professor Matthews’ study?“

„Yep,“ you mumbled.

„I heard about it, tried to get in but that didn’t work out.“ His voice had a tone you had never heard before. „What’s your part in it?“ Was it honest interest?

„I’m responsible, with others of course, for the mathematical model. But please shut up for a few second okay? I’m almost done.“ You tried to talk and still follow your train of thoughts. „Just need to get it out of the brain.“

Eric stayed surprisingly silent while your hand was still moving around your desk, fishing for various papers and scribbling onto them in the illegible handwriting of yours.

You threw the pencil away, once you were mainly done with bringing the theory on paper. „So what do you wanna know?“ You asked and turned around in the same moment. That Eric had kneeled down next to you had escaped your attention. You blinked at him, his face only a couple of inches away. That this proximity suddenly slowed up your pulse confused you. He was too close. Way too close. You leaned back in your chair and swallowed.

Eric on the other hand didn’t seem to be uncomfortable at all. „How did you get in?“

„They asked, actually.“

„They asked?“ His eyebrows raised themselves to the top of Willis Tower.

„Yes.“ You replied, a little unsure of why that would be so odd. Back during high school there was this hype your teachers made about your mathematical skills. But that wasn’t reason for you to think that you were some wunderkind like Einstein or something. You just liked math. Like some people actually did. Not many, but those in your major all had similar experiences during their childhood and school time. So of course, when they had asked you to join the study, you accepted.

Eric let himself sink against the wall next to your makeshift desk. It was the first time you ever saw something like true recognition radiating off of him. And he didn’t hide it. He wanted to know more. He questioned a lot about the study and your part in it. He was interested in how math helped with a clinical study and it slowly dawned on you why he might’ve taken all those classes of yours. Those were all about adapting math in a way to help solve social orientated problems.

After having to compete with him for the upper hand in those stupid debates, you were a little gleeful that it was you who took part in professor Matthews’ study.

This conversation was everything but a discussion. And you found that it could be really enjoyable to have a decent talk with him. You even offered to put in a good word for him at the next meeting with the staff. No clue where this came from, though.

„Hey, Eric?“ The two of you had changed from your room to the dining table because of the close-by coffee refuels. „Would you do me a favor?“

He was currently getting the freshly brewed pot and nodded to the empty cup in your hands so he could refill it. You handed it to him. „What kind of favor?“

„I need a car,“ you stated, instantly noticing the disdain on his face. „Only for a couple of hours. Not long.“

Eric shook his head. „I’m not lending my car.“ He returned the hot cup and sat down across from you. „I can drive you, though,“ Eric added.

That took you by surprise. „Oh.“ You hadn’t thought he would give his car to you in the first place anyway. Wondering where this kindness suddenly came from left you without an answer. But you decided to accept it. „Okay.“

/////

Eric’s mission was to try every single bed in the furniture store. You tried to explain it didn’t really matter anyways since you already had a mattress. He insisted on still laying down and pulled you along with him. „A new bed,“ he said, „must meet many requirements. Not only the coziness factor of the mattress.“ His voice was a whisper next to you. That low rasp in it drew your attention to his full lips, perfectly framed by the stubble he rarely cared to shave.

Finding yourself laying in a bed next to Eric, even if it was in a furniture store and on full public display, weirdly quickened your pulse again. The way his fingers randomly touched your thigh made you nervous. He probably didn’t even notice, or cared, that his hand was in contact with the bare skin below your shorts. Still, it let your insecurities flame up again. Laying next to a perfectly built and defined man like him brought back memories you rather wanted to escape.

„That’s not the one,“ you quickly stated and rolled out of bed. There was no paper in your pockets this time, and it wasn’t the right place anyway, to distract your brain with. Instead you concentrated on the multiple bed frames. It was a tough task – nothing really suited your taste.

„How about that one, Y/N?“ Eric had been shouting through the whole store. You turned and saw him laying in a child’s bed – car shape.

The view of his legs sticking out on the bed end, because he was simply too tall for it, made you laugh out loud. You couldn’t hold it back nor lower the volume. By the time you reached him, he had joined in on the banter. Next to the car shaped bed was a pink unicorn one. He sat on it and said you could have his bed, he would buy this one. Your laughter increased.

„You think I wouldn’t buy it?“

You shook your head, biting back the laughter.

Eric got up and looked around for a salesman. When he spotted one, he raised his hand to wave him over but you were quick to grab his hand and pull it down. „Stop it!“ For a moment too long you held onto his hand. It caused both of you to look down at your hands like they weren’t attached to your arms and had a mind to themselves. Then your eyes slowly moved up to Eric’s and locked with them. Both of you probably tried to find a reason as to why your hands were still holding onto each other. When Eric’s fingers tried to intertwine with yours, you suddenly realised that you were holding. his. hand.

You instantly let it go like you burned yourself and went back to search for a bed frame. The urge to get out of here made you choose a random but simple bed frame. The salesman Eric had wanted to wave over was now at your side to take your order.

You went with him to the check out desk, Eric quietly following the two of you, and paid for your new bed. The salesman printed out some papers, stapled them together and handed them over. „The pick up station is three blocks down the street.“ He pointed to the left of the exit.

„Thank you.“ Grabbing the papers, you headed to leave, Eric ahead of you and holding the door open.

„Have fun with the new bed,“ the salesman inappropriately winked at the two of you on your way out. When your brain processed his remark, a heat in your face rose. To your luck, Eric was walking in front of you to his car and you tried to make the heat go away by fanning your face with the papers. You didn’t understand why all of this made you feel so… weird.

The short ride to the warehouse was silent. Even with the radio on. Eric waited in the car when it came to a stop on the lot. You got out to turn in the papers and get the bed.

The sun was blazing down while you waited for the employee to return with the package. You caught Eric staring in your direction but with the sunglasses on you couldn’t see what possibly was going on his brain. But to be fair, you couldn’t even pinpoint that when he wasn’t wearing sunglasses.

„Here you go.“ A trolley with two big packages was pushed next to you. If that would fit into Eric’s muscle car? You weren’t so sure about that.

As you turned around to wave at him, he was already at your side. Was he a cat? Or why was he always able to sneak up so quietly?

He probably saw the concern on your face because he just said ‚we got this’ and pushed the trolley over to his car. Eric suggested to remove the packaging so you could play Tetris and fit everything in. That worked pretty well and you were soon ready to head home.

It was Eric who tried to remove that awkward mood between you. He just started chatting about a new group of penguins in the zoo. That he usually went there once a week since the entrance was free and that he did it to stay grounded in stressful times. A while ago he adopted a penguin called Smartie. Him being so open about something not study related was surprising but even more surprising was that he basically invited you to join him some time to go and see the new ‚kids‘ as he called them.

Back home you carried all parts of the bed up to the third story. Eric left to find a proper parking space for his car and you started on building up the bed frame. The instruction must’ve been somewhere attached to the packaging you left at the warehouse because you couldn’t find it. That wasn’t too much a problem, though. Studying the parts you had for a second, you figured out a plan and already started putting pieces together when you noticed Eric, silently of course, appearing in your doorframe.

„I’ll help you,“ he offered. It didn’t sound much like an offer, though. More like a fact.

It didn’t take long with his help to build up the bed, place in the slatted frame and lift the mattress on top of it. You didn’t really have a plan where to put the bed but for some reason Eric convinced you to position it at the exact same spot your mattress had laid before.

„Thank you for your help.“ You sat down on your new bed and checked if it didn’t break with the first contact. It didn’t.

Eric’s lips parted and he wanted to say something. You couldn’t get rid of the feeling that he wanted to say something else when everything that came out was a sharp ‚Sure‘.

Before you could ask him if he’d like a beer, just to be polite after him helping you all day, he made a beeline for his room. And stayed there.

/////

He didn’t come out for dinner and you decided you didn’t care. When you finally crashed that night, after having multiple board game showdowns with Will, you instantly knew that you’d sleep well. The bed was super comfy. Eric had been right, the mattress only didn’t do the thing, everything had to match up.

You didn’t even check your phone anymore, your eyes too heavy to stay open.

A gentle knock came from the other side of the wall. You turned to it and listened.

Long, long, short. Long, short. GN. Good night? Those two knocked letters brought a faint smile to your lips you couldn’t fight. You returned the same knocks and fell asleep. Smiling.

/////

Taglist • @longlostinanotherworld • @dosentier • @dhunhdchrih

Wanna get tagged too for future updates? Lemme know 🖤

[kechiwrites]

tension headache

Ground Zero x Publicist!Reader

wc: 2.2k

“Being Ground Zero’s publicist comes with its own set of challenges, luckily there are quite a few benefits to sweeten the deal.” warnings: anal play, dirty talk, light degradation, light spanking, d/s undertones (or overtones w/e), bakugo being the king of bullies

author’s note: i’ve been writing this since august and it’s finally done. special thanks to @lady-bakuhoe​, @some-kindofgnome​, and @nightly-tales​ for betaing! 

Your head is throbbing. The sort of building tension headache you became most familiar with in high school; the kind that starts in the morning and gets stronger with every little irritant. You’re sure it's a tension headache from having your shoulders hunched up to your ears most of the day, a seemingly ever-constant by-product of trying to keep Pro Hero Ground Zero from biting a journalism student's head off. The obscenely large TV hanging above the receptionist’s desk plays Ground Zero’s greatest hits on mute as your heels click-clack towards the steel and glass elevators. 

It’s almost the end of his patrol and you know he’ll be up soon, sidekicks and assistants (two this month, because the first had the good sense to resign soon, lucky bastard) in tow. Four consecutive texts rattle your phone in your pocket to confirm this. Each one an iteration of “on our way up!.” Waving at his secretary, you let yourself into his office setting your purse on the floor. Further behind you can already hear the clamor of voices and activity that announces Ground Zero’s arrival, people no doubt scurrying out of his warpath lest they incur his wrath. He pushes open the heavy door and says nothing to acknowledge your presence. 

Your forehead throbs with irritation at the snub. You know it’s only a matter of time before either of you begin to push the other’s buttons but your employer seems to have a secondary quirk he uses only for you.

You like to call it Extreme Irritation.

“Would it kill you to be nicer to the press?” You give first, sitting on the overstuffed leather couch pushed against the easternmost wall underneath a frankly, unnecessarily large, framed photo of U-A’s graduating class. “Why do you insist on making my job so hard?”

“Can’t pay you for fucking nothing,” he scoffs, leaning against the desk in the center of his office. Carefully he divests himself of his gauntlets, handing one to his senior assistant, and placing its twin onto the desk next to his big gaudy nameplate, muttering; “Take this to Yumikawa, I think I broke the fucking thing.” When he’s halfway past the threshold, Ground Zero adds, “And tell her to do better with her shitty paint jobs!” His gaze snaps to the newest recruit, a tiny shivering thing who looks like a stiff wind could blow her over, “What the fuck are you standing there for? Go with him! Do I have to fucking tell you everything?”

She practically leaves a dust cloud in her wake. You roll your eyes and begin reading through news updates on your tablet, nails clicking lightly against the screen. Tweet after tweet and article after article summarize Ground Zero’s latest exploit, every title and byline more sensational than the last.

“Ground Zero Overshadows Daring Rescue with Another Tirade!”

“Is Ground Zero the Meanest Pro-Hero Ever?!”

‘imagine ground zero calling you stupid 🥴 #imahole’

You could almost laugh if it weren’t for the startlingly large amount of retweets on that last one. Finally, the pro hero deigns to address you; “I did as you asked, I smiled, I laughed, I didn't blow anyone up.” He actually sounds proud. You blubber in shock. “You called the reporter a fuck wit! They can't even air that!” For good measure you hold up the tablet to replay a heavily edited fancam of Ground Zero sneering at some poor junior reporter. “Isn't that what you wanted? Less of my insults on TV?” He is so smug, it drives you crazy. “Not like that!” You toss the tablet onto the couch beside you and stand, stomping towards Bakugo, who’s leaning against his desk, clenching his jaw, arms crossed, as if he didn’t spend the entire morning making you wish you’d never laid eyes on him. The two of you are growing more and more irritated with each other and it’s evident in the rapidly rising volume of your conversation.

"I'm serious, if you want to be ‘Number One’,” you stress through your teeth, “people have to like you, at least a little bit. That. Includes. The. Press.” Every word is punctuated with a strong poke to his sternum, and you try to ignore the pain of jabbing your finger into his brick wall of a chest. It feels as though the pristine white collar of your button-up shirt is digging into your throat while you try to restrain yourself from biting his stupid, perfect nose off.

Now it’s Bakugo’s turn to roll his eyes, “People like me.” He looks to his sidekicks for confirmation and you pointedly ignore them bobbing their heads in unison.

“Who?! Who are these people that like you?”

Bakugo gestures wildy at his sidekicks, “They like me!”

“They’re afraid of you! They respect you but they don’t like you!” You shake your head in disbelief.

“You like me!” He barks at you.

You almost choke on your surprised laughter. He really was absolutely ridiculous.

“I have to like you, you pay me!”  

“That’s right. I sign your cheques, you deal with all the media bullshit and make me look good.”

“You make it impossible for me!” If it weren’t for the intense tunnel vision your arguing was giving you, you would have seen Ground Zero’s sidekicks inching slowly towards the door.

“Well maybe you’re just shit at your job!” He turns away from you to push papers to the side of his desk, the gesture a clear dismissal that only serves to rile you further.

“Oh fucking bite me, Katsuki!” As soon as it’s out you slap your hands over your mouth, eyes wide as dinner plates.

You were exhausted and tense and so mad but it’s not what you agreed on, never at work and never in front of subordinates. In an instant it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. Bakugo’s expression is furious when he whirls on you. You chance a look over at his assistants and all colour has left their faces, ‘Impressive,’ you think idly, ‘Considering Haruto is literally purple.’ 

“Out. Now.” He growls, and his teeth are clenched together so hard you think they might shatter, his throat is rapidly turning red and his hands are clenching and unclenching around nothing. The sidekicks hesitate and you’re a little grateful for their loyalty. 

“Fucking out. NOW!” He yells, and they nearly fall over each other trying to get out the door. 

“And there goes the loyalty,” you murmur while you watch their hasty retreat. “I’m sorry,” you say, turning to face him head-on, apology punctuated with the slamming shut of his office door. You focus on the wall of windows behind him, the city skyline slowly lighting up in the nighttime, preparing for an infamous Ground Zero meltdown. “That was inappropriate, especially in front of subordinates.” Idly, you wonder what the theme this time will be; Disrespect? Insubordination? Or just a good old-fashioned dress down? He’d become quite wordy over the years, you were almost beginning to enjoy them.

While you muse Bakugou inches closer to you, cheeks a mottled red. His shoulders rise and fall repeatedly, like he’s bringing himself down from the peak of his anger. For a moment you think he’ll just outright scream in your face, but when he pulls you, first towards him and then past him until your stomach presses against his desk, you realize quickly what he’s planning. 

His forearm presses against your back until you’re bent over his desk, your hands palm down between the wood and your chest to prevent your face meeting the cool oak. It’s bordering on humiliating how easy he can manipulate you. But they don’t teach hand to hand combat in the business sector, and although you’d toyed with the idea - being in a high-risk industry and all - you never put stock in seriously learning. 

The blond’s hand snakes over your shoulder, slightly damp palm advancing until it’s pressed against the smooth flesh of your throat. Katsuki pulls you towards him this way, and for a short moment breathing is a laboured task. The other hand makes quick work of divesting you of your skirt and underwear, coming down in an instant to make contact with your bare ass. He rubs at it covetously, a shallow attempt at soothing your stinging skin. 

There’s no formality when he thrusts into you, only a few seconds between feeling  the head of his cock parting your embarrassingly slick folds and him being fully seated within you. You grit your teeth against a whine, fingers scrambling for purchase when he withdraws and fucks into you again, and then again, pace slowly gaining momentum until you can swear the heavy oak desk (and seriously that thing weighs a fucking ton) is shifting with the force.  Your stomach presses painfully into the gilded metal decorating its edge but it’s good. Katsuki is so fucking good at taking you apart with every inch he drives into you. Above you he mutters lowly about how fucking wet you are, how eager you must’ve been all day, waiting for him to fill you. It goes on like this for a while, you bouncing between his hips and the desk, him whispering filthy, untrue shit in your ears that makes your nipples hard and your breathing shallow. 

He places his free hand on your back, first up under your shirt, then slowly slides it down, until it’s resting on the roundness of your ass again. You don’t know what he’s planned till his thumb’s parted you, sliding softly over the clenched furl of muscle above your stretched open cunt. 

“Bakugou, no!” you whisper hoarsely, your voice just edging on hysterical as you struggle against his hold. 

“Excuse me?” He hisses between his teeth, thrusts not slowing for a second. The hand around your throat tightens and when he pulls you closer so his sneering mouth is brushing the shell of your ear, you unwillingly tighten around his dick in response. 

“(Y/N),” his voice is almost pleasant, and had you not been split open on his cock in his office, you’d ask him who taught him an ‘interview voice’. 

“Can you tell me who's name is on the building?” While he teases you, you can feel yourself getting wetter around him, thighs tensing and relaxing with the sensation of being spread open beneath him.

“Yours.” You wish you could fall through the fucking floor.

“I’m sorry?” His thumb presses a little more insistently against your pucker. The pressure is foreign, but not at all bad. Dear God, you’re really about to let him do this to you.

“Yours, sir.” You pant, the burning sensation in your cheeks and neck a mix of exertion and shame.

“Fucking say it,” Katsuki tightens his hold on your throat and your whimpers are barely audible over the sound of his hips brutally meeting your ass.

“G-Ground Zero.” you choke out through your clenched teeth. 

“Oh good, so you can read!” Katsuki releases you from his hold and you fall forward. With every thrust, your feet lift off the floor, and you lurch forward like a ragdoll. Katsuki pushes his thumb further inside you, belly-laughing when you cry out in pleasure.

“Where’d all that resistance go, sweetheart?” His digit fucks in and out of you in tandem with his cock, keeping you full constantly. “You know what? Next time, I’m gonna take my time stretching you, keep you wide open, maybe you can wear a plug for me, huh? And then after you’ve been soft and needy all day, I’ll slide right into you, fuck you till you gape for me.” 

You’re incapable of firing back, mouth occupied with moaning incoherently while you drool against the desk. Katsuki chokes off his own moan, using his unoccupied hand to hike up your leg so he can have easier access to your clit. The calloused pad of his fingertips press hard against you. He goes so slow, pushing and nudging at you until your entire body feels feverish and your climax takes you by surprise, forcing a yelp from your lips when your legs begin to shake. 

“That’s it. Come for me. Come on my dick.” Once he’s sure you're done, he pulls his finger from your ass and releases your leg, blanketing your back with his chest. His hips are quick to lose their rhythm as he fills you, ropes of his spend coating your insides. Katsuki shudders against you, hands running a course along your hips. He pulls away, the evidence of your time together sliding down the inside of your thigh without Katsuki’s cock to hold it in.

“I’m going back to working for Hawks.” Your voice is hoarse when you can finally speak again and levering your chest up off the desk onto shaky knees only serves to make your head spin more. You glare at your boss your boyfriend as he dresses.

Katsuki’s grin is derisive while he tucks his softening dick away, “Like fuck, you love working for me way too much to work for that fuckin’ pretty boy.” He leans down in front of you and slides your underwear up from your ankles back into place, followed by your skirt before pressing soft lips to your forehead, smoothing his hands over your cheeks. 

At least your headache is gone.

taglist: @enjifuckersupreme @pleasantanathema

[morelike-bi-light]

unplanned unexpected unwarranted vampire charlie au

au where bella decides she cant leave her dad behind like her mom did and convinces edward and carlisle to protect him too. carlisle ushers him out of the house and explains things to him, providing proof as needed - as much as he can. they go to arizona to hide out, charlie stumbling over his words to convince renee that he and bella were threatened and are in enough danger to need to hide out in a different state.

bella still gets the phone call, and renee doesn't answer when either of them call. when the others are distracted, she still gets away to meet james, but when the cullens go to save her, charlie's waiting outside with esme and rosalie (who are guarding him on the road instead). victoria is there too - and she gives them more trouble than they anticipated. emmett and jasper are distracted by the redhead and the noises from inside the studio getting louder and more concerning by the second.

when a scream rings out — he's never heard bella sound like this, not even when she was a mousy little girl buried under his seahawks baseball cap far too big for her head — charlie can't help but wrench open the door and run inside. his baby is cowering away from a bloodthirsty monster and there's not even a pause in his step as he sprints over to shield her form with his own, squeezing her against his chest and praying for the first time since he heard she wanted to come up to forks for the rest of school

his prayer's interrupted by a loud shattering sound and a malicious laugh. "aw, look at that! daddy's trying to save you. what a noble, pointless sacrifice!" a smack like stone hitting stone. "well far be it from me to deny a man his dying wish."

he doesn't hear what he says next - he doesn't hear anything, or see anything, because everything is white and sharp and pain, burning like a star, blooming in the crevice where his shoulder meets his collarbone. nothing exists right then but the cold fire in his skin, burrowing in his bone. it feels like hours before anything changes. the first thing to slip through is wet on his cheek and cool hands scrabbling to clutch at his.

"dad! dad!" bella? "edward! carlisle! anybody, any of you, please, I need help! my dad — needs help!" a hand on his cheek, trembling and frantic. "dad just hang in there! somebody help us!"

his fingers twitch, stretching towards her. "bella —you okay — bells — "

"im okay! im okay, im so sorry, dad, im so sorry! im sorry, it shouldnt have been you — this is all my fault — edward! edward please, you have to help him!"

hers is still the only voice he can discern but there are more emerging, blending together but getting closer. he catches snatches of words like 'bit', and 'spread', and 'minutes', and 'sorry', and 'safety'. a pale shape stands at the edge of his vision, and at once he's lifted from the floor. he convulses, eliciting another audible choke from his sweet daughter, and he recognizes a familiar, soothing voice from above.

"we can't stay here..."

"what? what do you mean?"

"we'll bring him back with us..."

"what are you going to do?"

"let him take him, bella, please"

"we'll watch over him, i promise."

"Im not leaving him, i can't just let him go!"

"i promise," softer. "jasper — will he sleep?"

the world softens and fully crumbles away. there's nothing left. nothing but fire.

time doesn't exist here, but then the fire, it doesn't go out. yet it stops hurting. it stops eating. it starts feeding. a single thought pops into his head that will make no sense to him when he recalls it later — a weary 'oh. i see.'

three days after the ballet studio, he wakes up to a brown popcorn ceiling. he blinks. he can see every crack and cranny in the plaster.

"mr. swan?" a tinkling voice says, and he sits up. "good, I thought you'd be up." the little black haired cullen girl beams up at him, chipper but sorry. her hand is curled around his wrist. "bella will be back any moment, and carlisle soon after. they're just across the hall, actually. he says we'll need to look after you for a while, just in case, —"

she pauses, just soon enough to avoid being interrupted by the sound of beeping and pressing keys and the door swinging open. bella is whole and wonderful — he can see every inch of her and she's really actually fine, not even a scratch — and she freezes seeing him but then she's flinging herself forward, pale face contorting

"dad—!"

"b-bells," he stands up, quickly, too quickly, to meet her, tugging alice along with him, but edward catches his girlfriend's hand and holds her back as he voices her objections to her entering at all. charlie scowls at first, when a scent reaches his nose — a smell that might've made his stomach growl if it could. his eyes cast up in open question.

edward is stiff, eyes looking conflicted but legs poised to pounce. "it's her."

"oh." charlie shifts uncomfortably on his feet, properly spooked, willing the despairing thirst away. as moments pass since making the connection, the scent of blood — of food — fades, to the point he can hardly detect it at all. it's a sharp relief.

"you — how do you feel," bella forces out, eyes locked with his with an uncomfortable intensity that makes him squirm and anxiously rake a hand through his hair. carlisle and the others filter in behind her and he's grateful for something else to look at, now he knows she's safe.

"better," he settles on. "than before, I mean. was that — did —" he waits for someone to interrupt him and fill him in, but it's quiet. "are you okay?"

a bark of laughter bursts from her chest and she assures him she's fine, eyes wide and brows furrowed like she can't believe he's a real person, the way she gets sometimes when he says something so awkward and sincere it makes her want to groan. but she doesn't want to groan anymore. instead she's torn between crying and singing.

"what do you remember?" carlisle asks, gently stepping forward, his gaze a mix of clinical fascination, wary confusion, and personal concern. charlie would flush beneath it... but the heat never comes to his cheeks.

"exactly how much are you looking for," he grumbles. "last thing i recall..." no need to go into the pain. "finding bella with that... guy at the studio."

"just finding her?"

"trying to protect her," he amends, focused on avoiding everyone's gaze. "and... it was..." then he notices how much there is to see, even when hes trying not to look at anything. he frowns. absorbing this much — it feels like a headache, minus the pain itself. overload. "it was him wasnt it. he bit me"

esme and jasper nod, but carlisle and bella just look away, the brunette visibly cringing. edward's jaw tightens, and for some inexplicable reason, the sight of that is what makes it all click for him.

"so," he fumbles for a second, but the word comes out so clean and sure when he says it, not at all like he feels. his mouth is physically incapable of tripping over itself like hes used to, no stammer, no stumbling. he grimaces and all the muscles pull exactly like he intends them too. he shakes his head. "he bit me. and? can i assume that's what's got me feeling so weird? the... some sort of effect of the bite?"

bella doesnt answer. neither does carlisle. surprisingly, it's that blonde girl that replies, though not to him.

"show him," she says, and after a moment, esme creeps forward, gesturing for his hand. he hesitates, but takes it. edward shifts to place bella behind him, as if she needs to be protected from him the way charlie protected her from james, a move that breaks his heart. gently, esme maneuvers him over to the bathroom. she turns on the lights, though she didn't really need to. he blinks. red. in the middle of a face with skin more suited to a shelf at a morgue than the tasteful backsplash of the bathroom, framed with dark, curling, concerningly long lashes, his irises were red. that wasn't it, either.

"am i..." he huffed. "am i seeing things, or am i way better looking than usual?"

a ripple of good humor disturbs the room, from esme's warm giggle, to a watery chuckle from bella, to a great, booming crow from emmett.

"way to focus on what's important, chief," alice nods, at the man's back in an instant. she doesn't sound nearly as sarcastic as those words should warrant. "finally, a man after my own heart."

"wait till you try running for the first time," emmett interjects, joining her behind him. "mind, blown."

some of the other family members sigh and shake their heads. charlie runs his eyes along his sharper jaw, still sprinkled with the stubble he'd acquired in the preceding chaos, now even and almost roguish where before hes pretty sure it made him look old and unkempt. he looks younger, he thinks, not young exactly, but good. better than his age.

he pulls away from his reflection, eyes flickering from face to face around him. he might even have said that he fit in with the mythically beautiful family. hes struck by how silly he was to dismiss the strangeness of the gorgeous, antisocial group out of hand, now that he sees how strange he's become himself, before his eyes fall to his daughter.

"im sorry dad" she mumbles, humor evaporating, and a pain resounds like a crack in his chest.

slowly, carefully, he moves forward, and the rest of the vampires stand on high alert as they realize what he's about to do. bella's eyes are bloodshot and he presses his lips together in a bittersweet line as he wraps her in his arms and tucks her close, just under his chin. a shudder runs down his spine as a phantom pain ghosts over his shoulder, but he brushes it aside and it evaporates like water. when he breathes in, she smells the way she always has, and he is not hungry.

"it's okay, kiddo. we'll get through this. im just glad you're okay."

and they do. charlie's vampiric powers are related to shielding, like his daughter, but his are more like putting things on mute, if that makes sense. small things, obviously, and usually physical. he's got a great deal more resistance to thirst than most newborns, for example, because it's muted by his powers, particularly for those he cares about. unfortunately this makes it likelier for him to, uh, die of thirst, as it's possible for him to forget to feed. and he can't block edward from hearing his thoughts completely, but they're muffled naturally by his powers (and always will be. hes not helping anyone into his head any time soon, especially not his daughter's boyfriend). he can also mute his own scent to the shapeshifters — which means he and billy, after things are all sorted, will still be able to hang out and be best friends!! he can also mute his own footsteps,

anyways this started as a meme post intending to go into how comedic it would be if charlie got changed and bella spent the rest of the series complaining that edward wanted to spend the rest of eternity with her father but not with her but then i got struck with some mad charlie feels and this happened so anyways vampire!charlie everyone @charlieswanismyrealdad @effervescent-emmett @cullen-trash @emmettmccartycullen @jaspell @leahclearwaterdefensesquad is this anything

[usaonetwothree]

First of all thank you thank you thank you so much for the johnny whump!!!

Also wondering if there's any chance you will be writing any johnny whump featuring more johnny/Carmen? Maybe an extension of that part of The Agreement where she's examining his injuries? The thought just gives me total whumperflies!

Thank you so much for the message, Anon!! And you're most welcome! The show is just teeing it up so nicely. I'm really just continuing what they started :)

I hadn't thought about an interlude to The Agreement, but now my plot bunnies are going. Give me a few weeks to see what I come up with! I'll post it here for sure, and if it's long enough, I'll copy it over to ao3 as a second chapter.

In the interim, I have the start of a whumpy two-chapter fic that I don't know if I'm going to finish. Working summary is "Johnny doesn't have time to get sick. Besides, it's just food poisoning... right?" I'll post the completed first chapter below, and the plan for chapter two would be from Carmen's point-of-view from the ambulance ride through surgery and Johnny finally waking up. I wrote a lot of the ideas I had for her part into Conflict, which is why I think I'm stalled on it here in coming up with something different. I don't know how long it'll take me to figure that out (if ever) but at least you'll have the first chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Thank you again for the kind message!

Pain exploded in his side, worse than he’d ever felt before. He had reference for this: he’d torn, strained, bruised, strained, dislocated and broken many things in the past. This pain blew them all away. It was he’d been stabbed with a hot knife up to the hilt, and someone was twisting it around in his guts.

His hand went to the area, came away warm, but he wasn’t bleeding. Felt like it. Felt oozing and wet and raw.

Somehow, above the nausea, above the stabbing ache in his head, he knew this was serious. And he needed help.

He couldn’t remember where his phone was. Didn’t have time to stop and think.

With every inch of his skin on fire, he leveraged himself off the couch and almost screamed as utter agony raced up his side. His knees buckled but he didn’t let himself fall. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t get back up.

Partially hunched over, he stumbled forward, careful not to jar his torso. He caught the door before the handle, barely cracking it open before he almost fell through. He jabbed his right elbow into the stucco wall, used that as a guide.

Elbow on the wall, left hand on his abdomen, trying to hold whatever was wrong in. One foot in front of the other.

It was the only thing going through his head.

Left.

Right.

Left.

A chill tore up his spine. His brain went fuzzy for a second and his elbow came away from the wall.

He almost went down again, caught himself at the last second. Leaned so far right he almost bashed his head into the stucco.

But he was vertical again.

He kept going until he hit another door.

The door that could help him.

Everything hurt now. He was sweating, burning up. His eyes felt like they were bulging out of his head, and his limbs were trembling.

He tried to knock, lost his balance. Went down in a heap of limbs.

His side crashed into the ground and fire tore through his abdomen, pain so sharp and intense he couldn’t speak—couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think.

He thought he smelled something familiar. Heard something close. Felt something against his forehead.

But it was lost in a wave of blackness.

A * A

Twelve hours earlier…

Daniel LaRusso walked into Miyagi-Fang to hear a sound he was uncomfortably familiar with. As his own stomach churned in sympathy, he stepped closer to the small wood door leading to the bathroom and rapped on it.

“Everything okay?” he asked, scrunching up his nose as the stench filtered out into the dojo.

“Fine,” a thin voice gasped.

“Johnny?” Daniel rapped harder on the door. “Let me in.”

“‘m fine.”

Daniel then heard the toilet flush and someone heave themself upright, before the faucet was turned on.

“Johnny, what’s wrong?” The worst-case scenarios were flashing through Daniel’s head: Johnny had gone after Kreese and gotten his ass kicked, he was drunk and trying to sober up before class…

But when the door slid open and a pale-faced and miserable Johnny stepped out, Daniel knew both were wrong.

“Are you sick?”

Johnny shook his head, then winced. “Don’t think so,” he said as he shuffled to the inlaid bench and sat down, propping his head against his hands with his elbows braced against his knees. “Bologna might have turned."

“I told you you should stop buying that stuff,” Daniel said as he fetched a water bottle from the small fridge and sat down beside Johnny, sliding it between his side and forearms.

“Then what am I going to have for breakfast?” he groaned, ignoring the bottle of water.

Daniel lightly wiggled it so it tapped Johnny’s arm and side. Groaning, the other man straightened up so his head was leaning against the paneling and took the water. “Cereal.”

Johnny took a small sip of the water and grimaced. “Milk goes bad,” he said faster but in a much steadier tone.

“Drink it faster. Or have eggs and bacon.”

Johnny groaned and clenched his jaw as his chest heaved painfully. “No more… food talk,” he ground out.

“Duly noted.” Daniel stood again and grabbed a towel, wetting it in the sink and laying it over Johnny’s forehead as he sat back down.

At first, Johnny pulled back in surprise, the towel slipping, but then he caught it and visibly relaxed.

“Thanks,” he muttered, closing his eyes and resituating the towel.

“How are you going to teach like this?”

“It’ll pass.”

“Uh huh.”

“Weren’t supposed to... be here this early,” Johnny mumbled as he shifted in his seat. He winced again then slowly lowered himself so he was lying on the bench, bringing his socked feet to rest on the wood as well. Daniel, who had originally been in the way, just shifted so Johnny could lie down unimpeded.

“That’s not making me feel a whole lot better.”

“’ll be fine by four,” Johnny replied. “Got like... an hour right?”

“Thirty minutes at best, and you know Miguel is always early.”

“’ll be fine by then,” Johnny repeated, somehow sounding so sure that Daniel found himself believing him.

He stood, then lowered the singular shade over the window. “I’ll come get you before class starts.”

Johnny just shook his head, though Daniel had yet to see his posture actually relax.

And yet, twenty minutes later, Johnny was standing in the backyard, dressed in his gi, looking… surprisingly normal. He was still a little paler than usual, but had clearly tried to push some color back into his face, judging by a few fading streaks on his cheeks.

“How?” was all Daniel could ask. The last time he’d had food poisoning, it had taken him four days and a trip to urgent care before he could leave his bedroom without puking.

“Mind over matter,” Johnny mumbled, straightening up as the kids began to stream in through the door.

That was… bullshit? Unbelievable? Incredible? But at the core of it, so very Johnny.

The kids were so caught up in the latest non-karate drama at the high school that none of them shot Johnny another glance. He did look at Daniel, grinning genuinely, and mouthed, “Thanks.”

Daniel just nodded, then set out doing the last bit of preparations for class.

A * A

If Johnny was being honest with himself, he should have known something else was wrong. His stomach had been hurting all day, even though he’d barely eaten anything since dinner yesterday: fried bologna, ketchup and some leftover rice Carmen had brought a few days ago.

But there was too much going on for him to be sick. There was getting the kids ready for the All-Valley, so they could once and for all remove Kreese from Cobra Kai—not that Johnny would be reinstating that name anytime soon anyway; his budding relationship with Carmen—which Miguel still did not know about; and the knowledge that Robby and a handful of his other students were doing who-knew-what under Kreese’s command.

There wasn’t any time for his problems.

So he’d taken a Tums last night, not really understanding how that had shown up in his medicine cabinet, and tried to sleep it off.

He’d shot awake somewhere around two, tangled in a thin sheet, sweating so badly it felt like he’d just come in from a run. But something else was wrong. His face felt too hot, the skin too tight, and his stomach continued to flip lazily, despite him begging it to stay where it was.

He’d cranked up the fan, and sipped some water, which was a mistake.

His stomach had rolled and he was puking up his meager dinner not long after. He sat there for a long time, head leaning against the cool seat, until he’d fallen asleep. He’d woken again when his forehead slid off the toilet and thudded into the vanity.

He was cool this time, freezing, and shit, that was signs of a fever. That much he knew.

He did not have time for this.

Still on his knees, he managed to reach the shower dial and turn it on. Then he crawled into the tub, clothes still on, and sat there, letting the cool water beat on him while he shivered uncontrollably.

He could not get sick. This had to be a twenty-four hour thing. The kids all came in with their runny noses, who knew what they got into at school. Maybe it was time he caved to LaRusso wanting hand sanitizer stations on the way out for those germ-minded kids.

Eventually the freezing water had become unbearable and he barely managed to reach back high enough to turn it off. Then came the more difficult task of stripping off his wet clothes, which he ended up doing still sitting in the tub, because the act of fighting with his clothes while standing seemed rather exhausting.

But then, he did have to get up, and it took everything he had to stay that way. His head swam and his stomach lurched.

That was when he felt a stabbing pain in his stomach around his navel.

No way this was some sort of flu.

He was reminded of Miguel pulling the package of bologna out of the fridge and frowning at the date. “This is over a week old, Sensei.”

“It’s fine,” Johnny had said.

Miguel had looked a split second away from pitching it, but had put it back in the fridge and chosen the bag of pretzels on the counter instead.

So this was food poisoning. It had to be.

He’d be in for a rough night, but it should be over by tomorrow, when he needed to be at the dojo, when he needed to be on.

The knowledge didn’t make his illness any easier, but it had made it manageable. He’d thrown up a few more times; felt his stomach cramp so severely, it doubled him over; and had eventually fallen asleep on the bathroom floor, ankles bracing the toilet, head leaning back against the far wall.

He didn’t feel better, per say, when he woke, but good enough to haul himself out of the bathroom, change into a loose shirt and sweats, and into the kitchen where he sipped at some OJ, literally the only thing in his entire kitchen that didn’t send his stomach rolling again.

At some point, he’d passed out on the couch watching TV and had jarred awake two hours before class.

He had to be there.

So he’d dry swallowed some aspirin and chewed another Tums, begged whoever was up there to keep them down, and headed out with the OJ tucked under his arm.

He’d barely made it to the dojo when his stomach began to cramp again, induced by the shifting horizons while he was driving. LaRusso found him and his once-nemesis had been surprisingly gentle. When he was better, Johnny owed him more than just a quick thanks for being decent about it, instead of leaving him to suffer on his own.

He’d had to pull over on the way home to puke again. Though he didn’t know what he was bringing up at this point. It was all acid and gunk from what he could see.

He was less than a mile from his apartment complex and he sure as hell wasn’t walking, so he slid back into the car, focused with all his remaining energy and went approximately ten miles an hour in the righthand lane the remaining way.

His fever was kicking up again as he parked, and his stomach began to ache with new intensity. He barely made it to the couch before he was retching again into the bowl he’d so left there earlier for just that purpose.

His head was pounding, his ears ringing, and the pain in his stomach had shifted so it was on his lower right side. He’d bruised a kidney before and it’d hurt in its own way, but it had been nothing like this. He hadn’t even fought anyone since Kreese. Couldn’t risk injuring himself and getting benched. Not with everything that was at stake.

It felt like he was getting the massage from hell, but inside, down in his guts. They were churning, dancing, twisting, oblivious to the pain they were causing. His actual organs hurt, however that was possible.

He sipped at the water, and immediately retched it back up.

Somewhere deep down he knew that was bad. Knew he needed to stay hydrated. Knew he hadn’t drunk enough the past eighteen hours. Knew he could replenish some of it from the shower, but it was so far away.

He just leaned his head against the arm rest, shifting until he found an angle that didn’t make him violently nauseous, and must have passed out.

It was only when he woke up that he knew something was seriously wrong, and that he had to get some help, and ended up passing out again in front of Carmen’s door.

Only it hadn’t been Carmen who answered.

“Sensei!” Miguel shouted, trying and failing to catch the older man. “Mama! Yaya!” he shouted as he dropped to his knees beside his Sensei, whose face was red and flushed but otherwise seemed uninjured.

“Sensei, please.” Miguel begged, tapping Sensei’s face and feeling the heat radiating off it. “MAMA!” he yelled again as he jabbed his fingers into Sensei’s neck, finding a thin pulse.

Then arms were on his shoulders, pulling him away, as his mom replaced him.

“¡Llame una ambulancia!”

Yaya was telling him to back up, was shoving her phone into his hands.

He didn’t remember making the call, but he must have. His mom was trying to rouse Sensei, had unbuttoned his shirt, and was swearing.

“Qué pasa?” Miguel demanded, but she didn’t answer.

“Ice, Miguel,” his mom was ordering, still bent over Sensei. “Quick!”

His feet were moving, grabbing whatever frozen vegetables they had in the freezer and handing them to his mom, who was placing them around Sensei’s neck, under his arms, around his groin.

Sensei groaned, flinched, but didn’t rouse.

“What’s wrong?” Miguel heard himself ask, but his mom was telling Yaya to take him in the apartment instead of responding.

“No!” he shouted, planting his feet. “I'm not leaving.”

His mom turned to look at him, a bit of panic in her eyes before she could hide it. “Go inside, Miggy. Please,” she said very carefully.

As much as Miguel didn’t want to, he did. Until he heard the sirens. Then he was outside the door again, watching as the paramedics swarmed Sensei.

They were asking his mom a bunch of questions and she was rattling off the answers. Then Sensei was on a gurney and they were rolling away and his mother was climbing into the ambulance with him, and then they were gone.

Miguel felt Yaya’s arm wrap around his upper back, not tall enough to reach his shoulders, and he turned and buried her head into her shoulder, letting the tears fall.

[angstyaches]

Go To Him

For the love of god will someone just take care of this boy -

CW: nightmare with body horror elements, anxiety, nausea, confusion and muddled thoughts, fever, the babe is generally ✨unwell✨, reference to grief for a parent, angst

___

Shayne had dreamt of his voice since the first time Charlie had ever tried to comfort him. Ever since he learned that his name could be said with something other than disgust or reluctance, he’d heard himself being called from all corners of the earth as he slept. Ever since he learned that hands could be used for holding, not just for pinning down and hurting, he’d reached for them under the sheets, often failing to find them.

Ever since he started to consider that there was more to life than what he’d been raised for, his dreams had been in colour. This dream was green.

The grass was dark and glistening with fallen rain as clouds gathered and promised that more would fall. The freezing cold jar lay emptily in his hands, its weight boring into his skin and searing its meaning into him. This is what you are. His jaw ached from being unhinged, and it snapped sharply as he tried to stretch it out. The jar fell from his hands as he clutched at it, terrified that his whole head might fall apart under the force of the pain.

He wanted to call out for Charlie. He was scared and confused and hurting, and Charlie always seemed to ease those feelings.

But when his jaw clicked into place, he opened his mouth and he said his own name instead. Or rather, something said his name through his mouth, but it wasn’t his voice.

“Shayne,” it said softly, and he clutched at his own throat as something else grabbed at it from the inside. “Let me out.”

///

He woke like he’d been stunned, lying rigid at the edge of the bed as his eyes stared widely across the room. For a moment – a nice one, in retrospect – he couldn’t remember why he’d woken, but when he did, it hit hard.

He stumbled into the bathroom, hands shaking and shoulder colliding with the doorframe on the way. One hand was pressed to his stomach and he was already doubled over before he reached the toilet.

Get it out, get it out, get it out of me, he almost cried, forcing out sobs and dry heaves that jerked him further forward across the toilet seat. He realised that the it in his plea had almost been a him, he’d almost called the demon a him, a familiar him, a beloved him –

And then he remembered that it was a dream.

“Fuck,” he gasped, closing his eyes in relief. The tension left him so quickly he swore he felt every one of his joints pop. It was a dream, it was a dream; there was nothing in his stomach that had the ability to talk back to him, and it was certainly not Charlie Two. It’d been days since he’d even devoured a demon.

When he was able to stand, he leaned over the sink and sipped some running water, hoping it would calm his stomach rather than agitate it. In the mirror, he looked more washed-out than he usually did between devouring. His ears were ringing, and his chest hurt, probably from waking up with such intense anxiety. It was as though the nightmare had carved something out of him, left him longing in a way he wasn’t used to, and the first thing he found when he followed that thread of emotion was Mum, I want my mum. A sharp pain rose in his throat at the thought and he quickly smothered it, and the next one was of Charlie.

Charlie. Something might have happened to him. Right? It made perfect sense in the moment, while his body was shaking, and his head felt like a swamp. Maybe the dream was supposed to be a sign or a warning or a –

And the next thought was so crazy and obvious that he shook his head at it, refused to meet his own gaze in the mirror, fearing he would all too easily talk himself out of it.

Go to him.

___

Shayne was used to pain and general unpleasantness in his body. He was never surprised when a demon tried to claw its way out of him, turning his stomach and burning his throat with bile and making him throw up all kinds of crap as its essence broke up inside of him.

But he wasn’t familiar with this different sort of ache that was crawling up his chest and throat. Instead of something that rushed like a waterfall, this was more like a glacier, sending chills through his organs and making him shudder involuntarily. He missed his bed and his hot water bottle. Hell, he would have accepted a burning-hot hug from Elliott if he’d been there. And he absolutely wished he’d worn something more than just a t-shirt and his leather jacket.

No doubt he was isolated on the train because people were taking one glance and deciding that he had some kind of plague. Not that he was complaining about that. What he could have complained about, however, was the swirling nausea in his belly that he couldn’t find any relief from, the pressure in his head that made his ears ring, the grating agony in his lungs and throat. When he looked out the window at the dark countryside passing by, the undersides of his eyes were black in his reflection.

Finally, finally, he heard the name of a familiar stop. His legs were next to useless as he attempted to get to the door of the train, resting his head against a wall as he waited for it to stop, for the doors to open, and he damn-near almost fell asleep on his feet.

___

He’d forgotten his phone, he realised as he stood in the entranceway of the train station. Then again, he couldn’t forget something he’d never intended to bring in the first place. The thought just hadn’t occurred to him, not even while he’d been scribbling down a quick explanation for Felix and Elliott so that they’d know where he’d gone. 

He remembered the way to the Waters’ new house from the station, even though he had been in a car last time he’d come; but it was bucketing down rain and he didn’t have so much as a hood to pull up.

He wondered if he’d have called Charlie at that point, if he could, and asked him to come and get him. Probably not. That would mean putting him out even more than he was already planning to.

The rain made itself part of his clothes so quickly he might as well have gone swimming in them.

___

Evening was closing in on the housing estate when he got there, after what felt like hours but was probably only one in reality. The curtains were drawn in the front room, leaving a faint glow around the edges to indicate life inside. Shayne’s breath stuck in his throat as he stepped onto the porch, finally out of the downpour.

He couldn’t believe how uncomfortable his eyes felt in his head, how high the pain had risen in his throat, how shaky his limbs were. He was starting to wonder if this whole day had been an extension of that messed-up dream. Charlie would know. Charlie would tell him why he was feeling like this… 

Charlie would make it better...

The doorbell faded in and out of his vision, and the first time he reached for it, his palm touched the glass pane of the door instead. Shit. If his throat and mouth and chest hadn’t felt so unbearably dry, he’d have thought he was about to throw up. It was stupid, actually, how dry and hot he felt inside while his outsides were drenched.

Shayne tried for the doorbell again, succeeding in ringing it this time. Doubt crept up his spine as droplets of rain fell from his hair and down his face. He was suddenly nervous on top of everything else, the sensation gnawing at his gut. He hadn’t thought about what he was going to say; thinking usually felt like taking steps through his thoughts, but right now it was like trying to tread water with weights tied to his feet.

He folded his arms tightly around himself, grimacing against the urge to just curl up on the doorstep and cry until someone came to get him.

The door clicked as it unlocked.

“Shayne!” Trevor exclaimed as he opened it. Shayne couldn’t tell if it was a question or not. “What are – what are you doing here?”

Ingrid came to the door too, when she heard her husband’s voice rise. Her eyes were wide and so was her mouth, as she pulled the front of her dressing gown more firmly around herself with folded arms.

“Sweetie, it’s lashing rain!” she exclaimed, peering out past the doorstep as though checking the driveway and sidewalk for a car. “Did you walk here from the station?”

“I-I – yeah, I heard – I heard from Charlie… kind of, not really, and… and… well, it was a dream, but he was – I h-hurt him, or it - it was a demon, I just don’t… I-I mean, I think it was just – just a nightmare, but they’re – the demons, my foster parents, everything’s – maybe…”

Shayne heard it, he heard how awful his voice sounded through his battered throat, and how little sense he was making, but he couldn’t seem to stop talking.

“And… and I had to see him, I’m – I know it’s late and it’s n-not okay to just show up uninvited, but I was s-so fucking worried about – sorry. Shit, I-I didn’t m-mean to swear just now, I…”

Both their faces fell as he stopped talking, and his stomach did too.

“Shayne, sweetie,” Ingrid said. “Charlie doesn’t live here.”

It took the words a moment to penetrate the fog in Shayne’s head and click into place. The way the two of them were standing in the doorway suddenly made sense, their shoulders tensed and their bodies forming a barrier he couldn’t cross. He wasn’t a guy coming to see his friend, he was a guy trying to get into their home on a random, rainy night.

“He…” Shayne blinked and felt himself start to sway.

“He didn’t tell you?” Trevor demanded incredulously, the rise in his voice making Shayne flinch. “He went back to Mulberry after the holidays. He’s finishing school there.”

“I… no, he’s…” Shayne’s skin tingled with hot-and-cold panic, his ears rang with in trouble, in trouble, you’re in trouble. He lowered his gaze, looking at how the rain lay in patches on the painted floorboards in the porch, carried there by the wind, or by him. “No, I’m – I’m s-sorry, I didn’t...”

He felt Charlie’s parents stare at him for a few moments longer before the embarrassment settled firmly in the pit of his stomach. And when it did, it made every hair on his body bristle, made the tears finally spring to his eyes, made his shoulders lift stiffly towards his ears.

“S-sorry,” he choked out, stepping back from the door. “I – I’ll just…”

“Sweetie,” Ingrid sighed, reaching into the rain to pull him back onto the porch. “At least come inside and get dry. One of us will drive you back to the station.”

Shayne whimpered at the hand gripping his upper arm, fear crawling into the space where anger usually flared whenever he was grabbed. He was too exhausted to fight or struggle, and he didn’t want to fight Ingrid anyway.

“Oh, my god.” Ingrid lifted her hand, and Shayne flinched, the fog in his brain making him think that he was going to be slapped. Instead, she brushed back some dripping-wet hair, and rested a cool palm on his forehead. “Trev? I think he’s got a temperature.”

Trevor said something in response, but Shayne closed his eyes to all of it, unable to think about anything but the blissfully cool hand that was taken away again. If tears fell from his eyes, they were undistinguishable from the rainwater. The cold and the wet were seeping into his bones, his body getting ready to give up.

“Do you have a phone number for the people he’s staying with?” Trevor asked gently.

“No, but I can look up the number for his foster parents –”

“N-no,” he gasped, putting a hand to the wall again as his vision started to go black. “N-no, no, no, no, you ca-can’t call Madelyn, don’t call Madelyn, don’t tell her where I am, she’ll hu– I-I can’t let her find you, I can’t… can’t let her hurt Charlie…”

“Alright, come on, son. Come on, no – no, no, don’t collapse just yet. There you go, come on…”

There were hands on him again, but there wasn’t anything left for him to care with. All he knew was that those hands weren’t Charlie’s, they weren’t his mum’s, and that second thought stuck in the back of his throat like a shard of glass.

He was vaguely aware of being led through the house, remembered noticing when the sound of the rain faded softly into the background instead of pelting down all around him. He was handed a towel and pyjamas and shown to the bathroom, all of it tinged in warm pink tones and cold shivers. He remembered saying yes when they asked if he would be okay by himself; he was always okay by himself. He was used to being okay by himself. He wouldn’t ask for anything more, because asking led to –

“I’ll be right outside the door if you need anything.” Ingrid’s hand on his shoulder, her face slowly coming into focus for all of a few seconds. “Okay?”

“’Kay,” he whispered, the shard tightening in his throat as she left him alone in the bathroom and shut the door. His clothes were dripping, and sank heavily as he put them on the floor. The shower was already running for him, not hot enough to produce a lot of steam. Still hotter than what got at either of his vampire-run homes.

Shayne lost his breath for a moment, feeling so dizzy he thought he might pass out. He could only manage to stand under the water long enough to be sure the rainwater was washed off. The pyjama pants and hoodie that he’d been given smelled just like Charlie, which he couldn’t decide was better or worse than nothing at all. They felt crisp against his skin, he instantly knew they’d been tumble-dried.

“Are you okay?” Ingrid called through the door not long after he’d shut the water off.

“Fine,” he tried to say, but the word caught in the back of his throat and he coughed, wondering for a second if he was about to be sick. He turned towards the sink, hands shaking as he held onto it, but the clenching in his chest had nothing to do with his stomach, and everything to do with his lungs, which felt like they had a mixture of feathers and pins thrashing inside of them.

“Sweetie?” Ingrid pushed the door open a few inches. “Are you dressed? Can I come in?”

“Yeah, I-I’m…” Shayne tried to clear his throat, though he only succeeded in making his voice even more gravelly. “I’m fine, sorry.”

Ingrid put out an arm for him to hold onto as he eased himself away from the sink. He head felt like it was being balanced on a toothpick.

“Let’s get you settled in Charlie’s bed,” she said, and it took a moment for Shayne to remember that Charlie wouldn’t actually be there. “You can sleep here tonight, but we have to contact someone and let them know where you are. Won���t your aunts be worried about you?”

“I left –” Shayne winced and swallowed back the urge to cough again, not wanting to unleash whatever he was carrying so close to Ingrid. “Left a m-message for… my cousin.”

“Alright,” Ingrid said, though she sounded dubious. “If you’re feeling better tomorrow, I’ll drive you back to the train station.”

Shayne wondered what was going to happen if he didn’t feel better in the morning, because right then it felt like his brain was never going to go back to the way it had been before it had become a dense, foggy wasteland for his thoughts. He had no idea how he got up the stairs, or which of Charlie’s parents had brought him a cup of hot lemon for his throat, or at what point the tears started again, because all of a sudden he was in the middle of crying softly into a pillow that was quickly losing its pleasantly cool temperature, and he wanted his mum.

“Shayne.” Trevor’s weight dipped the side of the mattress slightly. Once again, hearing his name in a stern voice made Shayne’s anxiety spike right up, skewering everything else he was feeling.

He jumped when Trevor touched his shoulder from outside the duvet, a nervous whimper scraping at his throat.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Trevor assured him, holding a mobile phone out towards him. “Here. It’s Charlie.”

“Charlie?” Shayne’s vision blurred a little as he tried to focus on the phone. “Can… Can I talk to him?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m giving you the phone, son.”

Shayne’s hands were shaking as he untangled an arm from the duvet. He took the phone and held it to his ear, watching as Trevor smiled and got to up leave. He held his breath for a moment, silence tickling his nerves, before some part of his fog-addled brain remembered that the person picking up the phone had to say something to let the other person know they were there.

“Hello,” he said in a tiny voice that still managed to strain his vocal cords.

“Shayne!” Charlie gasped on the other end of the phone. “Lovely, I can’t – I can’t believe you went to my parents’ place. Holy shit, are – are you okay?”

“N-no…” Shayne’s chest ached with something beyond sickness, the shivering starting up again at the sound of Charlie’s voice, probably intensified by nerves and adrenaline. “I n-needed… I thought you’d be h-here.”

“I know,” Charlie whispered, sounding like he was almost in tears himself. “I know, I know, lovely. I’m so, so sorry. I’m going to drive up first-thing tomorrow. Okay?”

“Mmm.” Shayne’s eyes closed of their own accord at the mention of sleep, his bones and his head aching to just be allowed to relax without trying to think or react to anyone. Meanwhile, his heart was clenched tight with the need to have Charlie there, to have Charlie now, and he gritted his teeth in frustration at himself. “Sorry I’m so… selfish, and childish, I-I – I don’t know what I was… thinking…”

“Selfish?”

“I want you,” Shayne breathed, burying his head lower on the pillow, blocking his own view of the room. “A-and my mum, I want my mum, Charlie…”

Charlie’s breath hitched on the phone, and he took a moment longer than usual to reply. Shayne fought back a sob, knowing that it was going to be a big one if it ever saw the light of day. He couldn’t be sure, but he couldn’t remember ever voicing those words before.

“Shayne, that’s – that’s not selfish. Okay? I promise. I – I love you so much, and I’m so fucking sorry I’m not there… I shouldn’t have lied to you about moving.”

Shayne tried to hold in the sob a little longer, but couldn’t stop his breath from hitching as coughs wracked his lungs and his frame too.

Charlie gave a quiet whimper at the sounds. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry,” Shayne choked out, brushing his cheek against the top sheet to dry off some of the tears. The phone was starting to feel clammy between his hand and his cheek. “I just really… don’t feel good.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

As he got his breathing under control, the sharpness of the chest pains faded back into a dull, scratchy ache. Shayne focused on the crisp white duvet that swallowed him almost all the way to the top of his head, on the glow from the touch-activated lamp on the bedside locker, which turned the magnolia walls a soft orange. There was a strange sort of quiet, the kind that lingered after a door was closed and voices hushed. A deliberate, crafted quiet.

“God,” Charlie whispered down the phone. “I wish I was there. I wish I could hold your hand right now.”

“Mmm,” Shayne agreed, though he reckoned his fingers wouldn’t have had the strength to stay furled around Charlie’s. What he really wanted was Charlie’s body curled around his back, and his arms holding onto him until the shaking stopped. Just the idea of it, and the presence of his voice - that voice - was like an extra layer of warmth between his skin and the bedsheets.

“I’m in bed, too... I’m going to stay on the phone until you drift off.” Charlie’s voice was falling into softer and softer whispers by the second. “And if you go for a nice, long sleep, I’ll be there when you wake up.”

Part Two: Charlie

[gamerwoo]

[The Pack Next Door] Mingi: Friends With Benefits (Part Four)

(photo edit courtesy of @songmingki​)

Characters: Mingi x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, friends to lovers au, smut (multiple orgasms, overstimulation, choking, unprotected sex but remember to be careful kids, dom mingi) but it gets soft afterwards i promise, a tiiiiiiny bit of crack at the end because i had to

Word count: 2,829

Summary: Growing up, you and Mingi were inseparable. You’d been friends your entire life and, as far as you knew, things were never any different. But what you don’t know is that Mingi imprinted on you when he was 15 and first turned into a werewolf, and he had been trying to keep it a secret ever since. And with the awful timing of mating season, he’s hoping he can somehow keep the facade up.

Tags: @sakura-uji​​​ @xummie​​​ @peachy-hoon​​​ @psshwa​​​ @uglyratlmao​​​ @uwu-yifan​

Unable to tag: @reading1011

a/n: did I edit this? no. i’m sorry sdkhfsd

Previous | Next | Friends With Benefits Masterlist

Was it weird to get ready to leave the house, knowing you were about to go sleep with your best friend just because you both wanted to? A little bit. Were you worried about his friends judging you? Kinda. But you still walked out to your car and got in like you were running to the store to get groceries.

As Mingi got the text that you were on your way, his already painfully hard length seemed to hurt even more. Just knowing you were going to see him just to let him fuck you was something he couldn’t believe was happening. He actually managed to get himself in probably the best scenario possible.

But, he didn’t tell the rest of the pack. He knew they were off at school anyway, and you didn’t have classes that day. So what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

He perked up when he heard your car door shut outside. He wanted to race downstairs and just shove you up against the front door as soon as you walked in, but he figured he should probably try to control himself a bit more than that. Though, he had to at least pace his bedroom because he couldn’t sit still.

You didn’t bother knocking on his door, opening it and being attacked immediately.

Mingi wasted no time pressing you up against the door -- slamming it shut in the process -- and pressing his lips to yours with an intensity that took you by surprise. But somehow, feeling him kiss you so suddenly felt...right. He would’ve rather he asked if he could kiss you or maybe made some small talk first, but he really couldn’t control himself when you were in front of him -- especially when you were wearing shorts and a flow-y crop top that had most of your skin exposed to him. 

“Dude, you’re burning up,” concern laced your voice as Mingi’s lips began to trail down to your neck. “I think this fever is--”

“I’m fine,” he hummed against your skin before he was nipping and sucking to take your mind off of how hot his body felt. And it worked because you let out a quiet whimper and melted into his touch.

Just feeling your hands on his hot skin felt good and took away a little of the tension. But you could even tell he wanted more from the hardness you felt pressed into your hip. Mingi was too quick to pounce on you, so you hadn’t noticed that the only thing he was wearing was boxers.

“How rough can I be?” he wondered, subtly rocking his hips into your body to get some sort of friction that caused him to moan lowly into your shoulder.

You didn’t even have to think about it because the idea of Mingi being rough had heat shooting straight through you to your core, “Do whatever you want to.”

Mingi let out a pleased rumble in his chest that was so low, you didn’t even hear it. His fingertips dug into your waist as he lifted you up and brought you to his bed. He threw you down, your hat flying off your head and falling onto the floor next to the bed. You looked up at Mingi with wide eyes as he all but tore off your shorts and underwear, throwing it somewhere in the room without looking. The room was purposefully darker -- the only light being his dim lamp on his nightstand thanks to the blackout curtains he used -- so you wouldn’t notice the color of his eyes, but he made sure to keep his head down, his eyes focused between your legs as he pushed your thighs open and laid on his stomach between them.

He wanted to be able to say something witty or sexy or dirty to you, but he was far too eager to waste time. His tongue lapped feverishly at your heat before he wrapped his lips around your clit. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers curling in his red locks as your head dropped back.

“Oh god, Mingi,” you moaned out, causing a low growl to rumble in him.

He loved hearing you moan his name, and his goal was to get you to do that as much as possible. The noises he pulled from you only egged him on as he ground himself into the mattress to relieve himself a little bit. He inserted two fingers into you slowly before moving them at a fast pace, his lips and tongue licking and sucking at your clit.

He either kept his eyes trained downward or closed just in case you happened to notice the bright red they had turned, even though he wanted nothing more than to look up at you and see your expression as he brought you to your first orgasm.

Mingi sat up and pushed his boxers down, “Condom?”

You hadn’t even relaxed from your high so you hardly even made out what he said, “Huh...?”

“Do I need to get a condom?” he asked.

“I-- Um,” you stammered, trying to clear your head enough to even process the question. “N-no.”

He normally would’ve stopped and questioned your answer. He would’ve double checked to make sure you were positive about your decision, making sure you were on the pill or okay with whatever, but he couldn’t hold himself back seeing you laid out for him on the bed with your chest heaving and your eyes still closed as the post-orgasm bliss wore off.

And it was before it wore off that he slowly pushed into you. You gasped feeling him fill you until he couldn’t push in any farther, a low growl emitting from him. Part of you wanted to tell him to be careful because you were still sensitive, but another part of you didn’t care and wanted him to just keep doing whatever he wanted.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby,” he mumbled, ducking his head down to your neck to kiss and nip at your skin.

“You’re--” your sentence cut off as Mingi slowly pulled out and pushed back in to test how you felt. “S-so big, fuck.”

Of course, he was definitely prideful in that, and that might’ve been partly why he tore your shirt in half to get it off your body -- only partly. He had also just been holding back and really needed to get it out somehow. You didn’t say anything about it, though, too turned on from how Mingi was acting. Something about him being so rough was really hot, honestly.

“C-can I move faster?” he asked, almost sounding like he was in pain, his lips grazing over the skin of your chest.

“Please,” you whimpered.

And move he did. He couldn’t control the harsh, fast snaps of his hips as he thrust deep into you. You let out a gasp that turned into a loud moan as your legs wrapped around his waist as you clung to his sweaty and scorching body.

“Fuck, you take my cock so well,” he grunted as his lips kissed every inch of you that he could reach. “You feel so fucking good.”

You didn’t expect that kind of praise from him, but it made you moan and clench around him. He growled as he smirked against your skin. He loved the ways you reacted to him over the smallest things. Part of it was thanks to the mating pull, but he also liked to think he was just that good.

He managed to unclasp your bra before throwing it blindly away. One of his hands began kneading into one breast as his mouth wrapped around the nipple of your other. His other hand moved between your legs to rub your clit, and he felt your thighs clench around his waist as you rocked your hips in time with his thrusts.

Mingi let out a loud moan of profanities and your name as he came for the first time that day, releasing inside you. The feeling of his cum filling you, mixed with the pleasure he was giving you, caused you to cum for your second time, this orgasm more intense than the first. Your back arched off the bed as your nails dug into his back and scratched down his tanned skin, no doubt leaving red, raised marks in their wake.

He was panting above you, sneaking a peek at your face. When he saw your eyes were closed, he studied your blissed-out look. He didn’t get to see your expression when you came, but he could at least see how flushed you looked after you came. Your hair was a mess and your face was glowing with a sheen o sweat, and he thought you looked so beautiful.

Despite already cumming, Mingi was still painfully hard. He pulled out of you, pulling a soft whine from your lips before he flipped you onto your stomach. He pulled you up onto your knees before pushing into you again, and your hips squirmed.

“M-Mingi,” you whimpered. “Sensitive...”

“I know, baby,” he hummed as he gripped your hips so tightly that you were sure the shape of his fingertips would be bruised into your skin later. “I know you can do one more for me, can’t you? You’ll be a good girl for me, won’t you?”

You softly moaned out a, “yes”, so Mingi went just as fast and hard as he had before. You kept your face squished against the pillows as his thrusts rocked his headboard into the wall. He reached around you to rub your clit, and you squealed from how overly stimulated you were. It felt good but it was borderline uncomfortable. But after a little bit, the bit of pain turned to complete pleasure.

With you facing the other way, Mingi could admire the side of your face. You looked so fucked out, but your face was scrunched up into pleasure as you babbled out his name like it was the only word you knew. He pulled your body up and held you with one arm so your back was flush with his front, his fingers still on your clit rubbing quick circles.

“I wish I fucked you sooner,” he growled lowly in your ear, his words causing your pussy to clench around him. He knew how much you seemed to like him talking to you, but he also just couldn’t control himself. “You feel so good around my cock.”

Your hazy brain couldn’t even form words, just letting out strings of moans and whimpers of his name with a few curse words here and there. 

“Can you cum for me again?” he asked as he kissed up and down your neck, your head lolling to the side to give him more access. “You want that, don’t you, baby? You wanna cum on my cock again, don’t you?”

“F-fuck, Mingi, please” you mumbled through your moans. “I-I need to cum again.”

Mingi’s arm that was holding you up trailed up your body, his hand finding your neck. He gave it a firm squeeze, and your orgasm suddenly hit you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you came for a third time, your body slightly spasming against him as you cried out his name and dug your nails into his arm and wrist.

The feeling of you cumming caused him to cum again, burying his face in your neck and trying to resist the instinct to mark you. Instead, he pressed his lips into a thin line -- probably drawing blood in the process -- and muffled his moans as he filled you again, his cum and yours mixing and leaking out onto the bed.

Your body went limp in his arms, but he held you up. Satisfied, he gently laid you onto the bed, your eyes already closed and your brain half-conscious.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” he said softly as he pulled out of you as gently as he could. Hearing you quiet cries, he apologized a few times before he got up from the bed. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

You didn’t even hear him as he left the room, but feeling something cool and damp between your legs woke you up. Your hips twitched, trying to squirm away, but Mingi softly cooed at you and told you he was just cleaning you up. Then he moved the bedding off of one side of his bed, moved you to that side, and took the bedding to the laundry. He grabbed extra blankets from his closet and covered you up before he got in, and held you sideways in his lap, letting your head loll against his shoulder.

“_____, you need water,” he said quietly in your ear, sounding back to his normal self.

“No,” you mumbled sleepily.

“I need to make sure you’re okay,” he chuckled, finally managing to rouse you from your almost sleep as he put the water bottle to your lips. You took the bottle with shaky hands and began to gulp. “Okay, slow down. If you drink too fast you’ll get sick.”

He took the bottle from you and let you pant as he stroked your hair back, “Do you feel okay? I didn’t go too far, did I?”

“No,” you murmured, your head falling against him again. “How the hell do you have so much endurance?”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple, “Just cursed with it, I guess.”

“More like blessed,” you joked with a soft smile.

He talked to you for a little longer, making some small talk just to make sure you were alright. You asked if anyone was home, he asked if you skipped school. It was pretty much just normal conversation until you Mingi suddenly turned kind of awkward.

“So...” he began slowly. “Could we...like...make this kind of like a...regular thing? If that’s cool?”

You lifted your head to look at him, “Really?”

Mingi had turned the lamp off earlier because he figured you would’ve fallen asleep by now. But now it helped because he could feel you trying to look at him and he didn’t want you to see his yellow eyes.

“Not to be weird, but that was pretty much the best sex I’ve ever had,” he admitted with a light laugh.

“Honestly, same,” you nodded. You were silent for a few seconds before saying, “Yeah, we could do that.”

“Cool,” he nodded, grinning to himself.

And it was probably a good thing you agreed because you could feel him getting hard again. His erection was pressing against your ass, and both of you knew that you knew.

“Seriously, dude?” you laughed. “Are you that excited?”

But truth be told, it ignited a new fire in you despite the fact your body felt exhausted.

He whined, “I can’t help it!”

-

By the time any of his brothers got home, they could all smell Mingi’s scent, your scent, and the very clear smell of sex in the house. Hongjoong’s eyes widened, being the concerned alpha he was, thinking that something bad had happened. He couldn’t hear anything, but he knew something had happened, and he wasn’t sure if it was something that he had to worry about.

“He wouldn’t,” Wooyoung said before quietly adding on, “...right?”

Hongjoong raced up the stairs, Wooyoung, Yunho, and Seonghwa barreling up behind him. Hongjoong threw Mingi’s bedroom door open, mouth open and ready to yell at the younger werewolf, but Mingi sharply interrupted with, “Shh!”

Mingi was laying in bed beside you, your naked form laying on your stomach on one side of the bed, completely passed out asleep. He had a finger to his lips as he gave a stern look to his pack, who took one look at you and then quickly averted their eyes to lock onto Mingi.

“What happened?” Hongjoong demanded, keeping his voice down.

“Nothing that wasn’t consensual,” Mingi replied before waving his hand for them to leave. “Get out.”

“Wait, you fucked _____?” Wooyoung asked in shock.

Seonghwa whacked the younger boy in the chest, “Don’t say it like that.”

“She agreed, though?” Yunho questioned. “Wait, so then...does she know?”

Mingi quickly shook his head, “No, so I’d rather not have this conversation in case she wakes up. Get out.”

“But--”

Mingi grabbed the closest object -- it happened to be one of his shoes on the floor -- and chucked it at the door. Hongjoong closed the door before it could hit them, so it hit the door before falling with a thud onto the floor.

But that didn’t even wake you up.

The wolves in the hallway were listening to see if you woke up. When they found your breathing and heartbeat to still be slow and even, Wooyoung raised his eyebrows, impressed.

“Don’t,” Seonghwa said as Wooyoung opened his mouth to probably say something stupid or gross or both about Mingi’s skills in bed, “say anything.”

[peachyteabuck]

study buddy, part v

series summary: after crushing on you since freshman orientation, Natasha finally gets the guts to ask you help you pass her postmodern lit midterm, to which you agree.

chapter summary: one restaurant date, two confessions, and three grades that will make or break natasha’s degree

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 4,881

trigger warnings: overstimulation, use of a safe word, teeth rotting fluff, strap on sex, ball gags, explicit conversations about whorephobia, orgasm control, angst if you squint

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

part one, part two, part three, part four

The warmth of the sun filtered through blinds is what woke you, wrapped tight in Natasha’s arms. The sex-stained blankets were as messy as can be, some of them hugged your intertwined bodies like a tightly wrapped burrito while others were nearly falling off the bed.

It was messy, beautifully and wonderfully so. If you felt the need to move (which, of course you didn’t because who in their right mind would try to disentangle themselves from such a lovely human person) you doubt you could’ve; Natasha held you with arms too strong and heart beat too soft. You wouldn’t dare disturb her if the house was on fire; then again, if the world was burning down around you – you’d rather die in her arms than reach for uncertain safety. It’s there that you fell back into sleep, tucked under her chin and running your fingers through her hair.

Eventually the growling of your stomachs woke the both of you up, each respective organ desperate for nourishment – and the two hard-boiled eggs, sour gummy worms, gluten-free bread, and half a container of mustard wasn’t gonna cut it. The waning sun was an ominous sign of how long you’d truly gone without food, and you soon didn’t feel all that bad about poking your poor g-

Poking poor Natasha awake.

You didn’t feel all that bad poking Natasha awake as your insides beg for sustenance and your head feels light and holy shit, if you didn’t eat right then you were going to start taking bites out of her – and, for the first time, not in a fun and/or sexy way.

“Hey,” you pressed your forefinger to her nose. “Nat.” You poked the end of each eyebrow, then at various locations of her forehead. “Natasha!” Still, she remained asleep, and buried herself further into the blankets as some unconscious act of survival. “Nat.” You poked her right cheek. “Naat.” You poked her left cheek. “Naaat.” You poked each cheek with each hand at its softest part, pushing until you felt her teeth.  “Nat wake uuup.”

She just grunted and pushed you away before she nuzzled back into the covers. “Go away. I want to die here. Let me become a body without organs.”

She paused.

“Or is it organs without bodies?”

You sighed but make no move to displace her. “One, Natasha, we have the midterm coming out soon. If you do not know the original work done by two far left authors from the sarcastic critique by another far left author, I’m breaking up with you. Two, that’s not what that means and you making a vague reference to some postmodern concept does not mean I am going to stop being annoying. Three, would you like to come get dinner with me?”

Natasha shot up, flame-red hair messy and shirt disheveled – it made her look like the top of of a thicket of trees during a forest fire. Along the side of her face, you could see indentations from where her skin was pressed to the pillowcase. “Food?”

You nodded, pushing the strands from her eyes. “Yes, darling, food.”

She wiped at her face and pushed the covers from her legs, eyes half-closed. “Food.”

You picked some of the crust from the corner of her eyes. She blinked indignantly at you but made no move to stop you. “Do you care where we go?”

Natasha shook her head left-to-right silently, then moved to wipe her face once more.

“Okay. There is a very good Chinese place that I want to show you. Is that okay with you?”

Natasha nodded and made a mmhmm noise.

“Cool.”

You kissed the tip of her nose before you got up and scrounged together a passable outfit that would cover the bruises that still littered your body and shield you from the cold. After a few moments, Natasha opened her eyes wide enough to see a few feet in front of her and did the same.

There was s a wonderful silence that filled the air, the comfortable kind. Like the day of that quiz, it’s a wonderful kind of cozy – soothing and sweet.

You could get used to this…

It was a short walk to the restaurant, one you were all-too familiar with due to your many, many nights there. It was the first place you ate at on campus (that wasn’t one of the mind-numbingly mediocre cafeterias) the day you moved in and it had become some pseudo-home, the place always warm and waitstaff always nice (and always willing to let you eat as much as you pay for and abuse their free WiFi).

The menu hadn’t changed much (by “much,” you mean they’ve fixed two of the five typos) since you first started going there, so you should have already known what you want. Still, you opened the folded, laminated paper and read each item with genuine interest, just as Natasha did.

You looked up at her once and awhile just to see her again. Every time you tried to keep her out of your line or sight for more than a few seconds you’d almost burst at the seams, like a sunburst than could only be quelled by looking at her.

“What year are you?” Natasha asked, which broke your unbelievably tender train of thought.

Your brain, which was still very fried, did not compute. “What?”

She reached over to point to the Chinese zodiac calendar on your menu with one of many of her fingers that was inside you last night. “What year are you?”

You mumbled something and shrugged, fake-intense-reading as your neurons attempted to rebuild your capacity for speech. Luckily, Natasha seemed determined to continue the conversation.

“I’m the year of the dog,” she said, nonchalant, as if you were not losing your goddamn mind on the other side of the table. Your brain was fried, your mouth was gaping like a fish out of water, and were your hands shaking? What the fuck were you supposed to say? How should you respond?

Think, you fool! Think!

“There’s a feminist critical theorist who fucks her dog,” you blurted.

Natasha just smiled – god her smile was so big and wide and beautiful - and laughed. “Part of me thinks you’re lying, but part of me worries you’re telling the truth.”

You laughed then, too, smiling big as she did. It set the tone for the rest of the night, mood light and happy as the tired, probably-high waitress took your order and then brought you the food a suspiciously-short amount of time later. It was good, very good.

“And my mom turns to me and she goes,” you wrinkled your noise in an effort to properly invoke your mother’s nasally tone. “This family does not get Fs or Ds or Cs. You better fix this or else.”

Natasha almost choked on her soft drink at your impression. “You were supposed to make an omelet for a foods and nutrition class, what did she want you to do!?”

You took another bite of orange chicken before you rolled your eyes and shrugged. “I have no idea what that woman wants from me now, let alone when I was fuckin’ fourteen.”

You were both laughing as you took food from each other’s plates and swapped small stories. Natasha told you about her own coding mishaps (apparently it was easy to hack into news websites and create fake stories involving certain celebrities and a certain large bird and many, if not too many, phallic objects), you told her about the time you stress-cried in the bathroom so much the janitor kept tissues in a secret compartment for you.

One hand from each of you remained occupied as you held hands on the side of the table farthest from the prying eyes of fellow college students (as if any of them were sober enough to notice, though. Along with being great to you, the restaurant’s very greasy menu meant it was a good spot to quench munchies or quell the pain of an especially bad hangover).

A phone – your phone, you realized – vibrated obnoxiously on the other side of the table. Previously forgotten, you broke from the moment to reengage with the (seemingly) hundreds of people who were attempting reach you via text. At first you thought it’s an email from a client – but then you realized it was a text from a classmate. Specifically, the girl who sat front and center in the lecture hall you and Natasha shared.

“Who’s that?” Natasha asked.

You furrowed your brows as you texted, swallowing the last bit of food. “Oh, Lindsay from our class. She wants to know what I got on the quiz.”

Natasha then realized she never bothered to figure out her grade, and it brought all her anxiety about graduating on time and also making sure you’d never leave her and oh my god what if she failed this fucking quiz?

A few moments of soul-crushing silence passed before you put your phone back down. Natasha watched you like a cat stalking a fake mouse on a string, or a drunk mom at a Christmas party eyeing a dessert table; the drive was genuine, but the goal? Ridiculous. Absolutely, totally ridiculous.

You didn’t press her like she expected, though, didn’t even stare at her with that evil eye Natasha’s sure you got from your mother on more than one occasion. You just went back to eating your food, and put your phone back out of reach.

You noticed her staring at you when you went to borrow (steal) another piece of food from her plate.

“What?”

Natasha furrowed her brow. “Don’t you…Don’t you want to know what I got on the quiz?”

You shook your head as you stole another few bites worth of food. “Not unless you want to tell me.” You shrugged as you swallowed. “I’m not gonna, like, push you if you don’t want to tell me. I’m not my mother.”

Natasha smiled at that and left the conversation there. She was unnaturally quiet for the new few minutes as she listened intently while you told more stories and commented on the food and thought out loud about school and the rest of your life and should you go shopping soon?

Throughout all of it, Natasha remained incommunicative – to the point you started to worry.

“Are you okay?” you asked and reached across the table to put your hand over hers. She smiled, softly, before she replied.

“I really care about you, you know,” she said, low and almost inaudible. You said nothing in return. “And I’m very bad at this. I’m so bad at this. I spent a lot of my childhood in rooms with therapists who said less than I did. I’m not good at,” she waved her hands as she tried to find the right words. “I’m not great at emotions. And expressing them and telling people about them and all that shit. Okay?”

You swallowed the last tastes of duck sauce that coated your back teeth. Despite the sweet substance being a liquid, it felt like a waterfall of boulders cascading inside your throat. “Nat, I-“

“This isn’t me saying I love you, but I want…” Natasha was on the verge of crying, just as you were. She averted your gaze as she continues, staring at the booth cushion directly behind you. “I want to commit to you in some way. I like you, I like the person I am when I’m around you. And I don’t want to lose you because I was too much of a pussy to make a move.”

You said nothing, did nothing. Despite her not looking at you, you stared at her very serious facial expression and watched every muscle twitch for some signs of lying. You saw none.

“I…,” Natasha met your eyes as you spoke. Your mouth was so dry you nearly coughed – but the idea of making any sound terrified you. “I…I need some air.”

You didn’t wait for a reply as you pushed yourself out of the booth and ran out the front entrance.

Natasha didn’t wait for the door to close behind you before she chased after you. She left both of your phones and wallet at the booth, not wanting you to get out of eyeshot but also terrified of the waitstaff thinking the both of you were dine-and-dashers (and terrible ones, at that).

She followed you outside, ache in her heart an excellent distraction from the nighttime chill that dug tiny knives into her pale skin. Still, as her breath was visible in a faint fog in front her, no pain was as unimaginable as the one as losing you.

“Babe, plea-“  began, voice small and nonthreatening as possible.

You interrupted her and avoided looking into her eyes and picked at a loose thread in the sweater you were wearing – Natasha’s sweater you were wearing.

You worried it was the last time you’d ever see her again, and yet you refused to look at her. You refuse dto look at her large eyes and the bags under them, at her nimble hands – thin and agile from years of typing; at her plush lips or beautiful hair or-

Wasn’t that the cruelest irony of all? Of the cognitive dissonant fear of missing something while desperately avoiding looking at it. Still, you chose to jump off the proverbial cliff with your eyes clenched shut and nails digging into the pads of your soft palms and blood rushing in your ears louder than anything you’d ever heard in your life.

“I’m a sex worker.”

Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed and she breathed heavily, like when your mom got mad at you for bringing home that C your freshman year. “There’s-“

“I’m a sex worker. I make my own porn. I sell my nudes. It’s my main,” you sighed. “It’s my only source of income. It’s how I make money. It is how I will continue to make money. It’s how I stay mostly-independent from my very judgmental mother. It’s how I plan on staying mostly-independent from my very judgmental mother and my very judgmental family and the very judgmental world. And if you think that’s morally wrong of whatever, or that I’m some sort of sub-human, or that I’m evil, or that I should stop…”

For the first time that night, you looked her straight in the eyes. No smiling, no laughing, no wishing to see her beautiful face. Power. Authority. Truth. You tried to channel the red you saw on all those feminist theory books you’d had to read for the class that brought you and Natasha together.

“If you don’t believe in the validity of my labor I cannot and will not date you,” you were snarling as you stomped toward her until your toes nearly touched. “I’m not going to let someone who can’t love what I do love me.”

As you stood there, teeth bared and hands balled into fists, stories of rage flashed like lightning in your brain. Narratives of horror from your media studies class, of actresses whose only chance to scream was in front of a camera. If you had sharper nails, sharper teeth, glowing eyes that would be some award-winning monologue where people clap and call it “mind-blowing” and give it “five out of five stars.” You’d be a prime example of how satisfying rage can be as a subversive practice.

But no. You were no antihero(ine), no supernatural being caught on tape. You were not on the silver screen, you were not being streamed on some overpriced platform, you were not the subject of dissertations on media studies or really good articles on feminism or whatever else academics were doing with their time in tenure. You had filed-down nails and wide eyes and soft skin and an uneasy stomach and shaking hands and breath that faintly showed in the air when you exhaled. You had tears that threatened to fall. You had fear.

Natasha’s eyes flitted nervously, her lip between her teeth. For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Natasha was the one to speak first. Her voice sounded as terrified as you felt – with words that were spat through a set jaw and teeth bared.

“Who hurt you?”

You took a half-step back, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? Natasha, what the fuck are y-“

“Who hurt you?” she whispered, words like knives and eyes just as dangerous. You stepped back, almost scared of her and what she could do to you.

You were pressed against the side of the building then – you could feel the brick and mortar itching at the skin of your back through your top. “Natasha what the hell are you talking about? I don’t kn-“

“Yes,” she stepped back, but grasped at your left hand as she did so. She was a ship tethering to a dock, floating out on the water but always willing to come back to port. “Yes, you do. You know exactly who, what, I’m talking about. What they did. Just tell me who they are, and I’ll ruin their lives.”

You looked for the joke, the punchline. You looked for a glint in her eye that said she was fucking with you and was waiting for you to laugh it off. When you were in seventh grade you got asked out as a joke and the football player made the exact same facial expression you now hunt for.

But you found nothing, no teasing or set up in a larger scheme to mock you. She was serious as you’d ever seen anyone be. “What in the fuck-“

“Tell me who they are. Tell me the name of every person who ever made you feel like shit and I’ll ruin their lives. I’ll steal their identity. I’ll make it so they can never get a job, or a car, or a house again. I’ll do it in a heartbeat,” Natasha let go of your hand and held your face in her food-warm palms. “I will destroy the very existence of every person who ever made you feel like this, because you deserve someone who will protect you from all that bullshit. And I want to be that person.”

The silence was painful, almost. But also comforting. Still, you broke it so speak. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Natasha smiled, and pecked your lips. “Good. Now come finish my food with me, it’s getting cold and our waitress is definitely judging us.”

You broke into a fit of laughter, nearly wheezing as she guided you back inside. The food was good, even though it had cooled considerably while you were both outside – greasy and thick with flavor and hot in your mouth along with your soul and Natasha held your hand on the table and fed you with her fork and you stole bits of her food while she was distracted. At one point, Lizzo played on the restaurant soundtrack and Natasha sung low with you, and you ordered more food to take home and it was hot, too hot in your hands as you carried the large brown paper bag soaked with grease to her apartment. Maybe you were going eat the food in the morning, maybe you were going eat it later tonight. It, truly, did not really matter.

There wasn’t much time between when you put the leftovers in the fridge and when Natasha pushed you onto your knees in her (and your) (it was now shared) bedroom. There also wasn’t much time between when your knees hit the ground and when Natasha grabbed the ball gag from its place in her toy drawer.

“I’m so happy you’re mine,” Natasha cooed as she adjusted the matte black straps. She kissed at your temples when it was secured, murmuring sweet words into the top of your hairline. If there was anyone else watching you, if there were some voyeur witnessing this profession of ownership, you doubt they could hear her. The entire world could be gazing at the two of you under a microscope and they would know nothing. Wasn’t it something wonderful, to share such, dare you say it, love that cannot, will not be observed by a single being outside your pairing? “Such a pretty little thing, a beautiful little toy for me.”

You didn’t dare move, worried even a flinch would disappoint her. Even as spit began to fall down your chin and between your breasts, as it pools in the gap between your legs, you successfully resist the urge to wipe it away. Natasha walks to the end of the bed, perching herself on the covers. The silence isn’t thick or uncomfortable, rather something closer to electric, something you can feel on the insides of your nose as you sniffled.  

Slowly, she raised her right hand and crooked her first finger. You understood immediately and you got on your hands and knees to crawl across the room to her. When you reached the end of the bed you waited, obediently, for her.

Like at the restaurant – you were nearly bursting out of your skin with excitement as you awaited instruction.  

“You’re so pretty, baby,” she cooed. “Now come up on the bed and let me wreck that pussy.”

You do as you’re told without hesitation, scrambling to get on the bed and onto your back. Natasha grabbed a bottle of lube out of seemingly nowhere and poured it over the same strap from the first time she fucked you.

You moaned deeply and reached for something, anything; you whined high in your throat as she pounded into you, the bed smacking against the stained wall with each thrust.

“You’re too pretty for your own good, you know,” her voice was breathless as she spoke. “Normally I would try to keep my toys intact, try to keep them in good condition, but I just can’t seem to help myself around you.”

With each word your back arched farther, your fingers tightened around the sheets.

“F-fuck,” you moaned around the thick plastic sphere in your mouth as you tried to push your back closer to Natasha’s chest.

She grabbed your hair and bit at the curve of your ear before she spoke in a low voice that sent another wave a slick down your inner thighs. “What do you belong to?” she hisses. “Who does this pussy,” she slapped your cunt and you cried out at the stinging pain. “belong to?”

You didn’t hesitate. “You Mommy, I belong to you!”

In that moment, you wondered whether Natasha’s neighbors could hear your screams. But in the one right after, you realized you really, truly, di not give a single flying fuck what they could hear.

“Fuck yes, you’re mine,” she growled as she pressed your face into the sheets, as she loomed over you like a god would punish some human exercising an unholy level of hubris. “Don’t you fucking forget it.”

You couldn’t speak because of the ball gag – didn’t even try to – yet Natasha seemed to know exactly what you wanted to say.

“You wanna cum, love?” she cooed, still fucking into you. “You wanna cum over Mommy’s cock?”

You nodded, the whines high in your throat resembed something close to a please yes please Mommy please I wanna cum I wanna cum I wanna cum.

Just like the lube, Natasha grabbed the hitachi out of thin air before she turned it on low and pressed it to your neglected clit. It was something, it was enough, but only just so. Your muscle tensed and you wailed out as you bucked your hips, as you tried to fuck yourself harder onto the toy. Natasha notices and slows her thrusts, laughing as you become more and more desperate.

“You’re so pathetic,” she hissed. “Such a pathetic little toy. You’ll do anything to cum, won’t you?”

You nodded; words garbled.

Natasha laughed again. “Of course you would, slut. You’d do anything for me, right? You’d do anything I told you to? You’re just a mindless little toy for me, just a dumb little thing with no thoughts besides how you can please me…”

You were drooling around your gag so much it covered your cheeks and pooled on each side.

You’re blissed out, eyes glazed over and body wonderfully lax. Natasha’s isn’t done with you yet, though, because of course she isn’t. You’re now officially her girlfriend, officially hers, and maybe it’s that satisfaction or excitement or whatever in her blood but it it’s letting her stop, not now, not when you look so ethereal with a halo of sweaty hair and the sheets looking like wings and your skin practically glowing.

Not just any angel, her angel – her perfect little blessed creature, sanctified even as she degrades you in such a sacrilegious way.

“I want you to cum when I count to ten,” Natasha murmured as she pushed the sweaty hairs that had escaped their confines from your eyes. “Alright, baby?”

You nodded and tried to chase the fleeting feeling of her fingers as they dusted over your feverish skin.

She turned the Hitachi up a setting, smiling as it met your clit and you cried out.

“One,” she mumbled, rubbing the head against you in small circles. It was something, but certainly not enough.

“Two.”

Natasha knew this. She knew you didn’t orgasm all that easily.

“Three.”

Regardless, she agonizingly slowly turned the toy up a setting. Just as you feared, it remained insufficient.

“Four.”

God, nearly halfway there and you were terrified what would happen if you couldn’t cum. Part of it was exhilarating, but part of it gnawed a small hole in your stomach that left you…empty, somehow.

“Five.”

She ticked it up one, two more settings. You sighed in relief and moved your hips with what little mobility she’d allowed you.

“Six.”

She increased the vibrations again and reveled in your squeals.

“Seven.”

You cried out and wanted to beg for mercy.

“Eight.”

You didn’t.

“Nine.”

You felt like you’d forgotten how to breathe, lungs shriveled up into nothingness. It was as if you could feel each of your cells as they begged for oxygen, as your blood desperately tried to each your heart and brain.

“Ten.”

You came with a deafening scream, your whole body shaking for what feels like forever.

When you came down, your girlfriend was next to the bed, holding what you could only is another section of rope. What she planned to do with it, you had zero idea.

“How ya doin’, baby?” She asks. Natasha could sense something was off, but worried about misreading the signs.

It’s obvious she was not incorrect, though, when you tapped at your thigh three times.

Immediately, Natasha drops the toys in her hands and rushes over – untying the gag and freeing your limbs.

“What’s wrong, baby?” She scanned your body – terrified of finding blood or something worse. “What do you need?”

You swallowed what little spit you could find, your voice hoarse as you spoke. “Red,” a pause as you attempted to swallow once more. “Water.”

It was  all Natasha needed before she was rushing off to the fridge to grab a chilled bottle of the stuff and one of those reusable straws she stole from your apartment.

When she returned to the room she pulled you into her lap, keeping you upright as she leaned against the wall.

Natasha watched every muscle, every twitch as you drank from the straw. Your body seemed unwilling to move itself, relying on Natasha to hold you upright enough so that you didn’t choke. The room was silent except for the sound of your noisy swallowing (and, soon, the slurping of last droplets of water). You were about to ask for more, but Natasha found an unopened plastic water bottle within reach and held that for you, too. It reminded you of the first time the two of you fucked, and suddenly the world didn’t feel so cold anymore.

“I’m done, Mommy,” you told her when half the water was gone. “I’m good.”

“You sure, babygirl?” her voice laced with deep, genuine concern. Her eyes reflected the same emotion.

You nodded, leaning into her and rubbing your knuckles where they laid against her thigh. “I’m sure, Mommy. Thank you.”

Natasha closed the bottle and tossed it into the half-open bedside table drawer before she wrapped you in her arms. “Of course, honeybee. I’m proud of you for using your safe word, thank you for trusting me.”

You mmmed and laid there for a moment, your breathing in rhythm with Natasha. You two sat there, comfortable in the silence. If there was anything else to say, you’d say it – but for the while you enjoyed the wordless space you and her existed in.

It took a long while, after your heart had slowed and your breathing had evened out, but you eventually fell asleep in Natasha’s arms. It was peaceful, deep – somehow impossibly more satisfying than any of the other times you’d fallen asleep, even the times you’d fallen asleep with her. There, secured from harm in her arms and wrapped in blankets, you felt secure. It was indescribable, it was wonderful, it was safe. And to you, in that moment, it was heaven.

[tonystarkstan]

I can’t stop thinking about Peter Parker.

I can’t stop thinking about the kid who lived and lost and keeps living despite the loss, who takes every small moment and makes it big, who helps old ladies carry groceries to their car, who once kept a man from jumping off the Brooklyn bridge.

Peter, who walked off of a battlefield and into high school, who takes off his suit before he hops into bed every night but can’t do the same with his grief. He walks through a city he loved - still loves - and finds his mentor in murals and the selfish part of him wishes those could be buried, too.

I can’t stop thinking about a Peter who was bright-eyed in the beginning. A Peter who was curious about how everything worked, because that’s how kids are. A Peter who took everything apart and put it back together again, only to grow up and find out that he can’t so easily do the same thing with his own life.

Let’s talk about how Peter was mocked and bullied, made fun of for being a little awkward and quirky on the outside because no one wanted to see the lion on the inside. Underneath every stuttered “hello” was a heart that beat with unbridled compassion and bravery.

There was Peter, who fell in love with Star Wars, who used to dream about going up to the stars and being a hero, not knowing that one day he would. Not knowing that it would haunt him for years to come, that more Star Wars movies would come out, and instead of excited, he’d just feel sick to his stomach.

Now he wishes the words “star” and “wars” could be wiped from existence. (Another piece of childhood stolen from him).

I can’t stop thinking about the boy who made the decision of a man in the blink of an eye. Who was bitten by a radioactive spider and knew the only thing left to do was to change the world with it, because what’s the point in having something to give if you never actually share it?

And what about the boy who lost both parents, his uncle, and his mentor and still manages to find smiles to give? He’s had grief pressed into him since he was small, slapped on like a temporary tattoo. He’s always relieved when it fades, time dulling the intensity, only to experience yet another loss, and then he has to do it all over again.

I can’t stop thinking about Peter Parker. I can’t stop thinking about the kid who opens his eyes everyday and wakes up to a world that is almost limitless in its evil and constant in its pain, and how he still has hope because he finally understands: if you’ve lost hope, you’ve lost everything.

So he finds it in himself.

[theskyeandsea]

When You Get What You Want... || Cutler & Skylar

Timing: Late January 19th,  shortly after this chatzy

Location: Clarke’s Convenience Store

Tagging: @clarkesconvenience & @theskyeandsea

Description: Skylar’s rampage around town continues; Cutler offers a helping hand.

Warnings: Drug use, addiction, body horror, memory loss, medical blood

Disoriented and covered in flour and blood, Skylar stumbled down the road away from the shop, a giddy smile still on her face as her feet began to skip across the pavement. She bounded down the road before turning abruptly, eyes caught by the displays in the window. Staggering forward, she pressed her fingers against the glass and the same sticking sensation filled her. The atoms and molecules and all the tiny parts of what made her a person shifted until she was crashing into the center of the convenience store. With a dazed grin on her face, Skylar began to push displays over. Blood trickled down the side of her face from her ear, a clean jagged section of her earlobe ripped free and stuck in the glass of the convenience store. She barely noticed as the liquid splattered across the clean floors while she shoved at the shelves. Cutler had been mentally preparing himself for a break-in since he had come home. It was bound to happen eventually, as it had for his parents several times over the course of his childhood. When it did, he would handle it the same way his parents had: with calm, slow movements and total compliance. 

It didn’t go that way. 

For one thing, he had expected it to happen while the shop was open and the money would still be in the register. Instead, the crashing sound of displays being toppled downstairs had awoken him in the early hours of the morning. The cool and collected man of his practiced break-in fantasies was quickly replaced with a groggy version of himself in a wrinkled t-shirt and boxers, squinting in the dim light. 

Slowly, he took in the scene before him in pieces. Spidery crimson tracks spilling down pale skin and dripping onto waxed tile, collapsed shelving units spilling all manner of dried goods onto the floor, and a familiar, crazed look behind wide, dark pupils. He had dealt with this many times in the ER. Well, maybe not this, exactly, but he knew intoxication when he saw it. His hand hovered over the light switch to his right and he called out before clicking the buzzing fluorescents on above them, “You need some help.” A statement, not a question; carried with the arrogant weight of medical school behind it. “I can patch that up for you.” 

Stepping on bags of spices, Skylar took particular joy in watching as the dried herbs crumbled under her shoes. She ran her hand along the shelves, knocking more and more of the goods onto the ground, blood dripping across the crinkly bags. And then, she realized she wasn’t alone. Someone had entered from the back of the shop. Skylar spun around to look at him, tilting her head at him quizzically. “Help? I don’t need help, I have all the help I need.” She said with a giddy smile on her face, her teeth bright and gleaming in the lowlight. “Don’t want patches, nope, I don’t need another patchwork skin, nuh uh.” She said to herself, rubbing the sores on her arms as she spoke. She could feel something leaking from the raw abscesses that dotted her legs, but the pain was like a distant memory, far far away from her right now.

Bright white light washed over the store, revealing the full extent of the damage. Product littered the floor under the shifting soles of his unsteady guest. Cutler dropped his hand from the light switch and walked forward, sidestepping the lentil spillage by his feet. “Uh huh.” The wheels in his mind ground against each other, desperately trying to wake up in time to process the finer details of the situation that wouldn’t come together. Sharpened teeth inside a lazy grin and his front door still locked and unbroken; pieces of a puzzle that refused to click. “Can I take a look?” The wounds on her body were various levels of depth and severity, ranging from dark and old to bright and fresh. The whip-sharp crack of a brown paper bag crinkling under his foot caused him to freeze in place. He stared, cautious and gentle, afraid she would startle like a wild animal. His hand extended slowly, pale pink underside raised to her in timid surrender. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You know it makes it worse when you scratch them.” His voice continued in a muted string of comforting sound, filling the space between them. “Nothing intensive. Just get something on that ear, stop the bleeding. Do a once over for breaks and fractures, maybe disinfect those sores. If it’s food you want, I can get you some of that, too.” 

Skylar watched as the man continued to walk towards her, slow, so slow. She didn’t want to slow down, she didn’t want to pause to stop and think and let all the thoughts she’d left behind catch back up to her. She just wanted to ride this wild, cresting high as far as it would take her and this man? No, no, no, he seemed like he’d put a stop to it. When he asked to look at her, Skylar squinted at him. “Why?” She asked. He took another step and then froze for some reason that she wasn’t quite sure of. There was a muffled sound, but she couldn’t tell what it was. Running her finger tips around her ears, Skylar remembered why. “Oh, that makes sense.” She said, tapping the place where her hearing aids normally rested. Focusing back on the man, she laughed. “You can’t hurt me, even if you wanted to. Even if I wanted you to,” Skylar paused, staring down at the blood that covered her. Looking up at him abruptly, she asked, “Do you think I need help?” Cutler watched her fingers lower from her ears, slick with blood. There was no alarm in her face as they came away, only a laugh that felt discordant and wrong. Even if I wanted you to. When her eyes met his, he felt his heart clatter against his ribcage with deafening irregularity. Something distinctly inhuman looked back at him. Or maybe it was the lack of something. “I do.” He replied, hoping his honesty would cut through the frenetic, animalistic energy to the person behind it. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Accepting help.” 

Another step toward her. She was almost within his reach now. He blinked slowly, a prayer running across the back of his eyelids: Please don’t fight me. “At the very least, let me get some gauze on that. You’re bleeding all over my floor.” His hand reached up and touched his own ear instinctively, brushing against his full intact earlobe. He ran his tongue across the flat backs of his own teeth, feeling the square edges. Hers were definitely unnatural. Modified, maybe. “I haven’t even asked your name. How rude of me.” A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, echoing the grin he might have worn in lighter circumstances. “I’m Cutler. And you are?” 

He thought she needed help. But so had everyone else and that wasn’t what she’d wanted. Erin and Morgan and Leah and even Shiloh and Rio. They all said they wanted to help, but how could she know that? Skylar mulled over his words, tapping her fingers against her chin, ignoring the way the pads of her fingers stuck to her skin. All of them knew her, they all knew her and they knew what she was and who she was and even if they didn’t know why she was-- Skylar didn’t know why she was even though she could remember every pretty little pill she’d swallowed-- they knew what she should be. And this man didn’t. So maybe that made his help real. “Okay.” She said blithely, not realizing how much tension hung between the two of them. “Oh, but there is. Because people will help you and help you and help you and then one day, they leave. Because they’re too tired of putting up with all your shit and think it’s better to quit while they’re ahead.” She said earnestly. 

At the mention of his floors, Skylar glanced down to the mess of crushed herbs and ruined inventory that were spattered with a thick trail of blood. “Oh. Whoops. I have a lot,” She said with a nod, before gesturing around at the mess. “Of blood. Lots of blood. This is… probably okay.” She said with a shrug. Squinting at him, Skylar repeated his name. “Cut-ler.” She let out a slight giggle, wondering where her knife had gone. Cutler. She could make that literal. “I’m Skylar.” She said, before looking expectantly at him. “So, are you going to help me not bleed all over your floors?”

Cutler listened intently. Someone had hurt this girl, and he didn't intend to be the next in the long line of grievances she had suffered. "If people desert you, that's their shame. Not yours." The contempt in his voice bled through and he swallowed it back down into his stomach. "I'm not going anywhere."

He followed her gaze down to the floor, and back up to her nonchalant shrug. "That's me. You ever go by Sky? I've gone by Cut to my friends." His mouth moved on it's own, giving his mind a chance to catch up with the unreality of the situation. 

"It is a lot of blood, huh. Whooole lotta blood. Still limited supply, though." A deep sigh shot downward as his hands drifted to the resting spot on his hips where his apron drawstrings usually hung. He focused his gaze back on Skylar, unwilling to think about the cleanup he was going to have to do later. Alone, of course. No insurance company is gonna cover an illegal surgery. "Let's get something on that. I've got supplies back here. Gauze and tape and uh, all sorts of stuff. You need a hand?" 

Shrugging, Skylar’s mind wandered to all the people she’d loved, who’d left this place, who’d left her behind because they had to go. Nic and Winston and Remmy, they’d left. They hadn’t abandoned her, not the way Ricky and her parents had, but they’d left this town and they’d left her too. “Sometimes people leave and that’s just what happens. And then you’re left trying to figure out who you were without them.” Skylar said with a nod. 

“S-K-Y-E, yup. Just friends, though.” She said as she followed behind him, her footprints leaving thick smears against the linoleum flooring of the shop. At his question, she shook her head vigorously. “I don’t want a hand, nope, nope. Got two right here, don’t need more.” She said. “One of my friends kept losing their hands, but now they’re gone.” Skylar said, mostly to herself. “Gone, gone, gone.”

Cutler led the way to the back of the store, propping the EMPLOYEES ONLY door open with a coffee can of ice salt. “Alright, no hands. No problem.” Beyond the crack of the door, a grey cement room stared back at them, devoid of all the usual upholstery; no shelving, or paint, or tiling. The floor sloped ever so slightly downward, puckering at a large metal drain. Under the naked bulbs above him, he knelt to root through a box, pulling out various medical supplies and glancing over every so often to assess the damage. 

“Skylar.” He called back, tendons in his neck jumping with the strain. “What hurts? Can you tell me if anything hurts inside?” As he ambled back toward her, his gaze shifted from sympathetic to critical, mind kicking into higher gear. Silicon gloves rolled down his wrists and his hand paused inches from her lesioned arm, waiting for permission. “Is there any point in me telling you to get rest after this?” 

Skylar hadn’t been in the back rooms of many stores before, but she had a feeling that they didn’t look much like this. Staring around as he began to pull things out of a box, Skylar’s attention dropped back to the floor as she watched droplet after droplet of greyish red splash against the tile. They began to form a small trickle, flowing down, down, down the drain. At Cutler’s words, Skylar looked up and looked at him. “Nothing hurts. Nope, nope, can’t feel anything.” She said and, to prove it, she reached up with her fingers and grasped the chunk of her ear and pulled on it. Blood ran down her fingers, but she didn’t flinch because there wasn’t any pain to feel. It was all just light and bright and nothing at the same time. Holding out her arms, she shrugged. “I can rest. Sometimes I lie down in the woods for hours and hours.” She replied.

Cutler's lips parted in protest, too late to stop her from tugging on her ear. They came back together in a constricted wince. Crimson slick coated her hand and he redirected his attention from her unusual lesions to the fresh tear beside her face. "Okay. Alright. Let's clean this up." His voice was robotically measured, practiced bedside matter. Whether he was trying to steady her or himself, he wasn't entirely sure. "No pain is good. This still might sting, though. Let me know if you want me to stop."

The act of cleaning a wound is intimate by necessity. In close quarters, he could see the rise and fall of her chest below him and the heat of her skin under the sanitizing pad. He afforded her a gentle smile. It didn't say everything he wanted to say; that he too, had lain for hours in the forest while intoxicated. That he has, on more than one occasion, injured himself while drunk and mercifully felt no pain. Instead, he opted for a subtler approach. "Mhm. That sounds nice. Peaceful. Stay still for me if you can, Skylar." The skin of her neck started to become visible as he fastened a series of bandages to the area and wiped away the gore with soft, consistent movements. "Do you know what you took?"

Skylar was barely aware of the gauze pressed against her face. She could smell the sharp of the alcohol as it was used to clean her wounds, but the moment it touched her flesh, it felt like nothing at all. There was no pain, there was no pressure, there wasn’t even hot or cold. Her entire existence was just the manic thrum of excitement and giddy happiness that she had no control over. “Nope, it doesn’t hurt. You can keep doing your stuff.” She said and let Cutler wash away the blood. Sitting still was hard, but she managed it, even as her fingers felt like they wanted to sink into the nearest wall. She couldn’t do that, no, he wanted her to stay still. And he was helping her.

“Oh, it’s really nice. Really, really nice. Sometimes I’d just stay out there for days and days, because it was better than having to feel. But this, this is even better than that. Because I’m just so happy. So, so happy. I’ve never felt this happy before.” Skylar said breathily. At his question, Skylar grinned, remembering the way the pills had looked in the palm of her hand, the way the smoke had burned in her lungs, the soft burn of the Bliss as it ran through her veins. “Some pills, something in a cigarette, a mushroom or three and lots and lots of Bliss.” She said, her expression dreamy as she thought about the box of “supplies” she had stashed away back in her room. 

Cutler concentrated on not letting his concern bleed through his expressions as he listened, resisting the downturn of his mouth and darkening of his brow. His hands moved from wound to wound, adept at giving them exactly the amount of attention they needed before moving on. When he had addressed everything in his view, he extended the white bundle of gauze toward her. “If there’s anywhere else. Underneath your-I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Of course he understood that sores don’t end at the boundaries of his patient’s clothing. It was more than likely that she had significant injuries that weren’t immediately visible. But she hadn’t come to him as a client, and he wasn’t about to start peeling clothing off a vulnerable woman, even to help her. “I need to make a quick call, anyhow. Do you mind?” His thumb was already swiping through a digital rolodex of old work contacts, distant friends, and exes. “I’ll be right over here, and you can call me if you need help. How does that sound?” 

Skylar didn’t notice the way that Cutler’s expression shifted, she was more focused on the way her fingers were wrapped in gauze. Already, she could see the tips of white beginning to darken as blood soaked through the cloth. What started out as pinpricks of color blossomed into thick circles and Skylar pressed her fingers against the side of the wall, watching as the blood spread through the gauze. As he handed her another roll of gauze, Skylar looked at it blankly for a moment before realizing what he was saying. That’s right, she had the gash-- a gaping slash, a gash-- on her side. Mm, she should take care of it.

With clumsy hands, Skylar slid her hands under her shirt and pressed the pad of gauze against her bleeding side. It was hard wrapping the bandages around, but she managed it after a bit of effort. At Cutler’s words, Skylar tilted her head. “What are you doing?” She asked, standing back up, the world shifting around her as she did. Her head felt light, lighter than air, as her vision went black round the edges, but she didn’t care. Taking a step forward, Skylar shook her head. “Who are you calling?” Doctors? Hunters? People who’d poke her, prod her, hurt her, kill her? No, no, no. 

Cutler’s eyes only flicked down to his hand for a moment, enough to dial but not enough time for his impromptu patient to injure herself further. He hoped. Next to his ear, the phone rang out. Once, twice. In his periphery, Skylar wrapped the gauze around her body. She looked strangely fragile in the unshaded bulbs; white fluorescents piercing sickly pale skin to sharp bone underneath. “I’m just making a call.” His chin tilted upward, speaking away from the still-ringing cell. Before he could come up with a lie that she would accept-not that he thought he had one ready-the soft click over the phone alerted him to the presence of someone on the other end. 

He shifted away slightly, hoping the broad slopes of his shoulders would shield the storage room from the soft words he was speaking into the phone. “Hi, it’s Cut. Sorry about the hour. Yeah, yeah, long time. Listen, I need a favour. Do you still work at the Crisis Response Unit? I’ve got a young woman here who’s in distress. No cops, she just needs-” He was interrupted by scuffling behind him, turning just in time to see Skylar getting to her feet. She swayed so slowly that the room seemed to tilt with her. “Skylar-” His protest died in his throat as she lurched forward with surprising intensity, causing him to take a mirroring step backward. She was substantially smaller than him, but something in her eyes caused his heart to leap to his throat. It took another step forward for him to recognize it. Hatred. “It’s just an old friend. She might be able to help you. Better than I can.” 

As the man turned his back on her, Skylar’s ears strained to pick up his hushed tones. She couldn’t pick up specifics, but her mind was already buzzing with possibilities of who was on the other line. Her eyes flicked around wildly, looking at the strange utensils that were laid out neatly on the table he’d taken her to. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered that this was… a store. A shop in the center of town. With packets of chips and gum but also scissors and scalpels and gauze and gloves. Lips curling into a feral grimace, Skylar reached out and grabbed one of the shiny silvery tools from the table and pointed it at Cutler.

“Put down the phone.” Skylar said clearly, glaring at him while blood pounded in her ears. She could stab at him, plunge the tip of the scalpel into his chest over and over and over. She could lunge at him and bury her teeth into the soft flesh of his throat. She could rip him to pieces, she could hurt him, hurt him the way that Hunters wanted to hurt her. A trap, was this all a trap? “I don’t want your friend’s help-- I don’t, I don’t even want your help.” She sneered, tempted to rip the cotton gauze from her hands just to prove it to him. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I could. I could want to hurt you.” She said with another laugh, shaking her head. “So just, just put down the phone.”

The voice on the other end of the line began to rise into a higher register, tinny treble crackling through the rectangular mic at the bottom of the screen. “I’m completely fine. No one’s gonna hurt anyone here. Let me call you back.” Cutler spoke the words loudly and clearly, hoping the slight shaking his hand didn’t translate to his voice. Light flashed off the thin reflective blade of the scalpel. It was a tiny little thing, almost dwarfed in her white knuckle grip, but it could do serious damage. He knew that better than anyone. 

“I’m putting it down.” The phone clattered to the cement floor, sending a nervous jolt through his body. Nice, Cutler. “I don’t think-” His tongue felt heavy against his sticky-dry lips, struggling to form the words he wanted to say. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. And I don’t think you really want to hurt me. If you did, you would have done it by now, right? You’ve had plenty of chances.”

Skylar watched as the man spoke, her eyes trained on him. The lights were bright and sharp around the two of them and it made the scalpel in her fingers glimmer like quicksilver. Liquid in her fingers, she could let it flash out, once, twice, a hundred times, she thought. She could let it slither from her grasp and embed itself into the man’s body, she could watch the blood flow, so slow, down down down the drain. It would be so easy, so quick. A sliver of silver, a knife, a life. The dull thudding of the phone against the floor brought her back to her senses and Skylar nodded. “Yup, it’s down.” She said before kicking out a foot, sending the phone skittering away.

“I could, I could. Everyone could. Everyone wants to hurt people, everything’s only ever wanted to hurt me. Why shouldn’t I hurt someone else? Why shouldn’t I be just like them?” Skylar asked, though the scalpel was already lowering in her hand. She didn’t want to. She didn’t really want to do that. Her arms felt weary, heavier than they’d felt in… well, she couldn’t remember. But the weight of the sharp blade in her fingers felt as though it was dragging her to the floor, pulling her down. “I never wanted to be like this.” She said gesturing to herself with the scalpel, hands waving wildly. “I thought I was normal. I thought everyone was normal. But it’s not and I’m not and I’m just some… thing. Some kind of monster.” Skylar said before letting out a watery laugh. Swiping at her face with her free hand, Skylar wondered when she’d started crying-- why was she even crying? There was nothing to be sad about, nothing to feel. “I-- I…” She stammered, shaking her head as she backed away towards the door she’d come from. Tossing the scalpel away, she looked at the man, mind caught between the urge to charge at him and to run far, far away from him. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.” She said, shaking as she turned around and ran.

Cutler watched a thousand emotions pass over Skylar’s face in an instant. One well-placed slash with the scalpel in her hand and it could be over for him. The karmic balancing of the scales; a fitting end for him, maybe. But she wasn’t going to. He could see it even before her arm started to lower. She was at breaking point, tears overflowing their hitch-breath confines and words spilling out of her, stream-of-consciousness. “I know.” He said softly. And he did. He knew that she wouldn’t let him help. That she was leaving, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. “I know.” 

For a moment, it appeared as if she had changed her mind and decided to tackle him anyway and he tensed, ready to parry or dodge whatever she threw at him, including herself. At the last second, she pivoted, running by him in close quarters. A quicker man might have blocked the door. A stronger man might have reached a hand out to stop her as she passed. Cutler was neither of these things. Instead, he just watched her go.

[omega-girl-in-heat]

your first heat

Before we start

I know your first heat can be scary, especially if you have to spend it alone because you are not in a relationship yet or because you do not feel comfortable enough around your partner yet. Both of these are very common scenarios as most omega start their first heat around the age of 16.

Luckily you'll learn everything you need to know about your first heat in this post!

If you already have a mate and will spend your first heat with them, look up my other post "First Heat with a Mate" after reading through this.

Now let's get started!

What is a heat?

The heat is the most fertile period of every omega and usually occurs about 4 times a year, so typically every 3 months.

How do I know if my heat is about to start?

It is very very difficult to predict your first heat, honestly, as the symptoms vary from omega to omega. Lots of omegas confuse their first heat with being sick at first, as the symptoms might be quite similar.

Typical heat symptoms include:

Upset stomach, cramps, light headache/feeling dizzy and of course the most common one: the urge to eat a lot. And by that I mean A LOT

If your first heat catches you by surprise then you won't be able to buy a heat supply of food beforehand, but if you are still interested in it or plan on buying food for your next few heats read my post "What food to get for heats, before, during and after " 

How do you know your heat has started?

The first thing that will happen right at the beginning of your heat is probably that you will produce a very high amount of slick and that you will therfore feel very very wet. A few minutes later you will feel hot all over your body and soon after that the typical horny feeling will kick in. The ones of you who can smell yourself will also notice the instant change in scent to something you have never smelled on yourself before (typically sweet and full of arousal) 

What to do now?

If you are in public, go home immediately.

If you are in school, quickly excuse yourself and go to the nursery. They will send you home and maybe even provide you with some supplies, such as food, blankets or contraception if you ask for it. If they do not offer to escort you home or if you deny their offer, make sure to avoid lonely roads to minimize the chance of any alpha or beta hurting you. Statistically speaking it is very unlikely, but there have also been cases of omegas molesting other omegas, so just stay safe, guys!

You're home, and now?

If you are not fully sated yet, definitely go eat something and put a big glass of water on your bedside table. I know it can be hard to resist your instincts to throw yourself on the bed immediately, but your body will thank you later, trust me! If you can, consider taking a shower before lying down. 

Most of you will probably not feel the need to build a nest, because you are not mated yet, but if your instincts kick in anyway, do not feel ashamed to take your own clothes and blankets to make one.

The next step is where it gets tricky!

If you are still a virgin and especially if you've never put anything inside you, I understand that you will probably be sacred to do it for the first time. I can promise you 100% that you will be more than wet enough and that it will not hurt, though!

If you have any toys at hand - I especially recommend knotted ones as they make your heat go away quicker and also make it less painful - then just use those to pleasure yourself.

If you do not own any toys, just use whatever you feel comfortable with. This can be your fingers or some sort of household object that is in within reaching distance.

You can additionally pleasure yourself in some way with your free hand to distract yourself from the entering object and to still your heat a little.

The first time you'll come will only feel like a small relief though, which might be a very unusual feeling compared to getting off when you're not in heat.

Some of you might even experience pain, but this will only occur until you fully satisfy your body's needs, so do not worry about it!

In heat

You'll spend the next few days (normally between 3 and 7) occupied with your heat, which means cycling back and forth between eating & drinking, sleeping and pleasure (maybe even a few showers, this depends on the intensity of your heat and whether or not you can handle showering during it)

You will probably eat whatever is available so make sure to never have an empty fridge in case you'll go into your first heat and are stuck at home without any food then. 

When it's all over

After the end of your heat, your body will need time to regenerate, which means that you will sleep very long  (at least 15 hours is common). When you will wake up you'll feel satisfied, but also a bit weak, which brings us to the next fact:

You'll need to eat a lot. The actual amount depends on your body type, height, weight, metabolism and on how much fat and nourishment your body was able to store before the heat. 

About 2 days after your heat ended, you will feel completely "normal" again and you will be ready to start attending school or work again.

That's it: You managed it! Your first ever heat!

If you have any questions or topic suggestions, always feel free to ask :)

A few tips:

if you live with your parents or roommates, try hoarding all avaliable food and bottles of water in your room and lock the door. This way you won't need to face them as often (it can be embarrassing) and as they will smell your heat, they will most likely understand why you locked yourself in your room and will leave you alone

put your phone on airplane mode to avoid texting your ex or your crush during heat (trust me it's not a good idea)

buy knotted toys know, because you'll never know when your heat will start and it honestly helps so much

keep a little bottle of scent block with you at all times for a safer way home, if your heat starts unexpectedly

even though your first few heats might be a bit irregular, write down the dates of the start and end and calculate when your next heat will take place

buy food in advance for next time

stay safe and healthy!

Follow my blog for more helpful advice coming soon!

[unknown--error-404]

See Me - Imaginary Friend! AU

Choi Yeonjun (TXT) X Gender Neutral! Reader

Word Count: 4,612

Warnings: violence, mentions of abuse

Genre: kinda yandere, a bit fluffy

Yeonjun was your bestest friend and sworn protector... Until you grew up. However, when things got hairy with your new lover, Yeonjun found that he simply couldn’t just stand to the side...

A/N: When I wrote this, it was entirely self-indulgent, so I apologize if the storyline is a bit strange 😅 “Can’t You See Me?” heavily inspired this, so...

Life was great.

All you ever needed was each other.

Ever since you were young, you and Yeonjun would always hang out. It was as if you were attached by the hip. He was always your playmate. He was there with you from daycare to high school. You two would always find places unpopulated by the other kids so you could enjoy each other’s company and do your own thing in peace.

You and Yeonjun made wonderful memories… The first snow? You experienced it together. Moving from grade school to junior high? You were together. Traveling out of town for vacation? He was there with you…

He was your only friend, and you were his only friend.

Yeonjun watched you grow up, and he never felt as close to anyone as he did with you. While you poked fun at him for dyeing his hair strange colors, he, instead, complimented you as you bloomed into beauty. To Yeonjun, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

To him, you were all that mattered.

It wouldn’t be a lie to say that he absolutely loved you.

He loved spending every minute of his waking day with you. To be your 24/7 comfort was a true dream. If the world was mean to you, he was waiting for you with an open heart — he was your escape. He was your protector.

And he loved being your protector.

A lot of times, in the dead of night, you and Yeonjun would talk for hours… Mainly just you talking about your day and what went right and what went wrong. He’d listen, and he knew he’d never get tired of listening. Sometimes, you’d ask him about himself, which would throw him off guard because he mainly wanted to focus on you, but, nonetheless, he was happy to tell you a little about himself too. Those nights often ended with him wishing you a good night and staying with you until you fell asleep.

Those were the nights he felt closest to you, and he wouldn’t have traded them for the world…

But then, you went to college.

Then, you grew up.

Then, you made friends.

You had less and less time for Yeonjun as the months went by. Yeonjun watched as he gradually got locked away in your mind. Sometimes, you would think about him, but it was never enough to bring him into full fruition. He watched helplessly from your mind’s eye as you hung out with your friends, finding joy in their company…

… The same joy that you felt before when you were only in his company.

It hurt Yeonjun as he watched your new life with your new friends from the depths of your mind. He grew increasingly jealous and felt increasingly helpless at how close your friends were to you, both mentally and physically… He envied their physical forms, being able to truly feel your presence and your touch… Sometimes, he’d hear you talk about him with your friends, but only in a passing matter. At this point, to you, Yeonjun was merely a conversation starter — a topic to bring up with your friends when there was nothing else to say.

The thought that you were each other’s worlds at one point in your lives hurt Yeonjun, especially now that you only saw him as a phase that you grew out of.

It hurt him that you now deemed him as truly imaginary.

It hurt Yeonjun even more when he found you catching feelings for some random person in your class…

He read the texts through your eyes… He felt your heart race whenever that person was near… He knew the feelings you held for that classmate…

It was clear to Yeonjun that he had been replaced.

The only solace Yeonjun could find while trapped in your mind was the reruns of the memories you had together. Sometimes, when you were dreaming, he’d run through your dreamworld just to find you… See you, talk to you, feel you…

It was always bittersweet when you woke up in the morning… Bittersweet to him, at least, as you’d always forget him once you left your dreamworld.

~ ~ ~

Yeonjun sniffled as he watched another memory of you and him together. Pushing his yellow hair up and out of his face, he briefly rubbed his sleeve over his eyes to dry his tears.

He found himself spending more time in your long term memory as of recent; it hurt less than living in your present and experiencing your daily life with the knowledge that he wasn’t at the forefront of your mind. Sometimes, he’d enter your dreamworlds, but he stopped doing that frequently as the pain of knowing you’d forget him in the morning was becoming too much for him to bear.

He came across another memory, one where you and him were fairly young. You were crying over a nasty bug that had crawled onto one of your toys. Emulating the role of your protector, Yeonjun knocked the bug off your toy and squashed it. With the horrid deed done, you cheered and praised Yeonjun for his bravery, calling him your hero.

A small smile came to Yeonjun’s face as he remembered his sole purpose of being your protector. He used to be able to do so much to protect you, like manifest a spectral form that could mess with any physical object except people… Now all he could do was just feed your mind some positive thoughts about yourself and your situations, protecting you from detrimental negative concepts. 

Suddenly, Yeonjun felt your heart rate pick up, and it wasn’t in the good “stomach-full-of-butterlies” way.

Genuinely concerned, Yeonjun left your long term memory and went to your present mind. His eyes widened when he connected with your senses, immersing himself in your situation.

“Stop that!” You screeched. Your lover, the classmate, had just forcefully shoved a handful of fragile sentimental objects off your top shelf, smashing them. You let out a scream as they broke all over the floor.

“Or what?!” Yelled your lover back. “You need to be taught a lesson! What makes you think you can just go around and hang out with other guys behind my back?!”

“Realize, I’m my own person?!” You shouted. You let out another scream as your lover threw your hairbrush at you. Thanks to your reflexes, you dodged it, but your brush broke on impact with the wall.

Your lover hadn’t acted like this before, although there was some red flags along the way… But they never seemed too major. Overall, to you, this situation was so strange — and scary…

“I can hang out with other people if I want to, you don’t own me!” You fearfully spat. Your lover glowered at you, marching closer to you. “I don’t understand why this is a problem… Don’t you trust me?! You hang out with hot people all the time, and I’m never worried that you might cheat! What makes this situation any different?!”

Anger radiated off of your lover. Fearfully, you backed yourself against the wall as your lover drew closer, ultimately getting up in your face. 

Danger signals were going off in your mind and in Yeonjun’s. His breath caught in his throat as he watched your classmate back you against the wall.

Yeonjun was supposed to be your protector. Now that you needed him, why was he still trapped in your mind?

Intense emotions began to swirl within the boy, so intense that he began to get a splitting headache. His hands gripped his head as he thought over and over: “I must protect my friend. I must protect my friend. I must protect my friend…”

Yeonjun began to see red as static filled his ears and his mind. However, he was brought out of the painful experience when your bickering with your classmate trickled back into his ears.

“You went out to a party with these strangers!” Yelled your lover.

“You went to parties with those hot people!”

Your lover snarled.

“Going to a party with those guys?! It’s like you’re ASKING for it! I thought I was dating someone who was innocent. NOT someone who wants ATTENTION!” You were absolutely flabbergasted at your lover’s claim.

“Excuse me?” You shouted, jaw to the floor and incredulous. There was no way your lover was getting out of that comment unscathed. “Well, at least I’m not the one who’s SO hypocritical and insecure about my lover’s whereabouts that I’d shout, make baseless claims, and destroy things all because of my weak and petty personality!” The glare in your lover’s eyes grew even more intense as your words hung in the air.

In an instant, your lover’s fist was raised.

Yeonjun’s eyes widened as he watched your classmate from your mind.

The fist came in and landed deathly close to your head. You flinched away and looked to where your lover’s fist landed. Eyes widening in fear, you regarded the new, large hole in your wall.

“Next time, that’s going to be your face,” spat your lover. You stiffened upon hearing those words. Instant fear filled your body, and something instinctual told you that your lover wasn’t done with this argument just yet.

Upon witnessing the alarming events, something snapped inside Yeonjun’s mind.

…

Someone outwardly threatening you…?

Pure anger and deadly emotion surged through Yeonjun as he glared daggers at your classmate from your mind. Clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, a feeling more intense and tangible than, but also akin to fiery determination filled his being. He felt the beginnings of a headache, and red began to blot his vision. Static began to rush into his ears and mind…

… But then, he blacked out.

~ ~

Yeonjun awoke to a start.

Shooting up from his laying position, he found himself hidden among trees.

He knew where he was… He was in the patch of trees deemed the “mini forest” on your campus…

Looking down at his hands, he was shocked to find a tangible human body. 

His body… 

Slowly, he got up. He took a few steps, but it took him a bit to become steady with his footing. He brushed off some stray leaves and dirt on his clothes from laying on the ground. Leaning against a tree, he shut his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows as he rode out the last of that splitting headache experience. Once it was gone, there was room for Yeonjun’s first thoughts in his human body.

His mind immediately snapped to the thought of you being in danger because of your crazy classmate.

Yeonjun found himself breaking into a sprint. Your college campus seemed so familiar as he ran, making his way to your greek life building. 

There was no time for him to ponder his situation: how he came to be… Not when you were in danger.

Panting, he found himself in front of the greek life group building you belonged to. He was about to march straight to the door when the thought occurred to him that he should probably arm himself. If this crazy classmate was dangerous enough to threaten punching you in the face, what more could that crazy classmate do? As your protector, Yeonjun didn’t want to take any chances. 

He knew your greek life building had a tool shed. Rounding the building to the side, he opened it up easily and grabbed the nearest thing: a crowbar.

Making his way back to the front of your greek life building, he hid the tool behind his back as he rung the doorbell. Yeonjun decided that it would be better to see if he could talk things out first. He valued diplomacy over violence, violence only being a last option — a value he learned from you. He was different than your crazy, violent classmate. 

Yeonjun thought that he was certainly better for you than your crazy classmate was.

He definitely would treat you better.

Your lover’s head whipped around to look toward your bedroom door upon hearing the doorbell ring. 

“You’re expecting someone?” your lover seethed. You shook your head rapidly, scared.

“No one! No one I swear!” You whimpered. Thankfully, your pitiful display was convincing enough as your lover just scoffed and walked away to answer the door.

“Stay here,” your lover forcefully commanded before leaving. Knees finally caving in, you felt yourself begin to cry over the events that just happened. However, you did your best to stifle your cries so as to not further fuel your lover’s anger.

Your lover opened the door to your greek life building to find a strange, yellow-haired, young adult boy standing there. They made eye contact, and your lover arched an eyebrow at him.

“What do you want?” questioned your lover.

“To see a friend,” replied Yeonjun simply.

“Why?”

“Just to check.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“You already know who,” Yeonjun replied, staring directly into your lover’s eyes with a hellfire burning brightly behind his own. At this, your lover’s anger broke through, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Fat chance, buddy!” spat your lover, attempting to slam the door shut. However, your lover wasn’t strong enough as Yeonjun shoved the door back open so he could enter. As he kicked it closed, your lover came at him and grabbed his jacket roughly. 

Hearing all this noise, you couldn’t keep in place, so you slowly crept out to peek at what was going on.

“What’s your deal, huh?! You have no business here!” Your lover growled. Yeonjun returned your lover’s animalistic look, the anger from witnessing your situation beginning to boil over within him.

“Get your hands off me!” Yeonjun shouted, wrenching your lover’s hands off his jacket. At this, your lover decided to come back at Yeonjun with a punch. With all diplomacy out the window (Yeonjun decided there was no negotiating with this man.), Yeonjun resorted to violence.

As your lover drew near with a punch at the ready, Yeonjun ducked out of the way. However, your lover, reacting quickly, turned the first punch into a feint, and struck Yeonjun in the face with a surprise blow with the other hand. Yeonjun stilled, straightening his posture from the hit as your lover backed up to a fighting position.

The sensation of physical pain was quite strange to Yeonjun, leaving his cheek stinging and himself a bit confused at first. However, that confusion soon turned to anger as a thought came to his mind:

You would’ve felt this awful pain had your lover actually punched you.

His glare intensifying, Yeonjun watched as your lover sprang forward to continue the fight. He moved to dodge again, but, this time, he was smart about his movements. 

In the midst of his dodging maneuver, Yeonjun turned and swung the crowbar he had been hiding behind him like a baseball bat, striking a harsh blow to your lover’s side. Your lover reeled in pain and doubled over.

Unable to take the hit standing, your lover flopped on the ground like a fish, curling up in pain. Yeonjun turned around to see the now fearful lover, gasping for air.

“See what it’s like? To feel powerless? To be in fear?” Yeonjun spat, his mind still angrily reeling over your emotions he felt while witnessing the argument you had with the brute on the floor. Your lover rolled over to look up at Yeonjun, having the audacity to smile despite being scared.

“And what was this all for?” Your lover questioned. “‘Your friend?’” Yeonjun just stared down at your lover who let out a pained, condescending laugh. “Should’ve known bae was up to something…” your lover muttered to no one, digressing. “What a harlot… Should’ve been more violent from the start-“ Yeonjun’s eyes widened as his grip tightened on the crowbar.

“What did you say?!” He snapped.

“-just like with my previous relationships.”

Yeonjun grit his teeth upon hearing your lover’s admittance to being abusive in the past. No innocent souls deserved to be treated like that. Your lover���s attention returned to Yeonjun as he grit a sentence through his teeth.

“What. Did. You. Say?” Yeonjun questioned again, tone murderous. Your crazy lover just smiled upon getting him even more riled up.

“I. Said,” began your lover, mocking Yeonjun’s speech. “I. Should’ve been. More abusive. To. ‘Your friend,’ the harlot.” Your lover smirked when Yeonjun’s lip twitched in ire. “Just as I had been in my-“

“Shut up! Yeonjun shouted in fury, swinging the crowbar to strike your lover across the face. Despite getting struck, your lover still had the nastiest grin on, mouthing the word “harlot” that didn’t go unnoticed by Yeonjun.

Anger turned into pure hatred and boiled over within Yeonjun’s being, him beginning to repetitively strike your lover’s face.

“People. Like. You. Don’t. Deserve. ANYTHING!” Viciously whispered Yeonjun, bringing down the crowbar on every word he spoke, more power behind every strike.

As Yeonjun kept going, your lover went from sickly grinning, to trying to block his strikes, to trying to shift out of the way, then to finally just twitching underneath him. Yeonjun was relentless with the crowbar. He didn’t stop when it began to get messy. He didn’t stop when he felt your lover’s attitude change mid-melee. He didn’t stop when his anger was satiated. And he didn’t even stop to when your lover was reduced to a twitching body mass.

He only stopped when your lover stopped moving.

There was a threat that would’ve harmed you, and, as your protector, Yeonjun had to eliminate that threat.

Panting, Yeonjun began to catch his breath as he stepped away from the red mess on the floor. Unconsciously, he wiped at the bottom corner of his lip, unknowingly rubbing off some red on his cheek. He regarded the crowbar covered in red at the end. He regarded his hands splattered with red. He regarded his clothes, but, due to his clothes being black, the red stains that splattered on them weren’t visible. He then took a few steps away from the mess, being careful to not step in any red.

Then, a shuffling sound off to the side caught his attention, and he turned his head to spot you on the top step of the staircase. Your eyes were wide, and you were breathing heavily, your hand covering your mouth as you shook.

You had seen it all.

From the moment your classmate punched that yellow-haired man to the moment the yellow-haired guy stopped smashing your classmate’s face in, you had seen it all. Honestly, you weren’t terrified that your classmate was sent to the next world’s judgement, but you were terrified of the chance that the yellow-haired guy was going to do the same thing to you.

You locked eyes with the yellow-haired guy, and you felt your breath catch in your throat. Despite knowing the dangerous situation, your “fight or flight” response broke, leaving you sitting there like a deer in headlights. He began to walk over to you, and you could only watch as he drew near. His angry look softened and a small smile spread across his face as he got closer. Still terrified, you put your arms out in defense as you looked away, your reflexes curling you into a ball.

“D-Don’t hurt me, please!” You babbled, bracing yourself for a hit…

… But it never came.

“Hey,” said an oddly familiar voice. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” You peaked through your arms to find the yellow-haired guy crouching in front of you. Bringing your arms down, you found him to be still smiling at you, his now soft look contrasting the angry one he held earlier. Upon closer examination of his face, you found him to be quite familiar…

His face…

The voice…

The… Yellow hair…

Crazy hair color…

Suddenly, a thought shot though your head like a bullet. You knew who this guy was! Your eyes widened upon the realization.

“Yeon… jun…?” You breathed out in question. His face immediately lit up upon hearing his name, further shocking you that your guess was right.

“You remember,” he sighed in relief. You were still flabbergasted at his human appearance…

How was this possible?? How did your imaginary friend come to life?? Why was he here right now??

Yeonjun got up and was moving like he was about to hug you.

“Wait, wait!” You said, putting your hands out to stop him. He stopped in confusion. “Your…” you began, finishing your sentence with gesturing at his black jacket, the crowbar, and his hands.

“Oh…” muttered Yeonjun in understanding, wiping his hands off on the sleeves of his black jacket. 

“… Here, let me take you to the bathroom,” you spoke warily, grabbing his free, newly cleaned hand. Feeling your hand intertwine with his made Yeonjun’s heart skip a beat, and you (strangely) couldn’t deny a small blush rising to your cheeks at the contact too.

Once in the bathroom, you dampened a few paper towels for Yeonjun in which he used to clean the crowbar, his shoes, and any red stains that got on his skin from removing his jacket. He then turned his jacket inside out and wrapped the crowbar within as you flushed the used paper towels down the toilet. After Yeonjun swaddled the crowbar, he then moved to wash his hands. As your attention returned to your somehow human imaginary friend, you noticed he still had red smeared on his face.

“Oh, Yeonjun, you…” you began again, getting his attention. Once again, you finished your sentence with gestures, the current situation too bizarre for you to find the proper words to string into a cohesive sentence. Fear in the back of your mind asking “What now?” also prevented you from thinking straight and speaking straight. Making a rubbing motion over your cheek, Yeonjun looked at the mirror and noticed the red smudge. He then moved to grab a paper towel, but you stopped him.

“Here, I’ll get it,” you offered, acting quick. Yeonjun watched as you grabbed a paper towel and dampened it. Turning to face him, you moved your hand up to his face, rubbing off the red fairly easily. Though you were concentrated on the red smudge, your eyes occasionally found their way to Yeonjun’s. 

As you cleaned his face, they watched you the whole time. The few times they met, you could see how soft they were as they gazed at you, a strong, deep feeling running behind their puppy brown color. 

It was hard to believe that those same eyes held enough anger to murder your lover-classmate.

Once you were done, you properly disposed of the paper towel by flushing it down the toilet, using your foot to push down the handle. Sighing, you tried your best not to freak out at the current situation. (At least the murder victim in this case was a scumbag that probably has past charges from being abusive.) Yeonjun’s mind, on the other hand, was still spinning from feeling your touch for the first time. Missing it already, Yeonjun moved to your side and took your hand in his. 

Feeling his touch caused you to snap out of your nervous thoughts and look at him again. You found him pressing your hand to his cheek, nestling into the palm of your hand. Under the moonlight, he looked so serene and relaxed in your touch. For some reason, the sight was enough to make you forget your current situation and cause your heart to melt.

He looked just like a cuddly puppy.

“I’ve often pondered about touch…” he whispered dreamily. “What it feels like… Why it’s so important… Why it’s so engaging…” He then opened his eyes, but only halfway. “Now I know why…”

“Yeonjun…” you sighed, touched and not knowing what to say, but also slightly panicked because of what just happened. Yeonjun could sense the panic in your voice and he straightened up, eyes fully opening.

“I swear I won’t do anything like this again,” he spoke quickly and clearly, not wanting to lose you to your panic. “I was just scared for your well-being! I just wanna protect you… I don’t wanna lose you again…” He trailed off. Yeonjun then looked down as he tried to find his words, taking in a breath. “I promise, I’ll be good to you… I’ll be good for you too! Whatever makes you happy…” His hold on your hand tightened slightly as he said this, wanting to show his conviction.

“You promise?” You repeated. He looked up to meet your eyes, nodding vehemently.

“Do you believe me?” He asked, tilting his head in question. You hesitated for a bit, unsure. But then, your mind shot forward multiple memories of Yeonjun and you in the past, him always being by your side and never leaving you when you needed him. Realizing his conviction, you sighed though your nose before you brought your other hand up to hold his other cheek.

“You were able to protect me before from so many things for so long, so, yes, I believe you,” you said, giving him a small smile.

Hearing you speak those words brought so much joy to Yeonjun. In an instant, he dropped the swaddled crowbar and brought you into a tight hug, pulling you into him. One arm wrapped around the small of your back while the other supported your mid and upper back. You were shocked at the action at first, but then you slowly wrapped your arms around him, returning the hug. His head was buried in the junction of your shoulder.

“I missed you…” he muttered into the crook of your neck, “so, so much…”

It was then something awakened in you, making you realize that you missed him deeply too. You missed the connection you had with him… You missed your protector, your number one hero, who was always there for you whenever you needed him. Sighing through your nose, you leaned your head on his affectionately, beginning to rub soothing circles on his back.

“I missed you too,” you told him, causing him to hug you tighter. You both stayed hugging under the moonlight from the bathroom window for a bit, you enjoying being held by someone who actually cares for you and Yeonjun becoming intoxicated by your touch. After a minute or so, Yeonjun pulled back so he could hold your face in his hands. Leaning forward, you and him shut your eyes simultaneously as you touched foreheads.

“It feels good to be by your side again…” whispered Yeonjun, holding you, his world, in his hands. You brought your hands up to gently layer on top of his. You were about to say something when the faint sound of sirens reached your ears.

Jolting away from you, Yeonjun looked toward the bathroom door before he looked back at you.

He knew what his job was. 

He knew what he had to do.

Turning around, Yeonjun snatched the swaddled crowbar off of the bathroom floor. He then took your hand in his, pulling you out of the room. Carefully and quickly walking through the hall, he came to your bedroom. He worked with speed as he covered his hands with his shirt, opening the window. Stepping out onto the low roof, Yeonjun turned around and offered you his hand.

“C’mon, we need to go,” he said. You took his hand, letting him guide you to the low roof. Yeonjun easily cleared the jump from the low roof to the grass of your greek life building’s lawn, but, to you, it was too high for jumping. He patiently waited as you climbed down, but, when you were close enough to him, he grabbed your waist and picked you up.

“Don’t look up,” he told you, placing you back down on the ground. You were thankful for that tip as it not only hid your face from the cameras, but also helped hide the red blush that bloomed on your cheeks upon feeling his hands on your waist. Yeonjun then took your hand in his once again.

“Now, run away with me,” he whispered into your ear. Before the words could register in your head, the sudden jolt of him sprinting lurched you forward to match his pace. Sirens went off in the background once again. Though distant… This time, they sounded closer.

“It’s okay. Don’t be afraid. We’ll get through this together,” he reassured. “I’ll protect you…”

“I won’t let anybody hurt you ever again.”