#No matter what I do I still have that dam guilt!

[bellflower-goat]

>:((

[rafeskai]

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Chapter Four

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: Was gonna make chapter 4 like 5k words but I decided to put it into two separate chapters.

Masterlist: Here

The weight of Sarah and John B.’s loss still felt like an open wound, raw and fresh, no matter how many days had passed since the funeral. Some nights, you could still hear Sarah’s laughter echoing in your head, still feel the warmth of her presence, as though she were just a room away. And John B., with his reckless optimism and that undeniable spark of life that had kept everyone around him grounded, seemed like a ghost that haunted your every moment.

But the hardest part was seeing Willa—tiny and innocent, too young to understand the gravity of it all. Her parents were gone, and she didn’t even know why she cried sometimes, why her little heart was breaking, why her world was changing so fast. And yet, it was you and Rafe who had to bear the weight of their absence, both trying to figure out how to hold Willa together while you were both falling apart.

The days were long and filled with small, seemingly insignificant tasks: feeding Willa, changing diapers, trying to soothe her when she cried. But underneath all of that, it was hard not to remember Sarah’s voice calling out to you, her bright smile in the mornings, the late-night talks about everything and nothing. Those moments were gone, and you felt like part of yourself had been ripped away with them.

And then there was John B. The spontaneous adventures, the way he could make you laugh even on the worst days, the way he’d always come through when you needed him most. Those memories, too, were bittersweet now—something you cherished but also something that threatened to suffocate you.

You tried to stay strong for Willa, to focus on the here and now, but there were days when it felt impossible. There were times when you’d find yourself staring at the little girl in your arms and wondering if you were doing enough. Wondering if she would ever remember the love her parents had for her or if she would only know the sorrow of their absence.

Rafe, for his part, seemed to bury his grief deep down. He rarely spoke about Sarah or John B., and when he did, it was as if the words hurt him too much to say aloud. He was always trying to maintain control—over Willa, over the situation with Ward, over himself—but you could see it in the way his eyes flickered with pain whenever something reminded him of his sister or her fiancé.

It wasn’t just the memories of Sarah and John B. that gnawed at him; it was the guilt. The unspoken weight of knowing that his family—his toxic, emotionally abusive father—was now trying to take Willa from him, from them.

Rafe had never talked much about his dad, not even to Sarah. But in the quiet moments, when the house felt too still and too silent, you could see the rage simmering behind his eyes. Ward Cameron had done unspeakable things to Rafe and Sarah growing up, and the idea of him having any claim to Willa, of him trying to step in as her guardian, cut deeper than either of them cared to admit.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It was late one evening when the dam finally broke. Willa was asleep, her tiny body tucked beneath the blankets, and the house was finally quiet. You and Rafe were sitting on the couch, the exhaustion of the day heavy on your shoulders. The wine bottle from a few nights ago sat untouched on the coffee table. Neither of you had much appetite for anything anymore—food, conversation, anything other than the silence that seemed to speak louder than words.

Rafe was the first to speak, his voice low and uncertain. "I hate that they're gone. I hate that I can't fix it. I hate that Willa won't ever know how good they were. How good they could have been."

His words hit you like a tidal wave, and for the first time in weeks, you saw the cracks in his tough exterior. He wasn’t the cold, distant person you’d been living with; he was just a man—broken, grieving, unsure of how to move forward.

"I hate it too," you whispered, turning to face him. "I hate that Willa will grow up never knowing how special they were. How good they were. Sarah was... everything. She made everything brighter. And John B. He had this way of making you feel like things were always gonna be okay. Even when everything was falling apart."

Rafe's eyes were distant, his gaze turned to the floor as if trying to bury the memories. "I should’ve been there more. I should’ve been a better brother. I should’ve been there for Sarah. I—I wasn’t enough. I couldn’t protect her from him." His voice cracked at the end, a rawness creeping into the words.

You could feel the pain in his voice, the regret, the anger that swirled with everything else. It was too much for him to hold, and maybe it had always been. Maybe Rafe had been carrying this weight for years, too afraid to talk about it, too scared to let anyone see him broken.

You didn’t know what to say at first. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him that he wasn’t to blame, but how could you? There were no right words, no magic phrases that could undo the past.

Instead, you simply moved closer, sitting beside him on the couch, the space between you closing.

"You didn’t fail her," you said softly. "Rafe, you didn’t fail any of us. You loved her. You loved John B. You’re still here. You’re still fighting for Willa. And that means everything."

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. But in that silence, something passed between you both. The raw honesty of the words, the shared pain, the understanding that grief didn’t need fixing—it just needed time.

Finally, Rafe turned to face you, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and something deeper, something more vulnerable. "I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be a good dad to her—how to keep it together when it feels like everything is falling apart."

You swallowed, feeling the sting of your own grief in his words. "I don’t know how to do it either," you admitted. "But we’re doing it together. We have to. For her. And for them."

Rafe’s eyes softened, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for yours. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was everything. "I’m scared, [Y/N]. I’m scared of what Ward might do. I’m scared of failing her."

You squeezed his hand, your voice barely above a whisper. "We’re not alone in this. We have each other."

And in that moment, as the weight of the past few months hung heavy in the air, you both allowed yourselves to be vulnerable. For the first time since you’d become Willa’s guardians, it wasn’t just about fighting for her—it was about acknowledging that the fight was bigger than both of you, that the grief you shared had no easy solution. And that maybe, just maybe, you could survive it together.

But even as you held on to each other, even as the weight of the past few months began to lift just a little, a new storm was brewing.

The next morning, a letter arrived from Ward Cameron’s attorney.

The legal battle for Willa had officially begun.

And this time, you weren’t sure if you could win.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The tension in the house had been building for weeks. The constant phone calls, the late-night meetings with lawyers, the nervous energy that permeated every room. It felt like a storm was brewing, and no one knew when or where it would strike.

Ward Cameron was relentless. He wasn’t going to let go of Willa without a fight. The custody battle was a war neither you nor Rafe were prepared for, and with each passing day, it became more and more clear that Ward had no interest in doing what was best for Willa. He was driven by control, by pride, and by a need to take back what he saw as his.

You could feel the weight of it all pressing down on you as you prepared for the court hearing. It wasn’t just a matter of legal paperwork anymore; it was about Willa’s future. About whether or not she would be able to stay with the people who loved her most—or whether she would be taken away by the very man who had terrorized Rafe and Sarah their entire lives.

The morning of the hearing arrived, and as you walked into the courthouse, a cold shiver ran down your spine. Ward was there, sitting smugly at his lawyer’s side, his presence already like a shadow over the room. You glanced at Rafe, who looked tense but composed. He hadn’t spoken much in the last few days, but you could feel the anger simmering beneath the surface.

“We’re gonna win this,” you whispered, more to reassure yourself than him.

Rafe didn’t respond. His jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed on the door as though he was bracing for what was to come.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It happened before the hearing even began.

Ward spotted Rafe as he entered the building, and in an instant, the calm atmosphere of the courthouse was shattered.

“Rafe,” Ward’s voice was like acid, dripping with disdain. “Still playing pretend, are we? Acting like you’re fit to raise her?” His gaze flickered to you, then back to Rafe. “You’re nothing. You always were. Just like your mother. You’re not good enough for her.”

You could see Rafe’s fists clenching at his sides, his entire body rigid with tension. He was trying to keep it together, trying to stay calm, but you knew Ward’s words were cutting through him like knives.

“Don’t talk about her,” Rafe spat through gritted teeth, his voice dangerously low.

Ward smirked, then took a step closer. “Or what? You gonna threaten me, Rafe? You gonna get violent like you always do?”

Before anyone could react, Ward’s hand shot out, slapping Rafe across the face with a sickening crack. The sound of the slap echoed through the hallway, sending a chill down your spine.

Rafe stumbled back, his hand instinctively reaching for his cheek where the bruise was already beginning to form. You could see the pain in his eyes, but the rage was sharper—cutting through him like a blade.

“Ward, you don’t get to touch him,” you snapped, stepping forward, but Rafe raised a hand to stop you.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice tight with anger. But you could see the bruise already swelling, darkening the side of his face.

Ward laughed coldly, his eyes glinting with malicious satisfaction. “This is the man you’re trusting with her?” He gestured toward Rafe, a mocking sneer on his lips. “Pathetic. This is all a joke to you, isn’t it?”

Before you could say anything else, security had already stepped in, and Ward was ushered away by his lawyer. Rafe stood there, silent, his face hard as stone.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he muttered, turning on his heel and heading toward the courtroom.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The courtroom was packed, tension thick in the air. The judge, a woman with a stern expression, motioned for everyone to sit down, but you could still feel the heaviness of the moment.

Rafe sat beside you, his posture stiff, his hand gripping the armrest of the chair so tightly his knuckles were white. You could see the bruise on his cheek, the darkening mark a stark reminder of the physical and emotional battle he was facing.

Ward sat across the room, his face set in a smug grin. He didn’t look at Rafe. He didn’t need to. He was confident he had already won.

As the hearing began, the tension grew. Both sides presented their arguments—Ward with his usual smugness, his words dripping with false sincerity, and you and Rafe, doing your best to argue that Willa belonged with the people who had been raising her, the people who loved her.

But as the court session continued, it became clear that Ward wasn’t playing fair. His lawyer had found every loophole, every flaw in your case, and used it against you. And with the bruise on Rafe’s face, there was no way around the implications it carried. The scene in the hallway, though quickly dealt with, was impossible to ignore.

Rafe’s history, his past with Ward—everything was being dragged out into the open, and no matter how hard Rafe tried to stay composed, no matter how much you fought back, the weight of their father’s influence was undeniable.

You watched, helpless, as the case swung in Ward’s favor. Every argument Rafe made, every truth he tried to speak, was countered with a lie, with an accusation. And in the end, it wasn’t about what was best for Willa. It was about who had the power, who had the money, who could manipulate the system.

And in that moment, it was clear who was winning.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The judge finally spoke, her voice cold and impartial. “Based on the evidence presented, and in consideration of the child’s well-being, I am ruling in favor of Mr. Ward Cameron for the temporary custody of Willa Routledge.”

The words were like a slap in the face. Your heart stopped, the world spinning in slow motion as you processed the finality of her decision. Rafe’s face fell, his entire body going rigid beside you. His hand, which had been gripping the armrest, was now shaking.

Willa was going to Ward. And there was nothing either of you could do about it.

“What?” Rafe’s voice was barely a whisper, but it held so much anger, so much disbelief, that it made your chest ache.

The judge didn’t respond, and Ward’s smirk only deepened, satisfaction radiating from every inch of him.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t believe it.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Rafe stood up, the pain in his eyes more evident than ever before. He didn’t speak, didn’t argue. He just left. He stormed out of the courtroom, his movements sharp, angry, broken.

You stayed behind, your own heart sinking, as Ward’s lawyer turned to you with a cold, dismissive smile.

“This isn’t over,” you whispered to yourself, but deep down, you knew it was. The battle for Willa had just taken an unimaginable turn. And you couldn’t help but wonder if you and Rafe would ever recover from the blow.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[blackenedsnow]

I have a shadow the hedgehog request if its alright..? Can we have shadow with his gf who has a hard time eating? Hates the way they look and its getting to the point where they dont get at all starving themselfs..? Them shadow just gentley comforts them as they cry about how bad they feel about themselfs? Then trys his best to get a meal in them?..thanks and i hope your doing alright

more than enough

WARNING: (Implied) Eating disorder, body image issues, self-esteem struggles

PAIRING: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader

NOTE: Thank you for trusting me with such a sensitive and important topic. If you ever need more comfort stories or anything else, feel free to send me a message. You’re not alone in whatever you’re going through.

SUMMARY: You've been struggling with body image issues for a while, and it’s reached the point where you've started starving yourself. Shadow notices the changes in your behaviour.

The apartment was quiet, too quiet, and Shadow knew something was wrong. It had been days since he noticed the changes in your behavior—the way you avoided eating, the distant look in your eyes when you stared at yourself in the mirror. Each passing day, it seemed like you were pulling away, and no matter how much he tried to get you to talk, you only pushed him away, retreating into yourself.

He found you sitting on the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, staring off into space. Your face was pale, and your eyes had the dull glaze of exhaustion. It broke his heart to see you like this.

“(Y/N),” he said quietly, taking a seat beside you, “we need to talk.”

You didn’t respond, only pulling your knees tighter against your chest, refusing to meet his gaze.

Shadow wasn’t one for words, but seeing you in this state made him want to try—he had to try. “I’ve noticed you’ve been… avoiding meals,” he said, his voice gentle, but firm. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. Why?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and for a moment, you didn’t say anything. You had been trying so hard to hide how you felt, but now, with Shadow sitting beside you, asking the one question you couldn’t answer, the dam broke. You covered your face with your hands and let out a shaky breath.

“I-I hate the way I look…” you finally admitted, your voice breaking. “Every time I look in the mirror, I just… I can’t stand it. I feel disgusting, and no matter what I do, it doesn’t get any better. I just… I just want it to stop.”

The raw emotion in your voice sent a wave of sorrow through Shadow. He had seen you struggle before, but he didn’t realize how deep it had gotten until now. Guilt gnawed at him for not saying anything sooner, but he pushed it aside, focusing on you.

“You’re not disgusting,” Shadow said quietly, his deep voice low and soothing. “You are not what you see in the mirror. You are so much more than that.”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You don’t understand… I feel like I’m never enough. I’m always… always hating myself, and I’m so tired, Shadow. I’m tired of feeling this way.”

His heart ached hearing you say that. Without a word, he shifted closer, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. He held you there, letting you cry into his shoulder, his gloved hand gently rubbing your back in slow, comforting circles.

“I know it’s hard,” Shadow murmured. “I won’t pretend to understand exactly what you’re feeling, but I do know that you are enough—more than enough. Even when you can’t see it, I see it. I always have.”

Your sobs quieted a little as you leaned into his embrace, but the pain was still raw in your chest. “But how can you… how can you even stand to look at me when I feel like this?” you asked, voice trembling with doubt.

Shadow sighed, resting his chin on top of your head. “Because I don’t see you the way you see yourself,” he said softly. “You’ve always been more than just your looks. You’re strong, kind, and… even when you’re struggling, you’re still the person I care about. You don’t have to be perfect.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at your tear-streaked face, wiping away the tears with his thumb. “Let me help you.”

You stared at him, your heart heavy but touched by his words. The truth was, you had been fighting this battle in silence for so long that hearing someone—especially Shadow—offer you comfort and support made the weight on your chest feel a little lighter.

But the ache in your stomach reminded you of how little you’d eaten, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over you. “I-I just don’t feel like I deserve to eat… I hate how I look, and every time I eat, I feel worse.”

Shadow frowned, his red eyes softening with concern. “I know it’s hard, but you need to take care of yourself. You’ve been starving yourself, and that’s only making it worse.”

He stood up and walked over to the kitchen, opening the fridge. You watched as he pulled out some leftovers, simple but nourishing food. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get something in your system.

“Here,” he said, bringing the plate over. “I know you don’t feel like eating, but you need to. Start small, just a few bites.”

You hesitated, the thought of eating filling you with anxiety, but Shadow’s gentle eyes stayed locked on you, silently encouraging you to take care of yourself.

“Please.” he added softly, holding out the plate.

With a shaky breath, you nodded, taking the plate from him. It wasn’t easy, but with Shadow by your side, you managed to take a few bites. The food sat heavy in your stomach at first, but with each bite, some of the tension started to ease. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Shadow stayed beside you, his hand resting gently on your back as you ate. He didn’t push you to finish it all, but the quiet support he offered was more than enough to make you feel like maybe you could keep going.

When you finally set the plate down, you leaned into him again, feeling both exhausted and a little better. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice raw but sincere.

Shadow wrapped his arm around you again, pulling you close. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. “Just promise me you’ll let me help.”

“I’ll try,” you said softly, resting your head against his shoulder. It was still hard—there were still so many battles ahead—but knowing that Shadow was there, willing to stand by your side, made the road ahead seem just a little less impossible.

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 28

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 25, part 26, part 27

It is a lot easier for Wayne to find Steve than he thought it would be. He had the vision of tires screeching out of the parking lot. Speeding down the road to his house or somewhere worse. But here Steve is, sitting on the curb outside the hospital doors. An unlit cigarette in his hands. Looking like he’s debating the world.

Wayne’s not sure why he followed him. He has every right to yell. Every right to question what that was. Why he came at Eddie with so much anger? Lashing out as decisions that had already been set in stone. Already dealt with.

After all this talk of telling Dustin that he can’t change what Eddie did, how he got hurt, Wayne thought that Steve was over it. That whatever happened between them was in the past. And all of them were ready to move forward and try to forget the pain.

But as he looks at Steve, the way his shoulders hunch and his arm wraps around his knees, the pain isn’t forgotten. Just hidden under the surface of someone trying to keep everything together. To be the strong one while the world falls apart. The bandage that keeps the dam from breaking.

Wayns sighs. Sitting down next to Steve and extending that olive branch. Telling Steve that he didn’t come here to scold him, or break whatever trust they’ve formed in these past few weeks. But here to be a person who will listen without judgement. The same way that Steve has for him.

“You know you’re supposed to light those.”

Steve stares at his hand, giving the cigarette a gentle flick. “I haven’t smoked in years. Don’t even know why I have it to begin with.”

“Because it’s familiar, doesn’t matter how long you’ve gone without them. Or how long you smoked them to begin with.”

There’s a long break of silence. Wayne waiting for Steve to open up. Explain himself. Or maybe just get ready to put the mask back on whenever Dustin finds them. Either way, Wayne will be here next to him. Attempting to understand whatever is going on in his head. Be the sturdy post that Steve needs in this moment. Giving him the permission to crack.

Steve eventually hands Wayne the cigarette, giving up on trying to smoke it. Wayne takes it, feeling the weight he’s so familiar with rest in his hand. Finding his lighter and holding it up to the end. Not letting it go to waste.

After a shorter silence, Steve takes a deep breath. “Barb Holland, Billy Hargrove, Jim Hopper, Max Mayfield, and Eddie Munson. Those are all the people that either died or got hurt while I could do nothing to stop it.”

Wayne can’t find the right words to respond to that. He doesn’t have to, Steve still has more to say.

“I didn’t really know some of them well. And some of them, I didn’t really care about that much. But I knew people that did, and I see what they all left behind. And each of them could have been me. It could have been me that died or got hurt. But somehow, no matter how many times I’ve almost died, no matter what I’ve done, the universe keeps picking me to save.”

“And it makes you feel guilty.” It’s an obvious statement, Wayne knows that. But he can’t seem to find the words to say. Trying to find something comforting without minimizing how Steve feels. Knowing that whatever he says isn’t going to stick.

Steve’s nod is full of guilt. Like he’s the reason all of this happened. That everyone got hurt because of him. And maybe they did, Wayne doesn’t know the full story. But what he does know is that Steve is still a victim in this. The scars are only a proof of that. Whatever’s going on with his head is proof of that. The way he’s feeling right now is proof of that.

“I’m still in the dark about most of what’s happened in this town, apparently. I only know what you’ve told me, and I know that was only a partial story. But I can’t imagine that these people blame you at all. I know Eddie doesn’t. I can guess that Jim doesn’t. And Max. It seems like the only one who blames you, is you.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Steve tries to correct.

“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. That doesn’t matter right now. Right now, all that matters is that you think that your life is worth less than theirs. I can tell you right now that isn’t the case.”

Steve’s huff is full of self-deprecation. Refusing to believe that what Wayne is saying is true. It breaks Wayne a little bit. Finally seeing the cracks beneath the hard exterior Steve presents himself in. He's what, a year younger than Eddie? Barely an adult and holding himself to an unreachable standard. Pining for perfection that isn’t wanted.

“You don’t know me that well,” he says. Like that makes some kind of point. “I don’t think you can make that call.”

He has a point. Wayne doesn’t know Steve that well. But he knows enough. He knows that this kid will do anything and everything for the people he loves. Fight the unfightable just to protect them. Shelter them with everything he has. Even if it breaks him in the process.

He drives Dustin to and from the hospital day after day, no matter how he’s feeling. He sat with Max while she was still here, and with the kids while they were dealing with everything. He sat out in the waiting room while Wayne wouldn’t let him in Eddie’s room, just to show that he was there. That he wasn’t leaving them behind. Not again, or never at all. Wayne’s not sure.

What he is sure of, is that these people care about him more than Steve realizes. He sees it in the way Dustin trusts him. In the way all the kids trust him. Even in the way Eddie lights up every time he enters the damn room. In the way Eddie’s voice broke when calling out to Steve to stay.

Wayne can see how much Steve is loved while knowing so little about him. It crushes him that Steve can’t see that for himself.

“I don’t need to know you to know that your life is worth something.”

Steve shakes his head like he still can’t believe what Wayne’s saying.

“How old were you when this all started,” Wayne asks, trying a new approach.

“Seventeen,” Steve answers in a whisper.

Wayne has to bite his tongue to keep himself from cursing. Trying to keep this conversation in the place it is, instead of his own shock. “You were just a kid yourself, how could you have made the right decisions?”

“I still could have made better ones. I was a dick back then. Kinda still am.” He says this like it’s an excuse. It's not.

“I’ve heard the stories, so I’m not going to fight you on that. But who you were doesn’t decide who you have to be. Or what punishment you think you deserve. Yeah, you might regret the actions you’ve made, I do the same thing. But it’s that regret that shows you that you are a good person. Bad people don’t regret their decisions. The fact that you do tells me a lot about you.”

Steve shakes his head gently. Almost forcing the words to bounce off whatever wall he’s built up. The disbelief in it’s mortar refusing to break. But Wayne can see how he hasn’t said a word out loud to dispute it. He’s still listening.

“I can tell you right now that those kids don’t believe a word of what you’ve said right here. They still want you here. And that girl, Robin, that you hang out with all the time. She does too.”

Wayne’s just trying to make the point stick. Not quite sure where the words are coming from, or how effective they are. But something about them seems right, so they continue.

“Eddie wants you here. Hell, I do too. You mean more to these people than you know. Your life is worth something to them. Don’t let it mean nothing to you.”

The tension in Steve’s shoulders starts to break. Loosening from the ball he’s curled himself into. For the first time, Steve turns his head and looks Wayne in the eye. A wealth of sadness and hurt hiding behind his eyes. Something that can’t be built in a few years, but a lifetime.

Whatever this feeling is, it runs deeper that what he’s saying.

“You really mean that?”

“I do,” Wayne says with a nod. Nothing but truth in his words.

There’s nothing but silence after that. Steve going back to staring at the concrete. But looking less troubled than before. Something knew ruminating in his mind.

He eventually stands, wiping off the palms of his hands on his thigh. Wayne takes a second before following, feeling the regret of sitting on nothing but a curb for this long.

“I’m going to go-.” Steve motions to the hospital doors. “You know, apologize.”

“You sure? You’ve been through a lot today. I don’t think he would mind if you waited a day.”

That’s a lie, he would mind. Probably would spend the night thinking about it. But right now, Wayne can lie. He can lie to give someone who’s gone through so much grief some peace of mind. Even if it’s just for a moment.

Steve shakes his head. “No. I think it might make us both feel better if I do.”

Wayne watches him walk back into the hospital doors. Leaning against the wall and pulling a new cigarette from his pocket. Stands out there as the wind starts to chill and afternoon turns to evening.

Eddie wouldn’t mind one day without him saying goodbye. Not since he’s in there talking it out with Steve. Probably on to something else at this point. With that glint in his eye that tells Wayne there’s about to be a whole new problem.

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[atlaserine]

Just your average supervillain being a mother hen

It's been two weeks, two long weeks of Hero being locked in that cell. Isolated from the outside world, with only the sound of her own thoughts to keep her company. The room is cold and cramped, and there's not much to do except lie on the old bed and wait for the sound of the door opening to signal someone's arrival.

The door swings open, and Villain walks in. He's flanked by two guards, their expressions cold and aloof as usual. He steps inside, his eyes fixed on Hero's sleeping form on the bed.

Villain walks over to the bed, looking down at her silent form. He hated how Hero still looked pretty damn beautiful when she was asleep. The way her chest rises and falls with each breath, the way her hair is strewn messily over her face, and the way her lips are slightly parted, just begging to be kissed-

...

No, stop Villain thought, shaking his head slightly. He should hate her, should just...end her right here.

...

He didn't realize his own hand reaching out and running his fingers through her hair until he felt the soft strands in between his fingers, pushing the messy locks away from her face. He glances down at her, his expression a mixture of anger, curiosity and..a twisted kind of affection.

Villain glances back at the guards, who were watching from the doorway. He motions for them to leave and they comply, closing the door and leaving him alone with her.

Slowly, Villain sat down on the edge of the bed, watching her sleep. He knew he should be angry with her, she was a pain in the ass. And an annoying one at that..but he can't help but feel a pang of longing whenever he looks at her.

He reaches out and touches her cheek gently. "I should hate you, love. I should hate every inch of you. But no matter how hard I try, I just can't bring myself to do it". Though, his eyes widen in surprise as he registers the heat of her skin, pulling his hand back. Villain then presses the back of his hand against her forehead, feeling the fever that's coursing through her body like wildfire.

Villain mentally cursed at himself, "Damn it Hero, you're burning up" , his voice filled with a mix of worry and anger. Villain couldnt ignore the concern that's starting to build up within him. Hero might have ruined half of his plan, been nothing but a torn to his side but he'd be dammed if he was going to let her die of a fever.

He stood up, hurrying out of the cell and barking orders at the guards. "Get a medic in here, now"

The guards nod, rushing off to do as they're ordered. While Villain waits for the medic to arrive, he paces back and forth, his mind racing with worry and anger. Silently praying that she'll be alright.. No, she will be alright. He won't have the city's best hero die in his cell from a fucking cold.

After what felt like eternity (which was only five minutes) , the medic arrives. Villain scoffs "Took you long enough", his tone cold and firm. The medic just rolled his eyes and immediately begins to assess the sleeping Hero's condition. He takes her temperature, checks her pulse, and inspects her for any visible signs of injury or illness.

"She's got a high fever, sir. It seems like she's come down with a serious infection of some kind. Do you know if she's eaten anything unusual lately? Or if she's come in contact with any toxic substances?" The medic asks.

"I...I'm not sure" Villain spoke, a bit quieter from before.

"..She's been locked up in that cell for weeks now, and I haven't exactly been the one taking care of her." Villain admits with a sigh, his tone tinged with guilt.

The medic raised his brows, "Well, that would explain it. Being locked up in a small, cramped cell like this without proper sanitation or medical care, it's no wonder she's come down with an infection."

Villain clenches his fists, his expression turning dark at the medic's words. He was mad..at..himself. He should have known better, he should have taken better care of Hero, even if she was his prisoner.

"She needs proper treatment, sir. Antibiotics, fluids, and a comfortable place to rest. She won't get better if she remains here." The medic spoke again which made Villain sighs the second time, more frustrated from the last knowing Medic was right.

"Very well." Villain finally says grudgingly, he turned towards some of his henchmen. "Get her out of this cell and to the infirmary. Treat her properly." He looks down at Heros unconscious form again, furrowing his brows. He didn't want to care, he didn't want to show any kind of weakness. But seeing her like this, weak and vulnerable, it was tough for him to keep up the cold and uncaring facade he usually wore.

The medic nods and starts to arrange for Hero to be moved to the infirmary with the other henchmen. Once Hero is moved to the infirmary, the medic quickly gets to work. He administers antibiotics via IV, sets up a saline drip to rehydrate her, and even hooks her up to a monitor to keep a close eye on her vital signs.

Finally, Hero is settled in a soft bed with a comfortable pillow and warm blankets. The medic turns to Villain, who has been watching the whole time from a corner of the room. "She should start feeling better soon, sir. The antibiotics will take care of the infection and the fluids will help with hydration. Just give it some time and she should be fine." He smiled.

Villain only nodded, his expression still tight and controlled. He steps closer to the bed, looking down at Hero's unconscious form. Noticing the way her hair is spread out on the pillow, the paleness of her face, the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breaths.

Villain was sure his body was acting on its own again as he reached out and hesitantly places his hand over hers. It was an unconscious gesture, one he didn't even realize he was doing. He stands there for a moment, feeling the warmth of her skin and the steady beat of her pulse beneath his fingertips. It was a physical reminder that Hero was still alive, still here, despite everything that had happened between them.

Villain notices the weak pulse and frowns, concerned. "Medic, her pulse is weak. Is that normal?". Medic looks over Hero's vitals on the monitor and nods, "Yes, it's normal. She's been sick for a long time, sir. Her body is weak and she's lost a lot of weight. It's expected for her pulse to be weak at this point." Villain nods, still looking at Hero's unconscious form with a furrowed brow. It was unnerving to see her like this, so still and fragile. Unlike the bravado and the winning smile she always gave him to get under his skin. Her godawful jokes and her...careless laughter. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt and regret. Despite everything, he still cared for her, more than he wanted to admit.

The medic noticed Villain's stark change of demeanor. He raised his brows before speaking "I'll check on her regularly to make sure she's improving. Besides...you look like a mother hen worrying too much for a fever" He teased.

Villain groans before glaring at Medic. "You're lucky I need you right now, or else I woudve cut your head off and hang it in my office for saying that" He let's go off Hero's hand before walking to the door, he stopped. Turning slightly back at Medic, his eyes dark with the promise of a threat "if I see you slacking off, I won't hesitate to do good with my words" He spoke, before stepping out.

[d0ughy]

Comfort HCs ft. Uvogin

___〆(・∀・)و ‧⁺✧

A/N: To avoid having to put a trigger warning on this, I'll just say it's some self-indulgent comfort from one of my fave characters. I was gonna do multi-fandom, but I'm lazy and also running out of time before the weekend is over... BUT, if people want more comfort HCs from different characters, *click the link for list* feel free to send me a request !!

Warnings: Not proofread, sort of angst, probably OOC, also probably not good lol.

~

Uvogin:

Despite his intimidating height, brutish strength, and affinity for killing, Uvo is very attuned to the emotions of those he cares for. Whether you're just friends or his lover, he sets an intense gaze on you the moment he picks up something's wrong.

Now juggling the strain of choking back your sorrow and the intensity of this giant's gaze, you can feel cracks beginning to form in the calm mask you're trying so hard to keep up.

Uvogin cocks his head to the side as he studies your face. He can see you're fighting back tears that threaten to well up in your eyes. Sadly, the dam breaks when he finally speaks up, "Hey... You okay?"

You're sitting, legs crossed, on the middle pillow of your aged yet comfortable couch. The living room was silent, the television off, ceiling fan still, even the chorus of crickets that celebrate the night seemed to keep quiet. Uvogin had just entered your apartment through the balcony and, upon entering your home, was immediately beset by the weighted silence.

Normally, you would eagerly race to meet him whenever he had the time to visit. You, who would commonly jump into his arms and greet him with a smile that shone brighter than any gold, jewels, or treasures he could ever hope to steal. Yet, you remained motionless, head lowered and radiating the melancholic atmosphere that fogged up your apartment. Uvo, concerned, takes a few slow, heavy steps in your direction.

You turn your head ever-so-slightly, to avoid meeting his eyes. You can already feel his gaze on you, feel his concern. It makes you feel a pang of guilt, shortly followed by embarrassment. You didn't want to worry him, didn't want him to see you in such a state. Your eyes instinctively shut tight as you feel the heat of tears pricking at your eyes. It wasn't until you heard Uvo' speak up's voice, deep but soft with a gentleness he reserved for you, that you couldn't hold it back any longer.

"Hey... You okay?" Three words was all that was needed to open the floodgates, not only to your tears but for all the difficult emotions you were trying to desperately to bottle up. Your shoulders rose and tensed as your hands cradled your face. Large, hot tears began to fall and roll down your cheeks. Between choked sobs and heaving breaths, you didn't hear the sound of Uvo's heavy footsteps rapidly approaching you. Just as your body began to crumple under the weight of your emotions, you felt Uvogin's large, warm hands envelope you.

While Uvogin is great at picking up other's emotions, he's not all too great at dealing with them. At least, with his words. Uvo is a man of action, and the current plan of action is to be there for you.

No matter your size, you're always going to be at the mercy of this man's strength. This time, he's using that strength to pick you up in his arms, take your spot on the couch, and then cradle you in his lap.

Uvogin hugs you, pulling you deep into his chest. His large biceps wrap around the entirety of your back, squeezing you with a comforting pressure. You cry into his chest, choking out apologies for letting him see you like this.

Uvo responds with a low, gentle shhhhh. Thick digits worm their way into the back of your hair and softly massage at your scalp.

"I don't wanna hear apologies, you've got nothin' to be sorry for. I wanna hear what's making you hurt like this... When you're up to it."

Uvo says nothing as he listens to you, through sobs, recount your troubles. The deeper you dig into what's going on, the firmer he squeezes you. His brows are knitted together in concern and, though he probably won't say it, frustration that he couldn't have been right there when you started breaking down.

He more than makes up for it though. After alternating from rubbing your back, bear hugging you, and playing with your hair, Uvo's finally got you to stop crying. Knowing you're likely exhausted from expending so much of your emotional energy, he carefully lifts you up into his arms and carries you to your bedroom.

Uvogin places you oh-so-delicately into your bed, tucking you in with great care. He places a hand against your cheek and stroked his thumb gently under your tired eyes, prompting them to close. Sadly, you miss the uncharacteristic delicate smile he flashes you as he bids you goodnight. Before you've drifted completely off to sleep, you can hear his hushed voice.

"Don't worry, I ain't goin' anywhere. I'll be here when you get up..."

Depending on your relationship with him, you're either going to wake up with him spooning you or find him snoring away on your couch. Regardless, as soon as he's awake his attention is solely back on you.

Friend or lover, you're going to get all of his affection and attention until he knows 100% that you're feeling better.

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

it's okay... you're okay

pair: Walker Scobell x 17y/o!reader

summary: Walker is there to reassure y/n(she/her) that she has every right to feel how she feels after a fight with her absent father

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The room felt too small, too hot. Y/N stood in the center, her fists clenched so tight that her nails dug into her palms. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears, drowning out the sound of her father’s voice. His excuses, his apologies, whatever the hell he was saying didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t want to hear it.

"Stop," she snapped, her voice shaking. "Just stop."

Her father went quiet, his eyes widening. He wasn’t used to this. The soft-spoken girl who had always looked at him with too much pain and not enough anger was gone. He didn’t know her anymore.

“I— I know I messed up,” he started, his hands raised like he could calm her down. Like this was some small misunderstanding.

“You left,” Y/N spat, her voice rising, filling the room. “You left us, and you didn’t care. You didn’t care about me. Or mom. Or... or her." Her sister, who picked up the pieces their mom couldn’t.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t give him a chance. It was like a dam had burst inside her, all the words she’d held in for so long, all the feelings she’d shoved down, finally spilling out.

“You just disappeared. And I... I spent years thinking it was my fault. That maybe if I’d been better... quieter... more like the daughter you wanted, you wouldn’t have left. I thought I wasn’t enough.”

Her voice cracked, and she hated it. She hated that she still cared, that she still hurt because of him.

“I blamed myself for everything. When I was little, I thought maybe if I’d been more like her, you wouldn’t have gone. But then I grew up and I realized that I couldn’t even trust anyone because of you. You made me feel like I wasn’t worth sticking around for.”

She was pacing now, her hands shaking, but she couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop. Not now. Not when everything she’d kept buried was finally clawing its way out.

“I spent so long trying to get people to like me. To stay. I thought maybe if I was good enough for them, they wouldn’t leave like you did. But no matter how hard I tried, it never worked. Because no matter what I did, I always felt like they’d leave too. Because if my own dad didn’t want me, why would anyone else?”

Her father’s face was pale, his mouth set in a thin line, but Y/N didn’t care. She didn’t care about his excuses or his reasons anymore. She just wanted him to understand how badly he’d broken her.

“I needed you, and you weren’t there. Do you know what that does to a kid? Do you have any idea what it’s like to grow up wondering why your dad didn’t love you enough to stay?”

She felt the tears sting her eyes, but she blinked them back. She wouldn’t cry. Not for him. Not anymore.

“I was four when you left. Four. I didn’t understand then. I didn’t know why my dad didn’t come home anymore. And I waited. I waited for you to come back. Every night. For years. But you never did.”

Her chest felt tight, and she struggled to breathe, but she kept going. She had to say it all.

“And you know what the worst part is? I was sixteen before I finally realized it wasn’t my fault. Sixteen. I spent my whole life thinking I did something wrong, that I wasn’t good enough. But it was you. You’re the one who wasn’t enough.”

Her father’s face crumpled, and for a split second, she felt the smallest twinge of guilt. But it disappeared just as quickly.

“I don’t want your apology. I don’t want your excuses. I don’t care why you left anymore. I just... I just want you to know what you did to me. How you ruined everything. How every time I try to let someone in, I can’t. Because I’m terrified they’ll leave too. And it’s all because of you.”

The room was dead silent now, except for the sound of her ragged breathing. Her father looked like he wanted to say something, anything, but no words came out. Good. There was nothing left to say.

Y/N stood there, trembling, her heart racing in her chest. She’d said it. Everything she’d wanted to say for so long. And yet, she didn’t feel better. She just felt... empty. Like all that anger and hurt had been holding her together, and now that it was out, she didn’t know what was left.

“I don’t hate you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper now. “I just... I don’t need you anymore. And I never will.”

With that, she turned and walked out, leaving him behind. Like he had left her.

Y/N slammed the front door behind her and leaned against it, her chest heaving. The house was silent, but it didn’t feel peaceful. It felt hollow. Empty. Just like her.

She stumbled up the stairs, her legs shaky, her mind a blur. When she reached her room, she collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in the pillow.

The tears came out of nowhere. Hot, choking sobs that wracked her entire body. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. She thought confronting him would make her feel better. She thought it would give her some sense of relief or closure. But now... she just felt lost.

She pressed her face deeper into the pillow, trying to muffle the sound. Her chest hurt, her eyes burned, and she was so tired. So damn tired of feeling this way. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop crying.

Y/N didn’t know how long she laid there, curled up on her bed, feeling like she was falling apart from the inside out. Minutes? Hours? It didn’t matter. Nothing made sense anymore.

Before she even realized what she was doing, her hand reached for her phone, and she opened Walker’s contact without hesitation. He was the only person she could think of. The only one who might understand, even though she barely understood herself.

Her thumb hovered over the call button for a second, but then she pressed it. She needed to hear his voice. She needed *him*.

It rang once. Twice. Then his familiar voice came through, and somehow, the sound of it made her throat tighten all over again.

“Hey, Y/N—” he started, his usual upbeat tone there, but she cut him off with a shaky breath.

“I did it,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I told him everything.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, then Walker spoke, his voice softer this time. “Are you okay?”

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. The simple question—one he asked so often—felt like it was unraveling something inside her.

“No,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I feel.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, nodding even though he couldn’t see her. “Yeah... yeah, I do.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

True to his word, ten minutes later there was a knock on her window. Y/N glanced up and saw Walker standing there, his hair messy from the wind, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. She managed a weak smile as she got up to let him in.

The second he climbed through the window, Walker’s arms were around her, pulling her into a tight hug. She hadn’t realized how much she needed it until that moment—the warmth, the comfort, the familiar scent of him.

“It’s okay,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re okay.”

She buried her face into his chest, and for a while, neither of them said anything. She just let herself be held, her breathing slowly evening out as the tension in her body began to fade.

After a few minutes, Walker pulled back just enough to look at her. His blue eyes were full of concern, but there was something else there too. Something steady, reassuring.

“What happened?” he asked gently, his hands resting on her shoulders.

Y/N took a shaky breath, running a hand through her hair. “I... I don’t even know. I just snapped. I told him everything I’ve been holding in since I was a kid. All the anger, the hurt, how he ruined everything...” Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to keep talking. “I told him that he made me feel like I wasn’t enough. That it was my fault he left.”

Walker’s expression softened, his eyes flickering with understanding. “You didn’t go too far, Y/N.”

She blinked, her throat tightening again. “What if I did? What if I was too harsh?”

“No.” Walker’s voice was firm, but gentle. “He needed to hear it. He needed to understand what he put you through. You have every right to be angry. You have every right to feel what you’re feeling.”

Y/N stared at him, her chest aching in a way that was different from before. Less painful, but still heavy. “But what if I hurt him?”

Walker’s hands slid down to her arms, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Y/N, you’ve been hurting for years because of him. He left. He made those choices. And you have every right to let him know how that affected you. It’s not your responsibility to protect him from the truth.”

Y/N’s lip trembled, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hold back more tears. “But why do I still feel so... so lost?”

Walker pulled her into another hug, resting his chin on top of her head. “Because it’s complicated,” he said quietly. “Confronting him doesn’t magically fix everything. It’s okay to feel all messed up right now. But you didn’t do anything wrong.”

She let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes as she leaned into him. His arms tightened around her, and for the first time all day, she felt like maybe she wasn’t falling apart. Not completely.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispered, his voice soft and warm. “For standing up for yourself. For telling him the truth. You didn’t deserve any of what he put you through. And you’re going to be okay.”

Y/N sniffed, a small, shaky laugh escaping her as she clung to him. “How do you always know what to say?”

Walker pulled back just enough to flash her that lopsided grin she loved so much. “It’s a talent. Plus, you’ve been my best friend forever. I think I’ve got the hang of this by now.”

[umbralaether]

You’re better than him, Astarion.

Her words ring in his ears long after she’d said them, but even they couldn’t cast away the dark feelings lingering in his mind.

He hadn’t left their shared room since Cazador’s death. He should be celebrating, maybe, or at least rejoicing in the fact his master was dead and gone— never to hunt him again. Instead, he found a heaviness that refused to leave his limbs, his own psyche weighing him down.

Ah, I see you found yourself a little pet. Or is it a snack? Peculiar choice, regardless.

He thinks of the first time he drank from her, how he’d almost gone too far in his bloodlust. How she woke weak and pale—a hard feat with her dark skin—yet continued to push herself beyond her limits. He thinks of the times she’d bruised from his fangs, how he had manipulated her into his orbit in the first place.

He had done that, and Cazador’s words dig deeper into his chest. Only a someone truly evil could do what he’s done. Once a monster, always a monster.

He doesn’t hear her come in, still staring at the ceiling, but he feels her sit on the bed beside him. She says nothing, taking off her boots and outer clothes. Her scent fills the room, refueling the dull ache in his body and he briefly wonders how many days have passed since he last fed.

Not that it mattered, he would refuse to use her like that ever again.

“Astarion,” his name coming from her mouth is a gift, and yet it stings. She should hate him, or at least be disgusted. Not soft, and gentle and loving.

“Please, look at me.”

He just wants to rot, lay in this dark room until he crumbles to dust. She would be better off, anyway, without a leech at her side. She could have a real life.

“What can I do? I’m begging you, love, please don’t push me away.”

“Go, Ceruli. You deserve better than a parasite.” His voice was rough from disuse, and when he finally looks her way, her face—that godsdamn beautiful face— looks at him as if he’d just slapped her.

Good one, he thinks miserably.

“Do you feel better, getting that off your chest?” She always was quick to regain her composure, “Because I have a few counter arguments.”

He says nothing, and goes back to staring at the ceiling.

“Parasites don’t ask permission, first of all. They just show up and take. That’s not you, no matter what Cazador said.” She moves closer to him, legs tucked under her and her warmth radiating, “I love you. I made a choice to love you, and I won’t stop loving you just because you believe you’re unworthy.”

He feels tears forming, and closes his eyes to keep them from falling.

“If I have to remind you everyday how much you mean to me, I will. I’ll make a list of everything I love about you, engrave it in stone forevermore.” She reaches for him, her hand cupping his cheek, thumb moving back and forth rhythmically. Her signature loving gesture.

A dam breaks, and suddenly he’s pulling her to him. He all but crushes her to him, arms wrapped tightly around her, face buried in her chest— her heart beats steadily, an endless comfort.

Sobs wrack his body; all the guilt, shame, and grief bleeding from him after decades of forming a shell around them. He clings to her, desperate for her touch, her warmth, after refusing her touch for who knows how many days.

She gives it without hesitation. Fingers running through his unkempt hair, down his back. Kisses peppered along his hairline, his temples, his forehead. Anywhere she can reach. She murmurs sweet nothings to him, the kindest of words and just when he feels as though he’ll crumble from her love, she says a name he has not heard in centuries.

“My sweet, shining star.”

It’s like the world spins to a stop. He peers up at her, “What did you say?”

“Your name. In elvish, it means ‘little star’. Or at least I think it does, I’m not fluent but…”

He chokes out a quiet laugh, “You, my love, are incredible.”

He closes the small gap between them with a kiss, reveling once again in the taste of her mouth, her skin. He trails them down her face, along her jaw, then her throat. He hovers over her pulse point, hesitating.

Her hand cups his face again, “Go on, love. You’ll feel better if you feed. Please don’t torture yourself anymore.”

His resolve breaks. He would do anything for her, after all. He sinks his teeth in, and the ecstasy of her blood in his mouth has him groaning with pleasure. He drinks until she stops him, and he kisses all along her face afterwards.

“Thank you, my lovely gem.” He feels lighter, the weight of all his baggage finally dissolving, albeit slowly, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Always, my star. I’m not going anywhere.”

They stay there, holding each other, neither one willing to let go first.

[panpanghost]

_"Wait!"

The young Six-eared Macaque turns around with a "Hm?" and a tilted head.

He had a great day today, playing with the young Rock Monkey and draining every last drop of his energy, but, as much as he'd love to stick around, he can't. He didn't expect playing around with someone else would be this fun, he never even thought anyone would play with him, years of being treated as an outsider, a freak, ate away his confidence and left him in the dark, he would love to hang out again in the morning however, but right now, all he could think about is to lay down and give in to sleep.

_"Uhhh...Umm" uncharacteristically, the rock monkey was hesitant, shuffling around with his hands and looking down to the ground as if it's suddenly interesting, "wou-would you like tooo...umm, ya'know- maybe..uh- sleep in my nest tonight-?"

He can't believe he actually said it, he knows he only knew the Six-eared Macaque for just a few days but he couldn't help it.

Anyone would think that the Monkey King sleeps surrounded by his subjects in a pile, but it couldn't be farther from the truth. It wasn't really anyone's fault, he was just way too strong and heavy compared to the others.

He didn't always sleep alone to be honest, it all began when he woke up to a screeching scream, he jumped from his nest and looked around for the danger then back at the nest to see one of his friends holding his arm in anguish, his heart dropped when realization hit him, he had accidentally broken his arm in his sleep, guilt burned thru him like wild fire, it was the first time he had ever harmed one of his family and he'd be dammed if he didn't make sure it's the last.

After the accident, he couldn't sleep properly for days, at night he'd sit still in the middle of snoring monkeys, and during the day he'd try to find a place to nap a little, away from the little ones so they wouldn't join him, it wasn't as easy as he thought, and he hated it more with every passing day.

After a while though, he stopped laying down at night at all, he just couldn't stay still, it was torture, he felt powerless against sleep, but there was nothing he could do about it.

In the end he made a new bed for himself alone, and didn't allow anyone to sleep in, ofcourse the loyal monkeys didn't like it, worried, and refusing to believe they have to let their king sleep alone, he doesn't even have a mate yet, how could they possibly do that? Still- after talking with each other, they admitted he did start to look tired lately, maybe it really is the best option to let him be at night, it's not like they wouldn't tend to him during the day, they'll work twice as hard to make sure he's comfortable and well taken care of.

He had been sleeping alone for some time now so he didn't worry about turning and breaking something or worse...

However, unlike the others, the Macaque is strong, stronger than he had originally thought. It took some rough playing for him to know that, he'd let himself go and use a little power, seeing how it didn't matter, the black furred monkey would just bounce back at him with even more strength, it felt great fighting without worrying all the time about breaking the other. Every time he'd even touch someone it'd feel like trying to touch spider webs without destroying it. But not this time, not with The Six-eared, it felt warm, it felt right and this hole inside him is craving for more.

But- would the Six-eared Macaque want to join his pack? Would it make him uncomfortable? He was originally a guest staying for a couple of weeks so would that make him feel pressured or uncomfortable? What if it made him leave?- what if-

_"Oh! Okay! Sounds great!" He frees the monkey king from his mind with a bright smile.

_"Really?!" With a clear shock on his face, Rock monkey still can't believe it.

_"Yeh! I don't see why not." He affirms, sure he had never slept in a pile with someone else, but he always wanted to try it, being honest with himself, he was jealous of others.

_"Okay! Come! It's this way." The Rock monkey excitedly grabs the other's hand and drags him through the forest, his happiness could reach the sky, finally, a sleeping buddy!

In the nest, The Six-eared Macaque decided to just lay down and let the king do his thing, even if it was his first time cuddling someone to sleep, he didn't really care how it was, he wasn't gonna sleep much either way, and it's not because of movements or the sound of The Rock Monkey's heart beating like a drum with a joy stick, nope, he was, ironically, a nocturnal creature, he didn't need much sleep, two to three hours a day were enough, he could have them separately or in one go, didn't bother him, he was born that way, it was natural, even though, not spending the night alone sounds wonderful.

The Rock Monkey sank thru mattress of his bed, puffing the pillow, placing even more blankets than the ones already there, he was filled with hope, that maybe, just maybe, if he made it comfy enough, Six-eared would like it and they'd do it more often- it's gonna become a daily routine but he doesn't know that yet- after he's done, he pats his side, hinting for his sleeping buddy to come.

The patiently waiting monkey finally climes up and lays on his back, covering himself with a blanket so easily found, finally resting his hands on his stomach,

_"Man, your nest is reeeeally comfy."

YAS! A victory call was shouted in the Rock Monkey's head, this is great, his plan is working.

_"I Know right! I actually made it myself."

_"You made it yourself? That's actually pretty impressive.", the tired Macaque starts to close his eyes.

_"Thanks, if you like it that much you can come over and sleep as much as you want, i don't mind."

_"Really? I guess it'd be nice to nap here every now and then." The little Macaque's voice is barely heard as he starts to give in to sleep despite the loud bu-bums coming from his night buddy.

He's coming AGAIN! Yesss! Would it be too much to ask for cuddles?, the Monkey king shakes his brain to stay awake and think fast before the Macaque falls asleep or he'd loose his chance to ask, he had never cuddled another before, he really wanted to, but he's heavy and his squeeze would turn flesh and bones into a smoothie, he'd usually hug a pillow but he really wants to at least try it once, it's been uncomfortably sitting in his head for as long as he can remember, but is it too soon? Would it be crossing the boundary? Is it rude? screw it- we ball.

_"hey Six-ears..."

_"hmm"

_"i actually like to cuddle, could you lift your arm up?"

_"ehmm" he did not expect that and truthfully it did make his heart pound a little faster, still, what harm would it do, he was also hoping to cuddle with him some day, it just happened that that day was right now.

The Six-eared does as told and the Rock monkey snuggles himself under the blanket, his head on the Macaque's chest, tangling their legs and tails together and hugging him closer, as he feels arms surrounding him, he won't deny the safety he felt in that moment, this isn't so bad, he could get used to it.

_"uhh... sorry i'm a bit heavy..."

_"I can hold you up with one arm, you're as light as a feather."

True, he did do that, when he first did it caught the king completely off guard, after registering what happened, it was kinda embarrassing...

Well, now for one last test, just to be safe, the Monkey king starts to slowly squeeze his new bady pillow little by little, focused on any noise that would indicate a stop.

_"I don't mind being squeezed." The Macaque finally says, startling the little one.

_"oh-ok." The little one whispers and squeezes more. Nothing, nothing happened, his buddy is still okay, no- more than that he feels himself being squeezed in return, this... this feels nice...

Before they knew it, they were both falling in deep sleep, the best they've ever had, just like two peices of a puzzle. One that moves and tosses around at night and one that gets bored when waking up every hour or so and decides to ruffle thru the first one's fur or help it get the blanket back on. It was nice, not boring, not cold, not lonely, they'd love to do this more.

(Why did i make this you may ask, well, clearly because i want to throw my hc at everyone, this was just more fun than saying it. Also english isn't my first language so sorry for the mistakes or if a sentence doesn't make any sense, ignore it for your brain's sake. Hope you enjoyed it ^^)

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Sweet Mishap - Chapter 14

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader 

A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. This chapter is a little heavier (as is the story going forward, but I'll include potential triggers for each chapter as relevant), so please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.

Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of sex, masturbation and nudity, depression, suicidal thoughts

A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s well past midday by the time I open my eyes and my head is still throbbing. In hindsight, those extra few rounds with the groomsmen after the ball drop were probably a bad idea. At the same time though, that was the only thing that stopped me buckling and messaging Jensen and coming clean about everything and literally begging him to take me back. It’s been days since we last spoke, so I know he’s probably already halfway to moving onto the next project and likely hasn’t given me a second thought since, so I strive to do the same. It’s officially a new year, and I’m determined to stick to my resolutions.

Avoiding my phone, I decide to take along soak in the tub after washing off my smudged makeup from last night. I start running the water and add in an old rose-scented bathbomb Stella gave me for my birthday last year. As I start scrubbing off the makeup the silence gets to me and I give in, going back into my room to retrieve my phone. Any resolve I had managed to build up crumbles when I see the message waiting for me since last night.

Happy New Year, Y/N I hope the bachelorette party went well

Those few words are all it takes to break down the dam I had been building. I can’t believe that after everything I said he still cared enough to message. A little spark of hope burns in my heart at the thought that he was thinking of me when I was thinking of him. Yet he chose to message me, while I got drunk to push him from my mind. The guilt extinguishes the spark of hope. 

I take my phone with me as I shut off the water, strip and slide into the pink bubbles. I let out a contented groan as the hot water instantly relaxes me. But just as I relax, a voice startles me.

“Y/N? Are you ok? Y/N?”

I stare at my phone in disbelief as I see the name on the screen. I brace myself before answering. “Jensen? Hi…”

“Oh thank God. You’re ok. I just hope my second instinct isn’t right then…Not that it’s any of my business…”

“What are you talking about?”

“The sound you made when I answered…you’re either in trouble or having sex…So, which is it?”

“You think I’m having sex and haven’t hung up yet? What do you take me for?”

“You’d be surprised how many people talk through sex, I think it’s some sort of kink. But I really hope you’re not.”

“I’m not having sex…but I am naked…” I say before I can stop myself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that…”

“So, you were masturbating then…”

“It’s none of your business! Why are you so interested? We broke up remember?”

“I didn’t know we dated?”

“You know what I mean…”

“Then why’d you call me?”

“It was an accident…But I’m glad I did. We really do need to talk.”

“Maybe I should let you get dressed first…or finish what you were doing…”

“I wasn’t-Forget it. Why’s it matter anyway? You can’t see me.”

“I guess…I’d love to talk, I just need to get past that last comment…” He goes silent for a moment and then continues. “I also need you to be honest with me. I really like you Y/N. So, I guess I just need to know where you stand.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Jens…I’m in a messy place at the moment. I want to let you in, but I’m scared of bringing you down, letting you down and just not being enough…”

“I can take care of myself. I’m more worried about what it would do to you…the photos and shit online is bad enough. If we date we’ll eventually get found out and all that will just get worse for you. The fans are protective of Dean Winchester and by default me…But, those boys that made you feel like you’re not enough, they didn’t deserve you. But I promise if you let me, I’ll treat you like you deserve.” 

I splash my free-hand through the water while I consider his words. “How about for now we just keep talking? We’re in different states anyway, and soon it’ll be different countries…”

“Just friends? Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know, Jens. I’m a mess…And I don’t want to force you into exclusivity when I don’t know…”

“You’re not forcing me, I want this. Honestly, I want more. But most relationships start as friendships, so we can take it slow if that’s better for you. But I need to know if you’re friend-zoning me, cause I…”

“I’m not friend-zoning you indefinitely…Maybe…I don’t know…I just need to get my own life under control first. Stop dreaming and actually…” in an attempt to distract myself from the depressing thoughts, I change the subject. “You know…I do still need a date for my best friend’s wedding…”

“Great! Send me the invite.”

“Jensen…I know you can’t…It’s okay. Plus, that negates our deal of staying out of public and taking things slow. Forget I said anything. It was stupid. That’s the stupid dreaming I’m talking about. I need to start being more realistic…But I struggle when it comes to you…”

“Hey, hey…It’s not stupid to not want to go to an event like that alone. Let me worry about what’s realistic and possible. Just send me the invitation. I may not be able to come, but just trust me. Give me a chance. Please. Also, there’s nothing wrong with dreaming…we’re performers, we play make believe for a living.”

“Okay…I’ll send it to you once I get out of the bath.”

“Bath! Right, that’s why you’re naked…actually that doesn’t help at all. Y/N, Darlin’, I really want to be a gentleman here, but you gotta stop reminding me that you’re naked right now. I'm still just a man.” The lonely, sex-deprived part of me wants nothing more than to hit the video call button and have what I hope would be amazing phone sex with him, but the rational part of my brain stops me. He sighs and then cuts back in, “I’d love to hear more about your dreams and how you’re gonna make them come true.”

“It doesn’t matter…They’re just pipe dreams. It’s time to grow up. Get a responsible nine to five and actually get ahead of bills and become someone reliable. Someone that’s worth…”

“Worth what, darlin’? Worth not cheating on? Worth being around? You don’t need a boring nine to five that you hate to be worth anything. I promise you real passion is way more sexy.”

“If that were true…” I sigh, “I’m sorry. As I said, I’m just not in a good place right now. I’m sorry for bringing down the mood. Forget I said anything. I should go.”

“Y/N, darlin’. Just wait a second.”

“What Jens?”

“Talk to me. This is what I mean, I want to be someone you can talk to about this stuff. I want to listen and support you. I can do that as a friend or a potential partner…if you’ll let me.”

“Jensen…I don’t know…You don’t need to listen to my depressing thoughts. You have such a perfect life, I don’t wanna bring you down. I have heavy baggage, you don’t want it!”

“That’s for me to decide! I can help carry your baggage or help you unload it for good. Put it on me, I can take it! Let me be your packhorse.”

“No…You deserve better…”

“Tell me, Y/N, what exactly do I deserve? Tell me more about my perfect life! Since you seem to know so much about my life, tell me! What’s so good about it? What do I deserve that you’re not?”

I shake my head. Tears slip down my cheeks mixing with the luke-warm water as I shrink at the sound of him raising his voice at me. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I called you, I’m sorry I ruined your day. I’m…I’m just sorry…” I hang up and drop my phone on the mat beside the tub. I pull my head underwater, staying there until my lungs burn for air and then I stay there a little longer. I think about how no one would know or even care if I stayed under right now. Glimpses of my exes’ faces spring to mind and it seems plausible. I let out any remaining air in my lungs. Nick’s words echo back to me. I stay under. My chest burns. And then I see my parents' faces from the day I left home–the second time–and Stella in her wedding dress that she hasn’t had a chance to show off yet, and finally Jensen’s green eyes and bright smile. I break the surface, gasping desperately to fill my lungs with air. I sob uncontrollably at how guilty and pathetic I feel.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Taglist: @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27, @n-o-p-e-never, @deansimpalababy,

@winchesterwild78, @kr804573

[alessiathepirate]

Scream

GUILT: Ethan Landry x fem!reader

Summary: He never meant to hurt her - but he did...

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I made while I wrote this short story.

Warnings: SPOILERS! (for Scream 6), mentioned death and blood, swearing

•••

The sudden, worried shout of her name following with Chad's made her finally look up. Up until that very moment she was just sitting at the back of the ambulance with an orange blanket on her back, looking at the ground and not daring to look up. She couldn't look anyone in the eye. She couldn't look Mindy in the eye, fearing that the guilt will get to the surface and she'll start to cry.

Realizing who called out her name, she looked up and swallowed. The moment their eyes met and she found something close to sympathy in his gaze, she got really close to the edge of crying. Her throat felt dry and she knew that if she opens her mouth the tears will start to fall.

She didn't have the time to decide if she wants to stand up and walk up to her lover, hoping she'll find some comfort in him or if she wants to stay where she's currently sitting and hope that the ground will swallow her whole. She didn't have the time to make that decision, because Chad, like the protective brother he is, walked up to Ethan, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt in anger.

"Where were you?"

"Where- what?" Ethan's voice was full of confusion as he was pushed very close to a car.

"Last night!" Chad continued and judging by the sound of his voice, he was losing his patience.

"What- I-I had econ. You know this."

"Bullshit man!" his grip on Ethan's shirt tightened and he pushed him back, this time Ethan's back collided with the car. "You disappear and my sister almost gets killed!"

"Dude, I was in a study hall with a hundred other people. You can ask any of them."

"It's fine, Chad. Let him go. Please..." she spoke up as she climbed out of the ambulance. Both her voice and legs felt shaky. She wiped away the tear that managed to escape with the back of her hand.

"Fuck, man." Chad muttered, but let him go regardless. He didn't bother to apologize or make sure he's okay - in her eyes that was understandable. If something this kind of fucked up happened to her sister she'd be mad as well.

"I had econ!" Ethan repeated, as if he'd manage to buy anyone's trust with that sentence after the crazy night they've been through.

She stopped in front of him, not looking at his face as she bit her lower lip. She felt the muscles in her face moving as she tried to swallow down her feeling. Her gaze was on his shirt, on the part where Chad grabbed it and instead of trying to say something she just straightened the material, doing her best to make the wrinkles disappear.

"Hey- hey..." the gentle tone of his voice and the way his fingers lightly touched her chin made her look up. "Are you okay, gorgeous?"

And then no matter how hard she was biting her lip, the dam broke. The very simple question of 'are you okay' made her realize how not okay she was, how much the damn guilt made her heart heavy and the tears started to fall. And they didn't want to stop.

He hugged her, letting her hide her face in the crook of his neck as he ran his fingers through her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"You're okay now, darling. It's okay."

"It's not." she mumbled, still hiding her face, breathing in his cologne, trying to hold onto something comforting and familiar. "It's not okay- Anika... She's dead, because I- couldn't hold her..."

He pushed her back a little, adjusting the blanket on her as he tried to wipe away her tears.

"God, Ethan- I feel like I killed her."

The way she said it, the pain in her voice made him stop his movements. It made him freeze and look at her, like really look at her, examining her every gesture.

"Don't be silly, I'm sure you've done nothing wrong."

"But I couldn't hold her... I was holding her hand and then I just couldn't- Everything was sticky and slippery because of the blood a-and."

Ethan looked at her like he's seeing her for the very first time, like she's a complete stranger. She never cried like this, never spoke like this... And she sure as Hell never looked this hurt.

"Look at me, darling." he said as he held her hand, brushing his fingertips against the back of her hand, making sure there was no scar on her. Making sure he didn't accidentally hurt her. "Look at me... This is not your fault, okay? I'm sure you've done everything you could. You can't blame yourself for something that you couldn't control."

He didn't let go of her hand until she nodded in agreement.

"I can't look Mindy in the eye..." she admitted quietly.

"You have nothing to worry about. I'm sure she knows it wasn't your fault."

"And if she-"

"Then she's a horrible friend."

He kissed her forehead and let go of her hands, only then noticing how a few drops of blood are still visible on her skin.

"You can stay at my place, all right?"

She nodded and took a deep breath. "All right."

Ethan hugged her again, this time his grip on her tightened as his hands stroked her back or played with her hair. He took in the way she smelled, felt and loved.

For the first time since forever he felt his chest become heavy with guilt and pain as those two feelings created the long lost regret. He never meant to hurt her.

And God, even if he did, it couldn't live up to the realization that when - not if, when - she figures out the truth, she'll never forgive him for making her feel like a murderer. She will never be able to forgive him, even if she wants to.

[gothicxreylover]

Yandere seer with a astrologist reader? Reader can tell the future by stars and such but often don't use it because people can't face the truth or what really happened?.

Sorry for my lack of manners but

𝔄 𝔉𝖆𝔦𝖑𝔢𝖉 𝕾𝔱𝖆𝔯

I love the idea and I hope you enjoy!

Warning- Implied Kidnapping, stalking, forced relationship, slight guilt tripping

Your talent wasn't appreciated much in your life due to people not wanting to believe what you had seen from the stars. It hurts you to hear people say that your talent wasn't the truth and it was just a plain lie that you tell to see others in misery.

Arriving at the manor was something a calm setting for you as you weren't bombarded with rude comments. You kept your talent to yourself not using it in front of others, you hated the question when people asked about your talent. Not that you hated them but was more like you didn't want your situation to be the same again.

Of course, there was this one person in the manor who was a bit like you in some way. He didn't seek the future well sort of. But you find it very interesting of how much similarities you have, you find his owl a strange creature not to mention that how seer can see through his eyes.

You didn't tell or show seer your talent due to how he would take it no matter how close you guys are together. It seemed he has been dropping hints about it but you didn't budge yet. You liked seer he was a great friend and help but for some reason he still felt a bit off.

You felt watched in every match you were in with him but assumed it was just nerves and anxiety getting to you. Not to mention how much his owl had dropped by around your room sending letters or just staring at you when you do chores around or sleep. You thought seer was just trying to see your ability but it just kept getting more uncomfortable and creepy for you.

You decided to be the bigger person and just confront him.

Walking to his room was very uneasy as you felt a tight knot in your stomach making you feel uncomfortable about what you were doing. You knocked on the door waiting patiently for seer to answer. A couple of seconds go by andhe opened the door.

"Hello Y/N it didn't expect you to come bye" You can hear him lying through his words knowing dam well he knew. You took a deep breath and started to talk.

"Eli I think you need stop what your doing. I'm not oblivious to what your doing so I'm asking you to please stop." You said a bit nervous about what he would say. He kept quiet for a moment before speaking again. "I don't know what your talking about. Did you mistake me for someone else." You bit you tounge again trying to think of what to say.

"You know what I mean and I'm telling you to stop!" You said a bit strict and walked away. You were just a hit angry as he tried to guilt trip you Infront of your face. You went to your dorm and decided to see the truth throw the stars.

As you looked at the stars and stopped looking with a quick instance. You stumbled back a bit shocked of what you had seen but before you could do anything you were hit in your head. You fell to the ground groaning with pain as you looked at seer. "I'm sorry my dearest." He mumbled before knocking you out.

[oo-delallymrcrow]

The Space Between Us (bad ending)

Summary: you and Gideon were a couple. But that was before Gideon and Kremy got married. Now it’s almost like you two were strangers. Is there anyway to fix your relationship or do you just need to walk away.

A/N: @amethyst-gemstone is my muse I swear! I wrote two different versions of this because I can never bring myself to write something so heart breaking without crying so I wrote a good ending for those who like that. I never really written anything like this before so I hope it's good!

Gideon had always been a force of nature—charismatic, driven, and so fiercely passionate about his ideals. When you first got together, you felt like the center of his world.

Especially since he got married to Kremy. When everyone came home and told you of their crazy adventure. When Gricko revealed that Kremy accidently got married to Gideon that made you stop in your tracks. Gideon just waved his hand with a scoff as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“It's nothing that's going to change anything. I still got my best girl.”

You smiled and snuggled into his side. But as time went on, you began to notice the subtle shift.

The first time you noticed it was when they—Gideon and Kremy—started exchanging those small, lingering glances. It was innocent at first, or so you told yourself. Just the thrill of newness in a team dynamic. But then the touches became more frequent, the private jokes more apparent. You could feel yourself fading into the background, like an old photograph slowly losing its color.

Kremy Lecroux, with his sharp eyes, noticed it too. He wasn’t the kind to intrude on matters of the heart, but he’d been watching you closely, sensing the hurt you tried to hide behind your smiles. Kremy had always harbored a quiet affection for you, a feeling he kept buried deep beneath his scaly exterior. But seeing you like this, lost and slowly unraveling, stirred something within him.

One evening, after another day of watching Gideon and his partner drift closer, Kremy approached you. His voice, usually gruff and laced with dry humor, was soft, almost tender.

“You don’t gotta keep pretendin’,” he said, his golden eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that surprised you. “I can see what’s happenin’. Ain’t right, what he’s doin’ to you.”

You felt the dam break. You didn’t cry, but the weight of everything came crashing down, and you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Kremy, I just can't do it anymore. We were so close and now that you both got married, I feel unwanted. He spends all his time with you and I'm just in the background.”

Kremy listened, offering a steady presence as you poured out your heart. When you were done, he simply nodded and squeezed your hand.

“You deserve better than this. Don’t let him forget that.”

That conversation gave you the strength you needed to confront Gideon. You waited until the two of you were alone, late at night when everyone was asleep. Finding Gideon and Kremy in the living room. Kremy noticed you first and excused himself to allow your privacy.

“Gideon, we need to talk.”

He just nodded and crossed his arms as you sat across from him. You took a deep breath before sharing your feelings.

“Gideon, we've grown apart. You and Kremy have been getting closer and I've been forgotten. You said it wouldn't change anything but it's changed everything.”

You could see it in his eyes—the guilt, the realization of what he’d done, or rather, what he hadn’t done.

“(Y/N), I'm so sorry. I didn't realize how much hurt I have caused you. I should have known sooner. I shouldn't have ignored you and spent all my time with Kremy. Please let me make it up to you.”

But it was too late. The connection you once shared had withered, and the hurt had grown too deep. You couldn’t keep holding on to something that no longer existed.

“I'm sorry Gideon, but I can't do it anymore.”

Gideon’s reaction was heartbreaking. He begged, pleaded with you to give him another chance, to let him make things right. He was on his knees, tears in his eyes.

“No (Y/N). Please I can't lose you.”

For a moment, you almost wavered. The sight of him so vulnerable, so desperate, tugged at the love you once felt. But deep down, you knew that things had changed too much. Even if you stayed, the cracks in your relationship would always be there, and you would always be haunted by what was lost.

“I care about you, Gideon,” you said, your voice trembling. “But I can’t keep pretending everything’s okay. We’re not who we used to be.”

Gideon didn’t stop you as you walked away. He knew, deep down, that this was the consequence of his neglect, of letting himself get swept up in something new while losing sight of what he already had.

[sirowsky-stories]

Collision

Description: A bad evening turns into a horrendous night when an accident threatens to rob Pero of the one friend he really has. But not everything is as it seems, and over the course of just one day, his life is turned upside down.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x OFC, no reader insert, Pero's pov, car-crash, hospital scenes, accidental pregnancy, cursing, angst, reference to smut, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, secret identity, AU fic. Rating: Mature/Explicit 18+ONLY Word Count: 6400 Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I can't leave this man alone. I have no idea what this might turn into, it was just an idea for the Pedrostories 1k Celebration and I ran with it. So let me know if you want to read more about these guys. And thank you to the wonderful people behind @pedrostories ! You do amazing things for this fandom <3

-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-

   He doesn’t hate her. That’s as much as he can be sure of when it starts. She’s interesting, different from most other women he’s met, especially in how she never asks him for anything. She shows up when she needs him physically, just like he does with her, and that’s as far as it goes.    And in that sense, she’s perfect. She takes what she needs and allows him to do the same, and it works. They work.

   Until the day it all goes to Shitville.

   “Please, just listen to me!” she yells, trying to be heard over his endless growling and spitting, but he is as far from a listening mood as he’s ever been.

   “Get the fuck out of my house!” he yells back, unable to even be around her in that moment.

   He actually tries to walk away from her even though he’s in his own home. But she doesn’t let him, following him through the hall towards his bedroom, where he stops before crossing the threshold, whirling towards her to try and get rid of her.

   “I’m not doing this, Niki!”

   “No, you already did!” she fires back. “It’s not like I can make a fucking baby on my own!”

   “And why should I believe that its mine? Hm?” he challenges, and sees her eyes shift from anger to something colder.

   He’s about to cross a line and he knows it. He knows that she doesn’t give herself to anyone else, she’s not trusting enough for that. It had taken two years before she’d even let Tovar anywhere near her body.    But he doesn’t want this. Just the thought scares him worse than anything ever has. Badly enough that he can’t even have a conversation about it.

   “We’re not together, you could’ve been with a hundred guys for all I know!” he presses, fully aware that he’s way out of line, but too riled up to stop himself.

   Niki, meanwhile, is too stunned to speak. She just stands there, staring up at him in disbelief, no doubt trying to understand why he’s being so cruel when this isn’t her fault.

   “Get the fuck out,” he repeats, low and menacing, making her shiver and step back.

   She’s always known that he has a bad side, she’s seen it more times than most people around him. But she’s never seen it aimed at her before.    The one reason why she had eventually decided to trust him with her pleasure, is precisely that he’s always allowed her to see those parts of him. That he’s honest, even about the things he finds ugly in himself. And that’s why she also believes him now.

   He can see the moment in which that trust crumbles to pieces. Five years of progress, undone by something that is still, no matter how much he wants to deny it, not her fault.    She grants him his wish, and leaves without another word, while tears break the dam of her lower eyelids, spilling down her cheeks in softly sparkling streams. And he wants to wipe them away, to wipe this whole fucking mess away, but he can’t.

-=¤=-

   The ringing wakes him in the small hours of the night, tearing him out of a hazy dream filled with strange lights and ominous shadows, no doubt brought on by the bottle of whisky he’d all but gulped down in his efforts to silence the guilt and allow him to rest.    It’s an unknown number. He never answers unknown numbers, so he mutes the call and tries to go back to sleep.

   But it rings again. And again.

   “I’m trying to sleep, stop fucking calling!” he snarls instead of a greeting, when he finally answers to try and shut the caller up so he can get some sleep.

   “Sir, I’m calling from the County Hospital, I need to know if I’m speaking with Pero Tovar?” the male voice on the other end replies, and he sobers up slightly.

   Why would anyone from a hospital be calling him? The last time he’d gotten hurt had been over a year ago, and there wouldn’t be any follow up to that this long after. Especially not in the middle of the night.

   “Yes, this is him,” he says, considerably less confrontational.

   “Mr. Tovar, my name is Frank and I’m a registered nurse at the County ER. We have a patient here named Nikita Morse and yours is the only name listed as her emergency contact in the ICE information on her phone,” the man answers, and something cold and terrible shoots through Pero’s blood over the two seconds that it takes for him to absorb what he’s heard.

   “Is… Is she-…” he tries, needing to know if she’s alive, but he can’t get the word out. “What happened?” he asks instead.

   “A car accident. As I understand it, Ms. Morse wasn’t responsible, but I’m afraid that it was a severe impact, sir,” the nurse explains, and when Pero still doesn’t reply, he continues. “You should know that she’s alive, but her condition is critical.    You might wanna get down here, sir.”

   “Right…” he answers in a daze, and then hangs up the phone.

   He has never once imagined that she might get hurt. It hasn’t crossed his mind, because he’s never thought of her like that. Like someone he should care about in that way or to that extent. He’s never thought that he does.    Niki is a friend, sure, but a fuck-friend more than anything else. She isn’t someone that he hangs out with socially in the classic sense.

   They don’t have dinners or go to the movies or pubs or anywhere together. They meet up, have sex, and then part ways. Usually without even talking much and never staying the night. It’s simple and that’s why it works. Because there aren’t any feelings involved.    Or so he thought.

   He sits up on the side of the bed, holding his own head for a minute to try and stop the throbbing in his temples. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the alcohol or the shock, he just knows that it fucking hurts and he wants it to stop.    He doesn’t want to care. Caring is so complicated.    But she’s hurt, once again to no fault of her own, and he can’t just leave her there alone.

   She doesn’t have anyone, and neither does he. She doesn’t know how to trust people, and he doesn’t want to. They’re both each other’s exception. That’s why they work.

   He gets dressed and splashes cold water on his face. Not to sober up, the call took care of that, but to make sure that this isn’t a dream. He wishes that it was, so he’s disappointed when the water doesn’t jolt him awake.    Even with the keys rattling in his hand, he almost forgets to lock the door. The drive passes in a blur while his thoughts erratically jump between memories and imagined scenarios, his fears creating haunting images before his eyes.

   Parking is free outside the emergency room, but he wouldn’t have remembered to feed a meter regardless.    He gives his name at the front desk and is shown to a smaller waiting room further into the building, reserved for friends and family of patients in intensive care. It’s empty when he walks in. No other patients are as bad as Niki tonight.

   It takes thirty minutes before the door opens and a woman enters, closing it behind her.

   “Mr. Tovar?” she asks, and he nods, feeling his throat go dry at the blank expression on her face. “My name is Penelope Jackson and I’m one of the doctors who worked on Ms. Morse when she was first brought in.”

   The room is small enough that it only fits eight chairs. Three along the far wall, two on each side and one beside the door. He’s sitting on the first seat along the left-hand side wall, and she takes a seat in the single chair by the door, putting her at a ninety-degree angle to him.

   “I’m gonna be frank with you, sir. The accident was bad, and her injuries are severe. She’s already been in surgery for three hours,” she begins, and he feels himself restlessly looking for something to busy his hands with. “But she’s fighting. The surgeon who’s working on her right now says that she’s remarkably stabile, considering her injuries, so she clearly wants to live, and that’s half the battle.”

   He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling or thinking, let alone how to express any of it.

   “I’m sorry that it took us so long to call you. She had no ID on her when she arrived, and it took the police a while to find her purse and phone. They got thrown out of the car by the force of the impact.”

   An image of contorted metal and a broken body in a driver’s seat unbiddenly flashes before his eyes, and he closes them against the disturbing picture.

   “May I ask how you know her, Mr. Tovar?” Penelope inquires softly, but he doesn’t know how to respond.

   The memories of how they met replace the disturbing image in his mind. The in-house mechanic who had come to fix his forklift when it had broken down in the middle of his shift at the warehouse. The way their short conversation hadn’t felt uncomfortable even once. The rare smile that her careful attempt at a joke had put on his lips.    She’d told him later that she’d never felt so instantly secure around another person before that day.

   “We work together,” he finally says, rubbing his face against his palms to try and scrub the mental pictures from his view.

   Happy memories don’t seem to fit into this scenario.    Doctor Jackson doesn’t look surprised to hear that his relationship with her patient isn’t closer than that. Obviously, it is, but he can’t find the words to talk about that with a stranger. However tolerant she might be, he doesn’t want this woman to judge them, and anyway, their relationship, however unusual or strange, is their own business.

   “Do you know if she has any allergies or pre-existing medical conditions?” the doctor asks then, and he answers without looking up at her.

   “Isn’t that in her records?”

   “She doesn’t have any,” Penelope replies, and he snaps his head up to meet her eyes.

   “What are you talking about? She broke her collarbone eight years ago. She fell off a horse and broke her left arm and four ribs down her left side a year after that.    Of course, she has records, those things didn’t heal of their own.”

   “We did notice those scars, among others, but her treatment must’ve been at a private medical facility, because we can’t find any records of her anywhere in the country.”

   No… that makes no sense. To his knowledge, Niki isn’t and never has been anywhere near wealthy enough to afford private care. But the doctor has no reason to lie about it.    There’s no way for him to figure this out right here and now, though, so he refocuses on her question. Although, he only knows of one medical issue that’s relevant to the current situation.

   “Did you notice that she’s pregnant?” he asks quietly, as if just saying it out loud might make it more real somehow.

   It feels like it does.

   “Yes. A woman of fertile age being brought in without records or next of kin, we’re gonna try and learn as much as we can about before we send her down to surgery. Pregnancy is one of the first things we check in that situation.    She’s about six weeks along. Is the child yours?”

   He can’t say it out loud, so he merely nods again. But he knows that it’s true. No matter what he’d said to her last night, he damned well knows.

   “For the time being, the fetus is alive, but I’m sorry to say that there are no guarantees. If she makes it through this, the healing is gonna take time and a lot of energy, and her body might not be able to do both,” the doctor says, and she sounds genuinely sad now.

   Pero doesn’t know how he feels about this. He can’t tell if he’s sad or angry or worried. It’s just too much.    He wants Niki to survive. But beyond that…

   “We’ll let you know as soon as anything changes, okay?” Jackson offers, and again, he nods, unable to do anything but exist for the time being.

   Unfortunately, as she steps out, the police walk in, and he instantly wants to tell them to fuck off so that he can have one god damned minute to try and think.    His brain is a beehive, and the queen isn’t letting him think for himself. It’s just loud and incomprehensible and he wants to scream, if only to drown it out for a single second.    Instead, he sighs deeply and runs both palms over the sides of his neck, before leaning back and letting his hands come to rest in his lap.

   “Mr. Tovar?” the younger male officer asks while he and his partner, a middle-aged woman, take a seat opposite him.

   “Yeah.”

   “I’m detective Burns and this is my partner, detective Winson. We’ve been assigned to Ms. Morse’s case, and we’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright?”

   What a stupid question. What is he supposed to say? No?    But they’re waiting for an answer, so the question apparently wasn’t just for show.

   “Okay.”

   “How long have you known her?” the man starts, taking out a notepad in the meantime.

   “A little over five years. She’s a truck-mechanic at the warehouse where I work.”

   “Do you know if she has any family?”

   “She hasn’t mentioned anyone.”

   “What about friends?”

   “So far as I know, just me,” Pero shrugs, but both the detectives seem to find that answer interesting.

   “You’ve known her for five years, but you have no idea what other people might be in her life at all?” the woman chips in, and he drops his gaze to the floor.

   “We’re not… close. Not like that,” he admits, for the first time feeling ashamed of the fact that he really doesn’t know the one person in his life that he calls a friend.

   “Like what, then?” the man presses, and Tovar nervously scratches at his own palms.

   “We don’t talk much, we just… hook up.”

   He doesn’t want to see their judgement, but he glances up anyway, to make sure that they understand what he’s saying. Unexpectedly, he’s met by indifference from them both, which actually sets him at ease.

   “I see. So, you wouldn’t have noticed any suspicious activities around her?” detective Burns asks, thereby shifting Pero’s entire perspective on the events which have put him in this room tonight.

   “Suspicious activities?” he asks, wanting to know if they’re referring to Niki doing something questionable, or someone else acting dubiously towards her.

   “Any faces that kept popping up around her, cars that seemed to show up wherever she did… that kind of stuff.”

   “You think someone was following her?” he wonders, and the thought makes him feel sick.

   But it also makes him think back on what the nurse on the phone had said.

   “Wait… the accident wasn’t her fault, right? Did someone hit her on purpose, is that what this is about? Is someone trying to kill Niki?” he demands, feeling anger begin to take hold of his senses.

   Anger is less crippling than care and much easier than pain, so he clings to it, hoping that it’ll give him a place to put all the shit that he doesn’t know what to do with. And more than that, if there really is a human being who is responsible for this, that gives him someone to blame. Someone to hurt.    But the policemen remain guarded.

   “That’s what we’re trying to figure out, sir,” detective Winson takes over. “Do you know anything about her past? Her hometown, school, sports or social activities that she took part in? Her interests or hobbies?”

   “No. All I know is that she likes horses and dogs. And Chinese food.”

   And me. He doesn’t say it, but he feels certain that Niki likes him.    He doesn’t know how much she cares about him, maybe not at all, but he thinks so. He thinks that that’s why she sticks to their unspoken arrangement without fail. Because he’s all she’s got, which means that he’s probably the only one she really cares about. Enough to make sure that she’ll never lose him.

   How horrible it must’ve been, then. To come to his house with the news of the baby, knowing that it would likely tear everything apart.    Sitting there with the police, and his only friend on an operating table somewhere beneath his feet, he suddenly wonders what would’ve happened if he hadn’t thrown her out. If he’d had the courage to talk to her.

   Would she have been safe right now?

   “Alright, I’m gonna level with you here, Mr. Tovar, because you seem like the kinda guy that might go off and do something stupid with the wrong sort of idea in your head,” Winson continues, bringing him back to the moment.

   He doesn’t like her tone, though. There’s something unsettling about it. He can’t tell what exactly, but it feels like this woman might be a problem waiting to happen.    He hopes that he’s imagining it.

   “Obviously, we haven’t had time to really investigate much yet, but the first step of any case is to learn more about the people involved. And since the other driver fled the scene, Ms. Morse is the only person that we have available to us, so that’s where we’ve focused our efforts so far.    However, our initial look at her has already created quite a few question marks,” she explains, and the unsettling feeling in his gut intensifies.

   “About what?” he asks, finding himself getting almost desperate to learn more about Niki, the one thing he has never wanted before today.

   “Well, for starters, her personal file indicates that she’s attended public school in New York, with stellar grades and commendations from her teachers, before being accepted to MIT, where she studied mechanical engineering and graduated with honors.    Quite a good start to life, wouldn’t you say?”

   “Sure,” he shrugs, because while he knows that MIT is considered a prestigious school, academia has never interested or impressed him.

   “Most people would agree. So, why then did she completely disappear after that?” the detective wonders, clearly not expecting him to have an answer as she carries on. “From the day she graduated, more than fifteen years ago, right up until she was hired by her current employer nearly six years ago, there’s no record of her at all.    She’d never leased an apartment or bought a house, never had a membership card to anything, never bought a car, never traveled abroad because she’d never had a passport made.    Then, six years ago, she pops back up here. She buys a car, rents an apartment and gets hired by your employer, all in the same day.”

   Shit. Those are all pretty good examples of “suspicious activities”.

   “Okay… What does that mean?” he asks, playing dumb, because he’s already got a few guesses of his own.

   But he wants to know as much about where their heads are at as he can, and in which direction that they might be about to take this investigation.

   “We don’t know yet. It’s been five hours since the crash and all we do know at this point, is that your friend’s past has a big hole in it. Which also means that we can’t be certain about anything concerning the accident.”

   “So, what? You think that she could’ve done this to herself?”

   “No, another car obviously hit her. But since this was a hit-and-run, we don’t know what happened or why.    And until I know what’s going on with Ms. Morse, I’m not ruling anything out.”

-=¤=-

   It takes another two hours of surgery before she’s taken off the table and brought to the ICU, where he’s allowed to see her for a few minutes.    She looks… wrong. Her eyelids are too heavy, her body too limp. The color of her skin is off. He’s never seen her sleeping, but it looks more like she’s already dead rather than asleep.    He’s been informed that her spleen, stomach and left lung has suffered damage, and that they’ve had to repair a tear in the wall of her heart. It all sounds so bad.

   Her right arm is in a cast and there’s a thick bandage on her right thigh, where a large gash has been torn through the skin by either metal or plastic broken off from the center console of the car. Her face is covered in both smaller and larger cuts, some of whom have needed stiches, others that are just taped or glued.    She has a concussion, but miraculously, her brain hasn’t swelled. Not yet anyway.    They say that she shouldn’t be alive, but she is.

   He doesn’t know what to say as he stands there beside her while nurses make sure that she’s properly connected to all the machines around her and that the pillows which support her injured arm and leg, won’t cause her any discomfort.    She’s all he has, and yet he can’t find the words to tell her that. To ask her to keep fighting just so that he doesn’t have to lose her.

   So much of her is broken and cut up that he doesn’t dare to touch her either, afraid that he might hurt her even with something as simple as a brush of his fingertips.    He just stands there, staring at her as if he could wake her up by sheer willpower.

   “Her left hand is undamaged,” one of the nurses says, in a voice which is so genuinely warm and caring that it almost makes him cry.

   He’s not even sure why. Perhaps just from the knowledge that truly kind people still exist. Or maybe it’s just plain and simple gratitude.    But he doesn’t cry, nor does he take Niki’s left hand. He turns and then walks out of the ICU and out of the hospital, back to his car.    Once behind the wheel, he just sits there for a minute, breathing hard against the internal distress which plagues him.

   He doesn’t know how to handle this.    He shouldn’t leave. But he does.

   The accident took place somewhere on her route home from visiting him, so he traces it, looking for the scene, not even sure why he wants to see it.    He couldn’t have missed it if he’d tried. The rescue vehicles have left, but the police are still there, and the entire scene is cordoned off while the CSI team works.    It looks like a bomb went off.

   There’s debris everywhere. And not just shattered glass and pieces of the body of the car. Engine parts, entire sections of the exhaust system, things from the boot of her SUV have been thrown as much as a hundred feet from the actual point of impact.    The car itself is unrecognizable, standing against a broken lamppost on the wrong side of the road. They’d had to cut the roof off to get to her, but the entire frame of the car is curved in the middle, where the other vehicle ran straight into it.

   The side airbags saved her life, but if the point of contact between the two cars had been just one foot further towards the front of Niki’s car, her body would’ve taken the entire force of the impact. She could never have survived that. Which had undoubtedly been the intent.    Now that he sees it, Pero is convinced that this crash happened on purpose. There’s no redlight, which means no cameras, and the speed limit of the road wouldn’t have enabled a crash this severe.

   He can see how it had happened. Niki is a responsible driver; she obeys the law and is always focused on the task of driving. She had right of way and even if she hadn’t slowed, she would still have checked both directions as she came into the intersection.    The other car would’ve had to be coming at her so fast in between the buildings to the left, that even if she had seen it, she wouldn’t have had time to swerve or even react.

   But why would someone want a simple mechanic dead?

   Clearly, Pero doesn’t know her, he’s never made much effort to, so it’s possible that those nine years in which no one seems to know where she was or what she was doing, she could’ve lived a different life. Perhaps one which made her some enemies.    He doesn’t know her, but now he needs to. He needs to understand this. Because whatever happens next, the events of this night have changed things.

   He doesn’t have any other friends, but he knows some people. People who can help him dig up some information. So, he leaves the crash-site and heads across town.    It’s not even 5 am yet, but the man he needs to see is already up, he’s sure of it. The guy rarely sleeps more than four hours a night, courtesy of PTSD from his time in Afghanistan.    And sure enough, the door opens just seconds after he knocks, and a pair of wide awake, crisp blue eyes seek him out.

   “Tovar… Long time no see.”

   “Hey, Will,” he nods, just as the man takes in the state of him.

   “The fuck happened to you?”

   “Shit. Shit happened,” he deadpans, and then sighs heavily and rubs his forehead for a moment. “I need you to help me find something.”

   The man deliberates for a few beats, hearing that. There’s water under the bridge between them, lots of it, but he knows Pero well enough to know that he only ever asks for help when something is seriously wrong.

   “Yeah, alright,” he finally decides, letting go of the door and turning to head back into his house, knowing that his guest will follow.

   They walk into the kitchen where his host prepares coffee for them both, before they take a seat at the table.    Will might be a war veteran, but he’s better off than most. After his service, he started up a private company which he can manage from home, and which keeps him in good financial order. The house isn’t particularly fancy, but if one looks around, there are items in there which seem too pricy for someone like him to afford.

   Such as a top brand coffee maker. The type that can use those little capsules for each cup, or grind beans to the drinker’s preference.    Further into the house, there’s a computer system which would make NASA envious, where he does all of his work, primarily consisting of background checks, which anyone can hire him to do, entirely legally.    But his skillset is much more extensive than that.

   “So, who am I looking at?” he asks once they’re settled.

   “Her name is Nikita Morse. She works at OffSup too, but she’s a mechanic,” Pero explains, hoping that there won’t be too many follow-up questions.

   “And why am I looking at her?”

   “Because I think someone’s trying to kill her, and it seems to have something to with a nine-year period when the police can’t find any records of her.”

   “Okay. But why am I looking at her?” Will repeats, obviously referring to why his guest has taken an interest in this person at all.

   He doesn’t want to talk to anyone about Niki, and least of all someone who might ridicule him for it, but the man won’t help him unless he answers his questions.

   “She’s a friend,” is all he says, hoping it’ll be enough.

   “You don’t have friends.”

   “She’s the exception.”

   William thinks on that for a moment, studying his guest closely over the rim of his coffee cup while he takes another sip.    He knows that Tovar deliberately avoids making friends with people, and he knows why. So, he has every reason not to believe him.

   “You fucking her?” the man asks, and he damned near throws his coffee at him.

   He doesn’t need to know that. He’s only asking as a way to gauge his guest’s honesty on the subject, which might determine whether or not he agrees to look into it.

   “Yes,” Pero begrudgingly admits through tight jaws, daring the man to try and pry any further, but he wisely decides not to.

   “So, what’s happened to bring you to my door?”

   “There was an accident and now the police are looking into her life, and I got the feeling that they want to find something incriminating about her.    But that might just be how my fucked-up brain interpreted a strained situation… I don’t know,” he offers, hoping that by being a bit more open, Will might feel somewhat more cooperative.

   “You think they’re looking for a scapegoat? For an accident?”

   “It wasn’t an accident. Like I said, there’s stuff in her past that doesn’t add up and I need to know what the hell it is before the cops find out, or I’ll have no chance to protect her.”

   “You actually care about this woman?” his host asks, but with contempt more than incredulity, which makes Pero decide that the conversation is over.

   “Please, just look into it,” he says, before standing and heading for the door, leaving his empty cup on the table.

   On his way back to his house for a shower and some breakfast, and more coffee so that he’ll be able to think rather than just stay awake, it occurs to him that she might not be safe at the hospital either.    Whoever it was that had hit her car, they must’ve left thinking or at least hoping that she’d died, so once they learn that she’s still alive, there’s every chance that they might try to silence her again.

   The thought worries him. But so long as she’s in the ICU she should be safe. There’s too much staff there all the time for any unfamiliar face to slip past. The nurses all know each other and the entire support-staff by name, they have eyes on the patients constantly and because of the very limited timeframes in which loved ones are allowed to visit, they keep track of everyone who comes and goes.

   But his hair is still wet when he returns to the ward, with a thermos mug in his hand since he’d opted to eat in the car on the way instead and has yet to finish the giant espresso that he’d made for himself.    He registers with the nurse at the front desk of the ICU. The nametag on his chest says “Frank”.

   “Sorry about before,” Pero apologizes, to which the nurse looks puzzled, so he adds: “I screamed at you on the phone.”

   “Oh, that’s alright. Most people dislike being called in the middle of the night. But thank you,” Frank replies with practiced ease, no doubt used to verbal abuse on the job. “Nikita’s doing better, so if you like, you can stay with her for a bit.”

   He’s surprised to hear that. It’s only been a couple of hours since she came out of surgery, after all. But it’s good news. And he’s in dire need of good news.

   “Thanks,” he says and then walks over to the third slot where her specialized bed is parked in the middle of an array of machinery, and a blue sheet is all that separates her from the other slots.

   There are four in total, but only one of the others is in use for the time being. Which means that the ward is pretty quiet that morning. The staff is working on computers, writing in charts and quietly talking amongst themselves.    As he sits there, watching Niki fight for every breath, he listens closely to everything around him, trying to learn the noise of the hospital so that he’ll know if something changes.

   But soon enough, looking at her takes hold of his entire focus. She’s so fragile. Breathing on her own but otherwise motionless, in that way that only dead things are motionless. Stationary. Static.    It makes him want to shake her. To provoke some form of a reaction, even just a flutter of her eyelids. But he knows that he can’t.

   He closes his eyes against the uncanny stillness, preferring even the darkness to the visible evidence of her torment. But it isn’t darkness that meets him when the image before him falls away. Instead, the memory of their first time together pops up in his mind.    She had asked him if she could come over for a drink that night, but he’d known as soon as she’d spoken what she’d really meant by that. The words might have concealed her true motives, but her face and body had not.

   She’d walked into his house that evening with a hunger in her eyes. He’d offered her a beer and after just one swig, she’d stepped closer to him, eyeing his lips and licking her own.    The kiss had been chaste. Brief and tentative, like a person about to take a bath, putting their fingers in the water first, to check the temperature. But they’d both wanted more, and they’d both asked for it, with everything except words.

   Her hands had been demanding on his hips, craving friction, and he’d given it to her. She’d been so brave that night, letting him explore her skin, learn her desires and soft spots, her cravings and pleasures. And in turn, he’d shown her his.    In just a couple of hours, they’d learned more about each other than they had in the two years leading up to it.

   He has never failed to make her come. She looks so beautiful when she climaxes that he would never settle for less than getting to see it at least once each time.    She never fails to make him feel complete. More than just satisfied, he feels proud and grateful when she reaches for him. When she tells him how much she loves what he does to her, even when he does his damnedest to tease and frustrate her.    Even when he’s in a mood and needs to take before he can give.

   Those are the only times that he feels ashamed. The only times he worries that she might not let him touch her again. He’s rough when he gets like that, but he never wants to hurt her, or make her scream.    He’s never told her that, but she still knows it. She knows what he feels better than he does himself, but she never tries to teach him how to better understand himself. If that was something he wanted, she assumes that he’d ask for it.

   He opens his eyes again, leaving behind the soft shimmer of the sweat on her skin after she’d come undone for him that first time, within his mind’s eye where nothing can ever destroy it.    He returns to the ICU. Her skin is too dry here, in the air-condition.

   “Good morning, Mr. Tovar,” a familiar voice says to his right, and he looks up to find Doctor Jackson coming to a stop beside him. “I see you’ve been through a shower. Or did you just stick your head in the sprinklers outside?”

   His hair is still not dry. He runs a hand through it to try and get some more air into it.

   “Went home for a bit,” he answers, and she hums in agreement.

   “Good. Don’t forget to take care of yourself too. But anyway, I just wanted to let you know that my shift is over now, and that Doctor Leo will be replacing me for the dayshift. He’ll be coming by in a while to check on her.”

   “How is she?” he asks, hoping to hear that the doc can read something out of all those monitors that he can’t, and that Niki is still improving.

   “You know, throughout all of this, her heart has never faltered,” Penelope says, and there’s admiration in her voice. “Even when she was first brought in, broken and shocked and having lost so much blood, her heart drummed steady and firm.    That’s what convinces me that she’s gonna make it. The machines tell me that her vital signs are good, but I don’t trust them even half as much as a person’s heart.”

   She squeezes his shoulder gently, and then leaves, but her words stay with him. He likes those words. They give him peace of mind.

   A little while later, a nurse he hasn’t met before, another dayshift replacement, approaches him and tells him that he has to leave for a while. He doesn’t protest. But he doesn’t step any further away than that he can still see everyone who walks into her slot.    Doctors and nurses walk in and out, the sheet is pulled back and forth in between procedures and cleaning routines for her wounds, new IV bags are placed. Everything is fine.

   Until he walks in.    Pero knows the moment he sees him, stepping into the ward and stopping to survey the area, that he doesn’t belong. He’s too calm. Practiced sort of calm.    The ICU is a place of distress, either internal or external, but both are visible in all the people who wander around in there, save for the staff.

   This man isn’t here to meet a loved one, he’s here to work. But if he was part of the staff, he wouldn’t need to orient himself in the environment. He wouldn’t stop just inside the door, he’d go to his colleagues, or find the locker rooms and get changed.    Tovar watches him as he locates Niki, stares at her as though she was little more than a sheet of paper, and then turns around and leaves.

   She’s not safe here anymore. But how the fuck is he supposed to get her out of here in her state? Where does one even hide an intensive care patient?

-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-

Part 2

Thank you for reading, and remember: I have no taglist anymore. Follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications for updates on my writing :)

[vacantgodling]

oc kiss week day 6 4: reach

i’m posting this out of order bc i had this finished first LMAO 💀 next one i’ll post is day 4 promise pff

WIP: the chronicles of lathsbury (tcol)

SHIP: erik soori (he/him, ranger) x un "dion" undershield (he/him, protector)

SUMMARY: dion knew it was his fault, but that didn't make it hurt less. the worst part was erik didn't blame him at all.

tw(s): major out of context spoilers, amputation (not in graphic detail, it's already been done) & traumatic limb loss

worldbuilding notes: erik and miona are both from diisai, which is an island to the west of terrae's mainland across the eastern sea (which is not east lmao). diisaians like themselves have a sort of highland (scottish) adjacent sounding accent, and because i like writing vernaculars, you'll see that make an appearance here. erik's accent is stronger than miona's because miona grew up in the capital of diisai while erik grew up in the highlands.

also sorry in advance for this this is so sad fr LMAO.

“I spoke wi’eh doctor.” Miona said. She wasn’t looking at him, or where Erik lay, deathly still on the hospital bed. His body was fully covered by blankets up to his chin, and his face didn’t look peaceful so much as he just looked like a corpse. If Dion knew Miona better, like Erik did, maybe he would’ve been able to read through whatever emotion her flat voice was trying to hide. He didn’t look at her either. Just kept staring at him like he had for the past week. She waited a long moment before she continued. 

“After he’s granted discharge, it's recommended ‘at he retire.” 

Another long beat passed. 

“He can’t.” Dion was surprised hearing his own voice—the last time he heard it like this was when Fia passed and. And. He sucked in a harsh breath through his nose; he couldn’t think about her. Not now, it would break him.

Miona whirled on him, her eyes suddenly blazing. “Can’t?!” Her voice was shrill. “He lost his fucking arm, you heartless piece o’ shit!” Guilt seared through Dion’s gut like he’d been fileted, and it was hard not to double over from the pain of it. “Th’ whole damn thing!” She screamed and Dion wished he could scream too. He knew! And it was his fault. Miona wasn’t done her tirade however. “Can you stop being so fucking selfish for once in yer damn life—”

“I know what he lost!” Dion finally growled, cutting her off. He could barely breathe around the nausea that gripped him like iron from the inside of his throat, strangling him with every word, but he pushed them out. “But you and I both know he won’t!” 

Miona glowered at him, grinding her teeth, knowing he was right but not wanting to admit it herself. She tried again. “Then convince ‘im! For pity’s sake, he can’t go on like this!” 

Dion turned away from her, and away from Erik no matter how much he needed to stare at him to make sure that he was there. “I can’t do that.” His voice was barely a puff of air; a wheeze.

If he was looking at Miona, he would’ve seen the way she tugged at her hair in frustration. “Ye’re the only one who can!” She choked on her words, tears welling up in her voice like an overflowing dam. “He’ll ne’er be able to shoot a bow again—don’t ye get it? And you know he won’t sit around and do paperwork all day!” 

“I’m not stupid.” Dion felt the stupid, useless tears that he hated to shed begin to trail down his dark cheeks and he pointedly kept his face turned away. That’s what was tearing him up—he knew that Erik was fucked over beyond repair and he fucking caused it.

The one thing Fia loved about Erik more than anything was his bow. The one thing that completed Erik, was that ridiculous thing, near as large as Dion’s own shield, at his side. He drew it with such a raw power in a way that was lost on the rangers of the mainland; a unique artform all of its own. And because of Dion it was ruined. He’d ruined Fia’s dream—as the last insult to her memory. He’d ruined Erik, as the final straw in the string of insults that Dion had taken at his character. The one man who never left him. The one man who coddled him, listened to him, cared for him even when he didn’t fucking deserve it—

“Get out o’eh way, ye stupid bastard!” 

Dion kept replaying the moment over and over in his mind. 

He had been so focused. So, angry, and reckless—Erik shouldn’t have had to cover his blind spot. Erik shouldn’t have known his blind spot… But logic reasoned that if anyone would’ve known it, Erik would. They’d been fighting together for… too long now. This was the price for that.

Both he and Miona were startled out of their argument by a shifting of the sheets. Of a loud, pained groan. 

“A’ll get th’ doctor!” Miona said. She rushed for the door, pausing for only a moment to look back at Dion. “But remember what Ah said. And don’t ye dare hurt him.”

Dion didn’t bother to deign what she said with a response. He was too busy falling to his knees by the bedside, grasping Erik’s trembling left hand in his own—what was left of him. 

He was forcibly moved from the bedside when the doctor rushed in.

It was another week before Erik awoke again. And in all that time, Dion stayed by his bedside. He tried to read, but his mind wouldn’t follow the words, but there was nothing else to do so he forced himself through passage after passage of drivel until it made his eyes burn and his head swim.

During that time, the room was constantly fluctuating with visitors: Miona came in nearly every day, and the barman—Papa, whatever his name, stopped by as well. The Diisiain they spoke rapidly between each other was too hushed for Dion to catch any of, but he noticed the forlorn look the burly man gave Erik when he finally ambled out. Cameron stopped by, and that archer his sister fancied, along with other people Dion hadn’t bothered to learn the names of. He’d never… realized how well liked Erik was. He’d been so focused on himself, his vengeance, his pain—its like he never even knew who Erik was. Is. He wasn’t dead. He had to keep telling himself that.

It was a sentiment proven true when Erik began to stir. Dion almost didn’t notice, given how quiet this awakening was compared to the previous outburst. His honey brown eyes were barely visible under his drooping lids, but visible enough for Dion to start when he said, all rasp, “Ne’er thought Ah’d see th’ day where ye’d voluntarily read somethin’, bubble boy.” 

The silly nickname that normally Dion hated constricted something fierce in his chest, and his heart stopped, before it began to hammer against his ribs. “You’re awake.” He said dumbly. “You’re actually awake.” 

“Fer better or worse.” Erik sighed heavily, so much that Dion could almost hear the creak of his bruised lungs. “Though Ah feel like th’ Lady o’ tha Universe sent th’ planet crashin’ down on me brow an’ knocked me clean oot. I feel awful.” Despite it, Erik chuckled and Dion felt his heart crash down to his stomach. How could he do this? How was he this endless well of optimism. When Fia died, Erik hadn’t shed a tear that Dion could see. Just held him, helped him bury her body—their bodies of the rest of their team. When Dion shunned his jokes and his cheer, he’d let it roll off of his shoulders without even blinking. He almost wanted to ask—what kept him cheerful when the world was cruel and heartless? But then Erik sat up on the bed. With some difficulty, Dion could add. The book he was reading fell from his lap as he lunged to reach Erik, helping him get to an upright position with a hand steadied on his back. The blanket dropped from his shoulders, and suddenly it was bared to the world. Bandaged; but enough that Dion felt the nausea of guilt arrest him again. Where Erik’s right arm should’ve been, there was nothing but a nub right at the shoulder. It was a clean break, like someone snapped it off like an icicle or chalk, and not the horribly mangled, jagged thing it had been when Dion and Jace managed to drag him to the hospital, already passed clean out from the pain. They must’ve had to amputate slightly further up, to salvage what they could… even if it wasn’t much. 

Aware of it, Erik stilled, and how he was turned obscured his expression from Dion. Without warning, his left arm came grasping at the place where his arm once was. 

“She’s really gone… Isn’t she?” Erik’s voice was threadbare. But surprisingly, he wasn’t the one who’d begun to cry.

When Dion didn’t give him an answer, Erik turned his head. The worried expression on his face was swimming in Dion’s vision.

“Oi… Ye… ye’re cryin’?” Erik looked about as lost as Dion felt. When he tried to open his mouth, no sound came out. “Ah…” Erik’s left hand reached out then hesitated, unsure. But, steeling his resolve, he reached out all the way, and grasped Dion by the front of his shirt. It only took one tug to pull Dion into his embrace, and any other day, any other time Dion would’ve shoved him off but now… His arms just felt too weak. 

Against his hair, he felt a brush of Erik’s lips. 

“Ah didn’t think ye’d cry.” He said, hushed. The lips pressed into Dion’s hair again, this time more purposeful and it hit Dion so sharply that he felt dizzy. Despite the fact that Dion caused his injury. Despite the fact that Dion couldn’t do anything but growl and scowl and give him grief for his troubles to be friendly, that no matter what happened between them, Erik was always there whenever Dion fell. He couldn’t bear it, he couldn’t bear it. 

“If Ah thought Ah could’a gone fer me bow, I woulda but…” Erik tried to laugh but it came out watery and broken. “An’ now… Ah’m ne’er gonna shoot me bow again.” He laughed again, but this one was more pained and Dion pulled away, if only to look into Erik’s eyes. Tears had begun pouring down his face like a river’s spring flood.

Dion wished he knew what to say.

“.... Ah promised meself that Ah wouldn’t regret it if ye were safe.” Erik whispered, and then suddenly he was breaking. It was all Dion could do but pull Erik into his chest as he wailed, his tears wrenching and racking his whole, too thin body with them. All Dion could do was hold him and mirror the gesture; pressing the most delicate of kisses to Erik’s head as he fell apart.

[missr3n3]

Augusnippets Day 8

reunion/found family/friends

fandom: cabin tales TW: aftermath of torture, guilt, implied exes to lovers word count: 551 @augusnippets summary: Rachel needed one more letter of recommendation for her college application: a letter her history teacher, Mr Barnett, was happy to provide in exchange for a favor. For his doctorate in sociology, he planned a modified version of the prisoner's dilemma to truly test humanity's trust in each other, a test which needed volunteers. Rachel's first thought was her ex-boyfriend Jeremy and his group of friends - a well-known, unbreakable clique. She had no idea what she signed them up for.

No matter how many breathing exercises Amber showed her, how many times the doctor assured her of the boys' continued improvement, or how many reminders the nurses gave about Jeremy specifically asking to see her, Rachel couldn't shake the feeling of walking into an execution.

None of them understand. They weren't the ones who encouraged Mr. Barnett's experiment. I… I did.

One more vain attempt to quell her nerves with a deep breath, then the door squeaked open.

Seeing Jeremy not only awake, but smiling at her, made her guilt even more crushing.

“Rachel!” Jeremy beamed; much as he could with a third of his face bandaged up. “Long time, no see.”

“Not that long, really…” Rachel took step after shameful step until she stood beside the hospital bed.

“Shit, yeah… It's kinda hard to tell how long I've been here.” Jeremy sheepishly shrugged. “I've been out of it on… I don't know, horse tranquilizers or something, for a while. Good news is that I'm better enough for them to have finally lowered the dosage.”

“Yeah…” Rachel croaked. Jeremy's bright expression faltered.

“Um… Is something wrong? Like, besides the obvious.” Through bandages and fading Lichtenberg burns creeping up his neck, a faint redness dusted his cheeks. “I, uh, thought seeing how I've recovered might… I don't know, bring you some peace of mind?”

“I-It helps a little…” Rachel’s eyes shut as she willed her tears not to fall.

“But?”

“But I… Fuck, Jay, this is all my fault!” Rachel’s voice cracked as the dam burst. “I-if I hadn't agreed to help Barnett with his s-stupid experiment and volunteered you guys-”

“Oh, Rachel…” Jeremy sat up straighter – the most movement his bandages would allow. “It’s not your fault. Not at all.”

“Y-you don't mean that,” Rachel sobbed.

“I do. On God, I really mean it. Hell, you're the only reason I'm still here to discuss this! That's like, the opposite of it being your fault.”

“B-but you wouldn't have needed rescuing i-if I hadn't ignored the red flags, if I told him to get lost, if I got you all out sooner-”

“Rachel…” Jeremy fell silent, shame and guilt smothered Rachel's mind. Through her blurry vision, she noticed Jeremy’s eyes widening. “I'll put it this way: You're not the one who chained us to those chairs, right?”

“N-no, the whole thing was… was already like that by the time I got there,” Rachel weakly admitted.

“And you're not the one who set off the timer.”

“No, but-”

“And you're not the one who…” Jeremy's voice shook as he tried to fight back memories Rachel was all too familiar with. “You're not the one who voted to kill Kevin.”

“Th-that wasn't their fault either!” Rachel blurted. “You guys were all scared, a-and you didn't know what would happen-”

“Sounds familiar, doesn't it?” Rachel couldn't decide if she wanted to groan in frustration at Jeremy's cocky grin, or kiss him to shut him up.

“…Fine, you win.”

“Oh, uh, speaking of that… You wouldn't happen to know who won our last game, would you?”

“It…” For a moment, Rachel couldn't decide how to respond: comfort, or the truth. No, he deserves to know what happened. “No one did. It was cancelled. Because… the four of you didn't show up. You were already…”

“…Oh.”