#a) he has depression. shit such as showering can be draining

[tenkos-heart]

I find it weird that people call Tomura "crusty."

As someone who has eczema, that's not how that works. Turns out homeboy always had eczema and wasn't a manifestation of his quirk. I think people need to realize that eczema can flair up because of stress. And... considering the things Tomura's been through, I'm not surprised he's so itchy. Tomura has severe eczema. I'm pretty sure when Tomura has the time for it, dude does use moisturizers and lip balm. It hurts like Hell if you don't use that stuff. Like some of y'all are the same people in real life who tell me to do x, y, and z when I've already done x, y, and z.

Do research before calling Tomura "crusty". It's severely ableist.

[againstme]

you white people and your interest in grimy people with piss stains all over their carpets and shit stains on their mattress because they don’t have sheets and don’t wash their ass is insane. “but the dick is so good” but is it clean. is the dick clean? please

[bubuslutty]

You're upset, darling?

pairing: platonic gn!reader x ghost x soap x price

word count: 1.4k

tags: angst with comfort, depression, episodes, no use of y/n, 3rd person pov, reader is mostly refered to as darling + they/them pronouns

warning: mention of suicide, not in detail tho but still (let me know if I missed anything)

summary: 141's darling has episodes where they feel like shit and how they spend their day in the base with those feelings, and how the guys comfort them.

a/n: I wanted to add könig, horangi and gaz but I was too tired to keep writing so I only wrote abt these three. this is very much based on my personal experience. I'm also undiagnosed so I might not use certain terms.

Sometimes 141's darling has days where they're down and very upset. It's normal, they think, everyone must have days where they don't feel entirely themselves, right? it's totally normal and very human, they believe.

At first, when they were upset, nobody would notice, because no matter how they felt, they always did the same things as they always do, if not a bit slower than usual.

They would shower, groom their hair, wash their clothes, clean their room and attend all activities with the other guys. They would even sleep their full hours, uninterrupted, and finish all of their food, rarely missing a meal.

But all of that feels robotic. An attempt to seem normal, to seem fine. When in reality, they feel gray on the inside. Dead. a walking corpse. A heaviness that settles in their chest like a rock. Sitting there, unmoving.

And more often than not, they wouldn't know why they're so upset, so down and dead and just not themselves. They might as well be in a coma because nothing feels real during those days.

Then they would be forgetful, less talkative, and their face would drop, drained out of any light and animated expressions they usually wear. They would laugh along to jokes that aren't even funny, to keep anyone from noticing that there's something wrong, that they're wrong.

But they couldn't keep having their episodes unnoticed. They're not sure who noticed first, out of 141, but they do remember how Soap would look at them. How even when he's talking and laughing loudly, he would glance at them, to study their reaction and face. But he wouldn't say anything, not yet at least.

He would then drag them with him as much as he can, and not necessarily make them speak, because he notices their silence, and the discomfort that would appear in their face when they're made to speak and actively participate in a conversation when they're not obligated to. He would fill in the space, with his chatter, but it would not be as loud, softer, a comforting murmur, a nice sound to focus on when they can't make themselves stop falling inside their head.

And then darling would lean against his side when they're sitting down and he's sketching on his knees, still talking and filling in the air. And he would wrap an arm around them and squeeze, his body heat comforting and welcome in those gray days. And when darling has to be somewhere without Soap, he would give them a much needed tight hug, all warm and big and long and soft.

"You'll be alright."

They find themselves hanging out with the 141 guys more often during their episodes. And Ghost is no exception. No matter what anyone says about the man's personality, whether he's cold hearted, emotionally unavailable or just straight out a bastard, they would never get it right, never, nobody knows him as much as he knows himself. But he does let out bits and pieces of himself to his mates. Because he trusts them.

Darling would be sitting next to Ghost, without saying a single word while he's cleaning his guns in similar silence. The only sound that could be heard is their breathing and Ghost's hands working on cleaning his weapons. But then darling did break their silence once, they don't know what urged them to open their mouth and speak, but they did.

"Thank you for being my friend."

Ghost's hands froze, and he just kept staring down at his guns when he lifted his head and looked to the side at the sergeant sitting next to him.

"Sergeant, are you suicidal?"

Darling was slightly taken back by the bold question. But that was Ghost for you. Asking direct questions when it mattered. Darling didn't take offense to his question but simply shook their head, "Negative, sir."

Ghost kept staring at them silently and reached out for their hand, gripping it and squeezing it in his gloved hands. Darling smiled a bit and didn't say anything after that, nor did Ghost.

Darling doesn't know if their words freaked their lieutenant out or not, but he did mention their very short conversation to their captain, John Price.

"Sergeant, I need you in my office, now."

Darling was a bit confused, raking their mind over any mistakes they did, or said anything wrong to anybody. And were even more confused when they couldn't think of anything they've done.

"You're not in trouble." John said as soon as they entered his office and sank down on the chair in front of his desk. Darling fidgeted with their fingers, unable to just sit still under Price's gaze.

John Price was the only man on base that Darling disliked interacting with during their episodes while simultaneously yearning for his attention and approval. His eyes could see everything, he knew everything.

They didn't like to be weak in front of Price. They don't like how easy it is for him to see and understand them. Even if it is one of the most relieving feelings in the world. It was scary. To face a man who could read you and so easily pin your vulnerabilities.

"Lieutenant Ghost told me what you said earlier today. He's worried about you and wanted me to check on you." Price said, arms crossed and leaning against his desk, staring down at them with a steady gaze.

He went straight to the point, no wasting time or breath.

Darling opened and immediately closed their mouth, unable to form a sentence or pick what to say, their mind was reeling and they had the urge to just spill everything to the man.

He does that to them, makes them want to lay out everything they are and stand naked in front of him and let him see every scar, every mole, every dip, every swell and every pore.

"Talk to me, honey." He said, so gently when he kneeled next to them, that it choked up Darling's throat.

Their eyes immediately blurred with tears, their breathing picking up and now heaving, struggling to breath.

"Breathe, aye?" Price said.

And it was as simple as that. Breathing. Breathing for their captain.

He wanted them to breathe? They will, with no question.

They're not sure if it's just his rank that makes them more obedient, more willing to obey and trust blindly. But they're too afraid to think too much about it. They're afraid they'll find a hidden layer under it.

"I- I feel useless. I feel lost and confused. I feel sick in my heart. I'm not happy, and I don't know why. And I want to be happy, to not feel like I'm not myself anymore. I want to feel good. I want to be good."

And just like that they spilled like an overflowing glass of milk.

Price's gaze softened even more, and he placed a big rough warm hand on their thigh, "Darling," He said and their heart jumped in their chest.

"With all due respect, you're not useless. If you were, I'm scared to think of what that would make us." He said, voice all deep and warm.

Darling cracked a small smile, looking at him with their hands on their lap and staring at him with big eyes, shiny and begging for praise and reassurance.

"You're more than enough, love. It's alright to feel like shite, but what's not alright is you keeping your hurt to yourself and making yourself sick with it. Talk to me, talk to us, you're safe. You're safe and good. You're so good."

A tear spilled down their cheek, staring at Price with their heart beating faster than a horse in their chest, their body heating up and feeling all warm and fuzzy and so loved they could suffocate with it.

"Come here." Price said before dragging his sergeant by the arms to engulf them in a big warm hug. His scratchy beard was pressed against their temple. But they didn't mind. Their captain smelled like cologne, mint and tobacco, but they didn't mind either. His grip on their body was tight, but they also didn't mind. Because their captain was good, solid, a constant force, safe and warm and understanding.

And that heavy stone that lodged in their chest was finally lifted and they could breathe again. They know this won't somehow heal them. To think so would be foolish and a joke. But this felt good nonetheless.

Their captain knows they will have their episodes, maybe not as often, maybe more often, who knows. But what he does know is that he'll set up a private therapist for them. And he'll make sure to remind Darling that they're part of 141. They're part of them, and they don't have to act as if they're fine, it's okay to be vulnerable, because they'll protect them, keep them safe from bad thoughts just like how they protect them from bloodthirsty enemies and bullets.

[ugh-yoongi]

HOBI REQUESTS YAY! okay so at first i was thinking it might be hobi's birthday and he stays late at the studio regardless of the day and comes home to reader all tired and drained, but then reader has such a sweet surprise for him when he gets there (whether it be a cake, flowers, balloons, etc.) and it just seems like he can breathe again without the weight of his work on his chest, even if it's just for that night, he can fall asleep with no problem.

OR, considering it's in the name of jess' birthday, it could be reversed? reader's birthday and hobi has the sweet surprise instead? i don't have an idea of what specifically would be demanding so much of reader's attention, but coming home to hobi with his pretty smile on such a day seems like something so beautiful.

that's all i could muster up as of now, 🙃 if you chose to, feel free to play around with it until it's something you are comfortable with! <3

thank you so much for the request! i went with the first one and i hope you enjoy it! <3

(side note: i banged this out in one sitting so i'm tentatively optimistic that my writer's block is cured. we'll see. thank you all for your patience and not showing up in my ask box with pitchforks.)

ataraxia

pairing: hoseok x reader genre: est. relationship au; fluff, a tiny bit of angst warnings: hobi's kind of going through it so there are allusions to poor mental health, otherwise this is mostly fluff. just being there for your person when they're having a tough time. no gendered pronouns used. unedited. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 1k listen to: novo amor - anchor

Hoseok had heard once that babies born in the winter are stronger.

Something about mothers being able to absorb more vitamin D during the summer months.

As he collapses onto the floor of his studio, sweat and exhaustion blurring his vision, he thinks those people are full of shit. What has being born in winter gotten him besides muscle cramps and seasonal depression? Because he’s also at a higher risk for that, which those people lauding his athleticism tend to leave off of the discussion.

He sighs. He’s twenty-nine now, and there’s something truly haunting about the inevitability of time. Can’t slow it down, can’t make it go faster; he just has to sit here and take it. Next year he’ll be thirty, thirty-one the year after that, and on and on it’ll go for the rest of his life.

All he has are these little joys: the squeak of his new sneakers on the studio floor, the kids in his class finally nailing their routine, those peach iced teas he likes being buy one get one free this week at the convenience store next door. He has you, too, but you were smart and traded in your two-cent dreams for the corporate world and now you’re spending his birthday on a business trip to Singapore.

Yoongi would call him an asshole for that, probably. He has friends. Friends who want to see him, buy him a drink and give him gifts, and he appreciates the effort, he does, he’s just… tired. Fatigue has seeped into all of his bones and left him nothing more than a husk of a person. It’s been months of this same unending grind, and he’s running out of self to give.

At least Singapore is warm this time of year. In Seoul, beyond the frosted windows of his studio, there’s nothing but gray-brown slush and a patch of black ice he can’t melt no matter how much he salts it.

“Fuck this,” he mutters.

It’s nearing nine o’clock. He needs to get home; needs to eat something and drag himself into a hot shower before he crawls into bed and spends the entire weekend there. Needs to reply to all the texts on his phone wishing him a happy birthday. Needs to tactfully and politely turn down all the invitations. Needs to post some bubbly, colorful message on social media thanking everyone for the well-wishes and attach a photo from a few weeks ago because he hasn’t been smiling much lately.

First, though, he needs to get off the floor.

He usually likes his walk home. Likes pressing his face to the glass to look at all the window displays when he’s not in the mood to shop. Likes seeing other people go about their days, live their lives. Likes looking at all the ways the city reflects sunlight and fades to husky gold. Likes walking under the cherry blossoms in the spring; likes it even more when a few petals stick to his shoulders and you laugh and brush them off as soon as he comes through the door.

It’s hard to get off the floor when none of that is out there.

But he does it anyway, because maybe he has a bit of that winter strength. He packs up his stuff and sits at the bus stop, counts his exhales as they materialize in front of him, thankful for the heavy coat you’d bought for him a few years ago, now well-worn and no longer itchy. He sits at the back by himself and sends half-assed replies to all of those texts. Scrolls back to stare at the photo you’d sent him this morning—fresh from sleep and barefaced, lips pursed together in a kiss, thumb and pointer fingers together in a heart.

Slush sticks to his shoes as he ducks inside the building. Nearly trips climbing up the stairs, because the two of you live on the fourth floor and it feels too lazy to take the elevator, even when his muscles are screaming from a long day at the dance studio. But it keeps him moving. Keeps him upright and functional when all he wants to do is rot away.

His shoes are dry by the time he reaches the door, soaked into the carpet lining the hallway. His hands still bear the cold—red and unsteady, it takes him a few tries to punch in the code. Gets it wrong twice, and he takes a second to just… stand there, head resting against the door, feeling the weight of the world come down on him.

He’s not sure what he thought twenty-nine would be like, but surely it wasn’t this.

And maybe if he wasn’t feeling so low, he would’ve noticed. Your keys in the bowl by the door, your shoes in the rack. The light on in the kitchen. The smell of the miyeokguk simmering on the stove. The sound of your footsteps as you meet him where he stands, shoulders slumped, eyes brimming with tears and exhaustion.

“Hob-ah?”

There are hands on his face. Soft, he thinks. They’re touching him so softly, treating him just as delicately as he feels. He leans into it; recognizes the perfume stuck to the wrist. Knows it smells like home and an aching he can never seem to put a name to, and you don’t hesitate to wrap him tightly in your arms.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says, words waterlogged and hesitant as he speaks them into the crook of your neck. Nothing feels real, and he doesn’t trust himself to open his eyes.

You tangle your hands in his hair. Scratch lightly against his scalp. “I got an early flight home. Got back this afternoon.” This is where someone else would ask if he’s okay, try to pry apart his ribcage and look at all the ugly parts, but you don’t. There’s just a small intake of breath and the reluctance to let him go. “The miyeokguk is almost ready,” you say instead. “Do you want to take a shower while I get everything ready?”

Hoseok is reluctant to let go, too, but he’s at his best when he has a task. Needs something to accomplish, something to check off on his imaginary to-do list, so he nods. Pulls away and immediately misses your warmth. Takes your face in his hands and presses a kiss to your forehead. Thank you, it says. I needed you here.

You already know, though. You always do.

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

projection as a coping mechanism, my beloved. this is 1k about mickey being tired from depression stuff. please avoid if that's something you need to avoid. nice next door neighbor ian comes through for him.

mickey’s fucking tired.

the bad kind. the kind of tired that he feels in the grooves of his bone marrow. it weighs his limbs down, leaves his head heavy, has him sinking down - back slouched into the canvas porch swing that was left on his balcony by the person before him.

he wonders if they ever did shit like this. here. if they ever felt so fucking tired that they couldn’t keep their eyes open before the sun’s even fully set. 

tired like mickey. the bad kind. 

the kind that’s got mandy up his ass, calling him and making sure he’s not being a total fuckup again. 

he’s not, for the record.

he went to work.

he ate dinner.

he took a shower and all that shit so it’s not bad-bad but god damn it, he’s tired. in his head. in his marrow. 

mickey slouches back, the swing creaking beneath him. it’s not really cold enough for a blanket but it feels good around him. keeps his bones from spilling out and rolling off of the balcony. keeps the wind at bay, only touching him to blow his bangs across his forehead and in front of his eyes - gently - the pieces that fell and never quite made it back up. 

he lets it happen. let’s his eyes close, the pressure around them heavy and unforgiving. 

even when the back door to the apartment next to him slides open.

wind.

weight.

“oh… hey…”

mickey doesn’t move. doesn’t suck it up and make it look like his shit is more together than it is, like he normally does for him. everything’s too heavy. 

all he does is nod once. eyes closed. head forward. hanging.

and there is a little part in the back of mickey’s head that wants to snap out of it. to look better. for him. but…

wind.

weight.

“you okay…?”

it washes over mickey with the breeze, from one balcony to the next. 

is he okay?

“yep…” he murmurs, and fucking christ, is it draining. like it’s taken all he’s got.

and he doesn’t even know if he heard him. over there. on his own balcony.

ian.

even if he didn’t hear him, he must be catching on quick. mickey knows he ain’t exactly the picture of mental fortitude right now, with his blanket and his closed eyes and all of his heavy bones.

he doesn’t say anything else.

ian.

but mickey can feel the attention.

he should look away if he knows what’s good for him. 

below them, a car passes slowly to pull into a driveway - tires gripping over loose pavement. 

wind.

weight.

and then the back door to the apartment next to him opens. and then it shuts.

mickey takes a long breath in, using the momentum to pull the blanket around him tighter. he’s gotta do it before everything spills out.

because he’s back to being alone again.

like usual.

was the person who lived here before him like this? alone like mickey and heavy like mickey and just so fucking tired…?

he takes in another deep breath through his nose, his lungs aching.

and then he hears it - the door opening next door.

and then he feels it - landing with a smack in his lap.

for what feels like the first time in days, mickey opens his eyes.

“got an extra…” comes floating from the balcony over, plastic wrap crinkling as ian leans his elbows against the railing that faces mickey’s.

another gust of wind, brushing bangs over mickey’s face as he blinks down at what’s waiting for him in his lap.

a cosmic brownie. 

“sister used to make me think these things were magic. like…medicine, or some shit.”

ian’s words are casual, but the weight behind them is obvious and it should be too much. should be the last straw, mickey’s body finally overwhelmed. 

but instead… 

he reaches out of the blanket, hand settling over the brownie, and not much else. he hasn’t thought that far ahead. “...thanks, man…”

ian hums, his mouth full. but mickey can hear the smile on his lips. 

it settles over them for a few moments, oddly comfortable. more comfortable than he’s really ever felt around him, at least. and he’s been trying to be around him more and more.

wind.

weight.

“can i come sit…?”

mickey glances over for the first time and it feels strange too. the movement. the sight of ian leaning against the railing, looking at him not like he’s being a fuck-up, but like he usually does. when mickey’s bones are lighter and the space behind his eyes doesn’t hurt so bad.

and he…wants to sit with him? 

ian?

here?

mickey frowns, his brain suddenly turning to how impossible standing to go unlock his front door is gonna be. 

but he’ll do it.

he’ll do it.

“uh… fine…lemme-”

but ian’s giving words back - saving him the trouble as he snags the end of the brownie wrapper between his teeth and then hooks a foot over the railing, using it as a stepping off point to leap over.

he lands on mickey’s balcony with a loud thunk and mickey’s chest flutters. something with his heartbeat. a startle. or something else. 

and when ian gets to his feet, he’s close and real and he’s got a gentle smile on his face, grabbing the brownie wrapper out of his mouth to say it. “hi.”

mickey wishes he wasn’t so tired. wishes he had enough energy to drag ian to hell and back, but it’s just not in the cards. not right now.

later.

so he takes a deep breath, scooting his body over a little so there’s room on the swing.

before he knows it, ian is filling the space. sitting next to him and saving him the trouble of conversation by shutting the fuck up first.

no expectation.

just existing.

mickey wraps the blanket around himself a little snugger, the brownie tucked safe in his hand.

for later. 

for now, he lets his eyes close again, heavy and exhausted.

but this time, he has someone to lean on, ian’s shoulder solid and reliable where he slumps to the side to lay his head.

[jillsandwhichs]

Valenfield Oneshots/AU's Collection , Chap 5 , Missing you

Masterlist

Pairing: Jill Valentine & Chris Redfield.

Summary: Chris visits Jills grave.

Status of their relationship in this oneshot: Best friends w clear feelings.

WC: 2.8k

Type: Sfw

Slight Warning: Talks of depression & death

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Thank you

Every waking morning, of every fucking day, he can't forget. Chris cannot forget what happened back in August. It rots in the front of his mind, twenty four seven. He can't even say he wishes to forget, because he doesn't, he just wishes the pain could be numbed.

The amount of misery Chris is enduring is too much. It's slowly causing him to shut down. No motivation for absolutely anything.

He misses her, so fucking much. More than he could fathom. His heart aches at the near thought of her.

Waking up has been the worst part of the day for Chris. Sometimes, he wishes he'll just die in his sleep so the pain can fade, and he can end his suffering. But he can't. He knows she's somewhere, she can't be dead, she just can't be.

As his thoughts faded, Chris sleepily walked into the restroom, turning the light on, which caused him to close his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping right recently. Maybe two to three hours every other day. If he tries to sleep, it all just hits him, all those memories of what occured.

"Shit." Chris mumbled to himself, splashing the cold faucet water onto his emotionless face, waking himself up as much as he could advance.

His hair felt greasy, and he didn't feel clean. He hadn't showered in a good week or two, due to lack of motivation. All he's wanted to do as of recently is lay in bed or go on missions, in hopes of being able to take his mind off of all that's happened.

Treading over to the shower, Chris turned the handle of the shower, leaving it on the cooler setting, dreading even the idea of a hot shower.

Looking down at the shower floor, watching as the water streamed quickly into the rusted, small drain.

Chris reached his rough felt hands to his back, pulling off his red, old long sleeve shirt, leaving himself shirtless, his torso full of scars and bruises from his past missions and events he's participated in.

Next, he removed his pants, then his underwear, becoming nude, stepping into the shower, water instantly hitting his fit body, causing him to sigh in vexation, placing his two arms in front of him on the shower wall.

His head was looking down, only the shower floor and his own feet in sight. The chilly water was dripping off of his light brown hair, droplets rolling off his forehead and onto his nose, and quivering lips.

Grief isn't something that has always bothered Chris. You lose teammates, that's the life he lives, but now, grief isn't just something Chris can take with stride, it's now consumed him wholey. Chris had never felt this way before. The fucking guilt he feels is unbearable.

If only he was strong enough to fight that bastard off, Jill wouldn't of had to step in. He could've ensured her safety. He could've stopped it. Instead of Jill, it was meant to be him, that's all he can think about.

"Jill..." Chris muttered out, his voice shaky as he whispered her name. "Fuck." Chris shouted, covering his face as he turned his head up towards the shower head.

While he knew, he just knew, she wasn't dead, he still couldn't stop his broken heart from acting out.

There isn't enough evidence. Her hat and necklace was left behind, on that cold, dirt, moist ground. That day was one of the worst of his life.

Chris had ambled around all of the Spencer Estates land, searching for any remains of her, that's the day he found those belongings. Ever since, he's cherished them, kept them for himself.

Her hat smells just like her, even her necklace. Before bed, he just sits on his bed, holding both items, and smells them. Could sound weird, but he just misses her so much, any smell that remotely reminds him of her, he'll relish in.

Grabbing the bar of soap, he began to scrub his muscular arms, watching as small, soapy bubbles formed on them. Chris then turned his body, allowing the icy felt water to soak his arms, letting the soap fall off of him.

Doing the same action to his other arm, he then did it to his legs and torso. The lack of motivation has been getting to him but today, he's gained at least a sliver of it to make some progress in taking care of himself.

-

After finishing up his shower, Chris turned off the shower, and hopped out of it, grabbing a grey cloth towel, and wrapped it around his waist, just deciding to let his upper half air dry.

Living alone is a pro, especially in Chris's case. Since there's nobody around, he can remain in such a vulnerable state.

It would be nice though, if he had Jill with him. They had discussed moving in together and what not, but only as friends...

Walking out of his restroom, he strolled towards the small, wooden table sitting in the middle of the kitchen, and grabbed a pack of cigarettes off of it, reaching his thick fingers at an angle to grab a single one.

He placed the cigarette between his two lips, grabbing his black lighter and lighting up the cig, taking a drag of it, exhaling the nicotine slowly. Chris moved over to the big window in his smaller sized home, just staring out of it.

Big trees covered the land, the breeze causing the dead leaves to fall off of the trees, trickling down onto the dewey grasslands. Chris loved where he had been living, if only Jill could be here with him, enjoying it with him.

Taking one last drag of the cigarette, Chris then smushed it into the dirty, dusty ashtray, leaving the cigarette butt in it.

His smoking habit had been gone since the early two-thousands, until now, he picked the habit right back up like there was never any gap of when he had quit. Part of why he quit, was for the BSAA but also for Jill, because she despises it. The smell of cigarette smoke makes her nauseous.

Chris sighed and headed towards his closest, opening it slowly and grabbing out a shirt and some jeans, just something casual.

Whilst getting dressed, Chris was thinking about what he wanted to do for the day. Lately, all he's been doing is either laying in bed, crying or sleeping, or he'll drive around, trying to get his mind off of what's been happening in his life.

Making his decision, he chose to go and visit Jill's grave. Chris knows she's alive, she just can't be gone, he refuses to believe it. Although, visiting the tombstone makes him feel as though he's actually speaking with her. It's just a coping mechanism.

Wandering over to the table, once again, he picked up his pack of cigarettes, then his truck keys and began heading out the front, small door, wanting to leave his depressing, closed in home.

Outside, it was cold. Fall time was Chris's favorite, but he honestly couldn't be elated about it, without Jill by his side, enjoying it with him.

A memory Chris often remembers between him and Jill is when the two were walking in a park, it was just some random one they decided to visit when in Indiana. It was windy, and Jill had gotten cold, Chris remembered how she had complained about it, the way her cute nose scrunched when she made a playful angry face rested in his mind.

The reasoning as to why he adores the memory so much is how they had hugged. The way Jill had wrapped her arms around him, stuffing her face in his chest as he caressed her hair gently, making her feel safe.

Chris had just felt so euphoric in that exact moment. The blissful hug they shared was perfect. Happiness was something Chris has always searched for, and he had it with her. And now, that happiness is missing.

It'll only be back once he finds her, which he swears he will. The confidence he has when it comes to knowing she's still alive is out of this roof.

Treading out to his truck, he double clicked the unlocking button on his keys, hearing his truck beep, ensuring it's not locked anymore.

Leaves crunched beneath his feet, his thick, leather boots making noise as he stomped along. He looked up at the sky, it was quite gloomy out. Felt as though the weather was matching his mood.

Getting into the truck, Chris adjusted himself in the front seat, he brought the seatbelt across him, pushing it into the buckle and putting his key into the ignition, switching it on.

He placed his arm around the passenger seat, looking back, as he pulled out of the black pavemented driveway, Chris began driving to the graveyard, dreading it yet knowing he needed this. He needed to just let it out and see her.

Without Jill, Chris feels nothing. He hopes she finds her way back to him, like the Jill he knows and loves would. Is she hurt? Is she kidnapped? Did she just simply run away? Chris doesn't know, but whatever it is, he knows he'll see her again someday.

It's not his delusion, but rather his hope and faith.

-

Continuing to drive, Chris decided to make a pitstop at a floral shop, wanting to pick up some flowers to rest at her tombstone, even though there's no one really buried beneath the grave.

The shop he chose was called, 'Mary's Flower Shop', most likely a small business, or possibly family owned. Opening the truck door, he quickly got out and strided into the shop, instantly smelling the ravishing scent of flowers, which Chris happened to enjoy.

Analyzing the shop, Chris saw a bouquet of flowers caught his eye, making him happy just viewing them. He treaded to them and picked them up, sticking his nose closer to the tops of flowers, sniffing them.

"Smell good?" A older woman questioned Chris as she stood behind him. Chris turned around and placed a smile on his face, not a very real one though. "Yeah, yeah they do." He replied, smelling them again.

"Well honey, most of these are home grown, those are called dahlias, they are very beautiful and last a good long time!" The woman said with a chuckle, slowly walking towards Chris and grabbing the dahlias, to see if they were fresh.

"I see." Chris nodded, watching as the older woman examined the flowers. Her name tag read, 'Mary', just like the shops name. "Do you own this establishment?" Chris questioned, the topic peaking his interest.

"Oh, yes dear, I do! I've owned this marvelous shop for almost four decades." Mary smiled, it was precious beyond belief, making Chris feel some warmth within his dark, cold heart.

"That's impressive." Chris stated, feeling happy for this woman, that she has succeeded in life. "It really is." Mary replied, smiling as she stumbled over to the register, Chris following behind her.

"So darling, who are these for? You got a lady back home? If not, maybe for your mother? I don't mean to pry but I haven't seen no man buy flowers in quite some time. Now, back in my day, it was common courtesy, times are changing." Mary expressed, writing down the price of the dahlias as she did.

"I guess you could say that... A special someone, I mean." Chris awkwardly stated, not trying to talk on the situation too much. "Son, you look too young to be married! How old are you exactly?" She asked, staring at him kindly.

"I'm thirty-two, ma'am." Chris muttered, not understanding why this woman was being nosey, but old people can get like that, especially the lonely ones.

"Oh honey, you better make that marriage last! I bet she's a good one!" Mary announced, laughing while confirming Chris's purchase.

"Oh I'm not marr-" Chris went to finish his sentence but Mary cut him off, not even realizing she did so. "Here you go, take great care of these, it's one of my best bouquets, okay?" She said softly, sliding the flowers across the counter, allowing Chris to pick them up.

"Will do, Mary." Chris smirked, grabbing the flowers whilst paying, then heading out of the small, yet comforting shop.

Mary seemed like such a gentle soul, in a way, she reminds him of Jill. She had that same spunk to her, maybe it was the sternness. Or the humor she had. Either way, Chris knows he just misses Jill.

-

Continuing his drive, Chris spotted the sign that alerted people they were near the specific cemetery, the one Jill's tombstone was in, he pulled left into the parking lot, finding an empty space to park in.

Parking his truck, Chris unbuckled and immediately opened the door, hopping out of the seat and stretching his arms, allowing his body to feel alive again.

"Shit..." Chris denoted to himself, rubbing his temple. Before closing his trucks door, he grabbed his cigarette pack from the cup holder, and shoved it into his jeans pocket.

Chris hadn't felt alive recently. All he's been doing in laying in bed, barley eating and not wanting to take care of himself. He wants to though, he wants to be better, for when Jill comes back.

He ambled towards the yard, heading to the further back area, knowing that's where the tombstone was.

His head was full of thoughts. It breaks his heart to even think about what if she really is dead. But she can't be, and he will deny deny deny until proven otherwise.

Flowers in hand, Chris reached it, Jill's gravestone. It was a little discolored from the rain that covered it the night before. There really isn't any decorations around her stone, just some dead flowers from a week ago, that of course, Chris placed.

Standing there, Chris simply admired the grave, staring at the 'Jill Valentine' that was so enamoring to look at. Her tombstone was beautiful, but it wasn't her.

"Oh Jill..." Chris sighed to himself, kneeling down and placing the dahlias neatly on the side. He also placed his hand on the top of the stone, holding it firmly. "I hope you like dahlias." He uttered.

Talking to the tombstone did somewhat bring him comfort. Knowing she's not below, in the dirt, is what helped bring him comfort, knowing she wasn't actually dead. She can't be.

Chris grunted as he sat down beside the stone, adjusting his position to be more comfortable. "I haven't been myself lately... It's just been so bleak." Chris muttered to himself, but also to the gravestone.

"I've been picking up so many missions, anything that can lead me back to you..." Chris whispered, picking at the wet grass, flicking the slivers of it in front of him, like a child would at recess.

"I have refused every partner they've tried assigning me, they just aren't you. No one could ever be you. I wanna be alone, forever." Chris stated, looking down at the dirty stone, drops of rain begining to fall upon him.

"Well, unless you come back. If you come back, I wanna be with you. I'm..." He stopped speaking for a second. "I'm in love with you, Jill Valentine."

In silence, Chris just let his mind roam. All that kept happening were flashbacks of that horrific night. The sight of Jill falling with Wesker, her desperate yell as he shoved that asshole out of the window, Chris can't escape it.

"Why would you do this, Jill? It should've been me, not you. You didn't deserve that." Chris whispered, his voice shaky as he spoke the words. "My intentions were only to keep you safe, and you had to just-" He stopped speaking, placing his veiny hands onto his head, running his fingers through his still damp hair, pulling on it aggressively, almost as if to punish himself.

Holding back tears, Chris sighed deeply. He wasn't one to cry, or show much emotion. Chris cannot remember the last time he genuinely cried, until recently. Losing Jill has taken such an impact on him. "Don't cry." Chris muttered to himself, placing his hand on the bottom of Jill's tombstone, feeling as though he's actually touching her.

"I'll find you Jill, I promise. You're my top priority." Chris spoke, moving his head back, stretching his neck. Lately, it's felt like his body is just broken. Like he's shutting down. He doesn't feel alive anymore. To say Chris is depressed is an understatement.

The rain began to pick up, getting rougher, lightening and thunder being seen and heard nearby. Chris stood up and looked down at her grave once more. "I'll see you soon, no matter what I have to do."

[fandomscraziness22]

kiss prompt: where it hurts for caleb/adam

hi friend! i did it!

where it hurts (5) for caleb/adam

It’s been a bad day, and Adam really wants to cancel on Caleb tonight. They’re supposed to go grab pizza and hang out at the arcade, because they got a new game Caleb wants to try. But Adam’s done nothing all day except have a draining breakdown over his homework and lay in bed.

So he doesn’t realize the time until his phone buzzes with a text from Caleb, telling him he’s at the house to pick him up. 

Shit, Adam thinks. He didn’t even have the wherewithal to send his boyfriend a message about his mental state, which means Caleb has no idea what he’s about to walk into.

He makes his fingers move across the screen, tapping out a simple bad day cant go out before burrowing deeper into his covers.

Adam knows Caleb will come in anyways, because he cares too much, though Adam wishes he wouldn’t. He just wants to wallow in his misery.

Footsteps thud up the stairs (damn it, he even missed the door opening, he really is out of it today) and Caleb knocks softly on the door.

“Adam?” 

And fuck, even his voice is strained, Adam’s mood infecting Caleb like a virus. Why the hell can’t Adam get himself together? His brain is actively trying to destroy his life, and he is unable to even pull a shred of human decency to not let it affect the people around him.

Caleb sighs, but not in an exasperated way like Adam expects. It’s simply a deep inhale and exhale, as if he’s centering himself. A breathing exercise, no doubt. Dr. Bright taught him well.

“Can I join you?”

Adam nods, a sudden desire for comfort shooting up out of nowhere. He wonders half-heartedly if Caleb can notice something like that. Probably; his power is very strong, according to their other Atypical friends. It makes it hard to hide anything from his boyfriend, which is both a blessing and a curse.

Caleb slides into the bed in front of Adam, curling onto his side to meet Adam’s gaze. Adam can see that Caleb’s moving slower than normal, no doubt weighed down by the depression in the air. But that doesn’t stop him from placing a warm hand on Adam’s shoulder, rubbing it softly.

Adam almost shudders under the kindness in the touch.

“Brain making things hard?” Caleb whispers.

Adam can’t bring himself to speak, so he nods again.

Caleb mirrors his nod, and then leans forward to place a kiss to his forehead. “Silly brain,” he says. “You are supposed to help Adam win valedictorian, not keep him trapped.”

Tears spring to Adam’s eyes, and he may not be an empath, but the love Caleb is showering over him settles into his veins. It’s not enough to dispel everything completely, and they spend the rest of the night huddled together in bed, and somehow, it’s enough for now.

send me a ship and a kiss!

[gideongrovel]

rambling vent (still on my trip tho, sorry for the inactivity for those who didn't know)

Last full on my trip rn but i am feeling exhausted,,,, 😭😭😭😭 Tomorrow will be heading home,,, thinking about all the airport stuff has me stressed (not the flying part, I like being high up, its just like the security and people stress me),,, 😓

The trip has been fun mostly,,, but not relaxing in the slightest 😓😓😓 Its been nice to see my older brother since we can geek out about OP together in person, and he like gave me some gifts for it,,,,, but without getting into it,,, there are reasons i dont like being around him either,,, so its a mixed bag 🫤 and my dad is such a misogynist and bigot having to hear the shit he says and not being able to leave when he says it is infuriating 🙄🙄🙄🙄

I am such a shut in, and normally leave the house like maybe 5 times a month if even that,,,,, so going out and about for 9 days straight is alot for me- i know thats nothing to most "normal" people,,,,, but for someone in my life/situation it's alot,,,,,,, being around people and being active so much has me drained completely 😓😓😓😓😓 Im feeling such burn out,,,, and I miss my cats (especially my lil baby ET,, she is very codependent towards me so I've been worried how she has been holding up 😢), also since i was scared of them getting broken or stolen on the plane- i didnt bring my Chop or Brook figures and i miss them too!! I need my wife and bf 😭😭😭😭 Not bring my main comfort items was a big mistake,,, but the stress of something happening also was too much- so I couldn't win either way,,,,

I always feel awful when I get this level of burn out / sad feeling on a trip,,,, they're supposed to be a good time but I've held back from crying a few times now,,,, I just wanna be home in my own bed, shower where im familiar with, being able to do stuff on my own pace, just like my regular routine stuff in general 😭😭😭😭 At the same time going back home means having to deal with some family i dislike being around- which I am not looking forward to,,,, 😓😓😓

Burnout sometimes will put me in depressive episodes, and feeling emotional highs my crashing is always bad,,,,,, 😓😓😓😓😓😓😓😓

ALSO I MISS GETTING ON HERE!! IM MISSING SO MUCH NOT BEING ABLE TO CHECK ANYTHING 😭😭😭😭 tumblr crashes too much for me to check anything on my phone,,,, i really hope yall are doing good,,,, like idk if my absence has been noticable or cared about? (/nm) but i do miss yall alot,,, miss seeing your creations and ships 😭😭😭 it will be too much to check 9days worth on everyone pages so i am sorry for everything i missed

-

But anyways just have to make it though today and the flights tomorrow 😭 then things can go back to normal

[nardonotes]

11 oct '24

10:15pm

HOUUUUGGGHHHHHHWWEEEEW WWAAAAGHHHH I AM SO OVERWORKED!!!! FOR NO FUCKING MONEY!!!!!!!!!! THIS IS SLAVERY!!!!!!!!!!! ༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽

i didn't get to write an entry because i was so goddamn busy the past few days. let's RECAP! : ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡

wednesday: i had so much work to do and ended up just knocking tf out,, like i don't even remember what i did then?? what did i even do... just college work and so much soooo much catching up to do.

thursday: after college,, i went to park with my sister, her bf, and her two friends (one with a baby and one's bday was coming up) so we celebrated a little bit there,, but it was cold as fuck so we were in my sisters bf's car eating snacks and talking! it was fun but i was really really tired.. and then we watched episode 2 of dandadan ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و,, it was so good man fr!! i need to catch up on the manga. but after that man i was too fucking tired to do shit. which is weird because i been so restless?? (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) ‧º

FRIDAY!!! TODAY!!!!!!: i had my first day of my new placement,, long story short,,, the printing business got back to me and i am now doing my work experience there instead of my mum's place BUT I AM still going to make their website because i feel bad also,,, they're very nice and it's good for my portfolio. anyways,, i was on my feet ALL DAY. (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ) doing WAREHOUSE WORK. LORD SAVE ME IF I HAVE TO DO WAREHOUSE WORK ALL FUCKIN DAY EVERY WEEK!!!!!!!!! but it's ok. they're super sweet and said eventually- ill end up meeting the actual graphic designers at the company and that's rlly all i want. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ when i got home,, my sister was babysitting her friends baby and i helped out a bit bc he's so sweet and so big now and he said my name!!! and we made videos w him,,, he's so cute..... i will miss him a lot when he moves. when he left, i facetimed my good friend who lives in bulgaria! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) she's so funny fr,, we caught up a bit and then i went to shower!!!!!!!!

i am really fucking tired. i think being this drained has distracted the seasonal depression that i feel at the back of my head. i don't even have time to do my regular hobbies anymore and it sucks but also good for me because i really am locking in and im happy !! (sorta kinda) more like im really proud of myself for pushing through and getting shit done.

ALSO! i got invited to my friends birthday party next week and im excited cause i can see them and the ppl i did the little project with! :)) they're chill and cool asl and they're also funny,,, i love funny people!!! and and and and and,,,, im going to an opening day for big boy college next week, the day before the party, and im going to apply on november. JUST IN CASE! i can always defer it. but i just want to be ahead and think of my career. phew.... that was a typeful...... (｡>﹏<)

im going to catch up on my chicas and relax now,, had a long day.

goodnight!!!~ <33

song of the day: Panavision by Roy Blair !! (king is back)

[izzysarchivedblogs]

SHIT. OKAY.

That simple reaction from Tony Stark, the SHIT informing Clint that he's caught Tony off guard with speaking up out of nowhere. The withdrawal of the hand to tap into the GPS like Tony didn't have everything voice activated. It makes him smile, a light huff of a laugh because at least he startled the both of them.

CLINT'S NOT EVEN SURE HE WAS FINISHED PERCOLATING WHEN HE SAID LET'S GO HOME. He had surprised himself when he just blurted that out. Deciding all of the sudden with himself that they can't drag this on any longer.

It's just a city. IT'S JUST A CITY. It may be home, maybe this is that toxic thought process that Lynette pointed out; but he shouldn't be holding his breath over driving over a bridge and entering into New York City again. It's not like they would be in Brooklyn anyways, considering when Tony had taken a drunken Clint home after the FEAST charity event and when he was hungover, he found that Tony's brownstone was in Manhattan, the lower East side. Different boroughs, so it's not like he was going home to Bed-Stuy.

Yet Manhattan had the Avengers Building, and enough history there for him to be home as well. IT'S ALL THE THOUGHTS OF WHAT HE HAD DONE, OF WHO HE HAS HURT.

Can't hold it off, so he did just blurt out he was ready and let's go home. Time to rip the bandaid off. Tony can't drive him around forever.

His eyes drift down to the hand on the center console and he's not quite done with holding onto it yet. Of course, he notice the moment he feels it but he tries to move his own hand slowly, without notice to grab the other's head.

❝ Whatever you want. ❞ Clint's definitely drained, too far up in the crows nest of his mind still to be engaging. He'll order something, even if he thinks he is losing his appetite again but he's gotten used to shoving food down. When they pull through the drive through, Clint gives his order, than goes back to looking out the window with the warm food bag on his lap.

HE'S EXHAUSTED, but he's here. He's made this far and there's only two choices. Go forward or stumble backwards, and sitting in Tony Stark's car with a cast on his leg. FORWARD WAS THE EASIER OPTION AT THE MOMENT.

When they do get back, Clint leaves Tony to deal with everything and wheels himself around, until he's asking Tony to least help him with protecting the leg cast, but he can shower himself and he'll shout or ring his phone if he really needs any help.

REALITY'S KIND OF HITTING HIM HARD. Spends about three hours in bed simply spiraling as he's using his phone to catch up on news in the city, google his own name and depress himself.

He does remember to look up what Tony wrote on his cast, looking down at the iron man armor and the words, which google confirms is french that says. IN THE FUTURE. What does that mean, but he can take a guess or two. At least based on Clint's own feelings.

❝ AW FUCK. ❞

Tony's not even sure where he is when Clint finally decides that he's ready to go into the city. He's just been weaving in and out of the New Jersey suburbs, through mid-colonial and queen anne houses with big back yards and huge birch trees.

He holds his hand the whole time and just lets the music play and when Clint speaks up it startles him a little. "Shit. Okay," he said and had to take his hand away to put in the address into his GPS so they could find their way back out of there.

"That's fine," he agreed, resting his hand on the center console so that Clint can take it again if he wants. "I'm kind of starving and it's going to be a while before we get back. So I'm gonna go trough another drive through before we get into the city. You want anything?"

He's not even sure what he'll find. Surely there will be a burger king at least. It'll be a two cheeseburger day from the looks of it.

It takes a little bit to get out of the suburbs and into commercial properties and then the mcdonalds and wendy's signs start popping up. It's not until he sees a popeyes that he leaves the road and pulls into the drive through. It would make a change from burgers at least.

[awbutwhy]

I need to vent, and this is a safe space because no-one in real life is here, but it may be long and end up being just a little too personal so beware.

I was made redundant from a job where I mostly enjoyed being there a few months ago and my mental health wasn't great.

I got a new job and I was feeling better.

I've been here for about a month and the company is fine and I'm mostly enjoying the work, but my mental health has absolutely gone down the drain.

I went from no customers, being in a team and fully working from home to customer based, doing this job by myself and in an office 5 days where I have to commute for an hour each way on public transport. I went from being comfortable at home to having to dress "professionally" with make up and shit. I went from living comfortably to scraping by (single income household baby). I went from having so much free time to barely having any.

I am extremely introverted and I also very much believe I am autistic. If I'm not, then I have social anxiety. One or the other. I get home every day and I have to go straight for a shower to reset because otherwise I'm just so fucking angry at everyone.

I am under no illusion that this is what has caused my mental health to absolutely plummet. No matter how much I try to tell people, no-one understands.

I almost walked out of my job yesterday because I couldn't do it any more. I settled for going home sick though.

Now for the depression vent. Here's where the trigger warning comes in. Please be careful.

I keep thinking about self harm and sometimes the only thing that stops me is my cat.

I want to stop taking my diabetes medication and vitamin d because I don't give a shit about myself. I take them because other people care.

I don't want to get out of bed most days.

I either want to constantly eat or not eat at all.

I'm struggling to do even the necessary household chores like the washing and the dishes and making food. I'm not even doing anything extra.

The only thing I want to do in my spare time is play WoW.

I have 0 sexual urges, which I can safely say because I'm firmly in ovulation territory. The only reason I even send my partner nudes right now is because he's going through shit as well and I know it makes him feel a little bit better.

I think the only reason I'm surviving is I'm finally crying for the first time in my life. Normally I just keep it all in, but I'm actually releasing some of it. Saying that though, I'm almost crying every day.

I want to get help, but I can't afford the gap fee to go to a psychologist. I can't even really afford more medication.

I can't really afford to even go to the doctor any more, but I'm going because I have had a headache for a week and a half and I've had enough.

I'm at the point where I just want to die and stop existing. I just want it to end.

Not suicidal though. More just "if I was in a fatal accident, I'd be ok with it because then the death isn't my fault".

[kittypup12]

CW: flashing lights

“You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.”

After wondering through backwoods and vacant roads for what felt like days, our wonderer finally comes upon a lonely motel. He snags some keys to one of the rooms and slips out before the clerk can even look up from his… small screen? Tv? He doesn’t know and for now doesn’t care. All he cares about is finally getting some goddamn rest.

The room is a bit dated, but still far above his usual standard of living to say the least. Without even flipping a switch, the bed lamps turn on. He plops himself onto the firm mattress and takes off his tattered outer clothing to give some much needed attention to his old bandaging. He looks at the old suitcase laying on the floor, it’s contents few careless strewn about the cheap shag carpeting. This suitcase ‘for emergencies’ has sat hidden away for so long, most the clothing and supplies are now slightly too small or expired. Suppose that’s what happens when you leave it untouched for almost a literal century. It’s become more of depressing time capsule than of any actual use, considering he was still a boy when he threw this all together.

Finally, he takes a much needed hot shower. God, when is the last time he took an actual shower instead of his usual quick rinse? He opens the lid to a small bottle that he assumes is shampoo and gives his wiry hair a much needed lather. Next he scrubs away the dried blood, ash and rubble. He watches the filth make it’s way down the drain and let the hot water run down his back until it’s ice cold.

He steps out of the shower, wraps a towel around his waist and looks into the mirror. There is so much running through his mind and yet nothing at all. What he feels can’t quite be pinpointed. Exhaustion? Relief? Heaviness? Weightless? Free? Suffocating? He couldn’t tell. “God I look like shit.. no, I look like the shit someone dragged in under their boot,” he thinks to himself. His mind begins to wonder as he looks just past himself in the mirror when he sees it. A flicker of the light and there it was. Her. For a fraction of a second he could have sworn she was there. And then gone in a blink of an eye.

No, it’s just his mind playing tricks on him. He saw her crumble into dust and the ceremony grounds blown to bits. No, its just the weariness setting.

It’s the years, decades, century finally catching up to him. All at once.

Fuck, he’s tired.

[bloodykora]

Hygiene Problems

Don't worry this is not an inappropriate one shot, just 2 pals showering. Ya know, the normal.

MBAV Masterlist

Summary: Reader is wounded by an old fight and can't take care of themselves properly cause of the pain. Rory offers to help.

I couldn’t raise my arms without huge pain. I had got hit during a battle with a creature therefore I had a huge cut on my back plus the bruising. I had been taking baths awkwardly and leaning over to change clothes. It took most of the little energy I had in the morning.

“Nice stain y/n.” Ethan says, pointing down to the hem of my shirt. I look down, a red brownish stain near my right side.

“Shit.” My hands drop to it.

“It’s from when Benny spilled ketchup on me!”

“Sorry, but a man’s appetite over rules everything.” Benny says, holding onto his bag.

“How did you not see it earlier?” E asks, I shake my head.

“I woke up late and just threw on whatever.” I lie, in reality I had already changed once and was too tired to notice the stain.

“You can borrow one of my shirts if you want.” Benny offers.

“Nah, I’ll sit with my consequence of staying up late.” I move my sweater to be tied around my waist, a yawn escaping my mouth. Oh yeah forgot to mention, can’t lay on my back so sleep has been difficult too. I slug off to English, body sluggish and mind blank.

One minute I was in my seat writing and the next Rory was poking me.

“Hey. Are you sleeping?” My head snaps up, looking over to him.

“I- I think I was.” I reply, embarrassed.

“Wow you must be really tired cause you have never done that before. One of the benefits of being a vampire, no sleep needed however you do miss it.”

“And the fast healing.” I mutter to myself.

“What?” He totally heard me.

“Oh. Nothing, just sleep rambles.” The rest of the day seemed like a blur, just phasing in and out. I had gotten home and began to unpack my bag. When I finished I sat down on my bed and went out like a light.

Knock at the door awakens me.

“Hey, your friend Rory is here.” My mom peers in, I nod.

“You weren’t answering your phone so I decided to come over-” He pauses mid sentence.

“Dude, you look awful and your room is like actually dirty.” I let out a sigh.

“I’ve been tired a lot.”

“Like depressed or?” Rory knew me very well.

“No, just physically tired.”

“Okay! You want a massage or something? My mom says I give the best ones!”

“Uhh, I’m okay. Yours are a little too rough for me.” I comment, remembering the soreness from last time he offered.

“Well I was thinking we could go-'' He begins as he walks up to me to pull me up from the bed.

“Ow!” I yell, a hiss following it. My body naturally hunching over from the pain.

“Oh my god. Are you okay? Did I take your arm out?” Rory quickly asks, fear of hurting me.

“No, I’m good, just my back.” I explain.

“Okay. You’ve been saying you’re fine and good all day yet you fell asleep in class, you keep groaning out of pain and your room is like Benny’s.” Rory questions, he had every right to. I was not normal but pain does that to you.

“Do you ever get tired of well, always fighting the supernatural? It seems like every time things have settled down the next thing pops up. Is it gonna be like this for the next 4 years? I love helping but the scars need to heal.” Rory looks down thinking about my words before answering.

“I mean yeah it’s a lot sometimes but we never really get hurt. I don’t know, I never really think about it. I guess being an immortal removes the thought of wasting time.”

“What if someone did get hurt though? You and Benny were hugely affected by that stupid girl scout demon.” I remind him and he just shrugs.

“We got over it.” I sigh, head hanging down.

“Is this why you haven’t been taking care of yourself?” Rory asks out of nowhere.

“What?”

“Erica, Sarah and me all noticed how drained you looked along with the smell of dry blood plus your hair hasn’t been as shiny.”

“You think my hair is shiny?” I ask, grabbing a strand and playing with it.

“Yeah! I know you spend a lot of time concerned about your hair, yet this past week it seemed like you were distracted.”

“I’m just-”

“Tired, I know.” He interrupts, giving a ‘you’re lying’ look.

“I am fine.”

“Prove it.” My mouth drops open.

“What?”

“I don’t believe you, so prove it.” His arms cross in front of his chest.

“You want me to? Fine.” I leave my room and speed walk to the bathroom, the blond following. I move the shower certain and turn on the water. I turn back to him.

“Well, I’m gonna shower so you gotta go.”

“Nope. I will turn around and wait as you shower. I’m not easily fooled.” Rory says, standing his ground. Head turned up, trying to prove his point.

“Really?” I ask, he nods.

“Fine.” I look him dead in the eye as I throw off my socks, pants and then I go for my shirt. My hands hesitate for a moment and then I start to lift it. My hands got to about my shoulders and then the pain started. I didn’t even have the strength to get it fully off my head. I could feel my arms trembling, a side effect of the shooting pain all over my torso. At some point my hands became too weak and the shirt dropped. My face coming back into view of Rory’s. His brows now furrowed in confusion and his arms at his side. I bring my hands down and shake them trying to get rid of the trembling my body was doing.

“Y/n.” Rory begins.

“No, I don’t need to prove that I’m fine.” I try to rush past him but he grabs my hand.

“What’s wrong?” I shake my head in response.

“Please.” His voice pleading to me.

“I got hurt.” A whisper of the sentence comes out.

“I told you all multiple times to be safe and I got hurt. I can’t raise my arms over my head.” I finally admit, the stress now slowly leaving. Rory nods his head.

“I can’t shower so I have to wash my hair in the tub.” I tell, Rory blinks before the look of an idea crosses his face.

“I could help you!” My eyes widen.

“Pardon?”

“Yeah! I could help you shower.” His head nodding fast, excitement like a puppy’s.

“I would be naked.” He ponders for a moment.

“I’ve seen you in swimsuits before.”

“Rory, you really don’t have to.”

“I want to! You’re always the one to fix and help me so please let me help you.” His puppy dog eyes working against me, he had no malice or ill intent in his head.

“Fine.” I mutter out, already feeling shy. He gets closer to me and rubs my hand for comfort.

“Don’t worry I’ve bathed cats before so this will be easy.” He reassures me with a smile, I nod at him.

“Ready?” He asks, I nod again, insecurities plaguing my mind, His hands slid under my top layers gently, leading my arms out and then over my head. My face heating up immediately, this wasn’t how I imagined getting naked with him would be like. He goes to the band of my underwear, guiding them down my legs.

“See, easy peesy!” He exclaims, starting to strip.

Rory! What are you doing?” I ask, averting my gaze.

“How am I supposed

to help wash you with my clothes on?” I nod trying to understand his logic. I mean I did get it but he was so nonchalant with the human body. He strips to his underwear and then stops.

“I can turn around.” I say, facing my back to him. I don’t hear any movement for a few seconds.

“Rory?” Then I feel a cool hand press against me, my muscles tense at the feeling. I whip back around.

“That’s big y/n.”

“I know, hence why it hurts.” He continues again, becoming fully naked. My cheeks now beet red, head taking interest in everything but Rory. He jumps in the shower before I could.

“Come on! This feels great.” I hear him say, I scoff a bit to myself. This kid was gonna be the death of me. He opens the curtain waving to me, I approach the tub. Grabbing his hand and slowly getting in. Face pointing towards the faucet, water beating down my chest. I let out a sigh of relief. I turn around letting the water wet my hair, a hiss coming out when the drops would touch my back.

I hear the sound of a bottle cracking open then a squeeze. I look up to see Rory putting shampoo on his hand. He lathers it in his hands before reaching up to my head, scrubbing my scalp. I observe him, face concentrated on his task at hand. He looks down to me and smiles. My eyes close, falling into a content state with the massage I was receiving. He leans my head back to wash it, guiding his hand through the strands. I could feel some drowsiness take over me. I wobble a bit, grabbing onto his arms.

"Woah, don’t go falling for me now.” He jokes, I giggle a little bit.

“Sorry, it’s hard when there's a vampire ninja in my shower.”

“You know anyone else would be paying a fairly high price but you got it for free.”

“I’m lucky like that.” He continues to clean me, the missed warmth of comfort settling in.

“I’m gonna do your back now.” He whispers to me. His hands delicate around the wound. We finish the shower and he helps me step out. Putting a towel around me before drying himself off.

“I don’t wanna wear that shirt to bed.” I whine as he picks up my clothes.

“Which one would you like then?” Helping me back into my attire.

“Green long sleeve, top drawer.” A second later he appears with it in his hand, putting it over my body. He then places my arm over his shoulder and lifts me, carrying us back to my room. He places me down on the bed, brushing my hair out of my face then lays beside me.

“Please don’t leave” I whisper.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Falling - Prologue

A story I had in my WIP for the last few months and in my head since seeing the Old Guard.

This prologue happens in the aftermath of his exclusion of the group.

Booker x Female Reader!with a sister

Warnings: Throughout the story mention of depressive behaviour, endangerment of others and one self, two sisters relationship, smut at some point but it will be signalled, loneliness and angst at first and during, speaking in French because I CAN.

I will publish the prologue this week and then a chapter a week ;).

Day 7

It had been a week since his friends left him. Since he said goodbye to Andy.

“Have a little faith”

Booker could still hear her voice in his nightmares, waking up drenched in sweat in the middle of the night. After the hotel room, he had found a small flat not too far from the Globe. Joe and Nicky used to tell him stories about Shakespeare he ate up as a child would candy. He had not been around for that, but he sure loved to hear the grotesque anecdotes they had about the poet. Sitting up in his bed, the few lights streams through the windows, illuminating spots in the room. Pieces of the worn carpet, the oak dresser in front of the bed, and the scar on his right calf.

For the life of him, he couldn’t remember why he had that scar in the first place. It was before the war. Maybe when he had his first son. Or his second. All he can recall is the grief. The unwavering grief accompanying those memories. Even though he smiled thinking about the first time he taught them about talking to a woman, or the time they all were so happy when pretending they were soldiers in the war.

He never had dared to tell them that it was gruesome. He wanted to protect them from that prospect. His wife always saw through him. A young woman turned bitter after years of loneliness. She had seen him take post after post away from home, barely hugging his children before leaving. She had resented him for it, relentlessly, refusing him their bed when he knew she was giving herself away to others. He had tried to take her by force but was stopped by her tears, her cries, her kicks. He would feel the pain deep in his guts, the guilt. He would then be brought back to his own childhood home, his father forcing himself on his mother and the look of utter desperation on her face, absolute loss of control. And in his soft new childish mind would forge the promise never to do that to his wife. He ran a hand over his face and pulled the cover off, going into the adjacent kitchen for a coffee. It tasted like shit. Nicky’s was better. He had learned the technique from an actual coffee merchant in the 1750s. Or some date along these lines.

The window in the living room is translucent. The day is still young. He can hear the mother next door leaving her flat, peppering her daughter in kisses making the kid giggle and then just outright asking her to stop in what he assumed was an attempt at an adult voice. He waits until their feet can no longer be heard before going to take a shower.

He stays there an hour, not knowing what to do with himself in the meantime.

He falls asleep on the couch and sees the clock turning from 8 to 11 in no time.

He wonders if he should let himself die of hunger this time. Hunger is a death he has not tasted before, maybe it could be more merciful than the others. You slowly lose your lifeforce, drained out of you by your own body pumping blood and nutrients until there’s nothing left. You stop breathing. Almost like falling asleep.

He dresses up and leaves for the grocery store.

Hunger isn’t on the menu for today.

Day 14

The kid’s name is Ophelia. Funny name. He overheard her mother call her that. Maybe sibling? She seemed a little bit too young to have a kid that age.

The tragic name though.

He tries to keep himself sane by going on walks. He tries new recipes. He tries and tries and tries not to let himself lose control over this reality he has to face every day. The loneliness. It was killing him before. It is excruciatingly ripping his heart out now.

He receives papers. Newspapers and administrative papers. He wished letters were still a thing. He misses writing letters to people. More personal than texts or emails.

He feels like an old man. He is an old man. His bones don’t ache right, his back doesn’t give out as it should, and his knuckles bruise so easily but heal so perfectly. He wishes old age would come to take him in his sleep like a long-lost lover.

But it doesn’t. It can’t.

And it’s killing him more than anything ever has in his entire existence.

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Gold Dust Woman

Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x Female!OC

Warnings: Very Angsty, drug use, abuse

Summary: Female OC with no descriptors has a history of drug problems and family abuse, she's going into a depressive hole. Can Santi save her from herself? (Story contains lyrics from the Fleetwood Mac song Gold Dust Woman)

---

It was finally happening, the downward spiral had reached its shadowy bottom. Naomi had felt herself descending for a few weeks, triggered on by little things here and there that trenched up memories of the past. Those little memories that stung like shrapnel. It was that morning that had been the last straw. The moment that drove her back to her old habits.

Santi had turned to her, shrugging on his jacket and had said he was going to figure out where his next job was. He had a new informant apparently. He’d kissed Naomi on her head and left behind a burning sensation where his lips had grazed over her skin. Then he'd walked out the door with a smile, fixing his cap on top of his head as he always did, unaffected by the shadows that crept around Naomi.

Was this informant going to be like all the others, she wondered, would she be pretty too? No, she would be hot, that’s what Benny had said. Benny had over indulged one night when they were all drinking together, he’d gotten roaring drunk and had told the whole group all about Pope’s informants. Those girls are “the kind that make you feel like you’re lookin’ at the sun, they're so hot.”

She’d been replaying that over and over in her head all morning. She’d wondered what this latest one looked like; conjuring images of curvy women, silken dark hair and full pouty lips. Women that would do anything to get what they need from him. Not that he was one to take advantage of course, it was just that he was so charming that you couldn’t help but want to give him anything. He could make you cross boundaries you never knew you had with just a smile.

Normally it would be ok, normally she’d never think twice about what Santi got up to at work, she preferred not to. Though the past few weeks she couldn’t help but feel like the biggest emotional drain in the world. They’d argued, she’d stopped putting in as much effort with her appearance, she walked around with dark eyes, heavy from lack of sleep and breath thick with coffee. Her dreams were filled with ghosts and words that rattled around her head like curses.

“No one will ever love you. You’re a stupid, selfish little girl.”

“Everyone will always leave you, you ruin things. You’re like poison.”

That was only some of the venom that raced around her mind. It was too much to deal with. The pain was getting too much to bear. It tortured her until finally she rose from bed and tossed off the heavy cover, it thumped down and released a musky smell as it crumpled into the mattress. Naomi wrinkled her nose and turned away with disgust. Just another thing that had fallen to the wayside as she swung further into a depressive low.

After jumping into the shower and throwing clothes on, she raced out the door without a moment's hesitation, desperate to be out of her self imposed prison. She was singularly minded now. Her skin was still slicked with a shiny layer of water as she jumped in the car. She could feel her clothes stick to her as she leaned against the seat. They only added to the clawing feeling that raked its way over her flesh, and the unbearable tight grip of anxiety that clutched at her chest.

She took shallow breaths as she raced on her way to Frankie’s place. To the man that had started it all, who’d introduced her to Santi. She felt a horrible sinking feeling as she drove through the mid afternoon haze, feeling awful that she was bringing her shit to her old friend. Especially after the promise they’d made each other long ago. Right after Frankie’s licence had been suspended, and her rent was way past due, the pair had made a vow never to touch any drugs again.

After a few months of sobriety, and a mission that had clearly left its wounds on Frankie, he’d introduced her to Santi and the rest of his army buddies. She fit right in, as if she were the final piece missing from their little group. The guys had been surprised with how quickly she slotted in, they loved her snarky comments, the way she’d stop “fish” deprecating himself before he could get more than a couple words out. It was what endeared Santi to her so quickly. He could see how much better his friend was getting as Naomi looked out for him and pushed him to focus on his family.

“You look out for him. I like that,” Santi had remarked one night, whispering lowly in her ear as they sat on a couch away from the others.

“Oh yeah?” she’d smirked, “He’s told me a lot about you. It sounds like we’re both the angels on his shoulder.”

“Angels?” he scoffed, “I don’t think anyones ever called me an Angel, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean! We’re the ones that are there to remind him he’s not the piece of shit he makes himself out to be.”

“I know what you mean,” he laughed, shaking his head, “Sounds like you could use one of those yourself.”

Naomi snorted and took a sip of her drink, the syrupy vodka and coke alleviating the tightness in her throat. The way that Santi looked at her when he talked was always so disarming. It was like he could see through to her very soul. Of course she was guilty of self deprecating too, he noticed that, but she hid it better than Frankie. She didn’t brag, didn’t share her achievements, tried not to talk about her life other than a few modest details, she liked to act like a pale shadow of a woman. That’s probably why her heart leapt when he finally broke the silence they’d both fallen into.

“I don’t wanna make things awkward here, so please just say no if the idea doesn’t interest you at all…can I take you out sometime?”

Naomi pulled up to Frankie's house and sighed as she saw his truck was still parked in the drive. His wife’s car was missing just as she’d expected, she would’ve taken their daughter to her baby class for the day; right on schedule. Her mind burned with thoughts of Santi, of the look he’d given her when she finally told him about how Frankie and her had really met. He’d known all about Frankie’s demons and the way he struggled, but when she finally shared an insight into hers he’d wrapped his arms around her and cradled her all night as she cried.

“Promise me you’ll come to me if you ever feel any urges. Please don’t feel like you need to rely on that to dull the pain. I’m here for you.”

Santi’s words echoed painfully in her head. She’d be breaking her promise. He would hate her forever for it, how could he ever forgive her? She sucked in a breath and blinked back the tears. How could he ever really love her? It was just like her parents said long ago. No one will ever love you. She seethed, she twitched as she felt the hole in her chest widening. The anxiety was burrowing deep into her now.

Naomi got out of the car and shut it with a heavy slam, jumping with the sound it made as it echoed through the sleepy little neighbourhood. She walked slowly up the path from the car, jittering as she figured out what she was gonna say, she felt like a live wire. Felt like she was haunted as she knocked on the door, looking around and squinting as the sun shone right into her eyes. The light was too much after days spent behind shuttered curtains.

“Naomi! What are you doing here so early? Are you ok?”

Frankie had tilted his head as he’d opened the door, clearly surprised to see her. He must know that Naomi had been falling into a hole. Santi would’ve told him, Santi always told him everything. Naomi offered an uneasy smile and looked past his broad frame and into the hallway, looking at all the toys and shoes scattered around.

“I uh…I needed to talk to someone. Can I come in?”

“Of course! You’ll have to excuse the mess though.”

Frankie ushered her in and she gave another small smile, hoping it would mask the thoughts that were swimming around her head. She was fighting herself as she crossed into the lounge, realising how sick she was to involve Frankie in her little plan. How wrong it was to trick him. She should just pick up her pieces and go home, she knew that, but she couldn’t let herself. The little demonic voice that was presiding over her mind was in full control now.

It was a shame really. Frankie was sweet, in that usual awkward way of his of course. He kept running his hands through his thick masses of curls, running his fingers along the scruff of his jaw. The man was like sunshine. He just wanted to make sure she was alright, but didn’t want to be too direct about it, he didn’t want her to know he was concerned even though it was clear as day.

He offered her a donut and a coffee, then launched into a little bit of chatter about how his family were doing as he threw out a few questions about how she was getting on. She redirected those, would talk about Santi, would talk about TV and stuff that was going on in the world. Anything but her. She would sink so far into the couch, hoping it might swallow her up along with all the toys and papers that were surely lost among the cracks.

Eventually though, Frankie excused himself to the bathroom and that was when she finally took her chance to strike. He’d left his phone on the coffee table. She wasted no time in picking it up, feeling her heart sink as she saw the picture of his family flash up. The donut that she’d forced herself to eat felt heavy in her stomach as she inputted his password, his daughter's birthday of course.

They’d both made a pact to delete all their numbers after they’d both promised to quit using. Every contact, every message was gone off of her phone, but Frankie hadn’t been so meticulous. Santi had revealed he’d used once more after the promise, he’d avoided Naomi for a couple weeks after it and it had finally made sense after Santi’s revelation. Did he still have the number?

Z White

How typical. The contact was right at the end of the list, put under Z by design of course, she knew Z White couldn’t be anyone other than a coke dealer. Bingo. It was just like Frankie to torture himself like this, to keep the number in his phone to remind himself he was just a bad day away from slipping. He couldn’t help but live in the darkness, a victim to his self destructive nature. She checked the messages exchanged with the number to make sure and found a short conversation about a meeting. Perfect.

She copied the number into her own phone and glugged down the last bitter dregs of her coffee. Frankie was taken aback as she made her excuses, saying she had to run off to meet another friend, but he figured it was a good sign she was talking to people. Even if she wasn’t revealing anything.

However, he didn’t let her go without a hug first. As his arms wrapped around her, she couldn’t help but gulp as she ran hot with guilt. He gave her a few pats and a reassuring smile, his warm brown eyes crinkling with it, as he broke away. He rubbed salt into the wound a little more when he told her she was welcome to come to him day or night if she ever needed to get something off of her chest. He was a good friend. Not like her, she thought.

Naomi made her way out the door and drove down the street a little ways before she searched out the new number in her phone. She frantically wrote a little message, giving her address and ordering herself a gram, hoping against all hope that she would get a message back. Hoping that the dealer wouldn't be suspicious of the text out of nowhere on a random Saturday afternoon. She sank into her chair, tipping her body forward and leaned into the steering wheel. What the fuck was she doing.

13.36: Who are you? Who do you know?

She paused before she wrote back. She didn’t want to have to give his name but she wasn’t gonna get her fix any other way.

13.38: Naomi, I got this number from Frankie

13.38: Soldier boy?

13.38: That’s him. Is that ok?

13.40: Meet me on Marriott Road at 3 bring $100.

It had been so long since she’d used, she forgot how much it cost, how expensive it was to ruin your life. She sighed, feeling another guilty drop weighing down on her conscience as she pulled out the cash she’d grabbed from Santi’s chest of drawers before she left. She had enough, a little money to spare even. Enough to make things a little more interesting. She was already going to hell, what was adding a little more on top of it all? A gram of coke, a bottle of vodka, a broken promise. Is it over now?

Would santi want anything more to do with her after she broke her word to come to him instead of using? She should’ve spoken to him, she shouldn’t have spent the whole week arguing with him and avoiding his lectures on bottling things up. She knew that, but now it felt like she’d gone too far to give up and do the right thing. She’d broken into Frankie’s phone and used him to chase a high. She was too far gone.

-

“Honey, I brought some steaks home! What do you say I stick 'em on and we have a nice dinner together, huh?”

Santi kicked off his boots as he unlocked the door, took his cap from his head, scruffing up his hair, and tossed it down with the groceries when he stuck both on to the table. He couldn’t wait to sit down for an easy dinner and sink into bed, tonight wasn’t going to be a difficult one he’d decided. It didn’t matter that Naomi didn’t want to share her feelings right now, he could just have some dinner with her and try to have a nice night. He figured that would probably cheer them both up.

However, the longer he went without getting a reply, the more he worried. That was odd. It was a weekend, she hadn’t talked about making any plans with friends in a while. She should be home. She should be answering him, wrapping her arms around him like she always did when he brought her favourite dinner home. The house suddenly dropped a few degrees in temperature and a shiver ran down his neck as his steps echoed in the gloom. None of the lights were on, no one had been home for some time, it had gotten dark a little while before that.

“Naomi? Babe?”

Nothing. He trudged through to the bedroom, heart hammering as he walked into the room and was greeted with the sight of the unmade bed before him and the sound of the radio playing softly from the bathroom, the crackle of the bad quality speakers was the only thing that broke the silence. That was strange too. Normally the bed would be neatly made up, inviting and ready for their next night of rest, but she’d left it just the way it was after tossing off the covers.

The radio just seemed to tease him as it continued on. Well, did she make you cry, Make you break down, Shatter your illusions of love? He walked through to the ensuite and turned it off, looking around for signs of his missing girlfriend.

Santi pulled his phone from his pocket and called her, but after trying a few times the sound of the dial tone felt like it was mocking him. Now he was worried. Every instinct in his body was telling him that something wasn’t right. Naomi, wherever she was, wasn’t ok. His fears were only worsened as his eyes landed on the chest of drawers by the far wall of the room, the money he’d dumped there the night before was missing.

“Fuck!”

That wasn’t good. His mind raced with the possibilities of where she could be, of what exactly she was doing. His heart pounded so loud it sounded like it might burst out of his chest into a violent pile of confetti on the floor. There was only one person that could possibly help him now.

“Frankie, you there?”

“Yeah just a minute my wife’s- my wife’s just…babe, it’s Santiago! I’ll be a sec ok…ok….hey man, sorry my wifes giving the baby a bath, what’s up?” Frankie asked, finally indicating his availability as he talked with his wife on the other end.

“Have you heard from Naomi today?”

“Uh…yeah actually. She came by this afternoon. She wasn’t looking too hot, but I managed to talk to her for a little bit. I think it might’ve helped. She didn’t stay long though, I got her to eat somethin’ and drink a coffee then she ran off.”

“Did she mention anything about where she was going? Did she talk about what she was feeling?” Santi asked, heart sinking as he heard the tone in Frankie's Voice.

“She didn’t talk about much, you know how it is with her right now.”

It wasn’t like the two men dedicated all their conversations to Naomi, but lately they've both been concerned for her. They’d seen the way her eyes dulled and the way her voice wavered as she spoke because she was so far off into her own head. They loved her, and they’d do anything for her. It was horrible watching her sink into one of her lows, knowing there was nothing they could do to stop it while she was so insistent on keeping all of her feelings so close to her chest.

“Fish, there’s money missing from my drawers and she wont pick up her phone…I think she’s using.”

Santi could hear a sharp intake of breath over the phone and listened out as he could hear shuffling on the other end of the line. As he listened out for whatever it was that Frankie was doing he made his way back to the doorway and pulled on his boots, balancing the phone by his shoulder as he went. As he thought about all the places she could be, he heard Frankie cursing over the other end, his voice gravelly with frustration.

“Santi man, she went through my contacts and found a dealer. I’m so so sorry, I didn’t know she would do that. I just- I pulled up my tabs there and it was on this contact I have-”

“Fucking hell! Can you message him? Ask him what she ordered and where she went? Offer to pay him, I’ll give you whatever it is he wants. I just need to know she’s safe!”

Santi panicked as he wondered what the hell she was doing. Why would she go against her promises? All of a sudden all of his emotions mixed into one big bubbling cauldron in his mind, anger and confusion and hurt burned, but worry set a chill through his bones. Where could she be? Was she ok? Would she know her limits since it had been so long?

-

Frankie had come off the phone and minutes later he was driving down to Santi’s like a mad man. The truck cut through the night like a machete, it was loud and clunky, it would stir up the neighbourhood but it gave him the edge in the little traffic that was around. Everyone let him pass by quickly as he made his drive over. He knew Santi well enough to know he’d be tearing his hair out wondering what had happened to Naomi.

His head was filled with scenes from the time they’d first met. He remembered it clear as day, that night that she’d wound up at the same dodgy house in that seedy little neighbourhood. He didn’t like to do pickups, he much preferred the guys that delivered, but he was desperate that night. He was itching to feel something other than the sinking feeling of his demons and failures. So he and Naomi had both turned up at the house together and strolled out with their respective bags, finding themselves both suspicious of the other as they walked the same way back.

“Are you a cop? Is this some DEA thing going on right now?” Naomi had said, stopping abruptly as she eyed Frankie up.

He was about to cross the street, about to put some distance between them before he stopped and turned to her. He adjusted his cap back low over his eyes and shrugged, giving her an impassive stare from under the shadow of his hat.

“Do I look like DEA to you?”

She looked at him for a moment, making him shift uncomfortably as she stared before shaking her head. Something about the way she smiled coyly back at him made him snort, the way that she suddenly realised how ridiculous that was. He expected her to move on, to get on her way so that he could go on his own, but she wasn’t going to make it that easy.

“You got cigarettes?” She asked, looking pointedly at the bulge in his jacket pocket.

“Yeah. If I give you one will you beat it?” He said, in no mood to deal with a stranger any longer than he had to.

“Jesus. Sure thing, guy. You got somewhere important to be or something?”

“Yeah, gotta get back to the station,” he said sarcastically, offering out his almost full pack to her.

Naomi reached in and drew one out, quickly returning the pack to him before she got her lighter out. The red glow of the tobacco enticed him in and suddenly, without thinking, he was reaching for one for himself before he put his pack away. He searched through his pockets for his lighter, dangling the cigarette from his mouth as he looked, but he came up empty.

As he looked up he connected eyes with Naomi, she tilted her chin up as she took a draw then held out her lighter to him. He’d mumbled a thanks to her and wasted no time in taking a draw of his own, sighing as he felt the relief of the nicotine racing through his system. It wasn’t the high he was looking for, but it was an initial buzz, something to fog his thoughts and distract him.

“You look too together to be out here. What’s your deal?” Naomi had asked, breaking the silence.

Frankie parked up at Santis house and breathed out a choked sigh as remembered how things went from that fated night. He and Naomi had gotten to talking a lot after that, they couldn’t seem to leave each other as they made their way out of the bad part of town and toward a little abandoned park. They’d both sat on the swings and rambled about nothing in particular as they lost themselves in their bags.

It was Santi yanking the door open that brought Frankie back to reality. He looked through the gloom and to his best friend's wide, frenzied eyes. That wasn’t good. The last time Santi looked this panicked, their friend had ended up dead. He gulped and fished his phone out of his pocket, allowing Santi to see the message from the dealer.

“Do you know where she could be?” Santi pleaded, muscles taught as he grasped at Frankie’s arms.

“I have one idea…” he sighed.

-

“Rock on, Gold Dust Woman, Take your silver spoon, dig your graaaaveee,” Naomi rambled, slurring out the lyrics to her favourite song.

Her head was swimming. It felt like she’d put herself in a washing machine and she was spinning and spinning in a slow prolonged cycle, all warm and bubbly. The vodka and the coke were combining into a delicious high that had her jaw grinding and her limbs shaking absentmindedly as she lost herself on the little creaky roundabout. There were no more bad thoughts and images left, just a pleasant little humming that thrummed through her bones like electricity.

She didn’t notice Frankie’s big truck as it squealed to a stop just outside the old rusted fence. She didn’t see both men as they clambered out the truck. She only noticed them when the roundabout was stopped from its slow lazy spin and she was face to face with Santi and Frankie, their eyes boring into her like they might kill her.

Suddenly she felt a little more sober. She noticed the diesel-like taste of the coke and the lingering ghost of vodka burning at the back of her throat. She felt the bile rising in her stomach. Oh she wasn’t going to be well tomorrow. It had her racing to take another gulp of the vodka.

Before she could take the bottle fully to her lips it was smacked away from her hands, she let out a little scream of surprise as it dropped to the ground clattering against the roundabout. She tipped forward and struggled to try and get it back, but Frankie had it away from her in an instant. She growled out her frustrations and got to her feet, swaying as she tried to stand, climbing her way up Frankies legs like they were tree branches.

“Enough! Stop it, that’s enough,” Santi shouted, grabbing her away from his friend's limbs.

“Nooooo!” She moaned, struggling away from his arms.

“Naomi, what the fuck! Stop this, stop it now!” Santi pleaded, his voice hoarse with desperation.

He’d never seen her like this. Never seen her so out of control. He’d seen Frankie reach a similar level, fall into a hole exactly like this, but never her. Santi saw the way Frankie was looking at her now and cast his eyes away, he could see the horror reflected back. He knew exactly what this was like and he didn’t like seeing it sober. He was facing a fragment of himself and it was taking its toll, twisting his expression into one of horror.

“We need to get her back home…She needs to sober up,” Frankie said stiffly, looking back toward the truck.

“Noooo, I don- I dont- nooooooo. N’t need to go to truck. Just leave me here,” Naomi moaned, feeling herself come to some level of awareness again.

She looked up at the two men, twisting to look at Santi as he held her against himself and then looked toward Frankie. She hated what she saw. Frankie looked so stony, like he was about to run far away. Santi looked like he’d just come from a warzone, his expression was twisted and wrought with pain and anger and effort as he tried to heft her toward the truck.

“Please. Please don’t be mad. Just leave me. Just leave me,” she cried.

Santi shook his head and wrapped his grip around her tighter, starting to walk backwards as he did. There was no fighting him. He was so much stronger than her, she couldn’t win. Her limbs were far too weak anyway, they felt like marshmallow fluff as they dangled uselessly and heavy at her sides.

She resigned herself to being dragged back by him and let her head loll against his chest like a ragdoll. It almost felt pleasant as she soaked up his warmth and citrusy scent. It was only when she was locked into the car that she remembered the real gravity of the situation. Her hands were worrying away at Santi's shirt, clenching and unclenching, wild with the energy that burned its way through her system.

“Santi,” she mumbled, looking up at him, staring into his forlorn eyes.

“Yeah?” He asked, repositioning her as Frankie hopped in the front.

The words shrivelled and died on her tongue, lost in the taste of fuel. She didn’t know what she was gonna say. All she wanted was for Santi to play with her hair and whisper platitudes into her ear, to tell her it was all gonna be ok. But it isn’t going to be ok, she thought. She shook her head and retreated into the hollow at his side, closing her eyes and resting against his ribs.

Frankie grunted something from the front, but she didn’t catch it. She was too lost. She was floating in that horrible place now, starting to free fall into a come down. Now the voices in her head were shouting louder than they ever had before and were screaming like banshees. Vengeful angry voices of her past were playing over and over in her mind. You don’t deserve anything. You don’t get to have things work out. Something will go wrong. You’re nothing. You’re not even a thought in our minds anymore.

-

Frankie spent the rest of the ride with his hands pale, gripping the steering wheel like it might fall off. His eyes nervously glanced from the road, to Santi, to Naomi lying in the back sobbing away into Santi’s shirt. It scared him more than anything to see her like this. To see Santi like this.

He remembered the night he’d called Santi in a panic, explaining he’d broken his promise, he’d used again. Santi was there right away, holding him as he rambled and cried and cursed. It felt like a hazy nightmare to him, but all the memories were flooding back now. The desperate night clawing its way back and strangling him, making him want to dull the pain all over again.

More than anything, though, he desperately wanted to comfort Naomi. He wanted to tell her it would be alright, that they’d both be there for her no matter what. Healing wasn’t linear, it didn’t just happen magically and you were all better, no more problems ever again, it was a process that came with setbacks. But he couldn’t. He was shocked into muteness.

He pulled up to Santis house in stunned silence and stared straight ahead into the middle distance, lost in the haze of his thoughts. Naomi’s crying had abated and now she was resigned to twitching and clutching at Santi, moaning out nonsense here and there. Frankie pulled himself from the truck and got out, motioning to Santi as he pulled himself out of Naomi’s grasp.

“I need to get her in, Fish,” Santi sighed, looking to Frankie for help.

“I know, just…go easy on her, yeah? This shit’s difficult,” he said, voice cracking with emotion.

“I know, man. I just need to get her in, get her water and shit and then…and then-”

“I know. Figure it out in the morning,” Frankie said, patting him on the back.

It was exactly what Santi had said to him that night, We can figure this out in the morning man. And they had. Santi had let him stay in the house all night, then come to him in the morning with a coffee and a selection of strong painkillers. Santi didn’t judge, he had his own demons, he’d done terrible things just like the rest of them. He was the last person to lash out.

“Thanks for all your help,” Santi sighed, opening the door with a heavy creak.

“Of course. I just want her to be safe, y’know?”

“I know. I’m gonna keep her close tonight. I’ll message you in the morning,” he grunted, his voice straining as he lifted Naomi into his arms.

Frankie helped, running up to the door after them, holding it open so Santi could continue to walk her through the threshold like a drugged up bride. Then he gave his brother one last look as he left, they didn’t need to say anything more. Though it didn’t stop Frankie grunting out an “I love ya, man” as he closed the door over with a soft click. He could only pray it would be ok as the light of day roused them both.”

-

Naomi’s head felt like a coconut, like it was being hacked open with a rusty blade. Normally she wouldn’t sleep like that after taking coke, but her mind had been so exhausted she couldn’t help but slip away after Santi had brought her into bed and cradled her close long enough.

Fuck! Santi! She turned with a start and saw her boyfriend lying there next to her. His plush lips were parted and he was gently exhaling steady breaths as he slept soundly at her side. On of his thick arms was extended next to her, the other wrapped around his pillow, hugging it tightly like a worried child.

“Shit,” she murmured, looking at the way his brow furrowed in his slumber.

What had she done? Why did she have to go and cause all that trouble. She held her head in her hands for a moment, feeling the full weight of it before she made a move to shift off the bed, to where she didn’t know, but she felt like she had to get away from Santi. She had to get away from the burning shame that surged through her spine and thumped through her head.

“You woke me up with all that thinking,” Santi grunted, reaching out an arm to stop her leaving.

He always said that, always said her thoughts were so loud she’d wake him up with all that racket. It was a little joke they had. The joke didn’t seem so cute this morning though as he faced her. His eyes were serious and didn’t hold any levity, his jaw was set. Normally she’d be raking her eyes over his body appreciatively, but now she just felt guilty. He was still wearing the same tear stained black shirt from the night before.

“Naomi, sweetheart. You need to stop this. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Santi…please. I can’t. I don’t deserve you, I broke my promise, I used and I betrayed Frankie’s trust going through his phone and - oh my god Frankie! He was there last night wasn’t he?”

Naomi didn’t have full memories, she had shards. Sharp little barbs that were torturing her as it began to come back to her, riding that creaky red roundabout, climbing all over Frankie, crying into Santi’s shirt. Holy shit, she cursed. She could have screamed were it not for Santi there, lurking over her and drawing her into him.

“Baby it’s alright. Frankie’s fine, he’s worried about you, we’re all fuckin worried about you.”

“It’s not alright, I’ve fucked this. Fucked it like I fuck everything. My parents were right,” she wailed, trying to push him away.

Santi sighed and pushed her arms aside, battling her and making a point of keeping her close. He didn’t want to push her away. He just wanted her to know this wasn’t irredeemable, she could come back from this. He knew a little bit about her past, the way her parents treated her, the way they barely acknowledged her as a person rather than an emotional punching bag. He knew that that was what this was really about, but he wasn’t sure exactly what it was that had brought this to the forefront of her mind.

“Baby, talk to me,” he said, breath hot against her ear as he balanced his chin against her head.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispered, clutching her head in her hands as a last desperate attempt to vanish into thin air with embarrassment.

“I know you’re sorry. I know. Just talk to me ok? Talk to me, tell me what all this is about.”

She spent a few more minutes in silence, leaning against the hard planes of his body before she could finally build up enough strength to sit up again and face him. His eyes were shining, tears were threatening to drop. She gasped, she’d never seen him like this. Stressed and stony faced sure, shouting and raging even, rarely, but never with tears.

“I just… it all got too much, Santi. My parents they- they made me feel like I was shit, that I was nothing and now I just feel like I can’t have anything. Like you’re gonna go away, Frankie’s gonna go away, you’re all gonna think I’m not worth it anymore and you’re all gonna leave because I’m not worth the effort. And I- and I don’t deserve you.”

Santi sat with her words for a little while. He held her and he considered her words while whispered into her ear, breathing kisses and compliments her way. Telling her how special she was to to him. Anything to try and get her into a state where she could listen to him properly, where she could get to an even keel again.

“You’re so good, baby. You’ve been the best thing to happen to me.”

“I love you so much, nothing can change that.”

“You’ve made all our lives so much better by coming into them. You give me a reason to come home, you give Frankie a reason to stay in check. We love you. We love you so so much.”

All of his words mixed into sweet honey, they killed the pounding in her head and chased the bad thoughts away. Finally after taking a few breaths, she felt ready to seriously face him. To be able to try and right the wrong she’s done. She hadn’t trusted him, she hadn’t allowed him to explain himself and tell her that it was ok. The voices of her past were wrong. And in doing so she’d made it all so much harder. Suddenly it was all so clear through the haze of her building hangover.

“Santi…I know I’ve said sorry a million times, and I can’t undo what I did last night. If you can give me another chance, if you think you can still love me after all that I want to show you I can be better. I was reckless last night, I just acted on complete impulse and I can see now that that was fuckin’ stupid, I just thought if you were gonna go meet your informant and go away, you might not ever want to come back. I just felt so dragged down by all the voices in my head and my chest just felt so- so tight with anxiety…I couldn’t see a way through. I see a way through now.”

Santi was shocked as she became coherent. He hadn’t expected her to come to her senses so quickly, but then that was Naomi. She was full of surprises. More than anything though, he was glad that he wasn’t going to have to give her a lecture. She had seen the errors of her ways and going forward, he hoped that she’d be able to see sense and talk to him if this ever happened again.

“You know you really scared me last night. When I came through and I saw you were gone, I really thought the worst. You had me and Fish in a panic trying to find you. Of course I want to give you another chance, of course I still love you, but you can’t do that to me ever again. You gotta promise me that, ok? You never ever just run off and get yourself into a state like that. Anything could have happened to you, anyone could have come along. I love you so much, I just want you to be safe. Can you promise me that? Can you promise you’ll never do anything like that again?”

The tear that left his eyes didn’t escape her. It dripped down his cheek, leaving a wet shimmering trail across his skin and she couldn’t help but reach out and rub it away. She wanted to take the pain away. She didn’t want to bring anymore tears to that beautiful man’s face. So she sighed and nodded, watching as relief flooded into his features.

“I promise I won’t run off like that again. Never ever. I love you so much Santi, I’m sorry I couldn’t see how much you loved me through all the darkness…”

“It’s ok,” he sighed, holding her close again and smiling as he brushed a hand over her hair. “You can stop apologising now. It’s over. We can start to heal from this…we’ll be ok. It’s gonna be all ok.”

She smiled into his chest and then for the rest of the morning they stayed like that. They lingered between dreaming and being awake as they lay down and held each other in their arms, holding on tightly so as to remind the other that they were still there. They would hold on forever and never let go.

It was Naomi that made the first move, shuffling herself away from Santi before tugging him up, dragging his arm close to her chest. She grinned as he made a groaning sound and tried to hide herself away, but soon he relented. He laughed as she dragged him toward the shower and as the radio played, and the water in the shower poured a sweet watery cacophony of sound, it felt like all their troubles were washing away.

[cotccotc]

♡ 10:56 am ; safe space

set in the domus amoris universe !

genre/s: comfort, angst > fluff, established relationship au, hyunjin x gn reader

wc: ~2.6k

warnings: non-sexual nudity (mc, not hyunjin; vague descriptions of body parts), anxious/depressed/self-deprecating thoughts, in-depth description of a panic attack, mc has hair that’s long enough to brush

a/n: this one’s based on a suggestion by the lovely @crscendoforsung​ !! i wanted to make it a bit angsty for ya since,,,, i Know You :) it’s also a pretty exact account of an experience i had as well so.. that’s fun... lol. if you ever have a suggestion for the series feel free to check out the suggestion box !!

there are always going to be times where nothing seems to be going your way. sometimes days, sometimes weeks, sometimes years… and it’s hard opening up about those things. those things that eat away at your psyche until it seems as though there’s little to nothing left; the things you never say out loud for fear they might manifest themselves; the things you even dread telling the man you love for fear of worrying him. it’s times like these where you don’t want to be heard or seen, but rather to curl up into a ball and let everything you need to out of your system. it creeps up on you. right now, as beads of hot water pierce your back and your face rests in your trembling hands, you’re reminded of this feeling. it plagues your body, haunts your thoughts… and honestly, you’re not sure how it happened. but you know that if hyunjin sees or hears you, he’ll take on your troubles as if they’re his own. so you stay quiet.

you’re honestly just confused. angry at yourself. frustrated. you’d caught yourself staring into space again. it happens every so often, but each time it does you get more and more fed up with your lack of self control. your dazed, dissociated mind will get the best of you at times. it can get to the point where, like today, you can be in the middle of a simple, everyday task - taking a shower, brushing your teeth, sometimes even doing work - and you’d just be stripped of your attention span. and, it can last for as short or as long a period of time as it so chooses. it makes you feel like you’re out of control of your own body; as if the vessel in which your spirit is contained is caving from the outside in, crushing your spirit in the process.

heart racing against your thoughts, shallow breaths rising and falling at a staggering pace, fingers trembling as you fold your hands together and squeeze them closer in a weak attempt to make it all go away. you begin to wonder why you’re like this. how you can go from applying shampoo to your hair to feeling the water grow lukewarm as your mind wanders into oblivion. oftentimes, you blame yourself, citing a simple lack of intelligence for the way your head takes over like this. you don’t even know when it began. prior to moving in with hyunjin, of course, but… were you always like this? was this always how your brain decided to occupy itself? have you always been so spacey… so vacant, so stupid? why are you like this? why are you so broken? why won’t it all just slow down or stop? why don’t you just-

whoa. where did that come from?

these thoughts strike you, almost as if you’ve been slapped in the face. your cheeks heat up as a stinging sensation overtakes your eyes. tears. droplets of disparity, dripping down the drain. what feels like a chill courses through your body, making your bones shake and joints buckle. seeing stars, your knees give out, sending you to the porcelain floor of the bathtub. you sit with your legs folded, leaning over with your face in your hands. heaving breaths, hot tears, piercing beads of water shooting out from the showerhead to the sensitive skin on your back. shaking, shuttering, ashamed. especially since you’ve given up trying to stay silent.

you hear the bathroom door creak open. shit. but just like any other instance, you can’t seem to stop convulsing nor crying.

“baby…?” you hear hyunjin’s soft, youthful voice calling to you over the running water. “baby, are you okay?” he must’ve heard you fall.

you try to catch your breath. and, of course, you fail. just like you failed to pay attention to the task at hand, failed to conceal the breathy sobs over which your lover must now worry… you’re choking on your own futility. “no,” you whisper, your face still contorting in your hands.

before you can object, a hand reaches into the shower and shuts the water off before hastily pushing the shower curtain to the side. now, more than ever, you’re hyperaware of the volume at which you’ve been sobbing. the chill of the air rises over your naked form but is quelled by hyunjin’s warm hand against your back. he’s taken a seat next to the tub, a look of concern and shock spread across his face. you can’t even look at him. you can’t bear the fact that he can see you right now. your physical bareness doesn’t even concern you. it’s the emotional nakedness that sends you deeper into your descent.

but oh, what it’s doing to hyunjin.

he feels so helpless. so terrible. so guilty. he doesn’t even know what happened, and yet his only wish is to be able to go back and stop it from happening. guilt, responsibility, fear... it’s enough to force a tear from his own eye, as well. “what’s wrong,” he whispers, his voice trembling as his face tightens and lips quiver. you can’t help but let out another bout of choked sobs and convulsions. he leans into the tub, gently pulling your wet hair out of your face and draping his arm across your bare back. he presses a kiss to your spine, then rests his cheek against you. as more teardrops emerge from his eyes, he strokes your hair. “breathe,” he murmurs. under his breath, closing his eyes, he adds, “please, breathe.”

mind you, this isn’t the first time he’s seen you like this. maybe not in the same circumstances, but you’ve had similar episodes while out in public, while doing work, or even while trying to fall asleep. however, when he’s around, he’s able to help calm you down before things get this extreme. many times, his prolonged embrace alone is enough to drag you out of your daze and back to reality. but every time he holds you close enough to feel your heart fervently pulsing within your chest, his pangs for you. whenever your heartbeats are not aligned, he wants nothing more than to trade. 

you do as he says. you try to concentrate on your breathing. though your mind is still fuzzy, you rely on your senses. with the aid of hyunjin’s caresses and directions, you’re able to begin breathing at a semi-regular pace. though a stutter remains in your breathing pattern, everything seems to have slowed. he lifts himself from you, leaning toward your face to get a better look at you, regardless of the agony your aching expression puts him through. “you did so well,” he mutters. you sit up, wrapping your arms around yourself as the air hits your wet skin. “here,” he says, quickly rising to grab a towel from the metal rack on the wall. wrapping it around you, he holds onto your arms as you use the side of the tub to lift yourself up to a standing position. he helps you step out of the tub and onto the floor. despite the humidity of the confined room, the tile beneath your feet is chilling.

you sniffle, wiping your face with your hands. he takes two fistfuls of the towel and replaces your hands, patting your face dry. that’s when you notice he’d been crying too. you look into his pink tinted eyes with an overwhelming twinge of guilt. “i’m-” you croak. but he knows what you’re going to say.

“don’t be sorry,” he interjects, looking deeply into your eyes and cupping your face in his hands. “please?” you nod, averting your eyes from him. he makes you so happy. so comfortable. so at home. and yet, you feel so embarrassed. he’s seen you like this before. but the feeling never seems to lift. he licks his lips, placing a kiss against your cheek before travelling across your jaw and down to your neck. then, he begins patting you dry with the towel, gently brushing over your skin with the cotton fabric.

you’re so grateful for him. he shouldn’t have to do this for you. he shouldn’t have to care for you as if you’re a child; you should be able to do basic tasks. it’s all you can think about as he travels down your body, blotting the water off of you. so much so that it brings back the wetness in your eyes. you think you’re undeserving. you think you’re hopeless.

he stands back up, getting ready to towel dry your hair. that is, until he sees the single tear dripping down your cheek. his stomach drops. he wonders if his efforts aren’t enough. he wonders if he deserves to be the one who takes care of you. if he can’t do that, what can he do? at least that’s what he’s made himself believe.

so much unspoken.

“love, what’s wrong?” he asks, tilting your chin toward him with his thumb and forefinger.

“i…” you start. you don’t even know where to begin.

you glance away, eyes flicking to the clothes you’d picked out to wear after you showered - the main component being one of his t-shirts. he follows your eyes, hastily setting the towel down and grabbing the garments. “let’s put these on. i’ll help you.” you nod, sniffling. he gives you a bittersweet smile, crouching down to help you step into your underwear. once your undergarments and shorts are on, he picks up the t-shirt and smiles to himself. he didn’t quite recognize it as his own before. it’s a mixed feeling. he helps you into the shirt, his warm fingertips pressing against your waist as the fabric settles atop your form. his thumbs rub back and forth against the material. it’s a small gesture, but it’s soothing.

you shakily place a hand against his chest. “thank you,” you mumble, your voice still small and strained.

he gives you a half-smile before taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss onto your knuckles. you know he’s trying his best. and he knows you are too. that’s why he doesn’t prod. instead, he grabs the towel from the counter and a hairbrush with his other hand. “come on,” he says, leading you out of the bathroom and into your shared bedroom. he takes a seat on the bed, his back resting on the headboard. he taps a hand to his thigh. you climb onto the bed, then onto his lap, facing him. “close your eyes, baby.” and so, you do as instructed. his efforts are beginning to elicit more endearment than guilt out of you. it’s dawning on you that he’s enjoying the surface level elements of taking care of you just as much as you’ve relished in receiving them. he wraps the towel around the back of you, placing it atop your wet head. as he massages your scalp with the towel, rubbing and compressing your dripping locks, you hum in relief. it feels so warm. he makes you feel so warm.

you take a deep breath. he smiles at you, even though you can’t see it. he thinks you’re adorable. and he’s relieved you can breathe again.

after he’s done drying your hair, he tosses the wet towel down onto the floor beside the bed and grabs the brush. placing his other hand on your waist, he says, “tell me if it hurts. if i’m hurting you, i’ll stop.”

opening your eyes, you let out a small giggle. “you could never hurt me,” you reply. and, it’s true. he never has, and he never will. you pinky swore on it a long, long time ago.

a breath escapes his nose as his smile grows wider. “ok.” he tilts your head to the side. ever so gently, he begins brushing through your still-damp hair, carefully and slowly untangling any knots. eventually, he turns your head to the other side so he can reach more of you. once your hair has been fully detangled, he places the brush down on the bedside table in favor of wrapping his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. “all done.” you encase his neck in your arms, resting your head against his shoulder. the pads of his fingertips roam all over the expanse of your back, lulling you into a relaxed state of mind.

“thank you,” you whisper into his neck.

“you don’t need to thank me.”

“yes i do,” you respond, sitting upright. “you shouldn’t have to do all of this for me. but you did. but you do.”

he cuts you off slightly, hands passionately gripping onto your hips. “i do this because i want to. we take care of each other. you would do the same for me.”

you roll your eyes. not because you’re angry or annoyed, but because what he said is true. you would do the same for him, any time. but that’s because he deserves it. why do you? “yeah, but…” you trail off, eyes drifting to the side as that familiar tingling arises in your face. your lip trembles, signalling to hyunjin that, once again, his efforts were ineffective.

“baby, what’s wrong?” he whispers, placing a hand on your cheek to draw your face back to center. you look at him, your brow furrowed and a tear escaping your eye, reaching up to hold his hand as he strokes your cheekbone with his thumb. he wipes the salty remnants of your pain off of your skin, though the sentiment remains.

you climb off of his lap. he lifts the covers and blankets so the two of you can slip inside. laying down and facing him, you let out a deep sigh.

“it’s just… it happened again,” you say. he pulls the covers over your bodies and shifts closer toward you.

he tucks your freshly brushed hair behind your ear before placing his hand upon your side. “mhm.”

“and i couldn’t concentrate on anything else. i forgot where i was, and what i was doing…” you sniffle. you don’t want to send yourself back into such an emotional state, but you want to help him understand how you’re feeling. so, you do your best to explain. everything. everything from zoning out to your body becoming fragile, and even to the feeling of worthlessness that accompanies it all.

he comes close to crying again, but he pulls himself together for your sake. he doesn’t want you to feel guilty for feeling. instead, he pulls himself closer to you and presses a kiss upon your cheek. “i’m proud of you, you know,” he says before kissing your face again.

“why?” you ask, chuckling with a slight smile spread across your lips.

“because!” he objects. he tickles your side, prompting your smile to widen and laughter to continue. “you were brave enough to tell me.”

“i thought i was a baby,” you tease. you playfully grab his hands off of you… but you know you won’t get too far.

“you’re not a baby.” he climbs on top of you, pinning your arms above your head and placing a trail of kisses along your cheek and neck. then, with his hands traveling back to your sides to tickle you some more, his voice deepens. “but you’re my baby.” you can’t help but giggle, bombarded with kisses and blushing from the contact. your reaction only eggs him on. he smiles into the crook of your neck before leaving a series of kisses against it, tickling you all the while. 

sure enough, you’ve forgotten all about what had happened just an hour ago. it’s as if nothing occurred at all. not because you’re distracted, not because you’ve dismissed it, but rather because you felt comfortable enough with your lover to share your deepest, most vulnerable inner turmoil. and he received you with open arms, an even more accepting heart, and a trail of sloppily laid kisses that’ll leave a swarm of butterflies aflutter in your stomach for days to come.

he succeeded, finally. and the both of you couldn’t be more pleased.

another note: if you’ve experienced something similar to this, please know you’re far from alone, and i’m always here if you need someone to talk to. i hope this can comfort you in some way. love u ♡

tags: @magglesx, @crscendoforsung, @stayndays, @hanniiesuckle17, @leggomylino, @freckledberries, @pixielix, @skzctnightnight, @serenityswords-main​, @childofthecosmos, @changbinniee​, @kpopscape​, @skzwriternet, @hyunsins, @sleepylixie​, @ncityluvvs​ (send a 🍓 in my ask box to be added for skz !)

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