#also it was physically painful not to call bones bones

[keeps-ache]

i have Got to get better bones

[madlori]

My ankle journey

I am sharing this with all you good people on the dash because I am so fucking mad it took so long for me to learn it and if I can spare one (1) person the agony it will be worth it.

So for like...oh, 8 or 9 months, I've been struggling with pain/inflammation/tendinitis in my left Achilles tendon. I don't know what caused it. It just started up (welcome to middle age, this shit happens). It wasn't severe enough to be debilitating, but it was annoying and limiting. It was also intermittent, in that some days it would be very painful and other days hardly at all. The kind of shoe I was wearing affected it a lot.

Now, I have bone spurs on both heels (it's just a thing that happens as you get older sometimes). I'm also aware that heel pain is usually the result of tight calf muscles that pull and irritate the tendon. I tried stretching that calf muscle. You know the stretch, this bitch right here:

I did it all the time. I also iced the ankle after walking for awhile, hoping to avoid inflammation. Results were...unsatisfying.

I went to:

A chiropractor

A podiatrist

A physical therapist

A bodywork coach

They all gave me some variation on the "strengthen your calf muscle, stretch your calf muscle" advice. I continued doing this without results.

I was getting frustrated, and a little afraid that this was just my life now. Finally, I thought...maybe some targeted massage might help. I asked for rec on a local FB site and was pointed to a woman who specializes in therapeutic massage including cupping, etc.

I went to her a week ago.

She spent over half our first session working on my left lower leg. Within about 10 minutes of making my eyes water, she uttered the sentence I did not know I had been waiting to hear:

"Oh, it's your soleus."

Excuse me, what?

"It's your soleus that's the culprit. It's all tied up and stiff." She started digging into it and I felt literal sparks run up my leg as she released adhesions and got the muscle moving a little. When she finally put the leg down, it felt like it was on fire with all the blood rushing into it.

She said, "You'll need to stretch your soleus. It'll clear up, but it'll take a bit of time - tendons take ages to heal."

But I HAVE been stretching.

"No, you haven't. The usual straight-leg calf stretch only stretches the gastrocnemius, that's the big belly muscle in your calf. That's not your problem. That stretch doesn't stretch the soleus. Don't worry, I'll show you how to stretch it."

My mind is spinning.

So here are the muscles in question:

The gastroc (as the pros call it) just attaches down the back but the soleus runs underneath it from the knee around the side to the heel. The lower part above the ankle is where it typically gets tight and forms adhesions.

To stretch it, you do the same calf thing where you put your foot back and press your heel to the ground, but you have to do it with your KNEE BENT:

The bent knee keeps the gastroc from engaging. It's one of those selfish muscles (like traps) - if you give it an inch, it'll just take over and prevent other muscles from working or stretching. There are other ways to stretch the soleus but this is the easiest and you can literally do it anywhere. I've been doing it while standing and waiting for things (the elevator to come, the toast to toast). You just put the heel back and bend the knee. It's kind of like curtseying.

The minute I did this stretch, I could FEEL where it was pulling on my tendon. I knew that THIS had been the problem.

The massage therapist also told me to stop icing my heel. She said icing is for an acute injury, but a more chronic aggravation needs heat, to increase blood flow for healing. She recommended elevation with heat every day (I've been doing it in bed during "phone before bed" time).

I have been doing the soleus stretch at least half a dozen times a day for almost a week, and the ankle is at least 70% better. It is still a little tight and tender, but the improvement is significant. I think a few more weeks will have it feeling normal.

I am...blown away by this. This massage therapist was able to pinpoint an issue in only a few minutes that eluded all the other professionals I saw. I can't wait to go back to her and have her solve all my other problems, tbh.

[usedpidemo]

Savior (aespa Karina)

“Someone help me. Please!”

“Scream as loud as you can, no one’s coming to save you, princess.”

“That’s right. So just be a good girl and give us your money.”

“Help!”

It’s at this point where, against your better judgment, you stop dead in your tracks. The damsel in distress’s right behind you, backed into a corner by two bullies. Her possessions are strewn all over the floor, purposefully kicked out of her reach. There hasn’t been much physical harm done to the girl, but she looks to be the delicate type—someone who’s bound to crumble and break after a few hits.

Looking over your shoulder, the two students spot you and turn their attention against you immediately, recognizing you as a threat. “Hey,” says the first student, stepping forward to intimidate you with his burly physique. “This has nothing to do with you. Run along if you don’t want to join this loser over here.”

“Yeah. Don’t go around acting tough just cause you got two other guys with you. Just keep it pushing,” says the second thug, lankier in figure, in agreement with his partner.

Standing your ground, you steel your resolve, having no intention to run. In fact, it’s the complete opposite: you’re down for a fight. Your two companions also follow suit.

“So you wanna be a hero? You’re gonna regret it,” the first bully says, cracking his fists, ready to swing. “Oh, you’re so gonna regret it!”

That is to say, he’s the one who’s about to regret his life choices.

Like a raging bull, the thug lunges toward you, only for you to swiftly kick his legs from underneath, sending him flying across the hallway before he violently lands head first on the ground, most certainly giving him a concussion. He’s done.

The second bully tries to throw a follow-up punch, but you stop its momentum with one hand. Twisting it sideways, the bones crack loud, immediately followed by a screech of pain from his lungs. He drops to the floor in agony, holding his bent knuckle with his healthy arm.

“Oh—oh God—oh fuck—fuck—” Tears flowing from his eyes, he grovels in extreme discomfort, unable to stand before you. “What are you—”

“Now run,” you order, and he promptly complies, hopping off the ground, then fleeing in the opposite direction.

All that’s left is the girl. She had been watching the entire time. She’s overjoyed.

“Y-you saved me,” she says, tone relieved and her spirits held high. “How can I thank you—”

“Don’t push it,” you tell her, already walking away with your companions, waving her off. You don’t help her as she gathers her belongings. “Don’t get yourself in danger next time.”

Part of you already has second thoughts saving this girl. Jimin, the name written on her ID, is undeniably pretty, but you have nothing to gain from this encounter—or from her. She’s only studying in this university on a scholarship, and it shows in her appearance: she’s not the cleanest, nor is as well dressed as everyone else on campus. At best, you’ll probably get called into the office regarding this incident, as well as getting another target placed on your back by those bullies.

None of which are worth a drop of your concern. You can study anywhere else; you have the resources and the connections courtesy of your rich family, and the two companions by your side are your trusted bodyguards that have been with you since childhood. You can honestly live out your whole life without even lifting a finger. Generational wealth is the ultimate lifehack.

And yet, you’re in college at the behest of your parents, who spend more time abroad than at home. This is you going through the motions, looking after yourself.

After the next class, right as everyone’s packing their things and exiting, you spot her again. Jimin’s natural beauty is a lovely sight for the eyes. It’s only now do you realize you’ve shared at least one class with her. Maybe more; you’re too oblivious to the world around you to really notice. You only care about the bell that rings at the top of the hour so you can finally go home.

“Hey,” Jimin suddenly calls out to you, having noticed you glancing at her every now and then. You attempt to feign ignorance, but she approaches you and seizes your hand, catching you red-handed. “Can I speak to you, please?”

She sounds too nice to turn away. You’d be in the wrong to ignore her.

Still, you won’t fully look at her, the glint in her eyes blinding. You can only pray this is a brief exchange. “Sure. But make it quick.”

“I just want to say thank you—for earlier,” she says, her voice warm and sincere. She’s shaking your hand in appreciation; you allow her. “I’m not as rich as everyone else here, as you can see.” She looks down at her modest wear, apologetic about her appearance for some reason, “So—I don’t really have much. I’m only here on a scholarship—”

“Right.�� You interrupt her, trying your hardest not to sound annoyed or bothered, though some of that impatience permeates through your filter. “Anything else you wanna say?”

Jimin becomes flustered, seemingly aroused by your low voice. A brief glance reveals her cheeks flushed red, her body trembling anxiously. She can’t have her way with words, either. “S-sorry. I just wanna say if you need help with schoolwork or anything, my services are available! My grades are good, I promise! That’s all. Again, thanks and see you around!”

Before you can even say a word or call her name, she already has one foot out the door, along with her belongings.

—————

One look at the student database proves her point: Yu Jimin, nickname Karina, might be what she advertised: an academic genius.

Her grades are mostly in the mid nineties across the board, if not low nineties. She’s only a year away from graduating—alongside you. The offer lingers on your mind, positively tempting.

“Sir, this just seems like a waste of money,” your one bodyguard turned hacker tells you, swiveling his desk chair around to face you. “There are more reputable tutors with better qualifications we can fly in from across the country if you really need a personal tutor. Also, your grades are good as they are. You don’t seem to be struggling with any specific major or subject right now. There’s no reason for this.”

“Yeah, and whose money are we spending?” you reply, annoyed at his admittedly sensible comment. 

“What will your family say about this?”

“Did I ask to be enrolled in this university? This course? Besides, they’ve never shown up for any of my graduations! I doubt this will be any different in a year or so. Go find her number so I can contact her.”

Sighing in defeat, he eventually acquiesces. They have to. “Of course, sir.”

—————

The next day on campus, Karina’s seated at the dining hall with her friends. Her eyes can only focus on one thing, or in this case, one man: the person that saved her yesterday. 

“You’re serious? Him?” Ningning looks concerned about her friend. She’s glaring at him with plenty of skepticism. They all know who he is. Not Karina, though. “That guy’s no good at all.”

“What are you saying?” she looks at her, puzzled at her comment. “He really did save me from those bullies. Don’t you believe me?”

“Yeah, but like—he’s not a good person!” Giselle frowns at the man, hiding the bottom half of her face behind her hands. “He’s a chaebol kid. He’s seriously no good! I’ve heard he gets into fights often; that's why he has bodyguards to intimidate anyone who tries to oppose him.”

“Rumor says he’s in cahoots with some crime syndicate—or at least his dad is,” Minjeong interjects, more trepid than anything. “That’s how he got his money. Who knows what kind of evil they might be doing!”

“But he was nice to me yesterday! If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have tried to save me, you know?” Karina stubbornly pays no heed, insisting her case to them, despite their growing frustration and fright. “You guys are overthinking this way too much.”

“It’s just so he can gaslight you into believing he’s a good guy. Please, Karina, he’s not what you think he is.” Ningning implores for her to listen, but to no avail.

“We’re not saying he’s truly bad, but there are signs,” Minjeong adds, agreeing with Ningning. “We just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Look—if he’s actually a bad guy, I’m running, all right? I’m ditching him right then and there, no questions asked.” Karina reassures them, hoping to calm them down right as the man approaches their table. “He’s coming right now.”

While the others silently avoid any form of contact or communication with you, hiding their not so subtle disdain, she happily waves. “Hi. Did you think about it?”

“Yeah,” you tell her, nodding. “I’m interested.”

“Really?” Karina’s eyes gleam at the opportunity. “What do you need help with?”

“Lots. I’ll tell you after class.” Knowing her friends are evidently uncomfortable with your presence, you simply walk past her and through the cafeteria door. “See you around.”

“Bye!” she waves at you again, delighted that you’ve taken up on her offer.

When it’s clear that you’re no longer in sight, Karina’s friends turn to her in utter disbelief.

“Please tell me you’re not going to—”

“I will.”

“Oh, God dammit.”

“Karina, please.”

—————

Later that day, Karina’s waiting by the campus parking lot, holding on to the promise of you showing up. It’s been almost an hour since classes ended and there’s no sign of you anywhere nearby. It looks like you’ll leave her out to dry, until—

“Miss Karina.” A man calls out to her from inside a luxurious car. As the windows roll down, she recognizes the driver as one of your companions. One of the rear doors automatically swings open. “Please step inside.”

Without a second thought, she enters the vehicle before it drives away.  

During the ride, the bodyguard asks her a question. “Does Miss Yu have a drink preference?”

She’s slowly taking it all in, flustered at how you’re treating her so generously. It’s overwhelming at times. “N-no. I’m not really a drinker. W-where’s—”

“He has already gone ahead. He’s preparing the house ahead of your arrival. When we get there, you will change clothes before meeting him. At his request, I have been assigned as your personal assistant and driver.”

“Y-you? Assistant?” She can hardly believe it. “Wow…”

Karina is rendered speechless for the rest of the ride. She’s taken aback at her sudden change in predicament. It’s a Cinderella story through and through. The only missing element is some antagonistic force threatening to end this fantasy abruptly, but that’s the least of her worries. What’s more concerning is how she’ll compose herself before you.

Especially when she sees the scale of your house upon arriving. She’s never seen wealth this exceedingly open and grand.

There’s no time to admire the opulence, however. She’s brought inside hastily by your bodyguard. Inside, a team of stylists are waiting, rushing her upstairs and into one of the bedrooms for a complete overhaul. They’re careful to measure her hair, her size, her everything. Everything is done on the spot, with next to nothing in terms of personal input from Karina herself.

—————

You hear it. The gentle, careful steps of heels clicking. Karina’s ready. So are you.

Turning around to welcome her, you’ve got this whole speech practiced and memorized, with a card hidden in your pocket for good measure. Instead, you end up tongue tied; her presence proves overwhelming to the senses. You can only stare in awe. All black dress and matching heels aside, she looks like an angel descended from heaven. Without blemish, without any sort of imperfection. She’s unreal. 

Any less of a person you are and you would have fallen to your knees on the spot, groveling on the ground when Karina walks forward, ignoring how nervous she is as you. She modestly smiles, carefully twiddling her fingers. She doesn’t recognize how pretty she is.

It becomes all the more embarrassing when Karina makes the first move. “I knew you were rich, but not this rich.” Her eyes are glancing around the expansive room, admiring all the little details, thankfully dismissing how speechless you are.

“Mhm,” is all you’re able to blurt out, unsure of what to say. In her sight, you’re her hero, her knight in shining armor that can seemingly do no wrong. Meanwhile, you’re overcompensating your lack of social skills by hiding behind a shallow enigma and as much vanity as possible. “Not exactly my money, to be fair. My parents raised me like this.”

You’re trying not to look anywhere in her direction—whether that be her pretty eyes, her warm smile, or her shapely figure in that body-hugging dress. It’s the only way you can function normally without completely falling apart.

“So—you’re gonna introduce me to them?” she asks, her tone saccharine and innocent. 

“I wish,” you reply, sighing wistfully thinking about their absence throughout most of your formative years. She’s unaware; you’ll let the insensitive question slide. Only for her. So you immediately change the topic. “Let’s go outside. Our dinner is waiting for us.”

You reach out your hand to her, and she takes it without hesitation. In your mind, you’re already jumping around, performing cartwheels in celebration, with fireworks blasting everywhere. For the most part, you’ve been punching up, failing to impress girls unimpressed with your wealth and are far beyond your reach. Everyone else in that campus would kill to be in Karina’s position right now, but something about her caught your eye that no one has. 

The purity in this girl’s heart is something else. 

Outside, a table full of hearty food is set before you two, a candle lit at its center. Sitting her down on one end before joining her at the other, it’s only background dressing for conversation. She refuses to eat, struggling to make sense of all this. The appeal behind all this luxury is wearing off at an alarming rate.

“What’s up? Not hungry?” you gently ask, already making predictions of her answer. Your designated assistant for her is on standby for anything she wants.

“Not really,” she says, her eyes staring back, wide, accompanied with her innocuous smile. A direct attack on your heart. “I’m—here for tutoring first. I don’t know what this is all for.”

“Yeah. You are here to help me,” you tell her, your mind racing with a hundred different thoughts, already in a state of panic. “I’m just—” you swallow a sudden lump in your throat, “welcoming you since it’s your first time visiting.”

“Like, I think this is really cool! I appreciate what you’re doing, but I can’t afford any of this.” Karina’s trying not to put any more pressure on you, but it’s really doing the exact opposite: you’re already seeing signs of a terrible end. “I just thought you were nice because you saved me from those bullies, you know? That’s it.”

“Yeah. I know,” you reply, looking down as the awkward air between you grows larger and larger. See, she has a point: it was never about asking for help, nor was it ever about improving your grades. It was always about her. Something changed overnight. You simply don’t know how to directly convey those feelings. 

“So—let’s just keep things between us simple,” Karina proposes. She rises from her seat, walking over with a hand on your shoulder. “I’m here to help you with whatever project, research, whatever—you only have to pay for my services. Is that good enough?”

“Wait. Karina let me ask one thing,” you say, finally mustering the courage to look her directly in the eye. 

“What is it?”

“Your friends,” you rapidly blink, “What did they say about me?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you that.” Her answer is delivered bluntly, straight to the point.

“They think I’m a bad guy, right?”

“N-no,” Karina stammers. That’s where you catch her. “They never said anything like that—”

Suddenly dragging her by the arm down to your level, you whisper in her ear, “Don’t have to lie, princess. I’m not gonna tell anyone. It’s only between us. Promise.”

Karina’s unsure of what to do. She’s quietly keening, lightly sweating, looking around for an out. The points her friends made are starting to make sense, but there’s nothing substantial—not yet.

After taking a moment, she folds. “They think your dad’s working with a syndicate. That’s it! There’s nothing else—”

You lightly shove her away, immediately concealing your face in the opposite direction. You didn’t expect her to catch on quickly. Karina’s utterly shocked by what you just did to her, cupping her cheek.

Empathy overrides every other thought.

“Sorry. I just—” You immediately approach her with a handkerchief, immediately assessing the damages, what little they might be. Karina takes a step back, trembling with fear.

“So, it’s true after all.” Her eyes widen. Gone is that sweet innocence; taking its place is a heightened sense of panic. “You’re really a bad guy—”

“Wait, Karina.” You raise a delicate hand, your voice as calm and little as possible. “Please give me a moment to explain.”

“Go on,” she says, cautiously wary, readying herself to run at any given moment. “But say it quickly,”

Stretching your body out to pursue her, examining her every move, every muscle. It didn’t have to end up like this. Surely, there are safer, more inconsequential ways to explain yourself. What a first date you’ve gotten into.

“It’s—not exactly what you think,” you tell her. Out of all the things to begin your justification, you’ve picked the worst possible choice.

“Really?” Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t buy it. “What’s with the reaction, then?”

Hesitating, you’re scrambling to find a believable reason, only to find just one option: the truth. “I—well—your friends are right, but—my dad doesn’t have anything to do with criminals!”

“So it’s you who’s dealing with them?” she replies, her brows furrowing, glaring at you.

“It’s nothing really serious, though. And I’m not involved with anything either! Believe me, I’m not going to get you hurt!”

Throughout this tense exchange, you’ve both made your way back to the house, one big step at a time.

“Trust me when I say: the only reason why I helped you was because I didn’t want to see you hurt,” you continue, your voice cracking. “Goddamn it—this is why I shouldn’t have stepped in, fuck—”

“You did that because—” she pauses, “you cared about me? For real?”

“I guess so,” you say, nodding vehemently, both your hands still raised high starting to ache. “I don’t do that for anyone! My bodyguards tell me to ignore what’s happening, but I just can’t stand someone as pretty as you getting hurt like that.”

“Y-you think I’m pretty?” Karina blinks, coming out twinkling and doe-eyed at the sudden revelation.

Secret’s out. There’s nothing to hide anymore.

Pausing, you admit, nodding much less energetically, silently cursing yourself spilling your innermost thoughts so casually, “Well, yes. I think you’re beautiful. All the more now.”

Karina stops moving. Her wariness is turning back to more open and willing caution. “So—this was really all for me.”

You continue to nod, this time in agreement. She still has so many questions. About you, your family, your income, your secret dealings. Clearly, her friends are onto something, whether by luck or by some past experience; not a hundred percent, but at least five to ten. It would be rash and irrational to completely trust every word you’ve said. No amount of kindness can possibly make up for the worry you’ve given her—

“Come here,” she says, lunging forward to wrap you in a sudden, tight embrace. Before you can comprehend anything else, her lips are pressed deeply against yours, sealing your fate with a passionate kiss. 

That’s where it should have stopped. A better person would have pushed her away, taken things slowly, spoken her through the terms of engagement. Even Karina said it herself; this is a transactional relationship. But seeing as you’re taking lease of her back, as well as her waist, tasting her saccharine lips—it appears as if she’s reneged on her word. 

You feel her tongue slip between your mouth, humming these incomprehensible delightful sounds your ears want to hear. It isn’t accidental; the taste takes you by surprise. Can’t show a little weakness, even if you’re close to buckling under the rapid growing pressure. The way she pours herself into the kiss, how she pushes you closer inch by inch—you can tell she’s wanted this. To be treated like a princess, to be treated right. It doesn’t matter if it’s coming from the wrong influence, the only thing she sees is your willingness to take her with open arms.

The only thing pulling you away from her is the ceaseless ringing from a phone.

Karina pulls a phone from her skirt pocket, her eyes tilting down, fingers moving with urgency, furiously typing on the screen. Her cheeks burn a rosy red, ashamed of having to put herself first in this situation. She’s smiling innocently at you, a sight you’ve grown to love even more. You understand if she tells you she’s leaving; you’ve already got her ride home on standby.

“Sorry,” she mutters, pressing buttons, hearing the ringer beep as the message is sent. “I’m still living with my parents, so—” Looking around, she’s shaking her arms loose. “I don’t think I can spend the night here, or come home looking like this—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you cut her off, confident, if not a little smug. “Neither of those things are gonna happen. I’ll get your ride ready and your clothes taken care of. But it’s still a little bit early,” you say, glancing at your watch, grinning at the time. It’s barely past seven in the evening. 

“I told them I’d be home by around ten tonight,” she remarks, putting her phone away, her gaze returning to you.

“That’s all the time we need.”

—————

Like the gentleman she thinks you are, you escort Karina up the stairs, hand in tow, leading her to your bedroom. Once the door is slammed shut and tightly locked, you immediately drop the act, and you’re back to kissing her passionately again.

You can’t be any less patient. Only a few minutes have passed, and you’re already dreading the end. The feeling of letting her go, of having to go back to your normal life the moment she walks through that door. You can’t imagine interacting like normal students again. Most importantly, you can’t imagine being the bad guy in everyone else’s eyes.

Karina brings out both the best and worst impulses from you. Abruptly breaking the kiss, you shove her onto the mattress, issuing a simple command. “Take that dress off.”

It’s been the only thing racing through your mind ever since. This divine, angelic figure straight out of heaven—effortlessly shining, effortlessly wearing the simple piece like she’s meant to be a canvas to be painted and used.

Gracefully rising from the bed, Karina looks you dead in the eye. Taking one strap in her hand, she pulls it down her shoulder, then the other. Reaching around her back, gravity does the rest. The garment smoothly rides down her body, revealing inch after inch of her skin, until she’s reduced to only her panties. 

Kicking the expensive fabric aside, along with her heels, Karina’s near naked presence demands worship.

“Fuck,” is the only thing you’re able to say, and it’s apt—fuck is the only thing you want to do to her. Hard. Fast. Without care for comfort or concern. 

Your eyes have no fixed area to rest on. When it comes to Karina, every little part of her is a treat for the senses, whether it be her slim waist, her tummy, her slender legs. But nothing captures and retains the attention quicker than her well-endowed breasts. So huge, so pliable, you can only wonder in amazement at how she’s been able to keep them secret for the longest time.

“Something wrong?” Karina asks, snapping you from your mindless daze, her tiny voice a contrast to the sheer sexiness she’s radiating just by standing there in the nude. God, she’s so blissfully unaware that you’re oh so obviously focused on her tits only; it’s endearing and sweet.

“Nothing. You’re perfect, actually.” Try as you might, you can only linger on her chest, watching them stare back, inviting you to come closer. Her nipples are taut and rigid, ripe for the taking.

The comment makes her face blush brighter. “Thank you.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, your pants already halfway down, shedding them along with your boxers. You’re imagining how they would feel sandwiched between your cock; you can’t help it. You’re stroking yourself to hardness, made substantially easier thanks to the image before you. “Has anyone told you you have perfect tits, Karina?”

“I’ve heard it here and there,” she says, delivered so casually, like it’s something she hears everyday—as she rightfully should. “I guess people sometimes notice through my baggy clothing.”

Pumping your shaft till you’re fully erect, you rid yourself of the rest of your clothes. Button up shirt and coat thrown away carelessly and readily forgotten. Karina takes the hint and slips off her panties, putting you both on equal footing. Creeping toward her, you press your finger on her chin, nuzzling your forehead against hers, setting the mood with a quick peck of her lips. There’s so much you want to do, visualizing all the possibilities with a body like hers.

“I want to touch you,” you tell her, tone low, sultry. Your hand traces down her collarbones, pointing out where they want to be: on her chest. 

“Go. Anything you want, but promise me one thing,” she replies, mimicking your inflection. Any request sounds so much hotter in her voice.

There’s zero hesitation. “Anything.”

“Promise you’ll pour all that cum deep inside me. I’ve been in relationships before. Just—give me a good fucking.”

“I will,” you say, kissing her passionately on the lips, your hands firmly pressed on her tits, watching Karina’s eyes close and open in slow motion. Going down, you leave kisses on her neck, collarbones, before reaching your intended destination: her chest. Burying yourself between her breasts, clamping down on her rigid nipple, forcing a sharp cry out of Karina’s saccharine lips. “I love these fucking tits, Karina. I love them so—so—much.”

“Please.” She coos up to the ceiling, grabbing you by the hair, pressing you further into them, intending to suffocate you—which is a demise you’ll happily go out on. Gasping, panting, struggling to keep herself steady, you both collapse onto the bed, allowing you to fully drink in her breasts. Darting your tongue, sucking on her stiff tits, sloppily leaving wet marks on her otherwise porcelain skin. “So—fucking—needy—”

Karina’s right. You’ve got her pinned down on the sheets like she’s prey, devouring her like a hungry animal. Giving her tits equal attention, going back and forth til you’re satisfied—which will never happen. Not with breasts as delicious as hers. Muffled by her bosom, you can only grunt and groan in appreciation, forgoing your ability to speak to keep satiating your unquenchable need. You love how her skin folds, how they crush in your hands. Squeezing them like your personalized stress balls, making her squeamish and erratic underneath you.

Meanwhile, she can only stick her head out, keening and mewling helplessly as you drown yourself in the heat of her breasts, without care for her personal comfort or yours. 

It’s always been part of you—greed. It’s what you were raised on. How you selfishly desire something and will stop at nothing until it’s in your grasp, no matter how little it has in value or how many resources are wasted. Not Karina. She’s one in a million—a diamond in the rough. A treasure worth cherishing over everything else, and you’d give up everything for her without a second thought.

Kissing down her rather tiny figure, her tummy, until you reach the depths of her aching core, already in heat. Looking up at her, so wrecked, so utterly incapacitated, you sink further—and she cries out in pain and in pleasure.

Propping her thighs up in the air, spreading her legs that extra inch wider, Karina cries, cries, and cries. Your tongue sucks away at her sticky nectar, her quivering core, putting immense pressure on her most sensitive spots. Soaking up just how wet she becomes with each passing second, you’ll happily drown in her skin. You love how she clenches, how she throbs and moans a pitch higher with every pass, every lap of your tip against her pussy brings her ever closer to her end.

Had it been anyone else, you would have finished right there. Make them unwind and cum all over your face as you indulge yourself with their juices, then leave them out to dry right after. Instead, you muster up the willpower to restrain yourself, reemerging from the depths of her cunt, before kissing up the path you’ve marked along. You can never grow tired of admiring and worshipping Karina’s breasts. 

Brushing loose strands of hair aside to get a look at her pretty face, glowing brilliantly even under duress. Whispering against her ear, you tell her, “Gonna fuck you right now.”

“Do it,” she says, breathless, gasping—and heaving—for air. “Please give it all to me.”

“Always.”

Slowly dragging your cock between her folds, your usually stiff expression gradually disintegrates upon vicious entry, unable to endure how tight she feels. The pulse and flex of her walls pulls you apart in every direction, her cunt threatening to snap you with one wrong move. Every little bit of resolve counts. Your fingers intertwine with hers, holding her down in place, even though she’s nowhere close to fighting back. In fact, it’s the exact opposite; she wants to be taken and used.

The cry of your name escapes from Karina’s lips, delivered like a call for help. A plea. It bounces around the room, echoing repeatedly in your head, the imagery instantly seared into your brain. 

“You fill me so fucking well,” she says, breath hot and heavy, her jaw agape as you hover atop her head. Her eyes snap wide open, on the verge of tears, “Does my pussy feel good? Does it feel so tight around you?”

You’re struggling to keep yourself together, showing signs of falling apart. You’re breathing heavily, only nodding back in agreement. The inability to move your body, desiring to stay inside her warmth out of fear it’ll prematurely ruin the moment speaks volumes. It’s a clearer response than any word can ever answer. 

Karina lightly rolls her hips forward, the friction far too great to remain still. You can only draw back in painstakingly slow motion, as if pulling a piece out of a collapsible tower. Even so, the feeling leaves you dizzy and lightheaded, the suffocating sensation quickly overwhelming the rest of your functional senses.

This little push is more than enough to set you snowballing further down. Thrusting back inside her heat, her fresh wetness allows you an easier passage in and out of her quivering pussy. Between calculated, deep breaths, you watch Karina take every inch of your cock without any resistance, letting these profanities and praises slip from her lips instinctively, punctuated by the growing echo of your skin slapping skin.

It becomes effortless rather quickly. The slide in and out of her heat. The pace more than enough to let all the ecstasy sink in. How she immediately relinquishes any semblance of control to you. Karina’s glued to the bed by your hands, her body rocking with every stroke, her tits jiggling in a hypnotic rhythm that captures your eyes. So perfect. So right. 

Unknowingly, she’s driving you mad. A little bounce isn’t gonna satiate you at this point. One poorly timed blink and you’ll be punishing yourself for it. There’s no going back. You needed more of her. 

As the bed violently creaks below, so does Karina’s tiny figure. As quickly as you’ve found the perfect rhythm to pound her, you just as quickly abandon it. Something about her brings out the best and worst in you, and you clearly see why. It’s the bounce—that damned ripple of her breasts, swinging up and down forcing your hips harder against her, threatening to break her. Her words turn to loud cries—of pleasure, of pain, and everything else in between. 

“More—oh, baby, please—” she keens, her eyes still completely shut, her lips twisting and contorting, struggling to find her words. Freely offering herself to you no strings attached, she takes it—and takes it all. “Harder—I’m so fucking close—please—”

It’s a request you’re more than eager to oblige.

Taking purchase of her back with one hand, lifting her slightly, and grabbing her breast with the other, you’re hammering away at her hot cunt, gasping. Squeezing her flesh, hearing her whine, turning her usually pale flesh red while her arms find solace on your shoulder—anything to keep your rapidly dwindling resolve from dissolving entirely. The end is imminent; you can only delay it by mere moments, minutes at best. 

Karina is so dangerously close, as she said—and as much as you hate to admit, so are you. 

It’s a race that you don’t want to win. As much as you want to keep it together for longer, your body says otherwise. You can’t stop fucking her, no matter how hard you wish to try—and even if you did, why would you even contemplate the idea; your thoughts mostly comprise of how incredibly good she feels around your cock, how they pulsate and grip you with every thrust. Moving inside her is second nature at this point. You eventually lay her back down, only so she takes every inch of you when it eventually happens.

“Don’t stop—don’t ever stop—” she pleads, as if your own mind wasn’t enough to invalidate the idea. Her nails cling to your scalp and neck, barely hanging on for dear life. She’s trembling, uncontrollably jerking beneath. Even she herself doesn’t want it to end. “So good—oh God—”

A handful of thrusts later, Karina cums, with your cock buried in the crevice of her cunt. 

Once again, her voice shoots up to the sky upon impact, screaming your name, her head tilted far back as the sheets allow her to. Jaw widely slack, her neck and collarbone exposed, she can’t stop trembling through her climax. Writhing in your grasp, she lets out a prolonged moan till her vocal cords flame out, her chest heaving for much needed oxygen. 

It doesn’t stop you from pounding into her pussy, even as it overflows with her slickness. If anything, it only accelerates your own demise. The wetness overload coating your cock proves to be overbearing for what little spunk you have left. 

“Me too, Karina—” you blurt out, hammering into her, gasping, bracing for impact as well. “I’m gonna—oh fuck—”

Your own peak overtakes you, rendering you speechless. Everything comes to a standstill. All you can do is bury yourself inside the absolute depths of her pussy, make her take every load, every drop. 

Filling the air with a harmonious moan as it hits you, your cock throbbing achingly, full of all that repressed need, and then—release. 

Spurt after spurt of hot, sticky cum you pour into her womb, not wasting a single drop. Karina cries and moans with every shot, while you can only groan a deep groan from your lungs. She takes it up, milking you of all your worth till you can’t anymore. Even as she drains you empty, you can’t stop pounding into her cunt, slowing your movements back to a grinded out pace till your orgasm dies, and so does your strength.

“That’s it—that’s all I needed—so, so good—”

Karina sighs, her fingers digging deep into your neck, dragging them across your shoulders, then sliding down your arms right after. She can barely open her eyes, only to find you slowly crashing into her, leaning your head to the side so you can rest beside her. Even your hips stop moving. You only have enough energy to wrap an arm around her tiny frame before you finally collapse under your own weight.

“You still have to take me home,” she whispers, mindful of your ear directly next to her, delivered in that oh so saccharine tone. 

“I know,” you mutter through the sheets, eliciting a gentle chuckle from her. Karina’s the one coming out of this in a better state. 

“Can you do something for me? Please?” 

She didn’t need to say the word, but it certainly helps her case tenfold.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I need you to drive me home.” Karina dips her head at an angle to face you. “Not your bodyguards. You.”

Tilting upward to get a good look at her, you lift a curious eyebrow. “I don’t mind—but why?”

“I just—” she faces away, pausing, breathing heavily. She’s about to say something she’ll regret. “Think it would be safer, yeah? Besides, I wouldn’t wanna be caught by my parents just being dropped off by people in suits.”

“Oh right.” 

“I mean this is nice and all but—” Karina stops again, lightly brushing your arm away. A reminder that wealth does not equate to relationship. “I think we’d be better off if we kept things strictly professional. You didn’t have to do all this. You were kind to me and that’s more than enough.”

You roll onto your back, staring up directly at the ceiling. You can only hope Karina is doing the same. She shouldn’t see how deflated you look—after you fucked her, no less.

“Karina, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

You don’t know exactly what to say. You’re only thinking about the what ifs and the what could, expecting the worst. So you look away, unable to face her a second longer.

Moments later, you feel the sudden tug of her embrace, a leg wrapped around yours. The softest kisses on your shoulder. You can feel her soft smile pressed against your neck. She’s cuddled up on you, intent on never letting go.

“Just keep being kind.”

—————

In the days ahead, it was about saving face. 

Karina’s wish has seemingly been lost in translation and disregarded, as you’ve been putting distance from her. Any little sign that she’s around is your signal to leave. It helps when you have two extra pairs of eyes keeping watch and alerting you at once.

All this to reinforce the same statement you’ve heard from her friends: that you’re no good whatsoever. 

Cautiously eavesdropping on their conversation through your unassuming bodyguards, you hear Karina’s distress over your earpiece, lamenting to her sisters about your absence in her life.

“I seriously don’t understand you. Are you deaf? Are you stupid?” says Ningning, vindicated about her stance. “He ghosted you. They always do that! Not just him! Believe me, I’ve been through worse.”

“Please trust us. Rina, we’re worried about you,” adds Giselle, her tone showing more empathy and concern. “There’s no use in worrying about a man after you did—that.”

“No no. I want to believe,” Karina replies, insistent on you, ignoring all the red flags being waved around. “He really appreciates the affection I gave him. I have to. He seems like a good person in heart—”

“Ugh—here we go again with that good guy shit,” interjects Ningning, frustrated at her friend’s stubbornness. You hear a powerful thud, presumably from a table getting slammed in anger. “He isn’t a good guy! God, Karina, this is why you get bullied—”

“Hey, Ning. Let’s not go that far,” Giselle interrupts, her tone low. “Everyone’s looking at us.”

Dead silence follows, seemingly lasting an eternity. And then—

“Good job, Ning. She left and you made us look bad in front of everyone else,” Giselle adds, breaking the vast stillness, huffing before the audio goes quiet again.

“All the girls have left the cafeteria,” says your first bodyguard, the one you’ve assigned to Karina the first time.

“That’ll be all. Great work,” you tell them over the earpiece before disconnecting. 

You’re not hiding anywhere inside campus. In fact, you’ve been resting in the comfort of your own home the entire time. On your phone’s screen is Karina’s number, having been registered in your contacts since last week. Not once have you bothered messaging her, let alone call—yet you constantly return to it. With each passing day, the temptation to press that button grows stronger and stronger. 

You place your phone down on the desk, as if that’s gonna change anything. Seconds later, it’s in your hand, still on those 10 digits. Calling to you, as if her very voice is somehow playing through those tiny speakers. It’s all in your head, yet it feels vivid through your senses.

It all but confirms your own feelings: you can’t move on, and neither can she.

You’re looking around, even though not a soul’s in sight, convincing yourself to turn back before you fall further down. Seeing as there’s not a form of opposition, whatsoever, you pull the trigger, consequences be damned.

In the few seconds between calling the number and her imminent responding, you’re hoping she doesn’t answer. That she sees her friends’ points, to prove that you’re in the right by leaving her to dry.

All it takes is a few key words.

“Hey. I missed you.”

—————

There’s a lot to take in, but first—you swallow your own pride. This is your own doing, after all.

Looking out the window from your couch, it’s already night. Last time you checked, the sun had only begun setting; that was four hours ago, apparently. Meanwhile, Karina lies flat on the bed, every part of her mindlessly used, mindlessly fucked. Her skin gleaming, blemished in a sea of fiery red and sticky white. Her clothes scattered all over the house, their purpose rendered obsolete the moment she walked back in. You were standing there—waiting, expecting. Along with her body, came a simple request, in her words:

“Take me like you fucking missed me.”

Delivered straight to the point, Karina is something else. She’s twisted and cruel in her own way. To make such a demand in the sweetest voice possible—you can only chalk it up to witchcraft. And to think she was the one who wanted to keep things professional.

Any intentions to study and help with projects and research was a complete lie—it was more of a roundabout way for you to get inside her, over and over again. If anything, her body was the primary object of interest. 

All the ways you can fuck her, how she wants it—anything to get you to cum in her pussy. And that’s exactly what you did.

Spearing your hips against her frame, you find that Karina is so flexible, malleable to your every whim. How she complies without complaint or moment of hesitation, propping herself in whatever position your mind thought of in the moment, and there’s a few you were dying to try. On her fours, with her legs spread wide, on her knees, making an example out of her. So utterly shameless.

And God, she takes it all quite effortlessly, like it’s second nature to her. Milking you dry with her cunt, with her mouth, making you cum with some friction from her tits—everything is a little too easy. Taking just one look at her perfectly sculpted figure, it makes a lot of sense. Yet, Karina has to explain to everyone else why she can’t walk properly in the morning.

A week’s worth of repressed desires and wanton needs, completely gone in a few short hours. It may as well have been a year, maybe two, since you last met. 

You can only watch from a distance, from your couch, as everything falls apart. Even a single second that you’re at arm’s length and she’d be burying your grave deeper. As if it’s gonna change tonight’s outcome.

Like a reanimated corpse coming back to life, Karina rises from the bed, assessing the damage. It’s quite a lot. She’s an absolute wreck.

“I think I may have gone too far in some places,” you remark, observing her take your cum into her mouth with her finger. 

“I don’t believe that,” she says, taking another scoop and savoring the taste, flashing her pasty white tongue. You instinctively avert your gaze, much to her amusement.

“Christ—Karina, what happened to setting boundaries?” you ask, genuinely concerned. Even if it’s for one night, that’s all it takes for everything to snowball out of control. “I don’t think we can do this on the regular, even if I wanted to.”

“True,” she tells you, matter-of-factly, before stepping on the ground and pacing towards you, limping, barely recovering, “But I got nothing else except you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? You’ve genuinely changed my life,” she says, propping her hands to her knees to lean forward. “No one bullies me anymore. Because they think I’m your girl. I’m your possession.”

The way Karina calls herself yours gives you goosebumps. Your eyes widen in disbelief.

“This is what you’ve done to me,” she continues, tracing a finger down her drenched core, splayed and ruined—your handiwork—before rubbing her slick against your arm, eventually pushing it between your lips. You allow her. Her voice turns a pitch lower with each sentence. “I can’t express how much I need you right now.”

Sinking further back into your seat, you slowly tilt your face towards her, greatly alarmed. “You’re scaring me a little, Rina. We really should—”

She places that same finger between your lips, now to shut you up. Pressing herself forward, straddling on your lap, she makes sure her cum-soaked tits are directly in view of your face, threatening to smother you between them. Her smile is the cherry on top, inviting you to relax the senses and let yourself go in that familiar lust once again. “We can talk about this—on the other side.”

And before you know it, Karina’s riding you hard, with your face buried deep between her chest, worshiping her. You had no chance.

The next time you gain awareness, you’re back in bed, cuddled beside her. With her back against yours, she’s soundly asleep, despite the repeated calls from her phone and your supposed agreement to have her home by ten. 

It’s already half past midnight.

“Goddammit, Rina,” you mutter, eliciting a light shudder as your hot breath tickles her skin. “I can’t.”

“Just for tonight,” Karina tells you, as if you aren’t gonna be doing this again tomorrow—and the next night, and the one after. “My parents aren’t home,” she adds, clearly lying through her teeth.

“We seriously need to talk about this,” you tell her, rolling out of bed, scrambling for a fresh pair of clothes from the nearby closet. Meanwhile, Karina remains lying on your bed. She has no intention to leave. You have to reiterate again, “What happened to setting boundaries?”

Even the simple act of propping herself up draws your attention, more so in the nude, especially when she’s glistening in your sheen. The question amuses her; look at her teasing expression, ready to fire back. “You’re the one who called me here. So—”

“Jesus, Karina,” you sigh, working around the clock to get everything in order. Car’s ready, her clothes are in the wash. God willing, she’s actually telling the truth. “Why are you like this—”

She laughs—heartily.

—————

The next day on campus, you make it official. Sort of.

Karina’s friends are seated across the hall, their wary, foreboding gazes singling you out of the whole room. Intentions aside, you have no fight with any of them; it’s nothing personal. After all, it’s her choice. You’ll let them judge. You’re on your own for this one; you’ve told your bodyguards to leave you alone so as to make yourself look approachable in their eyes—even if there’s a negative chance they’ll ever buy it.

Then she enters the room, giving each one a kiss and a hug, as if they’re about to part ways for a long, long time. They’re overreacting; it’s not as though you’ll whisk her away and isolate her in some lonesome high castle.

You get a good look at her when she finally walks over. She’s wearing the new clothes you gave her last night. She makes your heart race with delight.

When she takes her seat directly opposite yours, you can’t help but silently remark, “They really don’t like me.”

She lightly chuckles. “Trust me. I’ve tried.”

“Yeah, I’m not asking them to like me,” you tell her, smiling from ear to ear, reaching out your hand, which she accepts. “I’m just—hoping they’ll see me one day as you do.”

“Sure they will. I believe deep down, you’re really a sweet guy.” 

You lower your head, unable to face her, but your face tells it all.

“Just to be clear, you’re not gonna make me actually sign a contract?” Karina asks, puzzled about the need to meet up on campus specifically to set your boundaries. The truth is, anywhere else that wasn’t school would be a distraction.

“Of course not,” you say, baffled at the idea yourself. “Dad usually did the paperwork, and that seems really weird.”

“So is having sex shortly after saving the damsel in distress,” she says, smirking through each word, mentally patting herself on the back for that remark.

Shaking your head in disgust, she laughs at your annoyed expression. That never gets old.

“Right—so what are we then?” Karina leans forward, grabbing your stretched out hand, her eyes widening. She’s looking to kiss you—at least that’s what her face is doing.

Ruminating through your next words carefully, occasionally giving the corner behind her a glance, her friends running through your mind, you reply, “Let’s just say I’m your benefactor for now. I don’t really want anyone to get surprised, and let’s just say, I’m not ready to handle everything just yet. But I want to stay close with you.”

“So we’re friends?”

“Yeah, if that’s how you want to see it.”

“Then there’s no need for this. Aren’t we already close?”

“Well I’m giving you money and clothes, in addition to letting you come over to my place once a week, so—”

Karina tugs your hand forward, interrupting you. “I don’t really need any of this. I just want you to treat me like anyone else. Like a friend. Just do that.”

You end up choking on your own words. Even when she’s admonishing you, Karina remains gentle in tone. And she knows how to bring the conversation around gracefully.

“So, what do you say we go out and have a snack later? After class?” 

With a lovely face and smile like hers, you’d be foolish to refuse her offer.

As the bell rings, you’re nodding in agreement when everyone stands up in unison, heading off to their next class. Karina leaves to regroup with her friends, but not without giving you a kiss goodbye as she walks through the door. You can only stare back—smiling.

Then you get a notification on your phone. A text from an anonymous number, seemingly demanding something urgently in all caps. Something about delayed shipments, but that’s the least of your concerns right now.

Paying no heed to the message, you’re cancelling your plans for today to make room for your first date with Karina.

—————

(A/N: Thank you for the commission! Was supposed to drop around Christmas, but then the holidays got busy, and then literally the day after Christmas, my dumbass just had to get food poisoned and hospitalized. Oof. Just poor timing all around, damn.

Fun little prompt, I was feeling a little edgy writing this, not gonna lie. Definitely left some clues for when I wanna revisit it. Karina is unfathomably hot, and I'm starting to like aespa a lot lately. They've probably had the best year of any girl group, and it's well deserved. Thank you for reading!)

[timmydraker]

Tim calls a family meeting and everyone is assuming he’s got a big case he needs help with, which is alarming for someone who refuses to admit that some cases are beyond him.

So, everyone shows up at the cave only to be ordered upstairs by Alfred. For those who only showed up to make fun of Tim for needing help, this is confusing because case work ain’t allowed upstairs.

All do them figure out quickly that this means it’s not to do with Gotham or Ref Robin, but the man behind the mask.

Bruce and Dick were there first and because Damian is always with one of them, so is he.

Steph picks up Barbara and Cass, with Duke already at home and Jason showing up at the same time as Kate and Lucius.

When they all get into the lounge room used for when people are over, just two doors down from the actual family room, they all find themselves chatting casually as they stave off their own worries or confusion. Some of them try find out if anyone knows what’s going on, but when Alfred and Barbara reveal they have no idea, they give up and make a few guesses but no more.

When Tim finally comes in after Alfred received him, he looks tired.

It’s not usual for Tim to get distracted with work and not sleep for a while, but he will conk out for hours when he decides to and wake up alright.

The bags under his eyes, the redness within them, and the way he looks close to tucking himself into a ball…

Bruce is immediately leaning forward, opening his mouth to make sure his son is okay but Tim just raised a hand to silence him. “Just… just let me speak, okay? I need to do it now or I’m not going to be able to.”

Everyone gives him a nod or look of understanding, making him twitch a smile before inhaling deeply and psyching himself up.

“I have cancer.”

…

Nobody speaks as Tim exhales shakily.

Everyone is staring wide eyed at the young man before them, who just reached the legal drinking age, and trying to asses his physical form for an understanding of what he just said. They’re all trying to gain X-ray vision to see exactly what is hurting him all while trying to convince themselves they heard him wrong.

Tim closes his eyes and speaks automatically, leaning into facts like he always does when he’s freaking out, “I noticed I was getting by more tired and fatigued around last year. My doctor said I have a low white cell count but he wasn’t alarmed as it was still in the normal range. But a few months ago I started to note that bruises were taking far too long to heal and I was getting a lot of pain around my joints and bones.”

He inhaled again, shakier than before at the same time that Alfred sits himself down with a hand over his mouth.

“It’s stage 2 and because of my lack of a spleen it’s going to be a harder process for treatment but fortunately I own a medical company so there’s that at least.” He makes a sort of joking smile that falters immediately, falling into a pulled back frown that comes with someone whose about to sob as he adds, “But it’s also aggressive so I-I don’t know how-how to-fuck-“

Dick and Cass are immediately moving off the couches they are on and catch him as he finally crumbles into himself.

Bruce is next to follow, the stoic man openly crying for the first time in years.

Jason and Damian are in shock, both frozen in place as dread takes over their minds.

Steph is looking out the window, as if staring at some kind of his or deity and demanding an expiration as to why they have to hurt her loved ones so badly. She’s crying, but it’s silent which is all the more harrowing.

Lucius places a hand on Alfred’s shoulder to comfort the elder even as he himself itches to go comfort the young boy who helped him run the company when he was at his worst.

Kate leaves the room to go call Bette, needing her mentor because this is just something she can’t handle.

Duke is sobbing into his hands as he leans into Barbara’s lap. Barbara who is clinging to him like a lifeline as she feels her world shift once again, feeling so angry and confused at how one of them could be threatened like this. Of all the ways they could go out, was it really going to be cancer?

It was a harrowing experience for all of them to remember that they were human in more than just their flesh being able to bleed and be wounded, but for it to grow sick. For it to age and attack itself.

They were human at the end of the day and Tim…

In Metropolis, Clark Kent rushed into the bathroom at his work to throw up as he heard a conversation miles away.

[honeyblackberries]

The world you left behind

Sylus died but what about the people left to miss him? What of the boy who’ll never know what lies beyond the shadow of his father’s wings?

sylus x reader (reader referred to as mother but no pronouns) 1.8k

cw: angst with a (maybe) happy ending, hurt with (maybe) comfort, mentions of blood and physical injuries, lore inaccurate, unnamed son pov.

basically a 'what if' au where mc/reader has sylus's kid after he dies in their dragon myth times. *sylus's son and the transformation scene was inspired by this art by @/napanewt (whole thread makes me sob) | also on ao3

The first time your son wished for his father happened when he was just a child.

He was born hearing tales of great dragons, of love in bloodshed, of kindred spirits and souls bound together for all eternity. Legends whispered throughout the cities were his bedtime stories, a requiem for the deceased was his lullaby.

Oh how exciting it all was to a young boy. What incredible adventures you’ve had! He wished to know more, desired to always hear of the man who's name stoked the flames of Tarus city.

“When can I meet him?” He’d asked you one night as you lay beside him in bed.

He was seven summers old, practically grown up. He would like to meet his father soon. Sylus was familiar yet completely unknown to him. A fiend that strikes fear into the hearts of the strongest warriors. Yet someone his mother speaks of so fondly, with a voice always gentle.

“I’m sorry love, your father has gone far away,” the words were ones he’d grow used to hearing. Ones he would come to resent.

But not yet.

Your son wondered if he looked the same as Sylus, as he stared at his own reflection in a chalice atop one of the many piles of treasure in your cave. You’d told him that regardless of how much he might look like you now, his silver hair and ruby red eyes come from his father.

“What about the horns?” he asked while pointing to his head. Where yours are and where his own should be. “And the tail, and… wings?”

“I hope you never grow them.” Those words confused him.

“Why?”

“Because they are a curse.”

Back then he didn’t understand what you meant. They would make him stronger, fiercer, more dragon-like. They would make him the same as the man he caught glimpses of in the shadows on the wall. The same as the man he saw in the twinkle of your eyes..

“Well, I hope I do.”

And hope he did, wished and prayed to every shining star. Desperate to be even half the man his father is. He had to be since Sylus was gone.

How else could he protect you from those who wanted to do you harm; fight off all the monsters that curse your existence and hunt you down. Men with wicked intentions and venom on their tongues. How else could he get rid of the sadness that would creep into your gaze when you think he isn’t looking. Stop the heartache that would overcome you sometimes, when you reminisce on the dragon who left you behind.

Your son was stuck with Sylus’s stories and nothing more.

The second time your son wished for his father was when the transformation started. It came suddenly and it tore him apart all at once.

The scream of pain he let out as something began to grow through the bone of his skull, tearing delicate skin. The way his own blood thickly trickled into his eyes from the open wounds. The sickening wet sounds of his body unwillingly shifting in ways it wasn't used to.

That’s how you found him. Curled up in a heap on the floor, body convulsing as if it didn’t know what to do with itself. Crimson staining everything around him.

“Mama—” he sobbed, something he hadn’t called you in years.

His voice sounded broken to his own ears, but he no longer cared about being weak. Not when it hurt so much that he wished death would save him. What a foolish child he had been to dream of this. And what a cruel father Sylus must be to let it happen. How could a father who didn’t even know him curse him so—give him what he so desperately wanted but at such a horrible cost.

He blacked out not long after, cradled in your shaking arms.

You told him later on that the same thing had happened to Sylus when he was still a young dragon and your son wondered if it would have been less scary with him around. If his father would have held him through it like you did, if he would have known what to say to make it hurt less.

He can almost imagine it.

‘Bite down on a cloth so you don’t bite your tongue.’

‘Slow your breathing, don’t panic. The adrenaline will only make it happen faster.’

‘It'll be over soon.’

‘I’m here for you.’

The next few years were hard on your son. Having to learn how to exist within his new body. He always moved wrong. Would trip over his own tail as he walked, cut his mouth with his fangs, tear flesh with his talons.

But all of that paled in comparison to the challenge that was his wings. To the humbling experience of learning to fly.

A part of him yearned for the skies yet he was wet behind the ears with the way his wings would allow him to rise for only a moment, before plummeting to the ground. Always two steps behind spring’s baby birds who could soar past him.

He learned a lot about himself during this time. That he was impatient, easy to anger, easier to lose common sense. It’s good he supposes, looking back on it. The way he was forced to prematurely clip the hubris that was growing within him. Lest he fall just as bad as Icarus.

It was during each failure—in the moment just before the crash—where he would find himself wondering if his father would hold his hands as he taught him how to take flight. Show him how to follow the wind above mountain peaks and along the edge of the horizon. Go with him to the edge of the sea beyond where the datura flowers bloom.

He remembers you asking him once, years later, if he regretted wishing to be like Sylus. If after what had to be done for it to happen, he could still want to be like him.

His answer then is the same as it would be today.

Even if the pain was once unbearable and the struggle seemingly never-ending, it chipped away at his rough edges. Honed him like a blade. He could now fight his own battles; win against those who started ones against you. He could hear the joy in your laugh as he picked you up and flew off towards the dawn. Could see the look of pride on your face.

You were proud of the man he grew to be.

It was worth it to get a step closer to his father.

The last time your son wished for his father was on the day you left him. Dragons live long but not forever and you only had half the soul of one.

It had been lifetimes since he was a boy but he felt more helpless than ever before. He could do nothing for the mother who kissed his bruises and loved him twice as much to make up for the absence of his father.

He could only lay you to rest in the field of flowers you cherished. Could only fix your hair and cover you in the softest fabric as he buried you. Lay by your grave as long as his body would let him. Through tears he cursed the heavens, cursed whatever deemed it fit to take you away. Cursed the father who was never there.

Where was he when you needed him?

…

He wondered for the last time what Sylus was like. Not as a myth or a father, but as a man.

A man beloved enough to have a son with. A man you hoped to see again in the next life.

A man you'd to turn yourself into a monster for.

Your son never came back to visit you. Never came back to the home that held nothing except bittersweet memories. He left for the farthest corners of the world and still sought to go further.

Without the father he never knew and the mother who was his everything, he was truly alone.

Centuries passed but your son never forgot you. Everywhere he went the wind and the wings of birds carried your presence. In the people he met he saw your kindness. But time was a gentle mistress to him. It healed wounds, altered him in ways never expected.

He was different. Changed to fit the new life he was living—one with towers that reached beyond the clouds, new monsters, and so many people. There was a maturity to him now. A quiet patience. Gone was the boy who would dream of dragons.

Actually, he hadn't been him for a long time.

Then it happened one day.

He was out in the city centre—waiting in line for a new cafe—when he saw you. It was only in passing but he knew it was really you. Knew it in that innate way one can recognise their mother.

Feet moved on their own and he was following behind you before he even realised. You were younger, closer to how he remembered you looking when he was a child. And where were you going? Home? Or to meet up with friends, maybe even a lover?

He just wants to watch you for a bit; won't approach you. You were different, you wouldn’t remember him and that’s okay.

You cross the street and stop, seeming to reach your destination.

He watches curiously as you sneak up behind a man with his back facing the two of you. Sees you throw yourself onto him, hugging his neck. The man turns suddenly and lets out a deep laugh, arms wrap around your waist and he leans down to smile at you.

His breath catches when he sees the stranger's face.

This man is someone he'd recognise from the very marrow of his bones. Hair silvery white like the flash of light that would hit his eyes when he used to fly too close to the sun. Eyes like the rubies that littered the floor of the cave he once called home, a perfect twin to his. And his gaze is fixed on you, much like his own. But there’s something there, a depth of love and longing he’s never seen.

“Hey!” a voice calls out to your son.

“Where are you running off too?” his lover chides out of breath, as they run up to him.  “You just suddenly disappeared, I thought you were waiting for me.”

“Sorry,” he smiles apologetically. “It’s nothing. I just… I thought I saw someone familiar.”

They talk his ear off and drag him back to the main street, but the warm feeling bubbling in his chest stops him from hearing any of it. What are the chances that his wish would finally come true. He got to see his father. On top of that, he can tell from the way he holds you that the man loves you with depths beyond time.

Across the street Sylus watches the retreating figure of a man. His gaze drawn to him with a pull he can’t quite explain.

“Sy, you know him?” you ask as you tilt your head to see who he’s looking at.

“No,” it’s true, and yet—

“He just seems familiar.”

a/n: this only exists because i was listening to epic and had sons never knowing their fathers on the brain. also tysm for 200 followers! kissing each of you on the forehead *muah*

[ms-demeanor]

Can you talk more about why chiropractic practice is on your shit list? Im also curious about why you dislike reflexology

Both are fake and lies, neither works, and chiropractic can literally kill you.

Chiropractic is actively dangerous (can cause strokes VERY easily, do not ever let a chiropractortouch your neck), less effective for musculoskeletal pain than massage (and much less effective than physical therapy) and i am deeply, DEEPLY offended that jackasses who get a degree in fake nerve science call themselves "doctor" and kill people by convincing them to delay cancer treatment or injure kids by convincing parents that asthma is the result of subluxation.

It certainly doesn't help that a chiropractor broke one of my lumbar vertebrae by doing spinal manipulation after diagnosing a subluxation because she diagnosed it by pushing on my back with her fingers instead of doing imaging and the imaging would have shown the bone tumor that became the center of the fracture.

But, like, I hated chiropractors before that, it's just that she was literally my only choice for pain management because i didn't have medical insurance at 25 so i went to see her because i could afford it and have had to periodically rely on mobility aids ever since.

Reflexology is just massage with lies on top, but it still has potential to do real harm if people trust their reflexologists and delay treatment of illness in favor of nonsense ear poking.

[weirdero]

I’ve seen a lot of people speculating that Gemma’s storyline will lead to a cloning reveal, which like, it’s a decent theory and wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. But god, this show is so specific and detail oriented Ben Stiller himself has even said nothing in the show is a coincidence. The cloning theory has also been shut down a couple times by some producers and writes from what I understand and idk I feel like a cloning reveal would just be so boring. And honestly, I don’t know if this is insane, but I’m fully leaning towards the idea that when it comes to Ms. Casey/Gemma, it’s more of a resurrection situation.

Okay so hear me out I believe our Ms. Casey is still physically Gemma her original body, her bones, her blood she’s alive baby that’s her but like also it’s not her. It’s like in horror or fantasy stories when a character dies and comes back but comes back wrong YK?. Physically it’s still them but it’s not them. In my opinion, her brain has been completely reset, wiping away whatever kind of person she used to be.

To back this theory I’ve been heavily leaning on the interaction between Ms. Cobel and Helena in the parking lot and just the general existence of the Mammalian Nurturable department.

Now, I might be reading into this too much, but I just love these characters so much and this show so please bear with me, this is a long one.

this season Harmony/Ms. Cobel is a problem. Like there is just no way she isn’t. Lumon is already struggling to keep it together after the scandal the main four caused, and a change in management isn’t helping. People are (probably) starting to pay attention, and they do not need that kind of heat. Ms. Cobel literally crashing tf out making herself homeless and sneaking around in the dark probably isn’t helping.

Helena’s choice of words have always stood out to me. She’s calculated, smart, and precise in how she speak just like Harmony. Both of them are masters at saying exactly what they need to without ever outright saying it yk? So when she she spots Cobel in the parking lot in the middle of the night she clocks her immediately.

Harmony walks out as if she still has a job in that bitch and has the audacity to tell Helena what her needs are and exactly how they should be met. And in my opinion, Helena is appalled but not surprised. She calls her out on her behavior.

“I hear ego, hubris, and arrogance. Kier teaches us they only cause pain.”

To me, this isn’t just a read it’s a warning. Harmony doesn’t take it. She bites back, calling Helena a NEPOTISM BABY. wild.

And I mean look at Helena’s face.

So Helena lays it out for her as plainly as possible

“We didn’t have to ask you back.”

No translation even needed, she just said it flat out Baby, we don’t need you here. You do not, no matter what you think, represent us. You are not Lumon.

And Harmony, being just as cunty clocks her shit right back

“You didn’t have a choice.”

At this point, Ms. Cobel isn’t just skating on thin ice she’s walking across a frozen lake in metal combat boots, her ass skipping around as if the ice won’t break. And that’s her mistake.

Helena, after giving Harmony multiple chances to walk away. Multiple chances to come back in on lumons terms. Multiple chances to stop playing in her fucking face, finally pulls back with a kind smile and offers her a chance to “restart”.

As they walk towards the car, Ms. Cobel locks eyes with Helena’s bodyguard and the instant terror is actually insane. Full deer in headlights.

A lot of people saw that shot and took it as a straight-up Sopranos esque death threat like, if she gets in that car, she’s not gonna survive the drive (RIP Audriana). And sure, it could be as simple as that, but this show is just way too good for it to be that simple.

I think Cobel recognizes the bodyguard. She knows him and I mean like fr knows him.

I saw a theory on Reddit suggesting that the bodyguard might be someone she knew maybe a former coworker, someone from her personal life (they suggested it could’ve been someone she was super close with before she even became the woman we know today) idk just somebody she knows knows and out of nowhere suddenly, he’s here, presented as Helena’s bodyguard. But it’s not him. It’s his skin, his bones, his blood but it’s not HIM.

And the way it plays out, it doesn’t seem like the bodyguard recognizes her at least not in the same way she knows him. That stare man that stare. I didn’t even know Harmony could experience fear. Who knows, maybe in that moment she’s reflecting on everything that’s happened. She bitched out the boss’s daughter in this empty ass parking lot on the brink of a mental break down, and suddenly there’s a chance to start over. All she has to do is get in that car, with that man, talk to the higher-ups, and hit the “reset” button.

Basically my theory is that Lumon are essentially grave robbing the fuck out of that town. Taking people who have been in serious accidents car crashes, house fires, construction site falls, factory explosion, hell even a drive by. I also think they’re also taking drug addicts, the homeless people who have no loved ones looking out for them, or even looking for them at all, the ones who are confirmed to be gone in every way, physically or emotionally. They’re taking these people and giving them a full system reset rebooting the computer.

By doing this, Lumon gets to create a free labor force that works 24/7 without question or resistance, exploiting people who have no emotional ties or support systems. Blank slate baby! They’re also using these individuals as test subjects for whatever weird shit they wanna launch out as a new product.

This helps explain a lot of the weird shit going on with the employees at Mammalian Nurturable. They look so rough and are also really off-putting towards outsiders. Which is understandable but I genuinely believe they haven’t even “clocked out” in days, if not ever.

Even though this theory makes the most sense to me, It still has its plot holes like if Gemma isn’t a clone and it’s her “resurrected” where does she go when she’s not her innie. In Season 1, she tells Mark she’s only conscious as her innie for a couple of minutes at a time, and the longest she’s ever stayed “alive” was the 8 hours she spent with his department. So where tf is she if not there as Ms Casey i don’t know man I do not know.

Anyways I have some other general curiosities about the town itself and why Lumon decided to build their main building there. I saw a TikTok video of someone saying it reminded them of company-built towns like Hershey Pennsylvania or Kodak Town, and I agree. Anywho I love this show so much it hurts I hope it never dies I literally missed having an obsession this intense I hope it gets all the love and awards it deserves!!

[quarterlifekitty]

Which obsessed! 141 character is most likely to harm their kidnapped partner? Is the harm minor like a smack or broken bones? I'd like to see a most to less likely scale👉👈

cw: kidnapping, dark fic, physical violence, emotional manipulation, serious wound/blood, minor amputation, description of parental abuse (does not occur in writing, just a personal anecdote). Also sorry I did the scale in reverse!

So I'm gonna say Soap is at the bottom tentatively. It depends on how well you can handle pain. I think he's almost overly empathetic-- he's the type who will cry if he sees someone crying, and wince when he sees someone in pain. So if you're easy to reduce to tears, he won't do very much, if anything. However I can also easily imagine a scenario... Stay with me here.

(So there's a style of corporal punishment, which I'm not going to say is good, but I can see Soap subscribing to it. My grandfather used to put his hand on the top of my fathers head and hit that. This is so that whenever he was giving him corporal punishment, my grandfather hurt himself as well, maybe more so, and wasn't able to forget how much force was being used. Again, not gonna say it was a good thing to do, but there's an amount of logic behind it.)

Anyways, I can see Soap doing that. Any injury he inflicts on you, he'll do to himself. It's almost like he's making his own soulmate style bond. It's another effort on his part to build up a connection between you-- a sort of camaraderie.

I think John cares too much about image to be able to hurt you very much. He won't do anything that will leave marks-- I also think he's the one most likely to take you on outings, so he can't exactly have you looking like an abused spouse. Anything he does is open palmed, nothing that leaves cuts or bruises.

Gaz prefers not to resort to violence, but he's not shy, either. He's more likely to put you in scenarios where its up to you not to get hurt, so less of the burden is on him. Things like holding a knife to your skin so you have to stay completely still. Also in situations where he'll grab, and tell you to say what he wants you to say or he'll just keep twisting.

Ghost is fully willing to hobble you. Not in a permanent way, but if you like running, like fiddling with things you shouldn't be fiddling with-- he will break bones and cut tendons. It is not in a way that causes more pain than needed. He isn't cruel, he doesn't want you to hate him and associate him with pain. So he'll dutifully care for the wound, make sure everything is setting correctly and that you have everything you could ever want while you recover. But it's possible he's only making sure it heals well so that he'll be able to do it again later if needed.

Nikolai's physical punishments will come without warning, without gradation. He'll basically let you rack up sins, offenses, bad behavior-- all while you don't know he's keeping a tab and fully intending for you to pay up when he's ready. And he will do permanent damage. Nikolai will have never once laid a hand on you in violence, and suddenly one day one of your tirades of screaming and calling him a monster ends with your pinky wedged in his bolt cutters, right at the middle knuckle, all while the look on his face doesn't change. And he makes you beg for him to help. Tell him you need him, that you always needed him, that you were being stupid and you didn't mean what you said. If you tell him what he wants to hear? Suddenly he's like a big cuddly bear again, doting on you and cooing poor thing while he neatly bandages and cleans everything, feeds you your favorite meal, doses you with plenty of painkillers and cocktails.

If you refuse to beg? Well, he won't let you die of gangrene or anything. He'll pour the nearest bottle of liquor over a kitchen knife and hold it on the stove for a minute before cauterizing the wound.

When all's said and done, months and months from now, he'll probably get you a decorative silver cap for what remains, finely engraved, with you new last name, perhaps?

[bella-goths-wife]

What is the nicest thing the Bowers gang has done to ballerina reader?

The nicest things yandere bowers gang have done for ballerina reader

Warnings: physical abuse, mental abuse, verbal abuse, manipulation, violence, sexual abuse, mental illness (unspecified), stick and poke tattooing, pregnancy mentions, self harm, eating disorders

I do not In any way intend to glamourise or romanticise any of the themes mentioned. I write about them purely for entertainment and educational purposes. Please do not see these actions as normalised and seek to replicate the actions or relationships

Henry:

Henry does care about you, in his own sick and twisted way

But he does care about you and in his own way he does love you

He lets it show in the rarest of ways, and only on special occasions

And while he’s an abusive and selfish bastard, he’s also observant to a T

He notices small things about you that he’d never repeat to anyone that he noticed

He notices what your favourite flavour of something is or what your favourite song is when he looks in your eyes and notices them dilate

He may be the one who knows you the most because of how insnared he is in your life

And he will always notice when something is wrong with you, except from the usual reasons

You’re spending longer hours at the ballet studio, even when he warns you and punished you multiple times for it

But you even offered for them to come with you to the ballet studio and watch you if that’s they needed to do

You allowed them into your sanctuary, something you had fought against so vehemently before

You claimed that you had to keep going, that you had to be perfect

Henry assumed that you’d just gone into one of your moods, so he humoured you and spent time in the ballet studio with you instead of forcing you home

He watched as you forced yourself through dances, he watched you sweat and pant and work through your part so aggressively that you were coming off as more of a mad queen then a graceful swan

He watched in curiosity as your feet bled, your legs twisted, your back contorted and your bones creaked like an old cellar door

Blood leaked out of your ballet shoes and caused droplets to gather on the floor beneath you as you pirouetted through the pain

Henry decided it was time to call it quits when he called to you but you ignored him, something you never did as you continue to dance even after he turned off the music

Henry called again and again before walking towards you and grabbing your arms firmly but you fought back desperately, surprising Henry with the wild look in your eyes

Your usually dead eyes and crushed spirit were alive but not in a way that signified life but in a way that showed forced reincarnation

Henry shook you and demanded you to stop but you just screamed and cried that you couldn’t

You hysterically ranted that you had to be perfect, you had to be better than everyone, you had to be the best

You cried over how a girl who had recently moved to Derry had outshined you in your classes, it didn’t matter in your head that she was years older than you, you had always been the best and you can’t be replaced

Ballet was the only thing you had control over, the only thing you held power in by being the best there is, the only escape from the torment of the bowers gang and their cruel antics

And someone had taken over your sanctuary

Henry, confused on how to comfort you, just held you until you had cried yourself into exhaustion

He took you to your home and cared for the wounds on your body as you laid there half asleep, just like you had done for him so many times

He left you to sleep as he thought about what to do next

He couldn’t have you continuing on this path, you’d self destruct before he’d even have a chance for his plans of marrying you and popping out kids

He couldn’t have a mad woman for a wife, he needed his pretty little ballerina back to dance when he turned the music box key

He stalked the girl you had talked about for a few days before finding a good opportunity

He decided it was time to call the other boys, knowing he’d need their help

He ambushed her dressed in a black Halloween mask before tying her to a tree

He grabbed a sledgehammer from belch’s care and brought it down harshly on the girls ankles and knees, ensuring she’d never dance again

He left the girl tied up and he and the bowers gang decided that whatever happens to the girl happens, none of them would lose sleep over it

That night he crawled into your bed with your asleep figure, moving your head to lay on his chest as he caressed your face with a gentleness that was foreign to him

He decided he wouldn’t tell you when he noticed how your spirit had improved since the girl had stopped dancing, knowing the information would only make you believe in silly notions of guilt

And he didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, he did it for himself and not for you

That’s what he told himself anyway

Vic criss:

Vic had punished you pretty badly one time, he had given you burns up your thigh that had sent you to the doctor for pain killers

This small ‘hiccup’ has made it so you couldn’t dance for two weeks, a prospect that made you sob in the hospital bed and refuse to eat for two days

And that’s when vic noticed that he had unfairly punished, he assumed you had snuck out alone but Patrick later revealed that he had taken you out for the night

That realisation had filled vic with an unfamiliar sense of guilt and remorse as he looked at your sunken in features and the bandages around your thigh

He volunteered to be the one to take care of you after the doctor visit, knowing being on the pain medication would leave you out of it most of the time

He helped you bathe, forced you to eat and drink, helped you change bandages and entertained you with a unique gentleness you hadn’t felt in a while

But even that didn’t stop the constant worried looks you’d give him, wouldn’t stop the fear that you held for him

He wasn’t used to being the most feared, that spot usually reserved for Henry or Patrick, he was used to being one of the ‘better’ ones who you’d reach to to avoid spending time with the ‘worse’ ones

He begged your drugged up state for forgiveness and the state had made you honest as you spewed venom about him never feeling the pain he inflicted on you

That gave victor an idea

He sat you down in your medicated state down beside him one day and showed you his tools

He had confided in you that he had a fear of needles ever since he was a child, but that he wanted to repay you for the pain he caused

He wanted you to stick and poke a tattoo of your choosing onto his shoulder, and he would sit still, endure the pain and never tell the others who had done it to ensure you never received a punishment

Your drugged up mind didn’t even hesitate at a chance to hurt your abuser, picking up the tools you needed

Five long hours victor sat still as a statue and endured his fear and pain while you worked on his shoulder before you finally finished

You had passed out pretty much instantly as you laid back on the couch and victor didn’t have time to look at his newest tattoo before shoving his shirt on and helping you to bed

Part of him even secretly hoped it would become infected so he could show you how much pain he’d endure for your forgiveness

Once you were in bed, victor removed his shirt and readied himself for whatever was on his body forever

He expected something crude or something humiliation but to his surprise he found when he lifted his shirt, a small swan

A darkened thought entered his mind at the sight of it

You had marked him just like he’d marked you

The dark part of Victor liked that

Patrick hockstetter:

Patrick loved your body

Well, loved is a loose term when it comes to a psychopath

A more suitable description would be that your body sexually satisfied Patrick greatly

You had the perfect figure in Patrick’s eyes

And when that figure started changing, it upset Patrick greatly

One of the workers at the ballet studio had made a few crude comments on your figure, and that had sent you into a frenzy

It was a pattern you had followed since you were small, someone makes a comment and your do anything in your power to make it untrue

Someone claims your too big, you’ll do anything to show them your not

Your methods however were extreme to a worrying extent

You wouldn’t eat for days and when you did youd throw it all up or use laxatives to make sure you couldn’t gain anything from it

It had caused extreme changes to your body, your once healthy figure had become malnourished

A change that Patrick did not like, finding you much less attractive

As I’ve stated multiple times, Patrick’s obsession is rooted to his sexual attraction to you and it angers him greatly when someone changes you

You were his plaything and if you weren’t pretty anymore, well that just looks bad for him

He sat with you every mealtime for weeks and forced the food down your throat but he recognised he could only do so much, the minute he stopped youd go back to your destructive ways

So Patrick decided that he’d get rid of the root of the problem

Disposing of a body was easy to him and the others by now, digging a shallow grave in the junkyard for the nameless worker of the ballet studio who had insulted you

Without the insults present you eventually started to eat properly again with ‘encouragement’ from the boys and slowly you gained your figure back

This pleased Patrick greatly and he made sure to make you repay him for his act of kindness, despite never telling you what you were repaying him for

Even Patrick’s acts of kindness revolved because of his selfish desires

What did you expect?

Belch Huggins:

Belch had always been the sweetest to you, always treating you gently unless commanded otherwise

That’s why you had felt comfortable enough to confide in him that you had done something very bad

You had hurt someone, very badly

A girl from your school who had harassed you daily whenever the boys weren’t around you

She had followed you on your trek down to the lake, calling you all sorts of names and pushing you around

As if you didn’t face enough abuse in your life, she added to it with her cruelty and something snapped in you

She had gotten in your face, eerily similar to how Henry had many times

When she had gone to grab you, it brought back memories of Henry’s abuse and fear filled your body

In an act of fight or flight, you had given her a firm push

She had fallen down the hill and hit her head on a rock, laying unconscious as you stared in horror

You had called belch in a frenzy, rambling on about what you had done and how much trouble it would get you in, there’s no one who would let a criminal be a ballerina

Belch drove to you immediately and held you once he saw you, listening to your explanation of what happened

He checked the girls pulse and found out she was still alive, and in that moment he made a decision

He couldn’t have you going away, his little ballerina who had such high hopes for her future wouldn’t survive in a juvenile facility, they’d eat you alive without a second thought

Him on the other hand? He was built to survive with his large build and strength, and who would the police believe is more likely to have committed a crime

A pretty little ballerina with no previous record, or the big brute with many accusations and charged on his record?

He commanded you to go home and gave you a final kiss on the forehead before sending you off

He ran to the pay phone and called for an ambulance who took the girl off to hospital, and when the police questioned him on who did it he admitted false guilt to spare you the blame

The girl had a slight concussion and her memory of the crime was distorted, so she couldn’t deny his presence which was enough for him to be arrested

His father found him a good lawyer with his copious amount of money and the lawyer managed to get belch away with only three month of juvie and six months probation

He went down for your crimes and he did it happily

When the other boys asked him why he did it, he simply told them that the girl had pushed him too far and shot you a look

He came out of juvie just fine and fit into his routine quite happily when he saw you at his side again

He never told anyone about what really happened, not even the others

He knew they would blame you for his temporary imprisonment but why should they? You were his goddess, why shouldn’t he make sure no one could besmirch your name and defend your honour

He kept your secret happily as he held you close to him in your bed

What’s one more secret between him and his goddess?

Thoughts? :)

[plutocisms]

NSFW Alphabet for Shouta Aizawa

A (Aftercare) what are they like after sex?

He will clean you up and get you any and everything you need. He likes to check in on how it was for you and have a little pillow talk. Don’t think about moving afterwards he wants to cuddle, even if he doesn’t say it. 

B (Body Part) favorite on themselves and of their partner

He doesn’t have a favorite part on himself, but if he really had to pick It’d probably be his arms, He likes when you grab onto them and compliment them.

On you he looooves your waist and is constantly keeping eye contact with you because he also loves your eyes.

C (Cum) anything to do w/ it basically

He prefers to release on your stomach (as much as he would love to inside of you, he’s against it until you guys are intent of actually trying) and can’t get enough of the way you taste, yeah he’s tying that hair up for you. 

D (Dirty little secret) self explanatory

He was too embarrassed to let you know but he snuck a new headboard in after breaking one from his grip one night while having his way with you. He actually called Yamada to help him with this and to get rid of the previous one but obviously didn’t tell him the reason why even though he poked an prodded for an answer as to what happened.

E (Experience) also pretty self explanatory

He has some experience but it’s limited, he’s pretty standoffish so doesn’t normally get very involved.

F (Favorite postition) ^

Loves classic missionary, Face off, & prone bone. He’s not picky tho but those would be his go-to positions.

G (Goofy) are they more playful or serious in the moment?

This is actually one time where he can let loose a bit, he’s not cracking them left and right but he likes to tease and can actually lighten up a bit here from time to time. 

H (Hair) how are they groomed down there?

Oh it’s a bit scruffy down there, trimmed but there’s deffly some hair.

I (Intimacy) are they more romantic or lustful in the moment?

He’s pretty passionate, he loves looking into your eyes during, kissing you, holding you and enjoys talking through it—not too much but just enough. 

J (Jack Off) masturbation headcanon

He’s really not one to dabble, at least when he’s in a relationship and even outside of one he’s not big into it, he’s got a lot of discipline and is never really down too bad.

K (Kink(s)) self explanatory :)

He loves sleepy sex, wake up roll over in the middle of the night type shii, He’s also into the idea of being waken up with a surprise if yk what I mean. He’s into a bit of dirty talk. Tell him what you like/want him to do to you. He wouldn’t say anything about it, he won’t refer to himself as such but he low-key gets hot and bothered if you call him Daddy— it catches him off guard in a way he can’t fight off.

L (Location) where they like to do it

He loves the comfort of his home so pretty much anywhere there is a green light. The bed, couch, shower all of it. He’s open to doing it other places but you’d really have to convince him.

M (Motivation) what gets them in the mood?

He really loves seeing you your element doing anything. It’s the little things. The way you walk, catching a whiff of your scent, watching you sleep, any physical touch from you, this is a simple man.

N (No) what they wont do in the bedroom

He’s not into the idea of sharing you or anything that would cause you real pain, I also don’t see him degrading his partner.

O (Oral) do they enjoy giving/receiving?

He can eat it till you cry and then some. He loves being between your thighs and making you feel good. As far as receiving he really enjoys watching you take him all in, both are very good stress relief for him.

P (Pace) how fast or slow are they during?

He’s got a good pace, very sensual. He actually likes when you dictate the pace—more than willing to accommodate your needs. In general though, he normally picks up the pace quite a bit on his own when he’s close.

Q (Quickies) how do they feel about them?

He doesn’t prefer them over a proper session, but can still have his fun, it’s also a bit of a a turn on for him, the challenge of getting you off in a time crunch.

R (Risks) are they willing to take them?

He’s not very risky, he doesn’t like the idea of getting caught. This man risks his life on a consistent basis and enjoys the comfort and safety of you. He’s not trying anything crazy with you.

S (Stamina) how long can they last?

He’s got a solid two rounds in him before he needs a break/nap inbetween. They are long rounds and  in all honesty he could last a little longer (man’s a pro hero) but performance gets a little sloppy after those first two.

T (Toys) are they into them, do they have any?

Tbh Aizawa is a little uninterested in complicating things too much in the bedroom. He’s open to suggestions but doesn’t bring any of his own volition

U (Unfair) are they a tease basically

He’s not super unfair mostly because he’s hoping if he’s not with you—you won’t be too much with him (he’s got a love-hate relationship with it, drives him nuts in a good way)

V (Volume) how loud are they during

May be a little surprising but he actually is quite talkative and has some volume. He is into giving praise with you and he lets you know just how good you make him feel. Low raspy voice, deep moans and groans, oh and he’s gonna cuss.

W (Wildcard) random headcanon

Somehow you convinced him to have a quickie after hours at the school (first and likely the last time you guys will do that because,) If it wasn’t enough to see you two appear out of the closet, Aizawa gets a flush after sex and Yamada has yet to let him live it down.

X (X-Ray) what's it looking like under the hood

He’s got good length not massive but above bit above average and it curves just slightly. He’s pretty hairy with the happy trail, little bit of hair on his thighs and legs.

Y (Yearning) what's their sex drive like?

He has a pretty standard sex drive though he initiates less than he could, primarily because he loves when you approach him, even if he’s a little too tired for the task.

Z (Zzz) how fast do they fall asleep after?

He goes to straight to sleep after taking care of your needs. Loves napping with you afterwards—it’s kinda mandatory for him.

[anyaeras]

Agatha & Rio Kinktober Thoughts

A/N- Happy Kinktober for all my little freaks, I sadly haven't had time to write all my fics but I did come up with some NSFW head cannons so enjoy

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Aftercare— Agatha, she was always great with aftercare her go to method would be a bath, she would run a nice bath after a hard session and relax with you while you let everything melt away in the warm tub.

Body Parts— Rio was obsessed with your body, touching you physically as often as she could. But your eyes, a part she couldn't touch but she just loved to hold your gaze, let looking longingly into your iris while her deep colored eyes searched yours

Cum— Agatha loved the idea of being able to breed you, she often would use her magic to enchant her strap, making the whole interaction feel so real as she pounded her cum deep into you.

Dirty thoughts— Rio had an active imagination, her thoughts ran wild with ideas the things she could do to you but her favorite was, Rio longed to use her magic bounding you to the bed with her vines so she could ravish you, edging you while you were tied unable to move, hours of endless playtime all while flowers and vines wrapped around you until your couldn't take it anymore. The found the joy in your struggles, being a slight sadist and all.

Experiment— Agatha was very willing with you, she adored trying things to with you, Agatha was very precise on how she tried things nonetheless, she would research things you wanted to try offering the best experience for the both of you.

Favorite Position— Rio Was a stone top, she loved having you under her, she also loved to see your face while she played with you. So she would always love tying your legs open while having you lay on your back, forcing you to be at her mercy but she could watch your emotions display on your face. All your pain and pleasure.

Guidance— Agatha was a soft domme out of the bedroom, she liked to be in control with things in their lives. Agatha would often step in to order for you, help you get ready, do simple task for you till you were dependent on her help.

Humiliation- Rio had no issue teasing her sub, playing little games to keep them a blushing mess. Rio would mix praising and Degrading to keep her sub embarrassed, Rio would also give you task that were impossible to complete setting you up to fail just to punish you for failing like a sick little game.

Intimacy— Agatha loved the freaky and kinky sex, but she also loved just holding you. Agatha loved physical touch and honestly needed it, the action would often reassure her. Sometimes Agatha felt the best when you and her were cuddled up on the sofa watching tv just with you in her arms.

Jack off— Rio didn't allow you to touch yourself without her, but tying in with her humiliation kink sometimes the witch wanted a show. Rio would order you to touch yourself for her watching with a smirk while you played with yourself just for her. "Aww don't hid your face let me see how good you feel" Rios voice would whisper anytime you tried to avoid her gaze while doing so.

Kink— Agatha biggest kink, was her size kink, the idea of stretching you out on her strap or toys just watching you take everything she gave you like a good girl made every bone in her body melt. She adored watching your cunt swallow everything thing and toy she shoved inside you. She got creative with it.

Latex, Lingerie, and Leather— Rio often wore Leather, she wasn't a Latex person but adored wearing Leather and she knew you liked it when her gloves would rub on your skin. She also had a few whips and Floggers made of Leather that she would use on your body.

Mommy/Mistress— Agatha had a mommy kink and honestly was a mommy dom, to no one surprise she loved when you called her mommy, in and out of the bedroom, tying in with her love for Gentle domination she loved helping you, and babying/ caring for her sub.

Name calling— Rio would often do a bit of degrading mixed in with her Praises. Her favorites being "my dirty whore" or "you like being a play toy? My little slut?" Rios voice would be low but full of lust whenever she got to degrade her little pet.

Orgasm Control— Agatha trained you to be the perfect little pet, you knew better the to cum without mommy's permission. Agatha had you trained to not be able to cum without her orders so you always relied on Agatha's touch for your pleasure.

Power play— Rio loved a good challenge, she actually wanted you to fight back, try and dominate her, all because she knew you'd end up under her begging for her to let you cum after you tried so hard to be so big and strong only moments ago.

Quicky— Agatha didn't mind quickys but they are from from ideal, she would much more prefer to have you for a long period of time, giving her time to really enjoy you. Nonetheless sometimes quickys worked as great punishments when you were being a brat, pulling you to the side of an event out of sight just to finger you till you were close to cumming, then pulling out. Leaving you wet and needy until she had time to handle you.

Ropes— Rio did like to tie you up, but not with ropes, she wanted to use her vines and green magic to tie you up, if she was really feeling it maybe a few thorns would be in the vines. Depends how sadistic she was feeling that day.

Spanking— Agatha used spanking as a punishment, when you were being a brat it was often her method of correction. You would often find yourself acting out just to be bent of Agatha's knee held down with your pants around your ankles.

Toys— Rio had quite the collection of toys for playtime. Yet her favorite was her green strap that had many ridges along the shaft. It also paired well with a small vibrator she would put on your clit.

Unfair— Agatha did play dirty, her tricks were much kinder then Rios thought, she wanted you to fall into her trap as her sweet submissive pet, she knew ever trick to dumb you down and turn you into her perfect pet.

Vibrators— Rio absolutely loved how many uses Vibrators had, she would have you wear them like clothes for her fun. Adding them to your outfits like a little accessories watching you squirm in front of others throughout your day as she turned it on and off edging you slowly. Leaving you overstimulated.

Wild card— Agatha had no problem taking out her anger and emotions during playtime. When Agatha was stressed the sex just got better. Sometimes you didn't see it coming when you got shoved up against the wall into a heated make out sesh leaving you feeling her emotions on your lips.

eXtreme— Rio could be a bit much sometimes, her most extreme kink was knife play, sometimes she would drag her dagger down your chest laying it flat like a threat as she pounded you into the bed, the excitement of the risk brining you both pleasure.

Yearning— Agatha has a lot do trust issues, and when she found you, someone she longed for she couldn't let you slip away, She would keep you close and away from others to the best of her ability.

Zzz— Rio loved to wake you up with her tongue between your thighs, wrapped around your sensitive clit watching you whine and squirm awake.

[cripplecharacters]

Facial Differences that You Should Consider Representing in Your Writing More

[large text: Facial Differences that You Should Consider Representing in Your Writing More]

As it has been said many times on this blog before, facial differences are a very wide spectrum - there’s thousands of conditions that cause it, and they’re often extremely different from each other. It’s an incredibly diverse category almost by definition. But…

In books, movies, and our inbox, it seems that a traumatic battle scar is the only facial difference that exists. I find this rather frustrating because I would like to see the real life diversity to be actually considered by writers when creating characters - and that’s exactly what this post is for. I hope that by making people just aware of the myriad of options they have, I can help a bit. 

This isn’t to say that you shouldn’t write characters with scars, it’s to say that there’s more for you to consider. Just like not every physically disabled person has hip dysplasia and not every neurodivergent person has epilepsy, not every person with a facial difference has scars.

Of course, this list isn’t exhaustive - no such list exists, it would be like “list of every disability ever”, it simply can’t be done. This is just a dozen random facial differences that I would like to see incorporated into characters more often.

Facial paralysis Exactly what the name implies. There are many types of facial paralysis - complete, partial, bilateral, unilateral, chronic, acute, and it can affect the whole face, or only part of it.  Sometimes it can cause problems with speech or dry eyes (mostly the latter), but it’s frequently just primarily a visual difference. A person with facial paralysis might be completely unable to make facial expressions at all if it’s severe, or have a lop-sided smile and inability to raise an eyebrow or control an eyelid like me. Causes include cranial nerve damage (especially the 7th nerve, which is called facial palsy), Bell’s palsy, Möbius syndrome, or multiple sclerosis! It can be congenital, like in my case, or acquired, like in most cases - mostly due to stroke. Here I would write something about the current media representation being good, bad, or what tropes to look out for but I don’t know a single character with it. So :-)

Anotia/microtia Microtia is a congenital facial difference that affects the outer ear(s) - as the name implies, they’re smaller than average; anotia means a complete lack of them. This usually will also result in being d/Deaf or hard of hearing in that ear, as the ear canal can be smaller or closed (depending on the “grade”). People with microtia who decide on using hearing aids will usually wear a bone-anchored hearing aid, which looks very differently from the “regular” HA; it’s worn with a headband. Microtia can be the only facial difference that a person has, but it can also be a part of Goldenhar syndrome, Treacher Collins syndrome (mentioned below), or hemifacial microsomia.

Congenital Trochlear Nerve palsy I have a subtype of this, and because it happens to have the most boring name in existence I have never seen anyone talk about it, certainly not see a character with it. So; CNIV palsy (again, an incredibly catchy name) is a disorder of one of the very easy to damage nerves that allow eyes to move. It causes constant double vision, severe strabismus, and progressive facial asymmetry. A person with CNIV palsy will have a 24/7 head tilt to the side and will have their chin tucked in, which causes said asymmetry - facial features on the side of the tilt will sag down, the eye will “sunk” in, and because it’s congenital, the jaw can grow to be misaligned (like mine). Over time, it causes neck pain and kyphosis, so add chronic pain to that. Trochlear nerve palsy can be congenital, acquired, traumatic, and even extremely rarely genetic (that’s me, allegedly <1 in a million). However, most acquired cases are only temporary, and “fix themselves” with the passage of time. Again, I would love to write something about CNIV palsy representation, but I’m confident it literally doesn’t exist : )

Sturge-Weber syndrome The most visible part of SWS - that you might be familiar with - are port wine stains. In this syndrome, they tend to be large and generally cover the forehead-eye area. Around 15% of people with any kind of port wine stain on their face have Sturge-Weber syndrome, and even more when it comes to larger ones. Most people with SWS will have epilepsy since childhood, and many will develop glaucoma (which causes blindness) if the PWS is around that eye. Hemiparesis (one-sided weakness) can also sometimes happen on the opposite side of the PWS. Here is a short article about media representation from a person with SWS.

Cystic Hygroma Also known as lymphangioma, it is a bump that mostly happens on a person’s lower face and/or neck. It’s almost always congenital and a result of a blockage in the lymphatic system (thus lymphangioma). Sometimes, if it affects the mouth or jaw, it may cause a speech disability where the person’s speech might not be fully understandable, or cause an airway obstruction; this generally means that the person has to have a trach tube in their neck to breathe. Here is a short article about living and growing up with cystic hygroma by Atholl Mills.

Congenital melanocytic nevus A complicated name for a specific kind of birthmark. Melanocytic means related to melanin, so it’s a black or brown birthmark that can show up on any part of the body and be of almost any size. Sometimes it can be hairy as well. While CMN doesn’t usually cause any problems, people who have it can have a higher risk of skin cancer, epilepsy, and brain tumors (if it's on the head). Here is a short article on representation - among other things - by a person with CMN.

Ptosis Ptosis is actually really common - I can almost guarantee that you have seen someone with it - but for some reason it never shows up in media, unless it’s to show that a character is under the influence or vaguely creepy. Ptosis is simply a drooped eyelid. It’s caused by damage to the third cranial nerve, which can be congenital, acquired, traumatic, etc. It’s very common in myasthenia gravis and CHARGE syndrome. In most cases ptosis is a visual thing, but it can sometimes cause problems - for me, it partially obstructs my vision and for some people who acquired it later in life that can cause pain (due to having to constantly lift the eyebrow). Ptosis is often misunderstood, and people tend to make bizarre assumptions about those of us who have it - even Wikipedia cites “looking sinister” as a symptom (not that I particularly trust Wikipedia as a source, but it shows the general public’s view quite well). In real life, we are normal people and all these “drunk/high/rude/evil” associations aren’t true at all.

Treacher Collins syndrome You have probably seen a person with TCS at some point, as it’s not that rare. This is a genetic, congenital disability that affects the development of the face. The bones of the jaw and cheeks are underdeveloped, eyes have a downturned shape, and microtia/anotia is often present as well. A lot of people with Treacher Collins are d/Deaf or hard of hearing. Sometimes, the small jaw might cause problems with breathing, which is why a lot of people with TCS will have a permanent tracheostomy tube in their neck. Similar to ptosis, eyes in TCS are often seen as “looking sad”, but that’s an incorrect assumption - that’s just how they look like. The main and only big representation of TCS in media is that one awful movie from a few years ago, that was literally just inspiration porn featuring an able-bodied actor based on a shitty book, made by an author with some sort of abled-person guilt. Very cool, don’t do that.

Crouzon syndrome Crouzon syndrome is a type of craniosynostosis; a congenital condition where a person’s skull fuses too early. There are other disabilities that can look somewhat similar, like Pfeiffer or Apert syndrome, but they are different!. CS will affect the person's skull - it will be taller than usual, eyes - they will be large and bulging, midface - it's often smaller than average and can look sunk in comparison to the jaw and forehead, and more. Sometimes people with Crouzon syndrome are d/Deaf or hard of hearing (very common with craniofacial differences), or experience long term effects of hydrocephalus, which happens fairly often. Here is a short article by Mikaela Moody about movie representation - and her piece on how it to be trans while having a facial difference, which I relate to a lot and wanted to share.

Phthisis bulbi Phthisis bulbi is something that I have mentioned on this blog before, as it logistically should be represented way more often in fiction than it currently is. It's also known as the “end-stage eye” which is a metal name. This is an ocular difference that can result after trauma to the eye. It can also result from a million other things, but trauma is apparently the most common thing to happen to an eye in fiction. With phthisis bulbi, the eye shrinks, sinks, and everything inside becomes stiff; this is permanent, and the eye isn't functional anymore - it's blind and unable to move. The only treatment is to have the eye removed, especially if it causes pain. If you're writing a character who got a Hot Sexy Scar over their eye and still has that eye, they probably should have this (and yes, the “shrunk and sunk” part is mandatory, you can't just make the eye lighter and call it a day).

Frontonasal dysplasia Frontonasal dysplasia is a congenital facial difference that affects the structure of the face. While it's a spectrum with a lot of variety, most people with FND will have hypertelorism (eyes spread widely apart), a flat and broad nose, and a cleft going through the middle of the nose. Other facial clefts (not necessarily just cleft lip) are also common. Sometimes, someone with it can also have cranium bifidum (meaning a brain/meninges that protrude through the skull, similar to how spina bifida works), or intellectual disability related to the potential absence of corpus callosum. Rarely, limb differences can also be a part of it; absent tibia, extra toes, or clubfoot. Again, I’m unaware of any representation of FND outside of “scary birth deformity” on medical shows =)

Parry–Romberg syndrome PRS is also known as progressive hemifacial atrophy, which is a much more descriptive name. It’s an acquired facial difference that people just get for unknown reasons, mostly before the age of 20 and usually between 5 and 15. Generally, PRS is considered to be slowly-progressing, but this can vary pretty widely between different people. As the name implies, it causes atrophy in the face, which affects everything from skin to fat and muscles to sometimes even bones. Some people will also experience skin darkening, alopecia (hair loss), or trigeminal neuralgia (very severe nerve pain) on the atrophied side. The difference between the two sides can be very pronounced, with a visible line between the halves showing up on the forehead. Again, no existing rep that I know of =)

And as always, I recommend this short PDF that in my opinion any writer who wants to include a character with an FD has to read. Additionally, you can also check our #face difference tag, this primer on facial difference, or this piece on making sure you’re not contributing to disfiguremisia.

Also apologies for the amount of “idk what to say about already existing rep because it literally doesn’t exist” but I hope it illustrates the problem =)

Happy Face Equality Week,

mod Sasza

[b3ach-bunn7]

STEPHANIE

Gojo is your physics tutor and you’re sort of in love with him

Textfic, fluff, Highschool!au

(art Creds to @/eldritcheaven on twitter!)

—————————————————————————-

September 16th

5:38 pm

You: hiyaaa :D

You: is this Gojos number? Shoko says u can tutor me 😙

Gojo: whats the tutoring for

You: uh school?

Gojo: I mean what subject..?

You: OH LMAO

You: physics :((

Gojo: okay

Gojo: who r u again

You: Y/N

Gojo: okay meet me at the library Thursday after school

You: okayyy see u there 😁

September 18th

6:40 pm

You: gojo how am I gonna finish all this work BY MONDAY

Gojo: that’s three days

Gojo: this is easy stuff

You: FOR YOU

You: I have cheerleading until seven tomorrow night and Saturday

Gojo: okay..

Gojo: that’s my problem how?

You: okay just say u hate me

Gojo: I hate you

You: whatever

September 21st

1:06 am

You: IM DONE!

You: r u impressed

Gojo: no

You: wtf

Gojo: bring it to me at lunch so I can grade it

You: okayyyy

You: goodnight 🩷

Seen

September 21st

1:40 pm

You: GOJO WHERE R U

Gojo: in the library

You: why aren’t u in the cafeteria

Gojo: because it’s too noisy

Gojo: I can’t read in there

You: ha ha nerddd

Gojo: shut up and hurry up.

You: Okayyyy okay

You: Can u see me 🤔

Gojo: no the bright orange cheerleading costume is really hard to miss

You: 😒

You: So is the bone white hair and glasses

Gojo: hurry up

September 21st

8:12 pm

Gojo: ur so shit at physics

You: Uhm okay

You: thanks? 😭

Gojo: im sorry that was rude

Gojo: fear not that’s why I’m here

You: okay

Gojo: don’t worry it’s nothing my genius can’t fix

You: try not brag challenge fail

Gojo: you free tomorrow?

You: I should be yeah

Gojo: okay come to the library after school

You: can’t wait… 😔

September 22nd

4:06pm

You: Gojo

You: GOJO

Gojo: you are literally in front of me speak

You: nk the librarian is looking at me 😓

Gojo: okay so what

You: don’t look so annoyed at me

Gojo: im not annoyed at u

You: okay fine

You: do u have a highlighter

Gojo: …

You: DONT ROLL UR EYES AT ME

Gojo: there is LITERALLY ONE RIGHT IN FRONT OF U

You: omg ur first caps lock 🙁🩷 I’m so proud

Gojo: stop laughing

You: I’m sorry u look so angry over a highlighter..

You: and I can see you smiling too 😒

Gojo: shut up.

September 23rd

7:06 pm

You: Nerdjo I have a question

Gojo: never call me that

You: 😒😒okay.. can I ask u a question now

Gojo: if it’s about the work I gave u just wait until Friday

You: UTS NOT

Gojo: oh

Gojo: okay what

You: would you rather only drink water for the rest of ur life or be allowed to drink anything you like but it always has to have a drop of pee in it

Gojo: where is the pee coming from

You: You don’t know..

Gojo: is it healthy pee

Gojo: because if not then idk what’s in it and I could contract a disease like typhoid or smth

Gojo: and also utis and that’s painful enough as is without me drinking to catch it

Gojo: also how much is a drop

Gojo: is it a ratio thing? So every 1% of any drink I drink is pee or is it always a drop

Gojo: because in that case I can just drink a lot of smth and the pee will cancelled out

You: wtf

Gojo: sorry I’m rambling

You: No.. don’t apologise.. U have opened my eyes

You: I never thought of it like that

You: Also do u think it would like make my drink yellow..

You: Cause that’s GEROOSS

You: voice note elapsed: 00:40

Gojo: voice note elapsed 1:02

September 24th

2:06 pm

You: IM SO EMBARASSED

You: Walk of shame to my seat in my cheerleading outfit god TAKE ME

Gojo: ha ha ha

Gojo: don’t be late next time

You: Shut up

You: I hate Yaga and he hates me

Gojo: he loves me

You: yeah cause ur good at physics and I’m poo at it

Gojo: better focus then

You: okay

September 24th

2:20pm

You: Gojo

You: Gojo

You: NERDJO!!

Gojo: stop texting me

You: move u bag from the chair next to u

Gojo: what???

You: MOVE IT

You: I’m coming to sit next to you

Gojo: tf why

You: the guy next to me won’t shut up

You: and I need ur nerd aura to make me smarter

Gojo: ur so stupid

Gojo: hurry up then

You: WOPPEE OMW

September 25th

1:06 am

You: Gojo r u awake

Gojo: we have school tmrw go to sleep

You: U R 😏

Gojo: freak

Gojo: what do u want

You: I’m bored

You: And I’m confused on question three on the history hw 😓

Gojo: okay..

Gojo: ask me tomorrow

You: Or I can call u rn an u can help me..?

Gojo: .

You: PLEEEEAAAAAAAAAAASE 🙏

Gojo: you have ten minutes

You: YAY

Gojo and Y/N

25/9/2024 Time elapsed: 30:07

September 25th

11:05 am

You: GOJOOOO

You: Can I sit with u in econ today 😏

Gojo: what do u need help with now

You: Uhmmm I don’t need help

You: I just wanna sit with u..

Gojo: oh

Gojo: okay

You: YIPPEEEE

September 26th

12:21 pm

Gojo: YOU WATCH ANIME??????

You: WHY R U YELLING 😭😭

You: Yes… it’s my deep dark secret don’t tell anyone 😔

Gojo: okay with the sasuke keyring on ur bag…

You: LOL

You: how did you even see it where r u..

Gojo: stalking you in the corridors watch out

You: Okay Joe from you

Gojo: ur living ur own Netflix series rn 🩷

You: EMOJIS???

You: Who r u and where’s Gojo gone??!?££?

You: Whats ur favourite anime

Gojo: voice note elapsed: 1:34

September 28th

2:06 am

Gojo: do u think time travel is real

Gojo: or like will be real in the future

Gojo: I feel it could be because like we just advance in technology more and more as time goes by

Gojo: like if u said FaceTime would be a think in 1920 they’d probably hang u

Gojo: there was that Stephen hawking thing he did with like the party invite but

Gojo: if I was from the future I wouldn’t time travel just to prove him right like u just have an ego now

Gojo: food for thought 🩷

September 28th

7:21 am

You: SORRY I WAS AT PRAVTISE and U messaged me at like one am?)

You: But I thinking about you the whole time

Gojo: awwwww youre making me blush

You: SHURRUP

You: i was thinking about ur question not u

Gojo: same thing kinda

You: enough

You: voice note elapsed: 00:54

Gojo: girl u r not Snow White dinosaurs will eat u

You: We will find out when I time travel to the Jurassic era and kiss one

September 29th

3:37 PM

Gojo: why do u keep staring at me do ur work

You: Cause i have a question for u but im shy..🥺🥺

Gojo: EW cringe

Gojo: just ask me

You: You keep looking at me with those bombastic blue eyes im nervous

Gojo: ur so dramatic

You: DONT LAUGH AT ME

Gojo: so text me then

You: okay….

You: We have a pep rally soon can u come

Gojo: was that it..

You: YES

Gojo: girl im coming anyway geto is playing

You: UR FRIENDS WITH GETO???

Gojo: hes my best friend

You: Wait thats true ur always together

You: You know allll the girls on my team have a phat crush on him🤧

Gojo: mhm

Gojo: and are you one of those girls?

You: Nah hes not my type

Gojo: and what is ur type

You: Boys with bombastic blue eyes😏

You: R U BLUSHINGGGG

Gojo: shut up and do ur work

September 30th

9:45 pm

Gojo: ar eu home

You: Yeah why..

Gojo: play roblox with me

You: LOL

You: How’d u know im a gaymer..

Gojo: hoe u is not a gaymer

You: HEY

You: ill have u know im plat on overwatch..?

Gojo: wait actually

You: Actually

Gojo: ….

Gojo: HOP ON OW

You: Uhm sorry i cant im doing the hw my annoying tutor sent me

Gojo: im sure ur sexy smoking hot tutor will let u off this time

You: YAY

Gojo and Y/N

30/9/2024 Time elapsed: 3:46:07

October 1st

12:34 pm

Gojo: pep rally in five days

Gojo: r u nervous

You: Gojo texting me in school..?

Gojo: dont change the subject sweetheart

You: POO

You: Im scared yeah

You: I always am before a game tho

You: Like what if my shirt slips when I’m flipping and i flash my bra

Gojo: the game will get ten times better?

You: HEY

Gojo: JOKUNG IM JOKING

You: As an apology take me out for lunch today 😙

Gojo: ugh fine

You: XD

October 2nd:

2:07 pm

You: WHERE R U

You: GOJO

Gojo: me and geto went out for lunch

You: COME BACK NOW

Gojo: are you okay????

You: YES I WANNA GIVE U A HUG AND A KISS

Gojo: are you having a stroke??

You: SHOKO GAVE ME THE KEYRING

You: A LITTLE NARUTO TO MATCH MY SASUKEEE

You: THANK U SM

Gojo: ur welcome

You: 😁😁😁

You: Bring me back a coke

Gojo: ugh fine

Gojo: do i still get that hug and kiss

You: hmmm I’ll see

October 3rd:

10:21 am

You: image attachment

You: LOOK LOOK LOOK

Gojo: WELL DONE

You: A BBBBBB

You: IN PHYSICSS WHO AM I

Gojo: WELL DONE

You: Thanks for the tutoring🤤

Gojo: wait im the goat

You: hoe EYE am the goat..?

Gojo: i guess it was a team effort

You: Yeah duh

Gojo: good job sweetheart

You: 😁😁😁😁

October 3rd:

9:06 pm

You: ik we had plans but let me come home then we can play

You: Practise ran so late sorry pookie

Gojo: wait ur at school rn??

You: Yes….. kms shortly😔

Gojo: how r u getting home?

You: Walking

Gojo: girl..?

You: My parents r working and i cant drive leave me ALONE

Gojo: wait im coming to get u

You: You dont need to do that gojo

Gojo: i do im omw

You: OKay

You: Btw i like ur new glasses

Gojo: u noticed?

Gojo: stop staring at me all the time omg..

You: I cant help it

You: i love u and all four of ur bombastic blue eys

Gojo: not picking u up anymore

You: IM SORRRY🙏🙏🙏🙏

You: PLZ COME MY KNIGHT IN SHINING GLASSES

You: PLEASEEEE

Gojo: ughhh fineee

Gojo: just because u begged so nicely

You: ahahahah SHUT UP

October 3rd

10:15 pm

Gojo: r u home

You: u literally just watched me walk through my door

Gojo: so..

Gojo: what if someone took u from inside

You: Ur right hoe…

Gojo: im always right

You: Yeah yeah freaking nerd

Gojo: dont hate me cause u aint me

Gojo: ima graduate cum laude in the future

You: Why u talkign about cum u freak

Gojo: shut up

You: cum laude more like cum load 🤣🤣

Gojo: i hate u

You: LMAOOO

You: Ik ur laughng rn

You: Call me

Gojo: say please

You: Please call me four eyes🤞

Gojo and Y/N

03/10/2024 Time elapsed: 4:20:07

October 4th

3:47 am

Gojo: omg did I tell you

Gojo: I was reading this essay on behavioural psychology and it was talking about how like the concept of territoriality in humans it’s so interesting

Gojo: it’s related to how primates make their space

Gojo: not like actually of course nobody is peeing anywhere

Gojo: it’s also related to quantum physics in an weird way

Gojo: voice note elapsed: 2:12

October 4th

7:54 am

You: Whatever you say gorgeous 🙏🙏🙏

You: THATS COOL THO A

You: I got like a quarter of what u said but icloveee psychology

You: I wanna study it at university

You: my fav part is attachment and like child development and stuff

You: so ur next rant topic is going to be about that thanks 🩷

Gojo: did u actually listen to all that

Gojo: sorry I get carried away

You: Duh I listened and don’t apologise or ill shoot u

Gojo: thanks 🩷

Gojo: i bought u a coffee

You: YAYY

You: I’ll meet u at the entrance

October 5th

1:07 am

Gojo and Y/N

05/10/2024 Time elapsed: 2:39:07

Gojo: good luck for tomorrow

You: Thank u 😁

You: I’m gonna need it…

Gojo: shut up ur gonna do fine

Gojo: I’ll cheer u on from the stands

You: YAY

October 6th

3:54 pm

Gojo: get off ur phone and lock in

You: I CANT FIND U

Gojo: I’m like the third row from the bottom

Gojo: next to Shoko

You: I SEE U

You: I recognise those bombastic blue eyes anywhere🩷🩷🩷🩷

Gojo: awww is that big smile all for me

You: Shut it

You: Are those big flowers all for me??? 😁

Gojo: no they’re for the huzz

You: What if I kill you?

Gojo: plz don’t

Gojo: they are for u

You: Ur such a nerd

You: Thank u 😏

You: Ur coming to getos after right??

Gojo: yes

You: Good

Gojo: but

You: Butbwhat

Gojo: we could hang out instead

Gojo: just me and you

You: Are u asking me out on a date gojo????

Gojo: yeah kinda

You: I can see u blushing from over here

You: DONT TURN AROUJD

You: Ofc I’d rather hang out with u

You: See u after the rally😙😙😙😙

Gojo: good luck

Gojo: u look pretty in ur uniform

You: Thwnk u 😁😁😁

—————————————————————————

NERDJJO ONE CHANCE PLEASEEEE 🤞🤞🤞😓🥺 these text fics r so fun to write oh my sigma..

guys I know Gojo was kinda mean at first but he thought u were using him for his smarts… also idk I headcanon that he’s not as energetic as he is canonically.. like u think hes always bragging and dry but hes actually just itching to tell u facts about quantum physics

I HOOE U ALL ENJOYED 🩷 as always drop any asks in my inbox !!!!

[artsyebonyrose]

constantly having headaches, call me hajime hinata

lil vent! bc sometimes when i take meds for my frequent headaches i'm like "wow so hajime coded of me"

below this are alternate versions and an infodump about some of my post-game hajime headcanons (that i copy and pasted from my instagram post lol)

Anyway I hc hajime with a lot of pain post-game (and the rest of 77-b, but especially hajime). Despite being stronger than he was before the experiment, the after effects of the kamukura project take a great toll on him physically after he wakes up from the nwp. Pain where his surgeries were, deep down to his bones, heavy body and heavy head that gets frequent migraines. You wanted to be ultimate everything? There's a price to pay for all those talents boy ! (aka I don't like op unstoppable post-game hajime so I nerf him and make him more realistic, not superhuman)

Oh and the stress of their situation, the weight and heaviness of everything they did in the past and the state of the world presently, along with trying to rehabilitate his struggling ex-terrorist friends and support them through their healing journeys, trying to be a good selfless leader and help out around the island, trying to be useful to future foundation and to his friends, while also trying to cope (most likely alone because he doesn't want to burden the others when he's meant to have it all together and they're struggling with their own plights) with his newfound body and mind and the overflowing memories that plague him at all hours of the day, but ESPECIALLY at night when he stays awake unable to shut his mind up or drown out the memories of everything he's seen and done, or spectres of junko that haunt him and the others, refusing to let go, a reminder of who they were, what they did, how they can never escape that, and how if they could do it before then they could fall back into despair and do it again,,,,, yeah all that will definitely contribute to the frequent headaches and migraines too methinks 😁

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Steddie soulmate drabble (shared pain) || 3.9k words || rating: E || tags: homophobic slurs, period-typical homophobia, physical and emotional distress, panic attacks, Canon-divergent soulmate AU, Eddie Munson Whump, Steve Harrington Whump, one brief sex scene (so so brief) between Steve and the girl he brought to the basketball game in S4

Eddie experienced his first soul pain at twelve years old. Younger than most, but not worryingly so. The concern was the intensity of the pain. His momma held him tight, shushed him as he cried about how he feels all alone, doing her best to reassure him that loneliness wasn’t his and that she would never hit him. She held the frozen bag of peas to the blossom of red on his soft, round cheek and rocked him until he fell asleep in her arms.

The pains continued, giving him headaches on and off for years. He always wondered what his Half was going through for Eddie to have this much soul pain before puberty, but he grew used to it, stashing tiny vials of aspirin in his backpack or jacket pocket. The intensity was never as bad as the first time, eventually decreasing to a dull ache when they cropped up. His momma told him stories about people who could temper their pain to spare their other half, a difficult feat for even adult souls who’d spent years bound together. It was more likely the pain for his other half was dulling over time. He hoped it was true, but couldn’t push away the uneasiness he felt lying in bed each night and knowing the feeling wasn’t his.

Eddie was fourteen the first time he felt his own pain connect to his Half. Daddy called him a fag and locked him in his room for the weekend with nothing but the snacks and water bottle in his backpack. Unlike a sharp slap or the break of a bone, the pain of hunger was slow to build. Eddie still felt the tell-tale pop in the back of his mind as his stomach cramped. Unexpectedly, he also felt something almost akin to surprise riding the coattails of the pain. When the surprise faded into a distant comfort, he couldn’t object. Eddie knew this wasn’t normal, and decided from then on out to keep his soul pains a secret.

After his momma died, and his daddy grew drunk and violent, Eddie couldn’t stop his pain from connecting like he knew his Half could. Even after he’d moved in with Wayne, everything from the smallest shove to hushed slurs passed through the invisible bond, and even though pain connections can’t be controlled, most people only sent their most intense pains. It felt like he sent everything. Any little thing that set him off, the signature crack followed by soft comfort settled in his mind. 

The only consolation was that he felt less and less of his Half’s pain. Eddie wished that’d meant his Half was happy, with no pain to speak of. Between the dullness of the sensations when he happened to notice, and the immediate comforting response he received at his own suffering, he doubted that was it.

At sixteen Eddie had started looking into what it meant to experience some sort of response after connections, but couldn’t find anything in the low budget collection of soulmate information at Hawkins’ Public Library. Most likely on the banned book list, he figures, since that’s something kids are supposed to learn at home. 

Eddie couldn’t help wondering if the stories about Empaths were real. Rare, with absolutely nothing to do with pairings, it’s rumored Empaths experience the emotions of anyone physically close to them, but more importantly, are able to control the intensity of their own emotions and pain as how it’s experienced through their bond. Eddie’s couldn’t find anything about actually sending feelings through the bond as some kind of response. But like with his Daddy, he knows what happens after asking too many questions, so he keeps it to himself.

Eddie’s almost eighteen when there’s an intense, piercing crack behind his eyes. He’d been on his way back from the picnic table out behind school when the sudden pain had him curled up on the forest floor completely out of breath. It took him a few moments to get his bearings back, but he managed to walk to the van and get home. 

Wayne made him soup that night, let him put whatever he wanted on TV as long as he held the bag of peas over his bruised eye. At least it was light in color, barely noticeable, and would most likely fade by morning. However it was only a few hours later when shot off like a bullet from the couch, falling to the carpet on his hands and knees. He could hear Wayne saying something to him, could feel the gentle circling of his uncle’s hand on his back. None of it mattered. 

Eddie was filled with adrenaline. He’d never had a panic attack before, but his heart pounded as his breaths came in short spurts, the pungent fear squeezing his stomach. His hands vibrated and he clutched the carpet in a white knuckle grip to stave the phantom sensation. After what felt like hours, entirely wrung-out, Wayne let him have two shots of whiskey before climbing into bed.

It was quiet for another year. Unless, of course, he counted his own soul pains that crossed over, which he tried not to. Eddie’s emotions felt more in control of him than the other way around. Pressed into lockers, a scuffle at the picnic table with Hagan, being roughly kissed and then immediately knocked to the ground by Hargrove. It all connected. He tried to temper it, to be strong like his Half, but he always failed. Eddie was a coward, too scared to handle his pain alone. Like clockwork, the warm reassurance of love was quick to follow.

It was November 1984 the first time Eddie thought he was going to die. The panic set in, but unlike a year ago, it didn’t go away. He paced the living room, violently wiping tears from his face because even though the pain wasn’t his, the distress was so palpable he broke into cold sweats. Eddie did everything he could to think of to stave off the adrenaline– jumping jacks, whipping his hands around like a mad-man, screaming his voice hoarse.

Uncle Wayne suggested exercise, reminding him most athletes’ Half’s were people with an abnormal intensity of emotions and chronic pain, since it helps them process the constant stream of excess energy. So for the first time in Eddie Munson’s life, he went for a run. 

They started out at a jog, but it wasn’t enough. It felt worse than curling into himself on the ground like a pillbug. The only relief he felt was at a dead sprint, able to focus on the burn of his underutilized muscles. They ran until the adrenaline trickled from his system, and as always, was followed with love and comfort.

Halfway through their third lap around the park, an intense dread hit Eddie so abruptly he fell to his knees and vomited. They’d just made it back inside when Eddie’s vision went white. He came to only a few moments later, as Wayne hauled him across the kitchen and dropped him onto his bed. He held his mouth closed tighter than a vise, keeping every sob and groan deep inside himself to stop it from exploding out of him. Worried he wouldn’t be able to stop sobbing once he started. Wayne watched in horror as purple bloomed across Eddie’s face in real time, like a dye spreading under the skin. He placed a cold, wet cloth over his nephew’s eyes. 

Early into the morning, once the crying stopped, the migraine leveled out, he followed his uncle out onto the front porch to share a joint. The swelling in both eyes went away after two days, and he went back to school as usual. 

He noticed Harrington looked pretty fucked up, definitely worse than Hargrove. A panicked, fleeting part of Eddie’s brain worried Hargrove could be his Half, but he knew better. There’s always at least some amount of chemistry and attraction between soulmates, and all he needed was the one, ill-fated kiss to remind him his Half was still out there. Kudos to The King’s Half, however. If The Hair himself wasn’t at the hospital, then his Half surely would be. With a face like that, he can only imagine the pain Harrington’s soulmate had to manage during that fight.

It’s the fourth of July, and it’d been almost eight months since the last time he experienced this level of pain. Not his own, of course. No it never seemed to be his own when he’s left gasping for air, nails clenched into Wayne’s hand in the back of an ambulance they can’t afford.

He felt the bruises explode across his face, on his sides, behind his eyes. A sharp stab of pain in his neck lit up every nerve in his body. The howl ripped from him was grotesque, animalistic. His back arched up from the bed, thrashing his limbs into the metal bars of the stretcher until the medics did their best to restrain him. A pinch on the back of his hand. The world started to slow until he was wrapped in heavy darkness. 

Four days later there were still yellow, mottled stains on the sides of his ribcage and dark bags under his eyes. A routine of Tylenol during the day and painkillers from his own stash at night helped. Every night, Eddie layed in bed and silently cried. Their pain mixed now and the thought haunted him as much as it comforted. He only wished he could help his Half the same way they always soothed him. 

The guilt of his failure to help ate away at him, so it connects. Of course Eddie couldn’t control his emotions enough to spare the person who’s actually hurting, injured with no pain meds to help them, if Eddie had to guess. To top it all off, the cherry on the shit cake was that there's still the warm comfort at the back of his mind. His Half was living in excruciating pain, yet used what little energy they had left to help him with his. 

Eventually, Eddie had asked Wayne about different types of connections between Halfs. Not surprisingly he knew a bit more about it than the library, and didn’t hit him for it like his Daddy. 

“Each Half is meant to balance out the whole. Most people live somewhere near the middle, mild pain and mild emotional distress.” Eddie nodded, rapt with attention as Wayne continued. “But there’s always gonna be people at the fringes, the extremes. Like how I told ya about athletes usually being paired to trauma survivors. Why d’ya think you’re always so damn depressed after your incidents?” When Eddie had mentioned the soothing presence, Wayne had replied, “yep, sounds like an Empath,” like it was nothing to be ashamed of.

“Wait,” Eddie interrupted, “so the only reason I’m so emotional is because my half is an Empath? Or is it because they get hurt all the time. And if I'm so emotional, does that mean they're athletic?” Questions flooded his mind before Wayne cut him off.

“Could be because you were so young for your first connection. Could be because the severity of their pain made you feel it more. Or, maybe you were born that way, made that way for each other– destiny and all that.”

The pain lessened. The comfort remained. And Eddie felt the whisper of love each morning he woke up and every night before he fell asleep.

~~~ ~~~

Hands underneath Brenda’s shirt, her tongue moving across his bottom lip, anticipation glistens across Steve’s open chest as he grinds down into her. She moans into the kiss and runs her finger tips over his shoulders, grazing her nails down his back. Goosebumps erupt over his skin. He’s panting into her open mouth when his thrusts turn erratic, desperate and rushed. Her legs wrap around him, she crosses her ankles to pull him in closer and a moan crawls from the depths of his chest. His abs clench, hurtling towards his climax when he’s interrupted by the signature pop of a soul pain behind his eyes.

A cold sweat travels down his spine, adrenaline punching him in the gut. Horror claws Steve’s throat, he can’t seem to catch his breath as he hurriedly pulls out of her and falls to the floor. She’s saying something he can’t make out through the screaming urge to leave, run, hide. With enough faculties to grab his clothes on the way out, he dashes into the night where the chilled March air cools his sweat soaked skin. Distress clouds his mind on the drive home, so he pushes comfort, pleading with them to relax, breathe. The pain fades, but only slightly. 

The next day, Steve parks outside of a boat house. He doesn’t know Eddie Munson well, outside of the table top tirades and the glowing accolades from Dustin, Lucas, and Mike. They’ve never been friendly, even sometimes slightly antagonistic when Munson’s not satisfied with ranting about the government and decides he needs an actual face to point the finger at. No one better than The King, apparently. 

Steve played the role of snotty royalty to appease his shitty friends, but Eddie’s rants were contagious and always left Steve buzzing and manic. Of course Steve had thought about it before. Let himself wonder if his Half was some nice, pretty suburban girl, or if his Half was actually a crazed super senior he had absolutely nothing in common with. It was easier to consider the residual energy just a side effect of being an Empath, and not because he could actually feel Eddie’s emotions in his own subconscious. 

Robin told him about a Zine where she’d read it was possible for Empaths to absorb emotions from people in the same physical space as him, but they would have to be very close by and the emotions much stronger than normal. Which, in Steve’s mind, explained Munson to a tee. The guy always made sure to wander across the jock’s table, where his emotions were highest, typically with annoyance and disdain. Did Eddie’s eyes linger a bit longer on Steve than Tommy or the other athletes? Maybe. Maybe not. Steve did his best not to think about it too much.

Right now, with the tip of a broken bottle grazing his neck, he’s failing miserably at not thinking about it. Panic seeps out of every pore in his body. Adrenaline chokes him like it had the night before, but this time it’s from both himself and his Half. It’s too much. Steve can’t focus, can’t hear anything Dustin’s saying. There’s a sharp poke, then a trail of wet on his neck, and Eddie gasps. His grip loosened just enough for Steve to tilt his head away, readjusting his hold on Eddie’s sleeve, where his fingers accidentally brush against cold, pale skin. 

The panic gives way to euphoria. Steve breaks out into a fit of giggles, and morphs into hysterical laughter. He sounds completely unhinged, now doubled-over and furiously wiping his misted eyes with his free hand. Because his other hand has clamped itself around Eddie’s small wrist. The fizzing sensation like tiny bubbles flows from where they’re joined. The tingles climb his arm, root into his chest, and sprout in the back of his mind. 

Steve’s overcome with the hiccups. Robin’s rubbing small circles into his back and he works towards matching his breaths to her counts. It’s enough to pull his focus back to reality. 

He is Steve Harrington. He’s in Reefer Rick’s boat house with Robin, Dustin, and Max. The Upside-Down is probably back. Something wet drips down his neck. The dock is rough beneath his knees, even through the denim. His back aches where it hit the wall. And Eddie Munson is his Half.

Eddie is crying. Steve registers the shock, the guilt, the despair at the back of his mind. Eddie’s guilt– iit’s always guilt. It dulls his own joy, but just a little. 

Tentatively, Steve pushes comfort. To his delight, Eddie gasps again. His big, dark eyes lock onto his, and Steve can’t help but smile. He knows now isn’t the time to talk, that there’s so much more happening to Eddie than just finding his soulmate in a rundown boathouse on the edge of town. But they’ve come so far, been through so much that Steve decides they can spare a moment, just for them. 

He cups the back of his hand behind Eddie’s neck before releasing his wrist, unwilling to lose contact, and guides his Half into his lap. The guilt spikes. Steve knows Eddie doesn’t want to be here, with him, on some level. But Eddie crawls between his legs, pushes his face into Steve’s neck and inhales. The crush of Steve’s grip calms him, and panic eventually subsides. It’s quiet. Steve looks to find Robin corralling the kids towards the door. She throws him a thumbs up as she closes it behind her.

He pushes to her too, and he feels her relax in return.

Eddie mumbles something, but it’s muffled into his neck. Steve leans back as he scruffs his Half’s hair, pulling him away just far enough to make eye contact. The poor boy still hasn’t stopped crying. Steve’s still pushing, pushing love into him.

“I’m sorry. Steve, I’m so sorry,” Eddie sobs. Steve watches as Eddie rubs his dripping nose on the sleeve of his leather jacket, the snot smearing with the drag instead of absorbing into it. Steve uses his own free arm to wipe Eddie’s nose for him which earns him a pinched expression and a small, awkward chuckle. “That was disgusting.”

Steve smiles. “I’ve seen worse.”

Eddie’s eyes dart away, and guilt spikes again. Steve gently swipes his thumb under his eyes to catch the stray tears. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in there.” He taps on the back of Eddie’s head.

“You– you’ve been through so much. Like, so much awful shit, Steve, and I don’t even know. I just–” Eddie pauses, scrubs his hands over his face until Steve pulls one away, slowly guides it toward the side of his own neck–skin to skin– places the tip of Eddie’s thumb in the cradle of his jaw. Momentarily entranced, Steve squeezes the back of Eddie’s neck again to regain his focus.

“You just, what, Eddie? You’re going to be ok, just tell me.” He pushes. Eddie shudders, the effect intensified with proximity.

“See! That, exactly that. You always comfort me when I need it. When my dad kicked me out, anytime Wayne and I argued, every time I got shoved into someone’s locker. You were always there, just wrapping me up in love. Which is such fucking shit.” Eddie’s cold huff of laughter is wet and self-deprecating and Steve hates it. Doesn’t have to feel it in the back of his skull to know Eddie’s full of misery. “All I could ever give you back was shit. Just anger, frustration, depression and fucking teenage angst. I tried so hard to hold it back, like I knew you could. I tried so fucking hard, Steve, to send you anything good, like you always did for me. And all you got was my bullshit.”

Steve’s own eyes water as Eddie dissolves back into a fit of sobs. He tucks his Half’s head back into his neck as he rocks them back and forth. Struggling with his own thoughts, Steve chooses each word slowly and carefully. “Eddie, I felt everything. Your happy moments might not have been as strong as your bad, but they were still there. Like how I know Hellfire plays Friday nights, and I always thought I felt great on Friday nights because I finally got a break from the kids. Or how my best games were always after you’d do your little cafeteria table speeches, because it filled me with so much energy I would practically vibrate. Every single day, I’d feel little pops of bubbles that could only be you. You were always the best part of my bad days, Eddie.”

He feels raw, laid bare and exhausted as Eddie looks up to stare at him, lips parted in disbelief. “You knew? You knew it was me the whole time?” His voice croaks, and Steve makes a mental note to get him some water when they leave. 

Smiling, he grazes Eddie’s sweat and snot and tear-soaked bangs off his forehead. “I had a hunch. I just–”

“Just what?” The swell of heat behind Steve’s eyes pinpoints Eddie’s anger, rejection, and more guilt. Always guilt. “You were just hoping you could go as long as possible without mentioning it. Hoping maybe you were wrong, and your soulmate wasn’t the satan-worshiping, drug dealing Freak of Hawkins?”

With one hand still woven into the hair at the nape of Eddie’s neck, Steve uses his other hand to cover Eddie’s mouth, and he’s thrilled to discover his hands almost completely wrap around his head. He pushes hard again. Eddie squints, glaring at him over the ridge of Steve’s pinky finger, but Steve still feels him relax, so he counts it as a win. 

“I didn’t want to drag you into my bullshit.” The pinprick sensation of curiosity heightens and he answers before Eddie can even ask. “You know exactly what bullshit. That’s why I’m the one who should be sorry. Fuck I can’t– I can’t imagine how all of that must’ve been for you. How painful it was, especially when you didn’t know what was happening, or why. You were forced to bear through all of my shit and just hope it would end.”

Eddie gently pried Steve’s hand from his mouth and eyed him warily before using Steve’s own sleeve to wipe at the boy’s tears. “Steve, what happened to you?”

Steve sniffles before he places a feather-light kiss to Eddie’s brow, reveling in a champagne pops of love and awe. “I’m sorry, baby, but probably the same thing that’s happening to you right now.”

A heavy silence settles between them. Steve feels a separate, more distant curl of anxiety in the back of his mind and knows they’re running out of time. Robin can only keep the kids distracted for so long. Steve pushes more comfort at her, receiving her expected impatience in return.

“Come on,” Steve says, rising to his feet and he reaches down to help Eddie up as well. “You can tell us what happened, and we’ll fill you in on the rest.” He takes Eddie’s hand as they walk towards the boathouse door. No use in forcing him to sleep here when Steve’s house is always empty. 

“What about us?” Eddie’s voice is timid, but still hopeful.

(Continue for one-sentence hurt/no comfort)

Steve smiles, squeezing his Half’s hand before softly kissing his knuckles, cool metal rings grazing his chin. “After this is over, we’ll have all the time in the world.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

~~~

The pain is Eddie’s, sharp and piercing in places that bleed the most. It’s agony and it’s death, but he only feels a surge of love as he falls to darkness.

[venomvalley]

MOUNTAIN MAN — WEEK 1

chris redfield x afab!reader / 5.3k words

summary:

After retiring from the military, Chris finds sanctuary in the hills of West Virginia. Years of solitude pass until a flash flood plants an injured hiker on his doorstep. He soon learns that loneliness has done him more harm than good.

tags: 18+ (nudity, chris is sexually repressed and also horny), brief mentions of blood and injury, this chapter is mostly just set up before we get to the porn

notes: reader is very heavily appalachian and has a backstory revolving around where they grew up. no physical descriptors are mentioned.

here's how you can help appalachian hurricane helene victims

-> READ ON AO3 | MASTERLIST

He gets out of bed every morning—a sickening, habitual five thirty a.m. three decades in the making—and starts his day off with pain. The location changes depending on the previous day’s responsibilities, some mornings better than others, but he’s no stranger to it. Long-healed wounds that ache in the cold, joints worn down to bone that stiffen when a storm front flies in, migraines when he works himself a bit too hard.

This morning it’s his back. He spent the better part of yesterday evening moving all the lumber into the shed because some weatherman promised rain. A lot of it. Can’t let the wood get wet this late in the season, especially with how hot the nights stay. The weather here is predictably unpredictable.

A glance outside the living room window, blood red curtain shoved aside, reveals the aftermath of a thunderstorm. He thinks about the muddy mess of the forest, the soupy quality of the air, and almost resigns himself to a day of staying in. A little rabbit with barely enough meat for a meal isn’t fucking worth sweating through his clothes, or treading mud up to his knees, or falling prey to a landslide.

But something sends him outside anyway: the itch for a cigarette that gnaws at the back of his head. He plants himself in a rickety wooden chair (his hands were always better served for killing rather than creating) and settles in for a long morning smoke. Doesn’t even bother with coffee today, or else his hands might shake when aiming down the sight of his rifle.

A few guns stashed in the house are the only facet of his old life he allowed himself to keep. He tells himself that their presence calms his nerves living this far out in the woods, but he knows better. Go too long without shooting a gun and he starts to get antsy.

Better killing an animal than… well. Hunting keeps him busy. Busy and alone, just how he enjoys life these days.

Within the hour, he’s geared up and ready. Face washed, teeth brushed. Barely managed a five minute shower last night before collapsing into bed, and he doesn’t bother with shaving much anymore. A small bit of post-military defiance he’s allowed himself.

The rifle slung over his shoulder is a comforting weight, a constant amongst the unknown of the trees that surround him. He chose West Virginia to retire to solely because of Claire’s childhood obsession with Mothman. He remembers his teenage years, all the times they made plans to visit Point Pleasant, and now he lives an hour south of the town but something repels him from going near.

He should call her soon. Tell her he’s still alive. Up ahead, the tree line splits open to make room for a shallow creek, and he wonders where his life went wrong. The bone-deep exhaustion never gets easier to bear.

At least the view is nice.

The screaming that faintly echoes through the trees, however, isn’t.

He almost fails to catch it. A voice, high-pitched from panic, calls out to the endless void of the mountainside. He blinks and he’s back in Edonia, or maybe China or Romania, or maybe his own dreams where screaming civilians always cry out his name.

His feet move on instinct, tearing through the terrain, climbing up the muddy slope and latching onto tree limbs to propel himself forward before he comes to a stark realization that he’s too damn old for this.

But there’s something addictive about being a savior. He supposes he’s never been good at self-preservation, and the act of saving a life gives a solid excuse for the danger involved. It’s all woven into the fabric of his DNA. Predisposed for addiction by way of martyrdom.

He finds you at the base of a steep hill, crumpled in the brush. You call out to him, dragging yourself to a sitting position.

“Jesus Christ are you a sight. Feels like I've been screaming since the sun came out.” A fact made clear by the hoarse grit of your voice.

He takes note of your accent, the weak vowels and lengthy drawl. Even after four years of traipsing around the territory (buying the local produce on sale, traveling to the lake for a day of fishing, occupying a booth at the small-town bar), he hasn’t gotten used to the locals. Too friendly, too outspoken, too communal.

It’s something he outright refuses to be apart of.

Adaptation is a skill that Chris has long-since mastered—like learning enemy strategy, adjusting to a different schedule every week, surviving off of naps for months on end—but there are times when he feels much like a baby taking its first breath.

Now is one of those times.

Overhead, rain threatens to fall yet again, the sky a malignant grey, poisonous clouds moving closer toward the mountainside. No doubt the land around his cabin is more mudhole than grass, and a clap of thunder signals a heavy storm looming just up ahead.

He can't leave you here. The soup-like heat bears down on him, sweat soaking through his flannel and beading on the bridge of his nose. Mud thick on his hands, caked on his boots. It's unbearable and he's used to temperatures twenty degrees hotter.

“Listen, if you can just get me on a trail, maybe somebody'll come by.”

Given the weather, he knows that's not true, and with the blood soaking into the collar of your shirt—head wounds bleed—he's not too keen on dumping you in the woods somewhere and going back home.

Chris experiences a dilemma for the first time in four years. He looks you over on instinct. Takes note of your injuries: the wide gash on your head, a bloody scrape on your chin, skinless palms, a swollen leg. You're filthy in places, and one glance behind you up the hillside shows the path your rolling body carved out. Broken branches, trampled down bushes, deep pockets of compact mud.

The road that leads out of this place has no doubt flooded by now, which leaves only one option.

He explains the situation to you, coming across more short-tempered than he means to, but you're a clean break in his routine. A burden on his responsibilities. An outlier.

“I have a cabin you can rest in until the weather lets up.” Your face twists into a grimace, and he gets it. He's a big man, a stranger, but— “Unless you'd rather die in this heat. Your choice.”

You exhale a sharp breath, eyes trained on a nearby tree. “Fine.” You glance back up at him, eyes flitting between relief, anxiety, and anger. “I appreciate the help.”

Getting back home is a lengthy affair. His first instinct is to throw you over the line of his shoulders like he used to do his men, except he's not military anymore and you're a stranger. Instead, he throws your arm over his neck while you hobble along with the help of the tree trunks on your path.

Your adrenaline wears off when his cabin comes into view. A quaint thing, the yard half-dilapidated—he lives life on the basis of necessity, and he needs nothing more than a small garden, a wood pile, and his tools—while the interior carries a bit more bulk. The house is small, and he’s gathered a lot of things since his stay. Furs, leathers, blankets, canned food, stacked jars of moonshine, winter clothes, a bookshelf overflowing with mystery novels to keep the thoughts at bay.

You digest the living room as discreetly as you can manage, head downturned, both hands cradling your injured leg.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, halfway to the bathroom. Stops in the bedroom’s doorway to turn and glare at you. “Don’t touch anything.”

Your nose pinches up in a scowl. “Trust me, I got more important things to worry about.”

He fetches the first aid kit from beneath the sink, wets a clean washcloth, and grabs a towel from the cabinet. When he returns to the living room, you sit slumped back into the couch, quiet in your pain. Given the swelling of your leg, he’s dealing with a possible break. And a possible concussion. And injuries that need stitches.

Him and his savior complex.

Treating you is a breeze. You don’t complain when he gets too heavy-handed, you let him poke and prod at your wounds, you barely flinch when he pushes a needle through the skin of your forehead. You say thank you even while your eyes water.

“I’m no stranger to pain,” you say, after you’re all bandaged up and snuggled nicely on the couch. “I would argue I’ve had worse.”

You pick at the edge of gauze taped to your forehead, a thin slice of red weeping through the material. He’ll have to change it out in the morning, but at least the cut isn’t as deep as he originally thought. That’s the problem with blood. It tends to hide the severity of the problem.

“Since you ain’t from around here,” you continue, pointing a finger at him. “I should inform you that I broke the cardinal sin of these hills by letting you bring me home.”

He looks up from his piece of wood, knife carving away bits that fall into his lap. (A hobby he picked up during that first winter, when the boredom almost killed him faster than the cold.) “Did you have any other option?”

You glance around the living room in an attempt to locate your patience. “I guess not.”

He can’t help the laugh that leaves his mouth in a sharp breath, or the way his lips attempt a smile.

You’re trouble, even as concussed and incapacitated as you may find yourself. You encompass nicely a bit of the mountain grit he’s gotten so used to during his trips to the nearby town for supplies. It’s a facet of this life he’s grown to appreciate. The no-bullshit attitude reminiscent of his BSAA days.

The ceiling fan creaks with each rotation of its blades as the room falls into silence. Outside, the song of frogs and crickets and cicadas signal the beginning of night. The cavern of loneliness he experiences most days is filled with all manner of wildlife: the snakes seeking shelter from the heat; a rogue doe and her babies passing through on their way to the creek; a raccoon stealing from his compost. All fleeting moments, yet powerful enough to quell the isolation.

“What brought you here, if you don’t mind me asking?” Your voice slurs, eyelids struggling to open each time you blink.

He does mind you asking, and he responds with silence, settling deeper into the chair.

“I just wonder ‘cause people only come out this far when they’re running from something.” You attempt a smile, a pitiful thing given the swelling on your face. “Don’t wanna wind up dead tomorrow morning.”

He wants to be kind—he should be—but the idea of spilling his innards to a stranger leaves him baring his teeth in an effort to protect his soft underbelly. "Just go to sleep already.”

Your face falls, morphs into an anger running on fumes, and the only argument you manage is a grumbling, “Asshole.”

When your eyes close and your breathing evens out, he cleans up his mess of wood chips and sets his half-baked carving on the bookshelf. He hides the knife in the bottom drawer of his nightstand.

Come morning, he wakes in a puddle of his own sweat, the cabin sweltering with humidity. He finds his blanket tossed across the room as muddied visions of his dreams play out on repeat (his sister's skin peeling away from bone; Piers begging to be saved; Ethan entrusting him with Rosemary). Sleeping is difficult on his best days, but with the heat swarming like locusts, he wakes every hour in a state of misery. He sometimes wishes that the memories would sweat out through his pores. Maybe one day he can start all over again as some fresh-faced twenty-year-old with his whole life to fuck up. He’d do a lot of things differently.

He leaves his bedroom to find you sat on the couch, furrow-browed and dripping sweat. You huff out each breath, bent at the waist to cradle your leg.

“You look miserable,” he says, moving to fetch the first aid kit from the kitchen table.

“Not to shit on your hospitality, but I am. Can’t believe you live like this. We believe in air conditioners, ya know.”

In truth, he’s never thought to get one. Too used to gritting his teeth and bearing it like he does everything else.

“You’ll live.”

“I beg to differ.”

He leaves for the bathroom to wet a cloth with the coldest water the pipes can manage, then throws it to you on his journey to the couch. You pick it up with a gasp and swipe it over your face and arms.

When you're satisfied, he settles in next to you. Clears the blood on your wounds away with alcohol wipes and replaces your gauze. Unwraps the bandage from your ankle to check the swelling and discoloration.

“You need a cast on this.” An absolute, a fact—one you take issue with.

“And how are we supposed to get to a hospital?”

“I was stating the problem, not the solution.”

“Which ain’t helping.”

“You know, you’re very mouthy for someone who’s completely out of options.”

When you don’t respond, he looks up at you. Arms crossed over your chest, mouth twisted into a frown. The discomfort rolls off you in waves.

“Excuse me for being terrified.”

He huffs out a sigh, lowering his gaze to the painful swelling of your leg. “I’ll try to get you help. Alright?”

You nod your head, and he returns to work.

.

.

.

Chris turns on the radio. Newscasters report on outages all across the region. Collapsed roads, downed power lines, warning after warning to stay home unless absolutely necessary.

Flooding happens semi-regularly around here. It’s the reality of mountain life. Difficult to adapt to at first, but he learned about necessities from a local farmer and now each flood doesn’t carry along the mortality-driven dread that it used to.

Still. The circumstances are different this time.

You sit across from him at the kitchen table, head balanced on your folded arms. He’s kept up a routine of pain meds over the last two days even though he doubts they do much to calm the ache, but you always give a little thank you when he sets them in your palm that makes his savior complex purr like a tomcat.

“They’ll be weeks re-building the road,” you mutter, barely heard over the warning listing off affected areas. “If they even think to.”

“There are a few people nearby. They can’t leave us stranded.”

“They can and do. Look around you…” your sentence trails off before you sit up in your chair, blinking at him. “I just realized I don’t know your name.”

“Chris.” His own name feels foreign on his tongue, like it doesn't belong to him anymore. The locals don’t ask and he doesn’t bother enough to offer. He's a different man now anyway.

“Well, nice to meet you, Chris.” The smile you give him rivals the sun, and his name filtered through your accent feels like hearing it for the first time.

Within the confines of his ribs, his heart starts beating again.

You give him your own, and he rolls it around in his mouth before speaking it into existence.

It suits you.

He wants to say it. Wants to tell you it's nice to meet you, too. That, given the circumstances, you're goddamn lucky it was him that heard your calls for help. He's a mean man, not a bad one. In a world like this, the distinction is necessary.

But the moment passes, and he returns to the radio in silence.

.

.

.

Midday strikes hot and humid, much like most other days in summer.

You watch him chop up meat with all the reverence of a professional butcher. Leaned in close to survey the quality, to compliment the steadiness of his hand.

He had ordered you to rest, that you were likely concussed and needed the healing, but you were adamant about overseeing his carving of the deer on the porch outside. You had even helped him lay down the tarp (after throwing a borderline-tantrum about the necessity of pulling your weight).

“What’re you gonna fix with it?” you ask, shoulder brushing up against his as he turns the cut of rump over in his hands.

He’s never had an audience before. To Chris, preparing venison likens to meditation. He takes his time, ensures accuracy to prevent the loss of good meat. The spill of blood keeps him grounded, a controlled mess that has stained almost every shirt he owns.

Prey animals know the price of sacrifice, and maybe he sees a bit of himself in them. Knows how cruel fate can be.

“Fix?” Confusion twists up his brow as he slices away a stubborn piece of fat, and you scoff.

“For food. You can make all sorts of things with deer meat.”

“I just fry them up like steak.”

“Which is wasting good meat. We should make a stew. Or deer jerky.” From the corner of his eye, you shake your head at him. “You’re so lucky my daddy was a hunter.”

“Why is that?”

“’Cause I’m gonna teach you a thing or two.” He gives a pointed glance toward your injured leg, and you reach down to cover it with your hands. “My leg has no bearing on my ability to give orders.”

He bites back a smile, teeth aching from the force of his grit. “I'll take your word for it.”

Come to find out, it doesn’t. You instruct him on which ingredients to use, how to cut the meat, and when to add everything to the pot from your perch at the kitchen table. You’re like a little bird in his ear, singing away in an accent that grows thicker as the day wanes.

You eat your stew half-asleep. He shakes you three separate times when your head starts to droop and he fears you drowning in your bowl. But it’s the best meal he’s had in four years.

He drags you over to the couch, a feat given the way your legs buckle, and waits until you begin snoring, foot propped up on a pillow, to say, “Thank you.”

It's the first time in years, even before he hid himself away, that he's felt anything close to warmth thaw his insides. Gratefulness, maybe, that you possess the knowledge for self-sustainability. He isn't sure why he's so surprised.

He stares at you for a long moment as the wind howls outside, a sliver of light cutting your torso in half.

And then he goes to bed.

.

.

.

“I need to shower. Or bath. Something.”

He looks up to where you tower over him, leaning against the shelf of perishables he's been organizing all morning. “Then go.”

“I don't have clothes. And I'm not putting this sweaty outfit back on.”

Chris closes his eyes, massaging away the headache blooming across his forehead. It's hard enough to manage everything without your presence itching at the back of his skull. He knows you watch him when he isn't looking, no matter how discreet you attempt to be, and you strike up a conversation every time he's within earshot. He just can't figure out why. A copperhead would be a better housemate than him.

“Alright. Fine.”

With a tired huff, he rises to his feet and passes you on the way to the bedroom. He sifts through his dresser to find an old shirt and a pair of boxers he hasn't worn in a while. You'll bitch about wearing his clothes, but like the rest of this situation, you have no other option.

He doesn't really like the thought of you wearing them, either. Can’t put a finger on why, but the thought makes something foul churn in his gut. Too close for comfort.

Back in the kitchen, you take them with a sigh of resignation.

“That's all I have for you to wear.”

“No, it's fine. I appreciate it.” You survey his choices a moment before your head tilts and a wily grin stretches unsettling across your lips. You stretch out the hem of his underwear between each forefinger. “Comfy.”

Heat rises to his cheeks, butterflies swarming around inside his ribs. He wants to snatch them from you, to forbid you from entering his bathroom altogether, but he doesn’t. He drops to a crouch and picks up a can off the floor, scratching a corner off the dated label with his bitten-down thumbnail. “Jesus Christ, just go.”

A stagnant silence, and yet you still stand beside him.

“I was just playing. I didn't mean to—” He shoots you a glare over his shoulder (tries not to cave at the panicked pallor of your face), and your mouth clamps shut.

A few minutes later, the pipes creak and groan inside the walls as you start your bath.

The distraction of his sorting works for a while, until anger morphs into something easier to indulge in. He can’t think about you stretched out in the tub, naked, smelling like his soap. What you might choose to do with your precious minutes of privacy. Gritting your teeth through the pain of maneuvering your leg.

He’s not sure if wanting to help makes him a better or worse man. Selfish. A creep.

You don’t know him. He doesn’t want to know you. And yet he thinks, when the last of the supplies are sorted and inventoried, his back digging painfully into the shelf. He presses a bit harder to quiet his mind, until the welts of his spine bow beneath the wood, and still—this train of thought refuses to derail.

Because you aren’t a bad thing to look at all day, and he can think of much worse companions to share his home with.

The solitude sews poison in his brain. A rabid beast with gnawing hunger and sharp teeth used to satiate. He wonders how soft you are. How easy your flesh might give from the press of his fingers. The best way to shut up your chirping.

He digs the heel of his palms into each eye socket until he sees stars, and then the inevitable happens.

A thud from the bathroom rattles the house. On the other side of the wall, you spew out a string of curses that would make his old team blush. But you don’t call for help.

He weighs his options as he rises to his feet, already beelining for the bathroom door before his mind makes its decision. A swath of steam smacks him in the face when he opens it, and there you lay: sprawled out on your side, held up by an elbow, the expanse of your back and legs still dripping water. Bare. You missed hitting the sink by only a few inches.

A fresh wave of anger wells up inside his throat—how could you do this to him—before he swallows it down.

“What the fuck did you do?” The question poses more as accusation, rough as the rock that sits in the back of his throat.

He grabs you beneath each arm and sits you up, and you tilt your head back against his shoulder to meet his gaze.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I just—I got dizzy and—fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Every cell in his body fights the urge to look past your face, to the swell of your chest, the curve of your belly, the little heaven between your thighs concealed by a thatch of hair.

If he were a worse man, he would stare, but he spares your body little more than a glance before he’s helping you to the edge of the tub with a growling sigh.

“Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, and that’s good enough for him. He leaves as quickly as he came.

This is where his slow death begins.

You’re wearing his clothes when you exit the bathroom, and you smell like him, and you ignore him all evening. Actual torture would be more bearable than this. Anything but your newfound fear of him.

You eat dinner in silence, eyes glancing up at him when you think he doesn’t notice, but unfortunately for you, he doesn’t miss much. Especially not the pout that contorts your mouth, or the crystalline shine to your eyes.

From your point of view, he must not look too keen on engaging in conversation. Sour-faced and square-shouldered, stabbing at steamed vegetables with a fork.

When he settles in for bed, he thinks of you. The softness of your skin, the curve of your back, the nest of curls hiding away your cunt.

It takes him less than a minute—sharp, wet pumps of his fist—before he cums thick all over his belly, teeth sinking into the fat of his thumb to occupy his mouth. The regret sets in shortly after, when he hops in the shower and stares at the porcelain base of the tub beneath his feet. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt sexual attraction, too occupied with the inner workings of his head. And now that box has been opened, and every horrific, nasty thought kept tucked away for years seeks to drown him.

He wakes the next morning to a revival of guilt. Snow clinging to his lashes. Sand in his hair. Salt in his mouth. Plush thighs and pretty lips and hot wet velvet heat. He fists the sheets to keep from touching himself, until the sunstorm remnants of his dreams die out.

In the living room, you’re still sleeping. Morning has yet to break, the sky outside still dark, his yard a well of thick mist from an overnight rain. At this rate, you’ll be stuck here until winter.

He resigns himself to reading a book on the front porch, chain-smoking the morning away. Fractals of lightning strobe across the sky. A bird takes refuge on the wooden rafter above his head. His fingers itch with a need to busy themselves, but he would rather take his chances out here than share the house with you.

The bees drone on as they drill into the wood of his porch, scattering sawdust everywhere, but he can’t bring himself to care. The screen door opens with a creak, and there you stand, arms cradled against your chest as if chilled to the bone.

You refuse to meet his stare, opting to gaze out along the expanse of trees concealed by a wall of heavy rain.

“You shouldn’t be on your leg,” he says, dog-earing the freshly-turned page of his book before setting it aside.

“Just wanted to check on you. Thought you might be out in this.” You nod toward the yard, now a sea of mud and standing water.

Mosquitos are going to be brutal for the next week.

You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again to say, “I really am sorry, ya know. I didn't mean to push you like that.” Finally, you turn to look at him. “Gratefulness aside, you can be an asshole sometimes.”

He knows. It’s what’s kept him alive this long.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to complain.”

Against his better judgement, he pulls out a seat for you. Says, “Well, we have all morning,” with a nod to the sickly grey sky.

The gesture is equal parts olive branch and apology. A rite of penance. One of the hardest things Chris has ever done—giving a chance for you to slip through the cracks of his inpenetrable armor.

You take it with a tender smile, nursing your leg on the way over. Stubborn little thing can't stay still to save your life.

The rain beats a steady rhythm onto the roof of the covered porch, and he has half a mind to slink back inside and sleep the day away. The weather opens his aches like popped-loose stitches, joints ground to the bone, a blooming throb at his temples.

You watch him with a propped-up elbow, cheek resting on a fist. “You're a frustrating feller, ya know that?”

“I'm aware.”

“At least give me something. A last name? Everybody's got one'a those.”

He considers it for a moment. Takes a long drag of his cigarette and ignores (or tries to) the way his shirt exposes the soft curve of your shoulder. The sheen of sweat on your face that makes you glow.

“Redfield.”

You hum. “Chris Redfield. You're one of a kind around here.”

“What, you don't see many Redfields?”

“Wasn't talkin’ about your name, big guy.”

He blinks. The way you smile at him—soft, so soft—makes his teeth bite into the filter of his cigarette. If he were a worse man, he would lean forward and bite the pretty curve of your shoulder instead. Carve his being into something much more giving. Sweeter.

He turns away to stare at the ashtray, to watch the filter burn as he stamps out its fire. From the corner of his eye, you shift.

“Listen, I know I'm a lot, but I really do appreciate you taking me in. You saved my life.”

He nods his head, tracks with his eyes a billowing smoke that mingles with the rain. “Then you should listen to me, for your own sake.”

You sink into your chair with a pout. “I'm not used to sitting all day.”

“You better get used to it.”

And get used to it you do. You stay out of his hair for the better part of four days, only interacting with him during meals and when he passes by the couch for his hourly cigarette. But still, you watch him tinker about the house as the radio drones on in the background. The daily weather report supplementing the rhythmic thump of his hammer.

He's finally gotten around to fixing the rickety dining chair (only because the first time you sat in it, you almost fell on your ass; he knew better).

“Don't you got a TV or something?” you ask him from your place on the couch, freshly awoken from your nap.

He glances over at you. Your eyes squint from the overhead light, shirt rolled halfway up your stomach. He does not take half a second to ponder the softness of your skin, or if you might giggle when he kisses you there.

If you still smell like him.

“Go back to sleep.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost five.”

You huff, collapse against your flat pillow with a thud. “Do you even have a phone?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want one.”

“So you're one'a those types. Got away from society to start over or some shit?”

“Something like that.”

You fall silent, turning away from him to face the couch. A swell of regret settles like a rock in his throat. The fear that he's made you angry once again. He shouldn't care, but he does. He's grown used to your endless chatter, always something to talk about inside that brain of yours.

He hates it. Hates himself for letting you worm your way into his skull. A part of you settles there no matter how hard he tries to shake you out. It wasn't supposed to be like this. The flood wasn't supposed to happen. Your presence was never part of the plan, a liability unaccounted for.

He feels like he's been put on the chopping block and he watches the axe get polished. Waiting for the blade to fall, for the pain to end.

With a heavy sigh, he opens his mouth to speak. To indulge you just this once. “I used to work for the government. Had a bad time. That's all you need to know.”

You don't budge at his admission.

He blinks, waits a moment, then turns back to the chair.

A few minutes later, your snores flutter into the kitchen. So pitiful sleeping on his couch, small beneath the pile of his old comforter. Too good for a dog like him.

How sweet you'd be.