#and before she makes him into a rag and shakes him like a dog; her adrien is whistling for her to stop | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

uranometrias · 6 months ago

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my love mine all mine , aaron hotchner

this is incredibly self indulgent. i wrote this for myself, because my cat passed away today && i have no idea how to grieve correctly. but i've always been able to express myself the best through writing, so here i am trying to do so.

basically reader loses her kitten && hotch is there to comfort her while she grieves. reader is a doctor && gets her nails painted. mentions of sleeping in a scarf and braids (but this can apply to any race <3) hotch is pretty flirty. he also had a dog that died when he was younger (idk) ... i'm still getting used to writing him (but he's been rotting my brain) so hotch girlies please be sweet to me, i'm trying.

"Have you decided what you want me to grab on the way?" You feel giddy, eyes beaming vibrantly as you unlock your front door. Aaron was on the other line, he'd been looking forward to spending the evening with you for the past two weeks. Your jobs often sent you in separate directions, with him following cases cross country, and you spending nearly twenty hours a day working at Inova Fairfax Medical Campus. The commute was nearly an hour from Quantico, which made it difficult for your schedules to coincide the way you hoped.

Today though was an exception. He'd just gotten back from a case, a successful one, and you'd been lucky enough to finally get two days off. You couldn't contain your excitement when you'd finally managed to get Aaron on the phone, and with Jack staying at Jessica's for another night, it seemed everything was working out in your favor. You still had no idea what you were in the mood to eat, despite having ample time to figure it out. "I dunno." you mutter, and you drop your keys into the basket just to the left of the front door.

"Well honey, you've gotta give me something." Aaron chuckles, and his voices makes you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. "I'm sure you haven't anything at all today." and it doesn't take a rocket science to know he's absolutely correct. Your stomach grumbles audibly, and you cringe, the sound a dead giveaway of your poor eating habits. "Do you need a bit more time to think about it?" he asks, and you're nodding your head, despite the fact that he can't see you. Your focus is split, eyes darting around your place in search of Piper.

Piper was your five year old tabby, the most special companion that you'd cared for since she was a newborn. Usually she'd be making her way to your front door, nudging her head against your shins, meowing her head off as some form of reprimand for being gone too long. Her absence was unusual, but you'd noticed she'd been sleeping a touch longer in the recent months. You'd taken her to the vet and they'd written off any life threatening illnesses. Perhaps she was jus becoming a lazy cat they had said.

"What'd you eat yesterday?" you ask, and you shrug off your coat next, hanging it in the closet as you slip off your cork-leather clogs. You admire your pedicure, French-tips gleaming back at you as your feet hit the cherry laminate flooring. You imagined that he'd hardly been able to eat well while out on a case, Aaron (and his team) had a horrible habit of neglecting their own health and wellness for the sake of cracking the case. You'd call him out on it, but it'd feel to hypocritical with the way you gave most of your life to the hospital.

"Four cups of coffee." and he sounds sheepish as he replies, he'd been running himself ragged with this last particular case. He couldn't leave the precinct until he was convinced he'd made a dent in the investigation. He could imagine your disappointed pout, but he was doing his best, or at least trying his best. "But, Dave made sure that I got something this morning before we got on the jet." and it's not like he has to explain himself to you, you'd never berate him. He believed it was just a side effect of falling for you.

"Four cups?" you gasp, head already shaking. "You're going to turn into a cup of coffee if you keep up with habits like those." you scold. "You'll have to double your water intake, you could seriously dehydrate yourself that way." you say with a quiet huff. You round the corner of the foyer, heading for the kitchen. "Are you feeling alright?" your tone grows a bit softer, "Four cups means you were really absorbed in the case. Everything okay?" you tread lightly. You weren't quite sure how he felt about you asking about his job.

"As far as endings go, I'd say it was better than most." he replies thoughtfully, clearly unfazed by your desire to probe. That makes you smile a bit, the obviousness of his trust for you. "We minimized the amount of deaths, the unsub was taken into custody... the team worked really hard." he proceeds, and you find yourself grinning. "But, I will do a better job of taking care of myself. You'd be a good nurse, but I can imagine a few better scenarios for you to take care of me."

You smile despite the fact it makes your heart stutter step. You were still getting used to him growing more confident in this way, but you weren't complaining in the slightest. "I'd be a great nurse." you correct him delicately, "I'd enjoy taking care of you in any way though." and you bet he can hear your shyness through the phone. Your relationship with Aaron still felt fairly new, you'd been seeing one another for going on seven months, but you knew you loved him.

Even if you hadn't managed to say it just yet.

"Look at that, another thing we have in common." he exhales, and you want him to hurry up and get to you. You hadn't seen him in so long, and despite the fact you were willing to mount him on sight, you just wanted to enjoy being in the same place for once. "How are you? Did you have a good day?" and you like the way he's so attentive, how he seems to genuinely care about what you had to say.

"It was great." you insist, and you've poured yourself a glass of water, ice tinkling as you scanned the dining room for any sign of Piper. Still nothing, weird. "I went to the bookstore a bit earlier, got a few novels for my book shelf." you list. "I got my nails done, and I got a facial. It was so relaxing I wound up falling asleep on the table." and you chuckle a bit at the memory. "Piper and I went on a drive before lunch, she's so spoiled." you add, but you're still scouring the space.

"Drafted up my budget for the month, my new schedule came in," you exhale tiredly at the thought. "Picked up my scrubs from the dry cleaners, I did a grocery run, and went to see the flower exhibit near the Farmer's Market. I got this really incredible soft-pretzel croissant." you sigh dreamily at the memory. "And now I'm home, and waiting for you." you complete, and you lean forward, arms resting against the countertop. "It was a really nice day. I thought I wouldn't know what to do without work, but I'd nearly forgotten what it feels like to be off."

Aaron's silent, but not because he's disinterested in your ramblings. He finds them endearing, and oftentimes had to remind himself that you, much like Jack, needed verbal response in order to feel heard. "I missed you." and it's not quite what he was aiming to say, but it's what comes out. It's true, it had been a while since he'd seen you in person, and with the way your schedules overlapped, he'd hardly been able to get much conversation out of you apart from quick check-ins in between patients and breaks in BAU cases.

You let out a quiet puff of air, it's not quite a sigh nor an exhale. Your lips curve upwards, and you wonder if there's a record out there for most smiles achieved in a single phone call. "You've got no idea how happy that makes me." you reply, and you inhale deep. "I missed you too, hurry up and get over here." you press, and you replay the sound of his responding laugh over in your mind. You don't think you could be more lovesick, but it's a more than welcomed feeling. "As far as dinner, why don't I just cook something?" you offer with a shrug.

"Do you want to?" and Aaron's got this weird thing about him where he's still getting used to the fact that you want to do certain things for him. You go over it a lot, reminding him that you'd love nothing more than to spoil him as much as he spoils you. He's still a bit hesitant, but you don't mind fighting the good fight until he relented. His hands tighten just slightly on the steering wheel, and his leg jumps as he awaits your response. He knows, or better put, he has an idea of what you'll say. He still wants to hear it either way.

"We take care of each other, mon amour." You coo, and he feels that familiar rush of affection towards you. "It'll be fun." you add, and then you're sighing audibly. "I just really can't wait to see you. I don't want to wait any longer than I need to." you express, and Aaron understands. He'd been restless on the jet, Dave and Emily seemed to zero in on his jitters, he was thankful they had enough couth to keep it to themselves. All he received was a knowing smirk from Rossi as he made a beeline for the tarmac the second the jet landed.

"I'll be there soon." he promises, and you grow giddier. "I-" and he wants to cross the line, mutter three worded phrase that would change everything. He'd been learning to be more bold, to focus on the things he could control, and appreciate those things. "I love you." he doesn't have time to think about the repercussions, because it's out, and there's a strong sense of relief that washes over him. You are surprised, but elated. The excitement his words bring you is hard to diminish.

"I love you too." and it comes out as easy as breathing. Probably because you mean it with all of your heart. "I'll see you soon, Mr. Hotchner." you promise, and he's chuckling at your sudden formality, likely a side effect of your newfound nerves at the huge step you'd both taken in your relationship.

"See you soon." you don't bring the phone from your ear until you hear the faint click of the call ending. You exhale shakily, mind running at a mile a minute as your heart seems to double in size. Still, you find this moment is short lived- mind once again on the eerie silence in your apartment. You place your glass down on the counter, coaster be damned as you make your way past the dining room and towards the living room. Sometimes you'd find Piper curled up on the couch, quiet purrs escaping her as she slept contently.

"Piper!" you coo, surprised when you note that she's nowhere to be found. You know that she wasn't outside, you'd made sure before leaving back out that she was comfortable in the house. You follow the layout of your place, the archway that led from the living room back to the foyer is the route you take, heading towards your bedroom as you continuously call for the cat. "Piper, where are you, pretty girl?" you enter your room, hopeful that you'll find her there.

You spot her little paw peeking out of her hideaway and instantly relax. "Oh Piper, you scared me." you let out a shaky sort of giggle as you fully enter your bedroom, feet brushing over the comforting carpet. You kneel just in front of the hideaway, reaching out to pet her. It takes you a few moments to make peace with the fact that she's not rousing. You swallow thickly, a lump growing in your throat as you wiggle her paw. She doesn't move, just as limp as before.

"Piper?" you feel the way your throat constricts, eyes immediately wanting to brim with tears, as you grow frantic. "Oh, please no-" you exclaim, head shaking as you feel a shudder rack through you. You're gentle as you maneuver around the hideaway, hands looping around her small body as you move to pull her out. She's limp, not even the act of you lifting her up enough to make her move. Your glow feels like it's diminished almost instantly, a dark cloud setting in over your head. It seemed a bit silly, panicked over the loss of a cat.

But she was yours, like a daughter to you in the way you cared for her, and made her apart of your routine. She was special, and despite the reputation cats gained for being standoffish and unable to understand human love, you knew that to be wrong. Piper was sweet, a loving cat that curled up beside you every night and followed you like a second shadow. She'd play games of tag with you, chasing you around your apartment as you squealed and screamed for your life.

"Please, please, no-" you're shedding real tears now, they're slipping down your cheeks in a constant succession. "Piper, please wake up!" it's silly, probably. Rocking back and forth with a dead cat in your hand hoping that sheer adoration will be enough to turn back the hands of time. It's certainly not, and the reality crushes you. The first sob is choked, almost like you're holding yourself back, not letting your feelings take full affect. You hadn't prepared yourself at all.

You didn't know what to do.

You think that's when the first swell of sobs begins. They're more ugly wails than anything else, the loud sound echoing through the space in front of you as your arms lower, Piper's body leaning against you as you continued to let your tears flow freely. Your chest tightens, constricting every couple of seconds like you'd suddenly developed chronic heartburn. The pain is a violent assassin, the air around you feeling tight. You think you may be choking on all that you're feeling.

You hate the part of your brain that was constantly in 'Doctor Mode', the side that reminded you that despite your grief, handling a deceased animal like this was a surefire way to get sick. Her body wouldn't start to decompose for at least another day, but you had no real way of knowing just how long she'd actually been dead. You don't move though, until at least your sobs have waned, you know it's not the end of them, but it's a reprieve just for a moment.

You slowly climb to your feet, still clutching Piper as your eyes whip around your bedroom. Your eyes land on her carrier, and the image makes you want to cry all over again. You shut your eyes, allowing yourself to take in a deep breath. It doesn't help. Still, your feet lead you over to the carrier, where you're gently placing Piper. Her vet was only eight minutes up the street, and maybe your ability to dispose of her so quickly was precisely why this was happening to you.

Guilt was loud, too loud. It almost knocked you to your knees as you imagined Piper's fear whilst you were gone. Was she sick? How long had she been? Why hadn't you noticed? Why did you leave her alone? Why weren't you there? You let her down. You had let her down.

You want to curl into a ball, hide under the blankets and cry until you passed out. But, she deserved better. She deserved to not be lugged around like she was some prop, she needed a proper place to rest. Once her carrier is zipped up, you're picking it up by the handles, using your other hand to swipe at the tears still trying to fall. You take the route you'd walked not ten minutes prior, slipping your shoes back on, and grabbing hold of your keys. Aaron still had another forty minutes or so in his drive, you hoped it went by quickly.

You don't think you ever needed him more than now.

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The sobs returned the second you'd walked past the threshold of your house. You sluggishly made your way back to your bedroom. It felt much lonelier now, the house feeling much too big for just you. You think that makes you cry even harder. You're covering your mouth with your hand, hoping that it would be enough to mask the sound of your bawling. You doubt that it does, but you can't do much else. You don't want to go to sleep, you don't want to do anything.

You begin berating your behavior once more in your head, replaying all the ways you'd been a shitty caretaker even though you know it's a bad idea. Your leg shakes under your comforter, the blanket squished underneath your body as you hid your face beneath the blazing heat of your huge blanket. You don't even realize how long you've spent in this space of self-loathing and bitter tears, until you hear the front door's lock shifting out of place. Aaron was here.

"Y/N, sweetheart?" and you want to run to him more than anything. You can't though, because you don't want him to think you're a failure. So you stay put, and you cry a bit more, sniffles growing more audible as you're forced to choke back angry sobs. It doesn't take long for him to make his way towards where you are, and you don't know what he'll say when he finds you looking a mess. You know your mascara has given you racoon eyes, and in your grief, you'd failed to tie a scarf around your head. Your braids would look messy soon.

"Y/N?" and his voice is so soft, soothing, everything you don't deserve now. Your hand clutches a fistful of your shirt, right where your heart rests. "Are you in here, honey?" and you sniffle, an answer all on its own. You barely hear his footsteps, but you feel it when the bed dips just slightly, and you feel it when he gently pulls at your blanket. When he's pulled it back, he's met with the sight of your tear-streaked cheeks. Your nose was runny and raw, and your lip was quivering. It didn't take a profiler to know that you'd been crying, and he frowns.

"Are you alright?" he questions, and his hand reaches out to brush against your cheek and neck, almost like he was checking your temperature. "You've been crying?" and he examines you subtly for any signs of assault or struggle. "Did something happen?" and he knows he keeps asking questions, but he's getting worried.

"P-" and a sob racks through you, your entire body curling in on itself. Your hand is pressing against your mouth again, and your shoulders shake as you began to cry once more. "Piper she-" and your head shakes, hand clenching and unclenching against your shirt. Aaron's eyes dance around your room, and his eyebrows push inwards. He was worried, but determined to be extremely delicate with you, namely by being patient as you got out what you needed to tell him. "Piper's dead." you finally say, shoulders sagging as you weep.

Aaron's examining your face, which gives you a front row seat of the way his face is eclipsed with compassion. "Oh, honey..." his lips pull downwards into a frown, and you know, of course you know it's awkward. What do you realistically say to a person that loses their cat? It's not like any amount of conversation would bring her back. "I'm so sorry...." and usually it sounds empty when anyone offers condolences, but like with most things, Aaron is an exception. "Are you okay? Can you tell me what happened?" he pleads.

And you know that he knows that you're not okay. It's meant to be a stupid question, the obvious one. But you also know that he's giving you the chance to vent, to articulate everything you feel with no judgement. It makes you want to curl into him, and stay wrapped up in his arms until neither of you had any idea where one ended and the other began. "I just-" you have to take a moment to gather yourself, hiccupping blubbers escaping you. "I came home, and I-" your voice cracks harshly. "She was just gone. I don't-" you shake your head.

"I don't know what happened." you express, and Aaron's sympathetic, and he hates seeing you like this. Every time you cry it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright. He supposed that came with loving you, an innate desire to protect you, and keep the bad things out. He'd only ever seen you in this state a handful of times, mostly when things went wrong at the hospital and you lost a patient. He had to get to you before you started blaming yourself for something that completely out of your control.

He didn't know much, but he did know your love for Piper, and how deep it ran. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that you'd never do something to put her in harm's way, you'd never do anything to hurt her. And he wants to pull you into his arms and tell you everything will be alright, he wants to be there to anchor you down. To ground you in the midst of all these swimming and overwhelming emotions trying to fight for the upper hand. He wanted to be there for you.

"Is there anything that you need from me?" he asks gently, grief was harsh, it came in ripples and waves. It was gut-punching, it could be loud and then silent. Sneaky and then outright. It was a process, and whether anyone else thought so, if you needed to grieve the life of your pet, you should. Who was he to ever get in the way? He's gently rubbing his thumb over your cheek, your tears splattering as you kept the duvet pulled up to your chin, as you stared him down. He figured you must have been deep in thought.

It takes a moment for you to reply, and he's fine with the silence. You're tears haven't stopped, but they've grown more quiet. Silent tears that pool and trickle down his wrist and onto the blanket. You soon take in a shaky puff of air as you sit up. Aaron's patient as ever, watching as you pull your legs from underneath the blanket, crawling until you were sitting on his lap. There's no sexual undertone to your movements, you don't want to fool around, you just want to be close.

Your head rests against him, eyes closing as his arms envelop you. "Can you just stay with me?" you ask, and he's already nodding his head. You both knew it was an impossible request. At any moment you could get paged, or he could get a call about a new case. The world didn't stop all because you were grieving, but for one second you both could pretend. He could stay right here with you, and you could love him, and not feel so overwhelmed by all your sadness.

"I'm not going anywhere." he mutters, and he's reaching for your hand. His easily dwarfs your own, but it's still just as comfortable, letting your palms press against his own. "I have never lost a cat before-" and he's treading lightly, wanting more than anything to help you and not harm you. "But I did lose a pet when I was younger." he expresses, and your interest is peaked, just slightly.

"What type of pet?" you ask faintly, and you're squeezing his hand in your own. He knows that it's comforting you so he says nothing about the tight pinch of his fingers pressing together.

"He was a golden retriever actually." Aaron replies, "Nothing was particularly wrong with him. He was fed well, taken care of, treated like one of the family..." he proceeds, and you involuntarily hold your breath as you listen. "But one day he just... he just went." Hotch proceeds, "And when you're a little kid that's not in the best environment, a staple like a pet dog is important. Losing him was like losing the only bit of sanity I could cling to. Does that make sense?"

Your head nods, and you squeeze his hand again to show him you care. "And surprisingly enough, I found myself crying over it. Mourning this dog, an animal that was part of the family, but of course, was not my family member." he continues, and his chin rests on the top of your head. "The point is, him being a dog didn't make it hurt any less when he left. It's okay to be upset about Piper, she was important to you, special even." he whispers. "And you did a great job giving her all the love you possibly could." his eyes close then.

"I need you to know that it wasn't your fault. And keeping yourself up with thoughts of 'what ifs'." it's his turn to squeeze your hand this time. "And those moments where you... didn't want to play, or wanted to be left alone are not what she remembered when she passed on." he insists, and he won't take any arguments on the matter. "You gave her five amazing years, and whether science backs it up or not, she knew how much you loved her." he insists. "You might not believe it today, but I hope that you do in time." and he kisses your forehead.

It's butterfly inducing, and makes you cling all the more to him. "You're not by yourself." he adds, and you're glad to know it. You peel back, eyes locking with his, and they're glassy. You hate seeing such a grief-stricken look on his face, at your sake no less. It makes you lean forward and kiss him, in the hopes you'd manage to kiss it away. He kisses back instantly, and you're still sad, you probably will be for a long while, but you don't feel as lonely as you did an hour ago.

"I love you." you mumble the second you've pulled back, and this time there's no phone. His eyes are swirling with so many thoughts and feelings of his own, but you need him to know you mean it, and likely always will. You couldn't imagine anyone else being here with you like this now, nobody else that would care enough to grieve with you. He gives you a half smile, and kisses you once more, a much deeper kiss that makes you lightheaded and dizzy. Of course he had that effect.

"I love you too." and you're happy that he hasn't left you hanging. Your fingers trace his collarbones and cheeks, moving to cup his face with your right hand. You kiss him again, this time just long enough to get the message across. When you pull back, your head is finding it's place back on his chest, and his arms move up and down, rubbing gentle circles against your back, as he cranes his neck to kiss your head. It makes your stomach flutter, but it makes you want to cry too.

He leaves three gentle pecks on the top of your head, moving to kiss your cheek, before he's looping his arms around your waist with a palpable amount of admiration. He plants a sweet kiss on your shoulder, and mimic this action by offering him a kiss of your own. "Thank you." you exhale, and you mean it so wholeheartedly.

"You don't need to thank me, Y/N. We take care of each other, mon amour, remember?" and he recites your earlier words back to you. It makes you cling to him much tighter, tears returning to your lashline as Aaron pulls you even closer to him. "If you need to cry a little bit more, go right ahead. I'm right here." so you do.

Grief was a lot, it could be paralyzing, debilitating, and outright traumatic, but you knew even if it didn't feel that way now, in time you'd be okay. Part of you felt like you had Aaron to thank for that.

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eddiemunson-reader-shame · 2 months ago

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Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader: Venus

Good afternoon people of Hawkins I take hammer and I fix the canon so that Eddie and his love are there to save the day.

Alternatively: fuck people like Angela. Throw rocks at them.

Trigger Warnings: vomit mention, pregnancy

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“What the hell are they doing to Mike’s girlfriend?!”

You sat up ramrod straight, looking directly at Mike Wheeler’s little flame as she’s accosted by a group of leering little bitches led by a trashy looking blonde named Angela. After being accosted one day in Bradley’s Big Buy, fate found you and your fiancé chaperoning Mike’s little trip to see his girlfriend and friend in California. Mrs. Wheeler had paid for the plane tickets and paid you and Eddie two hundred dollars, trusting you to take care of her baby boy and his little friends. Responsibility was something you took seriously. You felt protective, a far cry from your usual antisocial and avoidant demeanor.

The minute you landed in California was when you imprinted on the kiddos like a broody hen imprints on baby chicks. You took a particular liking to Mike’s little girlfriend: she was awkward and scared much like you were once upon a time. Jane Hopper was mousy and shy, and had been trying to be bubbly throughout the trip even though you kept insisting to Eddie something was wrong. You could recognize the signs of someone trying to hold it together. Eddie had insisted you were wrong. Despite his efforts to calm you down, nothing could make you feel safe.

You had been off the whole trip, and the way you were on high alert, the more it seemed like Eddie was right about the cause.

“Hey! Take it easy…” Eddie soothed, pulling at the hem of your Motörhead ringer tee, “Let’s not go berserker on them.”

“I don’t like the way they’re crowding her!” You hissed, pounding your clenched fist on the booth table.

Mike and Will Byers jumped, glancing from you to Eddie then to each other when you immediately stood up out of the booth seat. You were bouncing on the balls of your feet, crouched as though you were going to pounce on someone.

Everyone was already on edge because of you. Going to Rink-O-Mania had been an entire ordeal. Before you entered the parking lot, you were already bitching and moaning about the drive over. Then you started complaining that the rink smelled like feet, and then you complained that the grease from the hot dogs was too overpowering. Eddie had tried to be the peacekeeper. Settling your raging stomach with a thick strawberry milkshake when you started whining about wanting one, and then complaining that the chocolate and vanilla smelled rotten.

The shake helped settle your stomach, but once the nausea was gone you just got more broody and hypersensitive.

“Babe, take a second, okay?” He soothed, pulling you back down into the booth with him, “You’re gonna cause a scene.”

“I don’t like how they’re just grabbing her and lugging her around like a suitcase!” You said.

Will’s hands were shaking, and you could hear him whispering with Mike.

“What’s wrong with her…?”

“How the hell should I know?! She’s been insufferable ever since she got on the plane to California!”

Eddie glanced over at Mike, shaking his head and frowning.

“Mike, take it easy. She’s not feeling well.” He said.

“Eddie, this is stupid!” Mike said, “She complains about every little thing, whines that she doesn’t feel good, then snaps at you if you don’t answer her right away or do what she wants. I swear she’s on the rag! Now she won’t even let El hang with her friends.”

“Mike chill, you don’t understand-…”

You immediately snapped your head towards Will when you heard him make a strangled noise in his throat at the mention of Jane’s “friends”.

“What’s wrong?!” You demanded.

“Nothing!”

Will looked like he had a gun to his head. Hyperventilating. Pure panic on his face.

“Will…” you growled, moving in like a tiger.

“Sweetheart, please. Everything is fine. Don’t start up with the stress.” Eddie begged.

“Yeah, man! Stop freaking everyone out!”

Mike stared you down while Will looked left and right, as though hoping to be saved. A storm was brewing, both in your face and on the roller rink. And unfortunately he didn’t have the spoons or the know-how to quell both at once.

You glanced hatefully at both Eddie and Mike.

“Shut up.” You hissed, before turning back to Will.

He shrank in the booth, the faux leather squeaking.

“Those girls are not her friends… are they?” You whispered dangerously to Will.

He was avoiding your gaze. Fidgeting in his seat. You continued to stare him down until he finally, finally shook his head and muttered.

“No… they’re not her friends. Those are the ones that bully her at school…”

The air surrounding the booth seemed to shift; a cold front of anticipation hitting everyone. You began to quiver, while Mike and Eddie rounded on Will.

“Why didn’t you say something?!” Mike demanded.

“I promised I wouldn’t tell!” Will countered, while Eddie simultaneously tried to pacify Will and soothe Mike.

But you were done. You were so fucking done.

“Fuck this shit.”

You moved out of the booth and sat astride a nearby bench, kicking your shoes off and tying on your black skates. Your face was dark, stormy and murderous, and you looked like you were puffed up and ready to kill someone.

“No, no, no!” Eddie was scrambling out of the booth after you, trying to grab your arm, “Sweetheart, we need to stop and take a breath-…”

“Eddie’s right! What are you even doing?!” Mike demanded.

“I’m going to get my fucking kid.” You said.

“Since when is she your kid?!” Mike snapped.

“Since your mother told me to take care of all of you on this trip.” You snarled, nearly snapping the shoestrings on your skates as you tied them with a vengeance, “If anything happens to any of you, Eddie and I are the ones that are gonna catch hell.”

“You think I’m afraid of Karen Wheeler?!” Eddie interjected, trying to drag you back over to the table, “I get that we have a responsibility, but we need to take a deep breath and not go apeshit on a bunch of kids. You need to think of the situation we might be in...”

His voiced dropped to a whisper.

“I don’t want either of you getting hurt.”

“I’m just going to go get Jane.” You said.

“Dammit babe you can’t just go charging in-…”

Before Eddie could do anything, you had already secured your skates and began gliding out onto the rink. Vaguely over the sound of Bananarama, you could hear Eddie calling your name. You were skating a bit like shit. The motion was a little disorienting, and out in the middle of the rink you could smell everything mixed together with body sweat.

You whipped your head this way and that, before spotting Jane. Cornered by Angela, that bleach blonde jackass.

“Excuse me.” You called out, bumping the blonde with your hip.

The motion was so fluid it simply looked like you were just gliding on by, taking Jane by the upper arm and coasting with her for a turn around the rink. It was done swiftly, no muss no fuss, but you knew from years of experience that girls like Angela wouldn’t let you go so easily.

Jane looked a little frightened, and you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of a mirror. Your teased hair was waterlogged with sweat, and your sharp winged eyeliner was dribbling down your cheeks and getting into your sleep deprived red rimmed eyes. To Jane, you must have looked like a demon.

“Are you okay, sweetie?!” You called out to Jane over the intro to ‘Venus’.

She waited until the iconic screech passed before responding.

“I’m okay…” she nodded, clinging to your arm when she realized you had come to save her, not scream at her.

“What were they doing to you?” You called out, only to see the intended plan a second later as Jane’s bully and her cronies started tailing the two of you around the turn. You locked eyes with Eddie across the room, watching him stand up from putting on his inline skates and gliding towards you two.

“Don’t panic.” You told Jane, “Just skate towards Eddie, okay?”

She nodded and went forward obediently, nearly falling into his open arms when you gave her a little push. Jane’s bullies were closing in on either side of you, and just as you made for Eddie, you felt a tug at the back of your hair. It was soft at first, then someone yanked you backward.

You landed hard on your wrist and ass, and when you looked up, you were doused in chocolate shake.

The smell was more overpowering than the laughter of Jane’s bullies. Angela stood triumphantly over you, her friends circling all of you as they laughed and pointed.

“Look who it is!” She laughed, “The loser’s fat little mother hen!”

You didn’t say anything as you got to your feet. Watching the girls circle you was giving you motion sickness, and you slapped a hand over your mouth as the sickening smell of cheap cocoa ice cream and curdling milk invaded your nostrils.

“Aww look, she’s not saying anything.” Angela sneered, getting into your face, “Is Mommy feeling queasy?”

The hot dog grease, burnt popcorn, oil, Angela’s Love’s Baby Soft perfume, and the insoles of skates that had been sweated in since the sixties, were cumulatively gathering together into one rank whiff to make your stomach turn violently. The feeling of saliva flooding your mouth meant the end was nigh. You looked up at Angela, a sly grin on your face as one of her female friends went up behind you with a fist raised.

“Oh, Mama’s feeling queasy alright,” you hissed, spit dribbling out of your mouth.

“You stuck up little bitch.”

Angela only had one moment to react before her friend hit you hard in the middle of the back. The floodgates opened. The punch to the back knocked you forward, and you immediately threw up all over the front of Angela’s blue shirt.

You finally understood the meaning of a Kodak Moment. Her face changed in the span of a second from superior, to shock, to horror and then fear as she began gagging as the smell of vomit hit her nostrils. You coughed up the remains of the shake while her friends immediately vacated the rink, the music stopping mid riff and everyone clearing off the minute “ralph” was heard echoing through the roller rink. Angela began screaming as Eddie nearly bowled into you, laughing so hard he was crying.

“Holy hell!” He cried, his face red with laughter and his smile wide as he led you out of the rink by the arm, “Did you have to do that?!”

“She shouldn’t have doused me in shake.” Was your smug response.

“YOU DIRTY BITCH!”

Angela shrieked, alone in the center of the rink, covered and stinking, “You’re fucking gross! You’re disgusting!”

“Word of advice, sweetheart,” Eddie called over his shoulder, a smug smile on his face while leading you into the waiting arms of Will, Mike and Jane.

“Next time: don’t pick a fight with a pregnant woman!”

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things reader insert #jane hopper #mike wheeler #will byers #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #pregnant reader

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solivagantingrebel · 2 months ago

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Thinking about how... Ghost never felt wanted, appreciated or loved in his childhood home, about how he did his best to run away from those memories; erased them, removed himself and the people from the place, and kept his distance until it was refurbished. It was different by the time his brother inherited it, the colours were different, the furniture was different and some of the rooms were renovated to be indistinguishable from before.

Ghost's life was different too, he made sure of it.

There were moments, when he visited, where if he stood for a second longer, closed his eyes briefly — even for a breath —, he'd feel the familiarity of his past creeping in, haunting him. He'd remember how he couldn't relax in the living room, or in the hallways, or anywhere he wasn't allowed to close the door of, always anticipating those heavy footsteps and that terrible, sneering scoff before his days got worse in ways he couldn't anticipate. Blood, tears and sweat leaving scars underneath his skin, ones he could only fool himself to hide.

He felt a sense of dread whenever he visited — slept over —, remembering the moments in the kitchen when he went for a glass of water whenever he couldn't sleep, like his mother was right there with him, hunched over with whatever she could get her hands on, tears streaming and ignorant to the world until Ghost softly asked if she was alright. She'd have an awful, dead look in her eyes, any hope and light devoid before she properly focused on him, shaking her head and telling him to go back to bed.

He'd get himself the glass and feel the heavy weight of her gaze on the back of his head, and by the end of it, she would tuck him in; some semblance of normalcy lending itself so that he could go back to sleep. He still felt her gaze, sometimes, never realising that he might've saved his mother more than once by unintentionally waking up late until it was too late. His mum wasn't perfect, no one could be in their situation, but he could never fully blame her for what they all suffered.

It should've been something, seeing Johnny walk so freely through the house, following him like a lost dog would. His steps were Ghost's, a beacon for his wayward soul. Johnny didn't know the table he was leaning against was where he used to hide his brother when it got worse. The dining table was different back then, but the house was a witness to all those fights, its walls always large and silent to their protests. He didn't know how his father got away with it for so long. His memories were a mess, remembering only the worst of it while shrouding the rest — days, weeks, months and years melting into this concoction of experiences, never to see the light of day again.

Johnny didn't have it great either, he'd speak of his cousin, more highly than his mum and dad, leaving vague comments about disapproval and rejection and frustration and Ghost would nod along, because he understood. Parts of it, anyway, and while he might've not faced the same issues, he knew how it felt to be distanced from family to the point you'd have to drag yourself on your hands and knees to make sense of it. There wasn't a shot to down in the vicinity, nor a smoke to share, so Ghost settled for the next best thing; drowning himself in those ocean eyes completely fixated on him. It didn't matter what came out of his Sergeant's mouth, every word poured out of those pretty lips numbed the reopened wounds in his chest.

When Ghost cornered him against that table to kiss him, he didn't pull away. He rarely does, even in the moments he couldn't anticipate it, quick to melt once he knew it was Ghost and eager all the same.

"I'm gonna sell it," he says when they pull away.

The statement confuses Johnny - a sentiment Ghost shares for a second, before he realises why it was necessary.

"Ghost."

"I can't risk it."

I can't risk the same story repeating for us.

I can't risk losing more.

Ghost exhales, loud and ragged.

I can't risk losing you, he doesn't say. Instead, the silence fills the space in-between, the confession buried from the tip of his tongue down to the rotting confines of his heart. Johnny gets it. In his infinite patience for Ghost, he looks like he understands, and the familiar scrunch of his brows ease away as he nods and steps closer.

The touch on Ghost's waist is grounding, a silent, gentle permission for more, and he lets him. Johnny hugs him like he is trying to melt into him, share the warmth that overflows from his heart to fill Ghost's empty husk-like chest. He hugs him like there is nothing he'd rather be doing, seemingly content on standing there, holding him for hours on end if he needed to.

"Johnny."

Everything falls into place like it was always meant to. The torment of a life spent wanting, wishing and begging for more, quenched through the existence of one man alone.

"We'll get it sorted, Simon."

Ghost rarely believes in reassurances, promises that can't hold up in the face of a cruel, uncertain future, but he wants to try. If not for himself - he wants to try for Johnny.

"We always do."

He supposed they did.

As long as Johnny is willing to stay by his side, everything will be alright.

#ghostsoap #soapghost #my writing #i dont know how to explain what inspired this but. something something grief of the past bleeding into a relief from the future (present)#i tried!#writing amirite #i love them

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cantstoplovingjude · 6 months ago

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Maid for Your Command - Jude's Commands

This is from Ikemen Villains EN, Cybird owns everything.

Jude: "So lemme get this straight. Some bloke ya barely know says 'Be a maid' and you go 'Yessir, right away, sir!'?"

Jude: "That the kinda thing ya into, huh?"

Kate: "That's not what happened!"

I let out a frustrated sigh as I argued with Jude yet again.

It all started as I was accompanying him on a mission as Fairytale Keeper.

A woman who appeared to be a maid accidentally bumped into me and dropped the clothes she was carrying.

The man beside her looked to be her master and tried whipping her right there and then.

I immediately intervened to protect her, only for Jude to get irritated with the "negotiations" that took place between us.

Kate: "I thought it would be better to help her with the laundry, rather than let her get abused."

Jude: "Real impressed by your integrity, I truly am."

Jude: "But there's no guarantee all ya gotta do is wash it 'n be done."

Kate: "I know there's no way to confirm that, but still..."

Her master has said, "If you want to protect her, then be my maid in her place and wash my dirty clothes."

But then he saw Jude before I could say a word, and all the color drained from his face. And then he just ran off somewhere.

Kate: "At least I'm not such a terrible person that I scare people off with just a glance at my face."

Jude: "Yeah, 'cept thanks to that 'terrible person' ya don't gotta play maid no more, do ya?"

Kate: "Well-"

Jude: "Shouldn't ya be returnin' me the favor?"

My body froze as if it were a reflex.

I already knew what owing Jude a favor meant, and it wasn't pretty.

(But I can't deny that him being there helped me out...)

Kate: "I'll treat you to lunch in order to say thank you."

Jude: "Nah, don't want that."

He flatly refused and stared at me with the eyes of a predator.

Jude: "Let's see, what should ya owe me..."

A cruel, cold smile spread across his face.

Jude: "How 'bout ya pay me back by bein' my maid, huh? If ya can do it for a stranger, ya can do it for me, can't ya?"

Jude: "Ya ever hear of a contract of obedience?"

==========

Jude: "Huh? Can't hear ya. Say it again, louder this time."

I tried to gather up my voice, but every time I opened my mouth to speak, the words came out shaking.

Jude: "Next time if ya talk too quietly, I'll shove a rag in your useless mouth. C'mon now, speak up."

Jude had taken me to one of his company warehouses.

And I stood there trembling with anger at his humiliating order.

Kate: "...I pledge obedience to my master."

Jude: "Sit."

Kate: "...Excuse me?"

Jude: "What the hell happened to obedience, huh? I said, sit!"

I gritted my teeth as I obeyed Jude's ridiculous order while he crossed his arms and leaned against a packing box.

The floor of the warehouse was so cold it made me shiver.

Kate: "You're not treating me like a maid. You're treating me like a dog."

Jude: "If ya listen to every command I give ya, what's the difference?"

He stood up and stepped on the hem of my dress with his stylish black shoes.

(How am I supposed to stand up now?)

As I watched him looming over me, my heart started pounding even louder.

(Who knows what he might do if I don't fulfill my debt to him...)

(I don't know if I want to find out what else that twisted mind of his could come up with.)

Jude: "How 'bout I strip those annoyin' clothes off ya, slap a collar round your neck 'n take ya for a walk?"

Kate: "Absolutely not!"

Jude: "Did I ask the dog to talk back to her master?"

Jude: "Apparently, ya got no intention of obeyin' me, so I guess ya don't need that mouth after all."

He reached out and tried to cover my mouth with his large hand, but I jerked back and hurriedly apologized.

Kate: "A-all right, I'm sorry! I apologize for being careless!"

Jude: "Oh yeah? Prove it. Get on your hands 'n knees and bark. Then I'll forgive ya."

Blood rushed to my face when I heard his command.

I started to protest instinctively, but then quickly shut my mouth.

(...I might as well just do it. Make him happy, and get out of this situation as quickly as I can.)

I glared at Jude, getting down on my hands and knees like he said.

Kate: "...W-woof."

Jude: "So vicious. Looks like you're 'bout to tear your master to pieces!"

Jude: "And look at those rebellious eyes of yours. Hah, yeah, I like that."

Kate: "Wha-?!"

Jude: "Wasn't intendin' on playin' with a lil bird like ya, but..."

Jude: "Now I wanna know what you'd look like when ya scream 'n cry for me."

Kate: "...Ah?!"

He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet, then roughly pushed me up against the wall.

He pinned my arms to the wall, his grip so trong I couldn't fight back.

Kate: "Let me go! ...Ah!"

I struggled in vain as he wedged his knee between my legs, then my body began to tremble as a strange heat rushed through me.

(He's got to be kidding... He can't be serious!)

Jude: "Hmm..."

I couldn't read the expression on his face as he stared at me coldly.

Kate: "Ahh, J-Jude...!"

As I shifted, his knee rubbed against the sweet spot between my legs and a thrilling, throbbing sensation overtook me.

My mind was a mess of fear, frustration, shame, and... pleasure.

Jude: "What're ya gettin' so excited 'bout, huh? I'm not doin' nothin'."

Kate: "Please move... your leg."

Jude: "Ya could get fired for tryin' to do somethin' that indecent with your master's body, ya know that?"

Kate: "I am not!"

Jude: "How 'bout I leave ya here all alone as punishment then?"

(Oh, to hell with it. He is the absolute worst!)

I wanted to say that to him, but the sound of his whisper against my ear sent another shiver down my spine.

I desperately tried to stand my ground, but my legs began to tremble and grow weak.

Jude: "What would ya do if ya saw another woman bein' treated the way ya are right now, right in front of ya, huh?"

Kate: "What? I-I'd call for help, of course!"

Jude: "Tch. You're a right idiot, ya know that?"

Right now, he looked more angry than mocking.

Jude: "You're supposed to ignore it. Haven't learned your lesson one bit, have ya?"

Kate: "Ahh...!"

Now his leg which had pressed me against the wall started rubbing against me with purpose.

The hot, grinding stimulation I felt between my legs was too much to bear and I couldn't help but moan.

(I-I didn't mean to make that noise...)

Jude: "Ya really think ya can 'help' anyone with that tiny, weak body of yours?"

I flushed with embarrassment as he immediately released me.

Jude: "If you're gonna follow me 'round, ya gotta ditch all the niceties 'n goodwill."

(He really is... something else entirely.)

Jude: "Or if ya don't wanna get tossed aside, then forget the damn mission 'n go back to sleep in your castle, princess."

I bit my lip, trying to calm my breathing.

(Even if that was his way of warning me, he could've done it in a different way.)

(And I'm not going to stop being kind to people. But I don't want to give up on my mission, either.)

(Besides, why is he trying to make me learn a lesson by being so malicious, anyway?)

(I wish I could understand his way of doing things better.)

I took a deep breath and stared at him.

Kate: "I refuse both."

Jude: "...Hah, should've stuffed your mouth shut, after all."

He gave me a very displeased look and then sauntered out of the warehouse.

And I still chased after him, dragging along my throbbing knees and aching body...

End.

#jude jazza #ikemen villains jude #ikevil jude #ikemen villains

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frannyzooey · 2 years ago

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Weeknights Drabble

Frankie Morales x f!reader, Weeknights Universe

Rating: Explicit AF

Summary: Valentine's Day in the Morales household ❤

Happy Valentine's Day, my loves! ❤️

“Dad?”

“Yea, baby.” Frankie’s eyes narrow at the red construction paper in his hand, his movements deliberate as he carefully cuts out a heart.

“I’m gonna draw a dog on this one, I think. For the teacher. Because she’s always asking about her, you know?”

Lucia’s body rocks as she swings her feet under the table, her crayons a colorful scatter across the kitchen table and she leans forward, her look of concentration a direct mirror of her dad’s.

Their darkly curled heads bent in task, you smile at the image and then scrape the rest of the bananas from the jar of baby food in your hand, feeding it to your son. He spits most of them out in his enthusiasm for more, before giving you a gummy smile.

“Does she always ask about her, or are you always talking about her?” Frankie asks Lucia, placing another heart by her hand and when he catches you looking at him, he winks.

Lucia ignores his teasing, and he nudges his chin in the direction of the high chair, taking in the sloppy bib. “Seems like he got a little more in his mouth this time, huh?”

“Just a little,” you smile, reaching for the rag next to you.

“Mom?” Lucia asks, scrawling her name across the bottom of one of the paper hearts. “Can I make one of these for brother?”

“Oh, that would be so nice, baby. He’d love that,” you reply, standing to pull him from the chair. “Just don’t give it to him though. He’ll eat it.”

“He really would,” Frankie says, getting up himself to come take the baby from you. He gives him a kiss on the cheek, uncaring about the smear of food across it. “Oh, yum. Banana.”

He gives him another kiss, low murmurs of Spanish endearments spoken into his small ear and then he shifts him to a one armed hold, one you love because it affords a good look at the taut muscle of his forearm when he does it.

He leans in to give you a peck on the cheek; the baby between you. “Why don’t you go take a shower, baby. I got it.”

He smiles down at you, the crinkles surrounding his eyes soft with affection and you lean in for a wordless request for another kiss, one that he grants you. The baby pulls at your hair, and you smile against Frankie’s lips. One, then another; the baby cooing.

Bending down, you place your hands on Lucia’s head and tip it back just enough for you to place a kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight you. Don’t forget to brush your teeth, okay? I’ll see you in the morning for school.”

She waves you away, another Valentine created and carefully set aside and you leave them in the kitchen, disappearing down the hallway.

–

“They go to bed okay?” you ask, padding into the bedroom, cinching the belt of your dark green robe.

“Yea,” Frankie answers, shifting to sit up in bed. He tugs at the band of his watch, sliding it off his wrist before reaching to set it on the bedside table and you take a moment to admire what he’s wearing: one of his worn t-shirts and briefs, his leanly muscled legs long and relaxed against the mattress.

You crawl up on the bed to join him, curling into his side.

“You smell nice.” He leans in, letting his lips rest in the dip below your ear and his nose nuzzles the fine hair behind it before he places a kiss to your shower warmed skin. You hear him inhale, his lips finding purchase again and when you feel the tip of his tongue touch your skin, you sigh, letting your head tip back.

He turns to face you, his mouth opening wider and drunk on his open mouthed kisses, you hum in contentment, your eyes closed. “You want your present today, or tomorrow?”

He pulls back, his eyebrows raised. “You got me something?” His expression slips into an apologetic wince. “Shit baby, I didn’t think we would be exchanging anything. I didn’t –”

You shake your head, stopping him. “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I know it’s been busy with the –”

You stop talking, Frankie’s arm slipping behind his back to fish for something under the pillow and he grins, sliding an envelope out. You tilt your head, biting your lip with a smile and give him a gentle shove on his shoulder, making him laugh.

“Francisco Morales,” you scold him and he grins, leaning in with a teasing sound.

“Say it again, baby. You know I love when you say the full name.”

You know exactly the kind of reaction you can draw out of him when you do it, and a mental image flashes through your mind, along with his pleading, breathless voice. You raise an eyebrow at him with a smirk, and he places the envelope in your hand.

Opening it, It’s a spa certificate, from the place you normally go when you want to feel pretty for him after endless weeks in leggings with the kids and you thank him, leaning forward for a kiss.

“I love it,” you say, placing it on the bedside table. “I feel like my gift is kinda lame compared to yours, though.”

He makes a skeptical face at your statement and you move to crawl into his lap, sitting down on the top of his thighs. Your fingers brush back his curls, the grey threaded with the brown highlighted in the dim warmth of the bedside lamp and his hands settle on your hips as he looks up at you. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine.”

Aged since you met him, but in a way that’s only made him look more handsome, his eyes almost black in their thick lashed depths, save for the rich, deep brown that reflects in the light of the lamp and you trace the hollow of his throat, your thumb resting there for a moment before drifting down to catch on the neckline of his t-shirt.

Your hand splays across the fabric, the heat of his firm chest leaching through. He’s so broad, so strong and solid, the cotton of his shirt fitting so nicely around the rounds of his shoulders and you’re lost in your open admiration when he pulls you from your daze when he speaks.

“Well? You gonna give it to me?”

You meet his gaze, holding it when your fingers move to untie the knot of your robe and parting the fabric slowly, his eyes drop to watch.

He doesn’t say anything as you open it, letting it fall from your shoulders and onto the bed, but his eyes - his eyes tell you exactly how he feels about it.

“Jesus, baby.” His voice is low, husky, thick with arousal as it gets caught in the back of his throat and his hand comes up and hovers, as if you’re too pretty to touch. Silk wrapped and see through in all the places he loves best, he takes it all in with a swallow, eventually dragging his eyes back up to your face.

His hand finally settles: a broad splay across your chest, gliding down the plane of it before it moves worshipfully over to your breast. His thumb glides across the nipple, watching as it buds under the silk and you let out a heavy, slow breath - one that makes him sit up straighter.

“I can’t believe how fucking good you look.” His hands move with more confidence now, curving over your sides and sliding down to map the globes of your ass and then he’s tugging you forward into him, forcing you in for a kiss.

It’s a hungry one, his mouth already so eager to taste and you thread your fingers through his curls, pulling him closer as you slide your tongue against his. He groans into it to match your soft moan, his arm banding across the middle of your back as he shifts to force you backwards and down onto the bed and soon you’re spread out on the mattress, laid out beneath him.

“I can’t believe this is my present, baby,” he breathes between kisses, his mouth dragging along the curve of your bare shoulder, his lips brushing aside the thin strap that rests over your collarbone.

He keeps going, placing his mouth over the silk covering your nipple, breathing hot and dampening the fabric. He nips at it, giving it a suck. His hand slips under the hem, pushing it up over your hips and when he finds you bare underneath, he groans.

“Take your shirt off,” you ask him, knowing what he is about to do and he complies, tugging it over his head.

His curls are a mussed halo, his cheeks flushed as he kisses a path down your body and when he hooks his arms under your thighs to tug you swiftly closer to him, you let out a breathless laugh - one that slides into a moan when he drops into position between your legs, his mouth immediately seeking you out.

“Frankie,” you whine, your thighs opening wider for his shoulders and the groan of savor that he lets out reverberates into your slick core, adding to the skillful glide of his tongue.

You look down, admiring the dip and flex of his back muscles as he delves his tongue deeper inside you and then his eyes are on yours, looking up from his place between your thighs. His hand reaches up, palming your breast and you place yours over it, squeezing.

The soft frown of concentration between his brows makes you wetter, your hips beginning a gentle roll against his open, worshiping mouth and then his hand is leaving yours, reaching beneath him to slip two fingers into you.

“Goddamn, your pussy is so tight,” he praises over your moan, his mustache and beard already darkened with dampness. “It tastes so good, I could eat it all night.”

He goes back for more, his tongue swiftly gliding over your clit as his fingers push in down the knuckle and then he’s fucking you with them, sucking a release from you as he rubs it out from within.

You cry out louder than you should when he adds a third finger, and inching them in, his eyes are fixed on the way you stretch around him, his fingers glistening.

“Always gotta work my baby open. Gotta get you ready to take me, huh?”

You nod, his fingers slipping in and out in their confident stroke, and when his tongue laves a wide, firm stripe up the seam of you, he can feel you start to pull him deeper, fluttering around him.

“You wanna come like this?” he asks, his bicep flexing as his hand moves. “You wanna come on my hand, or on my cock?”

“Your –,” you can’t get the words out in time, his mouth descending again and before you can answer him, he’s slipped his fingers from you in order to hold you tight against his mouth; his damp fingers smearing against your skin in his tight hold.

He doesn’t let up, his tongue working you exactly the way he knows you like and forgetting everything else but the slick warmth of his mouth and the scratch of his beard, you start to fuck his face.

“Make me come, Frankie. Make me come.” It’s a breathless chant, one that starts out and then slips into a heavy pant when you get closer and when you finally come into his mouth, he groans just as loud as you.

He’s not done, his damp hand catching on the fine silk as he guides you into place on all fours and you’re still buzzing from the aftershocks of your release when he shoves his briefs down to line himself up with your entrance, his hips pushing forward just as you rock back.

“Goddamnit, baby,” he groans, shoving the hem of the silk nighty up to wrap his hands around your bare hips as he buries himself inside. His hands fit your waist perfectly, so broad his thumbs almost touch across your back and he’s mesmerized by the bounce of your ass with every pound of his hips against your skin, the sound of it filthy in the low lit room.

Your fingers curl into the bedding for purchase, your face dropping down to hide in the comforter to muffle your sounds, but he doesn’t want that, and so he clamps his hand over your shoulder and pulls you up and back, sitting in his lap.

“Fuck,” you cry out at the change in position, slight discomfort pulling at your features with how deep he is and knowing just how much he is to take, his fingers seek out your clit, rubbing tight circles over it until you relax around him.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” he praises, his tongue dragging along the shell of your ear. “Take it for me, okay? I know you can.”

You start to move on his lap, grinding yourself backwards on his cock as he guides your movements with his other hand and he can’t stop it from roving, touching every piece of your body through the silk that he can reach.

“You look so fucking good for me like this,” he groans, his hips meeting your every glide down. The curve of his nose rests between your shoulder blades, his mouth warm and delicate on your skin. “So fucking good. Gonna make me fill this pussy up. That what you want?”

“You know I do,” you gasp, working your fingers with his. “That’s all I want. For you to fuck me.”

“What do you want me to fuck you with?” It’s a prompt, one he gives before nipping your shoulder, biting the firm round before soothing it with a kiss. Your hips move faster on top of his, the bright edge of another release creeping up on you.

“I want –” you pant, biting your lip.

He feels so good, so filling, so full and thick, no room for anything else inside your brain with how he’s moving his hips behind you and his hand against you. You clench around him, your spine curving to rest your head against his shoulder so he can see your face. “I want – I want it harder. I want –”

He doesn’t let you finish, pushing you from his lap back to all fours and then he is pounding into you; one hand digging into your hip to keep you in place, and the other splayed over your back to keep your upper body down.

The angle is consuming, devastating, all coherent thought gone.

He growls behind you, keeping pace. “Say it, baby. Say it. I wanna hear it.”

“Fuck me, Fransisco,” you moan, the words twisting into a sob and he groans loudly at your use of his full name. “Fuck me with your big cock. Please. Please.”

You come around him just as he starts to come, your pleading words tipping him over the edge and the two of you are locked in position for a moment; spurts of him spilling into you, filling you full. He pulls his hips back, just enough to see the glistening mess and he groans, pushing wetly back in again.

You’re still trembling when he drops to the mattress and gathers you in his arms, his own heart thundering when he pulls you in for a kiss.

“Jesus,” you sigh, smiling. “I guess I should buy you presents more often.”

He hums a laugh, closing his eyes. “Yes, please.”

Letting him catch his breath, you lay there for a moment and run your hands over the planes of his body. The curve of his ribs, the solid width of this chest, the soft give of his belly. He’s tucked himself away in his briefs, the front of the black fabric dark and damp, and you trail your touch down over his hip, dragging your nails along the top of his thigh.

You bring them back up, your fingers lingering on the trail of hair beneath his belly button and he hums sleepily: sated, tired, splayed out on the bed.

You prop yourself up on one elbow, continuing your exploration. “I’m glad you liked it,” you say lowly, bending to place a kiss just above his nipple and he’s half asleep already, acknowledging you with another hum.

You smile down at him, your hand making a slow, but deliberate path down to the front of his briefs. You trace him through the fabric, finding the thick tip of his cock and when it twitches under your touch, he let out a soft sigh, one of encouragement.

“Would now be a good time to tell you I bought more than one?” You breathe the words into his ear, your lips trailing along the curve of his whiskered jaw and you feel it against your mouth when he slowly smiles.

He rolls to face you, gathering you in his arms to settle between your legs and when he’s in place, the solid weight of him presses you into the mattress.

Your arms winding around his shoulders, he bends to give you a kiss, but then stops himself and pulls back; the smile of a happy man.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

#weeknights drabble #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales/you #frankie morales/reader

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macfrog · 1 year ago

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all three dogs

Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love. andrew kane, how to be a dog

inspired by this gorgeous post (good idea to read it before you read this), and this gorgeous ask (thank you @iknowisoundcrazy). also shoutout to @mrsmando for being the queen of character study. i am not sure what this is, exactly? is it about joel miller, or is it about some dogs? i do not know. but it was fucking cathartic, so here, i guess. here's how i see joel at his worst.

summary: "dog metaphors are all about devotion, devotion to a person, a concept, a place etc, to be a dog is to be devoted."

warnings: little graphic i guess? blood and guts. violent joel. sarah dies and joel shoots up a hospital to save ellie. angst. i think that's it

word count: 1.3k

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he loves you, sarah says, fork digging into egg.

he’s dependent on me, joel quips, not the same.

i think it’s the same.

when the first dog is born, he gives his heavy head a shake, and his ears flick to life. his fur is still damp from the blood and fluid of his mother’s body. he still smells like her – looks like her, too. he is still connected in some way to where he has been; the umbilical cord coiled and dripping.

she licks and licks and licks until he is clean. watches contently as he pads off into some distant future, where he will lose that boisterous gleam in his eye, the gentle wag of his tail. but for now –

for now, he is brown-haired. brown-eyed to match. he has a daughter. he is bright, and alive, and he makes jokes when they bubble up to his tongue. he is good. he knows love like a first language, as if each swipe of his mother’s tongue on his coat melded it into his makeup.

he does not know the warmth of another man’s blood on his hands. he has not drawn the screams and howls of pain from another’s throat.

she is the sun – his daughter – the most radiant part of his life. his life, which spins on its axis around her. always looking for her, to her, at her. vitamin c, she tells him, and he accepts the glass of orange juice. she tells him to swear and he says, on my life. she tells him he’s lame and he says, i know.

he trots faithful and pliant at her heels. circles her legs and passes over her shadow, waiting to be told different. waiting to be shooed away.

only – when he is told, he doesn’t listen. he can’t. what is a planet with no sun to orbit? what becomes of day, when its light begins to drain?

she digs her nails into his skin. pushes and scratches and begs him with shallow gasps to take his hands off her stomach. to let her go. to go away.

i know, baby, i know i know i know i know –

he tells her she’s going to be okay. because what the fuck else does he know? he’s just a dog. he’s just her dog. all he knows is her.

the sun is being eclipsed. the world begins to darken.

i’m just gonna get her killed, joel weeps, i know it. i have to leave her.

when the second dog is pulled from his mother, he wails in a collapsed heap on the cold tile floor. the world is dim, colorless. the sun is gone. he does not know how he ended up here.

love is akin to violence. it speaks the same language, inflection and cadence blurring between words. he is only as strong as his fists are able to break bone. he has run out of road – a panting, ragged, old dog, tongue hanging lopsided and jumping. ears dented with the pieces of him lost to fighting.

something quakes within his chest, a deep, unstable movement. a shifting of the tectonic plates that make up his bones. he shakes violently, feeling for the thrash of his heart against his chest wall. something in the darkness commands him to act – to move, though it never reveals where to or what from. just fucking move.

and then – the eruption of his temper. like waves on rocks, breaching in violent and unpredictable bursts. spray of black ocean on the jagged cliff edge. i made this decision for your own good, he reasons, stood in the pink-papered bedroom. the snow flutters silently outside. his hackles slowly furl. she scoffs. she knows as well as he does: he’s as good a liar as he was a pet.

but for all his anger, for all the fear he misdiagnoses as weakness – there is a glimmer somewhere on his back. a pale light catching in the broken face of his watch; lighting the kinks of his dark coat. it begins to push him; to stir him like the tide.

something is controlling him again. pulling on his collar. someone is lighting the way.

where is she?

fuck you.

it takes as little time for the dog’s ears to prick as it did for his lungs to suck in a breath. his upper lip twists, canine glinting in the trembling fluorescent light. shining with saliva and the rusted tinge of blood. joel thinks it over less than once. his eyes flood black.

i don’t have time for this.

when the third dog rips his way into the world, he tears everything around him to shreds, too. his teeth are already bared; his claws are already swiping. his eyes are black as ink; he cannot remember that soft-footed pup he once was.

there is nothing left to hide. not anymore. he has existed in the darkness too long to try. his shirt and skin are stained with dirt and sweat and blood. his fur is matted; his fangs are brown and rotten. if she saw him, if her light cast its golden spill onto his bloodshot eyes and mottled coat – she would never know who he is. she would not recognize her own father.

but he was always this way, it seems: he has always loved catastrophically.

everything is red. saturated in threat; a screaming, nauseating red. it turns his stomach just to look, to peer down the chamber of his gun. the blinking of the alarm light. the maroon stains on his hands. the metallic smell seeping from the slumped vests. the thick pools he steps through, the footprints following him around every corner. they will catch up to him eventually. they always do.

his paws hurt. pads skinned raw from all the running. his lungs ache, now, too. his throat lurches for breath, closes in on itself and then sticks, choking him. he cannot remember the heat of the sun on his arms. he does not know when he last said her name.

he doesn’t remember when he last said anything. he speaks in growls and barks and bites. when his mouth opens, his lips curl by instinct. he swallows his drawl and replaces it with something sharper. something poisonous. there’s foam lining his gums.

all he has – of this he is sure – is his brute force and the quick snap of his bite. the shattering of bone, the mauling of flesh. the brawn and breadth of his body; the squeeze of a trigger with one thoughtless pull. all he knows how to do is swing.

and so, one heavy boot steps in front of the other. crunching over broken glass and scuffing over bullet shells. whereisshewhereisshewhereisshe. it loops through his head like it used to when he could see color and feel the wind in his ears. like chasing his tail. catchitcatchitcatchit.

where did she go – the moon? which cloud is she hiding behind? how many men do his maws have to tear apart to find her?

and what will she think when she sees him again? his collar missing and his claws dripping crimson. when she feels the rips in his ears, sees the scar on the side of his head. what will she do, when she runs her hand down his dirty coat, and in place of a loving lick or nuzzle of the nose, he sinks his teeth straight into her wrist?

swear to me. swear to me that everything you said about the fireflies is true.

the dog lowers his head obediently. his ears fall flat. tail curls between his back legs. the wind pushes hard against joel’s chest, threatening to take him with it. i swear, he says.

ellie’s gaze falls. she nods once. tightens her fist around the dog’s leash.

okay.

lots of inspo drawn from:

how to be a dog by andrew kane

grit by silas denver melvin

monster theory: reading culture by jeffrey jerome cohen [seven theses]

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #the last of us #tlou #i’m not sure what this is #i just wanted to write it #this one goes out to all the dog motif posts i see on the daily about roman roy #ouch

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wing-ed-thing · 1 year ago

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Guard Dog (Shino x Reader)

Synopsis: You took care of him in your childhood at his most vulnerable. Now, Shino wants to do the same for you.

Word Count: 1k

Tags/Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Reader Injury, Gender Neutral Reader

Notes: Have you ever noticed that whenever one of my Readers gets injured it’s always the... same injury? Me too.

You’d take it to the grave; he knew you would. That’s why he entrusted you with his care. Not being a medical ninja, you threw together all the home remedies you could think of. It was a sleepless night.

Shino still remembered the next morning when he was finally feeling a bit more like himself— albeit a bit sore. He woke up to the hazy blue that dawn cast upon the early morning. You lay curled on his floor, your head barely on his shikibuton as you slept. He took in the shape of your nose, your chin. Loose hairs fanned out from your bandana over the woven fabrics. Cups, crushed herbs, and wrappers sat scattered around you, evidence of your rigorous endeavors the night before. Maybe all of your little efforts amounted to enough to clear the poison. Or perhaps, Shino wondered, his body cleared on its own. For your labor, he would like to consider the first option.

And in Shino’s twisted concept of loyalty, you had proven yourself ten times over.

Years had gone by since then. The war and the Allied Shinobi Forces' strife had come and gone, and you treated Shino with the same formality you always did.

You passed each other on the battlefield or during a patrol or two during reconstruction. You greeted him with a cordial smile, and he acknowledged you with a stoic nod, all memories from your childhood distant as you entered adulthood. But Shino always kept you in one manner or another, holding you in the corner of his eye when you were near. His thankfulness, like many other things, remained unspoken.

He couldn’t help but notice how similar you looked, recalling the night you had fallen asleep caring for him. You lay sprawled out on the forest floor. He took in the shape of your eyes and the blood dribble pouring from your lip. Sakura knelt over you, holding a blood-soaked rag to your side wound as green light cast harsh shadows on your face. Fallen leaves mixed with your hair.

Shino stood tall and alert, listening for the subtlest noises in the trees. Sakura caught his tinted eyes, glancing briefly down at you before giving a small shake of her head. There wouldn’t be any way to retreat while you were injured. Sakura switched out the saturated rag with a clean one, the used towel making a heavy, wet plopping sound as it landed on the ground. Your blood seeped into the dirt.

Shino stared at the scene, and instantly, his entire swarm emerged. Bursting from underneath his jacket, beetles rapidly enveloped the nearby landscape. They surrounded the three of you in a circle. The multitude marched outwards, almost multiplying by the hundreds as Shino sent them into the surrounding woods. The carpet of insects moved swiftly, enveloping every log, leaf, and tree like a creeping plague.

Even as they fell out of Sakura’s sight, she could hear the anguished screams of enemy scouts. As dusk fell, she could hear an occasional thump in the distance. The sound of corpses falling out of trees.

The sun had set by the time Sakura got you stabilized. Without proper equipment— not to mention working on a bed of dirt— the feat took longer than she had anticipated. Your injuries were severe. She collapsed beside you, arms outstretched as dried blood stained her hands. She wiped her brow with her forearm.

Shino’s large form hovered over her, a canteen in his outstretched hand. She cupped her palms together, allowing Shino to pour a steady stream of fresh water and powdered disinfectant onto her stained hands. The stream traveled toward the fire Shino had made, the moisture sucked up between the ground and the heat.

“Take a rest,” he told her, maneuvering to where you lay. Shino sat at your side, elbows resting on his bent knees. He studied every shallow breath and labor of your chest. Leaning carefully over you, he pressed an ear to your heart.

“It’ll be okay, Shino,” Sakura said, wrapping herself in a blanket on the other side of the fire. “We’ll get to a hospital in the morning after I’ve ensured everything’s still stable. You should rest too.” He hummed, not quite acknowledging her, and not too long after, Sakura fell asleep from exhaustion.

Shino kept watch as the fire crackled. It was about all that made noise in the forest that night. There were no birds or bugs, just the sound of the fire and your light breathing.

Your eyes cracked open sometime in the night. Shino sat where he had been, keeping an eye on the dark woods that surrounded him.

“Shino?” It came out barely as a whisper. His head snapped towards you, maintaining his alertness. He leaned forward to get a better look at your face. “We got it… right?” The corners of your lips began to tug up into a smile, faltering.

“Yes, we did,” he said, as matter of factly as usual. “Sleep; we’re moving out in the morning.” He returned to where he sat and stared into the darkness again.

“Is it just you on watch—?” You attempted to sit up, to which Shino swiftly placed a hand on your shoulder. You remained where you laid.

“Sakura was working on you for a few hours. She needs her rest.” A small beetle crawled up Shino’s cheek and under his glasses. “I do not need rest.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off. His voice grew softer and quieter than usual. “You did the same for me… a long time ago.”

You thought to yourself, gaze cast off to the side until it dawned on you.

“That one mission with Naruto,” you spoke, and Shino nodded slightly. “That was a long time ago.” You watched the fire flicker in the reflection of his glasses.

“Was it?” He stared off somewhere else, still alert for anything that could threaten your squad in the trees. With the radius Shino cleared, you wouldn’t encounter another person your whole way home.

“Thank you, Shino,” you rasped. “I know I can always count on you.” You mustered what little strength you could to brush your fingers against his. His thumb gently traced your knuckles, paying no mind to the dried blood on your skin.

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

Silence overtook the night again as Shino kept an eye on the woods.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Dare I say that Shino is a bit... creepy in this?? OOOO spooky!! I made it dark and then I had to remember to make it kinda cute

If you liked this work, I highly recommend Honey Stand!

#shino x reader #shino aburame x reader #Shino aburame #shino #naruto x reader #naruto fanfic #Shino fanfic #naruto fanfiction #Shino fanfiction #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #x you #x reader #reader insert #naruto

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stevieschrodinger · 1 year ago

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“You’ve changed,” Carol pops her gum, every snake on her head is turned and glaring at Steve.

“Yeah,” he replies stoically, “yeah, I have.”

Carol rolls her eyes at him, “so what? That’s it? One summer and you’re too good for me now-”

It’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes. He’s aware that Robin has come up to stand next to him, their knuckles brush together and Carol obviously catches it, raising an eyebrow, “Really? You’re fucking Buckley?” She hisses at him, all her snakes weaving gently like they’re waiting for the strike, laser focused on Steve.

It ruffles his feathers, he can’t help that, but he keeps his expression neutral, “yeah, well, what I do doesn’t concern you.”

She hisses again, an actual hiss, forked tongue and fang making an appearance before she stomps off, no doubt to find Tommy. Rob moves closer, pressed together fingers to shoulder, she tilts her head so that her snakes can greet him. They nose Steve’s cheek gently at first, uncertain, before Steve nuzzles them and then they all join in, Steve’s face being licked by dozens of happy tongues. Robin giggles, “dingus.”

All of Robin’s snakes sit low, relaxed, all lovely shades of copper and bronze, just like the scales that decorate her cheekbones and eyebrows. Carol’s are venomous green and always look like they’re hunting for prey.

Steve looks down; she’s done something to the scales, glitter, or something, but it looks pretty. Steve before wouldn’t know how to do this; how to give a simple honest compliment to a friend. Old Steve only said things that were shitty, just to make him feel better about himself, “looks nice, the,” Steve gestures vaguely to the space next to his own eyes, where white downy feathers lie flat to his skin, “shiny. I like it.”

Robin grins up at him, “we could do you, silver would look good?”

“Nah,” Steve looks around again, “I’d never get it out of- hey is that Munson?” Steve asks, frowning as he watches the guy clop along, hooves poking out from the ends of his ragged jeans. It’s Munson, Steve already knows, obviously, but he looks really different, “his horns are in,” Steve realises.

“Yeah,” Robin agrees sadly.

It takes a second for Steve to put it together, “oh shit, Chrissy.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t realise they were so close...were they..?”

Robin shakes her head, “just really good friends. Her family...they wouldn’t let him go to the funeral.”

“Well...shit,” because that is shit. He knew Chrissy and Munson used to hang out all the time, didn’t know if they were a thing or whatever; didn’t care then. That was before this summer and Robin at Scoops and the shit with Max and her brother and the fall of king Steve. He knows the kids know Munson; knows they really like him. It’s not fair that Chrissy’s family wouldn’t let him go, just because of what he is. Just because he lives in the trailer park with the rest of the Demons.

He sits with the kids at lunch, just ignores all the looks he gets. He doesn’t need to do much, just sits and eats and listens as the kids prattle on about nerd shit. When Munson comes in, shoulders slumped and picking up a tray to join the line, Steve’s eyes are drawn to him. Dustin spots him too, the kid looks sympathetic, but his tail’s wagging away at the sight of his friend, “gonna’ go say hi to Eddie,” Dustin slides off the bench, ears pricked in Eddie’s direction.

Unfortunately he walks straight into Tommy Hagan, “watch it pup,” Tommy snorts, sets his ridiculously wide shoulders and lowers his horns as he pushes Dustin hard enough he stumbles a few steps.

Steve wants to rip the ring right out of his nose, he gets up, wings spreading and white feathers fluffing in a threat display. No one fucks with the kids. Dustin whines out a little puppy growl, “fuck off Hagan.”

“Watch your fucking mouth <i>dog,”</i> Tommy tries to push him again, but Steve gets in the way, shoving Tommy so hard he nearly goes over.

Steve’s vaguely aware that he’s pissed enough that the light around his head is brighter than usual, and he’s glad when Tommy struggles to look at him, blinking at the glare, “fuck this, whatever.”

“Thanks Steve,” Dustin says, before loping off to go and stand with Eddie. Turns out Eddie was watching the entire thing, and his and Steve’s eyes briefly meet, Eddie’s slitted pupils contracted against the light, but he doesn’t look away until Dustin tugs at his jacket.

Steve sits again, curious now, “Max?” she looks at him as she’s ripping into beef jerky with her fangs, he indicates the tiny baby horns sticking from high up on her forehead, “they grow in when something bad happens, right?”

She swallows a huge piece of meat in one go, “not necessarily bad...just, you know. Enough to change you. I hope I’m fucking angry when mine happens.”

“Yeah?”

She hums, gnawing on the meat, “makes em spikey.”

Steve looks at Eddie, his horns curl back and down, like a ram, all smooth and dark, almost containing his fluffy curls, “and what do Eddie’s mean?”

Max looks over, then looks back, shrugging, “grief, I guess.”

Eddie’s sitting alone a week later, and Steve feels like he has to check in with the guy, at least, “I’m just going to say hi to Munson.” Robin smiles up at him, squeezing his fingers, “what?”

“You’re just...that’s a good thing, I’m proud of you Steve.”

He rolls his eyes to hide how that has made him feel, tickling the chins of a couple of her snakes and making her giggle as a distraction before he heads over. Eddie’s got a book open on the table and he’s scribbling in a notebook, “Dungeons and Dragons, right?”

Eddie blinks up at him, “how the fuck do you know that?”

Steve takes it as enough of an invitation to at least perch on the opposite bench, “I do listen when the kids talk. Sometimes.”

It gets a little half smile out of Munson, a fang poking out that’s kind of attractive. His pupils are black slits, but the iris is a lovely, honey brown. There’s flames moving in the depths, shifting shades of brown. The whole thing is kind of attractive, Steve can’t help but notice. Eddie seems to have suddenly grown into himself over the summer. His wings look bigger too; stronger, dark black and leathery, folded neatly against his back.

Steve can feel his own wings tipping, feathers fluffing. He can see them moving out of the corner of his eye, wing joints dipping low and wing tips fluttering, and can’t help but look betrayed by them.

Eddie’s wings spread in answer, large, joint tips held high. Dominant.

Well, shit.

Somewhere far away, Steve is very vaguely aware of Robin producing a wolf whistle and then Dustin’s puppy howl joining in.

He wants the ground to open up and swallow him when Eddie raises an eyebrow, “something you want, sweetheart?” His fangs flash.

Steve figures he’s all in, he can’t hide what his body apparently wants, and half the school has probably seen this little display, “are you, you know, doing anything later?”

“Yeah,” Eddie leans closer over the table, resting on his elbows, “hopefully I’ll be <i>doing</i> something alright.”

“Come over. Six ish,” Steve manages to get out before he flees for his life.

Eddie has him pinned to the door and is kissing the life out of him before Steve really registers what’s happening. Eddie’s a bitey kisser, and it’s all Steve can do to keep up. Eddie grips both Steve’s wrists in one hand, pins them above his head and Steve just...melts. Lets Eddie have it, the control, the everything. Eddie grabs a handful of Steve’s feathers and tugs...ever so gently. It’s enough to summon a moan of pleasure from Steve.

“Bed,” Eddie growls against his mouth, fangs pressing to Steve’s plush lip without splitting skin, “please, tell me we’re going to bed.”

Steve nods frantically, and Eddie gets the memo and lets him go, following as Steve takes the stairs two at a time.

Eddie’s skin is pale and dotted with tattoos. The happy trail from his tummy button is soft brown fur, it spreads out to his hips, his goat legs ending in shiny black cloven hooves. The leaking, red head of his penis is starting to emerge from it’s furred sheath. Below it, Eddie’s ridiculously large balls hang heavy; it makes Steve’s mouth water. Steve is delighted to find Eddie had a tiny little wisp of a tail; it’s barely long enough to cover the tight pucker of Eddie’s asshole, and it wags, brushing against Steve’s fingers, as Steve investigates the tight ring of muscle with a dry fingertip.

It wags faster when Steve starts to rub gentle circles. Eddie tolerates Steve’s touches for a moment before spreading his wings and manhandling Steve onto the bed. Steve has to spread his wings to they don’t get smushed under him, and he lands with a happy, “oof.”

Eddie’s on him immediately, kissing and licking and sucking at every square inch of bare skin. He works his way down, kneeling on the floor and hooking Steve’s thighs with his arms before dragging him down the bed. Steve’s thighs land on Eddie’s shoulders and before Steve knows it, his ass is being lifted, cupped in Eddie’s hands, as Eddie spreads him and finds Steve’s hole with his mouth.

Steve cries out in pleasure, Eddie’s tongue is sinuous and broad and he works it into Steve’s hole, licking and moaning. Eddie’s eyes are closed, and Steve can’t help but look down his own body to watch, some of Eddie’s face obscured by Steve’s own erection. There’s the soft noise of Steve’s wings shifting, and Steve white knuckle grips the covers, fighting the urge to just straight up fuck himself down onto Eddie’s tongue.

Eddie’s ridiculously long, talented tongue.

“I want to hold your horns while I ride you.”

Eddie’s eyes blink open, and he pulls back, smirking, “that can most definitely be arranged.”

Steve shifts, giving Eddie space to get on the bed, Steve climbing over him before he even really settles. Eddie fur is soft on Steve’s thighs, and the curve of his goat legs means Steve has an extra comfy dip to sit in.

Eddie’s bare cock is hard and leaking everywhere, the skin red and shiny and flush, his sheath completely rolled down now, a little furry pouch at the base. If they get the chance to do this again, Steve wants to nuzzle those heavy looking balls.

Eddie grips him by the hips, his wings come up too, the joints resting against Steve’s ribs for extra stability. Steve flares his own wings for balance, pleased when Eddie’s eyes flick across to drink in the snowy white feathers. Steve slips a hand between his thighs, gentle where he holds Eddie’s turgid flesh, and slowly eases his body down. He’s wet and messy and open from Eddie’s tongue, and the pointed shape slips in easy enough. Eddie’s big though, big enough that the stretch burns a little, quickly soothed by the copious amounts of pre come Eddie is leaking.

“Okay,” Eddie breaths, “not even so much a question. His fingertips are digging into Steve’s flesh from the effort of holding still, so Steve puts them both out of there misery and starts to rock, leaning forward a little to grip Eddie’s horns, pinning him to the bed.

The soft tickle of Eddie’s fur against Steve’s ass is wonderful, the feel of wing leathery wing wrapping tight to Steve is even better. Steve’s wings curve down to lay over Eddie’s without his permission, and Steve catches Eddie staring at where the white feathers sit next to the black skin.

Eddie likes it.

Steve likes it too.

Eddie reaches down, wrapping a hand around Steve’s dripping cock, giving Steve something to fuck into as he rocks up and down. If Eddie minds Steve using his horns for leverage, he doesn’t show it. At all.

Steve pulls a hand up, slaps it over Eddie’s eyes, “I’m close. It’ll get bright, I- I- Eddie. Eddie I’m gonna’ come-”

Eddie pulls Steve’s hand away, “I can take it,” he says, breathless, something big tugging at Steve’s rim, more pressure trying to push inside, Steve wants it, knows it’ll make him come.

The pressure breaks, slips past Steve’s rim with a pop, Steve is suddenly so full, so stretched, the room is bathed in bright light but Eddie watches him anyway, slit pupils made paper thin to stave off any damage. His mouth hangs open, forked tongue and fangs on display.

Steve’s come paints Eddie’s stomach as his orgasm pulses through him, ass grinding into the soft fur in the cradle of Eddie’s hips. He can feel wave after wave of heat as Eddie comes inside him; it feels endless.

Steve is panting and sweaty as they come down from it together, Eddie fingers skating carefully across Steve’s skin, shifts to his wings to pet his feathers, when Steve tries to shift though, Eddie freezes, eyes wide with shock...and then pleasure as he ruts upward uncontrollably, movements sloppy, Steve can feel the hot pulse of more come inside him.

Steve too; he can’t move, Eddie’s cock lodged inside him.

“What is that?”

Eddie frowns now, and then he looks away, suddenly very uncomfortable. Steve doesn’t like that look on Eddie’s face, “I think I’ve knotted you,” he mumbles.

Steve’s not even sure what that is, “how long does it last?”

“I, ah, don’t know, it’s never happened before.”

Steve wriggles his hips, enjoying the tug of Eddie’s knot at his rim, likes the hot splash in his gut as Eddie ruts helplessly, coming again, skin flushed pink and eyes sliding closed with a moan of pure bliss.

“Never?”

“No,” Eddie pants out, blinking up at Steve once he gets himself under control again, “it, it only happens when we find out mates,” Eddie breaths the words out all together, and his eyes slide away, like he’s embarrassed.

Steve tugs him back by the curve of his horn, makes him look at Steve, “you think my wings bow to just anyone?”

Eddie looks thrilled when he realises what Steve must mean, smile big and happy before it collapses back into itself, “but surely you, I mean, what about another Angel? What about...you know, a real life? A family?”

“What, you think a life with you wouldn’t be a real one-?”

“You know what I mean-” Eddie hisses as his half deflated knot suddenly slips free. Steve groans, and is very, very fucking aware of the flood of come that drips right back out of him.

“We can have kids, if you want them.”

Eddie swallows, he doesn’t seem a jot bothered by the small lake of bodily fluids that must be soaking into the fur of his crotch and thighs, “adoption, or something?”

Steve nods, “if you want to. But I am an angel. I’m a literal vessel Eddie. If you want babies, I can carry them.”

Eddie blinks up at him, slitted pupils turning wide with surprise as he looks up at Steve, “I didn’t know that, thought you guys were vessels for, holy light, or something,” Eddie’s eyes are filled with fire. Not gold, like Steve’s, but a shimmer in his natural brown, hidden until you know where to look. It’s beautiful.

Steve nods, “we don’t even have to have sex, it’s just a little bit of my soul, a little bit of yours-”

“I don’t-” Eddie looks away, again, swallows thickly, “I don’t have one.”

Steve has to pull him back again, gently, this time, a soft touch to Eddie’s cheek until he finally looks back up at Steve through his lashes, “is that what they tell you?”

Eddie nods, Steve shakes his head.

“It’s not true baby, you have one, I see it, burning bright.”

Eddie smiles, clearly pleased, rolling them so they can snuggle together, their wings hanging off either side of the bed. They kiss. Soft and slow, the very tinniest hint of Eddie’s fangs. Steve loves the brush of Eddie’s fur against his legs.

“Your light...that thing go away when you’re sleeping?”

Steve laughs, “nope.”

Eddie sighs, “you’re the big spoon then, no way in Hell I’ll be sleeping with that nonsense shining right in my face.”

#eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #getting together #demon eddie munson #angel steve harrington #AU #the party #werewolf dustin henderson #gorgon robin buckly #mythical creatures #fantasy au #fantasy creature

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katyawriteswhump · 8 months ago

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power of love, part 15

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16

(also on AO3 here and as part of my steve whump fic series)

Steve’s back in the loggers’ cabin. He’s kissing Eddie stupid, and he’s loving it.

They’re both done with drinking bad beer, and even more done with pretending this thing between them isn’t real. They’ve gotten their arms flung around each other. Steve’s tongue is happily exploring the depths of Eddie’s mouth.

Kissing Eddie is totally unlike any make-out session Steve’s ever known. The scratch of Eddie’s lightly stubbled jaw against his is… Gnnng, mindblowing! Steve slides his knee into Eddie’s lap, wishing Eddie would jump his bones already. When Eddie snags his fingers through Steve’s hair, it sends literal sparks down Steve’s spine. The insistent brush of their lips is actual fire, until…

… it’s all too much. Steve moans with something other than dumb teen passion, and it feels like his head’s gonna explode. That familiar crimson tide washes through his brain, and then…

“Steve?”

Robin’s voice wrenches Steve back to the present. Oh, yeah. They’re wading along some shitty little stream, hidden between high banks. Somehow, while getting lost in memories of that kiss, his feet shifted forward on autopilot.

She’s following behind. “I haven’t heard those woofy search dogs for a while,” she says. “You?”

I’ve not a clue, Robin. My head’s zoning in and out of Christ-knows-what-crazy-ass-shit, and I’ve gotten a boner from daydreaming about Eddie. Which is fading fast, because when I remember I might never get another shot at kissing him for real, I wanna stuff my fist in my mouth and bite down hard.

“Gonna trust you on that one,” he mumbles.

“We can get out of this disgusting drain then?” He shrugs, climbs up the bank to check all’s clear. “See anything we need to worry about?”

“Not sure.” Steve frowns, surveying a few dumped cars and a burned-out trailer. It’s a familiar patch of wasteland, a known hang-out for pretty much every teen in the area. “We’re back in Hawkins already.”

“You’re kidding?” She scrambles up to join him and visibly pales beneath her grime and freckles. “Oh my God. We must’ve travelled at least ten miles. In less than an hour and a half.” She glances at her watch and nods emphatically. “Any explanations, Steve? Any cryptic messages from your water-fairy-godparent?”

“Gimme a break! You’re the one who said we’re off to Magic Camp. At this stage—boom! Whatever! Crazy is to be expected.” He sounds chill. Despite the fear jostling him from every angle over what the hell is happening now? Their gazes lock, and… Jesus, he can read in her manic eyes how her last ragged nerve is about to snap.

“Okay, okay,” she says, “we won’t panic.”

“I’m not panicking."

“Well, I am! One plus side—there’s plenty of nice dry paths leading to Lover’s Lake in that direction.” She points to the wasteland. “Don’t you dare make me get back in the ditch. I am literally wearing duckweed for mascara.”

He considers her suggestion for a few seconds, before that stupid waterfall roars in his head. “Sorry.” He bounces back into the stream. “If we’re believing in this bullshit, then I gotta go the way I get told.”

With the biggest sigh ever, she skids down after him. They paddle onward, hand in hand. She’s shaking weirdly, gasping and gulping, like she’s giggling and crying all at once. Oh, and shivering too. He wants to check she’s okay, but he doesn’t dare speak. Sounds bombard them from every angle, including shouting, maybe a quad bike, and plenty of distant and not-so-distant sirens.

“Look, Robin,” he whispers, when it seems safe. “You’re not in deep shit, like me and Eddie. Maybe you should go home to your mom.”

“Nice thought. Mommy Dearest has probably rented out my room already.”

Steve hums sympathetically, while pausing to mindlessly kick off his trashed sneakers. “If it’s any consolation, when I was reported missing, nobody noticed my parents rushing back.” He’d asked Hopper, casually enough. “I’m guessing they didn’t bother."

“That sucks, though…means we could nip back to your place for a warm shower, clean clothes?”

“Trust me, I’d murder for that. You really should go, but—” The sound of way-too-close voices interrupts him. After a minute longer, shuffling forward, she wrings his fingers crushingly tight.

“Uh, Steve? Look.”

Up ahead, the waterway flows into a culvert. The entrance is barred with a metal grid.

“Oh, thanks a bunch, fairy-guardian-water-spirit-angel-parent,” says Steve. “Great short cut, just great!” A dog growls so close that they startle as one, resulting in a loud splash. He shoves Robin toward the opposite bank. “Go! I’ll try… something.”

“How’s that gonna help?” she hisses, letting him bundle her ahead. “It would be kinda sad if you lightning-fried the dog because it’s not the dog’s fault—"

“Scram, will you? I’ll give it a quick shot—mind the freakin’ dog—and be right behind.”

She scrambles into some bushes at the top, and he prays she keeps going. All he hears is goddamn barking. Christ, can it smell my blood? Still, he has to keep it together and come up with some damn heavy rain, and fast, to destroy her scent as she escapes.

He crouches down, conjures up their recent discussion about parents. Eleven told him to channel anger, so that’s a decent start…

Grrrrrr!

Steve jumps up, whirls about. A foam-flecked mouth snarls at him from the top of the bank. He’s faintly relieved to see the canine owner of this huge and scary mouth is on a leash. Unfortunately, the leash is held by a tall guy in khaki, a semi-automatic tucked at his side.

He shines a flashlight directly in Steve’s face. Steve meekly raises his hands. He’s too stunned for real fright.

“You shouldn’t be here,” says army guy. “Woah, you’re filthy! You got papers?”

“Huh?” Hopper hadn’t been kidding about the military dictatorship.

“Got a name, kid?”

He glances down at his Hellfire Club t-shirt, cringes back into the dazzling beam. “Eddie Munson?”

“Outta the ditch. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Steve doesn’t instantly obey. He’s still trying to figure out if this is really happening, and why exactly he said he was Eddie. To protect him, right? Then Eddie can get clean out of the state. Oh, and because he’s so obsessed with Eddie that he can’t stop thinking about him.

A second later, the dog-handler is in the stream with him. He grabs Steve by the arm, and snaps into a lapel radio: “This is MWD-handler 7. Inform O’Sullivan that fugitive 1 is apprehended.”

…

Eddie POV

The forces dragging Eddie home to Hawkins are suddenly spooking-him-the-hell out.

It’s not all about Steve anymore. He’s hearing water. Loud running water, which draws him toward what turns out to be a nonsensically pathetic-as-piss stream. He jumps in and follows, even as he starts to panic for real.

Steve said he was hearing water. Now I hear it too. What does this mean? Wtf does this BS mean!?!

He presses on anyhow, finding he simply can’t stop thinking about THAT KISS. He’s reliving it over-and-over. At least, the good parts, before Steve fainted on him. Did Eddie daydream the delicious twisty, flirty things that Steve did with his tongue?

Then he’s thinking about Steve’s butt.

You never gave THAT BUTT the squeeze it deserved. Holy shit, Munson, you’re such a loser.

Most torturous of all, the idea that it might be all over between them… Crap, it makes him feel physically ill. How can the idea of losing somebody he never really had hurt so much? Oh, and when the heck did he kick off his sneakers and start wading bare foot? He has absolutely zero memory of doing that. Still, the cold water doesn’t seem to bother him.

As darkness falls, he spots some familiar landmarks, and realises he’s only a mile or so out of Hawkins. Which is also totally cuckoo, because there’s no way he should’ve travelled back so fast. For the first time since he set off, he stops dead.

Reality check, Munson—pretty much everybody in this dump you call home believes you to be a freakshow-turned-serial-killer. And you’ve come storming back for some douchebag rich kid who dumped you.

There is, however, a single good side to his progress into Hell. He pulls out his walkie-talkie out of his pack, switches it on, and tunes into Dustin’s coded wavelength:

“Anybody there? This is a code-red. CODE RED!” Okay, being officially too ‘old’ for the Party, he’s not supposed to say that, but desperate times call for desperate—

“No way! Is that you? Over.”

At Dustin’s reply, some dam deep inside Eddie bursts. His face crumples, and he shamelessly, softly weeps. “Yeah, it’s me, buddy. It’s me.”

“Roger that. What the hell are you doing? This place is overrun with wannabe Nazis.” The hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck stand suddenly on end, and not because of Dustin’s news. “It’s a warzone. You should be in the next state by now!”

Eddie drops the walkie-talkie and shoves his hands in the air. Some military-fascist-knucklehead is pointing an assault rifle at him, though he’s weirdly numbed to the horror of it all. He honestly hadn’t expected it to feel this inevitable.

“Roger that?” says the walkie-talkie.

Eddie grins, so manically goofy that his face aches.

“Name or papers,” demands the son-of-a-bitch.

“Uuuuuh…” Okay, he’s blown this. Nobody with nothing to hide, blunders THAT answer. “Steve Harrington?”

He said that to protect Steve, right? If they think I’m him, they’ll… torture me instead. Oh shit. Oh Shiiiiiiit!

A big angry dude pummels into Eddie from the side, crushing him into the mud.

Part 16

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology @finntheehumaneater If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know. Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16

#steddie #steve harrington #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington whump #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #steddie fanfiction #stobin fanfic #platonic stobin #stobin

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jungle-angel · 2 months ago

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The Mad Scientist (Calvin Evans x Reader)

Summary: Calvin gets a little bit carried away with the Halloween shenanigans at work

Warnings: Parenthood

Tagging: @floydsmuse @ateliefloresdaprimavera

"Alright ladies, that's about enough for today," you announced to the girls in the second year nursing cohort. "Remember, tomorrow to brush up since we're doing our unit on thoracic surgery and I want all of you to be prepared for the demonstration."

The girls all gathered their things and headed out of the room, leaving you, Mei and Sandy to clean up.

"Definitely not looking forward to tomorrow," Mei remarked. "Heard that Dr. Showalter is gonna make us crack open a stiff in front of the medical board."

"Ugh just what I need before I have dinner with my mother-in-law," Sandy said, feigning a gagging noise.

The jangling of dog tags and a *WHIFF!* signaled the arrival of your favorite furball and his big, curly grin. Six-Thirty dropped a note at your feet which you promptly unfolded and read.

In the lab with Ellen, come find me when you're done. Tony and I have a surprise for you, Love Cal.

As soon as you could, you gathered up your purse and hung your lab coat on the hooks, hurrying off to the chemistry wing to fetch your husband and ten month old daughter with Six-Thirty eager to get home to Rosie. You quickly noticed that the lab was dark, unusual for the late afternoon, but then again it was getting darker earlier.

"Cal?" you asked, poking your head in the door. "Cal are you......holy shit!"

Your jaw dropped when you saw what had been done to the chemistry lab. The whole place had been rigged up to look like Frankenstein's laboratory complete with a fake operating table and everything.

"Welcome to my laboratory!" Calvin announced loudly and a little overdramatically, cackling like a witch at a blood moon ceremony.

You laughed, shaking your head and pinching your nose when you heard the record player in the corner of the room playing the Toccata In Fuge organ piece and seeing him in his lab coat with rubber gloves and fake blood. Ellen giggled and nommed on her foot as Calvin ordered Dr. Powers to raise the little platform where she was resting.

"Calvin what the hell are you doing?" you laughed.

"Life!!!!!" Calvin shouted, tickling the baby. "Life do you hear me?! Give my creation LIIIIIIIIFE!!!!!"

Now you were really losing it, turning on the lab lights so that it was no longer under the cover of darkness. "Oh my God is this what you're doing for the Halloween party in two weeks?" you asked him.

"What do you think dear?" he asked. "Too dramatic?"

"No it's perfect," you told him. "I think you're really gonna show those boring grey hairs what it means to have fun around here."

Calvin picked up Ellen and kissed you before littering her face with kisses. "Aw shit," he muttered. "This fake blood's getting everywhere."

"Is it that stuff you got from the store?" you asked him.

"Nah, it's just beet juice," Calvin answered.

You laughed a little when you saw that Ellen had gotten it all over her mouth, looking more like baby dracula than your daughter. There was only one thing left to do at a time like this.

Calvin immediately stripped off his lab coat and threw it in the to-be-washed pile. You however took a clean rag to Ellen's face and when all was said and done, you, Calvin, Ellen and Six-Thirty loaded up and headed for home.

"You got your costume for the Halloween party?" Calvin asked.

"Oh yes and you're going to love it," you purred.

Calvin wiggled his eyebrows. he couldn't wait to see your Bride Of Frankenstein costume and how sexy you would look in it.

#calvin evans #calvin evans x reader #lessons in chemistry

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edgessunflower · 1 year ago

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Caught in the rain

Pairing: Jeff Hardy x Fem reader

Description: You and Jeff are locked out in the rain by Matt and Lita

The rain poured down as you and Jeff ran back to the house you were staying in with Lita and Matt, the four of you were on vacation in Maryland enjoying some much needed time off. You and jeff were out enjoying the peaceful day by exploring the beach near the house and the forests nearby until on the way back it started getting cloudy and before you two know it, it was pouring rain roughly down on the two of you making him yell and you squeal as you both start running stopping under two different trees before finally running on the front porch knocking on the door when you try to open it only for the door to be locked like it was when the two of you left waving at lita who watched the two of you until she closed and locked the door high fiving matt not knowing the plan that the couple had put into action. "Matt! Lita! Let us in!" the two walk to the door seeing the two of you opening the door before looking at each other as you started walking in shoving the two of you outside and locking the door back "GUYS WHAT THE FUCK!?" jeff bangs on the door as you groan in pain sitting under the closest tree "You okay?" he notices the scrape on your back that was bleeding and looked nasty cleaning it with a wash rag left outside and put a separate cloth on top of it before wrapping you in a towel as you shivered and chattered uncontrollably until you slowly got warmer after wrapping another towel around him and huddling together which helped both of you as the rain continues on. You laugh at the neighbor's dog trying to catch the rain in her mouth, running out and petting her before chasing her around while jeff watches you "What are you doing?! You're gonna get sick!" you laugh hugging the dalmatian as jeff shakes his head before putting his towel on the ground and chases after you making you squeal as you run hiding behind the tree even around the front porch making matt and lita peak out the window upstairs watching the two of you without either of you seeing or knowing that you were being watched as you both laugh and catch your breaths before noticing the look on jeff's face "What? What's with that look?" you feel your heart flutter as he gets closer until he grabs your face and kisses you frantically before pulling away leaving you gasping for air and a big smile on your face. The two of you share a sweeter and tender kiss before suddenly hearing a yell "You guys are gonna get a fever get inside now!" you both jump seeing lita in the doorway with towels and the two of you jog inside completely soaked from the rain heading upstairs to your rooms showering and changing into dryer warmer clothes before you go in jeff's room crawling under the covers where jeff lays wrapping his arms around you as a movie plays in the background laying on his chest until you were both asleep, lita and matt smile when they walk in the room only to find the two of you asleep under the big soft covers before slowly leaving the room.

#wwe x reader #jeff hardy #wwe #jeff hardy x reader

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much-obliged-timothy · 1 year ago

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Whumptober #18

Day 18 - Baldur's Gate 3 - Tortured For Information

Scratch’s barking echoed through the camp. Those who had claimed spots around the fire stirred reluctantly, lifting their heads and squinting tiredly at the dog as he ran towards them.

“Not now, boy,” Karlach groaned, pressing her head to the pillow.

“Tav, control your dog,” Astarion said, closing his eyes.

When Tav didn’t respond and the frantic barking continued, Astarion’s tired brain made a startling connection. He sat bolt upright, gaze shooting to Tav’s empty bedroll.

“Oh no,” he said miserably.

“Hm?” Karlach muttered.

“Tav’s gotten himself into trouble. Again. And it just had to be in the middle of the bloody night.”

Karlach got right up and kicked Gale, who had slept through the barking. “Up! Tav’s gone!”

Scratch reached them, whining and barking as he danced around them anxiously. He went right up to Astarion, lowering his head and whining.

Astarion knew Tav sometimes went out for walks just outside of camp when he couldn’t sleep at night. Scratch would occasionally follow along to keep him company.

“Was he taken?” Astarion asked.

Scratch barked, tail wagging. Karlach got up, dragging Astarion and Gale with her.

“We’ve got a friend to save,” she said, pulling them along.

“Don’t touch me,” Astarion said, shaking his arm free. “Scratch?”

Scratch barked and ran forward, looking back to make sure they were following him. They took a moment to grab their weapons and packs before following after him, knowing they didn’t have time to properly dress.

Scratch led them outside of the camp, into a set of trees. It was dark out, but the moon reflected off a stream flowing alongside the path enough to make the ground visible. Astarion smelled Tav’s blood before he saw it sprayed against the ground.

Scratch whined at it, pawing the ground and looking up to the others. Karlach knelt down before him, scratching behind his ears.

“We’ll find him, boy,” she promised. “Can you help?”

Scratch whined and sniffed at the ground. He practically pressed his nose to the dirt as he began to walk along, nose working overtime to find his friend.

“Which of our many enemies is it this time?” Astarion said, stretching.

“Don’t act like you’re not worried,” Karlach said, shooting him a look.

“I’m tired,” Astarion corrected, refusing to admit he was worried. Of course he was; Tav could be a bit naive but he wasn’t oblivious or weak. Taking him by surprise and dragging him away would take a skilled enemy to accomplish.

They fell silent, going on alert as Scratch led them further through the trees and away from camp. They probably should’ve woken the others up for reinforcement, but it was too late to worry about that now.

Scratch suddenly stopped, growling low in his throat, his whole body going tense. Astarion slipped past him and moved stealthily through the trees until a small camp came into view. He signaled at the others to stay back while he observed what they were up against.

The first thing he realized was that Tav was tightly bound to a chair, bruised and bloody. He’d clearly been beaten in the time it took them to find him.

The second thing he realized was that Tav was surrounded by five Gur. One, the apparent leader, towered over him, a knife in hand. She pressed it to his throat.

“Be a shame if the bard lost his voice,” she said, the flames from the small fire in their camp glinting off the blade.

“A loss to the world,” Tav said weakly, but didn’t flinch back as she pressed it just hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.

“Tell us where the monster is,” she snarled, grabbing his hand. “Or I will hear you scream once more and then take your voice from you forever.”

Tav dragged his gaze up, one of his eyes nearly swollen shut and coated with blood. He met her eyes with a hard look.

“I will never tell you where Astarion is,” he said simply. “Do your worst.”

She placed his hand on the chair and held her hand out. One of the others handed her a mallet, and Astarion felt rage pour through his as she slammed it down on his hand.

Tav clenched his teeth together, throwing his head back at the audible break of his hand. He squirmed in his bindings, but refused to give them the satisfaction of his screams of pain.

“You would suffer for that monster?” she demanded.

“I would suffer for that man, again and again,” Tav said, his voice strained with pain. “I will not tell you where he is.”

“Then you will die slowly in his place,” she said, taking the knife into her hand again.

Astarion had forgotten the others waiting for his signal. He had forgotten everything but the man below, enduring pain just to keep Astarion safe. Protecting Astarion, even knowing that Astarion had only pursued him originally for that very thing.

But it had grown beyond that. Tav was unlike anyone Astarion had ever met, and he proved it again even now without knowing it. He was loyal to a fault; it was going to get him killed.

But not today. Not right now. Astarion refused to watch Tav suffer another moment.

He brandished his daggers in hand, let his rage fill him, and slipped into the shadows to teach these bastards what true suffering was.

#whumptober 2023 #no18 #tortured for information #baldur's gate 3 #fic writing #dragon age 2 #astarion #bg3 tav #karlach #bg scratch #bg3 #astarion x tav #jtdoeswhumptober

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terramous · 1 month ago

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maybe i'm just too messed up to succeed

fandom: agatha all along word count: 9.6k title: hospital bracelet - sober haha jk jk unless bad things happen bingo - stitches !! suicide attempt, hallucinations, disordered eating, self harm, medication !! AO3

William is sitting cross-legged in his bed, the soft blue blanket twisted around his ankles when the nurse comes in. He didn’t get much sleep, unable to make the shift between his plush twin bed at home and the shockingly thin and narrow hospital cot. If this is what every night in the psych ward is going to be like he fears he may have made a mistake by agreeing to stay for two weeks.

No school, no parents, no pressure.

At least he hopes.

“Good morning, I’m Daphne” the nurse says with a smile far too wide for how ragged and bone-tired William feels. “How are you today?”

“Good,” he lies. He’s gotten used to lying, it’s one of the few things he remembered how to do since before the crash. Lying to his parents, lying to doctors, lying to teachers, hell, even lying to the damn dog.

“How did you sleep?”

He cringes involuntarily. “Not great,” he admits, his eyes downcast.

The nurse–Daphne–smiles again. “Yeah, most everyone struggles the first few days. Not much funding in the mental health sector. Pathetic mattresses and pillows better suited as bookends.”

That pulls a soft chuckle from William, one that surprises him but disappears as quickly as it came on.

“I have your medication,” she holds up one hand that is gripping a tiny paper cup. Something rattles inside and she hands it to him.

There’s two white pills nestled in the bottom of the cup. One is bigger but both are familiar.

The bigger one is his antidepressant: Sertraline, 100mg. He’s been on it for a few weeks now, he started it when his parents dragged him to a follow-up appointment with his regular doctor and brought up how miserable and downtrodden he seemed to be in the month since the crash. So he left that appointment, signed prescription in hand and the pharmacy traded it for a bottle of pills.

The smaller pill is the one he’s only been on for the past three days while he was in the hospital: Lorazepam, 0.5mg. It was for his anxiety, just something to take the edge off so that he didn’t feel like his fear would stop his heart every second of the day. So far it’s been pretty effective.

He tips the cup and both pills fall onto his tongue and he washes them down with the stale cup of water from his bedside. The pills leave a lingering bitter aftertaste on his tongue from where they started to dissolve, he grimaces and takes another swig of water, emptying the cup.

“Have you noticed any potential side effects from your medication?” Daphne asks, pulling a clipboard seemingly out of nowhere. William really needed to start paying more attention to his surroundings. There’s a bag with about a million pockets sitting on the end of his bed, maybe it came from there.

Shaking his head, he replies, “nope.”

“Well, that’s good,” she says. “Is it alright if I change your bandage and check on your wound?”

“Sure.” He offers his injured left arm to her and wonders if he comes across as rude and disinterested but Daphne doesn’t seem to let it dampen her pep.

She pulls the bag of pockets further up the bed and starts unzipping it in a multitude of places. Pulling out packets of white printed with bright greens and blues and even one a dull red, she sets to work. She pulls the clip off of the bandage and unravels it until she gets down to the patch of gauze. Unlike yesterday it isn’t speckled in blood that has seeped through, which is good news William guesses.

Peeling back the pad Daphne doesn’t say anything but the silence doesn’t last.

“He’s so young. How does this even happen?”

William blinks hard, as if he can will away her thoughts. He wants to kick up a fuss and bite back at her inner monologue. I was in a car crash and lost my memories. I still can’t remember anything before waking up covered in blood in the backseat with my mom and her frantic eyes and desperate pleas for me to stay awake. I keep my parents awake at night worrying about me, they think I don’t know but I can hear their thoughts. I scared them and I continue to do so with every day that passes that I don’t remember. I don’t think I’ll ever remember.

The wound on his wrist is jagged and stands out stark against the pale skin. It’s a deep red, crusted with dried blood and held together with six stitches. He remembers sitting in the waiting room of the hospital with a tea towel wrapped around his wrist and his parents sitting deathly still beside him. They were thinking a mix of anger and worry and sadness and it was the exact thing he was trying to gain reprieve from.

Regret pangs in his chest and he smothers it.

He looks away from the wound and focuses on the sheets as he tries to tune out the constant buzz of Daphne’s thoughts. Lots of empathy and compassion and worry. Always worry.

Apparently getting away from his parents doesn’t mean getting away from the worry.

“All done!” Daphne chirps and William looks up. She’s redressed and rebandaged his wrist and he didn’t even notice her do it, too focused on her thoughts and his own bubbling emotions.

“Thanks,” he says with a smile. It’s completely manufactured and not in the least bit sincere but Daphne mirrors him with a wider one.

“You are most welcome. Breakfast is in 15 minutes, I hope to see you out there.”

And with that she is gone and William is alone again. He is getting used to being alone.

🏰

William sits by himself at a table in the far corner of the room. It is rickety and plastic and probably folds away. The surface is white and puckered like a ceiling in a house that desperately needs to be ripped down for asbestos contamination. He wishes he wore longer sleeves to protect his arms from the texture as he rests his elbows on the table.

His tray is no more miserable than what he had in the ward of the hospital but it’s just as unappetizing. The same dry and scrambled eggs he remembers from after the crash, when he first heard the voices, cold toast cut into soldiers sans even a smear of butter, an apple juice box and a banana. At least it is really hard to mess up a banana.

He sits and stares at the yellow fruit for a few moments before conceding and picking it up and unpeeling it.

As he is about to take a bite someone slams their tray down across from him and sits with a heavy sigh. It’s a girl, she looks a bit older than him, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Her hair is too dark of a black for her features, it’s almost just a very dark blue. She has a bright green streak in the front that cements William’s theory that it’s all dyed. She’s wearing a shirt as dark as her hair and from what he can see through the table across the front in big white letters it says “LOVE WILL TEAR US APART”.

The material of the shirt almost seems to swallow her, that’s when William notices that she is unusually thin. Which pairs with the single plastic bottle on her tray: “Ensure” the label says.

She doesn’t speak to him and just opens the bottle, sitting there and sipping it occasionally as she eyes William. He tries his best to avoid her curious gaze and piercing blue eyes.

Finishing his banana in silence, William picks up his plastic fork and starts poking tentatively at his eggs.

“Not to sound more anorexic than I am but that just looks pathetic,” his table partner says.

Looking up at her, he can’t help but to feel a little sheepish but he cracks a smile. It is perhaps the most genuine one since the crash, this girl doesn’t expect him to be anything. He loves his parents but they keep expecting him to remember, to be the same as he was, but he never is. “It kinda is…”

“What’s your name?” she asks, setting her bottle down with a firm tap.

He sets down his fork, misery eggs forgotten. “William,” he says.

She nods. “I’m Vanessa.”

“Are–” he pauses, “are those any good?” he asks, gesturing towards her tray.

Vanessa cringes. “Not at all but–” she picks up the bottle and rocks it side to side like a boat on the waves and takes a swig “–calories.”

With a sympathetic grimace, William turns his attention back to his sad meal. It’s going to be a long two weeks. Conceding, he picks up the apple juice and pokes the straw into it. At least pre-packaged things don’t appear to have come out of whatever the opposite of a microwave is. He’s not sure if he wants to find out what that is.

Again, Vanessa is the one who speaks. She’s a lot more talkative than William expected anyone in here would be. “You look pretty young, how old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

It’s Vanessa’s turn to grimace. “Yikes, being thirteen is like hell on Earth.”

“No argument from me,” he says. He has no frame of reference for any other age but he would be willing to bet money that thirteen is going to be the one that chalks up as the worst of his life.

“I’m sixteen, my birthday’s in a week and I’m going to spend it in here. Yippee for me, don’t you think?” she asks, leaning forward and propping her chin on her hands.

Well that sucks. “What about your parents?” William asks.

“It’s a Tuesday and my dad can’t get off work to drive all the way up here. It’s three hours each way. I don’t think they love me enough to do that more than once a month.”

“I’m sure they do,” he says. Things are just so complicated when it comes to hospital stays and your parents having to go about their lives as if there isn’t a war waging behind closed doors. “How long have you been here”?

Vanessa laughs a little, it’s a mix between an exhale and a choke. “I was supposed to be here for three weeks but it’s been–” she counts on her fingers and holds up seven.

His two weeks are starting to look a lot less manageable now. What if he doesn’t get better? Will he have to stay here forever?

He doesn’t get to think on it for long before his table partner speaks again.

Like a cliche prison scene she asks “So, what’re you in for?”

William lifts up his wrist to show her the bandage and the bulk of the gauze pad underneath it. It’s surprising she hasn’t picked up on it already. Well, maybe she did but didn’t say anything, although she doesn’t seem like the kind of girl to hold her tongue.

She hums thoughtfully. “Been there. Self harm or–” she mimes slitting her own throat with her thumb and makes a choking noise.

“The latter.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

After poking around at his eggs and toast a bit more, even tentatively nibbling the corner of one of the toast pieces, William decides against eating them and maintains that a banana and juice will be enough to hold him over until lunch. Vanessa finishes her drink and demonstrates to the watchful nurse that it’s empty by tipping the bottle upside down and letting the single remaining drop fall out and hit the bare tray.

She gets up and stalks off, black hair swishing like a curtain in the breeze, her tray and empty bottle the only evidence that she was there at all. William sets his fork down, finally content to give up on breakfast.

🏰

Group therapy is next on the agenda. It makes dread curl in William’s gut like something alive, a snake around a clutch of soft-shelled eggs.

He sits on a chair and tries to make himself as small as possible.

“Today we have a new friend,” the staff member–Richard–says as he gestures to William who looks at him like a deer caught in headlights. Richard is probably only about thirty with cropped short black hair speckled with grey hairs at his temples, rectangular glasses with thick black frames, and a clipboard in his lap. He smiles gently and wiggles his eyebrows when he makes eye contact with William. “William, why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?”

His tongue is drier than a desert and he can’t seem to find any words. “Hi, uh, I’m William.” Idiot. Tell them something they don’t know. “I’m thirteen and I have a dog named Greg.”

“What kind of things do you like? Music? Movies?” Richard prods, still smiling. Everyone who works here smiles too much, it’s unnerving.

“I- I don’t know,” he says in a small voice. He’s not even sure if anyone hears him but Richard nods encouragingly. He thinks of the posters in his room. “Alice in Wonderland, Houdini, I guess.”

He didn’t really like those things, at least not anymore. But it’s a good enough answer and less complicated than “I forgot everything about me and I have no interests or passions”.

This elicits a laugh from Richard, a hearty and warm chuckle. “Not what I’d expect from kids these days but it’s nice to know that some of you have good taste.”

It was a joke but William can’t help but feel like he’s done something wrong.

Shifting his eyes down he stares and the white and grey flecked pattern of the linoleum under his black vans with the laces removed. Safety, the staff member had said when he was first transferred up to the hospital’s psych ward, they never gave him his laces back.

He doesn’t speak and eventually the attention is shifted from him. Chatter builds up and he is forgotten again but that doesn’t mean that everyone has stopped thinking about him.

“Those bandages. He slit his wrists.”

“He seems fine, he's probably just faking it for attention.”

The voices are impossible to ignore but he just tries to make himself shrink and maybe they’ll slide right past him. They don’t, they just seem to get louder.

“Too young to have any real problems.”

“He’s wasting a bed that could be used for someone who needs it.”

He carefully and quietly slides his hands up his body until they are covering his ears. They don’t make a difference when it comes to the voices but it makes him feel better. He screws his eyes shut and blocks out the horrible fluorescent lights and penetrating gazes.

“He’s not sick enough to be here.”

“Rich parents paid for inpatient so they don’t have to deal with teenage hysterics.”

Eventually the cacophony of voices just blends together, he can’t pick out any individual phrases, just pieces of thoughts at a time. Faker, cutter, pathetic. It never stops.

It never stops.

It never–

There’s a tap on his knee.

He opens his eyes to see Vanessa kneeling in front of him, looking up with wide blue eyes. They are so pale, almost grey, everything in this place is grey. She reaches up and pulls one hand away from his ear. It doesn’t instantly get noisier or more overwhelming, no one speaks but their thoughts are plenty loud.

“What’s going on?” she asks, gentle this time and without the thin veil of sarcasm and irony everything she said at breakfast was bathed in.

“It’s too loud.”

Her brows furrow. “What’s too loud?”

He taps on his temple with his shaking index finger. “The voices,” he whispers.

Something in her expression shatters. Her fingers encircle his wrist, her hands are cold and it’s a nice change from his entire body that feels like it’s on fire. Maybe he’s running a fever. Maybe he’s burning from the inside out.

She turns away from him and says something he doesn’t catch but the next thing he knows is that she’s pulling him to his feet and dragging him out of the room. She doesn’t speak even as they trail through the building and up to the rooms.

Stopping still, she turns to him. From this angle he can see that he’s a good three inches taller than her but nowhere near as intimidating. “Where’s your room?”

He actually looks around for the first time in ages and zeroes in on his door. “W. Kaplan” the little sign on the wall next to the handle says.

“There.”

“Wonderful,” Vanessa starts moving, still dragging William along. She pushes the door open and they both sink into the darkness. “We can hide in here.”

Neither of them move to turn the light on, content with just whatever the hallway could spare through the gap in the door frame. It’s nice, even a bit peaceful. Vanessa lets go of him and he sits on his bed. He made it before he left for breakfast. “Made” is a strong word, he just straightened up the pillow and folded the blanket at the end of the bed.

It creaks under his weight but Vanessa joins him on it, folding her legs and resting her hands in her lap.

“Are we going to get in trouble?” he asks after a few beats of silence.

That makes Vanessa laugh. “No way. It’s your first day and you’re kinda mentally ill. I hate to break it to you but this is probably expected.”

“Oh…” William drops his eyes to his jeans. Pale blue and acid wash.

“It’s okay,” Vanessa hurriedly supplies. “I think I cried constantly for my first three days here. If that makes you feel better, comparatively you’ve got it in the bag.”

He laughs a little. “Yeah, it helps.”

That makes her smile. “So, what do you actually like? Alice in Wonderland is a bit basic but still a good choice.”

🏰

He doesn’t leave his room even when Vanessa eventually departs with a promise that he can find her in the art room. Free time seems like such a weird allotment of time in a place with no obligations. He got to bail on group therapy so even that wasn’t mandatory.

Not that he was used to much structure.

After finally being discharged from the hospital post-crash he spent two weeks at home with his parents taking alternate days off to stay with him. It was all about adjusting to the amnesia and making sure that he wasn’t alone. Under the worried reproachful gaze of his father or submerged in the twinkling tears unshed by his mother.

When he went back to school it was like waking from a nightmare only to find that it was a dream and that waking was the nightmare. He didn’t remember anyone, he couldn’t focus on his classes over the constant buzzing of voices only he could hear, hell, he even had to quit the band because he couldn’t figure out how to play the oboe. He had once been a prodigy.

How do you even grieve someone you know but can’t remember?

It was this kind of thing that piled and piled up until he was smothered by it, choking on everyone else’s memories and expectations. His parents waited for him to remember but he only got worse, miserable and unsure of everything.

So he spends his free time sitting in the corner of his room with his back pressed up against the walls and his knees pulled to his throat. He fiddles with a small plastic hourglass his dad gave him, tipping it back and forth and watching the sand empty and fill.

This too, shall pass.

🏰

For lunch Vanessa is already waiting for him at the same table they had breakfast at. She smiles and waves him over.

With a little burst of energy that adds a little bounce to his step, William crosses the room towards his new friend. He slides his tray of food across the surface of the table, it makes a soft rumble as the smooth hard plastic moves over the textured surface, and he sits down.

Vanessa once again just has a bottle on her tray but she seems content.

On the other hand, William has a tray full of things only slightly less miserable than what he had for breakfast. A sandwich that seems promising until he takes a bite and gets a mouthful of mostly bread and mayo. Yuck. The actual contents of the sandwich appear to him as he peels it apart: a single leaf of lettuce that is browning at the edges and approximately three pieces of shredded carrot. Perhaps the vegetarian meal plan was not the best idea but if the vegetables were this repulsive he could only imagine the disaster that would be if they served him meat.

At least there’s orange slices. Maybe he could live off of fruit and things that came individually wrapped. Like the bag of chips in a dark green packet, salt and vinegar. He could live off of those too, fried potatoes are an essential food group. There’s also a milk carton that he doesn’t dare touch, he might be in a psychiatric facility but is anyone actually crazy enough to drink plain milk? He finds himself envying Vanessa’s strawberry Ensure.

“I missed you during free time,” she says. “Are you feeling better?”

He nods, the voices are much quieter now, easier to manage although they are still present. He can mostly ignore them. Being in bigger spaces helps, elevators are hell. “Yeah, thank you.”

“Does that happen a lot?” she asks. She doesn’t clarify what she’s referring to but William knows.

Pausing, he mulls over his answer, feeling the weight of the words between his teeth and tongue. “Kinda? It’s worse around people but most of the time I can hear something.”

“It’s almost like you can read minds,” she jokes, pointing a finger at him. “Wait, wait, wait- read my mind!”

He sighs. “I don’t read minds.”

“It would be pretty cool if you did,” she hums, taking another mouthful of her drink.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Picking a thin shred of carrot out of his massacred sandwich, he brings it to his mouth. He chews thoughtfully before swallowing and speaking again.

“What can we do around here for entertainment?” he asks.

“Therapy, art, writing, talking, more therapy, exercise. Not a whole lot.”

“No reading?”

“Nope,” she replies. “The only books you can read are ones you brought with you or whatever you can get your visitors to bring.”

“Damn,” he mumbles. “I wish I brought a book with me.”

At his words, Vanessa gets a glint in her eye that can only be described as evil. “I’ve amassed quite the collection. I’ll bring you one of mine.”

“Really? Thanks.”

Vanessa smiles at him like a snake looking at a mouse. “I’ve taken it upon myself to keep your brain from melting out of boredom while you’re here. I’m just looking out for you so you don’t pass the time by slamming your head into the wall.”

William winces at just the thought of that. “Ouch.”

“You’re not going to lose your mind on my watch,” she says with a grin. “You’re my prodigy and I’m going to show you how to survive inpatient.”

They are interrupted by a nurse coming to their table, holding out another paper cup of pills. This time when William takes it, there’s a single white circle nestled in the bottom. Lorazepam.

Vanessa holds up her fingers in a substitute crucifix, fending him off as if he were a vampire. “Afternoon meds? Ooh you’re crazy crazy.”

William rolls his eyes before knocking back the pill and washing them down with the milk. Which is probably the worst thing that has ever happened to him. Amnesia doesn’t even come close. He shoots her a halfhearted glare. “Wrong religion.”

He sets the empty cup down on the table and satisfied that he took his medication, the nurse disappears from beside him. Leaving the two of them in their own world again. Vanessa happily picks up with more chatter, mostly about two patients she’s utterly convinced are banging, ignoring the improbabilty of it all in such a well-monitored unit. Nothing William can say deters her from her theories however.

🏰

William shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He’s really regretting choosing the chair with the metal frame and stiff arms, he feels like a caged animal. He should have sat in the plush leather seat in the corner. He may have sunk into the cushions never to emerge again but he is starting to think he’d prefer that.

This office is new to him but the psychiatrist sitting across from him is not. Dr Ahmer looks down his nose and through his spectacles at William. He looks curious if not a bit sympathetic but William squirms under his gaze. This is the third time he’s met with Dr Ahmer and he’s not sure how he feels about the other man.

On one hand he seems to genuinely care about William’s struggle but on the other hand something in the way he talks makes him think he’s not sick enough to be here.

The previous two times he’d met with the doctor it had been in his room in the hospital’s psych ward where he’d been stranded against his will for seventy-two hours. The staff there seemed a lot more outwardly hostile towards him than they did in the unit. At least the people here acted like they actually wanted him to get better.

Their first meeting was a long one. The doctor asked a plethora of questions and asked William to describe everything he had been going through. By the end of their well-over an hour long session, William had counted every sheet of paper he had filled with notes. Three. Front and back.

He looks at the walls, donned with posters about mental health and general concerns. Rheumatic fever, schizophrenia, depression, the flu, bipolar disorder, type one and type two. He eyes up the chart that shows waves between mania and depression and at their peaks what they classify as. There’s a poster underneath it that says in big letters “ARE YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW STRUGGLING WITH ADDICTION?”

“So, William, how have you been since our last appointment?”

“I-” he wipes the sweat off of his palms and onto his jeans in a long drawn out motion “I’m not sure.”

“That’s okay,” Dr Ahmer says, clicking his pen on and off. It grates against William’s nerves, he grits his teeth and clenches his fists before releasing the tension with a deep breath. See? He was learning something. “You mentioned to the ED staff that you were hearing voices, has there been any recurrence since I last saw you?”

Yesterday morning. 9:00am. William had been chopping his toast into smaller and smaller pieces all the while ignoring the pressing gaze of his psychiatrist. “Yes.”

“Can you tell me about them?”

He wants to say no, to keep this secret guarded behind his teeth, but he knows he needs to talk about it. “They’re almost always there but I can kinda ignore them. They got really bad at group, I had to leave.”

“What kind of things were they saying?”

“They were- um,” he can’t quite figure out the words. There’s a whole world between hearing the voices and repeating them. His fear chokes him and he almost can’t breathe. “They were calling me names and stuff.”

“Names?”

“Yeah, like, uh,” he swallows thickly, “faker, cutter.”

He looks up from his lap when he hears Dr Ahmer’s pen scratching on his notepad. William wonders what he’s writing. Maybe “this kid is utterly ridiculous and completely beyond help” or “teenage boy lies to psychiatrist to get out of school” something like what the voices at group were saying.

There’s about thirty seconds where neither of them speak before the psychiatrist puts his pen down. “I’m sorry,” he says earnestly, “that sounds awful.”

That was not what William was expecting. He was anticipating being laughed out of the office with points and jeers because he was willingly admitting that he was crazy. He was taken aback at the doctor’s seemingly genuine empathy for him and what he was going through.

“Have you had any thoughts about harming yourself?”

“When?” William asks.

Dr Ahmer offers him a half-smile. It reminds him of his dad and takes the edge off of his building anxiety. “Let’s start small, how about in the last twenty-four hours?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

Which is a miracle because he’s certain it’s been a constant companion in the past two months. But he guesses that without external pressure or expectations he doesn’t have the urge. It’s a nice change.

He taps against the bandage on his wrist, suddenly reminded of it’s presence with an itch he can’t reach. The doctor watches him carefully.

“I’m concerned about your voices,” Dr Ahmer says after careful deliberation. “Would you be open to trying medication to see if that helps?”

With a tentative nod, William speaks, “sure.”

“I’m not going to touch your current medication, just add something on top of it. What we’re going to try is called an atypical antipsychotic, they work to reduce or in some cases even eliminate symptoms of psychosis, which is what I think your voices might be caused by.

“There are three main ones I prescribe, you have full choice over which one you start with. They’re Aripiprazole, Risperidone and Olanzapine. Aripiprazole is the mildest and the one I most often start people off with, you take it in the morning and it might make it hard to get to sleep at night. It has the least chance of causing weight gain as a side effect.

“The next option is Risperidone. I try to avoid prescribing it long term in adolescents because it may have some unwanted side effects if taken for a while but it is incredibly effective. Aside from that the negative side effects most typically are dizziness, drowsiness and heightened anxiety.”

The idea of more anxiety makes William’s stomach flip. He immediately shakes his head.

Dr Ahmer notes this and scribbles something down. “Finally there is Olanzapine. It is the strongest of the three but also the most likely to cause weight gain and over-sedation. You would take it at night, it might make you sleep more or have a harder time waking up in the morning.”

He mulls it over for a second, pulling the thoughts back and forth like a tide upon the sand. The doctor waits patiently as he thinks.

“I think I’d like to try Olanzapine,” he finally says after careful deliberation.

“Okay, we can do that. I’ll start you out on a small dose of five milligrams and titrate it up over the course of your stay here. I will arrange with the nursing staff to have you start it tonight with your PM medications.”

William smiles, it’s not a joyous one but more of an expression of relief and gratitude. Maybe this would help. “Thank you.”

🏰

Running his fingers back and forth across the surface of his jeans, he wishes there was a loose thread he could pull until the denim unravelled. But the rules for his clothes were that there were no rips or tears.

He is back in the waiting room, in the chair right outside the door of Dr Ahmer’s office. He is waiting to meet his therapist, a woman he doesn’t yet know the name of and is utterly terrified to meet. So he is ritualistically running his hands up and down his thighs, clenching and unclenching his hands, counting each breath on his fingers.

Everyone else in the waiting room had filtered into their respective appointments. William glances at the clock on the wall, three minutes past the hour. He was beginning to feel like someone was playing a prank on him, making him sit here for the entire allotted time of therapy just to watch him squirm.

Finally a door opens and shuts softly. He glances up and there is a woman standing there with a folder in her arms.

She’s probably as tall as William with chin-length blonde hair and shiny gold rims on her glasses. She’s visibly pregnant, it can’t be many weeks until she goes on maternity leave but William figures he won’t be around that long anyway. She wears a soft lilac chunky knit cardigan over a black and white spotted dress that reaches her ankles.

“You must be William,” she says. Her voice is soft, kind, and she walks over to him. “I’m Olivia.” She extends a hand and he tentatively shakes it.

He doesn’t speak but that doesn’t seem to bother her.

“I’m sorry for being late, the trek down here from my office is sometimes much longer than I anticipate,” she apologises with a laugh, ruffling her short hair with the hand that doesn’t hold her binder. “Why don’t you follow me and we can get started?”

With a nod, William gets to his feet and quietly trails after her. Down a corridor filled with many doors with paper timetables hanging on them. They walk until they get to one that says “2:00-3:00pm – Olivia”.

It wasn’t the office she had mentioned, just a small room with a window and a few chairs.

Apprehensive, William wasn’t sure which seat to choose, as if there was an obviously incorrect choice that came with picking the one by the window or the one in the corner.

“Sit wherever you want,” Olivia said with a sweeping gesture.

He bites his lip and sets his sight on the chair next to the window. It has cushions in a deep shade of cobalt and through the window he can see the parking lot. Cars of all colours lined up like ducks in a row.

Olivia sits across from him and crosses her legs at her ankles. Her shoes are navy blue leather, probably faux, with thick white stitching and laces tied into a neat bow. William trains his eyes on them to avoid making eye contact. She seems plenty nice but the vulnerability of this whole ordeal makes his chest squeeze painfully.

“How are you doing?” she asks. William listens to the soft rustling of her opening the binder and pulling a pen out of the pocket on the inside, preparing to start her notes, but he doesn’t lift his gaze from her shoes.

“I’m okay,” he says, still not lifting his head. He’s probably being rude but also she’s paid to deal with him no matter how weird and cagey he is.

“How are you adjusting to the ward?”

William looks up at that question, just for a flash but he meets her eyes. Blue. He looks back down. “I guess it’s alright.”

Oliva taps the end of her pen on the still blank sheet of paper. “How was your appointment with the psychiatrist?”

“It was good,” William mumbles, returning to running his palms along his thighs. “I’m starting a new medication tonight. To help with,” he gestures vaguely at his head, “the voices.”

As he looks up he catches the tail end of Olivia nodding thoughtfully before she moves to write a short sentence down. “Which medication is that?”

“Olanzapine.”

More writing. “It may take a few weeks for anything to change but I hope it helps.”

“Thanks.”

Neither of them speak for a few moments. Olivia clicks her pen on and off a few times, it grates on William’s nerves but he doesn’t speak. “I was reading your file earlier and it mentioned that you attempted to take your own life. Do you want to tell me more about that?”

William tucks his bandaged arm behind his back, as if she wouldn’t have noticed it already. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” he says.

Unbidden, flash memories. The sting. The blood, running down his skin in rivulets soaking into the hem of his shirt and dropping onto his sheets. The look on his parents’ faces when he walked down the hall and knocked on their bedroom door in the middle of the night, a trail of scarlet on the carpet behind him.

“That’s okay, we can talk about something else. How about you tell me some more about how you were feeling leading up to your admission?”

William swallows the lump in his throat. “I just, I was kinda miserable, I think.”

“In what way?” she asks.

“I couldn’t get out of bed,” he says with a shaky exhale. “Everything was just too much. The voices made it impossible to even breathe.”

“And how were your parents through all of this?”

His ears burn. Shame. “They tried to be understanding but I could tell they were running out of patience. I know they love me but I didn’t always make it easy.”

“You’re their child, it is not your job to make things easy for them.”

That eases some of the ache in his chest. He doesn’t entirely believe her but it’s nice to talk to someone who is in his corner and no one else’s. He’d tried talking to the guidance counsellor at his school but she was useless. When he talked about the pressing urge to just not be here anymore, she had met his turmoil with dismissal and blame. She told him that her granddaughter had been born blind and without legs and she still smiled regardless so she couldn’t understand how a kid with all his facilities intact and a loving home life could ever want to die.

Her words had just mad everything worse, made him feel guilty for emotions he had no control over.

But Olivia didn’t seem to be like that, he looked up and she was watching him but not with judgmental or hostile eyes, just an earnest expression and a soft crease between her eyebrows.

“Would you consider journaling?” she asks after a few moments of empty air.

“Journaling?” he parrots, confused.

“Yes, it might help you to write down your thoughts and feelings as you’re having them. We could always go over the ones you’re willing to share in our next session.”

That didn’t sound entirely awful. “Okay,” he says with a nod.

🏰

The next session of free time is one that William actually participates in instead of hiding away in his room. He sits out in the garden with Vanessa, hands empty while she intently scrawls away in a sketchbook. It’s a small book, with a black cover littered in stickers, overlapping so much that he can’t make out a single design.

He just tilts his head back, closing his eyes and letting the breeze roll over his face.

The fresh air helps, it’s a much needed break from the stiff air of the clinic. Out here he can hear a plane flying overhead and a sparrow in the tree he’s sitting under.

Opening his eyes again he looks over at the open sketchbook and the piece his friend is meticulously drawing, running her pens over and over again to create thicker, bolder lines. This page is home to a drawing of a woman, with big spiked hair and distinct makeup.

“Who is she?” he asks.

Vanessa’s pen stills and she looks up at him. “Siouxsie Sioux.”

William pauses, confused. “That’s a boring name.”

“Not when you spell it properly.”

That is no less cryptic. “Is she an actress, or…?”

Vanessa gasps with mock offense, a hand splayed over her chest. “She’s a musician, singer of Siouxsie and the Banshees.”

“Right,” William could probably have pieced that together with the band name alone.

“If we were allowed phones in here I would play you Forever or This Unrest or-” she gasps, sitting up straighter and burning holes in William with the intensity in her eyes. “Scarecrow! It would change your life. You have to promise me when you get out of here that you’ll look up ‘Siouxsie and the Banshees’. S-I-O-U-X-S-I-E–”

“Okay,” he interrupts her spelling bee.

“Promise!” she says, pointing a finger at him.

“I promise,” he amends, holding up his hands in surrender.

Vanessa places a hand on William’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “I am going to make you goth if it kills me.”

That makes William laugh, eyeliner, chains and black clothes, that would never be him. “I believe you.”

🏰

By the time the nurse calls the two of them inside for an afternoon snack, William is much more relaxed than he thinks he can ever remember being. Not that two months is a whole lot to compare it to.

He helps Vanessa pack up her art stuff and turn her pens in to the nurse’s station before following her back to the cafeteria where everyone else seems to have beat them to lining up. The two of them file into the end of the line and bicker back and forth while they wait.

It takes a few short minutes for them to reach the front but by then all the pre-packaged granola bars and cookies that the others had walked away with, there’s a few sad and neglected packets of pretzels left. Jokes on everyone else, pretzels are bomb.

William once again follows Vanessa to sit at the table that has become theirs over the course of half a day, as soon as he sits she is already rambling about something else that she deems crucial information for him to learn while he’s here.

🏰

He crosses out yet another line of his journal. The one he only just got from the nurse’s station but he already has a page and a half of crossed over and scribbled out words because everything he writes just sounds like utter nonsense. “I wish I could remember.” Boring. “Maybe it would be easier if I just died that day.” Cringe. “I don’t know what anyone could possibly do that would help.” Whiny.

Thinking closer to the crash one of his mother’s thoughts sticks out to him “I just want my son back,” she had thought. If she knew he could hear her she never would have thought it but she did and it lived rent free in the back of his mind, always there to remind him that he wasn’t quite right.

He writes the thought down on the paper before striking it through like all the others, he doesn’t want to think about it.

His frustrations at every thought he has are interrupted by a soft two knocks on his door. They’re too quiet to be the nurse, also from what he has learnt they knock merely out of courtesy before opening the door and less to gain permission for entry.

So he folds the journal shut and sets the pen down. He wishes he had a desk in his room but it was pretty bare. A bed, a chair and a set of cabinets with the doors removed with spare blankets and everything he could fit in a duffel and bring with him.

He crosses the small room and opens the door. To reveal Vanessa standing in the corridor brandishing a novel like a weapon.

“What’s this?”

“As promised,” she says as she hands it to him. “A novel.”

Taking it, William examines the cover. Frankenstein. Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley. He recognises the title at least, not that it is a book he would find lying around at home. “Horror?” he asks.

Vanessa nods, “and sci-fi. She pioneered both genres at the age of 19 she really was incredible.”

“Cool,” he says, running a finger along the spine. The cover is worn and split on the corners, well-loved and much re-read.

“She also lost her virginity on her mother’s grave,” Vanessa adds, excited.

William is stunned for a moment. “That’s certainly–”

“Iconic? I know,” she interrupts, grinning widely. Only for her smile to quickly fall and her eyes to blow up into saucers. “Wait–You’re like twelve. Do not tell anyone, especially your parents, that people are talking to you about sex in the psych ward.”

That makes William laugh. He hasn’t felt this light in a long time. “I won’t, I promise.”

They eventually make their way to what William is now affectionately calling his “emotional support corner” and he comfortably slots himself into it. Vanessa sits on the floor a few feet away, her back also pressed to the wall.

Silence is like their third friend, one that doesn’t speak or think or hold beliefs about them based on their pasts or lack thereof. They enjoy each other’s quiet company, Vanessa weaving small braids into the front of her hair only to immediately unpull them, rinse and repeat.

William retrieves his journal from the edge of his bed and continues trying to write in it. One sentence. Crossed out. Another. He scribbles over it so hard that the tip of the ballpoint pen rips through the paper and ink is scratched onto the next page. With an angry huff he throws the journal and pen onto the linoleum.

“I think I’m over journaling,” he admits, his teeth grit. It was a dumb idea in the first place so he blames Olivia. Even though she seemed like she genuinely wanted to help.

“Haven’t you just started?” Vanessa asks.

Another huff, this time more frustrated than angry. Ah, the intricacies of teenage emotion. “It’s dumb and I hate it.”

“Big words,” she says, leaning over to pick up his discarded pen. “Can I have this?”

He eyes her curiously for a second before sighing, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sure.”

She pockets the pen in one slick motion and as soon as it’s out of eyesight William forgets all about it.

Picking up the book she’d given him, William flicked through the pages, feeling the air on his face and breathing in the subtle smell of an book. Paper and imagination, something about it was relaxing.

“What do you like so much about this?” he asks, completely oblivious to any of the plot of the story.

Vanessa shrugs. “Even though Frankenstein was a horrible father to the creature, I like to think that life means something, especially when it is created so meticulously and with such care. Even if it is not nurtured it can be beautiful.”

“Hm,” he hums thoughtfully. “I like that. I’ll start it later.”

That makes Vanessa smile. “Good, you’ll love it.”

Conversation dissolves into meaningless back and forth questions and answers, queries and humour. Time ticks by but it doesn’t drag, maybe he can actually make it through this admission, maybe he will find something that makes his miserable life a little more bearable.

His own end of the conversation tapers off as he loses himself in thought but Vanessa happily chatters on. So far he hasn’t seen her so much as look at any of the other patients so he wonders if she had been alone for the past seven weeks, until a miserable preteen sat at the breakfast table with his miserable plate of miserable scrambled eggs.

When there’s a reprieve in Vanessa’s rambling, William takes his opportunity to ask the question that was burning on his tongue.

“Have you ever died?” William asks. It’s sudden and he’s not entirely sure why the words left his mouth. Normal people don’t ask questions like that but he thinks it’s been thoroughly proven in the past two months that he is nothing close to normal.

Vanessa looks a little surprised at the outburst but she runs a hand through her dark hair and speaks, “once.”

“What happened?”

“My parents were out at my dad’s work dinner and I took everything in the medicine cabinet.” William looks across at her but her eyes are firmly trained on the floor. “Sleeping pills, blood pressure meds, you name it, I took it. My parents got home and I was dead on the bathroom floor. My mum did CPR until the paramedics came. I was in a coma for two days and in the psych ward for three weeks.” William can’t help but imagine if it had been him, in the upstairs bathroom of his house, lying on the soft pink bath mat, traumatising his mother. He’s not sure if he could do that to her, but also not entirely sure he wouldn’t. “How about you?”

William’s breath stutters in his throat but he manages to swallow it. “Car crash. About two months ago. I stopped breathing and when I started again I had no idea who I was or what was going on. I still don’t.”

“Geez, you make my life sound like a sitcom,” Vanessa admits with a laugh. She unfolds her legs, stretching one out across the floor. “So what do you remember?”

William shrugs. “Absolutely nothing. I died the day of my bar mitzvah and I can’t remember a single word in Hebrew. I think that upset my parents, they told me I spent so long memorising everything but I just,” he snaps his fingers “forgot.”

“That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” William says. He laments a bit, still unable to grasp how he pulled the short straw. According to his parents he did everything right, worked hard at school, was nice to people, helped out wherever he could. And now he was in a psych unit miles away from his parents with a bandaged wrist and a cocktail of medication to keep him from losing the plot.

Hopefully something here helps, even if he doesn’t remember he would like to cope.

🏰

Dinner is another sad meal, he’s beginning to think they don’t serve meals here unless they had the potential of worsening a patient’s condition. He had been holding out hope that dinner would be better than breakfast and lunch but he stares down at a sad little mix of unseasoned steamed vegetables and a frankly pathetic portion of cold rise. They claim it’s a stir fry but he has many doubts.

At least there is dessert. He does get prepacked vanilla ice cream as well as a custard, the only think they’re missing is sprinkles. His drink this time is a boring bottle of water–boring.

For the first time that day Vanessa doesn’t just have a bottle on her tray, her meal a mirror image of William’s own.

“Ugh, if they’re going to serve me real food they should at least try to make it edible,” Vanessa groans.

“No argument from me,” he says, skipping past the ‘stir fry’ and peeling his container of ice cream open.

Vanessa watches him carefully as he takes a scoop. “You better be careful about your eating habits or they’ll start yelling at you for leaving a grain of rice on your plate.”

He pauses, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Picky eating is basically disordered to them. So watch your back or eat your food.”

With a fresh wave of paranoia, William swaps his spoon for a fork and a limp little green bean. He bites into it and although his expectations were astronomically low, he is still disappointed.

🏰

After painstakingly finishing his dinner, William follows Vanessa and a bunch of the other patients into a small room with two sofas and a TV. Vanessa slips away from his side to happily flop on the brown leather couch with peeling corners.

She pats the space next to her.

“What’s this for?” William asks as he sits, his brows pinched together in confusion.

She grins. “Movie night is every night here. Unless you’re boring and want to do another session of group or free time. The movies aren’t the greatest but they’re better than more therapy.”

William can’t see a fault in her logic.

Everyone sits and no one moves, nothing changes.

“Now we wait for the staff to bring the box of DVDs, it could take thirty seconds or fifteen minutes, the mystery of it adds to the fun.”

Other patients chatter among themselves but Vanessa ignores all of them to talk to the thirteen year old amnesiac she appears to have adopted. “So while we wait, how about a round of twenty questions?”

That seems dangerous but William agrees anyway.

“Me first,” Vanessa says quickly although no one was racing to beat her. “What would be the first thing you would do when you get out of here?”

That one stumps William and he has to think for a bit. All he knows outside of the hospital is a frankly miserable life where he doesn’t remember or enjoy anything. “I dunno,” he says, “maybe just eat some good food?

“Boo,” Vanessa replies, sticking out her tongue. “That’s boring.”

William shrugs. “It’s all I could think of.”

“Fair enough,” she says with a sigh. “Your turn, ask me any question your burning heart desires.”

“Uh, what would you do if you could get out of here?”

She lightly smacks William on the shoulder. “Hey! No repeat questions.”

“Indulge me?” he tries.

With a huff, she leans back and crosses her arms, pale eyes judging. “I would go to a record store. Spend an astronomical amount of money on the Best of Depeche Mode vinyl. I deserve it.”

“That doesn’t sound any more exciting than what I said,” William argues, suddenly defensive of his dreams about a banh mi.

“It’s culture,” she presses, drawing out the last syllable for emphasis. “I got Violator with my first ever paycheck it’s important for my soul.”

William is not quite sure what any of the things she’s referencing are but he nods sagely anyway. The door to the TV room creaks open and a staff member walks in with his arms full of a quite frankly gigantic cardboard box that is overflowing with DVDs.

“My turn!” Vanessa butts in, drawing his attention away from the box and back to her. “What’s your favourite movie?”

“I- I’m not sure.”

“Well, we’re going to figure it out. We have two weeks.” She stands up from the couch and walks towards where the box was sat down. “It’s William’s turn to pick the movie!” she declares before kneeling down next to the stash of movies and beckoning Wiliam over.

There’s a chorus of disgruntled mumbling but no one seems particularly offended by her decision so William tentatively gets up and joins her on the floor. Vanessa digs through the cases, pulling out random options that she thinks he might like.

“The Lion King?” she asks, holding up the DVD.

“Absolutely not,” someone behind him says loudly and Vanessa just sighs and puts it back in the box.

“Some people haven’t gotten over what happened to Mufasa,” she says, disappointed.

“What happens to Mufasa?” William asks.

With a tragic sigh, Vanessa just looks at him. “Oh you poor amnesiac baby, you’re going to have a hard time when you watch that movie. Not tonight though,” she adds quickly. “I know you said Alice in Wonderland when we were in group but the caterpillar gives me the heebie jeebies.”

After many potential candidates are held up and added to a small pile in front of William he is forced to choose between four discs. Remembering the poster on his wall, and figurines past him had amassed he picks The Wizard of Oz. It seems like a safe choice and Vanessa nods approvingly as she picks it up and puts the disc in the DVD player.

“The production may have been a shitshow but it’s a good movie.”

🏰

After taking his bedtime meds, his first dose of something to quiet the voices in his head, William climbs into his bed eagerly gripping the book Vanessa had lent him. He was in dire need of entertainment, the movie he had picked out was good but it didn’t draw him in quite like he expected it to given its strong presence in the room decorated by a pre-amnesia him. Sometimes when he thought about the person he was meant to be he felt like a stranger in his place.

Maybe that’s why his parents always seemed so sad when they looked at him.

Hopefully they would be less sad by the time they visit him. Next Wednesday, after today only a week to wait.

He’d successfully survived his first day in the psych ward.

One down, thirteen to go.

He thumbs through the first few pages of the book until he hits the first title.

Letter 1.

To Mrs. Saville, England

St. Petersburg, Dec 11th, 17—

The story sucks him in, it’s different to everything else he’s come into contact with since losing his memory and maybe since it’s something his parents haven’t been able to regulate or limit, there is something special about it. His parents meant well but they could be a tad overbearing at times.

He only gets to about halfway through the second letter before he is hit with this unimaginable wave of exhaustion, one that makes every movement laborious and fills his limbs with cement. Even blinking is challenging, slow and like pushing a boulder up a staircase.

It’s more exhaustion than he expected from the medication but it’s the only thing he could think would be causing this. It becomes more of a mission to hold his head up with every passing second and he eventually concedes and decides to go to sleep.

He’s not sure if he manages to put the book away or if he falls asleep on the open pages, further wrinkling the spine of Vanessa’s book.

#agatha all along #agatha all along fic #aaa fic #william kaplan #billy kaplan #billy maximoff #bad things happen bingo #max.doc

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