#and i have emetophobia so i am straight up not having a good time

[funzige-gedachten]

To quote bo burnham: i am not feeing good👍🏻

[brisquad-unit-4402]

taking care of drunk ike

today it is my birthday once more so here, i'm posting my favorite fic in my drafts. i'm not sure what i should do today...?!

i love honest thoughts while drunk but i wanted to keep the idea of consent in mind... this is my balance weeeee. the longer the fic goes the more dicey it gets. kinda like actual blackout drinkinggg. so if you need to dip no worriesssssssss

tags: gender neutral reader, pre-relationship, fluff and angst, pining, open ending, fluff with a sad ending, sick fic?, blackout drunk ike, ike is a cute drunk, and then an emotional drunk, emetophobia/vomit, unspecified if reader drinks or not, slightest hint of lucake and shuca if you squint while yaoipilled, one (1) swedish word

⚠️ drinking, emetophobia

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Long story short: Ike is sloshed and needs to get home.

Long story long: Luxiem just wrapped up an ambitious project, so naturally you and the rest of the guys spent all night celebrating. The evening started off with a good meal and blowing your lungs out on karaoke, but if someone told you earlier today that Ike of all people would get piss drunk, you would've laughed in their face. Dude's Scandinavian. He's not a heavy drinker by any means but Vox is the only one that can keep up with him. Even then, it usually ends up with the demon plastered by the time Ike starts slurring his words together.

Except for tonight, of course. All Vox had was a shot with the rest of the guys when the night started, so that initial effect faded ages ago.

You weren't set on getting drunk either, so you ended up being the responsible one too. Even Luca sobered up. He's usually the next to go after local lightweight Shu, but the bar appetizers must've soaked up the alcohol, and now at the wee hours of 2 AM, the other two guys were using Luca as a crutch. Seeing sleepy-drunk Shu rest his head on Luca's shoulder was common. Ike trying to break free from Luca's grasp? Completely different story.

"Luca, let me go."

"Are you going to trip in your heels if I do?"

"No."

Luca let go of Ike's hand. Ike stepped forward, stumbled, and nearly ate shit before he could even get to step number 2. Luckily, Luca figured that would happen and grabbed his arm before the novelist completely lost his balance. "See what I mean now, Ike?"

Ike just grunted in half-hearted protest.

Meanwhile, Vox closed his phone. "I don't want him walking home alone," he said. He glanced at the Luca-crutch and the rambunctious child dangling off his arm (plus the contented Shu on the other side). "Uber should be here in a few minutes."

"Thank you, Vox," you said on Ike's behalf.

"It's the least I can do. Still, do you think he can make it to his apartment? He can barely stand up straight."

You got an idea. "I can go with him and make sure he gets home in one piece."

Vox tilted his head. "What about you?"

"Please, don't sweat it! We live less than five minutes away from each other, so I'll be fine. We even have spare keys to each other's places,” you said. Behind you and Vox, Ike was trying to pull his hand out from Luca's grasp. No matter how hard he tried, he had about as much force as a wet piece of paper. Luca was immovable. You continued. "Besides, I'm a little worried too. I don't want him to trip on concrete or anything."

Which brings the long story to now: you sit in backseat of an Uber with Ike who, as mentioned, is sloshed and needs to get home.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Without Luca to hold him in place, Ike didn't have much of an authority to rebel against. He complied without much of a fight. It's endearing watching him switch up; one moment he's acting goofy with the boys and the next he's docile, staring intently at the back of the passenger seat.

"What're you looking at?" You ask.

"Pouh," he says informatively. When you don't respond immediately he pushes his head against your arm like a pillow and repeats himself. "Pughhh."

"What?"

"Pockets," he slurs. He points at the back of the passenger seat, which is as flat as a board. "This seat doesn't have them. Which is so sad. If it can have pockets we should always have pockets no matter what."

"I think you should talk to women's jeans manufacturers about that."

"I would be great at women's jeans," Ike agrees.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You thank the driver once the ride is done and open the door for Ike. Fortunately he's remembered how to walk but you support him as you climb the stairs to his apartment, one step at a time. His heels, usually quick and prompt, clunk on the ground. Ike sniffs.

Oh, no. He looks like a kicked puppy right now. Did something happen? You try to recount anything that might've upset him. "What's wrong, Ike?"

"I thought about it during the ride." He sniffs again. "Women's jeans don't have pockets and it’s making me sad."

“Sometimes they do!” You pat his back in a quick attempt to cheer him up. “I’ve even seen skirts with pockets.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” Ike smiles. “They should make more skirts with pockets.”

“Sure. Where’s your keys?”

Ike produces a key ring and misses the lock, so you open it for him. His apartment smells like cotton and the greasy hint of bacon, just like how you remember. It’s organized but clearly lived in, down to the folded laundry resting on a chair rather than their designated drawers.

“Come in,” he says, not at all surplussed by you. You visit each other often, after all. He ambles through the threshold and onto the couch with a satisfied “Oof.”

The first order of business is to get Ike some water. You don’t even have to guess which cabinet holds the glasses; you get it right on the first try. Once you’re done, you turn to the couch. Ike lays down on the couch, head plopped on the armrest and his folded hands, squishing his alcohol-flushed cheeks. His drooping eyes perk up as your get closer. He’s been watching you.

“Alright, you big dork, sit up properly so you can drink.” You nudge his shoulder, coaxing him up with a groan.

He straightens as you press the cold glass in his hand. With a wave of his free hand, he tries to say, “I shouldn’t, I’ve had a lot to drink.”

You raise the glass. Despite his protests, Ike wordlessly tilts it to his lip with your help. You must look like an alien species, a tangle of limbs holding a cup to a second mouth, but Ike closes his eyes as he sips. When he parts his lips are dewy. The center turns a brighter color, now glossy from the water, rosy red to accompany the flowery pink flush over his cheeks.

He glances at you. "Tastes watery."

"That's because it's water," you say, letting him get a grip on the cup by himself. "Go ahead, have some more. It'll help."

Ike lets out a tiny satisfied sound as he mumbles, “Only because you’re cute.”

Ah?

He drinks more of the water while you stare at him like an actual alien. His Adam's apple rises and falls with each gulp as you try to shake off your surprise. "I... I didn't know you were a flirty drunk, Ike."

Ike pouts at the implication. “I'm not! I’ve never flirted in my life.”

“What was that, then?”

“The truth,” he says plainly.

“Yep, you’ve had way too much to drink.” You rise up from the couch, refusing to let his unfiltered thoughts be detected as honest. However a weight holds you down. Ike clings to your legs, preventing you from getting up. "Wh—hey!"

"Nooo, don't go."

"What's the matter?" You try to wiggle him off, but Ike's grip tightens. Fluffy sand-and-sea hair rustles against your leg as Ike nuzzles you, face hot with liquor. Nerves kick in. Ike might be an affectionate drunk, but the most you've seen him is hug your friends with one arm and playfully sock them without much impact. There's no way he's thinking straight, not if he's intent on using your lap as a pillow. "Ike, I need to get up."

"I don't want you to go."

"I'm not going, I just need to get up."

"But that's the same thing."

"No, it's not. It's..." You inhale through your teeth as he tugs you back down. "Oh, Ike. I need to take care of you so you don’t regret this when you sober up."

Ike rests his cheek against your thigh now that you're back to sitting on the couch. He exhales. Warm breath settles over your clothes. "I regret everything I don't do with you."

Your furrow your brow. "That doesn’t make sense."

He raises his legs to his chest, curling up in your lap. "It makes sense to—to me." He hiccups. A hand brushes against your leg, then retracts as soon as Ike realizes he placed it there.

Drunkenness has granted him a dreamy tint to his jade eyes as he looks up to you, but you're starting to realize what's gotten into him. The weight of it presses down your back, just like how you support his head in your lap. "You make me want to do everything I wish I could do. If I was braver. Or honest." Ike sighs again. "I wish I was good enough for you."

You’re not sure if this is a conversation Ike wants to have drunk. You're not even sure if this is a conversation Ike wants to have sober. It's voyeuristic, listening to his thoughts out loud, the filter dividing personal and public nowhere to be seen. He's always been a private guy with his feelings—at least, he's never told you any of them. You think you understand why now. It makes you feel dirty. Like you've seen too much.

Ike blinks. Tentatively, his fingers brush your knee again. Eyelashes obscure the blue hope in his eyes, making way for the uncertainty laced in spring and jade green. The fear in ochre yellow.

He regains his sense of shame, closes his eyes, and tilts his head away, focusing on the threads on your clothing instead of his true feelings. They come out in a whisper. "I must be an awful friend for hiding from you."

"You're not awful," you say, just as hushed. He's never been. Ike's greatest critic has always been himself. He's never going to remember this, either. You're certain he's going to black out by morning, or pretend like he did, and that this never happened. You could too.

It's unclear if you're an awful friend for reaching out to Ike. You'll decide later.

But right now, all that matters is your nails light against his scalp, stroking his messy hair, smoothing down the strands like you’re brushing the thought away. Away. Let it go, Ike, I'll brush it away, away, away.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

"Uggh," Ike says groggily.

He fell asleep in your lap while you consoled him. It made your heart hurt, but the pain ebbed by the time you could hear his soft snores. Now that he's stirring, the hurt has dulled to a slight, simple bruise on your heart: easy to ignore, tender when pressed.

"Something going on?" You ask, careful not to be too loud.

"Urggg," Ike repeats. It's not groggy, you realize. It's nauseous.

You snap up. "Oh, no no no no nonononononono. Keep it together, Ike, keep it together!" You help him up and guide him to the bathroom. Simply put, he gets there in time. You hold his hair away from his face as Ike leans over the toilet and empties his stomach's contents.

Naturally in a moment of sickness, Ike is inelegant. Earlier, he used his mantle as a blanket, and abandoned it on the couch when he woke up. One of his fishnet gloves is missing. He leans so deeply that you can see the ridges of his spine through his button-up shirt, wrinkled from rest. You smooth it down, brushing the nausea away by rubbing circles on your friend's back.

He expressed so much about what you mean to him, yet the only appropriate thing you can call him is a friend...

Ike gasps for air. "Hell," he slurs, just before spitting up more of his sickness. He weakly grabs at the nearest wall as support. You can feel his stomach shuddering just by stroking his back, coloring the toilet water each time he retches. "Hel-helvete..."

"Don't talk, just get it all out," you say. He makes an unflattering noise in response; the vomit splatters against the bowl.

And to think, you thought yourself alien before. Clumsiness is common for Ike, but now it’s like guiding an ungraceful animal. He plucks off his glasses, tosses them aside. It feels like holding a cat by the scruff, a bag of rice by its seam.

Ike rasps. “Don’t go,” he pleads, throaty from slumber, slurred from stomach acid. The thought has yet to go away. “Do-don’t go.”

“I’m not leaving.” You set his glasses on the counter, pat his shoulders, and rip off a square of toilet paper.

Now that he’s seemed to recover, you tilt his head to face you. Ike averts jade-green eyes as you pad at his lip with the makeshift napkin. For the first time tonight, proper embarrassment overtakes him. His lip parts to protest, but freezes before the words come out, mentally rejecting whatever is on his mind.

The freeze extends to the rest of his face as you wipe at it. You try not to focus on his eyes, scrunched up with shame. His brows lower as he shuts them. It's only when you can't see the color anymore that you realize you've been paying attention whether you like it or not.

At least now you can observe him without feeling too awkward. Ike's a wreck. Obviously. His hair sticks out from where you held it out of his face. You have to use another square of toilet paper to clean him up. Luckily he's regaining his sense of decency, despite how his face is too ghastly pale to blush.

Ike sighs, barely coherent. "I feel gross."

"It's okay, it happens," you console. Nearby on the counter is a cheap plastic cup. You fill it up with water, then offer it to him. "How are you feeling?"

"...Better." He grabs it with his gloved hand, and traces a bare finger around the edge with the other. "But still gross."

"It happens."

"And I feel bad." You spring up, ready for action, but Ike waves you off as he continues. "Not like that. Just bad."

Instead he takes the cup and swishes, trying to clear the taste of bile. He spits into the toilet (just saliva and water, thankfully). Without his glasses, it's easier to see his hooked nose, especially as he pinches the bridge of it. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this."

"What? No, don't worry about it!" You pat Ike's back again. "I'm your friend, of course I want to make sure you're doing alright."

"I don't know how I thought I had a chance."

"It's okay, you just had too much. Don't beat yourself up over it."

"You're t-too good for me."

"No, I'm your friend."

"I should've figured." For the first time Ike seems to notice he only has one glove on. He rubs his thumb over the fishnet as he stares into the cheap plastic, the crystal water above it. "My imagination always gets the best of me and I have to pretend like I—like I didn't get my hopes up for nothing." He hiccups again. He already threw up all the booze, but you can still smell the alcohol on his breath as he stumbles through his words.

"You're drunk," you say, because now is not the time. No matter how much it pains him to express it, or how much it pains you to keep quiet, Ike deserves better than your true thoughts when he won't remember them at all. It would be cruel to play with his heart.

In the quiet introspection, Ike sits down on the bathroom tile and leans against the wall. He swallows down the alcohol taste. Shadows carve out his exhausted features, including the eye bags usually hidden by his glasses, and the lost, lamenting green of his eye. There's no way he can hear your thoughts, but the emotion sits heavy on his shoulders. He understands the hesitance.

Ike says, "I know." There's nothing to do about it. All you can do is pretend tonight never happened, or that Ike knew how to hold himself back, or that you never had these feelings to begin with.

"I wish I didn't," he adds. Already he protests the silence. It's an elaborate dance around the elephant in the room, but all he wants to do is get in his high heels and trip. If he could he would crash into everything, make a mess, stumble and slip and fall just as hard as he fell for you, over and over again, until he sprains his ankles and his body turns black and blue and the world swirls with dizziness. It wouldn’t be much of a difference. You make him go zero-gravity. Floating on air. The things he dreams of have wings in never-ending motion, away, away, away. "I think I need to lie down."

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

should i make a part 2?

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[itsthatpearl]

Layout idea from @secret-smut-sideblog 🩸

Hannibal x F!OC

His Amuse-Bouche

Chapter 4: Me And The Devil

AO3 LINK

Beth is trying to fight her growing feelings towards Hannibal.

Word count: 1.3k

Thank u Kris for beta reading <3 Luv u <3

TW: THIS IS A HORROR FANFIC. MAJOR DEAD DOVE. SPECIFIC TRIGGERS ARE LISTED IN EACH CHAPTER, BUT THEY CAN SPOIL THE STORY, SO IF YOU WANT TO ENJOY THE HORROR AS BEST AS YOU CAN, GO STRAIGHT TO THE STORY.

SPECIFIC TRIGGERS: Mental health issues (depression, ptsd, anxiety, social anxiety, panic attacks and dissociating), distressing impulsive thoughts, sexual tension, sexual themes, masturbation, fingering, horror, gore, cannibalism, vore, bad parenting, rough language, violence, light emetophobia.

----

Someone bangs the door aggressively. I look at mom confused. It is late and we are laying on the couch watching The Bachelor. “Are we expecting someone?” I whisper. “I don't think so?” she replies quietly. Another loud bang. Mom pauses the show, stands up and goes into the bedroom. “Honey, wake up. Are you expecting someone?” I hear her ask my stepdad. I stand up and tiptoe to the front door. “Open up, Beth. I know you are there I just want to talk” I hear my dad mutter behind the door. I open it slowly and look at him. He looks like he's been crying, which is something I have never seen him do before. “I will never forgive you for how you treated me, Beth” he says with eerie calmness before suddenly knocking me out cold

a gentle knock at the door stirred me away from my own thoughts. “Come in” I muttered while trying to find the spot I was reading perhaps a few minutes ago before my own thoughts swallowed me away.

He came inside holding a box. “I have a gift for you” he smiled and placed the box next to me. “Thank you…Hannibal” I smiled slightly. He likes when you call him by his first name, Beth. Stay calm. I started to open the box. Inside under a ton of silk paper was a dark red satin gown. I looked at it in awe as he leaned closer and murmured softly into my ear: “would you wear this tonight?”. A vicious bolt of excitement shooted down my spine and I had to bite my lip to distract myself from the burn that had woken up once again between my legs. Fuck. Focus, Beth. He will do anything to manipulate you into thinking he’d actually care about you. I looked at him and nodded, smiling. 

My eyes hurt from crying. I looked at myself from the mirror. Gods. It had been at least nine days since I came to Dr. Lecter’s house. Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Oh how that devilish smile made my core shiver- I shook my head. I looked at the door and listened closely for a moment. Silence. Maybe if I just released the tension a tiny bit…

My fingers caressed their way down from my neck down to my thighs. Him touching me this way- I slipped a hand inside my dress finding my core wet and wanting. A soft moan escaped my lips as I started massaging my clit slowly. Him. It felt so wrong but oh so right at the same time. His lips caressing mine while his fingers know how to touch me just like this. My other hand joined the first. Him kissing his way down my body. Two fingers slipped inside the heat. His mouth starting to eat me- I had to stop.

I looked at myself in the mirror. This was fucked up. I bit my lip to distract myself from the thoughts. This man cut my leg off and FED IT TO ME. I shook my head and looked down at my legs. I could swear my left pinky toe was itching. Great. Now I am losing it for good. Sighing my eyes darted up the dress. It was perfect on me. The way it complimented my figure and my breasts, leaving just the right amount of cleavage for a classic look. 

I touched my neck lightly. He would put his lips right here, and he’d tell me how delectable I looked. There it was again. The want. It had taken a backseat during everything. But now it was growing day by day. Every look, every smile, every little touch sent shivers down my spine. I had to calm it down, otherwise I could fail tonight and let him do anything to me. My hand snaked its way between my thighs again. Fuck. Yes. I moaned quietly. My fingers drew tight circles around my clit while my other hand pushed two fingers inside. It was easy, as I was ready for them. I closed my eyes and bit my lip not to moan louder. Him eating me out- oh I was so close. A flash of him eating my leg savouring the taste and sipping wine flashed through my eyes and I stumbled into an aggressive climax. My mouth opened wide as I fucked myself through the most perfect orgasm I’ve had in a while.

Catching my breath I cleaned myself out with a tissue. Someone knocked at the door making me almost jump up. “C-come in” I blurted out and quickly checked from the mirror if I looked like I had just orgasmed. Maybe he wouldn't notice. The door opened and he walked in wearing a dark blue tuxedo. He looked handsome. I turned around and smiled, still catching my breath a bit. “You look…delectable” he smiled. I couldn't help but blush. Fuck I was already failing miserably.

He took me to his living room. Classical music played quietly in the dimly illuminated room. “Are you familiar with Bach’s work?” he asked. I shook my head smiling slightly. He smiled and added volume. “Johann Sebastian Bach was a German composer and musician during baroque. This is his most famous work, Mass in B Minor-” he explained while closing the distance between us. “-did you know music can alter how you feel, even how you taste?” he smiled. I looked into his eyes. He looked into mine. I placed my hand on his cheek. No no NO! Don’t do it Beth. If you do it now, you will NEVER be able to resist again. “Can you feel the music, Beth? Can you feel the longing, the wanting?” he whispered against my lips. I closed my eyes and smiled. My hand on his cheek moved behind his neck and I pulled him against my lips kissing him. The kiss was soft. 

He pulled away and looked at me. I looked at him a bit confused. Then he pulled back into my lips kissing me deeply. A soft moan escaped my lips as we kissed each other. His hands gripped my back and my hair softly. Our breathing quickened as our kissing became more intense. How was he so perfect with every move?! I slowly took his hand and started to guide it lower on my body. My core was aching so bad I was sure I would die if he wouldn't touch me. I want him. As soon as his fingers met my heat, I moaned loudly, gripping his hair. He stopped kissing me and for the first time ever, in the dim light, he looked at me like he was not sure of his actions. I smiled slightly, nodding to signal him to keep on going. Then the music stopped. His hands pulled away from my body and he stood up. “You should rest” he said with a weird tone. I breathed out and looked away. “Yes. Good night, Dr. Lecter” I muttered and went to my own bedroom. 

I wake up from the floor. The front door is open. The house is quiet. I hold my head while standing up slowly and walk into the living room. Then I see the blood. It is everywhere. The dark sticky substance has covered half of the room. My feet touch the rug that is soaking wet. Cold fear coats my every nerve ending making feeling and movement a struggle. The air smells like iron and sweat. My stomach makes a turn twice and I cover my mouth to prevent throwing up, as if it would help at all. 

After struggling with getting myself ready for bed I finally layed down and looked at the ceiling. What the fuck just happened? I closed my eyes and fell asleep trying to figure out what this encounter would mean in the future.

The bedroom is dark, but I don’t need lights to see that the bed is coated in black. In the middle lies my mother and stepdad in a dark tangled clump. In the corner of the room lies my father. My mouth opens into a silent scream as I hear the sirens coming close.

----

Next Chapter

[runningfrom2am]

the sea around us; chapter five

TW: emetophobia, vomiting

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

I excused myself from everyone as they were talking about what to do now that JJ has blown our chances at "laying low", deciding to walk home. I grabbed my cooler backpack with my twelve-pack in it, which I didn't even end up touching, and trudged down the road.  JJ didn't plan on shooting anyone, I know that about him. He would never. The fact that he would hold a loaded gun to my brother's head though, did catch me off guard. I felt sick, oh god, I have about fifteen seconds before I start hurling my guts out on the side of the road- I don't know if it is the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed or the image of my brother with a gun to his head that's making me this nauseous.

I stop and lean away from the road as I start throwing up, holding my hair back with one hand, and resting the other on my knee. After a couple of minutes, I see headlights coming towards me. Awesome. I wipe off my mouth on my arm and stand up, I think I'm done puking my guts out now anyways. I keep walking, reaching into my bag and cracking another drink, hoping to rinse out my mouth and then finish it to keep myself from fully settling into sobriety and realizing the weight of the situation. Of course, I understand how serious what just happened was, but I can tell it hasn't really hit me yet.

The car rolls to a stop next to me as I'm spitting out the swig of Twisted Tea I used to wash the taste of vomit out of my mouth, and I look up as I hear a familiar voice.

"Hey, Snowy, you alright?" Topper. Sarah is in the passenger seat with him, arms crossed, looking straight at the road ahead of her.

"Hi Topper," I say, giving an awkward wave. "You didn't happen to see me hurling my guts out just now, did you?" I try and joke, knowing that of course, they saw.

"Uh, maybe just the tail end. Would you like a ride?" Sarah sighs and leans her head back against the seat as he says this. I've never had a real problem with Sarah personally, but I can understand why she'd be pissed at me now.

"I should be fine, only about five k's to the chateau," I say, a ride would be sweet, but I don't want to intrude, especially after the fight we just had with them.

"I don't know what a 'k' is, but I know where you live and at this rate, you'll get there around six am, Snowy. Hop in. Please." Topper pleads. Despite what happened, he cares for me. I haven't spent heaps of time with him, but he's Kegs' best friend, and he knows how much I mean to him.

I nod a little and get in the back, sliding across the seat so I'm behind Sarah. "Where's Kegs?" I ask quietly once we start moving. "I thought he was with you."

"He went to Erin's," Topper replied, looking at me in the rearview mirror. I take another sip of my drink and nod. Of course he's at Erin's.

"Hey, uh, Sarah?" I say quietly, trying to get her attention. She just hums in response, letting me know she's listening. "I... I'm really sorry I called you a liar. I'm not going to use the excuse that I was drunk, but I am wasted so..." I trail off, I need to get back on the point. "I don't think you were lying. From your distance, I'm sure that's exactly what it looked like. If I didn't panic, it would have been about four seconds before you would have been right, anyways..."

"It's fine," Sarah replied flatly. "I was looking out for you, Kegs just wants you to be safe. And happy." Of course, she knew he would react that way, but why wouldn't I be safe with JJ?

"Why wouldn't I be safe with JJ, I'm with him all the time."

"He just thinks you'd be better off if you hung out with us more. A less risky lifestyle than with the pogues." She explains and I nod softly, even though she can't see me. Classic Kegs, always thinks he knows what's best, and that popularity is the most important thing.

"We literally are pogues. We factually live on the cut, we have one bathroom for six people, for fucks sake. He's just good at golf and went to private school back home, and is likable. I never had that. I'll never be him.." I reply, but I am truly thankful that she cares. Sarah turns to face me, and she has a genuinely sympathetic look on her face.

"I do think you're pretty cool, Snowy. You're welcome to hang out with me and my friends sometime, I can't imagine Top and Rafe are really your scene." Sarah smiles at me and I return it with a slight nod. I doubt I'll take her up on it, there's no way I would fit in with her and her friends, but it was still nice of her to offer.

"Hey, can I interest you in a nice, almost room temp Twisted Tea?" I ask, changing the subject as I hold my bag up to her if she wants to take one. Sarah laughs as she grabs one.

"Thanks, Snowy."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

When I get home, I hardly get the door shut before my mom starts shouting at me. "Juliette, are you kidding me right now? Keegan just called me and said your friend tried to kill him!"

I sigh and set my bag down, kicking off my sand-filled shoes. "Yeah, he left a key part out of that story." I try and explain, but apparently, she's not having it.

"It doesn't matter, Juliette." He could have been killed tonight and you don't care?"

"Of course, I care, Mom. I- He was literally drowning John B! His head was under the water for so long that he passed out, and Kegs just held him there!" I mean, John B didn't technically actually drown, but that definitely would have happened if JJ didn't step in. "He wasn't listening to me! He wouldn't stop! JJ had to do something."

"He didn't have to try and kill him. I cannot believe you are defending the kid who tried to kill your brother! What is wrong with you?"

Clearly, this isn't going anywhere, so grab my bag as I walk past her to go to my room as she grabs a glass off the counter and throws it at me, just missing as it smashes against the wall. I lock myself in the room that I share with the twins and sigh. I turn around to see them both staring at me from their bunk bed that is on the far wall. They look terrified, tears have stained Deck's cheeks, and Anna just looks shocked. We can still hear our parents talking outside, having a heated discussion about what they're going to do.

"You two should be asleep," I say, walking into our closet to get changed into some pajamas.

"We heard Mom yelling," Deck says quietly as I remove my shirt and bathing suit, facing away from them.

"Did JJ really try to kill Keegs?" Anna asks me and I shake my head.

"He wasn't going to hurt him. He just needed to get his attention." I explain, pulling a new shirt over my head and closing the door so they don't see me change my bottoms.

I come out once I get changed and go sit on the bottom bunk with Deck as he clings on to me, and I hug him back. "Snowy, that was scary."

"I know," I whisper, giving him a kiss on the top of his head.

"Can you sleep here with me?" He asks and I nod, laying down and pulling Deck down with me gently.

"So, was Pope there?" Anna asks me from the top bunk, leaning over the side so I can see just see her face in the dark, as he hair dangles down below her.

"Yes, Pope was there, Anna. Now get back to sleep." I chuckle, holding my little brother as she lays back down and keeps asking me questions about him. "Goodnight, Anna," I say in response, so she knows I won't be answering her anymore.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

A/N;

Just a short chapter this time, but it felt like the right place to stop.

Business as usual, please let me know what you're thinking! I hardly have any readers so now is a great time to get your suggestions in since I am super active in writing this and I'm more than willing to incorporate different ideas :) Shoot me a message or leave a comment!

Also, I left a little poll so please share your thoughts!

Thanks for reading!

-R

[adainesfroggieboggy]

oh and i am no longer high on life i'm now low on trauma

(basically a summary of my experience with septic shock (yeah.) below the cut. tw for emetophobia/periods/blood drawing/kinda just a lot of medical stuff)

soooooo on halloween, i got a stomach bug. i was super sick, all i ate that day was a slice of pumpkin pie, and while i was sitting on the floor of the shower with the water as hot as i could stand, i threw up. literally couldn't make it to the toilet two feet away. luckily for me we have a detachable showerhead so i cleaned all that needed cleaning and went directly to bed. i was awake that night just long enough to take my meds and some pepto and to breathalyze (while living in a sober living home, we breathalyze every night).

i was so sick this entire day that i had completely forgotten about the tampon i'd put in that morning. i slept all night and all of the next morning.

the entirety of friday was spent sleeping and uncomfortable. i was either boiling hot or freezing cold. i didn't take my meds because i was worried that they'd make me sick on an empty stomach and i didn't think i could eat. i didn't drink much water. i got up exactly one time to use the bathroom, and just felt like shit all around.

that evening, i couldn't really stay asleep, but i assumed it was just because i'd been sleeping for more than twenty-four hours. I tossed and turned and was in and out of sleep. my mind was really hazy, i was super groggy, and my body felt the kind of heavy you usually feel when you're sick. again, i had a stomach bug.

my housemates came in to ask me to breathalyze (if they hadn't needed this, i would not be writing this), and i was barely aware. i could focus for a few moments at a time, but i couldn't really speak or think straight. i remember bianca saying "you really don't feel good, do you?" and shaking my head in response. i can remember bits and pieces of this, like them coming in to get me up, my house manager threatening to call the ambulance if i didn't, someone (i know now that this was amy) giving me juice, which i apparently downed, someone (again, amy) putting my hair in a bun, and then nothing for a long time. blank, gone, black-out.

i came to with my house manager having come home from her date with her husband, and my therapist on the phone in attempt to keep me aware and communicative. i remember the phone on my chest and the sound of her voice, and then it's nothing again.

the next time i'm remotely aware, the paramedics were moving me onto a gurney. apparently, they tried to get me to straighten out from the little ball i was in, but i'd just curl back up every time they moved me. the only help i'm told i gave was scooting up when the paramedics asked me to. i don't remember the sheriff being there, i don't remember them taking my vitals, and i don't remember being given my iv.

the one paramedic i do remember was amazing. like exactly the kind of person you want to be helping you when you're in a medical emergency. when they put me in the ambulance, he sat with me, and he let me pick out the color of my next iv to keep me talking. we went lights and sirens straight to a hospital.

oh, and remember that tampon? i was in septic shock because it was still in.

from there, all i can remember is being wheeled into the er. i know i was in my own room down there, but from 10:00 pm until around 3:00 am, it's entirely gone. this is the most time i lost. i don't know if i was sedated, but i'm sure probably was. they asked me if i'd taken anything, and i told them yes. i'd taken excedrin. i was confused and unaware, so i apparently didn't say this, because i was placed on a 5150 hold, which didn't matter, because from the er, i went to the icu. my blood pressure was scarily low, i had sepsis, a high fever, and needed tons of iv fluids because i was also severely dehydrated.

i stayed in the icu on friday and saturday nights, and was given a slew of medications and fluids. i needed antibiotics, electrolytes, blood thinners, steroids. i had ekgs every four hours. i had my blood drawn at least four times a day. they tested my blood sugar twice a day.

i moved to a regular room on sunday evening, which is also when the 5150 hold was lifted. i hated the psych who talked to me. she insinuated i'd attempted suicide repeatedly, which i'm not sure how i'd do on purpose, and seemed like she didn't believe me. i was livid because here i was, lying in an icu bed, still septic, still with such low blood pressure they're giving steroids, blood thinners, and norepinephrine, and despite my insistence (and my house manager's, and my therapist's), she believed my history of mental health issues was more likely than the fact that i was sitting in front of her, telling her about my treatment and plans for the future. i know they're careful, but i was very, very obviously doing at the very least okay.

i stayed in the room, still waiting for my electrolytes to balance, until tuesday evening.

i am still recovering, mentally and physically. my heart rate sucks at balancing, i'm out of breath every time i move, and my body is sore. my legs and feet hurt and my arms and hands are bruised from blood draws and ivs. i can't sleep well without remembering my housemates' faces or my house manager crying or the paramedics at my bedside. i am recovering in lots of ways, and it's freaking exhausting. i'm literally falling asleep right now because i went to a ren faire for two hours today. i'm going to nap because i can take what i can get.

so yeah. don't get sepsis? if it can be helped? i made it out incredibly lucky - no organ failure, which is really common. i'm able to resume daily activities (if i sit down a lot and rest after). i'm as okay as i can be.

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

I started like... mildly crying 20 minutes ago and I haven’t stopped.

It’s equal parts Good Feelings and Bad Feelings! But it’s a lot of feelings.

tl;dr helping a friend made me emotional, my stomach tormented me last night so I’m especially fragile, I’m insanely excited for QPP Moving Day TOMORROW!, and then I heard a leader in the org say “I celebrate the person sitting in your seat” and a bunch of other really loving, gentle, appreciative things and I realized how badly I NEED TO HEAR THAT, and how, for the longest time, I just didn’t.

Mild emetophobia warning for discussion of Feeling Bad, and emotional warning for what might amount to... childhood emotional neglect? Is that a thing?

I don’t know if I can ramble, my emotions are kinda threadbare right now. So, bullet points.

- I stayed up late last night to talk to a friend having a crisis. Staying up late alone wouldn’t have been a problem at all, I was happy to “make time” for sia! But

- RIGHT as I was falling asleep, my stomach hit me with Overwhelmingly Sick Feeling that escalated RAPIDLY, convinced me I was going to Be S*ck for 2-3 hours straight, and I was trying to fight the phobia down, I really was, but I couldn’t. I wound up laying there huddling and shivering, frantic for Literally Hours, until it finally decided to just feel sore instead, and I finally got to sleep.

( ^ That part is probably my own fault. I got Chipotle for dinner because I wanted to Do Things instead of cook yesterday, and Chipotle usually goes well. But then I ate the whole bowl AND the whole (small) bag of ships. Which I KNOW I shouldn’t do, my stomach can barely handle a SMALL meal! But I THOUGHT I was still hungry? And I felt fine, mostly just sleepy, Right Up Until 1-2 AM. And then it all hit me HARD.)

But even when it finally calmed down, emotionally I was in pieces. It Didn’t Actually Happen, but gods I really thought it was going to that whole time.

So between recovering from The Struggle Against Phobia Panic and not sleeping much, I’ve spent all day feeling low-energy and tired and wrung out.

So I’ve got this Emotional Torment right up alongside the “WILD INSANE EXCITEMENT AHHHH” because my QPP is moving in here TOMORROW, and I can’t believe it’s finally going to be REAL? We’re going to be here? Together? In this place that’s our own? We can see each other and hug each other and play games or watch movies together whenever our schedule allows? I can tell them goodnight in person?

I have so many starry-eyed feelings about this, I just. Fuck, man, it’s going to be life-changing.

And then I listened to a recording from a couple years ago. One of the leaders in the organization, probably one of my very favorite people to hear speaking, gave one of her heart-wrenchingly encouraging speeches. Encouragement wrenches MY heart, anyways. In a good way, but also in the way that makes me realize how starved I am for that kind of... just, love.

“I celebrate the person sitting in your seat.”

I’m just going to copy the relevant bits of the message I sent to my mentor and elaborate a little bit, because... I don’t have the energy to reword it, frankly.

I started crying a little at the part where she said "I celebrate the person sitting in your seat"...but I also think there's some underlying wounds that she speaks to. That part specifically made me feel so overwhelmingly loved and appreciated and part of the reason I started crying is because I don't feel that way very often. But I want to. I think everyone wants that, probably.

And I'm almost envious of her. I want so, so badly to learn how to edify and uplift and love on people the way she does.

It's especially hard because my love language is words of affirmation and I want to be able to give those words to people, but that's one of the times my throat just doesn't work and I struggle to get the words out. They're important and deeply felt, and for me big emotions are the hardest feelings to put words to. But I desperately WANT to. I want people to know I care.

But I want to learn how to give people those affirmations more often. And I don't think I don't do it at all, because last night a friend was going through a crisis and she called me and we talked for like an hour, and afterwards she said it helped so much, and today another friend...sent me a message saying they're having a hard time and could they please have some comfort, so obviously I'm making SOME kind of impact in peoples' lives. They must feel safe and loved if they come to me for help like that. But I forget that really easily.

This is probably one of those things that's going to come with practice, but do you have any tips for how to help people feel loved and appreciated? I'm not sure exactly HOW to practice telling people "I love you" and "I appreciate you". I haven't had many good examples of that being communicated in my life, so when I try to think of HOW to do it, I kinda just draw a blank.

Is it like that method you have about practicing feeling joy, where you notice the things that make you feel that way, and make notes of it, and then kind of take that and extend that to others? Or is this one of those things where you have to ask people point-blank, "What makes you feel loved and appreciated?" How do you shine that light and warmth on people?

All I want in life is to leave a positive mark on this world, and I think that's a pretty important way to do that.

But what I didn’t tell my mentor is, I spent ten minutes while I was trying to compose this message to feel my way through the pain that GL’s message brought up.

With the love I felt from it came the deep-aching realization that the reason it felt So Amazingly Impactful to me is because I don’t GET THAT much.

I so, so very RARELY am told “Thank you”, or “You made a difference”, or “I’m proud of you”.

That last one, I’m so desperate to hear that when my stepmother (OF ALL PEOPLE!) was drunk at my sister’s wedding reception and told me “I’m so proud of you”, I legitimately felt my eyes going wide and starry, and I tried to stop myself, but I couldn’t resist fishing deeper. “Really? For what?” (She didn’t have any specifications to that, unfortunately. “Just the person you are.” That’s news to me. It felt a little empty tbh.)

Like... I want to specify that my mother DOES tell me she’s proud of me, she encourages me, she compliments me, she gives me heartfelt praise and I can tell she really means it. But her and my mentor are probably my only source of that. I didn’t have those heartfelt conversations with her until I was about 19 years old. I wonder if maybe she didn’t know how to give me those shreds of affirmation, the same way I struggle to give them to people now?

Growing up, I essentially NEVER heard any kind of praise or thanks. The one and only thing people usually praised me for was “You’re so smart”, but even that was usually the backhanded-compliment prefix to a following “But if only you were better at being smart!” (Gifted kid complex, anyone?)

I used to write in my diary when I was in elementary school that “nobody loves me”. I wasn’t being melodramatic or exaggerating, that was genuinely what it felt like sometimes. I felt unappreciated and unloved. I would be told “Love you!” before bed and that was about it. I still drank up those 2-to-3 word statements and cried the one time my stepmother didn’t tell me that. But I was starved of any genuine praise rooted in sincere appreciation or pride or joy.

Maybe I got a “You did so well!” after doing a solo piece in a choir concert, or giving a speech at a school function. But when I stopped performing on a stage around age 12, I stopped getting even that.

That was when I started sharing my stories. When I started posting my fanfictions, I was so incredibly over-the-moon ELATED whenever someone posted a nice comment that I responded to Every Single Individual One with a private message giving them my heartfelt thanks. And if they were anonymous, I responded in the story’s next chapter.

And the thing that hurts so much about this NOW is... I desperately, really, truly, needfully Want to Tell People I Love and Appreciate Them. But I don’t have any examples. I don’t know how. I wasn’t taught the language of positivity growing up, and I wasn’t shown how to be vulnerable enough to be sincerely grateful and happy for someone.

I don’t want to make people feel unloved or unappreciated the way I felt growing up. I don’t EVER want someone to think I take their love for granted. I never, ever EVER want to make people think they’re unworthy or failures or even just “nothing special”. Especially the people I love.

One of my biggest “angst” points when I was a kid relentlessly controlling my emotions was lamenting that the people around me felt unloved. I thought that was my own fault. I didn’t realize that’s something you’re taught, just like sewing and cooking and writing. I thought I was broken somehow, that I had permanently removed my own ability to feel and show love.

That wasn’t the case. That wasn’t EVER the case. I never stopped being compassionate; I never stopped holding my friends very near and dear to my heart. I never (well, almost never) became cruel. I always had love, it just felt trapped inside me. I didn’t know how to release it.

I still don’t. And that makes me sad because the people in my life, even the random people I talk to on the street, deserve to feel loved and deserve to know they’re appreciated and important and deserve that genuine connection. They deserve encouragement and praise.

And the people I love most... My boyfriend, my friends, my mother? I so, so desperately mourn for the fact that I can’t bear my whole heart. I don’t know how to share the immense well of love with them when it’s locked up.

I wish I knew how to tell people, “I love and appreciate you.”

I’m trying to learn, but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Does it matter? Does it make a difference? Do people know I love them?

(Don’t try to eliminate all emotion from yourself for 10+ years, kids. It makes you insecure about what you show, what you CAN show, and it makes it harder to connect with the hearts around you.)

There was more, it is a deep wound, but I’m running out of steam... I might be all cried out now. I’m not sure.

Anyways, I’m going to go catch up on Broken Youth because I don’t know what to do with these emotions and maybe that’ll make me cry more and get it out.

[dear-future-lovers]

NEW PINNED!

gay* 21 transmasc sub/bottom he/him (being a switch would be cool but alas i have so many anxiety disorders i just Need someone to tell me what to do)

*in the way the rainbow flag is gay :) i’m mostly mlm but sometimes im not immune to women

testosterone- feb 18th 2021

top surgery- nov 10th 2022

I’m kind of a late bloomer (literally started masturbating at 18) so i’m using this to explore a lot so anything here could be subject to change esp if i tried it out irl lmao. i also don’t get chemicals from orgasms yet so sorry if i complain about it ive been trying so many meds to fix that rip

⬇️ more specifics under the cut ⬇️

terminology- i don’t really like the word vagina (definitely something to unpack there but this isn’t the time or place for it) but otherwise im pretty lax with words tbh. i prefer tdick/dick/etc as opposed to clit but as far as the front hole goes i’m pretty chill. like pussy is fine as long as we both are in understanding that said pussy is connected to a guy. i like the word cunt idk why, boy as a prefix is also fine but i’m good either way! ex. boycunt and cunt are both fine by me.

kinks-

praise, bondage, clothes/being dressed up, cnc (emphasis on the consensual and nothing w the r word it’s a very specific flavor of cnc), praise, a bit of somno but only if i’m half asleep cause i still want to Be There lmao, manhandling, overstim, intox (weed), i really like plugs in like a stim way idk if that’s weird, gags seem really fun, free use, there’s probably more but those are the main ones i seek out content for on here. i also don’t know how many of those id like irl since ive never tried but all of those sound appealing as of rn

limits-

gagging/choking (i have emetophobia), scat, watersports, degradation (it’s okay if it’s like presented as a good thing like awww you’re so dumb condescendingly but if you’re being straight up mean it just makes me sad rip if that makes any sense), unsanitary, feet (i have like the opposite of a foot fetish lmao i’m foot averse) , misgendering/detrans, gore,

anything not listed i’m neutral about (unless forgot to list it) and am probably willing to explore it since again i was a bit late to the chase lmao

i don’t tag anything since i don’t expect followers but if anyone needs anything tagged pls let me know and i’ll try my best to remember :) rn i only really tag stuff about clothes so i can come back to it later since it seems kinda niche

i follow from juice but i have my age listed on both so 👍

(last updated june 4th 2024 for age)

[ambassadorarlert]

3:15 AM

genre: fluff, domestic bliss warnings: emetophobia (baby vomit lol) word count: 1k a/n: prompt list. i've been seeing a lot of dadmin stuff and had to chime in. this totally isnt a self indulgent. not at all.

The only reason you had gotten out of bed was because you could hear the desperate wailing of an upset infant down the hall, and Armin was nowhere in sight. Your instincts pulled you to follow and investigate. You peeped through the crack of the nursery door, watching and listening to Armin pace across the floor and shushing desperately. 

Armin was clearly struggling. You decided not to watch anymore, and opened the door. Armin jumped and quickly turned around when he heard the squeaky floorboard under your foot.

“What are you doing! You’re not supposed t-to be out of bed!” Armin gasped at the sight of you standing up. 

You were taken aback by his appearance too. His eyes were red and swollen, as well as his cheeks that were tear stained. The baby girl, so little and so frail in his giant hands and strong arms, was just as crimson in the face as her father was. Her shrill cries echoed off of the walls, you almost covered your ears. 

“Are you crying?” You asked. Armin blinked his eyelids rapidly. He looked between you and the baby, unsure of where to begin in describing the situation.

“I-” He stammered. 

Only three days had passed since your little girl had been born, and Armin was still learning how to handle and care for a new baby. So far, he felt like he had been doing a good job. He changed every diaper, made sure her bottle was not too hot or cold, and always made sure to support her neck. Armin had even made her smile a few times when he used his pinky to tickle her nose. 

Perhaps he thought that to himself too soon, as tonight she was quite unhappy. She toyed with Armin and the bottle. She’d sucked for a moment or two, then spit it back out. Maybe she just wasn’t that hungry, and she didn’t want to mindlessly naw on a pacifier either. Her pants were also clean. Armin sang, hummed, spoke to her sweetly. He asked her what the matter was as if she would outright tell him. No amount of rocking, swaying, or bouncing could satisfy her which made Armin’s anxieties spiral.

What if she was in pain? What if she had an itch she couldn’t scratch? What if there was nothing he could do? Or, worse, what if he was somehow the problem? The tears of defeat began to pour, he couldn’t hold them back if he tried. Intrusive and destructive thoughts fogged his vision. Was he really so useless that he couldn’t even make his own child happy? Armin wasn’t sure if it was just him, or if the baby's cries were getting louder. His elbows were growing sore from holding her for two hours straight. His temples were pounding like drums, and he was quite exhausted. This night would be his fourth all-nighter in a row.

“I… I don’t know what’s wrong! She won’t s-stop crying, I’ve done ev-everything!” Armin hiccupped as he explained. His lips quivered and more salty tears raced down his cheeks.

“Let me take her.” You offered. 

You met Armin in the middle, reaching out your arms to take the baby from him. The only relief he felt was stretching out his arms. A dark cloud of fatherhood rained on his shoulders. Once you had the baby comfortable, the crying eased but not by much. Armin went in to explain all the things he had done to try and sooth her as he helped you sit in the rocking chair in the corner. From what you understood, he had done everything right.

“Sometimes babies just cry.” You said simply. Armin’s frown deepened.

“Just… because?” He wondered. 

You nodded. Armin found that hard to believe. He couldn’t imagine his precious little girl crying just because she felt like it. There had to be a reason, and there had to be something he could do. Armin twiddled with his fingers. He watched as you rocked back and forth, baby on your shoulder and patting her backside with your palm.

After a dozen or so pats, she let out a burp that could have come from a grown person. You both made shocked and unexpected faces at each other. You could feel her little frame deflate slightly against your shoulder. Silence suddenly fell, it made Armin’s ears ring. Bricks had been lifted from his chest. He let out a long, exasperated sigh. Before Armin could even ask, and you knew he would, you passed the baby back to him. He looked at you as if you had performed a miracle.

“You’re amazing.” He breathed, taking her back. 

Just as Armin was bringing her to his chest, she spit up right onto his shirt. The soiled shirt did not bother him. How could he be mad anyway, she was just too cute now that she had expelled her discomfort. You clapped a hand to your lips to stop yourself from blatantly laughing out loud. Armin chuckled awkwardly.

“I believe she just puked half her body weight onto me.” Armin half-joked. The redness in his face had faded to a flush pink, and his eyes had cleared.

You stood up, taking the soiled baby from his arms again.

“I’ll handle this. You go change. Then, try and get some sleep.”

“I’ll be back in just a second.” Armin softly promised.

He put a kiss to your forehead gently, and then to the baby twice as much. You snorted as he stripped his shirt off before he could completely leave the room. You looked down at your daughter in your arms. Her eyes were starting to roll back, sleep finally calling to her. She had your hair color, lips and chin. However, her nose, eyes, and eyebrows were Armin’s. A perfectly split image of you both. You gave each of her little fists a kiss, as well as the bottoms of her wrinkly feet. 

“You’re going to drive him mad, aren’t you?”

thank you. reblogs and feedback are appreciated! arlertwitch © 2023. all rights reserved. do not translate or repost any works by arlertwitch on any other platforms. violators will be prosecuted in accordance within the law.

[flareish]

Anxiety

kuroo x reader

summary: you hide your anxiety from basically everyone including your boyfriend, until he finds out for himself

genre: hurt/comfort

warnings: Emetophobia Warning! description of nausea/vomit, anxiety, bit of angst but ends in fluff

word count: 2.0k

a/n: I tried to make this as close to my anxiety since I hadn’t known anyone with my kind of anxiety(symptom wise) until I was seventeen, which was a good ways into when I realized I had anxiety. So here is some nausea anxiety representation!

masterlist

You tap your fingers in a mindless rhythm. Alternating the fingers and repeating them back and forth, trying to make it a game, a challenge. You did this over and over again to distract yourself from that all too familiar sinking feeling. That feeling like your stomach has managed to twist and knot itself a million times. Each bump of the bus made acid crawl up your throat. You crunched a mint in your mouth hoping the peppermint would soothe some of the nausea. It didn’t, but the thought was there. You just will yourself not to throw up on the bus, anything but that. The thought in itself makes you even more nervous, and in turn even sicker.

You don’t even know why you are anxious. Today is Kuroo’s big game, but it isn’t yours. You’ve been to a hundred of his games before but never before did you feel like this. Normally you get cute little butterflies, not an angry swarm of bees. The worst part is, there is Kuroo sat next to you happy as can be, completely oblivious. He keeps trying to drag you into conversations but you fear if you open your mouth for too long, all that will come up is vomit. So you keep your mouth firmly closed only smiling tightly or shaking your head at his prompts.

It's not exactly his fault though. He doesn’t actually know you have anxiety. It’s not something you really like to talk about. You are all for promoting the acceptance of mental health but you just find every time you tell someone the dynamic changes. Either they flat out don’t believe you since you “don’t seem like the type with anxiety”. Well duh, I don’t have social anxiety, I have situational anxiety. Like here in this situation. That or they suddenly treat me like I am incapable of handling myself. That whenever a slightly stressful event comes up, I am going to melt into a puddle of pure anxiety. Sorry but I’ve made it this far, I may have to throw up a few times on the way but I am still making it. 

So you just haven’t told Kuroo. You're just nervous that it will change the dynamic. You also don’t want to steal his spotlight. Today is supposed to be all about him. It's his big game. To suddenly speak up and tell him that his game is giving you anxiety would be selfish. So like you always have, you put a brave face on and face it head-on.

“Hey, are you okay?” Kuroo asks you, now facing you, “You look a little pale.”

“Hmm?,” You also turn to look at him, “Oh I am just a bit tired that’s all. I will be fine in an hour or so.” You hope at least. He nods relieved it's not something worse. 

You finally pull into the stadium and everyone is pushing their way off the bus. Luckily Kuroo is right by you to make sure you don't get accidentally pushed down the bus stairs and trampled. The team makes it’s to the bulletin board where they are given their matchups. Nekoma is paired with a pretty hard team. Suddenly, out of nowhere, you dry heave. You knew at the point you were going to throw up and within the next few minutes. 

“Hey I think I left something in the bus I’ll be right back.” You say to Kuroo before dashing off. He goes to reply but you are already gone. 

You make it around the back of the building before you throw up. At this point you’re kinda out of it, your mind is occupied on emptying your already empty stomach. Then you feel someone pull your hair back and gently rub your back. You don’t even have to look up to know it’s Kuroo. When you finish he hands you his water bottle.  You waterfall it and rinse your mouth out of that acidic taste. 

“What’s going on are you okay?” Kuroo asks full of concern. You hesitate for a moment, thinking of telling the truth. Then you remember this is supposed to be his day. 

“Sorry I must have caught a stomach bug.” He doesn’t completely buy it so you quickly add to it.

“I didn't feel great on the bus but I just thought it was because I was tired.” You feel bad lying, “I also don’t want to distract you before your game.” At that Kuroo quickly pulls you into a hug, “Your not a distraction, I just want to make sure you’re okay.” Your cheek is pressed against his chest and your hands grip the front of his shirt. 

“We should probably head back.” You mumble.

“Yeah.” He leans down to kiss you but you duck away. He looks incredibly offended and hurt at this.

“Dude I just threw up I don’t know if you want to do that.” 

“…Point.”

The two of you head back inside to the team, you feeling much better after throwing up. Before you know it, the competition has begun and Nekoma has won. You run down and celebrate with the team and it’s a happy day.

On the bus ride home Kuroo has a strange energy about him. Not like he’s mad more just like he’s just realized something. You nudge him and smile hoping to break him out of his little funk. He immediately smiles back and goes back to celebrating with the team. His reaction was almost like putting a mask on. You watch him for a moment before slipping into a conversation of your own.

When you make it back to school you go your separate ways. Him going to shower, and you to get home before it gets too late. A big hug before pushing away. You still refusing to kiss him after throwing up earlier in the day. 

You are laying on your bed, exhausted. Anxiety really takes a toll on your energy. Your thoughts are broken when your phone chimes with a text.  Leaning over to grab your phone off your bedside table you see it is from Kuroo. 

“Can you come over? I want to talk.”

No cute pet names. No slowly easing into it. Actually using proper grammar. Nothing in that message was a good sign. Just “I want to talk” was enough to make the acid begin to crawl again. You knew it had to be about today. Especially after you saw him zoning out on the bus. It had to be your anxiety episode. You knew he wouldn’t be happy you lied but going to this extent. Like he just found out you have anxiety and this is what he hits you with? The world’s most nerve-wracking text message. The only worse place than this would be “we need to talk”. That’s when you have really screwed up. So maybe you’ve only minorly screwed up since he said want not need. Does that mean you have the choice to say no? That was kind of tempting but you knew you would be tossing and turning all night thinking about what might be wrong. 

“Okay.” You reply to the text. Short and sweet. Putting on some shoes and grabbing a hoodie, you quietly slip out of your house. Kuroo’s house wasn’t too far but it was far enough. Enough to continue to stir in your intrusive and unstoppable thoughts. You eventually make it to his house and head in going straight for his room. Before you reach the door you hesitate and gather yourself. Preparing for whatever was about to come. 

When you go in you find Kuroo sat on the floor of his bedroom, back pressed against the bed. He jerkily looks up and you and gives you a tight smile. None of this is giving good signs. Something is very heavy on his mind. You sit down across from him, your back against the wall your feet almost touching. 

“So what was it you wanting to talk about.” You break the silence. He doesn’t respond for a moment. Just as you are about to try again he speaks up.

“Do you still love me?” Your face drops into confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I love you anymore?” You ask, suddenly realizing this wasn’t the conversation you were prepping yourself for. 

“You’ve been distant lately. You don’t tell me things like when you don’t feel good. I thought about it when I got home and I was wondering if you weren’t actually sick but just making the excuse because you got caught.” He’s very serious at the moment and his words hold a cold edge. 

“What do you mean get caught?” You match his tone. You weren’t planning on fighting but something about how he said it just set something off in you.

“You didn’t want to be there. Ever since this morning you were quiet and reserved. Even after the game, you wouldn’t even kiss me-”

“Yeah, cause I threw up! And how could I be faking it when I literally threw up.” You snap.

“You’ve been like this before though! Like last year’s big tournament you would barely talk to me.”

“That’s not true!” Although it kind of was just not the reason he thought.

“Oh yeah? What about at training camp you wouldn’t talk to me then either, you didn’t even eat with us you just sat on your own.” He threw back.

“Yeah, cause I have anxiety!” The words left your mouth before you knew it. Kuroo looked taken back.

“What?” His brow furrows, “Since when?” He’s not sure what to believe. You’re not surprised since you have worked very hard to hide it from everyone, accidentally sabotaging your own relationship without even knowing it. 

“Since forever. I just never told anyone.” You quietly say, ducking your head down.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You didn’t even need to look up to see the hurt on his face, it was apparent in his voice. You start playing with your finger, tapping them in rhythms.

“I wanted to,” You mumble, “But whenever I do stuff changes and I didn’t want anything to change.” He shifts forward and you think he’s going to leave. Instead, he grabs your hands, stopping the pattern you had going. You look up.

“Did you think I would judge you?” He was staring straight into you, willing the truth to come out.

“Whenever I tell people they either don’t believe me and brush it off or treat me like I’m incapable of handling any amount of stress. I’ve never seen anyone react any differently so I was scared you would fall into one of those reactions and I didn’t know how I could handle that. I didn’t want my anxiety to be the thing to tear us apart. But I guess it still was.” By the end of your speech, your gaze has returned back to the floor, unable to hold eye contact for that long with him staring at you so strongly. You hear him sigh then you are pulled forward and into his arms. 

“I want to be your pillar of support. I want to be that third reaction that is one of acceptance, one that doesn’t drive you crazy.” He strokes your hair soothingly, his words making you tear up, “When you are ready I want you to tell me everything. From when you first noticed it, to where it is now, to how you deal with it, everything.” By now you are fully crying, absolutely collapsed into his chest. “I love you so much.” It gets muffled in his shirt but he hears it.

“I know, and I love you.”

It would take some time for Kuroo to get used to this change but slowly but surely he will be different from the rest and he will support you no matter what. Although he also respects your strength and knows you can handle your anxiety on your own, he is always there when you need it. He becomes the third unexpected and unheard-of reaction; acceptance.

[blackspoon99]

The Sign of Three Pt. 3

Sherlock x Female! Reader

TW: Drinking, Language, Potential Emetophobia (If you’ve seen this episode, you know), Spoilers to Season 3

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 5

“Of course, there’s hours of material here, but I’ve cut it down to the really good bits.”

Oh god, the stag night. You almost laughed just thinking about it. It was unbelievable that Sherlock was willingly telling this story to an audience. You were fortunate enough to witness some of the events of the night firsthand.

The story began the morning of in Baker Street, 11 am:

It was a Saturday morning, and you were over having tea with Sherlock. For the two of you, “having tea” consisted of you both reading in complete silence while you happened to be drinking tea. It was a common occurrence, and for you, it was a treasured tradition. You were curled up in John’s chair opposite Sherlock. Today, you were reading Emma by Jane Austen. You peeked over at Sherlock to see what he was reading. Sherlock was reading a book titled “Atlas of Forensic Pathology”. Riveting. The book looked so heavy; it would probably go straight through the floor if he dropped it.

You returned to your book. This was probably your third time reading the Jane Austen classic. You were inexplicably drawn to the plot, the message, the love story, all of it. You finally were at your favorite part. When Mr. Knightly said to Emma, “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” You looked at Sherlock over the pages of your book. You couldn’t help but consider the relevance of the quote in your own life.

When you first came to terms with the fact that you were in love with Sherlock, the feeling had burned through you. You couldn’t focus and constantly fought the urge to tell him. Possibly because of the several near-death experiences you'd had. After you made up with Sherlock at the engagement party, the feeling persisted but it was almost duller, easier to live with. You’d slowly regained security in Sherlock’s role in your life and you no longer constantly worried he’d leave again. You returned to your version of mundane and your unrequited feelings for Sherlock became the new normal. It had become more of a consistent ache than a burn.

Sherlock interrupted your thoughts: “Shouldn’t it be relatively easy to find a new book to read if you work in a bookstore?”

“True, but I like this one,” you said without looking up from your book.

“Why? What do you gain from reading a convoluted story of questionable morals that provides no useful information?”

You finally put your book down. “Because, I like to read for fun. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Sherlock smiled and scoffed at you then returned to his book.

You shook your head and downed the rest of your tea. “Okay, I’ve got to go to work.” You got up and took your mug to the kitchen. On your way back to gather your things, you noticed an open file on the kitchen table that looked like a John Watson scrapbook. You pulled the first paper off the stack to see a cutout of John’s head pasted onto the Vitruvian Man. “Sherlock?” you called over your shoulder, “What’s this file for?”

“What file?” He asked.

You picked up the file and carried it back to the living room. You returned to your seat and started thumbing through it.

“Oh. That’s for the stag night,” said Sherlock.

“Stag night? I didn’t think you would want to do that sort of thing”

“Why not?” He swiftly closed his book. If you didn’t know better, you’d take the action as a sign of offense.

“Uh, no reason,” you said hastily. The file was full of peer-reviewed studies on alcohol consumption, detailed chemistry notes, and copies of John’s medical records. The last page was a detailed schedule of where they were going and how much they were going to drink every hour. “This is awfully thorough.”

“I needed to ensure the maximum amount of enjoyment for the both of us for the duration of the night.”

“How considerate of you.” You put the file down and leaned forward. “So, what do you have planned?”

“John and I will be drinking at a pub on every street we ever found a corpse.”

“That is oddly perfect for the both of you.”

“I thought so,” Sherlock said with a grin.

You looked at the time. If you didn’t leave now, you’d be late. “Well, I’m off. See you later, Sherlock.”

“Yes, yes, goodbye,” he mumbled and returned to reading. You left the file on the table, gathered your belongings, and left for your shift. 

---------------------------------

Later that evening:

You closed the bookshop at 8 pm and headed to the tube station. As you made your way through the crowded streets, you heard your phone ringing. You dug through your bag to find it as you walked. You saw Sherlock’s name on the caller ID and answered it. Your ears were immediately assaulted by electronic dance music.

You heard Sherlock’s voice first “Shut up John, I’m calling her.” He shouted over the music

“Who?” you then recognized John’s voice.

“Her John, I’m calling her!”

You struggled to hear the call over the booming music “Hello?? Sherlock? Why are you calling me?”

“Oh! It’s y/n! Hello!” John shouted into the phone. You winced at the volume.

“John? Where are you? Are you drunk?”

“Stag night! Sherlock tried to measure my piss. Then he got into a fight.”

“Give me that back” Sherlock’s voice “Y/n meet us back at Baker Street. It’s an ‘mergency”

“What did you say? Sherlock? It’s really hard to hear,”

“Baker Street. Now!” He shouted then hung up.

For a moment, you stood in the street, dumbfounded. It was only 8 pm and both Sherlock and John were piss drunk at some club. You couldn’t even begin to process the rest of the information. So much for Sherlock’s plan, although it did seem like they had “maximized their enjoyment”. You weren’t about to miss this.

——————————

You arrived at Baker Street by 8:30 pm. You opened the door to find Sherlock and John laying across the bottom of the stairs. “Hello boys, I’m here.” You announced.

At the sound of your voice, Sherlock and John scrambled to sit upright. Sherlock fell down a step in the process. You tried your best to suppress your laughter. “So, I’m here. What’s the emergency, Sherlock?”

“Right, you,” He said, raising his arm to point at you. “Upstairs.”

You watched Sherlock and John slowly stand up. John lifted one foot to climb the stairs, then stumbled backward.

“Do you need help, John?” You asked.

“Nah,” he said, “‘s alright, I’m fine. I can do it myself.”  

You slowly helped Sherlock and John up and into the flat. Sherlock tried to take off his coat, but his arms got stuck behind him. You giggled and gently pulled his coat off him and hung it on the coat rack. You lead Sherlock over to his chair and he flopped down into it.

You went into the kitchen to get some water for him and John. You figured they’d need it. You searched the cabinets, but there wasn’t a clean glass in sight. You resorted to the clean beakers on the countertops instead. You poured two 250mL beakers most of the way with water and walked them back into the living room. When you returned, Sherlock was sitting in his chair. He was drinking from a glass of scotch.

“Sherlock,” you groaned. “Where did you get that?” You attempted to reach for the glass, but he pulled his hand away, spilling it all over himself.

“It’s okay, this is fine,” he said, staring at his scotch-soaked shirt. “Oh,” he started. “I almost forgot,” Sherlock leaned over the side of his chair to grab something off the floor “You left this,” Sherlock said and handed you your copy of Emma. You hadn’t even realized it was gone.

“That was the emergency?”

“I still don’t understand how you could read this 3 times,” Sherlock slurred. “It’s so- what’s the word? Incorrect? ‘There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.’ What an absurd thing to say” He contorted his face into an expression of disgust and took a sip of scotch from the glass in his hand.

“You read it? Today?” The fact that Sherlock had gone out of his way to read your favorite book made you unnaturally happy. You knew not to read into the things with Sherlock, but sometimes you couldn’t help yourself.

“You left it behind and I was so bored. Besides, I had to understand why you liked it so much. I still don’t know.”

You leaned over and snatched the glass of scotch from him. “I don’t think that’s the best idea, do you?” You handed him the beaker of water.

“Thank you,” he said with a goofy grin. In all the years you’d known Sherlock, you had never seen him like this. It was odd to say the least yet decidedly hilarious.

“Where’s John?”

Sherlock didn’t answer but pointed in the general direction of the bathroom. You decided to take the seat opposite Sherlock. As you sat down, Sherlock put his water on the floor. He then leaned forward and put his head in his hands, staring at you.

“What are you doing, Sherlock?” you asked.

“You,” he said, pointing at your face “are so hard to figure out sometimes, you know that?”

“Me?”

“It’s soooooo annoying. I can tell what almost everyone is thinking all the time, but not always you.”

“You think I’m hard to read?”

“Yes, you. Y/n L/n.” He waved his hands around while he slightly slurred his words.

“Okay then, how about this: I tell you what I’m thinking right now, and you do the same. Then, for one moment, we can understand each other completely.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow “You first.”

“I’m thinking… that I’m glad you called me.” Sherlock smiled and nodded. You giggled, “Now it’s your turn, and don’t lie to me. What are you thinking in this moment?”

Sherlock paused. “I’m thinking that my shirt’s all wet,” he said with a slight frown.

“That’s your own fault,” you said, putting one hand over your mouth to contain your laughter.

John re-entered the room holding post-it notes and a sharpie. “I’ve just had the best idea,” he said with a sloppy grin.

-----------------------------

The three of you all had post-its stuck to your foreheads, each with names written down. John sat in the client’s seat with the name MADONNA scribbled on the piece of paper stuck to his forehead. Sherlock, much to your enjoyment, had SHERLOCK HOLMES sloppily written on his forehead. As per the game, you had no idea what was written on yours. Sherlock was lounging back in his chair, resting his head on his hand.

“Am I a vegetable?” asked John

“You? Or the thing?” Sherlock asked smiling. The two of them snickered.

“Funny!” said John.

Sherlock looked down and smiled. “Thank you,” he choked out.

“To answer your question, John, no,” you said.

“Your go, Sherlock,” said John.

“Erm…. am I human?” he asked, turning to you.

“Sometimes,” you said with a smirk.

“No, no, it can’t be sometimes, can’t have that…”

“Fine. Yes, you’re human” you confirmed. “My turn. Am I a man?”

“Yeeep” answered John. “Sherlock, you again,” John said, forgetting it was his turn.

“Am I a man?”

John nodded. Sherlock kept going. “Am I a tall man?”

John looked at you and started laughing before he even spoke “Mm, not as tall as people think.” John’s head flopped to the side as he let out a hiccup

“Nice?”

“Ishh,” John said skeptically.

“Clever?”

“I’d say so,” you interjected.

“Do people…” he made air quotes as he spoke the word ‘people’ “... like me?”

“Not really,” you said, chuckling “You tend to rub them the wrong way.” If you had to babysit your adult drunk friends, you might as well have some fun.

“Hm,” Sherlock nodded intently. “Am I the current King of England?”

You and John immediately burst into laughter. “Good guess, Sherlock. But you do know England doesn’t have a king?” 

“Don’t we?”

“No,” John said. “Y/n, you go now”

“Right, okay. Am I a friend of ours?”

“Ehh, yes?” Sherlock said.

“Yes, yes they are Sherlock,” said John “Jesus.”

“Well, that narrows it down significantly. Am I Greg?”

“Who’s Greg?” Sherlock asked.

You rolled your eyes and took the post-it off your forehead. The name “Gavin” was written on it in Sherlock’s handwriting. Of course.

“Hey!” Sherlock yelled, “Cheater, that’s cheating. John, did you see that? Y/n’s cheating.” Sherlock got up and took the post-it from your hand. He leaned forward and stuck it back on your forehead. “There. Now it’s John’s turn.”

“Am I a woman?” asked John. He slumped in his seat. Sherlock immediately started giggling. “What?” John asked.

“Yes,” confirmed Sherlock

“Am I a pretty woman?”

“Er, beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences, and role models.”

“But am I pretty?” John asked again.

“Yeah, Sherlock? Is John a pretty woman?”

“I don’t know who you are. I don’t know who you’re supposed to be.”

“What?! You picked the name,” John said.

“Ah, but I picked it at random from the papers,” Sherlock said, flailing his arm over to the stack of newspapers in the corner.

“I don’t think you understand the point of this game, Sherlock,” you added.

“So, I am human, I’m not as tall as people think I am ... I’m-I’m nice-ish ... clever, but I tend to rub them up the wrong way.”

“That’s correct,” said John.

“I’m you, aren’t I?” Sherlock asked, pointing to John.

“Ooh-ooh!” Mrs. Hudson chirped as she knocked on the door. “Client!” Behind Mrs. Hudson was a woman wearing a nurse’s outfit with a cardigan over it. You scrambled to take the post-it off your forehead as you stood up.

“Hello, I’m sorry, but this really isn’t a good time—”

Sherlock immediately stood up and interrupted you. “It’s not a bad time, no, no Y/n. We always help a person in need.”

“Do we?” you said with a forced smile and looked over at John for help. John just stared back blankly at you with a goofy drunken smile.

The woman beamed “Thank you,” she said. “Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?”

John imitated a slide whistle, and pointed to Sherlock’s post-it on his forehead. Sherlock flashed a wide toothy grin. You put your head in your hands in defeat.

----------------------------------------------------------------

A few moments later, you’d made the woman, Tessa, some tea, and you John and Sherlock were sitting on the couch. Sherlock was sat in between you and John. Tessa sat in a chair opposite the three of you.

“I don’t ... a lot ... I mean, I don’t ... date all that much ... and ... he seemed ... nice, you know?”

You looked over at Sherlock and John hoping they could keep it together. John was blinking slowly and heavily while trying to stay awake. Sherlock was listening to Tessa’s story intently.

She continued. “We seemed to automatically connect. We had one night – dinner, such interesting conversation. It was ... lovely. To be honest, I’d love to have gone further ...”

Beside you, Sherlock closed his eyes and began to lean into your shoulder, dozing off. You subtly elbowed him, and he straightened up abruptly.

“But I thought, no, this is special. Let’s take it slowly, exchange numbers. He said he’d get in touch and then ... Maybe he wasn’t quite as keen as I was ...”

You looked over at John who was practically asleep with his eyes open. He had a blank stare and his mouth hung slightly open.

“But I – I just thought ... at least he’d call to say that we were finished,” Tessa concluded, tearing up slightly and looking at the floor. Immediately, Sherlock’s face contorted into an expression of sympathy as he dramatically brought his hand to his mouth. You stared in disbelief and handed Tessa a tissue. “Thank you,” she said to you. “I went round there, to his flat. No trace of him. Mr. Holmes…”

Sherlock leaned forward and rested his head on his hands.

“I honestly think I had dinner ... with a ghost.”

You and Tessa waited to hear what Sherlock had to say. You leaned forward to look at Sherlock and John’s faces only to discover they had both fallen asleep.

“With a ghost, Mr. Holmes!” Tessa repeated, louder.

You sharply elbowed Sherlock in the ribs much harder than before, and he sprung awake. “Boring, boring, boring,” he mumbled, then turned to you and put his hands on either side of your head. “No! fascinating!” He exclaimed, his face right up close to yours. Sherlock then turned to John “John – John! Wake up!” John finally stirred awake.

“I’m up,” he mumbled.

“Apologies about my ... you know ... thing,” Sherlock said, pointing at John. “Rude. Rude!” he yelled straight into your ear. You grimaced at the loud noise and put your hand on Sherlock’s forearm to settle him.

“Yes, that’s enough, Sherlock,” you whispered. “Uhm, go on, Tessa.”

“I checked with the landlord, and the man who lived there died. Heart attack. And there we are, having dinner one week on.” She turned and began to rummage through her purse. She pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper and handed it to Sherlock. You grabbed it before he could take it. It was a print-out of an online chatroom. “And I found this thing online, sort of chatroom thing for girls who think they’re dating men from the spirit world.”

You nodded. This actually seemed like a decent case. Too bad Sherlock and John probably wouldn’t remember one word of it tomorrow. Sherlock tried to stand up next to you, wobbled, and then put one hand on the top of your head to steady himself. You groaned and struggled to untangle his hand from your hair.

“Don’t worry. I’ll find him in ten minutes,” Sherlock said confidently. Tessa smiled in relief. “What’s your dog’s name?”

You facepalmed and stood up next to Sherlock. He leaned over to wake up John. “John! Wake up! We’re meant to ... The game’s ... something” he said, waving his hand around.

“On!” yelled John.

“Yes, that,” Sherlock said, walking out the door. “Come on, Y/n.”

“Wait, Sherlock. Where are you going?” You protested, following him down the stairs.

“That’s a good question. Where are we going?” he asked Tessa in the foyer.

“Oh! Well, I suppose we ought to go to his flat,” Tessa said.

“Sherlock, no,” you said, “You can’t leave...” you looked off the the side awkwardly “…like this.” He ignored you and dragged John out to the sidewalk by his sweater sleeve. He stepped out into the street and hailed down a cab.

“40a, Jasmine Grove,” interjected Tessa as the cab pulled up.

“Are you coming Y/n?” Sherlock slurred.

“No!” you yelled. “And neither are you.” Before you could reach him, Sherlock climbed into the cab after John and Tessa and slammed the cab door in your face. The car drove off. 

“Come on, really?!” you yelled in frustration. Now you had to follow them. You ran to the edge of the sidewalk and decided to call a cab for yourself.

--------------------------------------------------------

You finally made it to the apartment to see Tessa and a man you presumed to be the landlord standing by the door. It was a rather modern apartment with exposed brick and abstract furniture. John was standing in the corner with his hands crossed over his chest and his lips pursed. He was swaying slightly, trying to keep his balance. You pushed past the landlord to see Sherlock kneeling on a shag carpet holding his pocket magnifier. As soon as you walked in, he face-planted into the carpet and passed out.

“He’s clueing for looks” John announced, proudly.

“Oh god,” you said, scrambling over to Sherlock. You grabbed his upper arm and tried to pull him up. God, he was heavy. 

“That’s it, I’m calling the police.” The landlord pulled out his cell phone.

“No, no, please, that won’t be necessary,” you protested.

“This is a famous detective. It’s Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Hamish Watson,” Tessa clarified.

You finally managed to get Sherlock to straighten up. “When did you get here?” Sherlock asked, looking up at you. Then, he bent over and immediately threw up on the carpet.

“Ugh why?” you groaned and plugged your nose. Sherlock wiped his mouth on his sleeve and then clicked his magnifier shut.

------------------------------------------------------

The next morning…

The landlord had called the police and the night ended with you watching Sherlock and John being driven away in the back of a police car. You’d immediately called Greg hoping he’d let them go. Greg had said the best he could do was try and let them off with a warning if they spent the night in the drunk tank. When the station opened, Greg sent you a photo of Sherlock and John asleep in a cell with the caption “Come and get ‘em!”

You walked into Scotland Yard and Greg was there to meet you. “Thank you, Greg,” you said, handing him one of the 4 coffees you’d brought.

“God, what on earth happened to them?” Greg asked, taking a sip from the coffee you gave him.

“Stag night got a bit out of hand,” you said. “Afraid I lost control of the situation.”  

“You can say that again,” agreed Greg as the two of you walked through the station to the drunk tank.

“Rise and Shine!” Greg bellowed as he swung open the door. John was awake and sitting on the floor. He had his hands on his head while Sherlock was still fast asleep on the bench.

“Oh my god,” John said, grimacing in pain. “Is that Greg?”

“Get up,” he said “Y/n’s come to collect you. Managed to square things with the desk sergeant.” John painfully and slowly got up. “What a couple of lightweights! Y/n said you couldn’t even make it to closing time!”

“Yeah, could you whisper?” John asked.

“NOT REALLY!” Greg shouted straight into his ear. Across the cell, Sherlock jolted awake, mouth wide open in shock. He tried to stand up, then fell backward back onto the bench. You walked over and helped him up.

“There you go, Sherlock. Nice and easy,” you said quietly and handed him one of the coffees. He took it and stumbled out of the cell, head down. He looked like hell, not to mention the way he smelled. You caught up to John and handed him one of the remaining coffees, leaving the last for yourself. You took a sip of your coffee and continued down the hall. 

“Well, thanks for a ... you know ... an evening,” John said to Sherlock.

“Oh, it was awful,” Sherlock said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I was gonna pretend, but it was, truly,” said John. He then turned to you. “Y/n, I am so sorry, that was—”

“It’s okay, I had fun,” you said with a smile.

“At least someone did,” said Sherlock. “That woman, Tessa, dated a ghost. The most interesting case for months. What a wasted opportunity.”

“Really? That’s your takeaway from this?” you asked. He shrugged. “Come on, boys, let’s get you home.” 

A/N: Stag night! I love this part of the episode, so I hope I did it justice. Funny story. When I was writing this, I was trying to find real book titles for Sherlock to read and I came across a real book titled “Surrounded by Idiots” I wanted to use it in the story SO BAD but it was so perfect, that it sounded cheesy and made up lmao. I’m 100% certain Sherlock would have it in his bookcase though. 

Taglist: @the-chaotic-cow @amoeebaa @scorpios-echos @sad-bitch-h0ur @drifting-away-in-space @that-thing-in-the-graveyard 

[pazumane-archive]

Closing Time - Asahi x Reader

Characters: Asahi Azumane, female reader, original female character, small Taichi cameo

Relationships: Asahi Azumane x Reader

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort if you squint, SFW but 16+ please

Warnings: Alcohol, general drunken shenanigans, emetophobia (mentions of vomit), bad language

WC: 6.4k

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is a totally self-indulgent bedtime-scenario-type story because there is simply not enough Asahi/Reader content out there and I adore him. It’s also my first time writing in 2nd person, so PLEASE feel free to send me any feedback, please just be kind :) I really don’t like to use y/n, so I only used it a couple times towards the end when I wasn’t sure what else to do lol

The preview begins with the bolded text below and fic continues after the cut :)

Reblogs appreciated! <3

You weren’t planning on getting this drunk. But by the time it got to be about 11:30, you didn’t know what else to do. You had put so much effort and energy into making yourself look nice just for your date not to show up. Your roommate was out of town, so instead of going home and pouting, you figured you might as well have some fun while you were out. But you’ve never been good at exercising restraint, and the fact that you were alone wasn’t doing you any favors. But by closing time had rolled around, you could hardly see straight. You needed help, so you call upon an old friend.

“Do you have anybody you can call for a ride?” Kawanishi asks.

Kawanishi’s the bartender at this izakaya, and over the course of the night, you spent most of the time talking his ear off. He’s nice enough, and held pleasant conversation for the last few hours. He says he used to be a volleyball player, and had even played on the same team as a one of the guys on the Japan National Team. You forget to ask him which school he attended, but he probably was tired of talking to your drunk ass anyway, so you don’t bother asking. “Yeah,” you say, digging in your purse for your phone. “Are you sure? I can call a cab for you if you need it,” he offers. “Nah,” you say, hiccupping between words. “I’ll call somebody. Thank you though.” “No problem,” he says. “Just try to make it quick.” You scroll through your phone, trying to figure out who to call. Your roommate’s out of town visiting her parents, so she’s a no-go. You could call Kokomi. Honestly, she would deserve the 2AM phone call for setting you up on this failed blind date in the first place. Ever since you moved to Tokyo last month, she was constantly trying to set you up with somebody, whether it was a friend, a coworker, or some rando that she had met on the train. Unfortunately, all of them were jerks. And this one was the biggest jerk of all. You silently curse yourself for going along with her antics again.

“He’s great, you’ll love him!” “You said that about the last three guys you tried to set me up with, Kokomi.” “Please!! You’ll never know if you don’t even give him a chance.”

Well, you gave him a chance. And it ended up with you all alone, drunk as hell in an unfamiliar part of the city. You dial Kokomi’s number, but it goes straight to voicemail. “Bitch,” you mutter. You unlock your phone again and look through to find somebody that might be able to take you home. You scroll back to the top of your contact list, and your eyes settle on another name. He lives just a few blocks away, and knowing him, he’s probably awake working on something anyway. You click on his contact and wait for him to answer.

*

The exhaustion’s starting to get to him. It’s the weekend and he can afford to stay up an extra couple of hours to finish this design, but the combination of fatigue and frustration are taking over. He sets down his pencil and moves towards his bed, until his cell starts to buzz. He glances over at the clock on the wall. 1:49 AM.

Who could possibly be calling at this hour?

Asahi picks up his phone, surprised to see your name on the screen. His heart skips a beat in his chest, both from excitement and nervousness. Aside from his teammates, you’re one of the only people he bothered to keep in contact with after high school. The two of you had even met up a few times since you moved to the city, but he never would have expected you to call at this hour unless… unless something is wrong. “Hey you, what’s up?” He says, choking back a yawn. “Hiiiii Asahiiii!  I tried to call Kokomi but she didn’t answer her phone… could you come pick me up?” Your voice is thick and your words are almost unintelligible as you speak. It’s obvious that you’re far from sober. “Where are you?” Asahi asks, failing to mask the anxiety in his voice. “Are you okay? Are you safe?” “M’fine,” you slur. “But I…” Suddenly the call drops. Asahi calls you back in a panic, his heart racing as he waited for you to answer. You could be in danger and he’d be powerless to help you. He doesn’t even know where you are. “Hello?” A man’s voice comes through the speaker. “Who are you? Where is she?” Asahi asks frantically. “Relax, man. I’m just the bartender,” he says. “Look, your friend’s next to me, but she’s on the verge of passing out. Can you come get her before she pukes all over my bar? She’s at Zoetrope. You know where that is?” “Of course, I’m on my way now! I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Asahi says, grabbing his apartment keys and putting on a pair of shoes. He’s out the door almost immediately.

*

Kawanishi presses your phone back into your hands. Your head is spinning so fast that you struggle to keep your eyes open. “Is he coming?” you ask. “Yeah, he’s on the way,” Kawanishi says. “He’ll be here soon. Now do me a favor, don’t get this drunk the next time you come into my izakaya or I’ll have to kick you out.” “You’re kicking me out???” “Only if you start throwing up,” he says under his breath. “I’m not going to throw up!” you exclaim, suddenly becoming very aware of the churning in your stomach. You grumble, slumping over the bar. You squeeze your eyes shut, the spinning in your head only getting worse with every breath you take. You feel like you’re going to die, and honestly, between the embarrassment of being stood up and the wave of nausea coming over you, you’re ready to welcome that death with open arms. “Hey!” Kawanishi says, smacking the bar next to your head. “Your friend’s going to be here soon, don’t fall asleep or I’ll throw you out on the street myself.” “I’m sorry, Kawanishi-san.” You sit up slowly and cradle your head in your hands once more, trying to make the world stop spinning.

Please get here soon, Asahi.

*

Asahi sprints down the street as fast as he can towards the izakaya. He’s sure that he looks suspicious running down the street alone at night, but he doesn’t care. You’re in trouble, and he’s the only person that can help you. He finally makes it to the bar and hastily pulls the door open. You’re dressed beautifully, and your makeup and hair are exquisitely done. Unfortunately, the way you’re slumped over the bar makes it obvious that something’s wrong. He’s not sure what happened, but whatever it was, it must have been rough. The bartender gently helps you out of your seat, and Asahi can’t help but think that he looks very familiar. You straighten up and as soon as you make eye contact with Asahi, you perk up. “Asahi-san!” you exclaim, rushing towards him and almost falling over. You crush him in an unexpectedly tight hug. “Long time no see, big guy!” “I saw you three days ago,” he says under his breath. You continue babbling unintelligibly, and Asahi looks up at the bartender. “Did she close out her tab?” Asahi asks. “I took care of it already,” the bartender replies. “Please just make sure she gets home okay. She’s had a rough night.” “Yeah, of course,” Asahi says. “Thanks for helping her out.” “No problem.” Asahi peels your arms off him and starts to nudge you towards the door. Just before the two of you leave, Asahi stops and turns back to the bartender. “Have we met before?” he asks. “I played for Shiratorizawa. Didn’t think I’d see you again, Karasuno Samurai.” Asahi frowns slightly. He hasn’t heard that nickname high school, and it’s weird hearing it again now. “Right,” he says. “Well, thanks again. Have a good night.” Asahi leads you out of the bar and down the sidewalk. You hold tightly to his arm, stumbling over yourself. He braces you against his side, and you take this opportunity to tease him a little bit. “Do you like my outfit, Asahi-san?” you ask, pressing into his side. “Yeah, it’s really nice!” he answers nervously, turning his head to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks. He’s not lying – you look beautiful, both your top and your skirt accentuating your curves in all the right places. But it would be wrong to say anything more than that while you’re in this state. That wouldn’t be fair to either of you. He brusquely clears his throat and keeps walking as soon as the light signals that you can cross. “I dressed up extra nice tonight, but it didn’t even fucking matter,” you grumble, your voice breaking slightly. Asahi either doesn’t hear you, or does hear you and decides not to say anything. “I’m soooo glad you’re here,” you say, drawing out your words even longer than you were a minute ago. “I’m sorry, this is super embarrassing! I should’ve figured this out on my own.” “It’s okay,” Asahi says. “How long have you been in Tokyo again?” “A month? I think?” “Exactly,” he says. “You probably don’t know your way around that much. I’d feel terrible if I wasn’t able to help you find your way home.” “Meh,” you say. “I’ve had the worst night of my fucking life, so maybe it would be better if I passed out in a ditch somewhere.” “Do you want to talk about it?” Asahi asks. “No,” you answer quickly. “Okay.” You start blathering again and Asahi has to practically drag you down the street behind him. The station just past his apartment has a train that can drop you right by your building. He can just take a cab back after he gets you home. He considers inviting you stay the night at his place since it’s right there, but he’s afraid of being weird, so he doesn’t say anything. The two of you come to a stop at the train station… which is closed. “I’m sorry,” Asahi says remorsefully. “I guess the train stopped running at midnight. I’ll call you a cab.” He goes to pull his phone out of his pocket, but you grab his hand before he can. “Can I stay at your place tonight?” you ask sheepishly. “I… my roommate is out of town. And I’m really not doing good right now. I just really don’t want to be alone.” Despite how out of it you’ve been since he picked you up, Asahi sees nothing but complete sincerity in your eyes. Tonight must have been really rough. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I’ll just sleep on the couch- or a futon if you have one!” you say, nodding. “Okay.” Asahi turns back towards his apartment and you follow closely behind him, not letting go of his hand the entire time.

*

Asahi helps you across the threshold of his apartment and sits you down on a chair by the door. “Asahi-san, you’re so handsome with your hair down like that,” you say, reaching up to twirl a finger in his long chestnut tresses. “And you’re loopy,” Asahi mutters, disentangling your fingers from his hair. Once again, he finds himself hiding a blush. He’s not used to being showered with compliments, and he knows you wouldn’t be saying this stuff if you were sober. He kicks off his shoes and kneels down in front of you, helping you take yours off. “How are you feeling?” he asks you. “Can I get you some water or a some–” “Why didn’t you ask me out when we were in high school?” you ask suddenly. “I think I made it pretty obvious that I had a crush on you. It’s all I could think about when you were holding my hand back there.” “I – I, uh,” Asahi stammers. You burst out laughing, startling Asahi. It’s that same boisterous laugh you’ve had for as long as he could remember knowing you. You were always self-conscious about it in high school, but your laugh has always been one of Asahi’s favorite things about you. Despite the fact that it’s at his expense, he’s glad to see your mood improve. Asahi considers your question for a moment. He really liked you too back then, and everyone knew it. Suga and Daichi constantly teased him for it.

So why hadn’t he asked you out back then?

Well, for a number of reasons. He spent so much of his third year focused on volleyball that he didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity for much else. He hadn’t even planned on going back to school after graduation until Nishinoya helped convince him to pursue his passions. He felt directionless, and he didn’t want to burden anybody else with his indecision. But most importantly, he was scared you’d reject him. Suga was right. He really was a coward. He’d dated a few people since high school graduation, but none of them made him feel the way you did, and they didn’t treat him as well as you would have. Which begs the question – why hasn’t he asked you out since you moved to Tokyo? He pushes the thought to the back of his mind. This isn’t the kind of conversation to be having when you aren’t even able to form a coherent sentence. Asahi’s thoughts are interrupted by your hand on his shoulder and a loud hiccup. “I should wash my face. Can I wash my face?” “Sure,” Asahi says, helping you stand up. You stumble forward, but he catches you easily and pulls you back to your feet. He quietly leads you to the bathroom and sits you down on the edge of the bathtub. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m a mess.” “No, you’re not. Hold on a second,” he says, opening the drawer under the sink. He pulls out a small package of makeup wipes and takes one out. He kneels in front of you and begins wiping the makeup off your face. “I know they’re not great for your skin,” he says. “But it’s better than nothing, right?” “Why do you even have those?” you ask between hiccups. “Do you wear makeup? I mean, it’s obviously fine if you do, but it doesn’t really seem like your thing.” “I don’t, but you never know when they’ll come in handy! I do work with a lot of makeup artists,” he says, somewhat defensively. You get the sense that he’s lying about something, but Asahi changes the subject before you can probe him any further. “So what were you doing there by yourself?” he asks. “It’s not safe to be alone so late at night.” Clearly this was the wrong thing to ask. All the negative emotions and thoughts you were having all even spring to the forefront of your mind, and you start to cry. Asahi starts apologizing profusely, but you wave him off. “It’s fine,” you sniffle, wiping a tear away from your cheek. “Kokomi was trying to set me up with one of her friends, but he never showed up.” Asahi sits back on his heels. Kokomi is another girl from Karasuno that ended up in Tokyo. She wasn’t in the same class as him, but he remembers how loud she always was in the hallways. Honestly, both of you were always loud, but you’ve always been much more considerate of others than Kokomi ever was. “Shit,” he mumbles. “That really sucks. I’m sorry.” “Yeah. It does suck.” Asahi grabs another wipe and asks you to close your eyes. You do as he says, and he lightly wipes off your eye makeup. He’s worked with enough models to recognize that you’re wearing false eyelashes, so he gently pulls those off too. You feel yourself start to wobble on the edge of the tub, so you grip his arm to steady yourself. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t need to keep apologizing to me.” “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” you ask suddenly. “Wait, what?” “I just… this keeps happening to me. Everyone always says that it’s because they’re not the right person for me, but it’s starting to feel like there’s just something wrong with me instead,” you say, choking back a sob. “I know I just moved here, but I’m just so lonely. I hate feeling like I’m not good enough.” Asahi tenderly wipes a tear from your cheek and cups your face in both hands. “Hey, look at me. There is nothing wrong with you,” he says sincerely. “That guy is an idiot and a jerk. If he had any idea how extraordinary you are, he never would’ve done that to you.” You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You don’t feel like you deserve to be spoken to like this – with such genuine kindness and sincerity. Asahi makes you feel so good. So special. He always has. And he’s just so… tender, especially for somebody who looks as intimidating as he does. You wonder if those feelings from high school ever truly went away. You sit up straighter and try to smile at him, but your stomach flips unexpectedly and violently. “Asahi-san?” you ask, gripping his shoulder tightly. “Yeah?” he replies. “Toilet.” Asahi moves out of the way as fast as possible. You hunch over the rim and retch into the toilet bowl. Asahi quickly scoops up your hair and holds it behind your head as you throw up. “Please, just leave me,” you mutter. “I’m gonna fucking die here.” “I’m not going to leave you here and you’re not going to die,” Asahi says, gingerly picking up the last loose strands laying on your neck and holding them back with the rest of your hair. Your back tenses up again before you begin heaving once more. Asahi tucks his nose into the collar of his shirt, careful to make sure that he’s out of your field of vision. He wants to be there for you but he had a weak stomach himself and the sight and smell of somebody else’s vomit is something he knows he won’t be able to handle. You mumble weak apologies between hacks, but Asahi just ignores them and rubs your back gently. After what feels like an eternity, the churning in your stomach finally stops and you reach up towards the flush handle. The exhaustion in your body and heart finally begin to catch up with you, and your hand falls back to your side. “I got it. Do you think you’re done?” Asahi asks, coaxing you back up into a seated position. You nod, too tired to try to speak. Asahi quickly tugs his shirt back down from his face before you can see and closes the toilet lid. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “Don’t be,” Asahi says, flushing the toilet. “I’m your friend. I want to help you. And I’ve already told you that you don’t need to apologize to me.” Asahi helps you sit on the top of the toilet and rises to his feet. “Don’t go anywhere,” he says, scurrying out of the room. Although your eyes are closed, you still feel your body swaying. More than anything, you just want to go to sleep. Asahi pads back into the room and presses a wooden cup into your hands. “Drink this,” he says, turning on the faucet. Even though drinking something is the last thing you want to be doing right now, you go ahead and lift the cup to your open mouth. Cold water passes your lips and washes away some of the disgusting taste in your mouth. It feels gross, but you force yourself to drink all of it. Asahi takes the cup from your hand and turns the faucet back off. You flinch at the feeling of a damp washcloth on your face. “It’s okay,” Asahi says gently, cradling your chin with his free hand and angling your face up. “Just cleaning you up a little.” You murmur in acknowledgement and Asahi continues to wipe your face down. You almost fall asleep sitting on his toilet, but he gently shakes you to keep you awake. “Stay with me for another minute,” he says softly. “You can go to sleep soon. You’re gonna be just fine. I promise.” His words and his voice are so sweet that you want to cry. A couple rogue tears drip from your eyes and onto his hands. “I’m sorry,” you say once more. Asahi sets the washcloth on the counter and starts to pull you to your feet. You struggle to stay on your feet, so instead, he carefully scoops you into his arms and carries you out the bathroom. You don’t care where you go, you just need to sleep. Asahi’s pretty certain you’re asleep by the time he deposits you on his mattress. Your chest rises and falls slowly as he pulls his duvet over you. He begins to make his way to the couch, but stops when he feels you grab his hand. “Please don’t go, Asahi-san,” you whisper. “Please.” You tug harder at his fingers and he knows he can’t refuse you. He ends up sitting on the edge of the bed holding your hand until you fall asleep.

*

As soon as your quiet snores permeate the silence, Asahi untangles his fingers from yours. He brushes a loose strand of hair out of your face and he can’t help but let his eyes linger on your sleeping face for just a moment. The moonlight trickling through the window illuminates your hair and casts a silvery glow on your skin. Despite the awful night you’ve had, you look absolutely radiant. He feels himself blushing again, but he takes some comfort in the fact that he doesn’t have to try and hide it this time. Not while you’re fast asleep in his bed. He’s far too scared to admit it, even to himself, but he’s fantasized about falling asleep next to you many times before. But in those fantasies you weren’t drunk and crying over another man. Asahi sighs, stands up, and moves over to the dresser as quietly as he can. After setting a few things out for you, he goes into the bathroom, gets ready for bed and heads to the couch for the night.

*

By the time you wake up in the morning, you feel like you’re going to die. You can’t remember what exactly happened the previous night. The last thing you remember clearly was talking to the bartender about high school volleyball, of all things. Your head’s pounding, and your stomach aches painfully, screaming at you to please eat something. You don’t open your eyes, fearing that it would somehow trigger another round of vomiting. Eventually, you force yourself into a seated position and open your eyes. The bedroom you’re in is small, but pretty well-decorated. It’s decently tidy. The only mess is a few crumpled up clothing designs discarded on the floor next to the trash bin.

Designs? Did that mean?

You’re at Asahi’s apartment. In his bed. Your eyes widen in panic.

  What happened last night?

You’re still wearing the clothes that you wore to the bar last night. And there’s no evidence of him ever being in bed with you. You reach over towards your phone, which has been graciously plugged in for you and set on the bedside table. That’s when you notice the note along with a sleeve of crackers and a glass of ginger ale.

Good morning!

There’s a set of clothes you can wear at the foot of the bed and a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. Feel free to take a shower if you want. Extra towels are underneath the sink. Please have something to eat and drink too. You’ll feel better if you do.

-Asahi

P.S. Please don’t feel bad. It’s okay.

You grab a few of the crackers from the bedside table and eat them, washing them down with the ginger ale.

Why does Asahi have to be so damn considerate? The whole situation is so embarrassing.

You contemplate just grabbing your phone and getting the hell out of his apartment, but you’re not going to pass up the opportunity to shower. You finish the last of the crackers, chug down the ginger ale, and grab the spare clothes at the end of the bed. You turn the doorknob as silently as you can and awkwardly creep down the hall towards the bathroom, stopping briefly to peek in the living room. Asahi’s fast asleep on the couch, clad only in pajama pants and a pair of fuzzy socks. His hair is down and messily splayed across the throw pillow he’s resting his head on. Quiet snores pass his lips. He looks cute. Your eyes trail from his face and down to his stomach. Despite quitting volleyball after high school, he seems to have mostly maintained his athletic form, except for a tiny little layer of pudge on his lower stomach. The corners of your lips twitch up into a smile, until that little voice in the back of your mind reminds you of your place.

Quit staring, you perv! You need to get out of here!

You hurriedly continue down the hallway and jump into the shower as soon as you get into the bathroom. You think that maybe if you clean up fast enough, you can get out of Asahi’s apartment before he wakes up. However, as soon as you step into the shower, all worries about rushing out disappear into the back of your mind. You bask in the hot water, the steam clearing your sinuses and relieving some of the pain in your head. You silently thank the gods that Asahi actually uses conditioner, and not just 3-in-1 like most of the other men you were previously…. acquainted with. Although, it makes sense to you that somebody with hair like Asahi’s would have a strict haircare routine. As you shower, fragmented memories of last night start to come back to you.

Being stood up at the bar. Calling Asahi for help. Puking your guts out in his bathroom. Him carrying you into his room and laying you down on his bed. Him staying by your side until you fell asleep. You wishing he would’ve crawled into bed with you and held you through the night… Wait, what was that last part?

As soon as you’re done rinsing the conditioner from your hair, you step out of the shower and swiftly towel off. You find the spare toothbrush Asahi mentioned, take it out of the packaging, and brush your teeth with his toothpaste. The dry, gross feeling in your mouth is quickly replaced with a minty fresh taste. You slip on the sweatpants and t-shirt that Asahi left for you and dry your hair. Thankfully, Asahi isn’t as huge as most people make him out to be, so while the clothes he left out are a bit big on you, you’re not drowning in them. You’ll just bring them back some other day. You start combing through your hair, and that’s when you hear it – the sound of somebody padding around in the apartment. Shit. Once the footsteps quiet down, you rush out of the bathroom and towards the front door. Asahi eyes you as you scoop up your shoes, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Good morning!” he says kindly. “How are you feeling?” “I’m so sorry Azumane-san, it won’t happen again!” you say as you throw open the door and rush into the hallway. “Hold on, wait up!” he says as you pull the door closed behind you. You run all the way to the stairs at the end of the hallway and go to call Kokomi for a ride home. That’s when you realize that your phone is still plugged into the wall in Asahi’s room. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You turn around and trudge back towards his apartment. Before you can even knock, the door opens slowly. Asahi stands there in just his pajama pants, holding your phone out to you. “You shouldn’t leave without your phone,” he says. You thank him and take your phone, a blush creeping up your cheeks. You try not to stare at his bare chest, already feeling like a creep for ogling him while he was sleeping. “Your clothes are still in the bathroom, too,” he says. “I can go get them for you. Or I can just wash them and give them back to you another time if you want to leave.” “No, that’s okay,” you say, covering your flushing cheeks with the collar of his shirt. “I’ll get them. Can I come in?” “Of course.” Asahi steps out of your way and you head straight for the bathroom, avoiding looking in his eyes. Asahi never gets angry, and you know he wouldn’t be mad at you over something like this, but a lingering sense of shame still washes over you. You scoop up your clothes and leave the bathroom. As soon as you cross the threshold into the living room, the smell of coffee and frying fish washes over you. Asahi stands in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. In the time that you were in the bathroom, he put on a Black Jackals sweatshirt and threw his hair into a loose bun. “Do you want a cup of coffee?” he asks, smiling at you and pouring his own cup. “It’ll help with the hangover.” You stand there and ponder his offer for a moment. Sensing your hesitancy, Asahi suddenly turns back to the stove and mumbles something that you can’t quite make out. “What did you say?” you ask. Asahi rubs the back of his neck, a nervous habit he’s had since you were kids. “I don’t mean to pressure you to stay or anything! I just thought it might help for you to have something more than crackers and ginger ale.” “You’ve done plenty to help me since last night,” you say. “But I’ll take that coffee if the offer is still on the table.” “It is!” Asahi says a little too enthusiastically for his own good. You can’t help but smirk as you take your seat at the kitchen table. Asahi pours you a cup of coffee and slides you a bowl of the rice and fish he made. You thank him quietly and start to eat. He slides into the chair across from you and eats his own breakfast, eyeing you carefully. “What?” you ask after catching him staring. “Since when have you ever called me Azumane-san?” he asks. “I don’t know,” you mumble into your coffee mug. “I didn’t think we reverted back from first name basis,” he says. “I thought we knew each other better than that.” “I don’t know,” you say, a devilish smile crossing your face. “Care to explain why you actually had those makeup wipes in your bathroom drawer? I doubt your makeup artists are coming over to your apartment.” Now it’s Asahi’s turn to blush again. “My ex-girlfriend left them here,” he says. “Felt like a waste to just throw them out.” “Ex-girlfriend?!” you exclaim suddenly, startling Asahi and causing him to drop the wipe on the floor. “I didn’t know you were seeing somebody!” “Yeah,” he says, throwing the wipe in the trash and grabbing a fresh one. “We broke up a while before you moved to the city. She left a bunch of her stuff here and refused to come pick it up. I think she was just too embarrassed to see me again. I got rid of most of it a while ago, but I kept some of the more… uh, utilitarian things.” “I’m sorry,” you say sincerely. “Why did you break up?” Asahi feels a slight pang in his chest. He met his last girlfriend through his job. She was nice enough, and things seemed like they were going okay until he showed up at her apartment to surprise her for their 6 month anniversary, only to find another man in her bed. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you say. “It’s fine. She cheated on me with some other guy,” he says, his expression darkening. “I think they’re engaged now.” “Shit,” you say. “What a bitch.” “Woah, settle down, it’s okay –” “No, it’s not,” you say firmly. “You deserve someone way better than that. Somebody that treats you with the love and respect that you deserve.” Asahi knows you’re right, but he doesn’t really want to press it. That whole mess had done a number on his mental health, and he really doesn’t want to burden you with his emotional baggage. He adjusts his glasses again and forces a smile. “You know, you should really take your own advice,” he says. You try to think back on what you had said to him last night. The details are fuzzy, but you remember crying. A lot. Instead of answering him, you shovel down the last of the rice and fish. “Thank you for the meal,” you say. Asahi smiles and nods at you before beginning to clear the dishes away. You stand up and stop him, insisting that you clean up yourself. As you finish drying the bowls, your phone buzzes. You check it, only to see a handful of missed texts from Kokomi.

Ono Kokomi [8:32} Hey!! Sorry I missed your call. How was he?  (°◡°♡) [9:14] That good?  (^.~)☆ [9:18] Or that bad?! (;;;*_*) [9:57] HELLO?? (ﾉಥ益ಥ)ﾉ [10:32] ARE YOU ALIVE?!?!?!  〣( ºΔº )〣

You roll your eyes and quickly type out your response.

Y/N [10:33] Yeah, no thanks to you. (￢_￢;)

Ono Kokomi [10:34] Was it really that bad?

Y/N [10:34] He didn’t even show up. (╥_╥) [10:34] Azumane picked me up at 2 AM because I was too drunk to go home alone. I stayed the night at his place. [10:34] Speaking of which, can you come pick me up? Not really in a state to take the train and I think you owe me one.

Ono Kokomi [10:35] (⊙_⊙) [10:35] Spill. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Y/N [10:36] There’s nothing to spill. I threw up in his bathroom and he slept on the couch. Can you just answer my question please? (҂` ﾛ ´)凸

Ono Kokomi [10:36] Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m on my way, lovebird. (￣ε￣＠)

“Everything okay?” Asahi asks. “Yeah,” you say, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Kokomi’s going to come pick me up.” “Are you sure? I can take you if you want,” he offers. “Yeah, she’s already on her way,” you say, setting the bowl down and turning to face him. “Besides, you’ve done more than enough for me already over the last twelve hours.” You silently pick up your things and walk towards the door. Asahi rises from his chair and awkwardly clears his throat. “Do you have all your stuff?” You nod and smile. Before you open the door, you approach him and wrap your arms around his waist. He shyly hugs you back, hoping you can’t hear the rapid pounding in his chest. “Thank you, Asahi,” you whisper. “You’re amazing.” You let go first and leave his apartment quietly. As soon as the door closes, Asahi walks back into the living room and flops down on the couch. He covers his face with his hands and groans. This morning was almost too much for him – seeing you in his clothes, eating breakfast together, you hugging him before you left. It was all so painfully domestic, and he wishes it didn’t have to end. If only he wasn’t such a coward, he would’ve asked you to stay longer. He doesn’t know how long he lays there until he finally decides to get moving for the day and finish that piece he was working on when you called last night. He checks his phone and sees your name pop up on the screen.

Y/N [11:00] I’m home. Thanks again for babysitting me last night. Whatever did I do to deserve you as my guardian angel? ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚ [11:00] Or was that Noya-san? I forget. (^ω~)

Azumane Asahi [11:01] Lol. You’re welcome. And that was what we called Noya in our club days, but I don’t mind you calling me that too (* ^ ω ^)

Y/N [11:03] Let me make it up to you. [11:04] Come over for dinner tomorrow night?

Asahi almost drops his phone on his face. His fingers fumble as he types his response. He waits a moment before sending it, rereading it ten times to make sure he doesn’t come across as desperate.

Azumane Asahi [11:07] I’d love to. Do you want me to bring anything?

Y/N [11:08] That’s not necessary. I owe you a nice dinner. [11:09] You still like tonkotsu ramen?

Azumane Asahi [11:10] I do!

Y/N [11:11] It’s a date! See you tomorrow! (☞°ヮ°)☞ ☜(°ヮ°☜)

*

“You said nothing happened last night,” Kokomi says, staring over your shoulder at your phone. “Nothing happened, Kokomi. Now leave me alone,” you snap, tossing one of your throw pillows at her. She deftly catches it and plops down on the couch next to you. “Please,” she says, swatting you with the pillow. “The only reason you two haven’t gotten together is because you’re the densest people on the planet. I bet he’s flopped down on his couch right now thinking about how he doesn’t even want to wait that long to see you.” “Shut up,” you grumble. Kokomi’s phone rings and she quickly checks it. “Anyway, I have to go meet Kaito,” she says. “Got to go. Let me know how your date goes!” She waves and practically skips out the front door. You lay down and start making a shopping list for ingredients for tonkatsu ramen. As soon as you’re done, you set your phone down and cross your arms over your face.

“I bet he’s flopped down on his couch right now thinking about how he doesn’t even want to wait that long to see you.” No, Kokomi. That’s me.

[jaybirbwrites]

Hello, i was looking through tumblr in the sense to find something interesting and found your account, i then wondered if i could get a dc match up from you if posible?

I’m Ghost, I am Aquarius born, ISTP personality, and I’m panromantic with a male lean, with any pronouns.

im 5’5, shoulder length blonde, pale ivory skin tone, Grunge aesthetic and Green/hazel eyes, I have been told by a few of my friends that I look like a middle age man who either only drinks coffee or whiskey.

I have trust issues, I tend to be stand off-ish to people and prefer to be alone in dark and quite places, though I am open and happy around people I feel like I can trust, I’m a bit chaotic and tend to get out of hand when it comes to things I am passionate about, and I like to have deep meaningful conversations with people.

I like most parts of nature, like flowers, bugs, animals, and the sounds, my favourite foods are anything veggie or fruit and sweets, I listen too Grunge, emo, rock, metal, and punk bands, I do a lot of art, i enjoy drawing plants and my ocs, In my free time I do art, I read, write, and watch anime, some of my favourites are Death parade, demon slayer, and skate the infinity, I play a lot of video games, like Resident evil(I love anything horror and gory), danganronpa, and legend of Zelda:Breath of the wild.

I hate jerks, bullies, people that are clingy and/or loud, I dislike red meats, I have Emetophobia and Trypanophobia, and I hate going out to public places like stores and restaurants for long perriods of type.

bye, have a good day/night

This took me way longer than I would have liked, but here I am with a match-up!!

I wasn't exactly sure the specifics of the DC Universe you wanted, so I kind of just? Grabbed from my own Fanon?? I hope that's okay!! I tend to write characters from DC by taking my favorite aspects from all of their respective canons, so I hope you still enjoy and that it's what you were looking for!

That all being said, I present to you....

Jason Todd

Okay in my mind this seems like it's probably expected, but I promise I was thinking of a lot of other characters and it just didn't seem right

You two just,,, work?

So well?

I think it's the grunge aesthetic and looking like all you drink is coffee and whiskey for the most part

Mostly because he's basically the same way

He's also pretty obviously a standoffish person, and I definitely think that's what would make him want to get to know you more, and once he did... wow

Like you, he's an extroverted introvert

He can be quite as well, but once you get him going he's the life of the party and I definitely think you'd both bring some.. we'll say fun, to the Wayne Charity Galas that Bruce hosts

Not only that, but you both like basically the same kinds of music as well, and I can see you both jamming in his apartment together

You also mentioned that you do art, and while I definitely don't think Jason can draw, he absolutely would adore watching you do it

I mean, this man had straight A's before he died and he's definitely a huge nerd for literature and the arts

He definitely plays piano sometimes too when you'd draw

He's also an avid reader, and would always want to suggest books to you and take your suggestions on books to read

Likewise, he'd also offer to read whatever you were writing too

Not just to be nice, but because he's very curious to see what you're even putting on the page

He definitely plays games with you all the time, and on any co-op games he always makes it a challenge

He has to win, even if there's no winner in that game

In instances where you both just want to chill out, he'd offer a picnic in the park

Probably not Gotham's though

If anything he'd take you through the Zeta Tube to Central City, or Metropolis, where it's much nicer and sunnier than Gotham City

There you both can people watch from under a tree, and enjoy the nature and calm

I imagine Jason is an amazing cook and baker

It's one of my favorite headcanons to be honest

So he definitely made some Alfred-level sandwiches for you both, and he made your favorite dessert

Lots of veggies and fruits on the side as well, and your favorite drinks

Probably also gives you your favorite flowers as well, just to be the cheesy romantic that he is

Lastly, you mention that you hate clingy people

Jason can definitely be clingy, but he also 100% knows your boundaries and respects them

If you want to cuddle and be close, he's all up for that

When you want your space, he respects it and doesn't push it either

Same with him being loud

He won't be around you, but with his family it's kind of a given - lots of yelling, goofing off, throwing things at one another most likely

But he doesn't get you involved in it all since he knows you don't like loud people

All in all, Jason would absolutely adore you and you both would get along really well imo

That's all for this!! I hope you enjoy it :)

If not please feel free to send another ask and I'll do something else!

My ask box is also open, so anyone who sees this - feel free to ask away! My pinned post has some of the things I do, so just check that out!

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 27: Intrulogical (TW)

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 27 - Your eyes match your soulmate’s hair color. If they dye their hair, your eyes change colors.

TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!! Attempted rape (by unnamed OC), drugging, implied underage drinking (though none is actually seen), emetophobia/vomiting, Halloween, alcohol, characters being tipsy/drunk, parties. Happy/satisfying ending.

Word count: 4.7k

Logan lived his life based on routine. In a world of constant change, it felt comforting to always know what his next step was. His mornings always started the same; wake up at seven o’clock sharp, sneak to the dorm bathroom in an attempt to not wake his essentially nocturnal roommate, and brush his teeth. Wet the toothbrush, pea sized amount of toothpaste, wet the brush again, and start on the left side of his mouth. Brush for exactly two minutes, wash face, and then attempt to calm down the bedhead. He’d sneak back into the room, change silently, and then make his way to the shared kitchen to make cereal for breakfast. The only variable in his routine was which fruit he’d eat along with his Cheerios. Then he’d triple check that all of his homework was packed properly, and head off to his morning class.

Except today.

For someone who rarely got distracted from his normal routine, he was surprisingly still as he glared, shocked, into his reflection. Water still dripped off his face and all over the counter, but he couldn’t tear his attention from it. Because his normally dark brown eyes were now neon green.

“Are you kidding me?!” He yelled before he could stop himself, storming back into their room and dropping back onto his bed.

“What’s’it?” Virgil mumbled, lifting his exhausted face from where they’d been smooshed into the pillows. Logan spun his face up towards the top bunk, jaw clenched, and gestured towards his eyes.

“I have a presentation today!” Logan continued, looking away from Virgil’s failed attempt to cover a smile, “And I look ridiculous! No one will take me seriously!”

“Just in time for Halloween, I guess. They just look like contacts.”

“Hallow-” Logan sprung to his desk to look at his calendar accusingly, groaning when he realized it was in fact the thirty first. “Ugh, I have a paper due tomorrow!”

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out of the party now, Lo. I already promised people I’d go, and I’m not going alone.”

“I won’t back out of the party,” Logan grumbled, crossing his arms. Virgil gave a satisfied hum, flopping back into his comforter. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled.

“Out of all people, I’m surprised you forgot.”

“So sue me, if a frivolous game of promiscuous dress up comes after passing my classes in the list of importance.” 

The emo snorted. “What’s your costume gonna be?”

“I am not wearing a costume!” Logan’s voice was almost offended.

“You already look like a traffic light. Might as well complete the look.” 

Logan grumbled angrily, marching back toward the bathroom to finish getting ready. “I’m not wearing a costume. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Aw, c’mon, Lo. For me?”

That stopped Logan in his tracks. He spun around and took a careful breath, glaring down his overly pleased roommate. “Fine. Just for you.” 

Virgil gave another satisfied hum, before squinting his eyes at Logan scrutinizingly. “I wonder if your eyes glow in the dark. Can you imagine if the prof turns the lights off for a presentation and-”

“UUUGGHHH!” Logan yowled as he slammed the bathroom door shut, shaking his head at Virgil’s snickers. 

------------------------

They were meeting up at the party at the end of classes (right about when Virgil tended to wake up), so Logan headed there directly after his final class, just as the evening sun was fading behind the horizon. It was already packed with people already picking the snack and drinks table bare, a lopsided sign that said ‘21+ only’ forgotten near an empty beer box. If Logan were to assume correctly, the sign was only there to assuage the conscience of whoever was hosting tonight, and not actually to stop the underage drinking. Even if he was above legal drinking age, he still didn’t experience many of the positives of drinking, so he grabbed a can of iced tea and stood next to a wall to wait for Virgil.

It hadn’t been a full five minutes before a man sidled up to him, sipping from a half empty beer bottle and watching Logan with a careful eye. He didn’t spare so much as a glance in return, barely acknowledging the newcomer’s presence.

“What’s a wallflower like you doing at a rager like this?” He drawled with an almost audible impish smile.

“If this is considered a rager, I’d hate to see what a calm party looks like.”

“Aw, we just haven’t gotten started yet! We’re fueling up for when the moon comes out. And you haven’t answered my question, flower.”

“I’m simply waiting for a friend.”

“Oh, and does this friend have a name?” He purred. 

Frustrated, Logan turned to the man, and promptly froze. Looking down at him with pitch black eyes was a person in a costume he couldn’t recognize; a black and white striped suit that looked like he’d raked it through dust, and a mold green tie. The stubble on his face could have been his own five o’clock shadow or makeup, but it only functioned to make him look far hotter than what was fair. What was most shocking though, and Logan was baffled that he’d missed it in the initial approach, was the mop of electric-shock-straight neon green hair on his head. 

“He- I don’t-”

“Didn’t take you for the type to get flustered,” The man snorted, taking another sip. “What do you have? Aw, iced tea? And not even spiked? A crime.”

How did he not see Logan’s eyes? The hair was the exact same color; Logan would know. He’d spend the whole day watching his reflection, hoping that his soulmate would have some mercy and dye their hair back to its original color. Neon green was not exactly the most subtle color, and he had not missed the snickers or silent glances from his classmates and professors all day. So the question remained, why wasn’t this guy saying anything?

“I don’t drink. I tend to just become lethargic when I do.” He answered instead, gripping his can a little tighter. It took far too much effort to keep his voice from straining. 

“Fair enough. I’m not pressuring you to drink, no worries. At least we’ll have one sober mind at this party tonight.” The taller man winked at him, flashing him that stupidly stunning smile again. 

But then it occurred to Logan as he kept searching the man’s dark eyes desperately. His eyes were too dark, almost pitch black, while Logan’s hair was several shades lighter. So... there was no way they were soulmates. Just as quickly as the hope had exploded in his stomach, it dissipated, leaving him feeling more exhausted than usual. Stupid feelings.

“Logan, there you are!” An unusually loud voice called through his stupor and he spun around to see Virgil’s fanged smile. In the back of his mind, he remembered watching Virgil putting together his elaborate vampire costume over the last few weeks, but he’d never seen the full thing put together until now. “Ah, and Remus found you. Scram, Beetlejuice.”

Remus, apparently, didn’t seem at all offended by the jab. Instead, he seemed to smile wider. “Nice to see you too, emo. Is that any way to treat the host of the party?”

To Logan’s surprise, Virgil smiled too. “Oh, shut up. You’re going to give Logan a heart attack.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Dracula. Why don’t you go get a drink, and I’ll keep him company?”

“Nuh uh. No way. Not leaving him with you any longer than I have already.” With that, Virgil hooked his arm through Logan’s and led him back to the drink table. 

“Remember, Virgil, drinks are only for the big kids!”

“I’m older than you are!” He flipped the bird over Logan’s shoulder to the host, earning a barked laugh in response. “He never lets me forget I’m a whole three inches shorter than him.”

“You know the host of the party?”

Virgil hummed in response, pouring himself a cup of punch that reeked of alcohol. “How else would I get invited? We were in English together in third year, and I haven’t been able to shake him since. He’s like a leech.”

“You seem friendly with him.”

The elder froze, solo cup barely touching his lips as he looked over Logan slowly. “Everything okay? You’re not usually this… quiet.” They could both tell it wasn’t the word he’d wanted to use.

For a brief moment, Logan considered telling Virgil about his brief flair of hope, about how for a single second he’d felt nothing but relief and desire and elation, and how it had been ripped away from him just as quickly. But then he realized that, no, Virgil didn’t need that to bring down the mood of the first party he’d attended in a year, since his anxiety had flared. If it still bothered him after the party, he’d bring it up. That was unlikely, though. Logan was especially gifted in the art of repression.

“I’m just a tad out of my element. Nothing to worry about,” he responded with a smile. Virgil didn’t fall for it, if the way he watched Logan as he sipped his drink was anything to go off of, but he did them both the favor of not pushing it. For now. 

“I thought I told you to wear a costume,” Virgil gasped as he drained the cup, immediately refilling it from the same bowl.  

“I did.” Logan gestured towards the single piece of paper taped to his white shirt. It took Virgil a moment to squint through the darkening light to make-out the black sharpie, reading allowed.

“‘Error 404, Costume Not Found.’ That does not count, Logan!” He laughed nonetheless, just as a deep bass filled the house. Apparently, the party had begun. He didn’t have a good argument for Virgil’s accusation, since he technically thought it very much did count, but arguing with the other was a waste of time. The two men were equally matched in the stubbornness department.  

The lights disappeared for a good few seconds before the house was illuminated in strobe lights, and the music’s volume exploded. Virgil laughed giddily; apparently his plan to get buzzed before the party could give him anxiety was intentional.

“They do, ya know.” 

Logan looked at him in confusion, and shouted over the roaring music. “What?”

“Your eyes! They do glow in the dark!”

“Shut up!” 

“You look like a glowstick!” He began to giggle wildly, leaning on Logan for support. 

“No more drinks for a good half hour, Virge,” Logan chided gently, replacing his solo cup with a water bottle from the table. Virgil whined but plucked out his vampire fangs so he could drink from the small spout easier. 

“Let’s dance,” Virgil said, grabbing Logan’s arm and leading him into the crowd.

---------------------------

Logan guessed it was well past midnight when Virgil tugged on his arm for the third time, leaning close to his ear and shouting that he had to go to the bathroom.

“Again?!” Logan called back at the vampire’s back. There was no malice in his words, not when he knew Virgil had been anxious to go to this party and he tended to drink more water when he was anxious. It was just all coming back for revenge now. 

To Logan’s delight, the excitement of the party had started to push out the event from earlier. His mood was no longer dampened by the let down of what he thought was meeting his soulmate, and he could finally enjoy the one event he allowed himself to go to this semester. School was important, but he allowed this for Virgil. He hadn’t expected himself to have a good time as well. 

It wasn’t even a minute after Virgil had left that there was a loud shout and Logan was jostled harshly to the side, the front of his shirt immediately soaking red from the cup of punch spilled on him. His own drink clattered to the floor.

“Shit, babe, I’m so sorry!” A man Logan didn’t recognize started to pat at his chest with a handful of tissues, an action that for some reason caused the smaller man to cringe.

“No worries. It was bound to happen eventually. Perhaps a white shirt wasn’t my smartest idea,” He responded sharply, taking the tissues from the other and dabbing himself off to the best of his abilities. Slightly relieved that he now had a valid reason, he ripped off his poor attempt at a costume and crumpled up the soaking wet paper in the hand not trying in vain to dry himself. Despite Logan obviously being uninterested, the taller man stayed where he was, watching Logan’s actions with fierce intensity. His lip curled as his eyes trailed down the now nearly see-through shirt.

“If you wanted, I could get that shirt off of you. Fool around, give it some time to dry?”

“I’m so flattered,” Logan deadpanned, “But no thanks.”

“Aw, too bad,” The man cooed, shrugging. His demeanor did a full one-eighty, his predatory gaze replaced with innocence, “Was worth a try. Let me at least get you a new drink, since I ruined your other one.”

“That’s not necessary-”

“I insist.” He laid a hand on Logan’s shoulder, causing a tingling cold to spread through his whole body. The smaller man barely contained a shudder as the man gave him another wolf like grin before disappearing into the crowd towards the drinks table.

Logan was hoping he’d forgotten, and just wouldn’t come back, but the man reappeared in moments, popping open a pink lemonade and handing it to him.

“Saw your other drink was non-alcoholic, so I got the only other one left.”

“Uhm…” Logan looked critically at the can, his alarm bells flaring. But… he’d seen the man open it, right? So it’s not as if he could have done something to it. Perhaps this guy really did have the right intentions, just an iffy way of showing them. “Thank you.” 

He took a sip as the man smiled with too much teeth. “So, are you here alone?”

“No,” Logan responded a little less coolly, “I’m here with a friend. He just went to the bathroom.” Another sip.

“Oh, that’s fun! Are you guys in the same year?”

“Yes. We are both fourth years.” The man was acting kinder, and Logan was starting to consider that perhaps their initial meeting had been a misunderstanding on his part. Maybe he had just wanted to help out, but Logan, being cynical as always, had assumed the worst. Wasn’t that just like him, though? Always so quick to conclusions, ruining good things before they have a chance to happen. Trying to chase away his annoyance with himself and the bitter taste it had left on his tongue, he took a longer swig of the can.

“Hey, me too! I’m an English major, what about you?”

“Business with an astronomy minor.”

“That sounds difficult. How many semester hours are you clocking at right now?”

“I… uhm…” And for the life of him, he couldn’t remember. It was a high number, he knew for sure. He shook his head. “Fifteen, sixteen? Maybe seventeen?”

The man whistled. “Damn, impressive. Remind me of your name, again?”

Had he told him in the first place? “Logan.”

“And what brings a studious man such as yourself to a party like this?”

“My- My friend.” Logan couldn’t help shake his head again, hoping the fog in his mind would scatter. That’s what he got, staying out this late when his sleep schedule was usually so precise. “He doesn’t like… parties. So he asked…” He blinked hard a couple times, finding himself swaying on his feet. “He asked me…”

“Hey, are you okay?” The man placed his hand on his arm in an ironclad grip, holding him steady, “Logan, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I… Dizzy,” He murmured, reaching up blearily and grabbing onto him. 

“Are you dehydrated? Maybe you should drink some more.”

What were the symptoms of dehydration again? Dizziness, check. Fatigue, check. Confusion, check. Thirst? Yeah, he could drink something, but he’d been drinking all night, so why…

The can dropped from his hand, the second one tonight, and he tried weakly to pull away. Instead of letting him go, the man pulled him closer, wrapping an arm bruisingly tight around his waist. 

“You… you drugged-”

“You don’t look so good, Logan. Let’s get you upstairs so you can lie down, yeah?”

“No, I don’t…” He was unable to escape, barely able to keep his feet under him, as the man started dragging him to the stairs. Where the hell is Virgil? Logan could feel tears pricking his eyes as his breathing hitched, and for the first time in years, he felt real panic. This couldn’t be happening. This isn’t-

“Let him the fuck go!”

A voice distinctly not Virgil’s shouted over the music, and Logan didn’t even dare hope it’s directed at the man still clutching him. His luck would never be that good. But through his blurry vision, a pin striped blob with a mess of green hair breaks through the crowd, marching distinctly up to them. 

“He came here with me.” Logan could just make out the stronger man’s words through his dizzied state. “He just had a bit too much to drink. I’m going to let him lay down.”

“Like hell you are. Give him to me.” 

“How dare you-”

“Logan. Doesn’t. Drink. And I know who he came here with.” Remus snarled, edging towards the duo threateningly, “Now let go of him before I break your fucking jaw.”

With almost as much physical relief as emotional, the man finally released his painful hold on Logan and shoved his way through the crowd, the distant shouts of inconvenienced partygoers near the door the only signal that he’d completely left. 

For all his effort, Logan couldn’t hold himself up and collapsed. At first the feeling of strong arms picking him up bridal style caused him to panic and he lashed out, feebly hitting the chest of whoever was holding him. Realizing they were now walking up the stairs, the same place the other man had been pulling him, caused his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Woah there, Lo. You’re okay. It’s just me, it’s Remus, okay? Take a deep breath, just relax. I won’t hurt you.”

For some reason that Logan couldn’t fathom, the words calmed him down. Somewhere, Logan acknowledged that even though Virgil had known Remus for a while, Logan had only talked to him for a total of five minutes, and he probably shouldn’t trust an essential stranger when he’s like this. He’s just too tired to fight though, no matter how his adrenaline is pumping. 

“V’rg’l,” Logan whimpered, clutching Remus' shirt with all the strength of a wet leaf, “W’nt h’m.”

“I’ll get Virgil as soon as you’re safe, okay? Don’t worry,” Remus’ soothing voice rumbled through Logan from where he was pressed to the taller’s chest, making his eyelids flutter. His arms felt like over boiled pasta and his stomach was doing flips, but Remus’ voice broke through the fog he was in and settled him in a way he hadn’t felt before. Maybe it was the drugs.

“We’re at the top of the stairs now, okay? I’ll take you to my room, since it’s the only one with a lock. So we know there won’t be any horny college kids in there, making a mess of my sheets. Gotta unlock it without dropping you, hold on, and… A HAH! Got it. You want the light on or off?”

Logan couldn’t compute the question, much less make a choice. He made a sound that was slightly reminiscent of a stalled car engine, letting his head loll towards the lump that he assumed was a bed.

“Let’s compromise.” With all the care in the world, Logan was placed onto the sheets and gently rolled onto his side, a heavy comforter pulled up to his shoulders. Remus shifted away and a dim light flashed through his eyelids, enough to notice but definitely not enough to hurt his throbbing head. A table lamp, probably.

“No falling asleep on me, okay? You need to stay awake. I don’t know what that fucker gave you. I’m texting Virgil now, he’ll be here soon. Just keep your eyes open.”

Logan opened his eyes despite his overwhelming urge to sleep, and was immediately assaulted by a swirl of colors as the world tilted. An explosion of nausea tilted him forward and he pushed himself up on his elbows.

“‘m g’nna-” He didn’t have to finish his sentence before there was a plastic garbage can under his cheek and he heaved, throwing up the remnants of dinner and all he drank that evening. He didn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed as he flopped back down onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut again.

“Oh, Logan,” Remus whispered. 

There was a pounding on the door and Logan didn’t even have the energy to flinch from the violent sound. Remus stood quickly and unlocked it, barely opening it before someone barreled into the room, the newcomer gasping for breath.

“What the fuck happened?!” Virgil screamed, dropping on his knees next to the bed, hand reaching up to lay on Logan’s cheek.

“He got roofied by some motherfucker I haven’t seen before. I caught him in the stairwell before anything happened.” Remus was still standing by the open door. The music was flowing in louder now, and Virgil’s raged shouting wasn’t helping his headache at all.

“I’m going to fucking kill whoever did this. I’ll fucking kill him!”

“Virgil, you’re real hot when you’re pissed, but calm the hell down. Yelling won’t help Logan.”

“You’re… shit, you’re right. Okay. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Watch him. Keep him on his side, bin’s to your left if he has to hurl again. I’m cutting this shit show.”

Logan finally cracked his eyes open as the door shut, Virgil leaning backwards to lock it. When he turned back and saw his friend’s eyes open, he almost wept.

“I’m so sorry Lo, I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

“‘s okay.”

“No, no it’s not. I got distracted talking to someone, but I should have come back sooner. You could’ve… You could’ve been…”

“Not y’r fa’lt,” Logan mumbled, reaching over blindly to try and find Virgil’s hand. The other must have sensed his intentions and gripped onto the flailing limb, interlocking their fingers. 

“You better not be blaming yourself.”

Technically, he was. He should have been more careful, shouldn’t have taken a drink from a stranger, should have noticed something was off the moment his mind started to fade. Never in his life would he say that this kind of situation was the victim’s fault but… he couldn’t help it when it came to himself. He’d always been self critical that way. Bringing this up to Virgil would be a death wish, though, and an argument he certainly did not have the energy for right now. 

The music cut off downstairs and Logan sighed in relief, nearly smiling at Remus’ shout for everyone to get out of his house. For someone he’d met once, he was protective, that was for sure. 

Virgil didn’t force him to talk. They both just enjoyed the silence for a while, the only sound being the occasional shout from downstairs and Virgil’s sniffles. Logan couldn’t exactly blame him; he’d cry too if he had the brainpower. He didn’t though, which was the problem, so he allowed his hand to be held and allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of a thumb brushing over his knuckles.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Virgil reached over to unlock it, allowing Remus to walk back in. “Sorry that took so long. Wanted to double check that anyone using someone else as a crutch was black out drunk, not drugged. Here, sit him up.”

Virgil shifted so he was behind Logan and pulled him up against him, holding him steady as Remus lifted a glass of water to his lips. “You have to be thirsty. Do your best to keep this down, Lo.” Suddenly realizing how thirsty he actually was, Logan downed half the glass before Remus pulled it away. “Not so much, you’ll get sick.” There was a clink as the glass was placed on the bed side table. “We need to take him to the hospital. I don’t know how much whatever the fucker gave him.”

“I’m too drunk to drive,” Virgil said, gently lowering Logan back onto his side.

“I didn’t drink that much, but I’m not safe either. You got a friend who can take us?”

“Yeah,” The shorter mumbled as he shakily typed in his phone password, “I’m going to call Patton, just a second.” He moved to the furthest corner of the small room and the conversation faded into the background. At least Virgil was talking… that meant Patton picked up, right? 

“Shitty way to end a pretty spectacular holiday,” Remus stated as he sat back on his spot, letting a hand rest on Logan’s leg.

“‘m s’rry.” 

“Ah, shit, that’s not what I meant. I’m mad for you, not at you. Ya know,” As he spoke, he reached up and did something to his eyes, almost picking at them, “Halloween’s the only valid holiday in my book. Christmas is too overrated, Easter is senseless, Thanksgiving? No thanks, I don’t glorify genocide. But Halloween? I get to dress slutty or spooky or fucking ridiculous, and no one can give me two shits about it. I get to throw ragers and stab gourds into faces and buy discount candy until I’m fifty percent chocolate. I mean, I dyed my hair green for it, paid extra for the glow in the dark shit, and all I got were compliments.”

His hands had returned to his lap and he was fiddling with something. Logan tried to make out what it was, but it just looked like black plastic. Tiny, flexible pieces of black plastic. That Remus had pulled from his eyes.

They were colored contacts.

“I guess I do kind of blame Roman for getting me into Beetlejuice, but it is one of his least favorite musicals, so it’s also a bit of a ‘fuck you’ to him-”

“R’mus,” He breathed, and even that faint call was enough to snap Remus back to him. The taller man turned to him immediately, and Logan forgot how to breathe. 

Because his eyes were brown, and in the dim light of the single lamp, they absolutely shone. 

His eyes were the same brown as Logan’s hair, and Logan’s eyes became that offensive green around the same time as Remus dyed his for the costume, and that’s all the confirmation Logan needed to push himself up onto the hands and lunge forward to kiss him. The effort is strenuous and the lurch almost makes him heave again, but oh Lord, he just found his soulmate and it’s actually him and-

“Woah, woah woah woah. Hold on there, cowboy.” Remus gently pushes him back down before their lips can meet, “You are very drugged right now. I am not kissing you drugged. Sober, hell yes. But not like this.”

“Y’re my-”

“Soulmate. I know. I kind of figured when I saw your eyes. But I figured… I might as well get you to like me before I dropped that kind of bombshell. Although… I was hoping that would be accomplished by basic flirting, but then the party started getting out of hand, so I was always busy with-”

“Patton’s on his way,” Virgil spoke up, joining the two on the bed. “You okay, Lo?”

“He figured it out,” Remus said softly, letting a hand card through Logan’s hair. 

“I was wondering how long that would take.”

Logan gave a weak smile, his own fear and adrenaline starting wear off slightly. He was safe here, and he felt like he wasn’t going to be let out of sight for a while. 

“Drink some more water, wallflower,” Remus whispered, helping him sit up, “We’ll take care of you.” 

[itsthatpearl]

Layout idea from @secret-smut-sideblog 🩸

Hannibal x F!OC

His Amuse-Bouche

Chapter 8: I Spit On Your Grave

AO3 LINK

Bethany makes a shocking discovery

Word Count: 1.2k

NO BETA READER IN THIS PART BC I AM A DUMB BITCH BUT I TRIED MY BEST TO BETA MYSELF

TW: THIS IS A HORROR FANFIC. MAJOR DEAD DOVE. SPECIFIC TRIGGERS ARE LISTED IN EACH CHAPTER, BUT THEY CAN SPOIL THE STORY, SO IF YOU WANT TO ENJOY THE HORROR AS BEST AS YOU CAN, GO STRAIGHT TO THE STORY.

SPESIFIC TRIGGERS: Mental health issues (depression, ptsd, anxiety, social anxiety, panic attacks and dissociating), unethical relationships, distressing impulsive thoughts, sexual tension, sexual themes, sex, vague talk about bodyfluids, horror, gore, cannibalism, vore, death, rough language, violence, forced surgeries, forced amputation, alcohol, needles, forced injections, light emetophobia,

----

“And then you add the wine” he smiled as he guided me with the cooking. He stood behind me holding me close while I prepared our dinner: “Joues de Boeuf Braisées au Vin Rouge” which meant braised cheek in red wine, in this case, a full-bodied Cabernet Sauvignon. “Can you cut the vegetables?” I asked the man behind me. He kissed my cheek and inhaled my scent slowly. “Ordering me around my own kitchen now, are we?” he purred into my ear. I bit my lip, closing my eyes and tilted my head back. “Yes, and now you are disturbing me, which can lead to the food burning” I smiled, eyes still closed. He kissed my neck softly and I could swear I felt his lips curl upwards into a grin. “We can’t have that, my dear sous chef. If you burn the food, I might have to punish you” he muttered and nipped my ear. I gasped loudly as my hand flew to grip his hair behind me. “Dr. Lecter, I am too delicate for such words” I smirked, opening my eyes and looking at the stove in front of me. “You know I don’t want to burn these cheeks. They came from a very important cheeky little swine and I would hate if their sacrifice would go to waste” I grin. Hannibal chuckled quietly and nodded. “As you wish, chef. I will cut the vegetables”

Dinner was hectic. We ate quickly and ended up in the bedroom even quicker. After a few minutes of stumbling onto the bed while taking off our clothes I has laying fully naked under his lips. “Desert is served” he muttered and kissed my earlobe. I bit my lip and moaned loudly. “W-what are we having, my love?” I smirked. His lips started wandering down my body stopping to lick my nipple. “Tonight we are having a delicate tiramisu, each layer a revelation of sweetness and texture, leaving a lingering richness on the palate that invites further exploration of every element” he smirked and nipped the nipple before going further down to kiss my stomach. I opened my mouth gasping for air. “Dr. Lecter, I didn’t know you could talk like that” I grinned back. 

He lowered down my body once again and answered with a soft kiss right over the sensitive bud of nerves between my legs. I threw my head back. Fuck. He was just so good at it. Each swirl of his tongue, each push of his fingers, each move took me closer and closer becoming undone. I gripped his hair as he licked, sucked and fucked me. My heart started to beat louder as I felt the burning become sweeter. Silent gasping and whimpering evolved into desperate cries. “Please, please, please, oh gods ” I cried out. He smiled into my soft flesh. “I got you, Bethany” he whispered. With a loud moan I climaxed gripping his already sweaty hair. I felt the gush of fluids coat his face as he calmed his moves down. 

This was followed with sensational lovemaking, me coming a few more times and his desperate and needy thrusting ending in a beautiful mutual orgasm that left us both too tired to move from the sweaty pool we had made the bed. Hannibal held me close as I kissed his chest, eyes closed almost asleep already. “I have an appointment tomorrow and I need to leave early in the morning. I will be gone until dinner time” he muttered. I smiled and lifted my head from his chest to look at him. “I will cook dinner then” I muttered and gave him a slow kiss. After a short make-out we both fell asleep listening to each other's heartbeats.

I woke up slowly. I looked at the clock groaning. Hannibal had left for an appointment with a patient an hour ago. I ate breakfast in silence, which worked for me. I wasn't a morning person and wanted to just get over with the routine. I was getting used to my new legs and walked stiffly around the house with a cane. I went inside his study, as it was my favorite place in his house. It was peacefully furnished full of dark colored velvet and ebony. I sat behind his desk. Patient records. Neatly laid down full on display. Is mine here too? I carefully started to go through the pile. Bethany Rivers. Bingo . I opened the file. Shit. Did I really talk about these things like that? I don’t remember I was in this bad condition… I read through the file re-living the moments I had talked about. Okay enough. Back to the pile you go, I am no longer this person. I looked back at the pile and stopped everything.

Ethan Rivers . The file said “Ethan Rivers” in big letters. With shaky hands I took the file and opened it. And there he was. Looking right back at me. My father. It had been so long since I saw his face. Why the FUCK does Hannibal have a file of him here? I opened the first page. 

“Ethan Rivers, a 45-year-old male. Patient presents with a pronounced and chronic pattern of behaviors consistent with psychopathy. His psychological profile is characterized by the following: lack of empathy and remorse, manipulative and deceptive behavior, grandiose sense of self-worth, impulsivity and irresponsibility, persistent antisocial behavior. Conclusion : patient embodies the quintessential traits of a psychopath. His lack of empathy, manipulative tendencies, and persistent antisocial behavior make him a dangerous individual. His interactions are marked by superficial charm, but underneath lies a predatory nature that seeks to exploit and dominate. Constant vigilance and appropriate interventions are recommended to mitigate the risks he poses to society.”

I looked at the diagnosis in shock. Why didn’t Hannibal tell me he treated my father? I continued his patient diary. It was full of my father talking about himself. Obviously. That fucker never asked how I was. It was always about his cars, his friends, his life. 

Then suddenly my mouth hangs open. “ The patient has responded positively to neurotoxin treatment, with pronounced hallucinations. He believes that killing his ex-wife and her husband is necessary to alleviate his suffering. After carefully assessing Ethan's responses to our sessions, it's evident that my influence has successfully redirected his motivations. He now exhibits a compelling drive towards achieving goals that align more closely with my own interests. This transformation underscores the efficacy of our therapeutic approach and reinforces the depth of trust Ethan has placed in me."

He manipulated my father into killing my mother and stepdad. I flip the pages to see the last one:

"Having successfully integrated Ethan into our therapeutic journey, I now have the opportunity to extend my influence to Bethany, his daughter. With Ethan and others no longer in her life, Bethany's vulnerability becomes a canvas for my endeavors. She has ignited a fascination within me. I have already talked about her psychiatrist, Dr. Mixer. If all goes well, Bethany will be my patient at the end of this month."

The text was written the day it all happened. I had been in therapy with Dr. Mixter for my anxiety. Later that night I would be utterly alone after my father kills my parents, and later that month Hannibal would become my psychiatrist. He did all this to get me to be his patient. He manipulated me into thinking I was cured. I looked at my legs and felt rage starting to storm inside me. This was not “a cure”. He ruined my life. He ended my life.

And I would end his.

----

NOTE:

I myself am not a professional and tried to get facts checked as best I could. My own father has ASPD so I see him alot in Beth's father but wanted to make it obvious Hannibal made Ethan worse and manipulated him. REMEMBER THAT PEOPLE WITH ASPD/OTHER SIMILAR DISORDERS ARE NORMAL AND NOT AUTOMATICALLY MURDERERS!!! THIS IS A HORROR FIC SO IT IS DRAMATICAL!!!!

I don't want to spread false knowlege so this is just the "hollywood horror" -style diagnosis shit.

----

Next chapter

[crazyasacupcake]

A Clown Called Saviour

Here's a fic inspired by the Harvest Festival scene from The Only Thing Worse Than Me Is You by Lily Anderson :D

This work includes mentions of clowns, vomit, and panic attacks, so if you have coulrophobia, emetophobia, or are triggered by panic attacks in any way, then I would suggest not reading this piece.

Genre: Light Angst, Comfort, no romance

Summary: When someone has a breakdown in the middle of a meant-to-be fun Haunted House attraction, one scare actor steps up to help lead the visitor out safely, but maybe they should have just left it alone.

Characters: G/N Reader, Tooru Oikawa, Shoyo Hinata, Kei Tsukishima, Tobio Kageyama

Word Count: 2989

You can also read the work on Archive of Our Own!

You wring your hands as you wait outside the haunted house, the fake (were they fake?) screams emitting from inside making your stomach churn. Your friends didn’t seem too bothered, but then when did teenage boys ever show their fear?

“This is stupid,” Tsukishima says as he counts the correct amount of tokens out to pay for your tickets. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Hinata’s never been in one before,” the other surly one, Kageyama, points towards where Hinata is trying to contain his excitement, jumping from foot to foot in front of the sign.

“Hey! They haven’t been in one either!” The ginger one snaps his head around angrily, pointing towards you.

“I don’t particularly want to go in one.” You wish there was anything you could say that would make them let you stay outside, but you had promised; you had told Hinata that if they got past the first round of the Spring High Prelims, then you would personally take him to a haunted house. You hadn’t meant anything by it – not that you didn’t believe they would get through the first round, more that you didn’t believe Hinata would remember the promise you had made before nodding off on the bus. You wanted to die when he had entered the gym that Friday with the flyer for the Halloween Fair in the park, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say no to his beaming smile.

“Oh, come on! It’s not going to be that bad!” He gives you a wide grin, and you want to smile back but you know that it will just come out as a grimace if you try. Instead, you just stare at him, your lips set in a tight line.

“How come Tadashi doesn’t have to go in?”

“The last time Tadashi went in a haunted house, he threw up on one of the scare actors. I think it’s best for both him and everyone else that he stays outside.” Tsukki drops the unneeded tokens into his jacket pocket.

“What if I throw up on a scare actor?”

“Then we’ll know to leave you outside with Tadashi next time.”

He marches over to the attendant’s booth, where a bored teenager rests his head on the palm of his hand, where he exchanges Tsukki’s twelve tokens for four shiny black tickets (“Three tokens per ticket, at 700¥ per token! That’s practically robbery!”).

With a deep, shaking breath, you follow your boys into the house, giving Tadashi one final timid wave before stepping into the black of the first room.

If you weren’t standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Hinata, you’re pretty sure you would have lost him immediately. Most of the time when people enter darkness, they say they ‘can’t see two feet in front of them’, but you can barely see an inch. You can hear breathing: loud, rattling breaths merging with the sound of the blood pounding in your head. You feel like you were going to pass out.

“Move,” Tsukki pushes you from behind, not too hard but you stumble anyway. Your throat feels dry – was it always this hot in here? You clench and unclench your hands, the clamminess of your palms just making you more uncomfortable.

The first scare actor pops up, in a Michael Myers mask, wielding a chainsaw. If you were in a sound state of mind right now, you would tell yourself that this person is completely inaccurate to the character, and shouldn’t be a scare actor at all due to their lack of dedication. However, all rational (if that thought would have even been rational in the first place) thought has already left the building, and instead you ball your eyes shut and barrel past him with a scream at a pitch you didn’t even know you could hit.

You run blindly, feeling your shoulder collide with a doorway, only opening your eyes when the slight momentary pain jars you from your panic.

There are lights here, in this small corridor, bathing everything in a gross green tinge, and when you turn around you can’t see any of the boys behind you. You stick your head through the doorway, leaning out into another thin corridor. There are three other doorways lining the wall, and you realise they must have gone through a different one once you’d bolted. You realise that the only way to meet up with them is at the end, as you have no way of knowing which doorway they picked.

You look back to the corridor, your footsteps suddenly ten times heavier now that you didn’t have the two six-foot tall bullies behind you. Even your lungs feel heavy, every breath like you’re taking in water instead of air, like you’re about to drown.

Your head hurts.

Why did you agree to this?

Finally, you reach the end of the green corridor, swallowing thickly as you poke your head slowly into the room.

It’s as if your heart stops.

There are five of them (Scare actors, you tell yourself. They’re just actors.) stood in different areas of the room. It’s difficult to remember they’re just scare actors when they’re all stood facing you, wearing matching killer clown masks and outfits. The one closest to you is stood behind a pile of cardboard boxes, and you’re thankful that there’s at least something separating them from you. It’s as if they’re leering at you, even though the mask is fixed into the twisted smile of the clown; they’re looking at you as though they’re hungry, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

You edge along the wall, keeping your eyes on the one behind the boxes the whole time, until you realise you need to watch the others, too. Your hand shakes as you use it to feel your way along the wall, your stomach dropping when you have to take that first step away from the security the wall provided.

You can see the doorway, it’s straight ahead, just keep your eyes on the doorway and it’ll all be fine.

The one behind the boxes shifts their body so that they’re facing you, but you don’t look at them, closing your eyes for a second to tell yourself to just calm down.

They can’t hurt you, they can’t touch you, they’re just teenagers, just actors being paid to have a good time scaring other teenagers.

You’re halfway through the room, the door is right there, just don’t look at them.

The one to your right takes a lurching step forwards and you jump, tripping over your feet and falling backwards, landing hard on the floor. Your hands burn where they hit the concrete, and your arse is now throbbing, but your eyes are squeezed shut, your face twisted into a grimace as you try not to cry.

Your eyes are shut so tightly that stars begin to swim in the blackness, and you try to focus on the patterns and not the sound of the clown’s footsteps.

You press your hands over your ears, trying to tune it all out, trying to convince yourself that you’re still with the boys and you didn’t get separated – or better yet, that you’re waiting outside with Tadashi with a cup of tea warming your hands.

Your breathing is coming too hard, too fast, and you feel like your chest is about to explode, the pounding of your heart shattering your ribcage as it bursts from your body. You can’t get a full breath, the air stopping dead in your throat just before you can get a full lungful. You think you might pass out, your whole body feels as though it’s on fire, and you just wish that it was over, that you’re already outside, that you’ve completed the house without having a breakdown, that you don’t feel like you’re about to be murdered by a teenager in a clown mask.

The footsteps stop, and there’s a moment where you think about opening your eyes but you know that if you do you’re going to see the clown leaning right in front of you.

They’re just actors, they’re just teenagers, they can’t touch you, they can’t hurt you, they just want to scare you.

You swallow, almost gagging from the dryness of your mouth.

There’s wet on your cheek, you notice. You’re crying, the tears dripping hot and heavy down your face in your blind panic, and only when you notice the wetness of your face do you tune in to the sound of your loud sobs.

The footsteps to your right retreat, the clown slinking back to their original position.

Something touches your shoulder, and your brain goes haywire.

They’re not allowed to touch you so what just touched you was that a real clown ohmygod am I about to die what if he stabs me why is he touching me why is he touching me WHY IS HE TOUCHING ME

The thing shakes you slightly, enough to get you to open your eyes the tiniest bit before shutting them again once you see the mask to your left. They’re crouched down, balancing their weight on the balls of their feet beside you. They touch your wrist and you flinch, before they gently pry your hand away from your ear. You open your eyes again, focusing instead on the balloon that’s tied to their wrist, bobbing in the air with each movement of their arm.

They stand up, offering you their other hand to help you up, but you ignore it and stand up on your own. They nod at the clown across from them, and then they nod you towards the doorway.

You don’t move, swallowing once again, making sure you don’t look at the mask. You wipe your cheek with the heel of your hand.

The clown offers their arm to you, and when you don’t take it they make a flourishing bow gesture before offering it again. You giggle weakly, your head throbbing, and the clown points at you before giving you a thumbs up.

You take their arm, and they walk you out of the room, into another dim corridor.

“Thank you,” you whisper, surprised at the hoarseness of your voice. The clown just shrugs.

“Are you not allowed to talk?” The clown shakes their head, and you hear a bell ringing that must be attached to their collar. “I like the bell. It’s a nice touch.”

You stay silent for a moment, until you step into the next room and a man in a leather apron jumps out with a cleaver. With a squeal, you turn, curling into the clown’s side as you try to make yourself as small a target as possible, squeezing their arm a little bit too much. You’re surprised at the muscle you can feel through the costume; it reminds you of the times you’ve hugged any of the boys on your team when they win a game. It’s weird to think that an athlete would be doing something like this in his free time (as though your athlete friends aren’t currently in the same haunted house, albeit for a different purpose).

The clown clears their throat, and when you look at them, they make a gesture with their hand, one that seems to say if you talk it might help you calm down.

You think for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I’m only here because I promised my friends that if they got through the first round of the volleyball tournament then I’d go with them. And then we got split up. And Tadashi is only allowed to stay outside because he threw up on a scare actor once, so because I haven’t thrown up on a scare actor that means I had to go in.”

The clown makes a show of laughing silently, their shoulders shaking as they clutch their chest with their other hand.

“But I just hope it doesn’t worry Hinata too much because I know he can talk a big game but he’s really a huge wuss – I mean, before our practice game against Aoba Johsai he was jumping off the walls until it actually came about, then he threw up on the bus and was mainly the reason we lost the first set – don’t tell him I said any of this will you?” You don’t know why you ask – there’s no way they know who Hinata is.

The clown shakes their head, making an exaggerated cross over where their heart would be.

Another scare actor jumps out with a shrill scream, and you close your eyes with a shaking breath before continuing.

“I think Aoba Johsai is our biggest problem – we only won the practice match because their normal setter wasn’t there for the first two sets, and even then, it was a close call. And then we played them during the Inter-High in full sets, but we still lost in the end. I just hope that all the work they’ve put in over summer pays off, and I hope they don’t let him land any service aces, the cocky bastard.”

You enter the next room – how many rooms are there? The clown tilts their head slightly, like a puppy dog.

“The Aoba Johsai setter, Tooru Oikawa. He’s a complete jerk. At least the other teams we play are likeable, he’s like a movie villain – especially in the way he seems to exist just to annoy Kageyama.”

Their arm tenses, but you either don’t notice or you don’t care.

“He’s so full of himself – did you know he was almost late to their first game in the Inter-High because he was too busy flirting with his little fangirls. And that’s another thing! Who has fangirls as a high school athlete? No wonder he’s so self-centred, they’re just inflating his ego all the time. God! He thinks he’s the best person in the world, but he’s not; just because you can serve really well and set really well and spike really well doesn’t mean that you’re God’s gift to volleyball.”

They nod slowly. You’re almost through the last room – you can see the torn sign on the door that reads You Made It… Or Did You?

“He’s infuriating! He’s just so smug and you can just tell that he thinks he’s the smartest person ever – well, Tooru Oikawa, you aren’t a genius.” You’re surprised at how angry Oikawa makes you, but you’re thankful for the anger that thinking about him creates as your fear is basically non-existent at this point.

The clown shoves the door open with their left shoulder, holding it open for you to be able to slip out into the cold night air, which feels lovely against your warm skin.

They do another exaggerated bow, the balloon bobbing and blowing about in the breeze. They turn to go back into the house, back to their original room.

“Wait!” You’re surprised by the sudden force in your voice. The clown stops, and turns back towards you, tilting their head to the side in question. “Will you be at the preliminaries on Thursday?” A nod. “Come and find me and I’ll buy you a water for your trouble.”

You pause, watching them, waiting to see if they’ll reply. They don’t.

“Thank you. Truly, thank you, so much.” You let out a short laugh. “Who would’ve thought my saviour would be a murderous clown? Thank you once again, Hero Clown.”

The clown makes one final bow, the bell tinkling, and gives you a wave with a wiggle of their white-gloved fingers. Then, they turn for the last time and disappear back into the house.

“Where did you go?” Tsukki’s voice makes you turn around, and you see the three of them stood there watching you. Tsukki looks bored. Hinata isn’t wearing his jumper anymore.

“Where’s your jumper, ginger?” You ask, ignoring Tsukki’s question and walking over to meet them so you can begin your exit out of the park. He holds up a plastic bag that he didn’t have before.

“Hinata threw up on a scare actor.” Tsukki answers. “That means that next time Hinata can wait outside with Tadashi.”

On the twenty fifth of October, you stand inside the Sendai City Gym with the boys, cradling three of their water bottles against your chest. All of you are staring at the schedule as you wait for your first game – the game against Johzenji – to begin. Nishinoya sits on the floor in front of you as he stretches, before he yawns and holds his hand out for one of the bottles. You roll your eyes, unsurprised from his lack of a please.

Before you can pass him one, though, someone behind you grabs one of them from your hands, and you wheel around in shock to see Tooru Oikawa of Aoba Johsai drink half of the bottle in one go.

“What…is wrong with you?” You snap, snatching the bottle back from his hands. “Who do you think I am, your servant? I’m not one of your stupid little fangirls! Drink your own team’s water!”

He tilts his head with a smirk, but you can tell there’s something weird about it. Maybe it’s the way his eyes aren’t as bright as they normally are whenever he teases the opposition, maybe it’s how it’s more like a sneer than a smirk.

Nishinoya stands up, and you put your arm out to keep him at bay. You don’t need the feral chihuahua to back you up against Tooru Oikawa of all people.

“Don’t worry about it, Little Karasuno-chan. Your debt is paid.” Oikawa’s words are laced with… something.

“My debt? I don’t know what you’re on about, mister, so you’d better-”

The realisation slams into you like a truck going a hundred miles an hour.

“Come find me and I’ll buy you a bottle of water for your trouble.”

You feel your stomach drop.

Oh no.

[generallynerdy]

Allowing the thought to stay the trigger, the heart to register its trembling (Grey/Depa Billaba ft. Caleb Dume)

Summary: “I’m not worth it,” Grey hisses through their teeth. “Please. Depa, please—” Their general, their Jedi, only shakes her head, her grip on their shoulders a death sentence. “I will not leave you,” she says. “Fight the voice, Grey. Fight it.” They sob and some part of their brain burns with the knowledge that little brown eyes are watching from the corner of the room. They scream, pulling against their bonds and the twisting darkness in their head. “I can’t. I can’t—” Something that isn’t Grey crawls under their skin and it speaks, twisted, Dark. “Traitors.”

Warnings: Mind Control, Violent Thoughts, Serious Injuries, Blood and Violence, Eye Trauma (not graphic but described briefly), Vomiting (in like one sentence, emetophobia gang rise up), Angst Word Count: 2,275

Prompt: Angstpril Day 3 - “I can’t.”

Author’s Note: more suffering! Yay! I like to think this ended happily but this is Angstpril so I’m not writing it lol. Also, I discovered that Kanan’s eyes aren’t actually brown, at least according to Wookieepedia but frankly that’s stupid as fuck so. Brown-eyed Kanan. And nonbinary Grey because I am apparently not the only one who loves that concept! (Also, sorry for late posting! I was unable to finish this last night :/ hopefully I can finish day 4 today as well and catch up)

Read on AO3

*

Good soldiers follow orders.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Good soldiers follow orders.

It's an endless loop in the back of their mind, an itch they can't quite scratch. At the Order, it breaks free and turns to a screech, a ringing thought that echoes in their head so loudly it hurts. They don't even feel themselves pulling the trigger, shouting for their squad to follow.

But when they finally come to, underneath the monster that's stolen their face, it's because they're standing over him.

Caleb. 

Commander Caleb Dume. Jedi Padawan. Traitor.

Ad'ika, their heart cries as they lift their blaster. Their shaking hands have it levelled at the boy's face, right between his big brown, tear-filled eyes.

"Grey—Grey, what are you doing? What—?" His pleading words are nearly unintelligible between his panting breaths. When the cold metal touches his face, he sobs. “Don’t! Buir, don’t—don’t—please—”

Their cheeks are wet. Caleb sees it and only sobs harder, afraid to move for fear that they’ll pull the trigger. With their trembling hands, the likelihood of a misfire is high.

Inside their mind, Grey screams. They claw at the walls of their mental prison, leaving their fingertips bloodied and their throat hoarse from their agonizing howls. The cell won’t budge. The chip won’t give. They can’t get out. They can’t save their son.

But someone else can.

A robed figure flies out of nowhere, tackling Grey to the ground and sending their blasters into the air with a flick of their hand.

“Caleb, the blasters!”

Depa.

General Depa Billaba. Jedi High General. Traitor.

Depa. She hates it when I call her General.

She pins them to the ground and presses the calloused pads of her fingers against their temple. Something like grief crosses her face. “Sleep, Grey. Sleep.”

The chip fights, but they don’t. They like to think it helps bring the darkness faster.

*

“Master?”

Caleb’s voice trembles when he asks, taking a hesitant step forward. Depa is still on top of Grey, catching her breath and making sure they’re passed out. She shuts her eyes tightly, centering her conflicted presence. Her Padawan needs her and so does Grey. This is no time to grieve for the rest of their battalion.

(She tried to incapacitate rather than kill, but they’re still gone. The light that she used to associate with them has been snuffed out by a strangling darkness that burns.)

“It’s alright, Caleb, they’re unconscious,” she says, mustering what little strength she has left.

At her word, he rushes over, clinging to the sleeve of her robe.

Any other day, he’d be indignantly distant, trying to prove himself on the battlefield and make Depa proud. But right now he reeks of terror and uncertainty. And she feels the same.

Execute Order 66, the Chancellor had said.

And then everything had gone to hell. The clones had disappeared, replaced by darkness, and the Master-Padawan pair had barely made it out with their lives. Depa hasn’t even been able to process the wave of lights being snuffed out in the Force and she knows her Padawan hasn’t either; his connection with the Force feels brittle and broken. The Jedi are dying at the hands of their closest companions, at the order of the Chancellor of the Republic, and the two of them stand in the center of it all.

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” she admits quietly. She climbs off Grey and binds them with their own set of binders, something tight in her chest as she does. Then, she turns back to Caleb. “Are you alright? No injuries?”

He shakes his head and wipes at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “Just scrapes.” He glances at Grey. “That—That wasn’t Buir, was it? It felt...wrong.”

“Very wrong,” she agrees. “I don’t know what it was, but the Chancellor triggered it. We need to get off the planet.”

“Are we...going back to the Temple?”

Depa visibly hesitates. His face falls and he knows in his heart that they aren’t. Even if they did, there would probably be nothing and no one left.

“It isn’t safe. We need to lay low for a while and figure out how to save Grey,” she tells him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Caleb, look at me.”

He does and she smiles a little.

Even now, in what must be the worst moment of his short life, he’s ready to listen. He’s ready to do what he needs to.

She kneels down to meet his height, holding his head in her capable hands. “You will survive this,” she says like it’s a promise. She can’t say the same of her or Grey or anyone else they know, but she can promise that Caleb will live. Because she will die to see it through. “You will. Do you understand?”

Despite the fear in his eyes, he nods.

“Good.”

Depa allows herself a moment to breathe, but no longer.

“Now, we need a way out of here.”

*

Grey wakes to the buzzing of a ship and panics. The last they remember, they were on the surface of the planet, with Depa and Caleb and- oh, Force. Oh, fuck.

Did they attack them? Did they hold a gun to Caleb's head?

Their own is throbbing, something clearly wrong. Chills go down their spine as they sit up, finding their wrists held together by their own binders. They're on the floor of a cargo bay, in an unfamiliar ship, but familiar voices echo from down the hall.

"Master, they're awake!" calls Caleb after poking his head in.

He may not be showing it, or trying not to, but Grey can see the fear in his furrowed eyebrows.

He's afraid of them.

They feel nauseous at the realisation.

"Caleb—" they try to say. Their voice is hoarse.

Depa appears from the hall, a glass of water in her hand. She crosses to Grey, motioning for her Padawan to stay by the door, which he does without question. Kneeling before her commander, her lover, she examines their face. They can feel her prodding at them gently in the Force. She's trying to decide whether they're friend or foe right now.

“Are you with us, Grey?”

They hesitate, but eventually nod. “I think so.”

With a small smile, Depa helps them drink the water, but pulls it away quickly when it’s finished. She’s cautious and rightfully so, Grey thinks when they feel something in their head tug.

They must visibly flinch, because so does Caleb.

“Tell me what’s happening,” their general murmurs, putting a hand on their knee.

Shutting their eyes fiercely, they take a long moment to answer. “It’s—It’s hard to fight. It wants me to...to kill the trai-traitors,” they gasp out, finding the unknown force stronger when they speak that word. They open their eyes, horrified. “Shit.”

“You’re alright.” She takes their hand and starts tracing patterns. “Can you tell where it’s coming from?”

“No, but...kark, my head hurts. My head. I think.”

“Stay still,” she warns.

She runs a hand up their temple, her eyes shut in concentration. The Force prods gently at their mind and, when it finds the offending area, something burns. Grey cries out and Depa stops in an instant, pulling back with a fearful look.

“There’s—” Glancing back at her Padawan, she takes a steadying breath. “I believe there’s something in your head that doesn’t belong, Grey. Something physical, but it’s very dark in the Force.”

“Can we get it out?” Caleb asks, his voice smaller than he is, which is saying something.

She stands, frowning. “I don’t know. I’ll set a course for—”

Grey’s face twists as the thing inside their head roars to life. “Don’t—” they manage to growl out.

There’s a lot they can’t explain to Depa in that moment. For one thing, they’d like to tell her that if the Chancellor activated the thing in their brain, he might very well be able to track them or hear their conversations through it. For another, it’s quite possible that if Dark Grey—yes, they’re calling the evil thing in their head by that now—overtakes Light Grey—Cody would be rolling on the floor now. Is Cody alive? Is his general alive?—they might just straight up contact the enemy.

Even though they can’t explain all that, their beloved Depa Billaba stops instantly, her eyes shining with understanding.

“—somewhere we can lay low and find a doctor,” she finishes instead.

Dark Grey shoves, pushes for more information. It stabs at Grey, a physical pain that makes them hiss. Out of their control, they speak.

“Good soldiers follow orders.”

It makes Depa frown. She examines their face, watching as it shifts into something so unlike them it’s sickening.

“Good soldiers follow orders,” they snap again, like a mantra.

Dark Grey does not appreciate their plan.

Grey finally gets a hold of themself, dragging themself into consciousness with a heavy breath. When they look up at Depa, their gaze is determined.

“You need to leave me.”

“No!” cries Caleb fiercely.

Depa holds up a hand. “Caleb,” she warns, a reminder to mind his emotions.

He falls silent, watching his Master and his buir with something akin to horrified bafflement. Force, Grey has never seen him so openly terrified. Ever since he joined their little family, he’s been nothing but brave.

“I’m a liability and a threat,” they say, turning their attention back to Depa. “It’ll be easier to go without me.”

“We won’t leave you behind.”

They frown at her, lowering their voice. “He can’t die because of me.”

She doesn’t dare glance at Caleb, doesn’t dare give their worries away to the boy, who already has the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders. “It won’t come down to that.”

“And neither can you,” they add firmly. 

Depa’s expression tells them all they need to know. That’s one thing she can’t promise.

“He needs you.”

She huffs a rueful laugh. “So do you.”

If they could, they’d reach out to hold the back of her neck and keep her close.

Hold her neck and break it.

Grey flinches back. “No—”

“Tell me what it’s saying,” she encourages, reaching for them.

An agonizing pain rips through their skull, eliciting a scream. Despite the binders on their wrists, they claw at their scalp. The thought crosses Depa’s mind that she should stop them, but she doesn’t get the chance.

They drop their hands and gaze up at her with tearful eyes.

“I’m not worth it,” Grey hisses through their teeth. “Please. Depa, please—” 

Their general, their Jedi, only shakes her head, her grip on their shoulders a death sentence. “I will not leave you,” she says. “Fight the voice, Grey. Fight it.” 

They sob and some part of their brain burns with the knowledge that little brown eyes are watching from the corner of the room. They scream, pulling against their bonds and the twisting darkness in their head. “I can’t. I can’t—” 

Something that isn’t Grey crawls under their skin and it speaks, twisted, Dark. 

“Traitors.”

They lurch forward. Depa thinks they’re collapsing, but Dark Grey has other plans. They involve the vibroblade tucked into her boot, which is now in reach.

She never liked weapons that weren’t kyber-powered, lightsabers and lightsaber rifles in particular, but after a Separatist assassin nearly suffocated Grey right next to her, she became paranoid. Working through her fear was difficult, so her partner thought having a weapon under her pillow might put her at ease. For the most part, it worked. No one knew of its existence except Grey and she preferred it that way.

And now, CC-10/994 turns that trust against her.

With a fierce yell, he barrels into the Jedi traitor, ripping the vibroblade from its hiding place as she goes flying.

“Master!”

Before the other traitor can react, CC-10/994 flips the first over his shoulder, slamming her into the wall. Then, he flies at the smaller target, vibroblade tightly grasped.

The Jedi yelps and ducks his flurry of blows.

“Grey, snap out of it!” he says desperately.

CC-10/994 doesn’t flinch and leaps forward again.

“Buir! Buir, it’s me, Caleb!”

A single slash of the vibroblade has the traitor shrieking, falling back with an arm over his face. Before CC-10/994 can attack again, the Jedi Padawan throws out a hand, sending him soaring across the room. He slams into the wall with a vicious crack, all the air pushed from his lungs in an instant. For a split second, Grey rises again, ready to fight themself off, but it’s unnecessary.

Depa is there, shoving them into the cargo bay’s cell, ripping the vibroblade away, and locking the door behind them.

Grey collapses inside, gasping for breath and trembling as they stare at their own hands in horror. Blood stains their gloves. The sight makes them nauseous, so they tug the gloves off and throw them to the other side of the cell, desperate to get away.

It’s Caleb’s howl that makes them look up.

Depa is at his side in an instant but not fast enough. He pulls his sleeve away from his face and—

Grey throws up that time, into the corner of the cell.

Their blow struck true, slashing Caleb’s face from his right temple to the bridge of his nose. It’s a deep cut, one that goes into his right eye and bleeds profusely. The other eye, untouched, is blinded by tears.

“I can’t see,” he sobs, reaching for his Master, who reaches back. “I can’t—Master, I can’t—”

CC-10/994 lifts his head and smiles.

“Death to the traitors,” he spits. “Glory to the Empire.”

*

(Dark Grey uses he/him because Dark Grey follows orders, including gender assignments.)

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

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