#and i understand there are some cases where the symptoms are so Out There that it is noticible but it’s still up to the person suffering to

[biteofcherry]

Viper's snare

naga!Lloyd Hansen x female reader

summary: You doubted any of the people visiting Scaretale did it because of their anxiety. There was therapeutic exposition and then there was this mad stupidity to serve yourself on a platter for brutal monsters to consume.

warnings: naga!Lloyd; dark!Lloyd; monsterfucking, but no bestiality; heavy dub-con; bondage (of snake tail sorts); constriction; snake venom causing paralysis; oral (f receiving); two cocks; double penetration; cockwarming; unprotected sex; smidge of degradation; praise; symptoms of anxiety;

word count: 4.3k

Author’s Note: I thought I wouldn't write anything more hot and monstrous than Ari or Steve in the Scaretale universe, but Lloyd took me by complete surprise 😳I was not prepared for him. And you are definitely not prepared for him, either. Rip all our holes.

You paused right on the steps of the Scaretale. Breathe in. One, two, three, four. Hold it. One, two, three, four. Breathe out. One, two, three, four. Hold it. One, two, three, four. 

Feeling a little bit anxious before entering a club full of various monsters was completely normal and understandable, you told yourself. You had no idea what exactly awaited, how many there would be, how big and scary. 

It was a success you made it this far without cowering and running back home. But you were determined. Scared, but determined. 

Or maybe you were just fed up with the constant disappointment and judgment you got from most human men. You didn’t want to generalize, your dad was good and understanding, but the guys you dated (so definitely your father didn’t count in that pool) let you down in that one, vulnerable aspect. 

You would maybe get it, if you had some hardcore kinks they were too scared to fulfill. That wasn’t the case, however.

Honestly, you were pretty boring and average in that department. You liked missionary. You liked cockwarming; oh, did that count as kink? You didn’t think so. Prone bone was great, too. 

Any position where the partner would crush you down. 

If it was limited only to sex, maybe your exes would roll with it and never withdraw. The thing was, that need stretched beyond only sexual encounters. 

Your therapist said that you had the mental brain part of anxiety reined in - you learned and used all the techniques, you bravely disconnected from using cognitive avoidance strategies, you understood your anxiety and even chilled out with the bitch. However, there was also the biochemical part of the brain responsible for that reaction. 

It was that messy chemistry in your brain, which sometimes made your body shake and feel too tense. Being tightly held was the instant relief. 

Which is why you loved your weighted blanket; why you slept wrapped in a duvet like a burrito; why you wanted your partners to hold you so tight they could suffocate you. That exact part appeared to be a burden worse to bear than if you asked them to slap you around. Because you didn’t just need a sweet cuddle. You wanted that hold to be really, really tight. 

Despair, or maybe it was logical thinking, led you to the Scaretale. If human men couldn’t provide you what you needed, maybe a huge, muscly monster would. With the size and mass of some of them, perhaps their regular hug was the vice you needed to feel. 

But it was still scary, entering the mysterious club. Would you find yourself disappointed, if only some gentle fae was interested in you? Then again, maybe they had better drugs, which would help instead of deadly cuddling. 

The composition of softest sounds that greeted you upon entering, was a surprise. A combination of very hushed tones, melodic tinkling of glasses, an echo of Pan’s flute hanging in the air. It reminded you of the ambient music you often listened to. 

The club was filled with dimmed, glowing light. Jewel tones on the walls, floor and ceiling felt like an expensive, cozy duvet. It would appear one of the most comforting of spaces, if not for the chill that crept beneath your skin. Usually you’d blame it on your anxiety, but there was something more to the sensation now. As if your instincts weren’t just exaggerating, instead awakening a very primal self-preservation mode. 

The space felt safe, but what awaited you wasn’t. 

Swallowing nervously, you wrapped your arms around yourself and looked around. A few curious gazes were taking in your form, but they weren’t the ones who tickled your survival instinct. 

You’d still be wary around that charmingly smiling merman - who had his human form on, but you recognized his species by the pointy ears, a shimmer of delicate scales framing his cheekbones, and a necklace of seashells and amber. He had the looks of a handsome, sweet guy you’d meet-cute in a grocery store, or a library, but who’d sweep you into the depths of his secluded cave and devour you. Maybe even literally. 

Though his gaze followed you as you stepped through the club, it wasn’t his attention that started that quivering in your fingers. To be honest, you were becoming really scared of finding out who caused that. 

There was therapeutic exposition and then there was this mad stupidity to serve yourself on a platter for brutal monsters to consume. 

Deciding it was the peak of your bravery, you promptly turned on your heel to run away from this place. But there was no door to exit through. 

Or maybe they moved somewhere, because all you had in front of you was a round alcove lit up with drops of glowing light so unlike the rest of the lamps in the Scaretale. Not a soft yellow, but almost red. Like heating lamps. 

There was no booth, or a sofa, or chairs, but pillows upon pillows upon pillows. On which rested a shimmering black coil of enormous reptilian tale. 

Its very tip was easily the size of your forearm. As it stretched upwards the size of it thickened, surpassing the size of human hips. Where said hips should be, the curve of the snake’s tale gradually transformed into a male’s belly and chest. His abdominal muscles were so well defined; his biceps were thick and big, too, even as he had his arms lazily spread on the pile of pillows. 

He was a naga, you realized. 

While most naga were said to have green or gold coloring of their tails, this one had black. Though each scale seemed to have an iridescent effect, fascinating the gaze with a dark rainbow of colors catching light. 

Your eyes slowly moved over his terrifying form. You were so damn scared of snakes! 

It was that fear freezing you in place that held you captive. At least at first, before your eyes finally reached the monster’s face.

He was handsome. In a lethal kind of way. Mustache was never a feature you found attractive, but on him it looked good. Sinister, but good. Hair on the sides of his head were cropped short, but the middle part was a coif of silky dark strands. 

Then there were his eyes. An opalescent kind of dark blue. With the black pupil in a reptilian vertical shape. 

That pupil seemed to widen for a split of a second, before narrowing and your own gaze felt somehow caught by it. You were unable to move your gaze away. Time seemed to slow down, reality around you melted away. But it was still just a second. One that stretched into eternity as you stayed mesmerized by the naga, but which was enough for his ultra fast moves. 

His tail snapped towards you, coiling around your legs and snatching you forward to him. 

A scream left your lips, but no one in the club reacted. 

He drew you into the alcove, weaving his thick tail around your body; including trapping your arms at your sides. You felt warmth seeping into your skin, relaxing and comforting your muscles. Was it from the heating lamps glowing above, or from his proximity, you weren’t sure. 

“Please, let me go.” Your voice wavered on a hushed whisper. 

“Shh.” He cooed, tightening his snare. “It’s okay, little mouse. I saw you trembling with fear and just wanted to help. Give you a reassuring hug, you see.” 

His sympathy was a wicked mockery, but there was something more terrifying to it - the unexpected realization that his hold around your body was actually providing said reassurance. 

You were scared of him, of how he could hurt you, but that shivering your brain tended to induce was subsiding faster than when you snuggled under your weighted blanket. 

“Such a pretty thing.” He mused, tightening and releasing the muscles in his tail which gave you a sensation of it rubbing against your body. “What’s your name, Mousekin?” 

You answered, looking up at him with teary eyes; pleading for him to release you. He didn’t seem to be interested in even acknowledging that issue. Holding you still in his crushing grip, he reached his hand to caress your cheek.

“Lovely. I’m Lloyd.” He introduced himself. “Seems to me like you’re a woman who enjoys a good cuddle.” As if to emphasize that, he squeezed you tighter, almost constricting your lungs for a brief moment. “Ain’t that just perfect that I enjoy it, too?” 

His eyes sparked with dark mischief, his lips curving in a sinister smirk. 

Your cuddling preferences and his weren’t on the same spectrum, far from it. Yet the strength with which he crushed your fragile body gave you that sense of safety and comfort, after which your body so often longed like a drug addict in withdrawal. 

“I don’t-” you wanted to politely excuse yourself from the situation, because as much as your body liked the feeling of being held tightly, you knew it wasn’t safe for you to let it unfold further.

“Why don’t I help you relax more, huh?” Lloyd spoke, as if you didn’t utter a single word. 

His hand, which stroked your cheek, moved to cup your chin. His grip tightened, rending your face immobile. With his thumb and forefinger he pressed on a particular spot in your jaw, forcing you to open your mouth. 

With eyes widening in fear, you watched him lean closer. His lips parted and white, shiny teeth appeared. One of his teeth elongated and a drop of shiny, golden liquid gathered on its tip. 

Some snakes were venomous. Was he going to kill you?

Lloyd pressed his lips to yours; not kissing you. Your mouth tingled where his touched it, but otherwise there was no sensation. Until that drop from his fang fell down onto your tongue. The substance coated your appendage with burning sweetness. That sensation spread rapidly, taking over your whole body from the inside. 

He pulled back, with a grin observing as realization dawned on you. It wasn’t visible on your face alone, since all your muscles deliciously relaxed, but your beautiful, big eyes shone in fear. 

His venom paralyzed you. Only the muscles which could get in his way, before he managed to break you into sweetly compliant. Some day in the future he won’t need to drug you to have you boneless and accepting of whatever he did to your body. 

“There you go,” he cooed, running his hands down your limp arms. “All soft and lax. And so warm from within, ain’t you, my cute Mousekin?” 

You felt that burning effect of venom melt into heat that spread through each of your limbs, filling your abdomen with tingling warmth. Your pussy fluttered, wetting slightly as the neurotoxin messed with your brain. 

“Let’s help you out of those unnecessary constrictions.” Lloyd hummed so sweetly, turning his actions into more sick and twisted as he started unbuttoning your flowery dress. 

You wanted to protest, but your throat was able to produce only a tiny, barely audible whimper. Your tongue laid unmoving. You couldn’t move a single part of your body, though you felt it responding to Lloyd’s ministrations. 

Your nipples hardened when he exposed your breasts and a gust of air grazed them. The way his eyes were greedily mapping out every inch of your body pooled more wetness between your thighs. 

He eased the grip of his tail only enough to peel your dress away. Then the scales brushed against your naked skin, evoking a completely new sensation that zapped through your pliant body; straight to your clit. 

“What a stunning, sweet Mousekin I have caught.” Lloyd sighed in not-entirely-fake admiration, as he took your naked form in. 

“Let me take a good look all over.” Something darker flashed in his eyes and his tail coiled around you tighter. Then your body was being lifted off the floor. 

Holding you in the air, Lloyd drew your body closer to his torso. His tail shifted, more of it winding around your upper body, while leaving your bottom half exposed. Your legs were limp, they parted so easily when he used his hands to grip below your knees and spread them wide. 

“Ohh,” he licked his lips hungrily, “such a moist, tasty snack.” 

He brought his mouth near your center, scenting along the juncture of your thigh first. Then his tongue flicked out; longer than human and forked at the end. 

A cry wanted to rip out of your lungs, but stayed buried within, when Lloyd swiped his tongue between your folds. If not for the paralysis, your entire body would violently shake in response to the surge of pleasure. 

When he flicked the tip of his tongue against your clit, you felt the jolt bring tears to your eyes. Most overwhelming, happy tears. Because his forked tongue teased both sides of your swollen pearl at once, providing a stimulation nothing else ever came close to. 

Slick poured out of you in a thankful gush. Which Lloyd greeted with a chuckle, then smashed your brain into a pulp slithering his tongue into your dripping hole. 

It was softer than any toy, or finger, but moved with a maddening wiggle. 

Your pussy spasmed. Perhaps, it was for the best that your vocal cords were switched off for the moment, because the sounds you would make from that stimulation had to be inhuman.

“Delicious.” Lloyd licked his lips lewdly as he slowly lowered your body down. 

Inwardly, you felt as if your body was twitching, edged with unbearable pleasure; though you were aware not a single finger of yours moved, still under the influence of his venom. 

Holding your legs wide apart, Lloyd moved your pelvis back and forth against the thickest part of his tail. Right where you’d expect… 

Air stuck in your lungs, a strangled sound bubbling out of your open mouth when you felt a defined hardness slipping between your folds. You haven’t seen his cock before when you looked over his body, but the shape of it pressing into your most intimate part was unmistakable. 

There was just one thing not right about it. 

Because you felt the thick, veiny length spreading your folds to rub against your clit, but also felt the same shape nudged between your buttocks. 

“Ah!” Lloyd tutted, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re not familiar with naga’s anatomy, Mousekin.” 

He traced the outline of your lips with his fingertips. Your tongue could now move a tiny bit, only minimally, and it responded when his fingers slid into your mouth. Just a twitch. Lloyd tugged on it gently, drawing your tongue out to rest on your bottom lip. Saliva pooled down it, slowly dripping onto your chin, then lower still: onto your chest and Lloyd’s tail. 

“We-” his warm breath puffed against your open mouth- “have-” his tongue flicked against yours- “two-” he rocked you against his hardness- “cocks.”

Your pupils widened. More drool dribbled out of your mouth as garbled sounds bounced against the roof of your mouth. That’s why he was so obscenely grinding you back and forth against him, so that your slick coated two dicks.

“Exciting, right?” Lloyd chuckled; his tail increased its constricting pressure on your body. 

“Two cocks for your two, tight holes.” 

Slowly, he pulled you down. 

The strength in his tail was beyond what you could physically fight even if you had the full mobility of your body, so it held you down easily. Lloyd’s big hands dug into the soft meat of your thighs. His own muscles constricted as he rutted up into you, forcing his cocks into your holes. 

Your pussy opened easier, though it was still a stretch considering his girth. Your rim resisted, but Lloyd was merciless. A choked cry vibrated in your throat when his dick breached in.   

He didn’t pause once, continuing a firm stroke. Shamelessly, Lloyd groaned out loud his pleasure as he filled you. His sounds were nearly pornographic the deeper he went and the more your walls struggled. 

When he bottomed out, he moaned, tilting his head back. Veins on his neck throbbed. As did the cocks inside of you. 

“So good, Mousekin.” He praised, returning his gaze to you. “You’re so hot and tight around me. Just like we both like the most.”

His tail slithered around your torso, giving you a tighter squeeze. You hated how much your body enjoyed the constriction. You were overwhelmed with being impaled, stretched and filled; being taken against your consent; but you still felt comfort and safety in the way he was holding you. 

“You’re a perfect cocksleeve,” Lloyd cupped your face with both hands and leaned in.

With your tongue poking out and muscles still mostly numbed, you couldn’t respond to his obscene kiss. But you felt your lips tingling and your tongue twitching as Lloyd’s forked one swiped against it, before plunging into your mouth. 

When he withdrew, more of your saliva dropped down onto your torso. Where your breasts swell with arousal, heavy roundness resting atop the snake’s tail that weaved around your ribs.

Lloyd’s fingers danced down the column of your neck and lower. He smeared around trickles of your saliva, rubbed it into your stiffened nipples, then pinched. Your walls clenched in response.

“I’m going to get addicted to the way your walls hug me.” He groaned in delight. “Will have you cockwarming me for hours, mousekin. Keep you tied to me, so that your fragile, anxious body can fully relax and focus on being filled.”

You hated how right he was. For the past long minutes not once has your mind ignited with fear of being killed, or maimed, but all the focus was on basic primal sensations. How intense, but good it was to feel him deep inside of you. How lax and lazy your usually tense body was. 

“Let’s use you whole, my little cocksleeve,” Lloyd hummed and his tail brushed against your naked skin as he stretched his coil further. 

His tail moved up around you, weaving around your shoulders and the back of your head. Until the very tip tapped your cheek. 

Then it slid right against your open mouth. 

It was too wide to force itself into your mouth, but Lloyd stroked it back and forth over your tongue that was sticking out. 

At the same time, his hands slid up your thighs. With his thumbs, he brushed your parted, swollen folds. Touched you where one of his cocks speared into your cunt. Then his thumbs pressed on both sides of your clit and your insides constricted. 

Garbled sounds bubbled in your throat, gaining in vibration as venom slowly lost its power. Lloyd’s tail moved vigorously, in contrast to the unmoving cocks snug deep inside you. His thumbs rolled across your clit - left, then right, then left again. When he pinched your nub, your arousal peaked and snapped.

A long, faint whine reverberated against the tail resting across your tongue. Your pussy and ass squeezed tightly, making Lloyd groan. 

“ ‘Atta girl,” he praised softly, still teasing your pulsing pearl with a featherlike touch, prolonging the aftershocks. 

Tip of his tail eased down, dropping across your chest where it rested between your breasts. Your mouth was wet, saliva smeared all over your cheeks and chin. But you were finally able to move your tongue, drawing it back inside your mouth. You swallowed and then let out a ragged breath, your voice croaked. 

You were still unable to move, though you could curl your toes and wiggle your fingers a bit. Then again, the naga’s tail was still firmly wrapped around you, holding you in place as he filled you. 

Heart pounded in your chest. Not out of fear, but from the rush of orgasm and the growing hunger for another one. 

Your body, the betraying bitch, liked how Lloyd made it relax. 

Through heavy eyelids, you peeked at Lloyd. He eased his upper body back, resting against the pile of soft pillows. Arms once again thrown broadly to the sides, a nonchalant prick. With a smug smirk curving beneath his mustache, he watched your body straddling him. He enjoyed every fucking detail about the display - his black tail around you, slivers of your skin peeking between the coils, your breasts shiny with your drool, your thighs spread so wide that your pussy was fully exposed and he could see his cock disappear into your tight hole. 

You stayed like that for long minutes: your body still fully at his mercy, slowly regaining the ability to move and speak. There was no further stimulation as Lloyd simply stared at you and basked in the way your walls enveloped him in your heat. 

Cockwarming for hours, he said. It appeared he meant that literally. 

A part of you melted into the idea. There was something comforting, completely void of anxiety, to be filled and held and not caring about anything else. 

There was another part, too. A primal, needy part, as overactive as your anxiety-prone brain parts. It grew a little restless, itching to be brought to that edge again and promptly tipped over. 

Dam it, you wanted another orgasm. 

“P-please,” your voice was still weak, but you managed to whisper. 

“What do you need, mousekin?” Lloyd asked, though the way his smirk broadened into a grin, he knew damn well what your body craved. 

You wanted to blurt out that you needed him to let you go, that you wanted to go home. You came to the Scaretale with some not well thought through fantasies of finding a nice monster, who would hug you tight and could become a future partner. You weren’t prepared for the evil turn of events and being ensnared by a deviant naga. 

Who hugged your body better than any weighted blanket, but breached any boundary and used you for his pleasure. 

“Home-” you dared to beg, hoping to hear (even if he laughed first) that you would be allowed to return home after he was satisfied with your holes warming him. 

“Aww, sunshine.” Lloyd cooed, resting his hands on your knees and giving a soothing squeeze. “We’ll go home soon enough.”

You jerked in his hold as a terrifying realization dawned on you. He would never let you back to your own place. He wanted to keep you. You shook your head as much as you could, which wasn’t much. 

“You’ll like it, mousekin.” He continued. “It’s so warm. In a very sunny area. A classy stone finish, so that so many surfaces gather heat and are pleasant to rest on. And I own the lands around it, so it’s quiet and void of any unnecessary stimuli.” 

He let out a dark chuckle, drawing his hands higher up your thighs.

“But you’ll get all the stimulation from me, mousekin.” 

His tail gripped you tighter anew, making your breath hitch in your lungs as he constricted your ribs. He pulled you up slightly; his cocks dragging along your fluttering walls. Then he pushed you back down, bottoming out again. 

He grinned as you mewled. 

“That’s a good cocksleeve.” He gradually increased the pace. “Sheathing my cocks so perfectly. So warm and wet and fucking tight.” 

“You’ll take my cum so well, too.” Lloyd’s voice turned raspy, his own need growing urgent as he fucked you harder. “You’ll love it, mousekin. It will feel so burning hot and tingling.”

“When I fuck you on our stone patio, you’ll be warmed by the sun and by my cum filling your belly.”

He laughed when your body responded with an unexpected orgasm. It was building from the friction and his dirty words, but the way it suddenly burst was a screaming surprise, which you couldn’t fight off. 

One more orgasm rocked your body (which finally got to twitch and jerk in its full capacity; well, as much of it as the naga’s tail wrapped around you allowed), before Lloyd shamelessly shouted out his own release and spilled inside you.

He held you still as his cocks throbbed, pumping spurt after spurt of cum. Your gasp transformed into an almost pained moan as you felt that burning hot sensation fill your orifices. Just like he mentioned, his cum was hot and carried that tingling, almost numbing feature his venom had. 

You didn’t feel any paralysis, even partial, taking over. Yet your body sagged in most pleasant comfort; like when after a long, exhausting day you got to take a hot shower and then snuggle under fresh, clean sheets.  

Though this was more lewd and soiled. 

Your breath was heavy. Every few seconds your lips parted on a short moan as you felt that pulsing heat flooding your belly. 

The tail around you loosened its grip, slowly weaving down. He let go of you fully, resting the heavy, lower half of his body on the pillows below. Still, you didn’t move from where you were straddling his hips. You didn’t even attempt to.

Because it felt too fucking good, how completely boneless and brain-dead you were. 

“Good girl, mousekin.” Lloyd praised as you braced your hands on his chest and leaned down to rest your cheek against his sternum. 

You didn’t move your hips, keeping his cocks nestled in your pussy and ass. 

“What a perfect, sweet cocksleeve,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around your back and simply holding your spent body to him. Tightly, just as you liked.

“Don’t worry,” he kissed the top of your head, “we’ll get rid of those anxious thoughts of your silly human life when they resurface. I’ll fuck it right out of you. Until you fully settle in your role as my heated sheath. My little cockwarmer.” 

[uncanny-tranny]

I think it would really benefit people to internalize that mental illnesses are often chronic and not acute. Some of us will never be able to jump the hurdle of managing illness, much less sustaining a sense of normalcy. Many of us will never "recover," will never manage symptoms, will never even come close to appearing normal - and this is for any condition, even the ones labeled as "simple" disorders or "easy-to-manage" disorders.

It isn't a failure if you cannot manage your symptoms. It isn't a moral failure, and you aren't an awful person. You are human. There's only so much you can do before recognizing that you cannot lift the world. Give yourself the space to be ill because, functionally, you are.

[c-nan]

a lot of people don’t like to hear this, but like..if you need help, if you need anything you have got to ask for it. no matter how much you think your struggling is visible and how much you think people should just be able to see and reach out..they won’t, they don’t see, they don’t know what’s going on and you can’t expect them to be able to read your mind and know exactly what’s going on/what to do to help. it’s up to you. it’s YOUR responsibility to both want to get help and actively try and get it. no one is going to help you if they don’t know you need the help in the first place and it’s not fair to get angry at them for not knowing

[whimseee]

most frustrating thing is when people perceive you incorrectly and you can’t correct them at all

[collaredsoldat]

Shower Suds.

summary: You give Soldat his first bath out of captivity.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Non-sexual nudity | Mentions of scars and injuries | Self-Harm mention | Post!HTP and abuse | PTSD symptoms & behavior

a/n: This wasn't supposed to be so long, but somehow it always happens when I write about him. Something sorta comforting with some recovery thrown in there. Unedited because I worked on this for so long lol ignore mistakes please! ;; wc: 5.8k

Filthy. You felt bad, really.

There was a lot of problems to tackle with Soldat's condition, but first thing's first...the soldier needed a bath. Badly.

He was dirty, his hair knotted, matted, greasy, his skin was covered in sweat and dirt, probably blood under the black uniform he still wore. The poor man stunk, and he didn't seem to even notice. Or care.

You found yourself in a bit of a hard situation, unsure of the best approach to cleanse him. A bath seemed problematic; he would essentially be marinating in his own grime, which was far from ideal. Would he sit for that long? Would he fight you? You weren't entirely positive.

On the other hand, a shower presented its own set of challenges. Your observations over the past days had revealed his struggle with prolonged standing. He didn't seem to want to stand for very long and often sat or laid down when he could. The majority of his time was spent either huddled in the furthest corner of the room or barricaded within the confines of the small closet, as if seeking refuge from an unseen threat.

As you mulled over the options, weighing the pros and cons of each, you ultimately figured a shower would be better in terms of cleanliness…if anything, you could have him sit in the bottom of the tub. Better than sitting in dirty water with the increased possibility of infection.

But there was one problem. How the hell would you get him into the bathroom in the first place?

You took a breath in, preparing for the worst, and went to the room he stayed in. It was the spare room in your apartment you barely used, but had been furnished as a bedroom in case someone you knew needed a place for a night or something. Not that you ever figured your friends would want to stay with you, you didn't have many to begin with. When you came in, your eyes scanned the room until they landed on him, spotting him huddled up in the corner like expected.

He didn't look up at you when you walked in, his gaze fixed downward and obscured by the curtain of his long, unkempt hair. The stillness that enveloped him was almost unnerving. Only when you took a few steps closer did he react, his head snapping up at you. His eyes bright blue against the dark, messy ink that surrounded them, like he tried to smudge off the black paint but failed.

You took another step forward, your movements slow and deliberate. You could see the change in his demeanor immediately with your approach, even as careful as it was; his breathing became more rapid and shallow, his chest rising and falling at an accelerated pace like he was preparing to be harmed.

"It's okay," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hand extended slightly, palm open to try to soothe him. Carefully, you lowered yourself to his level, bending your knees until you were crouching before him. This position, you hoped, would make you appear less imposing and more approachable.

In the few days he had been in your care, you had begun to discern patterns in his behavior, learning to recognize the subtle cues that indicated his comfort level. You had started to understand which actions he perceived as threatening and which ones helped him feel more at ease. It was a delicate balance, one that required patience and constant observation, but you were determined to create an environment where he could begin to feel safe and secure.

"I think...a bath sounds nice. Doesn't it?" You asked him softly, smiling slightly to show you weren't intending to do any sort of harm. "It will feel good to clean off all that dirt...nice and warm water too...you've been shivering." You noted how cold he appeared to be, he was still latched in his cold clothes from when you found him. You were surprised the uniform kept in water.

He remained motionless, prompting you to reluctantly take a step backwards to leave him alone, you’d try later. As you turned away, the faint sound of movement caught your attention. Glancing back, you saw the soldier had risen to his feet, his eyes fixed upon you with an air of expectancy. "Would you like to come and shower?" you inquired, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Да." His voice was a harsh, grating sound, reminiscent of shattered glass scraping against parched earth. It was as though he hadn't uttered a word or tasted a drop of water in an eternity. Despite the brevity and roughness of his reply, it carried a weight of affirmation. You found yourself oddly relieved by this simple acknowledgment. It wasn't much, but in that moment, it felt like a significant step forward. The fact that he had agreed seemed like a small victory.

You had him in the bathroom. That was a good thing.

You pivoted slowly to face him, your gaze carefully scanning his imposing figure. For behaving so meekly, he was an intimidating body to be this close to. Your eyes meticulously traced the contours of his suit, lingering on the intricate array of tactical belts and buckles that adorned his outfit. Each piece seemed to serve a specific purpose, hinting at the dangerous nature of his profession. Your hand tentatively reached out, fingers trembling slightly as they approached one of the sturdy buckles.

Your action was met with an immediate and startling response from the soldier. His metal hand shot up with inhuman speed, grasping your wrist tightly, the cold metal a stark contrast to your warm skin. His hold was firm and unyielding, like a vice grip, yet it wasn't painful.

As his hand clasped around your wrist, his entire body tensed, transforming into a living statue. You couldn't help but flinch slightly at the abruptness of his reaction, your body instinctively recoiling even as his grip held you in place.

"I-It's okay, I promise," you managed to say, your voice deliberately calm and steady to avoid startling him further. You took a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. "I'm just going to help you undress for the shower... I promise I won't hurt you or do anything you're not comfortable with. We're just getting you cleaned up, that's all."

Your words didn't seem to have much effect at first. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and his jaw flexed with tension. You remained patient, maintaining a soothing tone and open body language. "Take all the time you need," you added softly. "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. It’s just you and me." His eyes scanned you intently, searching for any hint of deception or ill intent. You met his gaze steadily, allowing him to see the sincerity in your eyes. After what felt like an eternity, his grip on your wrist slowly loosened until he finally released you completely.

Second time's the charm. You reached out with steady hands, your fingers finding the first buckle on his tactical suit. With careful precision, you unfastened it, the metallic click echoing softly in the bathroom. Then, you moved to the next one, and the next, methodically working your way through each fastening. The process was slow but deliberate, each buckle giving way under your patient touch until, finally, the last one came undone. You paused, surveying your handiwork as the suit lay open, no longer confining him.

With the buckles undone, your attention turned to the decked out belt encircling his hips. You grasped the front, feeling the sturdy material beneath your fingers. You pulled the belt free from the thick buckle, the black leather sliding smoothly through the loops. As you removed the belt, you took care to lay it gently on the floor beside you, the heavy belt colliding with the tile was bound to make him jump and you didn’t want that.

The belt now removed, you returned your focus to the suit itself. Your hands found the straps, and you began to loosen them, pulling them out slowly and methodically. His uniform reminded you of a rehashed straight jacket, the uniform nearly acting just as one. When the tight suit gradually relinquished its grip, you noticed an immediate change in the soldier’s demeanor. The restrictive pressure eased, and you could see his chest rise and fall more freely. It was as if a weight had been lifted, allowing him to breathe deeply for the first time in who knows how long.

You watched, a mix of concern and relief washing over you, as he took in several deep breaths. The realization hit you then, a jolt of disbelief and worry. The suit had been so constricting that it had barely allowed him to breathe properly. The thought was infuriating. What kind of protection was that? What twisted logic had led to the creation of gear that endangered its wearer almost as much as it shielded them? You found yourself shaking your head in disbelief. What the hell...

"There we go...good..." You praised calmly, your voice a soothing whisper in the quiet room. He stood before you, now shirtless, his muscular frame tense with anticipation as he awaited your next move. Your eyes couldn't help but linger on his exposed torso, taking in every detail of his battle-worn body.

His skin was a canvas marked by the harsh realities of his past. Bruises in various stages of healing painted his flesh in a morbid palette of purples, yellows, and greens. Fresh cuts, angry and red, intermingled with older, silvery scars, creating a chaotic tapestry across his skin. Each mark had a different cause, accidental, intentional, self inflicted.

Your gaze was inevitably drawn to the most prominent feature: the junction where flesh met metal at his shoulder. The scar tissue surrounding his prosthetic arm was a sight that made your heart ache. It wasn't a clean, surgical line as one might expect, but rather a jagged, angry border that spoke of crude methods and little regard for the body it was attached to. The metal seemed to dig cruelly into his flesh, as if it were trying to consume more of him. You couldn't help but wonder about the pain he must have endured during the procedure, imagining how they had torn him apart with brutal efficiency, prioritizing function over comfort or aesthetics.

Despite the visible evidence of his suffering, he stood tall and stoic, awaiting your next move with a mixture of trust and trepidation in his eyes.

You offered him a gentle, comforting smile, you were acutely aware of his attempts to appear strong, but the reality of his fear was unmistakable. In that spare room, his demeanor reminded you of a cornered animal, flinching and retreating whenever the door creaked open. He cowered from you, even when you tried to give him water to drink. The sight tugged at your heartstrings, you didn’t know much of what happened just yet, but you knew whatever it was must’ve been utterly horrific.

"I'm going to help you out of your trousers now," you explained in a soft, reassuring tone. "Then we'll get you into the shower. The warm water will help you feel better, I promise." You paused, giving him a moment to process your words before adding, "Is that okay with you?"

He remained motionless. His lack of response was telling - not a nod, not a word, not even a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. He simply stood there, statuesque, as if bracing himself for whatever was to come next. The stillness was almost eerie, so you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was going to come. You truly hoped he wouldn't begin to put up a fight randomly, you knew you couldn't take him if he did.

You grasped the zipper of his pants and slowly pulled it down, the metallic sound echoing in the quiet room. As the fabric loosened, you gently tugged at the waistband, shuffling them down his muscular thighs and allowing the pants to fall around his ankles. Without a word, he stepped out of them, his movements controlled as he jerked his foot to get the leg of the pants off completely.

His gaze remained fixed on you, his expression betraying no hint of discomfort or self-consciousness at his state of undress. You found yourself averting your eyes, a mix of respect for his privacy and your own sudden shyness causing you to look away.

Turning your attention to the shower, you reached out and adjusted the taps, your hand testing the water until it reached a comfortably warm temperature, you could always adjust it upon request. The sound of cascading water filled the bathroom, creating a soothing ambiance. Once satisfied with the water's warmth, you looked back towards him, your arm extending in a welcoming gesture towards the bathtub. "Come on," you encouraged, your voice soft and inviting, "it's nice and warm." A gentle smile played on your lips, your expression meant to convey comfort and reassurance.

But even with your efforts, he remained motionless, his feet seemingly rooted to the spot where he stood. His lack of movement prompted you to maintain your encouraging demeanor, your smile unwavering as you waited patiently for him to make a decision.

The steam from the shower began to fill the room, creating a misty atmosphere that hung between you, yet he showed no signs of stepping forward or retreating. He just stood there, planted like a tree. You frowned, seeing that he wasn't going to budge.

"Hey, it's okay," you said softly, "It's just water, and it's nice and warm. I promise it will feel so good. You've been shivering for a while now, and I bet the warmth will be really comforting for your cold skin. There's nothing to be afraid of." You continued to encourage him, your tone patient and understanding.

The soldier's reaction was tense and wary. His metal arm plates made a series of soft clicking sounds as he shifted his arm and adjusted his stance, his body language radiating discomfort and distrust, maybe even a hint of growing agitation. The way he eyed the water, you could have sworn he thought you were about to subject him to some form of aquatic torture. His entire demeanor screamed of deep-seated fear and suspicion.

"It's alright, really... Look, see?" You demonstrated by reaching out and touching the water, letting your fingers trail through the warm liquid. You made sure he could clearly see that the water didn't cause you any harm or discomfort. Could he be afraid of the water? The concept seemed strange, but then again, you didn't really know or understand the full extent of his experiences or traumas. You had made so much progress with him already, and now all that remained was for him to sit under the water and allow you to wash him. It seemed so simple, and yet you could see the monumental struggle playing out behind his eyes.

He finally seemed to respond when he observed that you remained unharmed by the water, and he cautiously approached, his movements slow and deliberate. His eyes wore wariness with a flicker of curiosity, carefully scanning your form and ensuring you made no abrupt or threatening gestures. As he inched closer, his body language betrayed a conflicting desire for comfort and an instinctive need for self-preservation.

Once he had convinced himself of a relative level of safety, he gingerly stepped into the bath. The warmth of the water seemed to catch him off guard, and with an almost childlike lack of grace, he unceremoniously lowered himself into a sitting position with a loud thud and for a moment, he appeared startled by his own actions.

Now fully seated on the bottom of the tub, he allowed the soothing warmth of the water to cascade down his dirt-encrusted body. The grime that had accumulated over time began to loosen and swirl around him, running down his body and creating murky patterns at the bottom of the textured bathtub.

He sat motionless, gradually acclimating to the comforting warmth of the water cascading down his back in a gentle, soothing shower. It was foreign to him, a luxury he had been denied for far too long. His time with HYDRA had been bereft of such simple comforts; the organization was a cruel and unforgiving entity, more akin to a heartless taskmaster than a nurturing presence.

His experiences with something as harmless as water was vastly different to what you were treating him with now - he was subjected to harsh, icy streams forcefully directed at him, the intense pressure through the hose so severe it felt as though it was stripping away layers of his skin.

He remembers being forcibly submerged by his handlers, a cruel and twisted game that shattered his expectations of a simple, cleansing bath. What should have been a moment of respite transformed into a nightmarish struggle for survival, where he was forced to submit to their ruthless whims.

The memory of sharp, abrasive bristles tearing at his skin and the application of painful, saline substances lingers. He didn’t want to think about the unnecessary groping he encountered either, something he wished he forgot along with his life during the chair’s wipes.

These traumatic encounters left an indelible mark on his psyche, turning what should have been a basic human necessity into a source of fear and anxiety. The handlers' sadistic approach to something as fundamental as personal hygiene served as a constant reinforcement of their control over every aspect of his existence, even the most intimate and essential.

For him, the act of bathing became synonymous with vulnerability, pain, and the complete loss of autonomy, a far cry from the soothing, rejuvenating experience it was meant to be.

This gentle treatment you were providing was so different from the abusive handling he had endured in HYDRA, it almost caused him to panic, the feigning comforts he were offered by handlers before tricked him too many times, and he refused to let his guard down.

His glacial eyes gazed up at you, the poor man looked absolutely pitiful under the steamy water, his once greasy hair now thoroughly soaked as rivulets ran down the contours of his entire body. You took a breath and exhaled out a soft sigh, your hand slowly reaching for your own body wash. You didn't have any products specifically designed for men, so your expensive shampoo would have to suffice until you went shopping.

You pumped the bottle twice, watching as the clear, slightly viscous shampoo pooled into your open palm and the refreshing scent of cucumber and mint permeated the humid air, filling your nostrils with its crisp, clean aroma. You turned and addressed him softly, "Alright, I'm going to wash your hair now. Just try to relax and sit still for me, okay? This might feel a bit cold at first, but I promise it'll feel good once I start massaging it in."

The soldier regarded you with an inscrutable expression, his eyes betraying only a hint of that fight-or-flight instinct, his mind was reeling as he battled the urge to respond to your presence. You knew he had the strength to easily break your arm if he chose to, so you tried your best to be as slow and careful as possible. Your fingers delicately threaded through his hair, methodically working the shampoo into a rich lather. You watched as the suds multiplied and foamed, the soapy shampoo pure white on top and slowly stained the closer it was to his scalp.

You noticed that every so often he would flinch ever so slightly or instinctively pull away from your hands. You wondered if he had hidden injuries or tender spots on his scalp, or bruises or cuts concealed beneath his hair, or maybe knots of tension that had formed from prolonged stress or blunt impacts. His hair must’ve been yanked around, his scalp was extremely tender and while you did your best to soothingly massage, he didn’t enjoy it as much as you hoped because of the discomfort there.

"It's okay, I understand it might be a bit uncomfortable. I’m just getting all that pesky dirt and grime out." You spoke in a gentle, reassuring tone, moving a little bit quicker so you could rinse and move on. After thoroughly rinsing his hair, you applied conditioner in the same manner as the shampoo, and then rinsed it out again. He looked much better now, his hair was now clean, wet, and sleek, with a smooth texture and a noticeable shine. It was so much better than before, and it had to feel better too.

Your hand extended under the rain of water, dampening a soft, handheld washcloth and applying a generous amount of body wash to it. You worked the cloth until it produced a rich lather. The soldier moved which caught your eye, you looked up at him and saw he had recoiled, his gaze fixed warily on the washcloth. He became noticeably slower and more hesitant, his eyes widening slightly as he regarded the cloth with apparent apprehension, as if it posed a threat. You furrowed your brow at his reaction to the cloth, he looked at it like you held a weapon of some kind.

"Hey, it’s alright…this won’t hurt. It’s just a cloth, see? A cloth with some soap," you said softly, you felt so torn up about his reaction to the simplest of things. "I won't hurt you, I promise, I'm just going to wash you a bit...get all that dirt and blood off you." You raised your hand holding the washcloth in a placating gesture. “It’s warm, it will feel good scrubbing off all that dirt, you’ll be nice and clean.”

Gradually, he relented and shifted backwards to where he had been sitting, permitting you to gently glide the damp cloth across his skin, meticulously removing every trace of grime from his body. After a few minutes of washing him, you noticed he was beginning to find comfort in the experience. His eyelids drooped, and his head dipped down slightly, a tired expression settling over his features as he succumbed to the soothing sensation of your ministrations. He wasn’t exactly serene, but he was too drowsy to focus on much else other than the feeling of the rag gliding over his back and flesh arm.

You adjusted him and you tended to his metal arm, diligently working the cloth between the intricate plates and joints of titanium, ensuring that no speck of dirt remained. You weren’t exactly sure how the arm was cleaned prior to finding him, but clearly there wasn’t a worry about rust or anything of the sort. The soldier remained motionless, allowing you unhindered access as the warm water cascaded over his back, leaving a rosy tinge in its wake. He enjoyed the hot temperature, he hadn’t felt hot water in decades.

Your focus then shifted to his lower extremities, concentrating on scrubbing his legs and feet. As the rag moved up to a more sensitive area, you paused, pulling the rag off his skin and slowly extending the washcloth to him. You pointed towards his privates, you softly instructed, "You can…get right there, I’d rather not touch you in that spot."

The furrow on the soldier's brow gave away his visible confusion, his eyes darting between you and the offered rag with a mixture of uncertainty and hesitation. It was clear that he was contemplating with the decision of whether to accept your gesture or not, if there was an ulterior motive, or if this was some sort of test. After what seemed like an eternity of internal debate, he finally extended a trembling hand towards you. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if he were approaching a wild animal rather than a simple cloth.

He grasped the rag from your outstretched palm, his fingers curling around it slowly. Once in possession of the cloth, he set about the task of cleaning himself. His actions, though quick, lacked the assurance of someone accustomed to such basic self-care. Each motion seemed so carefully calculated, as if he were relearning a long-forgotten, essential skill. It had been so long since he was allowed to clean himself. His movements were unsteady, his hands quivering slightly as he went about his ablutions.

It had clearly been an extensive period since he had been granted even this small measure of independence. The concept of autonomy was a luxury he had been denied for far too long.

When he was done with his hurried cleansing, the soldier's gaze immediately sought yours out. His eyes, still holding the rag, were filled with expectation, awaiting your next command. His posture tense and ready to respond to whatever instruction you might provide. The rag remained clutched in his hand, as if he were unsure whether to return it or continue holding onto this small token of independence.

"Good, you're all done," you offered a warm smile to him. Despite the wounds still visible on his body, you felt a sense of accomplishment knowing that at least the layers of dirt and grime had been washed away, your work getting him clean would pay off and be better for the both of you. You reached over and turned off the water, the sudden silence broken only by the soft dripping from the showerhead. "Let's get you dried off," you said softly, gesturing for him to step out of the shower.

He complied wordlessly, his movements careful as he stepped onto the bathroom mat. You couldn't help but notice how vulnerable he looked, standing there dripping wet, his eyes never leaving your face, his body completely littered in discoloration. Reaching for a large, fluffy towel, you unfolded it and wrapped it around his shoulders, enveloping him in its warmth to fight off the rapidly cooling water droplets all over him.

As you began to slowly dry his body, you noticed a change come over him. His softened expression now returned to its usual blank mask and the brief relaxation he showed in the shower was long gone by now. His body returned to the stiffness he had before he got in. His eyes remained fixed on you, following your every movement with an intensity that was almost unnerving.

You worked in the quiet calm of the bathroom, carefully patting dry each part of his body, mindful of his injuries. The soldier remained motionless, allowing you to maneuver him as needed, but offering no assistance, like a doll. It was as if he had retreated back into himself, leaving only an empty shell for you to tend to. You wondered what he was thinking behind those watchful, guarded eyes, they were pretty up close. Glacial, stormy blue irises that had been glued to you since you started to tend to him.

After drying him off, you were lucky to find a pair of boxers in your apartment and helped him into them, where they came from wasn’t something you could remember at the moment, but you were glad you had them. He cooperated as you dressed him, then stood there clutching the towel around himself like a security blanket.

His gaze fixed on you with a mixture of expectation and vulnerability, as if silently asking for further guidance or comfort. His wide eyes blinked languidly, and his soft pink lips formed an almost imperceptible pout, giving him an endearing, slightly lost appearance.

Lost. He embodied the word entirely. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

Taking in his disheveled state, you smiled a little, "How about we get your hair detangled, hm?" Your voice was warm and reassuring as you reached up, your fingers lightly brushing against the damp strands, feeling the water practically seep out of the ends.

The soldier's reaction was a mix of acceptance and hesitation. While he didn't outright reject the idea, there was a noticeable lack of enthusiasm in his demeanor. However he didn’t dare reject the idea, worried about any kind of retaliation. So he made his way to the stool nestled beneath the counter and lowered himself onto it. As he settled into position, maintaining a stoic silence, his eyes continued to convey that enigmatic expression, hinting at unspoken thoughts or emotions.

You positioned yourself behind him, your hands instinctively reaching for a comb and a bottle of detangling spray already sat out from your use earlier that day. You recalled how your fingers had encountered numerous knots and tangles when you washed his hair, and thinking about how knotted it looked dirty made you sigh outwardly.

The fine mist of the detangling spray settled on his hair as you applied it methodically, you guided the comb through his locks, working patiently to untangle any knots you encountered. You tried to be as gentle as possible, knowing not only were there a ton of knots, but you remembered his scalp was especially sensitive and sore.

Soldat remained still as a statue, his posture composed and unwavering. His disciplined demeanor allowed you to work unimpeded, your movements careful and unhurried. He maintained a firm grip on the towel draped securely around his body, the fabric acting almost like a barrier and protecting him from the world. You continued to work the comb through his hair, encountering tangles and knots that spoke of recent exertion or neglect.

The process of detangling was slow, your touch continued to be gentle yet purposeful, muttering soft apologies when you ran into an unexpected knot. Teasing apart the snarls with patience and skill, the resistance lessened, and you found yourself able to run the comb smoothly through his hair, the strands falling into neat alignment.

"There we are... much better," you praised softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The sight of his hair, now brushed out and free of tangles, felt like a monumental achievement. You couldn't help but admire how the clean, detangled strands caught the light, a stark contrast to their earlier disheveled state. Your fingers ran through his locks, gently ruffling the hair from being so flat against his scalp.

You couldn't help but notice the angry red lines marring his skin, peeking out from beneath the towel. The blotchy colors on his skin that ranged from purple to blue, it made you frown. Your instincts as a caretaker kicked in, and you found yourself wondering if he would allow you to tend to those wounds. Hesitantly, you reached out, your fingers barely grazing the edge of the towel just wanting to get a better look at them.

In an instant the soldier suddenly sprang to life, standing with such force that the stool he had been perched on skidded across the tile floor, the harsh scraping sound shattering the previous calm. He retreated to the far corner of the bathroom, his body language screaming defensiveness.

His eyes, which had been closed or downcast for most of your interaction, now bore into you with an intensity that made you freeze. They held fear, yes, but also a raw, primal aggression that sent a shiver down your spine. It was the look of a cornered animal, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation.

You immediately backpedaled, not wanting to trigger any aggression from him. "Okay, okay... no wound checks," you reassured as you raised your hands in a gesture of surrender. You took a step back, giving him more space, silently cursing yourself for pushing too far, too fast. The fragile trust you had built over the past few minutes seemed to hang by a thread, you didn’t want to snap the little you had.

Your words had a calming effect on Soldat, who clutched the towel tightly in his fists, ensuring it remained securely wrapped around him. His gaze drifted down to his soiled attire, prompting you to shake your head in disapproval. "No, those definitely need to be washed," you explained, your voice dropping to a thoughtful murmur, "And to be honest, these can hardly be called proper clothes. I'll make sure to get you some suitable ones tomorrow, alright?"

Soldat's eyes met yours once more, his gaze still carrying a hint of coldness and wariness, but he managed a brief, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. You gathered his discarded garments and deposited them into the washing machine, silently hoping that the combination of leather and other materials wouldn't prove too much for the aging appliance. The damn thing had to be ran twice already, you just couldn’t afford to buy a new one right now.

As you busied yourself with setting the appropriate wash cycle, Soldat seized the opportunity to hastily retreat to the room that had been designated as his temporary living space.

He immediately gravitated towards the floor, as he had been the past few days. You hadn't seen him use the bed at all, rather stay cuddled in the corner or inside the small space of the closet. The towel long forgotten and laid splayed out on the floor, he ripped the blankets off the bed in one fluid motion and proceeded to wrap himself up in them, burrowing beneath the layers of fabric for comfort and security. The blankets having replaced the towel's symbolism for safety.

You wished he’d rest on the bed rather than the floor, but you knew better than to try to alter what he was doing. Leave him to be comfortable on his own, that is the best thing to do in this situation. And if Soldat wants to sleep on the floor in a huddle of blankets, then fine.

You approached the doorway, peering inside to see him nestled in a cocoon of blankets. His exhaustion was written on his face, yet there was a noticeable improvement in his appearance. The layer of grime and perspiration that had clung to his skin was now gone, you knew he had to feel somewhat refreshed.

You cautiously stepped into the room and made your way towards him, acutely aware of how his body tensed at your approach. In response to your closer proximity, he burrowed deeper into the thick comforter that enveloped him, seeking refuge from your presence.

A soft, reassuring sound escaped your lips as you placed a water bottle within his reach. As you anticipated, he remained motionless under the comforter, offering no acknowledgment of your thoughtful action. He stayed hidden beneath the layers of fabric, like a child seeking shelter from imaginary monsters lurking in the shadows.

"Get some rest, Soldat..." you whispered gently, your voice barely above a murmur. "I'll be down in the other room if you need anything. Don't hesitate to call for me, even for the smallest thing." With that reassurance, you slowly stood back up and turned to walk out. A faint noise suddenly caught your attention, causing you to pause mid-step.

The gentle rustling of the comforter drew your gaze back towards the floor, curiosity piquing your interest. The soldier cautiously peeked out from under the blanket's edge. His tired, weary eyes met your inquisitive ones, there was a beat of silence.

"Спасибо," the soldier rasped out, his voice meek and slightly hoarse from disuse, but still loud enough for you to hear clearly.

"You're welcome..."

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

[nothorses]

hi sorry to bother u about this, i searched around transmasc subreddits for an answer to this and while i saw a few people joking about getting dry cramps, nobody seems to know what this is. and i vaguely remember seeing a post by you mentioning "mystery cramps" in a post also about vaginal atrophy, but I didnt pay attention to the post much at the time bc at that point i wasnt experiencing atrophy or mystery cramps.

but now I'm a bit over a year on T, (my periods stopped only about 4 months ago though, because i was on a much lower dose than most for a lot longer time than most. that ~4 months ago time frame lines up with upping my dose from 0.2 to 0.3ml. i'm on 0.4ml tho now as of about 3 weeks ago) and suddenly i'm getting "mystery cramps" sometimes, it seems to happen especially the night before my T-shot day, (but i cant say that with certainty—i know i'm having them right now and my shot day is tomorrow morning, and i think thats been the case, but i dont know for sure) and they feel exactly like period cramps. to the point where i feel super paranoid that maybe i've been injecting improperly and the testosterone isnt absorbing right and my period is actually coming back. (something i often have nightmares about)

i searched your blog again for that post and did find it, (the one about estradiol cream treating it) but the wording of it is a little unclear and i wanted to just clarify that this is the same thing youre talking about? or if what im experiencing is different than the "mystery cramps" you meant and i should see a doctor

I am for sure not a doctor, and I think you should see one either way!

My personal understanding of the "mystery cramps" is that it's a part of "vaginal atrophy" that some, but not all trans folks who go on T experience, and it usually doesn't start until a couple of years on T ( which is also, to my knowledge, based on more standard doses as opposed to "low-dose" T).

Mine started about two years in, and was happening occasionally at first- always at night, and often the day before my T shot- then progressed to several nights a week over time. Nowadays I tend to experience cramping almost every time I so much as miss one dose of estradiol. Ibuprofen and Midol are the only OTC pain relievers that seem to do the trick, and the cramping will keep me up through the entire night untreated. It also tends to come in fairly predictable waves (spaced maybe 15-30 minutes apart) and right before I started estradiol, I remember getting some light spotting as well.

iirc, I talked to my PCP when it was just starting up, and their response was along the lines of "that's weird, let's keep an eye on it". I moved and didn't have a PCP for a while, so when the spotting started, I went to a walk-in urgent care clinic and talked to them. They gave me a referral for an ultrasound, and encouraged me to go to a "women's health" clinic that had long history of specializing in trans care as well. When I talked to the folks at that clinic, they encouraged me to go through with the ultrasound (I didn't), and prescribed estradiol cream because I asked them to and they didn't see a reason not to try it.

If you think it's possible this is what's going on with you, I would really encourage you to talk to a doctor, specifically bring up research around this issue and estradiol cream as a treatment option, and ask them if there's a reason not to try it just to see if it does anything for you. If nothing else, estradiol cream also treats vaginal dryness, tightness, and inflammation (other symptoms of "vaginal atrophy"), so it might be worth a shot for those reasons anyway!

And don't do what I did; if they want you to do an ultrasound or whatever else, go with it, and rule out other possibilities. Listen to medical advice from medical professionals who know your medical history and who you trust are listening to you & know what they're talking about.

[shirefantasies]

Congratulations on 100 followers! 👏 🎉 🥳

This kind of a weird request but I wanted to ask how you would imagine the Fellowship would react/take care of their companion on their period? Like having severe cramps. It can be romantic or platonic relationship it's up to you but I would like Boromir to be romantic.Just lots of fluff basically.🤗

I just really enjoy reading how my favorite characters would take care of me when I'm in pain.😅

Thank you 🥰 oh same because I get reallllly bad period symptoms unless I take my supplements long enough before (and sometimes anyway 😣) so I adore being taken care of by my blorbos 🥺 doing everyone because I wanna write this with Faramir & write some wlw fluff 🥰

LoTR Characters When You’re on Your Period (F!Reader)

Warnings: small blood/pain mentions, a suggestive joke

Aragorn

✧ Your exchange is wordless; Aragorn sees the way you jolt at a sudden shock of pain, catches your eyes and gives you an inquisitive nod. You nod back and that is that, no questions asked.

✧ If you are traveling, your pace slows and Aragorn will hear no two words about it. He allows more breaks, hunts twice as hard, directs you to the softest place to sit and just gives the others firm looks if they try to give complaint.

✧ “Please,” he’ll urge you gently, taking your hand in his, “try to eat something. You’ll need your strength.” Just the sound of his voice, the care therein, practically brings tears to your eyes.

✧ Honestly, it takes a lot for him to suppress his laughter if you snap at one of the others, at least when your outburst is warranted. Glance over and you might catch him giving them an ‘I warned you’ look.

✧ Takes on more fights for you, bidding you to stand back and let him take care of things for once.

Legolas

✧ Perplexed but very concerned when he comes upon the sight of you sprawled out with a grimace of pain across your beautiful face. His first motion is to help you up, secondly asking what ails you. While he looks at you like he does not understand, his actions suggest otherwise.

✧ Every month he learns to follow it, the moon his reminder, and every month Legolas silently begins his gathering. Your favorite tea? Check. Your comfort item? Perfectly clean and ready to hand off. Your bedding? Also perfectly clean and assembled just how you like it. Even Legolas’s words are softer, more understanding in case of sudden complaint or upset.

✧ “It’s like you know what I want before I want it.” “Knowing you,” Legolas replies with a smile, “is my greatest joy.”

✧ Good luck trying to stand on your own; Legolas all but hovers around you, offering a hand whenever you attempt to rise.

✧ He becomes extra protective, taking hold of you by the waist at the first sound or sight of danger, lest anything make it worse.

Boromir

✧ All but bursts into your room the moment he hears that you are bedridden, rushing to take your hand and ask you what has happened in a whisper you can’t help a faint chuckle at before you explain.

✧ Taken visibly aback, Boromir then shakily asks what he can do, smiling when you tell him just to stay with you. “Pretend it’s a wound from some great battle,” you joke. “Oh, indeed,” he agrees before you two begin coming up with more and more ridiculous fights and scrapes you got into, Boromir’s thumb drawing circles over the back of your hand.

✧ He offers to try rubbing where it hurts, applying faint warm pressure over where your lower half is assaulting you. “How is this, my love?”

✧ Uses you having any difficulty with walking as an excuse to pick you up and carry you on his back.

✧ Does your washing up, partially just to prove your teasing about him not being brave enough wrong! He is a warrior, after all.

Gimli

✧ The others alert Gimli in a hiss after he less-than-tactfully panics that you’ve been hurt, sending his lips pursing into a shocked ‘o’ and his gaze sliding back to your stooped form.

✧ “Oh, er, well there lassie, if you need anything at all you know who to call for.” “Well,” you groan, “if you’ve any spare rags I’ll gladly take them.” “Rags? What would you want with…oh. Oh.” “Scared of a little blood, Gimli?” “No, not I,” Gimli replies despite his shaken expression, “I’m so used to the stuff by now, what’s the trouble?”

✧ Insistent as he is that dwarves are the best carers of their women, Gimli quickly works to prove his point and, in his words, win your heart with the lot of it. You’re skeptical when you see him sticking rocks in the fire, but at the end of the day the warmth is heaven upon your aching body and Gimli looks just as pleased as you feel.

✧ He probably also recommends you a strong drink under the claim that it eases pain like nothing else. Whether this is helpful or not is up to you.

✧ Goes surprisingly soft when you curl up, still facing wave after wave of cramps. Reaches over to you and strokes your hair, sitting at your side looking for all the world like a guard dog.

Frodo

✧ Your pain is interrupted by a gasp that has you looking up, meeting Frodo’s wide blue eyes glistening with concern at your sudden jerk. Familiar as Frodo is with pain, he recognizes your motion without a single question.

✧ Urges you to sit or lie still, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head like punctuation.

✧ While you rest up, Frodo tells you stories, stories of his uncle Bilbo’s adventures, tales from the days of the elves, anything to send you to a different place then you currently must be in.

✧ Offers you extra blankets or his cloak if you’re feeling cold or in need of comfort.

✧ Shy as he can be, in your time of need his hands hardly leave your shoulders or your side, quite protective even if he is smaller than you.

Sam

✧ “Whoa, easy there,” Sam tells you as he sits you down, “what happened?” Poor thing thinks you got some bad news or something the way you’re tearing up.

✧ Holds you close to his chest as you let the tears flow, shaking his head when you start to tell him it’s stupid, you’re just in pain and upset. “Can’t think of any more reasonable reasons to cry. Don’t worry, just let it all out.”

✧ Such a sweetheart, he won’t leave your side for hardly anything….except to go pick you some flowers to raise your spirits, of course!

✧ Flushes a bit at the suggestion, but one hundred percent helps you undress and change into more comfortable clothes. Even if he tries to look shyly away as much as possible.

✧ Definitely cooks you something hearty and nutritious, encouraging you to eat even just a little bit. Sam will even hand feed you spoonfuls if you’re feeling bad enough.

Merry

✧ “Oh, yeah, I know all about that!” “You do?” “Sure, I saw what my father did for Mum, after all. Come here.”

✧ Apparently what Mr. Brandybuck did for the missus was to build her the most massive nest of pillows known to Hobbit-kind. “And what’s she do in here?” You ask, waving a hand feebly over your new home. “Well, not sure what they did after that but I think I’ve heard of a way to lessen the pain.” Whether that works or earns him a smack you can decide.

✧ From your pillow pile you become queen of, well, Merry at least, though he puts on an act of being scared of displeasing you at first. You can’t help laughing as he kneels before you, asking what snacks you request or if you’d like some water.

✧ Meriadoc “chugs respecting women juice” Brandybuck has silently vowed to never once make any ill jokes at your expense. No asking if it’s your time if you express any emotion he doesn’t, no teasing you for needing help, no acting like said help is too gross for him, ever.

✧ That being said, he even does your washing up for you!

Pippin

✧ Definitely more the type to fret and worry, hands going to your back as you double over and he asks what’s wrong, are you hurt? Whether your words are sheepish or unabashed, you tell him it’s your womanly cycle and Pippin’s eyes practically pop out of his lovely little head. “O-oh. What should I do?”

✧ His cluelessness is actually perfect for the situation because he truly will do anything you say will help, whether it’s bottling up some hot water, fetching you your favorite snacks, making you tea, even singing you a song if you tell him it’ll raise your spirits.

✧ His absolute favorite thing to do, though, is offer company, tumbling onto the bed with you and chatting the afternoon away.

✧ This quickly evolves, though, and soon Pippin is holding you for dear life, an arm wrapped around the front of you where he draws warm, gentle circles lightly over your pain.

✧ “This isn’t so bad, is it?” You swat him for that, but in spite of yourself cuddle closer and join his sheepish laughter.

Faramir

✧ No questions asked, Faramir is by your side stroking your hair and getting it out of your face if it falls so.

✧ Musing over the strength it takes to fight such internal battles, he cradles you in his arms or, if you prefer not to be touched, holds your hand as he sits at your side.

✧ Well-read as Faramir is, some pain remedies swim to the forefront of his mind and he goes off to seek them.

✧ When you lie down, he tucks you in so softly, that sparkle in his eyes you love so much twinkling just for you. “This will pass,” he whispers.

✧ Blames himself if you get upset sometimes, but is reassured and happy again when you tell him he need never pull away from you.

Eomer

✧ Confused, frankly, at why you suddenly can’t walk, for he cannot conceive of a reason until you admit this is unfortunately quite normal for you.

✧ Asks you why, frowns in greater confusion and sympathy when you say you do not know, acts a little bit uncomfortable about details but still sets out to aid.

✧ Too uncomfortable to ask his sister, he opts instead to seek out a healer and practically demand anything that helps with a woman’s “well, time.” He’s getting the spirit slowly but surely, alright?

✧ Bursts into your room with an armful of everything the healer has, ready to brainstorm solutions to have you right again. You can’t help but chuckle at the whirlwind you’ve just gone through all over some cramps.

✧ He gets quite restless until you call him to your side, asking him to quit fretting and just lay with you. “Ah, that I can do,” he says with a grin.

Haldir

✧ Haldir’s steady expression drops when he learns of your ailment. Everything else he is holding or doing drops as soon as possible, too, and he is going to you.

✧ Taken aback at the sight of you, he realizes he did not know a woman’s cycle could take such a toll as to leave you bedridden. He isn’t used to seeing you so weak and is ready to do what it takes to end it.

✧ He has all these wonderful scented oils, some of which help you sleep, some of which he uses to massage you and hopefully numb the pain.

✧ In addition, he guides your breathing through waves of the ache, looking to the breeze and the rhythms around you to help you relax your body that much more.

✧ Haldir is hesitant to show you excess affection, but if you request it, his arms snake around your waist and he holds you there, both of him breathing you in like you’re all he needs and vice versa.

Eowyn

✧ “Sit down, please, I insist.” As much as Eowyn herself is the type to trudge forth through pain or fear, she would never impose the same upon you, instead tending so gently to you.

✧ Hot water always helps her, so she fetches you some as well as a treat from a baker she passed by, taking your hand after she hands it off.

✧ You had best believe this woman will tell anyone in the whole of Middle Earth to leave you alone as you rest, be they her own kin or the host of the dark lord himself.

✧ As you spend more time together, the old adage about ‘synchronizing’ seems to ring true with you both. Eowyn does not mind, honestly, because you bear the pain together and spend much time together in bed. Not the most ideal of circumstances, but if she can lay in the warmth of your arms Eowyn is a happy woman indeed.

✧ She insists so much upon your care, though, that you’ll practically have to wrestle her down so you can reciprocate…not that she minds that, either!

Arwen

✧ Who better to understand what you are going through? Her brows knit at the first sign of discomfort from you, recognizing the signs immediately.

✧ Without a word Arwen is finding out exactly what you tend to prefer- do you get nauseous and seek relief? Do you desire more sustenance and company or less?

✧ During times when you find yourself more stressed or upset than average, Arwen gives you so much grace, running her hand soothingly down your arm and reminding you all weights feel heavier right now.

✧ For all your pain, there is little bliss like being in the arms of your beloved, her soothing deep whispers brushing your ear.

✧ The most patient if you’re forced to wake up frequently in the night and rise, laying there with nothing but love in her eyes as you return.

Elrond

✧ Wise lord and healer as he is, Elrond is more than familiar with the ailments of women. In fact, he is the sort to track it for you as best as he can. So when he sees you feeling ill, sympathy crosses his serene features but no surprise.

✧ Elrond knows every remedy in the book, so he’s quickly making you some calming tea and sitting you down for some TLC.

✧ Very encouraging for you to take time for yourself and make sure you stay nourished, even if that is difficult. There is no shame in keeping your strength up, after all.

✧ Walks with you just a little ways behind, a hand resting comfortingly upon the small of your back.

✧ Sends cover for you where you are needed, no questions asked, because you are more important than tasks others can perform.

Lindir

✧ Practically trips and falls over himself running to you at your sudden shock of pain, dark eyes wide at the way you folded. You seem embarrassed to tell him and while he feels squeamish at first, that is quickly shaken off as he urges you to sit down.

✧ From that moment on Lindir has dubbed himself your personal nursemaid, naught but the call of Lord Elrond himself taking him from his work.

✧ “No, no, lie back down, I can get it,” he holds out a cautious, almost panicked hand when you wince and sit up, “what is it?”

✧ Sings you songs of all kinds, old tales, his own compositions, and of course your requests, again and again if you ask them of him. His harp is ready to gently play you to sleep or just to keep your mind off the pain you feel.

✧ When you wake up in the night, at first he looks frustrated, but that melts away quickly as your eyes meet, apology shining in your gaze. Instead, Lindir helps you up and sings you to sleep again upon your return.

[justwinginglife]

Love your fics so much!!! And your writings!! Can you do one where dense reader thinks she’s getting sick and checks herself into a hospital as she mistakes falling in love symptoms an illness and accidentally confesses to soshiro she’s in love with him “you doofus it sounds like your in love with me” 😍

Ahh thanks so much! I appreciate your support. Also this is the cutest prompt EVER. I love it. Thanks for sending!

A Case Of The Butterflies

You'd been sick many times before, but never in your life had you ever had such a ridiculous, confusing, selective fever. Your heart rate would spike, your temperature would increase, your sweat would drip, your lungs would ache, but only at certain times. Only in certain moments around a certain person. You started to wonder if maybe Soshiro Hoshina was sick as well.

It seemed that every time he was around you, you had a flare-up and you just knew you had to be catching whatever he had.

At first, you tried avoiding him, which relieved your original symptoms but caused a new one to surface- your chest would start hurting if he wasn't nearby. You figured it was heartburn. A severe case. You wondered if it was some sort of lotion or cologne that he was wearing that soothed the throbbing in your chest, so you kept asking him what it was that he wore. He was thoroughly amused and gladly procured a list for you, saying he was excited for you to smell like him. After you tried every single product and had no results to show for it, you decided to just stay by his side. You weren't sure what about him soothed the pain inside you, but it worked so you clung to him like you were his shadow.

When you started wearing a mask around him -it was your poor attempt at resisting whatever sickness he had passed onto you- it further entertained him to no end. He thought you looked cute with it on. Though he did miss your pretty face, as he frequently told you. In the end, you gave up on the mask, your symptoms just as intense with them as they were without them. Whatever condition the two of you shared, it was strong, and it penetrated any barriers.

You wondered if you should just give in to your ailment. If it was hopeless. If you should just let the sickness seep into your bones, take hold of your muscles, infect your bloodstream, fill every inch of your lungs. And then, you wondered if it was possible for you to build up a resistance to this disease.

Thus began a long series of ridiculous experiments aimed at building a better understanding of your condition.

Hoshina got quite the laugh out of watching you slowly inch towards him, your eyes trained on your smart watch, monitoring just how high your heart rate jumped and at what length from him it did so. It turned out your heart rate was always abnormally high when he was in the same room as you, but any form of contact with him was what sent it into a frenzy. Even if that contact was just his breath on your skin from a few inches away, or his gaze penetrating yours. He didn't have to be literally touching you, his presence did enough damage.

This puzzled you further and so your experiments continued.

Next, you paced around him with a thermometer in your mouth to deduce how his proximity affected your temperature. Just like with your heart rate, the closer you got to him, the more feverish you were. You hurriedly jotted your results down in your notebook, which resulted in a smirk from him, but he allowed you to continue anyway. He was very easygoing and didn't mind the random trials you put him through, but more than that, he just loved an excuse to spend time with you. So he encouraged your experiments, told you that you couldn't rest until you got to the bottom of this. He had no idea what you were trying to get to the bottom of, but he supported it fully.

Then one day, completely by accident, you stumbled upon the interesting discovery that you slept better when he was nearby and even your dreams were significantly more pleasant when you had interacted with him right before you dozed off. You had been studying beside him in the library, searching for more evidence to backup your research, when your exhaustion took hold of you rather suddenly. He smiled at you and gently rubbed your arm, telling you to take a nap and he'd wake you up when the library closed. You had the most wonderful dreams of your entire life after that.

How could one man be so disease-inducing and yet his very presence soothed you to no end?

You wondered what the prognosis was for such a severe condition. Would you be stuck with this feeling for the rest of your life? Or would you be dead tomorrow, your heart overloaded from the sheer intensity of it all.

It was that train of thought that led you through the hospital doors, anxious to get yourself checked in posthaste. You rattled off your symptoms, leaving out one very important detail (that it was only around Hoshina that you experienced these things). The amount of symptoms you were experiencing, the severity of them, and the frequency in which you were experiencing them concerned the hospital staff and you were rushed in with some urgency.

The nurses performed all sorts of extensive testing on you and you patiently waited for the results.

Suddenly you got a text on your phone.

It was Hoshina. Again. Ever since he got your number, he'd been abusing the privilege, eagerly messaging you any chance he got. At this point, if he didn't spam you, you were concerned.

What you up to and can I join?

Your heart pounded rapidly in your chest and you wondered if maybe he didn't need to be near you after all to transfer his sickness.

Just in the hospital. You sent the text as if it was no big deal.

I'm sorry, WHAT?

Hospital. Can't you read?

No, I got that. Why? What's going on? Never mind, I'm coming to find you.

You texted him back repeatedly, telling him you were fine, just a little under the weather, and he didn't need to worry. He didn't care. Within a few minutes, he came crashing through the door to your room.

He collapsed on the ground, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He must've run here.

You bent down to get a good look at him and, feeling your presence, he gazed up at you, a shaky smile spreading across his face as sweat dripped from his forehead. He definitely ran here. What an idiot. What a sweet, sweet idiot.

"Are..." He panted, "Are you o-okay?"

You laughed. "Are you okay? You look like you just ran a marathon."

He chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. "And so what if I did? You said you were in the hospital- I was worried."

You shrugged. "I think I've just got some weird cold or something."

He raised an eyebrow at you. "Some cold. And that's why you're in the hospital? Are you dying??"

You flushed, suddenly self-conscious. You didn't know if you should tell him. But he was one of your closest friends. And you knew he'd be as supportive as he could be about your condition; he did just run the whole way here. It's not like he'd laugh at you.

So you told him everything.

He did laugh. He laughed so hard he rolled around on the floor, holding his sides.

You rolled your eyes at him. "What's so funny?"

"Darling, I love you."

You choked. "S-sorry, w-what?"

“The heart palpitations. Feeling sick to your stomach but also feeling even worse when we’re not near each other. Difficulty breathing. Feeling warm, too warm, like you’ve swallowed the sun. I feel all that too. Because I’m in love with you. And, I think, you’re in love with me too- you doofus.”

You blinked. Then, as his words sank in, your face turned a bright shade of red and you buried yourself underneath the sheets.

He tugged at the blanket. “Oh come now, you can’t hide from me. Let me love you, let me love all your troubles away.”

You clenched the fabric tight in your trembling hands. “Could you maybe love me a little quieter? I’m busy being embarrassed.”

He laughed and yanked the blanket down all the way so he could fully take in the sight of your flushed cheeks. “And why would I ever do that? I plan to love you as loud as I possibly can, especially now that I know you love me back. So what do you say, be my girlfriend?”

You bit your lip but you couldn’t hold back your smile. “Only if you get me out of here before I have to confess my shame and humiliation to the doctor.”

He grinned. “It would be my honor to break you out, my darling girlfriend.” He kissed your hand, kissed up your arm, up your neck, and then finally pressed a kiss to your lips.

Then he scooped you up in his arms and took off with you.

Years later, even after countless romantic dates and wonderful adventures together, Hoshina still counts your first date as him smuggling you out of the hospital, stealing a couple things of jello on the way out, and splitting them with you in the getaway car.

[golden-afternoon]

Yeah I was working on another actual fic but uhhh the 'Nari brainrot took over so uhhh here take me going insane over him and rambling about what comes to my mind. Kay? Kay.

Warnings - nsfw, mating cycle talk from a person who only has google by her side, absolutely not proofread having gone straight from brain to paper, and just know there is a solid chance I'll have more to say about this in the future.

Tighnari, by his very nature, is a very compartmentalized person. His own problems stay within himself to be dealt with later when he is done and everyone else's needs are already attended to. Always concerned with helping others and keeping things in order, even to the point of staying up into the early hours of the morning, less concerned with himself than those around him. If he’s ever struggling with anything at all, he will do absolutely everything in his power to keep anyone from knowing about it, much less something as personal as this.

In the early months of the year, especially as Lantern Rite nears, Tighnari becomes withdrawn. Quieter, more distant. The Forest Watchers have been talking for forever back and forth swapping theories and rumors in not so hushed tones.

“I heard Master Tighnari lost a family member around this time of year.”

“Really? I heard he just reeeeally hates any kind of festivities especially Lantern Rite because it's so noisy, even when not in Liyue.”

“I dunno, maybe he's just sensitive to the cold?”

Unlike the usual case where he was quick to nip such chatter in the bud and tell off the Rangers for gossiping, he remains entirely silent on the issue, otherwise carrying on as usual. Setting up excursions, documenting his findings, helping and guiding wherever he was needed…

Until he just can't stand it anymore. With hardly a word, save perhaps to Collei to ask her to care for things in his absence, he retreats, hiding himself away in his hut, barricading himself in completely so no nosy Rangers have any reason to loiter around.

He hates it.

He understands it's natural and it's going to happen and blah blah blah, but it was such a nuisance to his life he would give anything to not have to put up with it. The worst of it usually lasts a week or two before he can at least carry some semblance of normalcy and feel willing and able to return to work, but while he's in it, it drives him insane.

Some years it's so bad that he can't even focus on anything other than the absolutely filthy thoughts that plague his mind, his hands shaking so hard he can't even hold a pen long enough to attempt any sort of work. Even like this he just doesn't feel right not being productive especially when he's always running around here and there the rest of the year, why should this be any different?

Head slamming into his desk with a groan, a flush curling up his cheeks and neck. Eventually he has to crack, begrudgingly caring for the needs that grow and grow and grow and become nigh insatiable during his rut.

It starts out almost clinical, looking to just take care of a symptom of an illness almost. Face flushed, lips curled into a deep frown, he sits at his desk, fisting his cock with precision, hoping to get it over with as fast as possible by hitting everything just right.

But no. After dealing with this for years you think he would have known by now that just once isn't enough, yet he still hopes year after year. It only gets worse. Over and over and over again until he's just sore and it hurts. Until he can't keep jerking it lest he make his own skin turn raw. By this point he usually finds himself in his bed, ears flat and face buried into some blankets to muffle the pathetic whimpers that left his lips as he kept grinding his hips into the pillows over and over and over and over, chasing even the slightest modicum of relief.

And most of the time, as annoying as it is, it was completely fine for him to just be stuck imagining some faceless, nameless mate beneath him as he struggled to sate these urges. However, if Tighnari has a bit of a crush… Well, he'd be in for a rude awakening if he hadn't already acknowledged his feelings for you.

I could see poor Tighnari getting almost ill as he realized the cute moans he was imagining sounded a little too much like your voice. Everything freezes for a moment, his stomach lurching both from the realization and the sudden loss of friction when he faltered. He tries so hard to brush it aside, chastising himself for pulling you into his filthy mind right then. But it doesn't stop. Your face, your voice, your skin. Everything. Everything stays in his mind and he cannot stop it. He feels such overwhelming shame about it, but… he does eventually give in and just let whatever fantasies take root, especially since it seems to ease the feelings when he does.

But when he sees you after the worst of it is over and he leaves his hut, guilt grips around his heart and memories of those fantasies rush into his head, leaving him turning on his heel to avoid you at all costs, honestly risking you thinking he hates you with how intensely he's ignoring you.

It's even worse because Tighnari considers hiding in his hut again for even longer as usually he was fine when the worst of it passed, he could resume his duties, but with you around, he could feel his hands shaking, the intense urge to find you wherever you were and pin you down immediately was so strong it scared him a little. Sometimes it caught him off guard too, like he would catch your scent on the breeze and while in his rut, he would genuinely get so horny so fast he's gotten lightheaded, having to catch himself on whatever was nearby so he didn't go crashing down.

If he hated his rut before, the shame of all this made him absolutely loathe it.

Maybe one day you can find a way to make it a liiiiittle more bearable for him ♡

[covid-safer-hotties]

also preserved on our archive

By Erica Sloan

These days, it’s tempting to compare COVID-19 with the common cold or flu. It can similarly leave you with a nasty cough, fever, sore throat—the full works of respiratory symptoms. And it’s also become a part of the societal fabric, perhaps something you’ve resigned yourself to catching at least a few times in your life (even if you haven’t already). But let’s not forget: SARS-CoV-2 (the virus responsible for COVID) is still relatively new, and researchers are actively investigating the toll of reinfection on the body. While there are still a lot of unknowns, one thing seems to be increasingly true: Getting COVID again and again is a good deal riskier than repeat hits of its seasonal counterparts.

It turns out, SARS-CoV-2 is more nefarious than these other contagious bugs, and our immune response to it, often larger and longer-lasting. COVID has a better ability to camouflage itself in the body, “and it has the keys to the kingdom in the sense that it can unlock any cell and get in,” says Esther Melamed, PhD, an assistant professor in the department of neurology at Dell Medical School, University of Texas Austin, and the research director of the Post-COVID-19 program at UT Health Austin. That’s because SARS-CoV-2 binds to ACE2 receptors, which exist in cells all over your body, from your heart to your gut to your brain. (By contrast, cold and flu viruses replicate mostly in your respiratory tract.)

It only follows that a bigger threat can trigger an outsize immune response. In some people, the body’s reaction to COVID can turn into a “cytokine storm,” Dr. Melamed tells SELF, which is characterized by an excessive release of inflammatory proteins that can wreak havoc on multiple organ systems—not a common scenario for your garden-variety cold or flu. But even a “mild” case of COVID can throw your immune system into a tizzy as it works to quickly shore up your defenses. And each reinfection is a fresh opportunity for the virus to win the battle.

While you develop some immunity after a COVID infection, it doesn’t just grow with each additional hit. You might be thinking, “Aren’t I more protected against COVID and less likely to have a serious case after having been infected?” Part of that is true, to an extent. In the first couple years after COVID burst onto the scene, reinfections were generally (though not always) milder than a person’s initial bout of the virus. “The way we understand classic immunology is that your body will say to a virus [it’s seen before], ‘Oh, I know how to deal with you, and I’m now going to deal with you in a better way the second time around,’” says Ziyad Al-Aly, PhD, a clinical epidemiologist at Washington University in St. Louis School of Medicine and the chief of research and development at the Veterans Affairs St. Louis Health Care System.

But any encounter with COVID can also cause your immune system to “go awry or develop some form of dysfunction,” Dr. Al-Aly tells SELF. Specifically, “immune imprinting” can happen, where, upon a second (or third or fourth) exposure to the virus, your immune cells launch the same response as they did for the initial infection, in turn blocking or limiting the development of new antibodies necessary to fight off the current variant that’s stirring up trouble. So, “when you get hit an [additional] time, your immune system may not behave classically,” Dr. Al-Aly says, and could struggle with mounting a good defense.

Pair that dip in immune efficiency with the fact that your antibody levels also wane with time post-infection, and it’s easy to see how another hit can rock your body in a new way. Indeed, the more time that passes after any given COVID infection, the less of a “competitive advantage” you’ll have against any future one, Richard Moffitt, PhD, an associate professor at Emory University, in Atlanta, tells SELF. His research found that, while people who got sick initially during the delta phase were less likely to get reinfected during the first omicron wave (as compared to folks who were infected in a prior period), that benefit leveled off with following omicron variants.

There’s also the fact that no matter how your immune system has responded to a prior strain (or strains!) of the virus, it could react differently to a new mutation. “We tend to think of COVID as one homogeneous thing, but it’s really not,” Dr. Al-Aly says. So even if your body successfully thwarted one of these intruders in the past, there’s no guarantee it’ll do the same for another, now or in the future, he says.

Getting COVID again and again is especially risky if it previously made you very ill. Dr. Moffitt’s study above also found that the “severity of your first infection is very predictive of the severity of a reinfection,” he says. Meaning, you’re more likely to have a severe case of COVID—for instance, requiring hospitalization or intensive care, such as ventilation—when reinfected if you had a rough go of it the first time around.

It’s possible that some folks are more prone to an off-kilter immune response to the virus, which could then happen consistently with reinfections. The antibodies created in people who’ve had severe cases “may not function as well as those in folks who’ve had mild infections or were able to fight the virus off,” Dr. Melamed says. Though researchers don’t fully understand why, some people’s immune systems are also more likely to overreact to COVID (remember the cytokine storm?), which can cause serious symptoms—like fluid in the lungs and shortness of breath—whenever they’re infected.

Being over the age of 65, having a chronic illness or other medical condition, and lacking access to health care have all been shown to spike your risk of serious outcomes with a COVID infection, whether it’s your first or fifth fight with the virus.

But you’re not home free if you’ve only had, say, a brief fever or cough with COVID in the past; Dr. Moffitt points out that a small subset of people in his research who had minor reactions with their initial infection went on to be hospitalized with a repeat hit. The probability of that might be lower, but it’s still a possibility, he says.

Even if you’ve only had “mild” cases, each reinfection strains your body, upping your chances of developing long COVID. A 2022 study led by Dr. Al-Aly found that COVID reinfections also increase your risk of complications across the board, regardless of whether you recovered just fine in the past or got vaccinated. In particular, it showed that reinfection raises the likelihood that you’ll need hospitalization; have heart or lung problems; or experience, among other possible issues, GI, neurological, mental health, or musculoskeletal symptoms. “We use the term ‘cumulative effects,’” Dr. Al-Aly says, “so, multiple hits accrue and then leave the body more vulnerable to all the potential long-term health effects of COVID.”

That doesn’t mean your experience of a second (or third or fourth) infection will necessarily be worse, in and of itself, than what you felt during a prior case. But with each new hit, a fresh batch of the virus seeps into your system, where, even if you have a mild case, it has another chance to trigger any of the longer-term complications above. While the likelihood of getting long COVID (a constellation of symptoms lingering for three months or longer post-infection) is likely greatest after initial infection, “The bottom line is, people are still getting diagnosed with long COVID after reinfection,” Dr. Moffitt says.

Researchers don’t totally know why one person might deal with lasting health effects over another, but it seems that, in some folks, the immune system misfires, generating not only antibodies to attack the virus but also autoantibodies that go after the body’s own healthy cells, Dr. Al-Aly says. This may be one reason why COVID has been linked to the onset of autoimmune conditions like psoriasis and rheumatoid arthritis.

A different hypothesis suggests that pieces of the virus could linger in the body, even after a person has seemingly “recovered” (reminder that SARS-CoV-2 is scarily good at weaseling its way into all sorts of cells). “Maybe the first time, your immune system was able to fully clear it, but the second time, it found a way to hang around,” Dr. Al-Aly posits. And a third theory involves your gut microbiome, the community of microbes in your GI tract, including beneficial bacteria. It’s conceivable that “when we get sick with COVID, these bacteria do, too, and perhaps they recover [on initial infection], but not on the second or third hit,” he says, throwing off your balance of good-to-bad gut bugs (which can impact your health in all sorts of ways).

Another unnerving possibility: The shock to your system triggered by COVID may “wake up” a latent (a.k.a. dormant) virus or two lurking in your body, Dr. Melamed says. We all carry anywhere from eight to 12 of these undetected bugs at a time—things like Epstein-Barr, varicella-zoster (which causes chickenpox and shingles), and herpes simplex. And research suggests their reactivation could be a contributing factor in long COVID. Separately, the systemic inflammation often created by COVID may spark the onset of high blood pressure and increased clotting (which can up your risk of stroke and pulmonary embolism), as well as type 2 diabetes, Dr. Melamed says.

There’s no guarantee that any given COVID infection snowballs into something debilitating, but each hit is like another round of Russian roulette, Dr. Al-Aly says. From a sheer numbers standpoint, the more times you play a game with the possibility of a negative outcome, the greater your chances are of that bad result occurring. And because every COVID case has at least some potential to leave you very ill or dealing with a host of persistent symptoms, why take the risk any more times than you need to?

Bottom line: You should do your best to avoid COVID reinfection and bolster your defenses against the virus. At this stage of the pandemic’s progression, it’s not realistic to suggest you can avoid any exposure to the virus, given that societal protections against its spread have been rolled back. But what you should do is take some common-sense precautions, which can help you avoid any contagious respiratory virus. (A cold or the flu may not pose as many potential health risks as COVID, but being sick is still not fun!)

It’s a good idea to wear a mask when you’re in a crowded environment (especially indoors), choose well-ventilated or outdoor spaces for group hangouts, and test for COVID if you have cold or flu-like symptoms, Dr. Al-Aly says. If you do get infected, talk to your doctor about whether your personal risk of a severe case is enough to qualify for a Paxlovid prescription (which you need to take within the first five days of symptoms for it to be effective).

The other important thing you should do is get the updated COVID vaccine (the 2024-2025 formula was recently approved and released). Unlike getting reinfected, the vaccine triggers “a very targeted immune response…because it’s [made with] a specific tiny part of the virus,” Dr. Melamed says. Meaning, you get the immune benefit of a little exposure without the potential of your whole system going haywire. Getting the current shot also ensures you restore any protection that has waned since you received a prior jab and that you have an effective shield against the dominant circulating strains. Plus, research shows that being vaccinated doesn’t just lower your chances of catching the virus; it also reduces your risk of having a severe case or winding up with long COVID if you do get it.

So, too, can the deceivingly simple act of keeping up with healthy habits—like exercising regularly, eating nutritious foods, and clocking quality sleep. Maintaining this kind of lifestyle can help you stave off other health issues that could increase your risk of harm from COVID, Harlan Krumholz, PhD, a cardiologist at Yale University and founder of the Yale Center for Outcomes Research and Evaluation (CORE), tells SELF. “Given that we will be repetitively exposed to the virus, the best investments we can make are in our baseline health,” he says.

Doing any (or all!) of the above is a big act of compassion for yourself, the people you love, and your greater community. “For the average person, it’s like, ‘Oh, COVID is gone,’ but they’re just not seeing the impact,” Dr. Al-Aly says, noting the invisibility of long COVID symptoms like disorienting brain fog and crushing fatigue. The truth is, in plenty of people, just one more infection could be the difference between living their best life and facing a devastating chronic condition.

[trans-axolotl]

getting arrested brought up a lot of psych trauma for me and there's so many things from years ago that are just playing on repeat in my mind right now. i haven't been this fucked up about solitary confinement for a long time. I've spent the first two weeks after getting arrested sleeping on the floor of my friends rooms because I can't be alone in a room without freaking out. and getting arrested wasn't anywhere near as bad as solitary in the psych institution or getting brutalized by the cops when they sectioned me. But it was just close enough to remind me of how fucking scared i was back then. how many fucking times i lost my mind. how the worst part wasn't even the assaults but that knowledge that by getting those diagnoses on my chart, i would never be seen as credible again. I had to lie there, understanding that psychiatric authority could rewrite my every action into a symptom that justified increased confinement. It didn't matter that parts of my madness were in response to the carceral violence i was surviving and that i had been placed in a situation where self-destruction was my only path for demanding autonomy. it did not fucking matter, because i had become a "patient" and that meant i would never be believed again in a system that prioritized social control over any real safety, care, or healing.

last week when they got me alone in a cell with five cops i started to feel that same type of fear that i felt all those years ago when i had to prepare myself to survive some pretty fucking unspeakable things. the moment it sunk in i would be there alone, with no witnesses, i started to feel that same type of powerlessness again. those labels of patient and criminal are weaponized in the same way to create a situation where your words, your protests, your actions are not legible or believed in any way (civil death is how the philosophers would probably describe it. "world-destroying world" is how they refer to solitary confinement.) Sitting in court for hours this week feels the same--seeing dozens of cases each day where the judge is just destroying people's lives and doesn't even fucking care.

i am so angry. i am so fucking angry. i've known all this shit for years, i've joined programs to learn to copwatch and courtwatch and inside-outside organizing and hours and hours of anti carceral suicide support training, harm reduction organizing, trying to build similar stuff for my institutionalized comrades. but i am just so fucking angry every day about the amount of people whose lives are destroyed, who are murdered by the state in these fucking places. it's the same fucking shit over and over again and like, this time i had comrades and community and knowledge and had that type of support I could rely on even when I was in there alone. but I want to scream when I think about how many people don't have any of that shit going through the same fucking thing day after day, who are as alone as I was four years ago, who disappear and are cut out of our communities day after day and we don't always even know whose missing. i want to scream and just keep screaming. i want to tear all this shit down, i don't want the world where I live in to be one where prisons and jails and institutions and any fucking form of confinement still stands.

[luvzshy]

Could you please do a Billie fic when the reader stuffers with endometriosis

When It Hits

A/n: hi so forgive me if this isn't accurate but I didn't know what endometriosis was so, I did a little research abt it but if this is bad js lmk bb, mwuak.

It started as a nagging ache, like it always did. You knew where it was heading—each cramp tightening and twisting until it felt like a punch to the gut. Endometriosis had a way of creeping up on you, stealing days, sometimes even weeks, and today was shaping up to be one of the worst.

You lay in bed, knees drawn to your chest, trying to breathe through the waves of pain. The heating pad was doing little to help, and every small movement felt like someone was tearing into your insides. You didn’t even have the energy to grab your phone, though you knew Billie would be checking in soon.

She always knew when things were getting bad. It was almost like clockwork—your symptoms would flare up, and she’d find her way to you, somehow managing to turn the worst days into something bearable.

You heard the front door open quietly, followed by soft footsteps. Billie appeared in the doorway, her brown hair falling in waves around her face, eyes scanning the room before landing on you.

“Hey, how’re you holding up?” she asked, her voice quiet, like she didn’t want to disturb the fragile stillness in the air.

You let out a shaky breath, too tired to say much. “Not great.”

She sighed, a look of understanding crossing her face. She knew these days, had seen you like this before—curled up, drained, fighting against the pain that seemed relentless.

Billie came over and sat beside you on the bed. “Do you need anything? Water? Pills?”

You shook your head. “I’ve already taken something. It’s just… gonna take a while.”

Billie nodded, knowing when not to push. She sat with you in silence for a few minutes before quietly getting up, disappearing into the kitchen, and coming back with a glass of water anyway. She placed it on the nightstand, always thinking ahead in case you needed it later.

After a moment, she stretched out beside you, careful not to disturb the heating pad. “Just tell me if you need me to shut up, okay?”

You managed a small smile. “Okay.”

She started talking softly about random things—the music she was working on, some dumb thing her brother Finneas did the other day. The sound of her voice was soothing, a distraction from the constant pounding in your abdomen. She wasn’t trying to fix it—she knew she couldn’t—but she was here, making it a little less lonely.

When another wave of pain hit, you winced, and Billie instantly reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. She didn’t say anything, just stayed there with you, her quiet presence grounding you.

“It’s okay to feel like crap,” she said softly after a while. “You don’t have to pretend it’s not bad.”

You nodded, too exhausted to put up the usual brave front. “It just… it sucks.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But you’re allowed to feel that way.”

Billie’s hand stayed in yours, her thumb tracing small circles over your skin. The pain wasn’t going anywhere, but somehow, it felt a little easier knowing she wasn’t going anywhere either.

[loveforquanrui]

zb1's reaction to finding out you're sick

제로베이스원- zb1 and their reaction to finding out you are sick after trying to hide it from them, lowercase intended, mentions of food, gn reader, not proofread, lowercase intended

-jiwoong-

i think it would be easy to hide the fact that you were sick to jiwoong

i give it 2 days max until he finds out

when he does find out, he would not be mad or disappointed, i truly believe he would understand why you were trying to hide it from him

his first priority is to make you feel better, so he would try to come over to your house, so he can make his lovely partner feel better

in the case that you don't want him to come over

he would be respectful of what you want but would 100% be the type to drop off medicine, snacks, and stuffed animals

-hao-

unlike jiwoong, it would be so hard to hide something from hao

hao is soo clingy so its not an easy task to hide that you are sick

when he finds out that you are sick

he'd throw a little sassy fit over the phone and say that he is sad that you would hide it from him

would go over to your house and even though he is a bit upset that you tried to hide the fact that you were sick, he would do anything you need

need to do some chores no worries hao is already doing them

want to get up to grab your journal, hao is already running to your run to grab it for you

needless to say hao does not want you moving an inch from where you are laying

-hanbin-

you see hanbin he has days where he is clingly and days where he isnt

but hanbin is an enfj and would constantly check up on you

the moment you respond unusually late, he would already be knocking at your door

when he finds out you've been sick for a couple of days already

he would be so disappointed, he would be wondering why you would hide it from him

luckily even though he is disappointed, his first priority like jiwoong is to get you to feel better

once you are better expect a lecture on how you should not hide these things from him

he would randomly ask what are your symptoms?

once you tell him, he'd say "i'll be right back", and a couple of minutes later he would return with a bag full of medicine

he would take care of you so well, and even spend the night until you feel like yourself again

-matthew-

when it comes to matthew i feel like he would know that you got sick even before you got sick

you guys were probably out, when it started to rain, and that's when you got a slight cough

from there matthew already knew that you were about to get sick

he wouldn't lecture you in fact i feel like matthew would be sooo chill and relaxing to be around when you're sick

matthew would make sure to buy you the medicine you would need way in advanced

and when he takes care of you he would make a little fort for you two in your living room

and he would put on one of his favorite animes, and would also prepare your favorite snacks

-taerae-

taerae.. listen i believe in clingly boyfriend taerae, it just has to be real

so i give it max one literal day till he finds out that you are sick

when he finds out that you are sick and that you were going to hide it from him, he'd be so petty and slightly upset

our little duck has anger issues but it's okay cause its taerae!

he would be so upset because he wants you to tell him this things not hide them :,(

he would still take care of you of course his pettiness can only go for so long

but don't think it'll be easy

he would be a bit sassy and petty but would still take good care of you and give you all the necessary cuddles

so in conclusion don't hide something like this to taerae or our baby will be upset :(

-ricky-

our ricky who for sure is a T

i don't think ricky is clingly like the other members

so i think he would be clueless to you being sick but..

in the time when he does find out he would try to act calm and collected but our lovelicky would be a worried mess

immediately he would show up to your house bringing a doctor along

after the doctor prescribes you medicine, he would tuck you into your bed, and go buy the medicine in the nearest pharmacy

you being sick activates cute worried ricky :,)

he would help you with literally everything

he would try to feed you the medicine even though he's shy about it

would cuddle with you and watch any of your favorite movies, even if he's not interested in them, he would watch them to make you feel happy

i dont think he would stay the night over like some of the other boys but thats because everyday that you are sick..

ricky will show up with a new gift in order to get you a little distracted from your sickness

in a moment like this you're all he thinks about and he only cares about you feeling better

-gyuvin-

oh our clueless yet adorable gyuvin

listen despite him being a little goofy sometimes he would also be another member that you cannot hide things from

when you tried hiding the fact that you are sick it was.. hard

gyuvin is sooo clingly

so before you could even tell him not to come over because you were busy

he was already at your house, unlocking the door with the spare key

"Y/N" he'd yell and when you can't respond because of how sick you are, he'd look for you immediately

when he finds you and finds out your sick, he'd be asking so many questions

"why are you sick", "when did you get sick", "why didn't you tell me?"

when you answered his long list of questions he would assure you that he can take care of you, and that you don't need to call your mom to do so

and boy was it definitely an experience to put it nicely

he would make you soup and would help by feeding it to you

but of course your boyfriend isn't himself if he isn't pulling a little prank on you

he would feed you like parents feed their babies saying something like "here comes the airplane open wide", when you said you won't do that he insisted he wont let you eat until you do

and when you comply right as the spoon was about to enter your mouth he quickly feeds himself instead

you gotta admit it made you laugh and thats why you love your boyfriend

he always makes you forget about the negative aspects in life

-gunwook-

while gunwook is so smart, i'd think he's a little gullible

i feel like the reason why i think he's gullible is because he trusts you so much so he wouldn't expect you to lie to him about being sick

so when you text him that you are not sick he immediately believes you

it isnt until 3 days later when he calls you unexpectedly, and your words could lie, but your voice couldn't

thats how he found out you have been sick and not busy like you said

he would say "i'm coming over in 5 minutes"

he'd show up with all the right medicine, food, and some flowers

but he would be sooo pouty

he'd cuddle into you, not caring if he got sick, and after those cuddles comes the worst part

the lecture

he would give you a lecture about how you should tell him when you don't feel well because he's here to help you not make you feel like you can't tell him :,)

after understanding each other comes the lovey dovey part

gunwook would cuddle you day and night

and he would read you any book you wanted to read

and he would also tell you many stories of his childhood that you did not know about

and you would rapidly get better since gunwook made you also do activity like yoga that can make your body more relax

so in a week you were already cured, as if you never got sick

your boyfriend is so smart so ofc he knows how to get you to feel better right away

-yujin-

yujin is such a cutie

he would be so clueless as well

if you tell him you're not sick he would also believe you and not ask any questions

so hiding the fact that you were sick would be so easy

it wasn't until after you got a little better and you only had a runny nose when he found out you've been sick

"oh you should've told me"

he'd feel so bad for not realizing that you were sick sooner

so the next time when you guys met up at the park, he bought you a gift as an apology

he would tell you that next time you feel sick to let him know so he could be there for you

yujin may be shy and awkward and times but at the end of the day he is very caring and gentle towards the people he loves

[emepe]

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: The first 48 hours are crucial when a person goes missing. Eren can only pray it’s enough to reach you..

— Content warnings: emetophobia, mention of assault.

— Notes: Helloooo!!! Welcome to TV Friday number 12 <3 I thought about posting earlier but I thought best to keep up our little tradition ^^ Please read the notes at the end for extra notes about TV’s future. Don’t be shy to stop by my ask box <3 If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, lmk. Happy reading!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

Forty-eight hours

Hour One

A missed call shouldn't have been enough to raise an alarm, but his gut instantly told him something was wrong. And yet he tried his best to remain calm — stepped out onto the street and made his way to the bus stop where you should've been dropped off, glancing into convenience stores just in case, hopeful that the bus was just running a little late. But when the bus you would've taken showed up — allowing Eren some time to sigh in relief and shake his head at his own presumptions — and you were nowhere to be found among the few people to scatter onto the sidewalk, it only confirmed that previous gut feeling.

Hour Two

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

There's a stiffness to Eren's breathing that makes the process more painful than its intended effects — his lungs feel too big for his ribs, which seem to be pressing them against his heart, pushing his brain into hyperactivity to keep him from imploding.

Where does he even start? Where should he even go?

If there's a proper protocol to follow to find you, he's no idea of it and he's strangely aware that his anxiety might lead him in the wrong direction when there's so much he has to do — so many places he has to be — at once. It's infuriatingly difficult to not have a cool head when you really need it.  

He didn't think to bring his car — perhaps it's for the best, considering his vision continues to blur and it's not a sign of good condition to hear your own frantic heartbeat pounding in your ears. 

His eyes anxiously scan the faces of every person in his path. Paired with his dazed footing and the sick expression on his face revived every couple of minutes from the nausea stemming from some sort of sensed doom that he continuously swats away, there hasn't been a shortage of odd looks and aversions since he ventured into the dark streets in hopes to find you fine and well out of thin air.

It's been too long to dismiss as a casualty since his calls stopped going through, and yet he insists on redialing your number each time he's met with the automated message that only further fuels his dreadful symptoms, hopeful that your voice will reach his ears again, for that comforting sound to put an end to the infernal crescendo of his insides. 

Just as he's about to redial once more, his phone starts buzzing first, and for a split second his body is at peace and his heart soothed in the spare moment that it takes for him to accept the call and bring the phone to his ear. 

“Have you heard from her yet?” 

The voice on the other end causes his stomach to plummet to his feet for what feels like the tenth time tonight.

It takes a moment for his brain to assimilate that it's not you on the other end and another for him to hate himself for not checking who was calling and stupidly spit a response to an Armin who has no fault in anything, especially for not being you.

Armin, as understanding as ever and assuming the more collected role for Eren's sake, dismisses the frustrated tone in his friend's voice, fully aware it's nothing personal. 

“The security guard says she left a little over an hour ago and Mika called me a minute ago and said she hasn't been home. Are you sure she wasn't going to make any stops on the way?” 

“No, Armin, she would've told me. She would've come here first or she would've at least texted me.” Eren's voice cracks. “Something is wrong.” 

The weakness in Eren's voice is enough to fracture Armin's composure for a fraction of a second.

“Let's go to Levi.”

Hour Three

Being in the police station feels more reassuring than Eren would've imagined. At least this means he's doing something — and something right, at that — and the drive over spared him enough time to ease his nerves, even just a little, as he continued to repeat inwardly to himself that everything is going to be fine. 

Time is everything and frankly, he can't help but feel a bit dumb for not thinking about getting some help from Levi in the first place. He'll find out what's going on — if there was an accident, if you got mugged and that's why no calls go through, or even if your bus broke down and that's why he hasn't seen you when he should have by now. Even if it turns out to be a misunderstanding, better to cause a scene than to sit on his hands. Though three hours without any sign to say otherwise can't be a misunderstanding. 

Eren hunches over, resting his forehead on the edge of Levi's desk, not minding one bit as it digs a dent into his skin. His knee bounces every couple of minutes as he and Armin wait for Levi to get back to them. 

“Eren Jaeger?” 

He looks up to find a tall blond man instead of Levi. 

“Yes?” 

“I'm Captain Erwin Smith. Come this way please.” 

Eren stands to follow the man's lead, only sparing a nervous glance to Armin, who replies with a comforting one from his seat, only morphing into a more accurate depiction of his worry once Eren turns his back to him.

“Where's Levi?” 

Eren's eyes wander the barren space he's been led into. Nothing but a table and a pair of chairs set opposite of each other. 

“He'll be here in a moment. I just want to ask you some more questions about the missing person's report you're filing.” 

“Of course.”

Doing his best to hold in his exasperation at the ticking clock in his head, he dutifully replies to every question he's already answered for Levi when he first walked into the station — what made him come to the station, his relation to you, your description, what happened before he lost contact with you, amongst other basic things to paint a picture of the situation.

“Was there ever any trouble in your relationship?” Erwin asks.

Eren's brow furrows.

“What do you mean?” 

“I'm asking if there was any indication that your girlfriend,” he makes a vague motion with his hands as he reads your name from the folder in his hands, “might’ve been upset with the relationship. Did you ever argue or have any trouble? Perhaps something in the past few days? Or ever?” 

Eren hardens his jaw in an attempt to remain calm. He knew he'd have to spend a while at the station, answering questions more than once — as frustrating as the lengthy process could be, he expected that much. 

Erwin's tone has remained neutral for the entirety of the questioning, and it's only natural to want to rule out any immediate suspects, but it doesn't make the implication of the captain's words any less offensive and borderline cruel. 

“No,” Eren chokes out, horrified by the mere idea that either of you would walk away without warning. That isn't you. 

“So no reason for her to break off contact with you.”

“She didn't break off contact,” Eren spits, growing heavily frustrated at the sudden turn of events. “We were supposed to meet, she was on her way already. I saw her just this morning and she called me first to tell me she was coming home.”

“Maybe she only said that to throw you off?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Just tell me what you might think,” Erwin replies, voice stern. “You say it's only been three hours since you last heard from her but she's a mentally stable, healthy adult. Unless she has any conditions that could put herself or others in danger, chances are she's safe and sound somewhere and this is all a misunderstanding. Was there anything suspicious or weird about her?”

Eren's shake of his head grows more and more frustrated as Erwin does little to conceal his skepticism, which only shapes as a misunderstanding from Eren's increasingly impatient point of view.

“What's suspicious and weird is that she never made it to our date at all and it's been three hours and I haven't gotten a single word from her.”

Eren's expression is one of pleading, yet Erwin's remains neutral and made of marble.

“And it's not like that,” Eren murmurs. “I was going to ask her to live with me tonight. She called me after she left work to tell me she was on her way.” Eren can feel his heartbeat start to pick up as his ribcage begins to close in on his lungs once more as more anxious words continue to spill from his mouth in increasing pace and volume. “She told me she had news and that she loves me. Why would she tell me that if anything was wrong? Why would she say that if she wasn't going to make it to our date?” The crack in his voice comes at the same time as the stinging sensation behind his eyes and the uncomfortable tickle in his nose. “I was making dinner for us. I had this whole thing planned. I wanted to surprise her with all her favorite food and the pictures from the new apartment. I wasn't going to tell her about the pink bathtub because I want it to be a surprise when we move in. She…” He curls against the table, hands gripping his hair in frustration, pulling at the strands to make sure he still feels something because there are just too many sensations overwhelming him as he tries to get through to the man in front of him. “She really wants a pink bathtub.” 

Eren doesn't lift his gaze, just remains quiet and unmoving until he catches a flicker of movement in front of him. It's only when he takes the tissue offered by Erwin that he becomes aware of the tears streaming down his face. 

Levi nearly had a heart attack when he first caught eye of Eren's and Armin's familiar faces walking into the police station. The frantic green eyes and anxious expressions made it clear something awful had happened and hot flashes of searing dread burned inside his stomach. That is until nobody pronounced his niece's name. After that, the flame of pain withered to ashes of guilt, consuming him from the inside in such a manner that it was hard to face his niece's friends knowing he'd felt relief it wasn't his family who'd been affected tonight. 

Levi's known Eren since he was a kid — a bit childish and whiny, but ultimately a decent man with a kind heart. It's been a pleasure watching him grow up and knowing he's remained a good friend to his niece. 

Levi's only met you once. It was at Jean and Mikasa's engagement party earlier this year. If Jean and Mikasa were the happiest couple there, you and Eren were a close second. It was easy to know just how much he adored you, and how attached you were to him. Eren was rarely in a dark place, but next to you his smile was blinding. 

After finding out Erwin conducted the interrogation to rule out a possible runaway case — and how he did it — he still hadn't ridden himself of enough guilt to apologize for making the situation more stressful, no matter what the rules say. 

It's no secret some sudden disappearances hold more danger than others. An abducted child, an older person with dementia, a mentally and emotionally unstable person who's looking to cause harm to others or themselves — they demand a higher sense of urgency than logging the missing person into the system and following up when there's nothing more pressing on the police's plate.

The desperation consuming Eren's features when Levi finally walks into the interrogation room is enough to kick off his own instincts. 

It's upon Levi's insistence that patrols are dispatched immediately. 

Hour Five

When a loved one's safety is on the line, any efforts from authorities never seem to be enough and yet one remains oddly hopeful that the people with a proper protocol should know how to better handle situations that leave one frantic and lost. 

Calls to the nearest hospitals, pings from cellphone towers, two patrols dispatched to the last known location and its surroundings, questions to potential witnesses who have nothing to report or are rather too invested to go back to whatever keeps their attention inside to provide some detailed tips, one patrol leaving because of a nearby break-in and the remaining one left with nothing more to go off of than one grainy clip of CCTV footage that shows your figure walking down the street, and a second clip from a convenience store's outside surveillance camera where you don't show up at all, but the lack of witnesses lead to nothing in between. 

Keeping up the search when there's been nothing gained starts proving to be more difficult when obstacles continue to pile on. Aside from the growing boredom of those in police cars from the lack of fresh information to keep them motivated, the heavy clouds that hover over everyone's head threatens for the case to soon be abandoned for the night. 

Hour Eight

Levi is hesitant to leave. But with no leads — no CCTV footage, no unknown numbers blinking on Eren's screen, no mother, an estranged father, no sign of a struggle at the last known location, and so much yet so little more — there isn't much he has to do than drive back with the pair of worried men to the station for more questioning in case of foul play, while constantly eyeing his notifications for any incoming messages on an assault victim found in an alley not too far away from where your phone was last still on.

Eren refuses to leave. Despite Levi's efforts to persuade him that going back to the station was necessary, knowing he was so close to where you'd last been was enough for Eren to stand his ground. Getting into Levi's car means going back miles worth of steps. It means straying from what feels so much like the right path already. And as ridiculous and futile as it is with no leads, it means losing his grip on something much more solid. 

How easy it would be if a last known location means he can find you just by looking behind a tree or having someone point and say “yes, she's right there”. 

So when Levi makes another plea for Eren to come back with him — he doesn't mention what for to not stir any more nerves — and Eren says no while steering himself down the block for what feels like his hundredth recon of the area — just in case you really were behind that tree in the small playground all along, playing a nasty prank on him — Levi chooses to go back to all the nearby twenty-four hour convenience stores one last time before the downpour begins. 

Armin gives Levi a grateful nod before lightly jogging to catch up with Eren, who's already turning onto the next street. 

“You can go,” Eren calls over his shoulder after catching a glimpse of his friend's blond hair beside him. “I'll keep looking by myself. Besides, it's gonna rain soon. You'll get wet.” 

“What about you?” Armin looks down at his friend's bare arms. “You don't even have a jacket.” 

Eren looks down at his sides, like he just noticed his lack of a coat. He could've sworn he had one on him when he walked out his apartment. You would've been upset with him otherwise, that small pout forming on your lips while your brows are weighed down with disappointment. 

The instant of amusement he feels is quickly consumed by the ache of why he's out on the street with no jacket to begin with. 

The food must be cold by now. He'll have to heat it all up once you're back home.

Light raindrops brush against his skin with a small gust of wind. 

You're still not behind the tree.

It's nearly half past two in the morning. Any civilians with useful information have been asleep for hours, and any passers-by would've reported anything had they seen it, Armin thinks. 

It's chilling to walk down streets so quiet and empty, with the only reminder that this isn't an alternate universe being the sparse cars that drive by. Surely the people inside might find it strange to see the pair walking up and down the streets, turning, looking, flashing their phones to make out shapes in the dark.

The tickle of rain on skin is no longer, but the temperature continues to drop. 

Armin takes on one side of the street while Eren tackles the other. He receives a polite nod from the security guard of a small daycare center, who fails to conceal his look of pity. Levi interviewed him around an hour ago, so he has to know what's going on. 

Armin averts his gaze, his cheeks burning at the thought of some stranger pitying him and his friend when everything is going to be just fine. 

The rain starts up again. Eren isn't around anymore. With one quick scan of the street, Armin spots him rounding the corner to the next street — pace firm but anxious. He's quick to follow. 

By the time Armin catches up, the raindrops have grown in size, a reliable sign that this time, it's for real. 

“Eren,” Armin calls him carefully.

Eren continues walking, flashing a light behind a dumpster in a narrow alley between a family restaurant and a bookstore. 

“Eren,” Armin calls him a bit more firmly to get his attention, but to no avail. 

With brows knit more in desperation than concern, Armin quickens his pace and pulls Eren by the shoulder just before he rounds the corner to the next street. 

“Eren!”

“What?” 

The anger and volume in Eren's voice shrinks Armin in his place for a brief moment. 

Embarrassed by his own reaction, Eren exhales an apology. But his face hardens once more when Armin suggests it's time to go home.

Armin steps back, surprised to have caught a swear word from his best friend among the words he spits back in a negative response. 

But when Eren turns, ready to resume his search, Armin pulls at him again.

“Eren, stop!” he half-yells, quickly readjusting his volume before speaking again to not cause any disturbances to sleeping strangers.

“You don't want to pick a fight with me Armin, I'm warning you,” Eren's voice grows low, but still reaches Armin with the same anger and menace.  

Eren harshly pulls away and continues to storm down the next street, leaving Armin to stumble behind. 

The rain is heavy enough now to spot the pavement faster than it takes for each drop to dry. 

“We need to go back, we aren't going to find her like this,” Armin calls after him. His hands do little to shield himself from the rain. Thankfully, Armin thought to bring a jacket along but it won't do much for either of them when it's bound to be sopping wet in just a few minutes. 

Eren's shirt is already clinging to his skin in large patches down his back, and yet he continues walking with purpose down the street. 

Armin's shivering now under his jacket as he looks around to gather his surroundings. This street isn't far from the office. It's poorly lit which, paired with the rain, is best explored in daylight. There's a single street lamp that's meant to illuminate the area at night, but it's been broken for months and either nobody has reported it, or laziness has kept it from being repaired. 

“Come on,” Armin insists, lightly jogging now and losing his breath under the cold shower as he tries to keep up with Eren, who still refuses to listen. “We'll come back in the morning! You need to get some rest if you're going to keep looking! I'll come with you, okay? But we need to go!”

Armin suddenly crashes into Eren's chest as the latter abruptly turns around in a sudden fit of pure rage. 

“I already told you I'm not fucking leaving!” 

Armin stumbles back, teeth chattering, muscles drooping from his wet clothes and vision blurred by the heavy rain. 

“You can leave if you want to! That's what the fucking police is doing! Just go already! But I'm staying because I care! I don't give a fuck about the rain, I'm going to find her!”

Eren's words pierce through Armin's chest, and the next moment he's tackling Eren to the ground. It's not so much to stop him from leaving this time, but out of indignation. 

Eren falls on his ass with a wet thud, his palms painfully pounding onto the pavement as Armin falls on top of him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt in his hands.

“You think I don't care? Why do you think I'm here, you idiot?” Armin yells in Eren's face. Had the pouring rain not been a factor, he would've been red in the face. But had the rain not been there, Eren also would've easily seen the tears streaming down Armin's face, and that would've taken away from his blue glare. 

“She's my best friend! I'm just as worried about her as you are! You can't decide you're the only one affected by this! That only makes you a jerk and you're not!” 

Eren is tense all over as he holds Armin's surprisingly threatening glare. His chest heaves as a twinge of guilt surges inside of him at his friend's pointed remarks. The stiff breathing makes its return.

“But we have to go,” Armin's voice softens — it cracks and begs. 

And Eren breaks down in sobs. His scraped palms come to his face, aggressively digging the heels against his eyes as if to force his tears back in while his shoulders tremble in cold, grief and guilt. 

“You don't understand!” he cries, his shirt still crumpled under Armin's grip. “I fucked up, Armin. This is all my fault!”

Unsure of how to react to this abrupt change in attitude, Armin remains frozen save for his teeth, which continue to chatter under the deafening rain.

“I was supposed to pick her up. I'm never late,” Eren hiccups. “But I didn't come today and now I don't know where she is! It was me, Armin! I did this! This is my fault!” 

“Eren,” Armin murmurs gently, eyebrows upturned in sympathy as he finally softens his hold on his friend. 

“I can't find her and I don't know if she's hurt or scared or if…,” Eren's words drown in another wave of sore sobs, his lips refusing to let the thought of the worst to escape as a spoken word — to think that someone might have caused you harm and that's what's kept you tonight. 

“I need her to be okay,” he whimpers finally, lips trembling as his body begins to react to the harsh cold surrounding him. “Where is she, Armin?”

It takes a while for Armin to gather his thoughts and catch up to the workings of Eren's mind from this hellish night. 

He often leaves the office with you, stays behind some evenings when he notices you're close to wrapping up your work and can ride the elevator together. Sometimes even accepts Eren's offer for a ride when he's too tired to deal with the overwhelming setting of public transportation — tired enough to not mind third-wheeling for a short while. If the last place your phone was turned on was before you even had a chance to take a bus, surely he could've done something to prevent this mess too. Why didn't he think to stay behind today, too?

“It's not your fault,” Armin finally says, his voice just barely audible amidst the rain and thunder. He blinks up from the ground to his friend. “And we don't know what happened. We'll try the hospitals again later, we'll keep calling her in the meantime. We have Levi helping us, right?”

Eren blinks back at him, slowly gathering that Armin is trying to encourage him through reassurances, and finally nods in response as he does his best to ignore the tight lump in his throat. 

“It's like three in the morning, Eren. I'm not asking you to stop. But we can't keep going like this.” He motions vaguely toward the incessant rain from above and the wet clothes sticking to their skin. 

Armin stands, relieving Eren from his weight as he pushes back his hair with one hand and offers the other to his friend whose reluctance casts a shadow over his usually bright features. 

Eren trains his gaze on the ground, leaving Armin's helping hand hanging for the while longer it takes for him to convince himself that Armin is right and this doesn't mean he's failing you. 

Finally, Eren accepts his friend's hand, who hoists him up just as they both spot Levi's car pulling into the street from the farthest corner. 

Armin motions for Eren to follow him toward the car, to which he responds with a weak nod. But just a couple of steps in, something crunches and gets caught under his shoe. Naturally, he looks down, forgetting the deluge falling over him at the moment to frown at the foreign object. 

Armin glances over his shoulder, sensing his absence, and turns around fully when he realizes Eren is kneeling on the ground, cautiously picking something from the ground that ultimately dangles from his fingers once it's fully suspended in the air. 

Armin retraces his steps, kneeling next to his friend to find his face pallid, and green eyes wide with fear as he stares at the broken chain between his fingers, from which hangs an angel cast in silver with a broken wing. 

His features contort in horrified realization. It's almost ridiculous to turn to Eren for confirmation of what he already knows and can already begin to imagine. But when he does, the latter is already hunched over in the opposite direction, emptying his stomach onto the wet pavement while the nearing lights from Levi's car come to blind him.

Hour Fifteen

Mikasa, Jean, and Sasha step into the elevator wordlessly, the only sounds on the way to Eren's floor being the inevitable rustles from the plastic bags with food in Mikasa's hands. 

Jean offered to take them, but Mikasa insisted she'd hold onto them. Maybe it's because of her cold hands, but it might also be because she needs something to help keep her grounded — literally; she feels as though she might float away otherwise. Because if anyone were to ask her, nothing has felt real since last night after Armin's call. 

The elevator’s hum ceases as it comes to a gentle stop and the doors slide open. 

The same somber silence continues to hover between the trio as they mechanically walk down the hall to Eren's door. Jean takes out his copy of the key from his jeans pocket and pushes the door wide open, gesturing for the girls to enter first before quietly closing the door behind them.

Spare keys aren't rare between them. It was chain reaction that stemmed from Eren's father's passing. Everyone wanted to make sure he was okay. The rest is history. 

“In case of emergency.”

“Can you please water my plants while I'm gone?” 

“Can you check something for me?”

“I'm really sick, just let yourself in.”

“Just keep it.”

Jean's copy has rarely been used. In fact, not many of them have made use of Eren's key once he started dating. Not that it's been a dramatic change, but now there's not much need to be wary of barging in on something they'll all laugh about later. And today, after Eren passed out on the street in the rain, it seems crucial to brush the dust off an old habit for their friend's sake.

The trio is careful not to make any excess noise — Eren might still be sleeping —, but the further they venture into the apartment, they realize their efforts are in vain. 

They expected Eren to be lying on the sofa where Jean and Armin had so carefully helped him settle down, still fast asleep considering it's only been a few hours since. Although Eren's sudden nausea was a mere reaction to finding the necklace, Armin still spent a couple more hours watching over him as a precaution while he cleaned up the kitchen and dining area, and quietly left for his apartment to make another round of calls before work. 

They're met with the view of their friend bustling around his work area in a corner of the living room, his brow furrowed and eyes laser focused as he refills the ink tanks on his printer. Stacks of missing person's posters cover his desk with a handful of faded ones having been scattered and crumpled on the floor as evidence of the ink shortage he's tending to. Your face occupies nearly the entirety of his immediate view, which is why a single glance is enough to distract him from his task that he doesn't notice his friends present in his apartment, nor when the ink begins to leak.

At the instinctive curse word that leaves him in a frustrated huff, Jean rushes over to help him. 

“I'll handle this,” he assures Eren, who only blinks in surprise as he realizes he's not alone. 

Mikasa and Sasha walk over to him unsure of whether a hug is appropriate as a greeting. In the end, they choose to speak the words instead. 

Sasha leaves the conversation in exchange for helping Jean clean up the spilled ink. An irregular blob-shaped stain is left behind on the ash gray wood. 

“Are you– How's your stomach?” Mikasa asks. 

An uneasy grimace makes its way onto Eren's face.

“It's fine. It was just… Yeah.” He shrugs it off, unsure of how to properly explain the incident without triggering more discomfort. 

Mikasa nods in understanding. 

“Armin said you're going back to the police station later.”

Eren huffs at a humorless puff of air from his nose. 

“Yeah. More questioning,” Eren replies, his head continuously shaking in disbelief, to which Mikasa frowns.

“What's wrong?” 

It takes Eren a couple of tries to let the words out, his mouth opening and closing with hesitancy. 

“They all left, Mika,” he softly murmurs, a hint of helplessness infecting his fragile voice, that births an ache in Mikasa's chest. “Nobody could say anything and they got bored. What kind of excuse is that?” 

Mikasa drops her gaze to her shoes, submitting before the hurt and impotence Eren's words awake in her. 

Then she shakes her head briefly, recalling a good thing. 

“Levi's on the case… and there's evidence for foul play now, there's a lead,” she says, trying her hardest to appear more hopeful at each thing on her list. “He'll find her, Eren. This'll just be nothing but a bad memory soon.” 

She smiles, but it comes out sad from the red that tints her waterline. 

Eren doesn't have the energy to try to appear cheerful from her encouragement, and limits himself to a nod. 

“Eren, how long have you been up?” Sasha asks with concern from his desk, where her eyes scan over his computer screen and the stacks of paper with your face printed front and center. 

“A few hours?” Eren replies with a shrug, to which everyone else exchanges concerned glances.

Jean breaks the silence with a loud clap, refusing to make way for any awkwardness in the air. 

“We brought you some food, buddy. Come on, let's eat.” 

Sasha eagerly nods, her enthusiasm a bit too stiff it almost seems rehearsed, as she encourages him to follow them to the dining table.

Eren allows himself to be tugged along for a couple of steps before he tethers himself to his spot for a moment and then decidedly takes a step back under everyone's puzzled expressions. 

“I'm not really hungry,” he murmurs, shaking his head.

“Are you sure?” Mikasa gently asks.

“We got your favorite soup,” Jean smiles, though Eren is too busy staring at a blank point to notice. “Minestrone.”

“Extra parmesan,” Sasha adds.

“It's fine.” Eren assures them with a forced smile. “You guys eat. I have a lot of things to do.” 

“Well, you can't do them on an empty stomach. Let's eat and then we'll go through your to-do list together,” Jean insists.

“Yeah,” Mikasa agrees, shooting a grateful smile to her fiancé. “Jean can drive you to the station after breakfast and Sasha and I can handle the rest.”

Every offer is sensible and comforting, but Eren still refuses. He can't eat, not when you still haven't come home. 

“No…” his voice trembles ever so slightly as his eyes wander around the room, as if looking for an excuse. He ultimately makes his way back to his desk, where the stacks of posters await him. “I'll just head out now. I'm gonna hand some of these out before going to the station.”

The rejected trio exchange another round of anxious, meaningful looks. Mikasa's the first to break away from the group to join Eren in gathering a stack of flyers and a roll of tape from the black metal organizer on his desk.

As her hands roam around the surface of the ash gray wood, the jewel on her finger catches the sunlight peeking through the curtains. 

Eren's movements grow slow as his focus is stolen by the silver engagement ring. 

Mikasa notices the pause in his movements from the corner of her eye, and looks up at him to assess his status. Eren tears his gaze from her ring — embarrassed —, but not fast enough for it to go unnoticed, nor does he remember to ease his hardened jaw afterwards. He moves in silence and sets a fast pace toward the door, leaving an anguished Mikasa to trail at his heel. 

Hour Twenty

It takes a handful of hours for Eren to get back home from the station, with a significant reduction to the baggage he left with. The stream of questions would've been fairly simple had he not been charged with so many uneasy feelings as to why he was doing all of it in the first place. It certainly didn't help that he had to face the same people who had simply left this morning. But he has to do things right — even if it means swallowing his anger to contribute with any useful information.

Social media presence, daily routines, bus routes, habits, friends, family situation.

Saying you know someone like the back of your hand is an odd saying, he thinks. He's not that vain to spend lengthy periods of time observing himself. In his case, it suffices to say he simply knows you — all he's done is look at you. 

He knows your hands quite well. The shape of your fingers, the curves of your knuckles and the warmth of your palms when they latch onto his heartbeat and manipulate it to your will. And now what's been left since last night is a painful cavity. It's all wrong. Your hand should be here, filling his void. 

The apartment is empty, Jean and Sasha long gone. The plastic bags have been folded into neat triangles and the counter has been cleared. Upon opening the fridge, Eren finds stacks of containers that have been added to those Armin helped put away the previous night from the uncelebrated dinner. 

He stares at his packed fridge for a long time, any energy to step away vanishing into thin air and leaving him stuck in place, looking straight ahead until he no longer recognizes the shape of anything inside, and he grows numb at the cold air that slowly envelops him. 

A ring from his pocket is what finally pulls him out of his daze and he's quick to whip the device out and accept the incoming call with pure urgency and no thought. 

“I'm only assuming you've been too excited to call me to tell me how it went last night,” Carla's playfully accusing tone comes through the speaker. 

“Mom,” Eren pronounces in a voice so soft, yet empty as he only acknowledges it's her, but any word that bounces off his tongue is devoid of meaning until he can speak the name he wants to.

“So,” Carla's enthusiastic grin is evident through the phone. “Was she thrilled? What did she say?”

Eren's voice fails him. 

In all the anxiety and chaos, with all the things he's had to do within the last twenty hours, he completely forgot to tell his mother what had happened and that moment is catching up to him now. 

His lips roll inwards, a habit reserved for when he's feeling shy because of things you say or do, and now has come back because of his lack of words — or rather the will to expel them.

His hand comes up to his hair, his fingers brushing his hair back as he struggles to find his voice. 

It's only when Eren takes a second too long to reply that a shift in mood can be sensed from Carla's end of the line.

“Eren,” she calls him carefully, which only makes the lump in his throat grow. “Honey, what's wrong?”

“Mom,” is all Eren can muster, voice cracking as he pushes the word out.

“Did you have a fight? Is everything okay?” Carla's concern amplifies through the speaker, as something rustles in the background, a sign that she's taken on a more alert position.

“You didn't break up, did you?” 

Out of all the things that could've gone wrong last night, Eren wishes that had been it. At least he wouldn't be as helpless. At least he'd know where you are. At least it's something he could reverse.

“No.” 

The word comes out choked, his throat instantly sore for the second time. 

His monosyllabic replies must be getting to her, because Carla takes a deep breath before trying again. 

“Eren, honey. You have to speak clearly, okay?” Carla's voice grows gentle, as it always has whenever Eren would have trouble speaking his mind. Granted, that's been lost as he got older, but Carla's sweet attention hasn't. “What happened?”

Her patient voice finally manages to coax the lodged words from Eren's throat. 

“I don't know where she is. She's missing.” 

Hour Twenty-four 

Rain is bad for detective work. Eren heard about it in a documentary or a podcast, or maybe he read it somewhere — he can't remember. But it supposedly washes away any evidence, making easy cases tricky and difficult cases nearly impossible. Considering the silver angel necklace was found in the midst of the sky falling, it comes as no surprise when he comes home from a casual meet up with Levi at a nearby coffee shop with the news that no DNA or signs of a struggle were found on site after a thorough search in the light of day. The other half of the broken angel wing was found stuck on the edge of a sewer grate, though. Eren would feel any comfort at all if it meant it would lead to something. But at least the necklace can be fixed for when he finds you and this is all over.

The necklace is pretty much a dead end, but it'll remain under the police's hold just in case. 

Eren has never gone so long without seeing your face. Now that the clock has found its way back to the hour you were supposed to walk through his door, it's unbearable to know that you won't. And still he looks over in its direction every few minutes, expecting you to burst in and throw yourself into his embrace, marking the end to a day-long fever dream. 

That's probably it. A dream. No, a nightmare. It's nothing but a wicked play of his subconscious — to teach him a lesson on appreciating you more. Maybe to scare him into doing a better job of protecting you. Maybe he's gotten too lax, too careless. After all, the city hasn't been terrorized by any violent crimes in the last few months. But that's no excuse to dismiss the possibility of danger. Right… There was a killer last year. Two murders. No suspects. No arrests. And there was a burglary just last night. So what if…

No.

Eren pulls at his hair, agitated by where his mind is leading him. He pulls hard on the strands, like they're the reins of his thoughts that he needs to redirect onto a less horrifying path. 

His phone dings as if on cue with a text message.

I'll be there soon, honey. Get some rest, I'll call you tomorrow. I love you.

A tap on the attached file opens up a copy of a plane ticket for the day after tomorrow under the name Carla Jaeger.

His heart feels a tad lighter. 

It'll help to have his mother around for a few days. He types his gratitude into his phone and presses send. 

He lets his face fall into his hands as he hunches over his desk.

Everything will be okay, he repeats to himself in his head like a mantra. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Everything will be okay.

Outside, rain starts to fall. 

Hour Thirty

The rain has been on and off for hours. 

By the time Eren reconnected with his surroundings, ready to go out and look for clues on his own around the area, the rain was nearly as heavy as it was at three in the morning. 

He sits by the living room window, watching the downpour. His phone is charging on a wooden stool next to him, taking a break from another round of calls to nearby hospitals to ask for any patients bearing your name. Still no. 

His stomach has been growling for a while, but any energy he possesses isn't the kind that'll get him off his chair and into the kitchen — it's the kind that's meant to be used to stare out the window and grow numb over any trivial needs.

It's fine, he thinks. It'll pass. 

Hour Thirty-seven

All five of his friends come through the door a little past seven in the morning, with bags of fresh meals to share. 

Eren sits down this time, allowing Mikasa to fix him a plate and Connie to pour him a glass of juice. 

Nobody mentions the dark circles under his eyes, and Eren's gaze is too lost on a blank point to sense the meaningful glances exchanged all around him. 

There's not much room for conversation. Any sense of normalcy is lost in the thick air. It seems equally wrong to create a lighthearted break for the length of a meal as it is to talk about the empty seat across from Eren when everyone is trying so hard to make sure he's at the very least feeding himself. 

Eren merely pokes and stirs at his food with his fork the entire time. There's a fresh stack of flyers on his desk that demand more urgency in his eyes than sitting down to eat. 

His demeanor is easy to read by everyone at the table, yet another round of concerned glances and subtle nods in his direction being tossed around with silent messages. 

In the end, nobody says a thing and the groups is broken off in pairs to tackle the surrounding neighborhoods.

Hour Forty-five 

Nobody has called. Not him or the station. As the only person outside of the police to be contacted for any updates, his phone should've rung at least once. But aside from yesterday's encounter with Levi and his visits to the station to see if his presence alone will bring something up, there's been a drought in leads. And despite his determination in making sure every person he passes knows anything, there's still nothing. 

It's been hours since his stomach has demanded his attention. It's finally reached the point where it's so empty, it's gone numb. His body is running on nothing more than sheer will and water. 

He should at least try to eat, test if he can hold any food down. 

The fridge remains packed with food, even more now thanks to what's been gathered from his morning visits. 

Ever so slowly, with overly cautious movements, he takes out a container, transports it to the counter and peels off the lid. It's from the dinner you were supposed to share two nights ago. 

His lips tremble, eyebrows upturning for the split second it takes him to grasp back at his composure. An outsider would think he's glaring at his leftovers, disgusted at whatever is inside, completely misunderstanding the mental ordeal he's traversing as he takes several deep breaths.

He pulls out a stool from the breakfast bar, sits down and stares.

Hour Forty-eight 

It's been two whole days since Eren has stepped foot in his own bedroom. 

His feet drag him toward the bed without stopping to flip the light switch. Though the night is cloudy, signaling another shower for tonight, the moonlight still finds its way into the room just enough for his eyes to take in the most basic shapes of his furniture.

He comes to a stop at the foot of the bed, and his gaze zeroes in on the neatly folded white cotton fabric set on the corner. It's the shirt you slept in two nights ago, the one that's the wrong size because it's his and he likes his clothes to be just a bit baggy. 

It's the shirt he gently tugged off your body to feel your skin pressed against his. The one that you take care in folding even if you're in a rush and even though he'll throw it in the wash anyway.

His fingers slowly reach out to collect the fabric.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

It still smells like you. Just barely — a mere scrap of notes that have faded over the last two days. A mix of vanilla, citrus and a faint trace of eucalyptus fabric softener. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Breathe, Eren.

It doesn't work. The air is too thick. It gets caught in his throat and forces a choked sob on its way back out. 

His face contorts in anguish as he falls onto the bed, curled up in an attempt to make himself as small as humanly possible, with your shirt clutched in his hands as the world outside darkens and he simply weeps.

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Notes: Tunnel Vision will continue, just not with the same schedule it had before my hiatus. I’ll be adding word count and progress updates in the chapter guide in case you want to keep up with the story in that way (It’ll also give you an estimate of when the next chapter will be posted. I have ideas for some ficlets, which I’ll do my best to post in between TV updates just so I don’t leave you all hanging with Eren content. It’ll depend a lot on whether I see any enthusiasm for it or not though (aka comments and reblogs that aren’t… well… empty). In the meantime, thank you for the support and feel free to slip into my ask box to chat :)

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[cripplecharacters]

hi there, i really appreciate this blog! i was wondering if you had any advice when it comes to writing characters who use mobility aids (manual wheelchair and cane) and things that are like, pet peeves or cringey to see written? other than the big ones like “wheelchair bound” or having people just grab their chair or otherwise be disrespectful. i’m thinking more “little things that make it seem like the author is clueless” lol. thank you!

Hi!

You can check out our main #mobility aids or #wheelchairs or #canes tags for the general info! If you have a more specific question, feel free to send another ask:-)

I will talk about my own cane pet peeves because oh boy:

The most glaring, obvious, author-is-so-clueless-it-hurts thing I have somehow seen multiple times is when the writer/artist doesn't understand the difference between a mobility cane and a white cane. Usually in the form of giving their blind character the same kind of stick I use for my mobility issues. Of course, a person could need both for different disabilities! That very much happens. However, it's absolutely never the case in this kind of scenario. This one is an example of a lack of basic research so bad that it circles back to being kinda funny.

The writer not knowing which side the cane would go on for the character. Obviously, in real life, there's a whole lot of hyper-specific scenarios why someone could use it the ""wrong"" way and why it would work for them specifically, some users can also use either hand for the cane; it all depends on why they use it. The problem that I have is when the writer doesn't have a single clue about any of it and just gives their character with a bad knee and nothing else the cane on the same side. Again, shows lack of basic research.

As a certified knob cane hater, I can't just not talk about them here. They're so bad. So non-functional. Don't serve their function as a mobility device because they literally aren't one! That's a fashion accessory. Unless your character has a wrist of steel and doesn't mind that the aid meant to help with stability does the exact opposite, I guess.

I know a bunch of people will disagree with me, but I think the whole sword cane thing sucks. Sorry. The only time I don't roll my eyes on this one is when the writer is also a cane user. I always felt like it checked out two tropes that I hate, the "abled character pretends to be disabled and is actually dangerous" and the "abled writer thinks mobility aids are boring and has to stick a gun in them to justify their existence".

The cane that somehow makes the user non-disabled. Sounds contradictory, I know. I mean the kind of scenario where the character is Weak and Frail™ but then they get the cane and are suddenly just fighting, running, jumping, doing god knows what. Like, did they author forget what the cane is used for? Obviously it will depend on the character's disability how much the cane mitigates symptoms, but this writing choice always feels bizarre to me. My cane is here so that I'm not in as much pain or to help my gait disorder, it certainly doesn't turn me into an abled man who just happens to have a stick in hand.

All these tired old person or similar jokes/comparisons are probably not that funny. We get it, older people use canes. It's not even cringy or whatever, it's just so unbelievably boring it's hard to react to it with anything else than an eye roll anymore.

Apologies for the extremely late reply! I hope it helps :-)

mod Sasza

[lazycats-stuff]

Could you do batman x son reader, where the reader struggles with an eating disorder. Maybe reader faints on a patrol or maybe he just trys to hide his Ed behaviors (like skipping meals, over exercising, purging, ect...) from the family, but one day the family just figures it out.

I completely understand if you don't feel comfortable writing this. You're writing is just really comforting to me so I thought I'd give it a shot. Have an awesome day. You're writing is amazing. Remember to take care of yourself first

Alright... I'm not uncomfortable, but I don't want anyone getting triggered by this or have someone relapse and fall back into the disorder. I had to be in the right mindset to write this so my apologies for the wait. Take care of yourselves everyone too.

Summary: (Y/N) is struggling with an eating disorder. The family figures it out.

Warnings: symptoms of eating disorder, EATING DISORDER, read with precaution and on your own risk!

(Y/N) has been struggling for a while now, but he made sure to hide it from his family. Nobody needed to know what he has been struggling with. (Y/N) went to the extreme lengths to make sure that his family didn't find out about his problem with food.

He knew that they would be all over him if they found out. He struggled with food for about a while now. He hated the way his body looked and he just wanted to have a perfect body.

It has started with over exercising. Even after everyone was done, (Y/N) would do it until he could barely walk back to his room. He did everyday and when just that didn't give the results that he needed, he started skipping meals. The skipped meals were normally dinners, saying that he was full from lunch.

He didn't do it often, he didn't want to raise any suspicions with his family. If he did anything that would raise suspicion, they would be all over him and they would probably bench him from the patrol. If that would to happen, then he wouldn't be happy.

If there was one thing holding him together, it would be patrol. The only thing.

He often found himself looking at the mirror, looking at his body. He noticed his hair and skin were dry beyond belief. He noticed that he got sicker more often, which didn't happen before. He always had strong immunity.

His teeth got sensitive and that was one of the reasons why he skipped meals sometimes. It has gotten to the point that he got dizzy whenever he stood up.

All of this was getting out of hand, but (Y/N) didn't see it. He has only one goal in mind and that is a perfect body. Something that doesn't exist. There is no such thing called a perfect body. There is no perfection either.

There is nothing in this world that is perfect. Nothing.

Other problem was the lack of concertation. He couldn't focus on anything for longer then 15 minutes before he just had to drop everything and just rest. It was difficult, considering that he is in a family full of detectives who solve cases daily.

Speaking of rest, he had problems too. Sure, being in a family that goes out every night to fight criminals and protect people of Gotham will mess up your schedule to a certain degree. But add an eating disorder to the mix and you have a recipe for disaster of a sleeping schedule.

Not to mention the control of his emotions. He found himself often having very extreme mood swings sometimes, but over time he learnt to control his emotions better. Somehow he managed to do it. But he didn't do certain things with his brothers and dad anymore.

He didn't have energy to do anything he used to do anymore. Only for patrol when adrenaline kicked in. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug when it came to patrol and some other things. But the fact is that adrenaline could only go so far.

Of course, there were close calls when it came to his family, but he managed to steer the attention away, keeping his disorder a secret for longer. If only (Y/N) knew what was going to happen soon.

Everything came to a head when all of them got back home from patrol. (Y/N) was freezing in his suit. Despite the suit being good at both heating and cooling, (Y/N) was shaking quietly. He could hear everyone talking, but he felt dizzy.

He blinked a few times before everything went black right before his eyes. Bruce has never turned around faster and Damian tried to catch him, but couldn't. Bruce ran over and quickly picked his son up, calling for Alfred to prepare the medical area.

Jason, Tim and Dick watched horrified from the side. As Bruce ran with him, he noted how light he was. Extremely lighter. Significantly. But that didn't matter now and Bruce didn't piece it together yet. Alfred watched as Bruce laid his grandson down.

Bruce had to step out to let Alfred do his thing. The boys were waiting patiently to hear what has happened to (Y/N).

" B, what's happening? " Jason asked and Bruce shook his head.

" I don't know. He just lost his consciousness out of nowhere. " Bruce explained to Jason and Damian just thought about certain things.

" Did anyone notice how often he worked out and for how long he did? " Damian asked and everyone got quiet for a moment. Dick nodded, snapping his fingers. " He does. He works out 2 hours after us too, just overworking himself. I thought it was stress. " Dick added to Damian's thought.

" And did anyone notice how often he skipped dinners? " Tim jumped in and Bruce had to think about it. He did skip dinners often.

" Or the fact that he doesn't do anything with us anymore? " Jason jumped in too and Bruce paled as he connected the dots.

" Also, his mood swings somethi- OH! " Dick said and Bruce sighed quietly.

" What are we thinking? "Jason asked and Bruce took a deep breath.

" I think that (Y/N) might have an eating disorder. " Bruce said quietly and everyone was shocked by it. But... it made sense.

" What do we do? " Tim asked and Bruce, probably for the first time in his life didn't know what to do.

" We tell him. We see how he reacts. And if he does have an eating disorder, then we are going to help him. One way or another. " Bruce declared and Dick quickly went to the Batcomputer to look into the symptoms quickly.

Just in case.

And to confirm their suspicions.

" How were we so stupid? " Jason asked and Bruce wondered the exact same thing. He did. He is his father, he is supposed to see when something is going on with his son. He is supposed to know it. If not know it, then sense it.

The dad sense! Bruce looked at the medical area where Alfred was making sure that his son and his grandson is okay.

" I was so blind. " Bruce muttered to himself as he rubbed his face.

" No B. " Dick said from the Batcomputer. There was a solemn look on his face now, eyes directed towards the medical area. " We were all so blind. But we can't stay on it now. We need to look for the ways to help (Y/N) if he does have an eating disorder and I think he does. " Dick said and Damian rubbed the back of his neck.

He couldn't help it and Jason had to sit down for a moment. Tim was just quiet. Dick looked down at the floor and Bruce just wanted to hug his son, but beat himself up at the same time.

His son has been suffering and yet they all were blind. Everyone moved to Alfred who exited and everyone was buzzing with excitement and sheer curiosity for their brother and son.

" He is skinny beyond belief. I can see his bones protruding and I nearly started crying right then and there. Oh I have been so blind. " Alfred said and the boys quickly brought him into a group hug. Bruce hesitated before joining in.

" We are going to help him. " Bruce said both to everyone and to himself. It is a promise and an oath. And does Bruce intend to make sure he fulfills it. No matter what.