#but dentists don’t pull their own teeth

[sanjerina]

Just now my therapist was like “imagine you had the power to live in a world where you didn’t put everything off indefinitely, but instead you lived in the world where everything was just completed?”

And I was like “… sounds fake but OK, ha ha”

And she says “you do live in that world. You just have to think you deserve it.”

So anyway that’s when my head exploded 🤯

[milktiicup]

are you afraid of me?

what the hell type of name is "mr. crawling" if he can fucking walk?

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮ based on the hc that mr crawling doesn't stand so he doesn't scare mc.

warnings. just fluff/comfort, some spoilers for end04 and end17

Mr. Crawling is kind.

Mr. Crawling is sweet.

Mr. Crawling is a complete mystery to you.

Other than his complete and instant devotion to you, you know almost nothing about him. Not that you’re complaining; since escaping the other world with him in tow, he’s been a pretty decent roommate.

He doesn’t have many hobbies, unless staring at you from across the room counts. The only mess he leaves is long, black hairs that snake along the shower walls and more often than not clog the drain. He doesn’t even eat your food—something you discovered after a week of trial and error, setting out everything from leftovers to raw steak in the hopes of figuring out what a creature like him might like. As it turns out, he isn’t much of an eater, and he refuses to wear anything but the clothes he crossed over in, so at least you didn’t need to buy him new clothes. He’s low-maintenance in those areas, thankfully, and your paycheck doesn’t take a huge hit. 

Still, as close as you are, and as much as you’ve grown fond of him, you know nothing about who or what he truly is. Can he stand? Does he even have eyeballs? You know he can see, somehow, but how? Does he have teeth? You’re not even sure there’s a word for teeth in his language… Would he need a dentist? As most of your Mr. Crawling mouth knowledge went, you knew he had a tongue. 

The days pass, you fall into routines, and so do your questions.

“Crawling,” you had said one night, settled up on the sofa after a long day at work.  “Why can’t you stand?”

Mr. Crawling looks up from the screen, his wide smile faltering as he absorbs your question. His hair falls across his face, hiding whatever might be behind those red blotches he has for eyes.

“Me… not able to stand,” he replies, waving abnormally long limbs. “Arms good!” He seems proud, at least. 

You purse your lips out in thought- sure, he had those spindly legs, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t use them. You witnessed first hand the way he kicks his legs about under the blanket, unsettling cracks of his joints. Or when he sits up on his knees to fetch something on the counter top that he couldn’t reach from the floor. 

“You want me stand?”

“No, Crawling, I like you like this.” And you finished the conversation with a few pats on his head, and he nuzzled into your knee as if he was a pet. 

“You like me?”

You nod.

“Me like you!”

Low maintenance in the roommate department, high maintenance in the boyfriend? department.

You settle into bed that night after serving Mr Crawling his completely normal human soup that you definitely obtained by very legal and moral ways. Although, he didn’t seem very hungry that night, and you decided to just keep it for later. You debated on leaving it out in case he got hungry during the night when you were asleep, but seeing as to what the contents were, you weren’t up for it to stink out your kitchen. Back in the fridge it went!

“Rest?” he asks from the doorway of your bedroom, eyeless staring as you settle on the mattress. 

“I rest. You rest?” You pat the spot beside you. 

“Me watch you.”

Whatta guy… You wait for him to join you before you pull the blanket to your chin. And just like every other night, Mr. Crawling wraps his long arms around you, joints cracking as he stretches his legs out on the blanket- his feet hang off the bed. His hair tickles every exposed inch of your skin, but you don’t mind. You’ve gotten used to it at this point- maybe you should teach him to brush his own hair though?

His touch is cool, like air from a drafty window, and you relax under his delicate, careful pats on your head. It’s not long before you drift off.

It’s rare that you wake up in the dead of night. It’s rarer when you wake up to him not in the same position you fell asleep in. Groggy, you reach an arm out to the other side of the bed and hit the space where Mr. Crawling should have been. It’s still warm, however, and you sit up and rub your eyes. He’s not here.

What the hell? That wasn’t like him.

You slip into your slippers and shuffle toward the kitchen. The house is dark and still, except for a faint rustling. When your vision adjusts, you stop in your tracks. You were pretty sure your heart stopped for a second, too. 

He hadn’t noticed you yet, which is unlike him. 

“C-Crawling?” you stammer. 

Mr. Crawling is there, long arms in your fridge, but he isn’t small and folded like usual. He’s… standing. You blink, barely processing the sight. He has to be at least eight feet tall, maybe more, his head brushing the ceiling. His towering shadow spills over the walls, unsettling even to someone like you.

He freezes, letting out a startled squeak you’ve never heard before. His head whips toward you, and his hair falls in a curtain over his face. He drops to his knees instantly, scrambling across the floor to you with long, frantic arms. He tackles you into an overzealous hug, the kind you usually get only when you come home from work.

“You awake!”

You blink down at him. “I thought you said you couldn’t stand?” you murmur, still dazed. He lied? Why would he lie? Is there even a word for lie in his language?

His hair fans at your face, elbows propping himself up on top of you. Mr. Crawling tilts his head at you, and you wrack your brain in this stupid monster language that you just can’t perfectly adjust to yet.

“Uhm… You stand good?” you manage to fumble the words out. You stand good. That just sounds ridiculous. “Legs work?”

Mr. Crawling lets you sit up, grey hands cupping your face. He seems… off. Sad? Worried? You’ve only seen him not smiling a few times- and that was when you first met him- when he scared the absolute daylights off of you, when that man in red with the umbrella appeared… There was also that time you collapsed, and that creepy, eyeless nurse showed up.

“You scared me?” he asks, his tone soft.

Are you scared of me? 

“You don’t stand because you think you’ll scare me?” you mumble, hands holding onto his wrists. “Erm… Not stand… me scared?” 

“Me scary… You not like me.” His head hangs and Mr. Crawling’s hair touches the floor and licks at your legs.. His gentle hold of your face loosens.

He doesn’t stand at his full height because he’s afraid he’ll scare you? God. How can a ghost be such a sweetheart?

“Hey,” you whisper, pulling his hands off your face. You wrap your arms around his neck, tilting your head so you can see where his eyes should be. “You’re cute. Very big, yes—I was just surprised.”

“You… not scared?” His voice is uncertain.

You giggle, squeezing him tighter. “No. Just surprised.” He doesn’t understand you- and you need to wrack every shelf in your brain to get the words out. “Me surprised… you very cute.”

There’s a beat of silence as he absorbs your words. “Me cute?” he repeats, as if it’s the greatest revelation in the world.

“Very cute,” you confirm, unable to help laughing as he tackles you once again to the floor, hair scattering everywhere as he nuzzles into your chest, murmuring, “Me cute, me cute,” in a gleeful mantra. You pat his head, and he flops onto the floor beside you with a giggle.

You stare at him, illuminated by the extremely romantic light of the fridge. “Hungry?” you ask, and push some of his hair away from his face- he grabs your wrist before you get any closer to his eyes, though.

“Want eat… you rest.”

You shake your head, stifling a yawn. “I’ll wait for you. I… erm… rest with you?” You cringe, knowing you said it wrong. You’re at least seventy percent sure you said it wrong. Maybe it’s time to teach him your language.

Mr. Crawling lets out his normal unsettling giggles, a sound that cuts through the silence of the house.

You don’t bother getting his tomato soup out of the fridge like you usually do, and take a seat at the table. He looks lost for a split second, and giggles once more as he rises to his feet. You let out a few appreciative oohs and ahhs he reaches his full height. You’re still a bit shocked at how his head almost touches the ceiling.

He settles into his usual seat across from you, knees folded as best as they can be under the table, his feet brushing against your legs.

It’s like a lightbulb appears above your head.

What the hell type of name is “Mr. Crawling” if he can fucking walk? 

[imbored1201]

Can I request a teen barca reader high on meds or wisdom teeth being taken out ...she is being funny and chaos and causing trouble ??

I Want Ingrid

Barcelona Femeni x Teen Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

You whined as you rubbed your cheeks again. The pain in your gum was getting worse every day. You had complained to Alexia way too many times, as now you were sitting inside a dentist's office waiting to get your wisdom teeth out. 

Alexia signed you in and filled out all your papers. You always refused to go anywhere on your own, and she still had to make your doctor appointments too. 

Unfortunately for you, Patri and Mapi were coming too. Mapi was bored with Ingrid being gone, so she needed entertainment, and Patri just wanted to go to get videos of you embarrassing yourself. 

————

You sat anxiously in the lobby, waiting for your name to be called. "You'll be fine; they're going to drug you up anyway; you'll be asleep." Patri tried comforting you. 

"What if I die from blood loss?" Patri rolled her eyes. "Stop making more stuff up; you're scaring yourself."

"Y/N," you jumped hearing your name. You remained stuck in your seat, Alexia having to pull you up and guide you to the room. "You'll be okay," she tried comforting you as you sat down in the dental chair.

"I'm scared," you admitted. "You'll be okay; think of it like this. You get out of training for a week, and I'll even convince Jonatan to let you choose the drills; you can make Patri and Pina run extra." You smiled at that. 

“I’ll be waiting for you, Carino; don’t bite the dentist,” she warned you. “I’ll try."

————

Patri and Mapi ran like little kids to see you when they were called to get you. "Hello, Amiga," your eyes lit up seeing Patri. You tried getting up to pull her into a hug but almost tripped. 

“Por favor, mantente sentada,” the lady told you. You found her very attractive. "Yes, ma'am,” you immediately said. Mapi’s eyes widened. You didn’t even listen to Alexia, and for some reason you were listening to a random lady. 

"Patri,” you ‘whispered’ when you were practically yelling. “Your yelling,” she pointed out. “The lady is attractive,” Mapi bursted out laughing quickly getting her phone out. 

“Is she?” You nodded. “Miss lady,” you said to the woman who found this very intriguing. “Si?” “Eres muy bonita” 

“That’s enough,” Alexia stepped in, gently grabbing your wrist to help you up. “You ruined my rizz,” you muttered. Alexia didn’t understand what you just said, but she just let it go. 

————

As Alexia did the final forms, Patri took you and led you outside. You giggled as you tried getting out of her grip. "Away," you mumbled. Patri smirked and shook her head. "If I went away, Alexia would kill me."

You grumbled angrily when she held the back of your shirt to make sure you wouldn't run away while her and Mapi talked and waited for Alexia to come out. 

"Stop," Mapi said sternly. You glared at her and smacked Patri's hand; she pulled it away, wincing in pain. 

"Ay!" She yelled as you started running. Well, you tried to run, but she easily caught up to you and grabbed your shoulder. You tried bending over to flip her over your shoulder, but that just turned into you falling forward and taking her down with you. 

You both fell down, with Patri landing right on your back and quickly rolling off to check on you. 

"Y/N!" Alexia yelled, helping you up to make sure you didn't land on your face. "What the hell was that?" Patri mumbled as Mapi helped her up. 

"Patri, you have to be careful; what if she landed on her face? She was going to have to go back in when she barely came out," Alexia scolded her. 

Mapi held in her laugh. "This is the only reason I came," you looked at her confused, "Didn't you come because you miss Ingrid?" You asked innocently, not thinking those words would hurt the older woman. Mapi frowned and went silent at that. You frowned, noticing her demeanor change. 

"I miss Ingrid too, Ingrid!" You yelled her name, acting like she would just magically appear. "We can call her later, Chica. Come on" Alexia put an arm around your waist and led you back to the car. She decided it would be better to put you in the front. 

————

After having to fight you about putting on your seatbelt since you didn't want it, she was finally able to start the car. 

Patri was texting everyone updates about you while Mapi was calling someone. "Hola amor!" She said joyfully when that person answered. You looked at her weirdly, ready to yell at her if she was calling someone else other than Ingrid Amor.

"Mapi, where's the baby?" You gasped upon hearing the voice. "Is that Ingrid?" You reached out for Mapi's phone, tearing up when she refused to give it to you. "I want Ingrid!" You started crying. 

"Mapi, let me see her." "But-" "Mapi. We can talk later; let me see her before she throws a tantrum." Mapi sighed but handed you the phone. You snatched it away from her. 

"Ingrid!" You yelled again. "Inside voices, Nina," Alexia said softly, smiling at how your eyes lit up seeing Ingrid.

You decided to take out your guazes that the lady had told you to keep inside your mouth. "No!” Alexia shouted, about to grab them, but quickly restrained herself, remembering they were bloody. 

“Put them back in your mouth,” you pouted at her, then at Ingrid. “Listen to her,” Ingrid said strictly, so you listened. 

"How are you feeling?" "My mouth hurts, and Alexia doesn't want to give me a milkshake." Ingrid shook her head with a laugh, making you tear up. 

"Are you laughing at me?" You cried, everyone's eyes went wide, and Alexia quickly parked again and took the phone away from you. "Carino, she's not laughing at you," she said, trying to come up with something. 

"I'm laughing because of a funny video of Mapi falling. Want to see it?" You quickly nodded, and Mapi scowled, knowing she was about to be teased by everyone in this car and everyone on the team later on since Patri was for sure going to tell everyone and somehow get that video.

"Okay, why don't you give the phone back to Mapi, and I'll send you the video, yeah?" You nodded. Alexia gave the phone back to Mapi and wiped your tears as you got your phone out and clumsily went to yours and Ingrid's contact. 

————

You spent the next 10 minutes giggling over and over again at Mapi's fall video. Mapi was grumpy in the backseat; she even hung up on Ingrid. 

"Amiga, send me the video, please." You nodded at Patri's words and did it. "I hate you," Mapi told Patri. "Ay, were teammates; we can't hate each other," Patri teased. "Plenty of teammates do," Mapi countered. 

"Y/N! You sent it to the team group chat!" Mapi yelled as she got the notification of the video. You teared up at the fact that she yelled at you again. "Mapi, don't yell at her," Alexia scolded her. 

"But-" "it's not her fault you decided to be clumsy and fall." Mapi scowled. You turned to her and laughed right in her face. 

"Can we get milkshakes now?" You asked Alexia again, who sighed and shook her head. "No, now both of you stop talking or you're not getting milkshakes at all for the next week," you and Mapi quickly shut up. The only sound in the car now was Patri's laughter at the video and your guys phones going off with everyone reacting to it.

————

"Come on, Amiga," Patri huffed as she tried dragging you out of the car. You decided to curl up in a ball and kick at her every time she tried grabbing you, though. "Please," she tried again, grabbing you by your shoulders, making you kick her again. 

She groaned when you got her right in the stomach and bent over. "She's your job," she told Mapi, walking inside. It was the only job Alexia had given them while she went to start the soup for you. 

Mapi huffed and tried now, and you did the same thing you did to Patri, she sighed in relief when she saw Irene's car pull up. 

"She's yours," she said, standing aside. She had never seen you misbehave around Irene, and she knew it would never happen because you were terrified of Irene. 

"Come on, Bebe," Irene said gently. You quickly raised your arms to be picked up. She laughed, shaking her head before, lifting you up. You rested your head on her shoulder and let yourself be settled on the couch. 

"I don't know why she's so bipolar." Mapi mumbled, "Mapi!" She heard you yell, and she found how you sounded funny considering your words were all mumbled. 

"Yes, Pequena," she said, quickly making her way over to you. "Where's Ingrid?" You asked, "Norway with her family." "But I want her."

"Me too," Mapi simply said, ready to go outside to cry over Ingrid being gone. "I want her though, please, Mapi," you whined. "I can't do anything; I don't get why you're so obsessed with my girlfriend."

"She's tall, comfortable to lay on, smells good, and speaks like 3 languages, of course I'm obsessed with her," you said.

"Do you have a crush on Ingrid?" Mapi asked suspiciously, you gave her a look of disgust, then bursted into a fit of giggles. 

"Who else is tall on the team?" You asked Patri, starting to think of everyone. "Salma, Irene, Caroline, and Fridolina," Patri listed out. Your eyes lit up at Fridolina's name. 

Tall, speaks 3 languages, comfortable to lay on, and also smells good. "I want Fridolina," you whined to Alexia, who sighed and grabbed her phone. 

————

Poor Fridolina didn't know what she got herself into. Right when she stepped in the door, you ran and jumped on her. 

"Frido! I love you!" Alexia watched, amused, as Frido tried to put you down, but you held on to her tighter. "Bebe, sit down and leave the poor girl alone; the soup is ready, and you're allowed to eat now." 

"Finally, they starved me, Frido," you whined to the tall girl. You were in some pain, but Alexia promised she would give you painkillers after you ate. 

You finally let Frido set you down on the couch and pushed Patri away so Frido could take her spot. Patri huffed and moved to the other couch beside Mapi. 

They all watched as you struggled to use your spoon properly. Patri and Mapi were trying to hold in their laughs, knowing if you saw them laughing at you, it would end in you crying and Alexia kicking them out. 

"Carino, do you need me to feed you?" Irene asked, Patri snorted and quickly got up to use the bathroom when you looked at her. 

"No, I'm not a baby," you whined when you spilled some of the soup on your shirt. "Dang it, this is Aitana's shirt," you mumbled. 

Mapi sighed in frustration at your stubbornness and got up to snatch your plate away and feed you herself. "Want me to do the airplane?" She asked teasingly. 

"If someone is going to feed me, it's not going to be you." "Fine, who do you want to feed you then?" You were lucky you were hurt, or else Mapi would have shoved the soup down your throat by now. 

"Keira," you answered, "We are not calling anymore people for you." She looked to Alexia for support, but the midfielder was already on the phone with Keira, asking her to come over. 

Mapi sighed; it was going to be a long week.

[courtingchaos]

Teeth

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

Summary: You and Eddie are freaks. He has a little accident, you have a fun little hobby, and he shows you how he really feels about you’re whole Deal.

Warnings: Teeth. I mention them a lot. Blood, cursing, sex.

A/N: Did I start another blurb series before even publishing the series I was supposed to start last month? Shut the hell up oh my god why are you up my ass about it????

18+ NSFW No Minors

Eddie hooks his chin on your shoulder while you stare at the giant shadow box on the wall.

“Are they all human teeth?”

“Mhm.”

“Isn’t it illegal to own human remains in the US?”

“Well, remains and bones are different categories.”

He knew that would set you off, your phone pulled out for google to fill in your blanks. Eddie laughs at the first result, The Bone Room, and the two of you get a good chuckle out of it for a solid minute.

“Okay so I was wrong, but do you want to own a random set of teeth? What if they’re haunted?” Eddie watches your reflection in the glass front and can’t help but laugh when your eyes go big.

“One could only hope.” You whisper.

“Okay Morticia.” He leaves you to peruse the case of teeth while he wanders over to the weird clown doll corner. This was another little oddities shop you’d found online and asked to go to and he was more than happy to oblige. He also liked weird shit and there was usually a record store close to these kinds of places and of course you needed to find a coffee shop and it would always turn into a fun day date for the two of you.

When he finally gets away from the dolls he finds you at the main counter looking into the glass display while the clerk explains the jewelry inside.

“What’d you find?” He asks, bending directly in half to stare at the tray of rings in front of you.

“More teeth.” You give him an over the top smile that he returns, snapping his jaws at you while the poor woman behind the counter watches your flirting. She tells you prices instead of paying the two of you any mind and you hem and haw while Eddie just takes his wallet out to slide his card across the glass.

“Ed.” You don’t even look up at him when you warn him.

“Which one was it? Is it the big molar? It’s the big molar isn’t it?” He gives the clerk a scoff. “Can you believe this? I take her out here and she thinks I’m not buying her a tooth ring?”

In the cafe you’d found ahead of time you inspect your new ring while he chews on his straw, watching your rub the crown of the tooth.

“You really didn’t have to buy me this.” The barista comes over then with your coffee and a massive croissant. “Or that.”

“What? It’s a sweet treat for my sweet treat.” He tears a piece off and wiggles his eyebrows. “Also a sweet tooth for my sweet tooth.”

“Now you’re pushing it, Munson.”

“You love it.” He pauses when you kick his boot under the table and it turns into a violent round of footsie.

“Can I ask why teeth?”

“I don’t know. I just think they’re neat.” You shrug and fiddle with the ring on your middle finger. “They make a cool sound if you click a handful together. Very satisfying.”

“Yeah?” The smile is evident in his voice, even if you don’t look up to see it. “Sure there’s nothing else?” He goads, waiting for you to look up and narrow your eyes at him.

“And maybe I also want to crunch them like a sugar cube.” You make the exact face he thought you would and it makes him feel a warm coil of familiarity.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“I knew you wanted to do something weird with it.” His laugh turns into a cackle when you discreetly bring your hand up to click the ring against your front teeth.

“Okay so if it’s loose like…No I mean I can see it moving in the socket…ugh god, yeah…alright…” Your tone doesn’t give Eddie any hope and when you scrunch your face up while the dentist office tells you something longwinded, he sighs.

“How much? Oh shi- yeah okay. Thank you though.” You hang up and shoot him a steady look. “Guess.”

“I’m gonna loose it?” Eddie says, bag of frozen green beans held against his cheek.

“No shit.” You set your phone down and make your way to him leaned back on the couch. “You could potentially keep it for a cool $600 though.” Your hand replaces his on the slowly thawing bag and the sharp intake of breath isn’t from the new pressure on his bruise.

“$600 for one tooth?”

“Mhm.”

“Fuck it, I’ll just pull it.” Eddie sighs at the ceiling and closes his eyes. He’d been fucking around, trying to swing his guitar around his shoulders during practice. Had actually managed a few turns but when you’d come to pick him up he wanted to show off. A fast toss over his shoulder and he didn’t see the corner of the body barreling for his cheek.

Your loud gasp and a lot of blood down his front later, he was in pain and slightly humiliated but definitely not out $600.

“Will you help me?” He gently rolls his head your direction, his cheek cradled between veggies and your palm.

“Of course.” You smile sadly at him. “It’s gonna hurt though.”

“Yeah but I like that.” He wiggles his eyebrows and you slap his chest, t-shirt still stained red.

“Come on, ladykiller.”

In the bathroom he braces his hands on the counter while you try to find the best angle to pull his tooth out at.

“I’m trying to not just have my whole fist in your mouth.”

“That’s hot.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Yes ma’am.” Eddie grins at your flat look. You blindly grab the pliers from behind you on the vanity and take a deep breath before holding his mouth open.

“Please don’t bite down.”

“Eye hot yuh yiked hat.” He’s drooling around your hand and trying to be cute. It’s unfortunately working on you.

“Not like this, no.”

He feels the pliers on his tooth, a gentle tug while you rearrange and then you look at him. Eyebrows scrunched and a concerned look in your eyes. “You okay?” He nods. “This is gonna hurt baby, I’m sorry.”

He barely has time to process what you’ve said. He was waiting for a count down but instead you’ve yanked once, swiftly and without remorse. There’s a small clatter where his tooth bounces around in the sink and then he feels the pulse of pain. A new rush of blood floods his mouth and he doubles over the sink to spit and moan.

“You didn’t even warn me!”

“You would have bitched out and you know it.” You rub his back while he pouts and keeps spitting into the sink. When you disappear to get him a glass of water, he rinses out the sink and picks up his tooth to inspect it. “What tooth is this anyways?”

“The tech said she thinks it’s a premolar from what I told her.” You answer as you come back into the cramped bathroom. He pulls his lip back to stare at the dark space between teeth.

“You don’t already know which one it is?”

You just roll your eyes. “She did say it was good that you didn’t crack it, could have been worse.” You shrug and Eddie holds out his hand to you, tooth sitting in the middle of his palm.

“It looks cool.” He says, rolling it around until you pick it up gingerly and inspect it. There’s a little bit of blood stuck in the root but you keep turning it over, running the pad of your finger over the ridges.

“You’re gonna keep it right?”

“Duh.” He laughs. You hand it back to him and help him clean up from his traumatic afternoon.

A couple of aspirin and a hot shower later and he’s ready for bed, just waiting on you to finish in the bathroom. He watches your shadow under the door where light seeps out and runs his tongue for the umpteenth time through the new space in his teeth. He’s not trying to make it worse but it’s a foreign void that he can’t stop fucking with. The bathroom door opens and you’re already staring at him, head cocked to the side. “I can see you tonguing that spot from over here.”

“You’ve got a spot I can tongue.”

You don’t respond, just turn off the lights on your way into the bedroom where you climb over him on the bed. Before you can drop onto your side he grabs your thighs to hold you above him.

“Thanks for not laughing at me.”

“You looked pretty cool, right up until you smashed your mouth.” You brace your hands on his chest and lean in close. “The blood really distracted me.”

“Yeah that was quite a bit.”

“Still hot.”

He grins and you can spot the missing tooth in the dark before he pulls you in by your chin to give you a kiss. When he opens his mouth to deepen it, your tongue immediately finds the new space like his had. He laughs into the kiss and sits up on his elbows to be closer. It’s a slow make out session that he has no intention of taking further, mostly delighting in you running your tongue along the inside of his mouth, probing.

“What are you laughing at?” You ask, annoyed at him huffing into your mouth.

“You keep trying to feel it with your tongue.” He grins at you in the dark, features highlighted by the light seeping in through the curtains.

“It’s a new spot in your mouth for me to tongue.” You mumble and Eddie says something about tonguing your new hole and it devolves into a slap fight that ends with you two sleepily kissing again.

For a few weeks his tooth kicks around the house in a little ring box you had laying around. Jokingly he stuffed a scrap of ribbon in it and called it a coffin, started giving a eulogy to it every night after dinner.

“Craig had the toughest job-“

“I thought he was Neville?”

“I changed it. Craig is a working man’s name.”

“In what country?”

“Coal country.” Eddie jokingly bangs his fist on the table and continues on about Craig and his 52 family members.

Wayne comes by for dinner and sees this little atrocity and just stares at it for a good while, you and Eddie tight lipped trying to not laugh at his blank expression.

“I don’t know what to expect when I come over here, ever.” He’s not judging, in fact he’s almost too accommodating when him and Eddie disappear after dinner for a smoke on the balcony and he gives his nephew pointers on what dremel bit to use so he doesn’t crack the tooth.

“A matching necklace? Christ Eddie don’t tell me you knocked out two teeth!”

“No! I bought the ring for her, this was just a mistake.” Eddie gestures at his mouth and Wayne chuckles at him.

“Always gotta show off.”

“For her? No shit. If I don’t, she’ll realize how much better she can do.”

Wayne tilts his head and fixes Eddie with a stern look. “You know how I feel about that.”

“I’m kidding.” He tries to wave him off.

“Well I’m not. Who else is gonna bring her home a tooth on a chain?” Eddie can see how that makes Wayne shudder, even when he’s trying to be forcefully reassuring. He pats his uncle on the knee before standing and stretching.

“True. There aren’t any many of my kind left.” He says it wistfully, staring off the balcony into the dark until Wayne huffs at him to get inside and help with the dishes.

The bit dies off and the ring box ends up on your nightstand. Eddie thinks it’s a pretty romantic gesture the way you’ve given it a prime spot next to your Dracula figure. He also knows you’ll notice it missing so he takes the tooth when he gets home before you and knocks the box over and when you notice he plays dumb.

“Oh no, did you knock it over?” “No I haven’t been in your nightstand.” “Why would I take it?”

He brings it with him to work and Wayne refuses to touch it, instead standing off to the side and letting Eddie drill the minuscule hole. He texts you on his lunch and tells you he’s got some extra stuff to take care of, running late, don’t worry about dinner. He uses the extra hour to run by the antique store and buy a chain and he gets so lucky because you’re in the shower when he finally comes home.

Ring box stolen from your drawer and left oh so carelessly in the middle of the counter next to your big water cup. He doesn’t even change out of his shop clothes, just sits and waits for you to come out.

When you do, you give him a kiss in passing and then stop short in the kitchen. “Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s this?” You hold up the small red box and gently shake it at him.

“I made you something in art class today.” He says bashfully and leans over the arm of the couch to dangle his arms while you laugh at him.

“Aw, did Mr. Munson help you with your finger painting?” You pout at him and he flips you off. Your laugh cuts off when you open the box to stare at the necklace.

“Is this your tooth?”

“Yeah, I lied.” He grins at you, “I staged the crime scene.”

“You scum.” Your giggle gets him off the couch, the scrunch of your face makes him cradle your jaw, your whispered ‘thank you’ earns you a kiss and before you can fumble with the chain he’s pulling it out of your hands to loop it around your neck. He does the clasp up and smooths a hand down over the tooth.

“Oh you make that look better than I ever did.” His dimples push through his warm smile. “Almost like it was made for you.”

“God you are laying it on thick today huh?”

“I mean it, everything I am is for you.” He holds you close while you fiddle with your new jewelry. It’s so small for such a significant thing, at least to you. Especially when he starts talking like that. Eddie notices your pensive turn and pulls his head back to look down at you.

“Did I…did I read this wrong? Is it too much?” He knows he’s bad at that sometimes. He knows you like this stuff but maybe wearing a familiar tooth is a step too far. Maybe it feels like a weight around your neck instead of a thin rope of silver. It’s his turn to get quiet and he tries to pull away but you latch on around his ribs.

“This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever given me and it’s really weird and I love it a lot.” You mumble into his chest where your cheek is pressed tight. “Thank you.”

He watches you the rest of the night playing with it. Twirling your fingers through the chain and rolling the tooth around, staring down at it and once tapping it against your own teeth like you did with the ring. It gives him a new affection for you, to see you admire something he not only made you, but something that’s wholly him.

Later when he’s waiting for you in bed while you wander around and look for your phone, the intrusive thought he’d been keeping in finally breaks the surf of his mind.

“I’d knock out all my teeth for you.” He says it into the quiet and you pause at the foot of the bed to tilt your head at him.

“That’s so sweet.” You giggle quietly, the look you give him is contemplative.

“No I’m serious.” He leans up on his elbow to look you square in the eyes. “I’d hang ‘em all on a silver chain, drape them on you like pearls.” His stare gets a weight to it that makes you feel rooted to the spot. “I’d make you an altar out of them. Give them to you like little offerings.”

“You make it sound like I’m a deity you need to please.”

“Oh but you are.” He rolls up off his elbow to crawl towards the end of the bed and kneel in front of you. “Everything I do is in service to you and your good favor.” He splays a hand over his bare chest and you know he’s doing a thing but his wide eyed eagerness on his knees is doing it for you.

“And you’d hand over your teeth just for that?”

“I’d hand over my life.” He grabs your hand and presses it over his heart. “I’d leave imprints of my teeth all over you and then hand them over on a platter.”

“Why is this so hot?” You mutter at him, your body flush with heat suddenly.

“I know, keep playing along.” He whispers back, eyebrows twitching upwards. “I’m simply a vessel for your happiness and if that means sacrificing pieces of myself,” his hands settle up behind your neck to pull you down for a kiss, “then I’ll pull them all out by the root and leave them on the steps of your temple.” He keeps pulling you back until you have to catch yourself and climb over him, his lanky frame unfolding under you.

“Does that make you a patron or a priest?” You straddle his hips and break away from the kiss to stare at him, necklace dangling down against his cheek.

“I’m your most devoted follower.” He whispers in the small space between you two, eyes searching. “I’ve pledged my life to you.” His fingers dig in to your bare thighs. “Not for just a reward in the afterlife but in the hopes that you’ll grant me one look at your divine form.”

“Eddie!” You laugh at him and sit up, face and neck hot from his praise.

“What? I mean it! All of that for one…touch.” He slides his palms around to grab your ass and you laugh harder.

“That’s all you want? Just a touch?”

“Well maybe a long, continuous one.” He tries to slide his hands up further but you stop him at your hips. He looks determined to feel up your sides but your grip on his wrists holds tight.

“You wouldn’t want to anger your god now, would you?” His eyes widen at your sudden boldness. When you can tell he’ll sit still you unhand him to pull up the hem of your shirt slowly. “You give me a lifetime of servitude for a single touch?” Before you pull it over your head you give him a wicked a grin. “I’ll reward you with your single wish.”

He understands the game but his hands still twitch when you toss your shirt to the side, chest bared to him. You wiggle around until you get your underwear off, his hands still attached to you. He gets one touch and he won’t waste it, not now that you’re fully naked over him. You pull his boxers down, hands grazing sensitive skin and he pushes his head back into the pillow with a groan.

He clenches his jaw when you grind down on him, sliding over the head of his cock. His eyes rolling when you lean back and brace yourself on his thighs. You gasp with every roll of your hips and he whimpers.

“God damnit can I please touch you?” He grinds out through clenched teeth. The wet slide of your cunt has him breathing shallow and fast, the urge to buck up and fuck you settling low in the base of his spine. “C’mon, don’t I get some kind of fu-uck…” He stutters when your nails drag over his thighs. “You gotta show me some k-kind of mercy.”

“I’m already wearing a piece of you Eddie.”

His chest rises and falls, nostrils flared while he breaths heavy against his own willpower. The tattoos on his arms jump when he digs his fingers into your hips harder, an anchor he has to keep in place until you tell him he can move. “Why don’t you show me just how devoted you are?”

His first instinct, his first want, is to push you back and hold you down and make you sob about it. He’d like to hitch your legs up over his hips and make you remember the feeling of him deep inside for a few days.

But that’s not how you treat a goddess.

He slides his hands up your back with care when he sits up, his lips pressing softly into the space between your breast. He kisses up and over the necklace, warmed by your skin under it. Kisses up your neck until he has to pull your head down to meet his lips again. His fingers don’t grasp like they did a moment ago. They dance light over your skin, along the edge of your hair. They trace up under your jaw and over your cheeks, down your nose. He follows their path with his mouth, gentle kisses following gentle touch.

Your hips don’t move as rapid as they were and he uses it to his advantage. He presses up until he hears that gasp when he breaches you, soft heat clenching around his cock almost enough to set him off. He basks in the moment too long and you try to move your hips down against his but he makes a sound of protest, something in the back of his throat like a whine. “Give me a second, I’m having a moment with divinity.”

Your laugh travels through you, vibrations under his palms when you test his resolve again. Another gentle roll and he lays his face into the crook of your neck to mouth at you. Tongue running flat up the tendon on display when your head tips back and he finally buries himself fully. Your fingers wind in his hair while he snakes a hand between you, thumb finding your clit and you both groan when your movements speed up. He’s already too close, got himself all wound up in the role play but he needs you to finish first to put a nice bow on this evening.

“Y’really like it?” He pants against you.

“Of c-course I do.”

“Y’gonna wear it every day?” You nod and whine when he puts more pressure on his thumb. “Let everyone know what kind of freak you are.” You keep nodding and grinding down on him and that line of heat licks up his spine fast. “Gonna show everyone aren’t you?” He can feel your thighs trembling around his hips, knees digging in on every downward movement. “C’mon baby, wanna see it.” It takes him a lot of effort to pull his head up to watch you. Your chin tilted up, mouth hung open and panting, all for him. He can feel the tension building in you and can see the crease between your brows. The low whine that crawls out of your throat and goes on and on when he finally hits your peak.

He huffs, almost laughing at the way you break, amazed as always at the way you react to him. You sit flush against him and grind and pull his hair and his eyes roll back in his head, a line of curses spilling out of his lips that you catch with your own. He comes fast and hot, the edges of his vision going spotty while you keep his head steady and swallow all his grunts. In his foggy thoughts he can feel you run your tongue over the new space in his mouth, the feeling just foreign enough that it makes him shiver before he laughs again at your interest.

It takes a moment for you both to come down, you slouching into Eddie and making him fall back against the pillows, still out of breath.

“So I take it I’ve won your favor.” He grins up at the ceiling, running his hand over your back.

“You keep calling me a god, you can have whatever you want.” You roll on your side and nuzzle up under his outstretched arm.

“Don’t teeth have something to do with prosperity?” He snaps his fingers behind your head. “With all these new adornments, we’re gonna be swimmin’ in it baby.”

“Oh so that’s why you worship me, for my money!” You poke his side hard enough he flinches and curls around you suddenly, locking you into a hug and pinning you down on the bed. His lips brush your ear when he speaks lowly to you. “I worship you because you deserve it, the prosperity is a perk.” He keeps you close for a while until you both get too hot, sticky skin separating under cool sheets. He still has to touch you though and his foot finds yours while he reaches over to play with your necklace.

“I’m glad you’re cool with this.”

“I’m glad you’re cool with this.” You laugh. “We could have been having a much different evening otherwise.”

(Sacrifice for the read more)

[bingwriterxo]

wisdom teeth

pairing: vada cavell x reader

summary: in which vada gets her wisdom teeth out and you're subjected to listen to her babbling

warnings: mentions/talks of sex (character 18+)

word count: 1000+

Peace and quiet was something that was often lost on you whenever you were in Vada’s presence, your girlfriend’s ramblings and blabber always filling the silent void if there was one to begin with. It was rare that you could hang out with her and not hear her talk for hours on end about whatever came to her mind, even if you didn’t particularly care to listen—not that you’d ever tell her that, because you knew she’d be upset, and you liked hearing her talk, anyway; actually listening was just different. 

Somehow, although you really should’ve expected it, you got no reprieve when you offered to drive Vada home from her dentist appointment after getting her wisdom teeth removed. Part of you had thought that she would be too groggy from the anesthesia to do anything more than sleep in the passenger’s seat, while the other part of you thought that her mouth would be too stuffed with gauze for her to talk. Either way, you had initially believed that your time spent with post-surgery Vada would be blissfully silent. 

Oh, how wrong you were.

“Vads, come on,” you groaned. “You have to get in the car.” Currently, the brunette was refusing to sit down, instead choosing to flail her arms around in what you believed was an attempt to fight you away. It was, obviously, hilariously failing. 

“No!” she shouted, though her words were muffled a bit by the copious amounts of gauze in her mouth, keeping her from bleeding and drooling all over herself. “Stop touchin’ me! I have a girlfriend!”

You froze for a moment, staring at the girl, and then you burst into laughter. You knew that her mind would be a little…gone, because of the anesthesia, but you hadn’t been expecting it to be like this.

“Vada,” you said, “I am your girlfriend.”

Vada stared at you for a moment, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, and then she lit up with excitement and offered you a toothy grin, which was a little bloody. “You are my girlfriend!”

You chuckled. “I know I am. Now, will you get in the car, please?”

She nodded fervently and dropped into her seat, making sure to pull all her limbs in so that you wouldn’t shut the door on her. You bent down, clicking her seatbelt into place, and on your way back up, Vada tried to pull you in for a kiss. It was easy to avoid, however, and her lips landed on your cheek. 

She pouted up at you, clearly confused as to why you wouldn’t kiss her. “You can’t kiss with your gauze,” you said, which was half-true. The other half of your avoidance was that you didn’t want her mouth-blood anywhere near you. “Once we get home and take it out, and we get you cleaned up, then I’ll kiss you, okay?” you promised. She nodded solemnly. 

You shut the door and rounded the car to get into your own seat. When you were settled, you pulled out your phone, plugged it into the aux cord, and played the playlist that you and Vada had made together softly over the speakers. 

You glanced at her. “This good?” you asked, referring to the music. 

“I don’t care,” she said brashly. “Let’s go home so we can kiss.”

You bit back a smile. “Okay, babe. We’re going right now.”

* * *

You were halfway to Vada’s house when the nonsense-talk started. 

“Can we have sex when we get home?” she asked innocently.

In your surprise, you pressed on the brake a little too hard as you pulled to a stop at a red light, jolting both you and Vada forward slightly. “No,” you said. 

“Why not?”

“Because you need to rest, Vads. Plus, your mom and Amelia are going to be home.”

“That’s never stopped us before.” You blushed to your ears at the thought and stepped on the gas pedal when the light turned green. “Besides, who needs rest when we could fuck?”

“Vada!” you hissed, glancing at the girl. She didn’t seem to realize that her words were a little out of pocket, grumbling something about ‘dying from lack of pussy,’ as if the two of you didn’t have sex literally the night before.

You were able to scratch by with a few more minutes of quiet, humming along to the music that was playing, before Vada cut into it again, another question racing to slip past her lips. 

“If I buy a cowboy hat, and wear it around daily, would you say that I’m a cowboy?” 

You tilted your head at the question. “Why? Are you planning on doing that?”

She shrugged. “That depends. Would I be a cowboy?”

“I guess.” You bit at the inside of your cheek, thinking. “But, I think you might need the boots, too, and, like, a horse?”

Vada huffed. “But if you saw me walking around with a cowboy hat on, your first thought would probably be ‘cowboy’, right?

“Probably,” you answered, thinking that the conversation would be over the sooner you gave into it. 

“And you’re all for letting animals have freedom, aren’t you?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Uh, yeah.” Your eyes flitted toward her in suspicion. “Where are you going with this, Vads?”

She giggled a little, and then coughed violently. “Sorry, choked on spit ‘cause of the gauze.” Vada cleared her throat to the best of her ability before saying, “So if I’m a cowboy, and you like free animals, then would you save a horse and ride this cowboy?”

If you weren’t driving, you would’ve slapped her across the back of the head. Instead, you settled for heaving out a sigh and shaking your head. “That was terrible,” you confessed. 

Vada frowned. “Rude.”

“Sorry, babe, but it’s true.”

She mumbled something you couldn’t hear and then said, “You didn’t answer the question, though.”

You pulled into her driveway, parking the car and turning to her. “I pray you never have to be given anesthesia again,” you muttered beneath your breath. 

Vada looked at you. “What?”

You laughed at the sight. Her cheeks were blown out like a chipmunk because of the gauze, and when she spoke it looked like she was stuck in the middle of a yawn. There was some drool on the corners of her lips, and some on her shirt, and yet…

“Yes, Vads. I would ride this cowboy.”

[gxldenlush]

Braces || m.s

Pairing: bf!matt sturniolo x fem!reader

Summary: y/n got braces and is worried about what mattt will think.

Warnings: use of y/n, established relationship, insecurities/self criticism(?¿), nicknames (sweetheart, babe/baby, my girl, beautiful), pure fluff

A/n: I’m supposed to get braces soon so ig I’m just projecting😓

semi-proofread

Blue = matt

Pink = y/n

༻☙✲༺

7 Missed calls from “my love🩵”

6 voicemails from “my love🩵”

5 New Messages from “my love🩵”

Babe it’s been almost a week, I’m getting worried.

Why aren’t you answering me?

Did I do something wrong?

I know you’re reading these!

I’m coming over.

I’ve been staring at myself in the bathroom mirror for the last hour. Pushing my lips up and down to show my teeth.

Braces suck. They hurt, they’re uncomfortable… they’re ugly.

I want to break the mirror. But that won’t change how I look. It’s disgusting. Why couldn’t I have had normal teeth? Why did they have to be so fucked up?

I was never insecure about my teeth, until my dentist basically told me that I should be, she told me that some of my teeth overlap and that my jaw is slightly lopsided. After that, it’s all I could see. But now that I have braces to fix that? I can’t even think of going to visit my own boyfriend without being terrified that he will leave me because of how I look.

“He won’t love you anymore”

“You’re not pretty enough for him”

“You look disgusting”

“You shouldn’t even try. There’s no point.”

“You’ll be alone”

That’s all I can hear in my mind as I stare at the mirror, pulling at my upper lip so that I can view my new braces better, my vision slightly blurred from the tears that are constantly rolling down my cheeks and dropping onto the sink below me.

A faint call of my name downstairs confuses me. Matt? Shit. Before I can close the bathroom door, he appears in the doorway, he takes in my tired, tear-stained face and his face contorts with worry.

“Baby, what’s going on? Why haven’t you been talking to me?”

I don’t answer him, not wanting to open my mouth in fear that he’ll see my braces. Frustrated tearsburn my cheeks as escape my eyes. He steps closer and cups my face in his hands, I flinch away, my new braces making not only my teeth sensitive, but the entire lower half of my face.

“Y/n, talk to me, you’re really worrying me” the hurt look in his eyes are enough for me to give in.

I angle my head down and mumble my reply so that my teeth don’t show as I talk. “M’got braces ‘n’ I hate ‘em.”

“Braces, huh? Let me see.” He puts his fingertips under my chin, his touch much gentler this time. I pull away and shake my head.

“Mh-mmh, ‘s ugly” I cover my mouth with my hand as I speak.

“Hey” He speaks gently as he takes my hand and pulls it away from my mouth. “I haven’t seen you in almost a week, I’m getting withdrawals. I want to see my beautiful girl. C’mon, smile for me”

I hesitantly lift my head and smile awkwardly, showing the horrific scene that is my teeth and braces. He puts his hands on the sides of my face again, with such a gentle touch I’m not even sure it’s there. The terrifying dread pooling in my stomach gnaws its way up to my burning throat as I try not to cry.

He smiles wide “There’s my girl. You’re still gorgeous.”

“no m’not” tears fill my eyes, he wipes them away as quickly as they fall.

“Yes you are. You are absolutely stunning, sweetheart. Nothing could change my mind, especially not some braces.”

“But I look so… geeky. I already wear glasses, this is just ridiculous” i attempt to look in the mirror again but matt puts his hands on my hips and turns me to face him again.

“I think you look cute, sweetheart”

I shake my head and put my hands on my face to hide a blush creeping to my cheeks.

“C’mon, let’s go lay down and watch a movie” He takes my hands and moves them away from my face, leading me to the bedroom. He jumps onto the bed with a dramatic grunt, I let out a little laugh as I join him, his arm going around my shoulders and my head resting on his chest.

Matt pulls away slightly to look at my face, he puts his hand under my chin again. “Do they hurt?”

“Like a bitch” I nod. “It’s like a dull ache in my entire jaw as well as my teeth, because they’re fixing my jaw too, apparently it’s lopsided. Look, my teeth go all the way together on one side, but on the other there’s a gap between top and bottom” I clench my teeth together and show him, he looks and I’m right, my jaw is uneven.

“Huh, I never noticed that before” He mutters as he puts his hands on the sides of my face gently and looks closely at my teeth. “Still beautiful” He runs his fingers through my hair and I sigh contentedly at the soothing feeling.

“I remember when I had braces. I hated it, especially when I had to go get them tightened.”

“You had braces?” I look up at him, surprised that I didn’t know that fact.

“Yeah a few years ago, so did Nick and Chris”

“Is that why you’re being so nice about mine?”

“Yes and no, i’m being nice because i know how painful they are when they’re first fitted. But, I do think they look cute on you, and you’ll be happy by the end when you get them taken off because you’ll have nice straight teeth” He smiles down at me, that smile that I adore so much, that always makes me feel better.

I sigh and put my head back on his chest, carefully due to the ache in my jaw “I love you”

“I love you too, Sweetheart”

𖤐𖤐𖤐

We stay like this for a while, just silently in each other’s embrace, until Matt spoke up.

“Why didn’t you just tell me about the braces? Why did you avoid me?”

Regret and guilt eats away at my chest and stomach. I feel terrible for avoiding him, and now I feel terrible for what I’m about to tell him.

“I thought you wouldn’t think i’m pretty anymore… I thought that if you saw me with them, you’d leave me”

I can hear the surprise mix with hurt in his voice “What? Sweetheart, I wouldn’t- first of all, I’d never not think you are anything less than fucking gorgeous. But also, I would never just leave you simply because of your braces. I love you way too much to do anything like that.”

Even though his words cause a warmth in my chest, it also causes the guilt in my stomach to finally chew a giant hole all the way through. “I’m really sorry that I thought that of you, I was just scared…”

“It’s okay, baby. I, of all people, understand overthinking a situation. It’s alright. At least now you know.”

I nod in response, we turn on the TV and watch one of our “together-shows”. Every now and then (the only movement made by either of us) matt kisses my temple as a reassurance that he’s still there and still loves me.

Matt always knows how to cheer me up and make me feel better. I never stay in a bad mood for long when I’m around him. And he’s right, braces are temporary, and I’ll be happy with the end result so there’s no point dwelling on something that is gradually making things better.

[monoclesnapple]

Teefer Misser

Bungo Stray Dogs Chuuya Nakahara X Gender Neutral Reader Summary: Before Chuuya left, he had fangs. Now he has dents. Beginning Note: Spoilers for Season 5 and Chapter 114.5! (Imma just say, if you have an idea or a request, I encourage you to share! I'd love to receive any requests for the fandoms I write for [In my intro]) Chuuya calls you "Doll" once Word Count: 950 (Fluff/Little crack)

When Chuuya came home one night and told you that he had to leave to Europe for a while. you weren’t happy about the situation. You knew that the world was in danger and Chuuya had to play his part to prevent catastrophe, but that didn’t mean you were content with it. Still, you helped him ready himself, with the contacts and the fangs. Despite the dreadful atmosphere, you found it amusing that he had to look like a vampire. Sure, these types weren’t the sexy ones in fiction, but Chuuya pulled off the look.

Even with the red eyes, you loved his appearance, especially the clothing he was wearing. When he stood at the door, ready to depart to the Port Mafia headquarters for a final, unnecessary briefing, you kissed him goodbye. His lips molded to your own, tongues dancing together, feeling each other thoroughly for the last time until his return. You loved the feeling of his fangs, even though he loathed wearing them. They weren’t too sharp, but if you poked hard enough, it could cause a little spike of delicious pain.

Finally, the two of you separated and bid each other farewell. He left out the door and won’t come back for a while. During that time, your mind wandered to him. You looked forward to seeing him again, hoping he’d still have the fangs for just a tad longer so it could spice up your occasional entanglement. When Fyodor was killed and Chuuya could drop the act, he contacted you with his phone he kept on silent. Apparently, Mori had added glue to keep the fangs on.

While Chuuya thought it stupid and the worst situation, you found an opportunity in it. Guess he really can’t take them off, so you’ll send him to the dentist after you had some fun.

Unfortunately, everything was spiraling downhill, Fyodor wasn’t actually dead, and the new problem would take up a lot of time. You knew Chuuya couldn’t keep the accessory on for the whole time, but there was that slightest hope he could get used to it until he could properly set up an appointment with a dentist.

When he at last returned home, safe and eager to see you again, he pulled you into a kiss just like the one from the time he left. You ran your tongue along his teeth, but instead of feeling extensions of his teeth, you felt the opposite. Why did your tongue go straight, up, straight, and up again? Shouldn’t it either continue in a steady line, or down and away from his teeth?

Feeling the abnormality, you pulled away and pushed his lips up to reveal his teeth. He lightly protested, but allowed you to do so with sagging shoulders. What you found wasn’t exactly what you expected.

“Why are your teeth chipped?” you inquired, but you had an idea as to what happened.

“I uh..” Chuuya scratched his head awkwardly and averted his eyes, “I pulled off the fangs.”

“I know that, but why couldn’t you wait until after you came back? Or at least go to a dentist so they could handle it.”

“I didn’t wanna have to deal with them, so I got them off. ‘S fine, anyways, ‘m not dead.” He closed his eyes and crossed his arms.

You stared at him blankly before taking his wrist and taking him outside to his motorcycle. “Nope, you’re going to a dentist now, whether you like it or not. I’m not going to kiss my significant other if he has teeth missing all because he was too impatient to wait for a professional to handle things.”

“Wha?- Oi! Knock it off! I’m tired, and I doubt they’re even taking in anyone who just walks in without an appointment!” He tried to resist, but relented when he saw that you won’t back down.

“I don’t give a fuck if they’re not doing so, I’m going to ensure you get the treatment you need. Why couldn’t you even wait? Surely, you would’ve been able to get accustomed to the fangs.” You were in front of him on the bike, with his hands lazily around your waist. At least he had taught you how to drive a motorcycle, so now he doesn’t have to exhaust himself further by driving.

Chuuya groaned and rested his forehead on your back. “Not even gonna wear a helmet? Dangerous, Doll.”

“Like you wear one,” you muttered back. This was going to be a long night, but it’s his fault for chipping his teeth. In the back of your mind, you did feel bad that he couldn’t rest after coming back. You hadn’t accelerated yet, still parked, so you turned your head to him. “I’m sorry that you can’t relax after a long mission. We can just drive around and save the dental treatment for another time. I know you’re beyond exhausted.”

He moved his head to rest his chin on your shoulder and press a kiss to your cheek. “I’d love that. ‘M sorry for being such an idio-”

“My apologies for not caring. After this, I’ll prepare a bath for you and get some snacks. Then, we can just cuddle and watch a movie, yeah?” You tilted your head, keeping your eyes on him.

His eyes were closed as he imagined your suggestion, and smiled softly. “Mhm... I just wanna spend time with my love before I have to drown myself in paperwork. ‘S a plan.”

With that, you started the bike and sped along the streets, admiring the city lights. Chuuya may be impulsive, but at least he’s making his choices with the betterment of the world in mind. Some exceptions, though.

[liaromancewriter]

Sugar Bugs

Premise: The twins visit the dentist's office.

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine); feat. Ramsey Twins (OC children) Rating/Category: General. Fluff. Words: 745

Eloise Ramsey loved sweets. It was just too bad that her teeth didn’t share the sentiment.

She half-listened to Mindy, her dental hygienist, as she updated her mom on the cavities she found during the check-up. El didn’t need to pay attention because Mindy had already told her everything.

She and Sophie had been going to Dr. Baker’s office for years for their teeth cleanings and check-ups. Mindy was part of the team, and El liked how she didn’t treat them like babies, so she always asked for her.

She stared at the ceiling and sighed deeply, the weight of the world on her shoulders. She just knew her dad would use this as an excuse to cut her off from all the sugary goodness that was her weakness.

El gave her mom’s profile a shifty, side-eyed look. If she thought about it, it was her parents’ fault for filling their home with cakes, candy and other sweets. She wouldn’t be tempted to eat sugar if they didn't buy them.

So, really, she shouldn’t be held responsible for doing what kids did. She was only nine and at the mercy of adults.

She glossed over the fact that her parents doled out sweets in moderation and only on special occasions. It was immaterial to the indignation playing out in her head.

The door to the exam room swung open, and Sophie rushed inside, followed by a smiling Dr. Baker.

“Guest what, El?” Sophie exclaimed, tugging at her sister’s arm before continuing excitedly. “Dr. Baker said my teeth are perfect!”

Of course, they were. She loved her sister to the moon and back, but there was no denying she was perfect at everything. Little Miss Perfect. El rolled her eyes internally, stopping midway when she realized Sophie had seen the gesture.

Instead of being offended, she grinned and stuck out her tongue. El smiled. This is why she loved her twin. Where others might bristle at her sharp remarks, Sophie always took them in stride.

“Well, young lady, let’s have a look,” Dr. Baker called out a little too cheerfully for El’s taste.

The man really did love staring into people’s mouths, she thought wryly as he pressed a button to lower the chair.

He parked himself on the padded stool and rolled closer, grabbing one of the shiny instruments from the tray before peering into her open mouth.

“Yep, those definitely look like sugar bugs,” he said with a nod, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

His childish description, one that used to make her giggle when she was five, now only made her roll her eyes. At this rate, she’d hit her daily quota of eye rolls before noon.

“They’re called cavities,” El muttered dryly, the snark creeping into her voice.

He smiled. “Ah, but calling them ‘sugar bugs’ makes them seem much less scary, don’t you think?”

Sophie giggled from the corner, always entertained by the dentist’s antics. El shot her a look that said traitor.

“Yeah, sure, because what could be more terrifying than a bug made out of sugar?” El replied, deadpan.

Dr. Baker chuckled, completely unfazed as he continued his examination. “Looks like this apple didn’t fall far from the Ethan Ramsey tree.”

“She’s definitely her father’s daughter,” her mom commented, a hint of laughter in her voice.

“The cavity isn’t too bad,” Dr. Baker said, straightening his back and glancing at his watch. “I’ve got time now. It shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes, and it’ll save you a follow-up visit. I know how busy you and Ethan are these days, Cassie.”

"El?" Mom prompted, looking over at her.

Forgetting her earlier irritation at her parent’s role in her current predicament, El softened at the question. She appreciated how her parents always let her and Sophie make their own decisions. Her mom could’ve pulled rank, but she rarely did, and her dad was the same. They actively encouraged their daughters to be independent and make their own choices.

El exhaled dramatically, giving a mock royal wave. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dr. Baker nodded, turning away to prep his tools.

“We’ll be in the waiting room,” her mom said, gently squeezing her shoulder. “Come on, Sophie.”

“Good luck, El!” Sophie called out with a grin, following their mom out of the room.

Dr. Baker leaned over her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “And don’t worry. Those ‘sugar bugs’ don’t stand a chance.”

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

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @justyourusualash

@lady-calypso @kyra75 @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect

@queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @snoopdogcone @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[princessbrunette]

got my wisdom teeth out td and all i can think about is the kind of natural caretaker daddy!johnb is. im actually craving his fix it attitude rn and absolutely sweetheart personality. he'd be doing the absolute most to relieve your pain while also sliding into daddy mode every time you wanted to pull the gauze or ice packs off like they weren't for your own good - 🍓

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just the idea of john b showing up in his beaten up twinkie to pick you up from the dental practice after your procedure, uncertain smile on his face when the dentist walks you out of the surgery room, you blabbering away nonsensically with a bulging cheek, clinging onto the strangers arm. your eyes light up when you see your boyfriend, floating over and practically falling on him, the taller boy catching you in his arms “oh— okay, careful—”

he listens diligently to the dentists instructions, nodding as he glances at you, gently taking your wrist as you fiddle with the gauze.

he’s brought your favourite blanket into the twinkie, some extra ice packs in the backseat because he wasn’t sure what he’d need. he pulls up at a red light, watching you yell “go go go!” with drool down your chin. he leans across to wipe you up with his thumb.

“red means don’t go, actually.” he explains patiently and you nod.

“oh.”

before you get into the chateau you spit the bloody cotton out onto the ground, john b shaking his head and stepping over it. “you know i’m gonna have to replace that when we get inside. it’s in there to help you, pup.”

he puts up with your whining, your crying, mops up your drooly mouth with no hesitation and changes your gauze for you when need be. “whats gonna help you feel better, puppy?” he sighs, cooing sympathetically as he gently thumbs your cheek, staring into your teary eyes.

“need to take the tooth out.” you sniffle, drowsy as you lean into his palm.

“well, the good news is its already been taken. anything else?”

eventually has you down for a nap, wrapped in a blanket more so for his peace of mind, treating it more like a straight-jacket so you don’t reach up and mess with your bloody gums in your sleep whilst he’s up doing stuff around the chateau :(

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[whimsimille]

PSYCHOCHROMIA

Seo Moonjo (Patient) x Reader! (Doctor)

Chapter 2: Slaughter house

Tick tack

Tick tack

30 minutes now and you're going crazy. You look at Moonjo through your mascara-coated eyelashes, the clumps of black giving your gaze an almost predatory edge. He only smirks, a Cheshire curl of lips that deflates another question once again. It's grating. It's perverse. But you still take a sip of the cold coffee.

Your fingers moved almost subconsciously to cross over each other on top of the table—a nervous habit you had since childhood when Mom wasn't looking. She would have shot you a disapproving look if she were still alive, reminding you of Dad and how he used to beat you for being so much like him. But she wasn't here now; she couldn’t make you feel like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. She couldn't see you crossing your fingers in this room, hoping against hope that Moonjo would open up and reveal something about his past or his crimes.

"Can you tell me about your... work? How do you reconcile your actions with your own moral compass, Mr. Seo?"

Moonjo's smile widened, revealing perfect, gleaming teeth that seemed almost too pristine, too sharp. He reached for the crayon you usually leave out for Mina, a patient with regression disorder. The bright red crayon looked almost comically out of place in his large, bruised hand. Without breaking eye contact, he began to sketch on the paper in front of him, making slow and chirurgical strokes that gradually took form.

"You see, Dr. Song, extracting a tooth is an art form. It's delicate, precise. You must be gentle but also firm. One wrong move and you could shatter the tooth, ruin the whole endeavor. It's very similar to... my other work."

He paused, glancing down at his doodle. Hollow eyes, razor-thin smile lines carved out of the paper.

"I had an unfortunate upbringing. My father was a strict man—a pastor who preached about sin and damnation every Sunday. I suppose it rubbed off on me." Moonjo pulls at one of his bottom lips with his teeth, revealing the sharp edge of his incisor. There's something feral about him now, almost primal. It's as if he's been waiting for this moment—not only to share his story but also to relish in it. "I remember one Sunday, after a particularly fiery sermon about the wages of sin, he took me to the basement. There was a row of dental tools laid out on a white cloth—forceps, scalers, probes. He said they were instruments of God's will, tools to cleanse the soul. That day, I learned how to extract a tooth. He made me practice on myself first, pulling out a molar with trembling hands. The pain was excruciating, but the lesson was clear: salvation through suffering.”

Your pen hovered over the page, barely able to keep up with the torrent of his revelations. "I’m sorry for you—" 

“Don’t,” he shook his head slowly, almost pityingly. “People think of God as a comforting figure. Like a teddy bear a child clings to at night, or a security blanket. It's nice to think there's someone up there who's always watching, always caring. The promise of paradise, of eternal life—it’s a comforting thought, isn't it?"

You shifted in your seat again, uncrossing your legs and recrossing them the other way around, trying to find some sort of comfort in the movement. "But not everyone sees it that way. Some people find comfort in the rituals and the community. It's not just about fear or comfort; it's about belonging."

Seo paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he were trying to recall a distant memory. "For some people, yes. But I understood that it was always in the blood, in the agape mouths and in the crushed windpipes. It was in the steel of the dental tools, the ones I used to clean my victims' teeth before... well, you know."

It was like listening to a twisted version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; the transformation from healer to killer so seamless it was almost poetic. It was like being in a surreal version of a dentist's office—one where the patients were more likely to bite you than spit out what was stuck in their teeth.

“I might not understand everything, Mr. Seo. But I do know that everyone has their reasons and their justifications. Even if those reasons are twisted and dark, yes. I know.”

The man looks up from his drawing and raises an eyebrow at you—a challenge in his eyes. You force yourself to maintain eye contact, holding his gaze even if it feels like he's seeing straight into your soul.

"If the idea of eternal punishment is the only thing keeping you good, are you really a good person? Is it the fear of hell that makes you help an old lady cross the street, or is it genuine kindness? Maybe it was other things that caused me to lose my belief. Maybe my faith was only conditional to begin with. Perhaps it was rooted in the childlike wonder I felt when I first read the Bible, like believing in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny."

Moonjo stretches his arm out, displaying the paper with the half-finished drawing—a crude sketch of a man in a robe, arms spread wide and eyes closed—and an almost serene smile on his face. Above his head, a halo glows bright and golden. "Sometimes when we prayed at church or at home, I would close my eyes and try to summon that feeling of awe, of connection to something greater. But it always felt hollow, like I was reciting lines from a play I no longer believed in."

You took a deep breath before speaking again, not wanting to break the eerie silence that had fallen between you two. "I understand, Mr. Seo… But what do you want me to do with this? This man in your sketch, is he supposed to represent your father, or perhaps a version of yourself?"

You held up the drawing, trying not to let your shaking hands give away your fear. There was no answer from Moonjo; he simply sat there, staring at you with those empty eyes that seemed to hold an endless well of madness. Sweat began to bead on your forehead as the temperature in the room dropped precipitously. It felt as if the air itself were becoming chilled by his presence, as if he were sucking out all warmth and light like some kind of parasite.

"Mr. Seo?" You tried again, louder this time. "Are you alright?"

He didn't respond, but instead reached over to a small pot on the table and picked up a stick of sugar-free gum from it. Popping it into his mouth with a loud crack, he began chewing vigorously on it as he stared at you intently, studying your every move as if trying to decide whether or not you were worth keeping around any longer.

“This is how they saw him. Pure and holy, a beacon of light." His voice drawls with disgust, lips pulling back to show his teeth chewing the gum. "But I saw something else. I saw an old man who'd lost control of his son, who beat him when he misbehaved and demanded silent obedience. I saw the hypocrisy in their pews every Sunday. They sang hymns of love while their husbands beat their wives at home." He pauses, nodding slowly as if in agreement with himself. "So I started cleansing them—cleansing them with my own hands and tools. It was liberating."

As he speaks, he absently fiddles with the red crayon, twirling it between his fingers before dipping it into the black inkpot on the table. A smear of blood-red color mixes with the black ink, forming an ominous stain on the wet surface. The sound of scratching fills the air as he writes his next words: 'Sometimes I imagine they scream so loud for me'. 

In general, when you start working with a patient, there is no urgency, no predetermined therapeutic timeline to meet specific goals. Usually, it begins with many months of conversation. In an ideal world, Moonjo would talk about himself, his life, and his childhood. You would listen, gradually building a picture until it was complete enough to venture into precise and useful interpretations. But in this case, nothing real would be said. Nothing non manipulative would be heard. The information you needed would have to be obtained from non-verbal cues, from whatever information you could extract from other sources, like the confidential notes from the police files or the whispered rumors among the nurses.

In other words, you had to set a plan in motion to help Moonjo without knowing exactly how to execute it. 

A fly buzzes aimlessly around your head before landing on Moonjo's sleeve; he casually reaches out and crushes it between his fingers, never breaking eye contact with you. The crunch of the exoskeleton is barely audible, but you can see the minute satisfaction in his eyes as he slowly pulls at the insect, dismembering it piece by piece. His jaw tightens, and you can't help but notice the pure, unadulterated grayness in his gaze—no spark, no humanity. Were the men and women he killed made out of a pair of fully developed wings on the thorax and a knobby, vestigial second pair of wings too? Had they too committed the crime of being small enough to fit between his fingers?

"You know, Mr. Seo, everyone has a different perspective on faith and morality. It's not always about fear of punishment or the promise of reward. Sometimes, it's about the simple act of doing what's right because it feels right. It's about the connections we forge and the empathy we extend to others." You spoke with more confidence than you felt. And you thought your voice sounded inordinately high and squeaky, though you could barely hear it, blood pumping so hard in your ears.  "When I help someone, whether it's through my work here or in my personal life, it's not because I'm afraid of some divine retribution. It's because I believe in the inherent value of each human life. I believe in the power of compassion and understanding to bring about change, no matter how small."

Moonjo's smile widened as he dropped the insect, now crushed like an ant beneath a boot heel. Its wings had been smudged into grayish-black smears and you tried not to fidget at the thought that you were now the insect he wanted to dissect, to see if your blood was just as shiny and if your teeth would be as easy to pull out, but the rustle of your skirt against the vinyl chair caused you to twitch involuntarily. 

"Do you really believe in what you're saying?" he asked, wiggling his fingers as if casting a spell, emphasizing their length and dexterity. "Or is your faith rotting in your drawer alongside your paints and canvases?"

Breath catches in your throat like an invisible noose tightening around your neck and your hand moves instinctively towards your necklace at the base of your throat—a simple silver chain holding an old Saint Christopher medal your first patient had given you when you first started working here.

You had never mentioned your passion for painting to anyone. How could he possibly know? 

Quickly, you find your hand reaching for the recorder, your fingers fumbling a little, but you manage to hit 'pause' just before the next words. You can't believe what you're hearing. Your stomach churns and you feel your face go pale, yet you know that there are only ten more minutes left and you're pulling the plug on this interview. You'll have to pick it up with another patient later or simply write it up yourself based on his words, but the last thing you will do is be here when night falls. 

"How do you know about that?"

He pointed toward your nails. "It's all in the details, Dr. Song. The way you hold your pen, the slight smudges on your skin... It's clear that you paint. And it's also clear that you're trying to reconcile two parts of yourself—the healer and the artist."

You glanced down at your hands, now trembling slightly. The faint traces of ultramarine blue under your thumbnail, the barely noticeable streak of burnt sienna on your wrist—marks of your late-night sessions that never seemed to completely wash away, no matter how hard you scrubbed with the lavender-scented soap from the local market.

Still, who would look at tiny bits of color strokes that couldn’t be cleaned with a sponge and make poetry out of them?

You gulp down the rest of your cold coffee, feeling its harshness sit heavy in your stomach like a rock. Moonjo watches intently as you set the mug down gently on the table that separates you from him—its metallic clank echoing off the walls like a warning bell in an empty church steeple.

"What makes you think my faith is rotting?" 

"Because, jagiya, people like us... we wear masks. We hide behind our roles and our titles. But deep down, we are all searching for something. And sometimes, the very things we believe in, the things we cling to, can decay and fester within us."

"And what about you, Mr. Seo? What are you searching for? What lies beneath your mask?"

Moonjo shrugs nonchalantly, his chained hands moving up to his leather restraints as if he could snap them off at any moment if he wanted to. "Perhaps I'm searching for someone who can understand the darkness within me. Someone who can see beyond the monster and find the humanity buried deep.”

Tick tack.

Suddenly, another fly buzzes around the room. It lands on the battered oak table, right next to the crushed remains of the last one Moonjo had dismembered. Its tiny legs twitch as it surveys the scene, perhaps sensing the latent malice in the room. It cautiously inches towards your coffee mug. You shiver involuntarily as its spindly legs dance closer to the rim of the mug, delicately navigating the remnants of your lipstick stain. 

Still, you just roll a piece of paper—the appointment schedule for the day, printed on flimsy office stock—and swat it away. The fly buzzes off, leaving a faint smear on the page, the scent of ink and paper mingling with the stale smell of old coffee.

It's an innocent gesture, a reflex born out of years of dealing with minor nuisances. But the act makes Moonjo stifle a laugh, a sound that is both mocking and curious. He tilts his head as if you were an interesting specimen under his scrutinizing gaze, his eyes narrowing like a cat watching a cornered mouse.

“…Or maybe I'm just looking for my next challenge." His tone was perfectly neutral, without judgment. 

Even so, you felt a swell in your chest—a familiar toxic squeeze—like your lungs were eroding under the sheer weight of your work. You exhaled, fighting to remain calm. Seo Moonjo stayed under control only so long as you were calm. 

"And do you think you'll find what you're looking for here, in this room with me?"

Moonjo's eyes bore into yours. "Maybe. Or maybe you'll find something about yourself that you never wanted to confront."

After a failed snack at the cafeteria—where the only offerings were a sad-looking sandwich with wilted lettuce and a cup of what could only be described as dishwater masquerading as coffee—you wandered through the dimly lit corridors of Gonjiam, still stained with the rusty marks of dried blood from the day a patient named Ji-Hoon had torn out his IV and sprinted through the halls, desperate for an escape. The metallic tang of old blood seemed to cling to the air, mingling with the antiseptic scent that never quite masked the underlying odor of despair. You needed to sneak out for a cigarette to escape the suffocating weight of your thoughts after the unnerving session with Seo Moonjo. His doodle, now folded and tucked away in your pocket, felt like a lead weight pressing against your leg.

Just as you were about to give up after minutes of wandering around and heading back to your office, Son Yoo Jeong appeared near the fire escape, her ever-present clipboard clutched to her chest and a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead, suggesting she'd been rushing around the ward. Still, she was pretty with her new short bob cut, the kind of haircut that looked effortlessly chic but probably required meticulous maintenance.  

“Are you lost, Y/N?" Jeong tilted her head slightly, her brown eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress.

You hesitated, the urge to confess weighing heavily on your chest. “No, not lost. Just... needing a break, noona.” 

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Oh, there’s no need to lie, honey! It happens even with senior nurses! It took me months to find my way around here. It feels like a maze with no exit. Sometimes I still get lost, and I've been here for ten years." She laughed, a light, tinkling sound that contrasted sharply with the heavy atmosphere.

Before you could protest, she gently took you by the arm, her fingers surprisingly strong for someone so petite. She led you through a series of twists and turns, past the nurses' station, where a couple of RNs were chatting over their cups. You barely had time to register the framed prints of Van Gogh's "Starry Night" and Monet's "Water Lilies" hanging on the walls before she was guiding you upstairs, where nurses and aides moved in and out, their scrubs a blur of blues and greens, punctuated by the occasional flash of a brightly colored lanyard or a pin celebrating a recent vaccination. 

"I'll put the water on to boil," Jeong said as soon as you two entered the place, her voice cutting through the noise. "What a miserable weather, huh? It would be better if it started raining to end this... Rainis a very strong symbol in the imagination, don't you think? It cleans everything. Have you noticed how patients like to talk about storms? Try to observe. It's interesting."

To your surprise, she reached into her oversized tote bag—a well-worn, brown leather piece that looked like it had seen better days—and pulled out a huge piece of cake wrapped in cling film, placing it in your hand. "Here. Walnut cake. I made it last night. For you. Don't think I didn't notice your pretty face getting smaller every day. I know you're not eating."

"Wow, thanks. I..."

"I know it's not conventional, but I always get better results with difficult patients when I offer a slice of cake during the session," she said with a wink.

You laughed, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit. "I bet you do. Am I a difficult patient?

Jeong giggled with a deep, hearty sound. "No, although I also think it works well with difficult team members... which you are not, by the way. A little sugar helps a lot to improve the mood. I used to make cakes for the cafeteria, but Sangwoo made such a fuss about all that nonsense about health and safety with food brought from outside... It was like I was smuggling files to see through the bars. But I still make my cakes on the sly sometimes. My rebellion against the dictatorial state. Eat a piece.

It wasn't a suggestion but an order. You took a bite. It was delicious. The cake had a perfect consistency, full of walnut pieces, and just the right amount of sweetness. You were chewing, so you tried to cover your mouth while speaking. "I have no doubt that this will put your patients in a good mood."

Jeong clapped her hands, seeming pleased. You realized why you liked her: she radiated a kind of maternal calm. She reminded you of your former therapist, Go Eun. It was hard to imagine her angry or upset. She also had that pink shade on her, mostly on the tip of her nose. You suspected it was partly from the cold; the hospital's thermostat perpetually set a few degrees too low, partly from her habit of pinching her cheeks whenever she felt flustered—a nervous tick she picked up from her grandmother, who always said a little color in the cheeks made one look healthier and mostly because she was just pure goodness and kindness.

You glanced around the room while she made the tea. The nurse's station is always the center of a psychiatric unit, the heart of the place: staff coming and going, and it's from there that the ward is managed day-to-day, or at least where practical decisions are made. "Aquarium" was the nickname the nurses themselves gave the station because the walls were made of reinforced glass, meaning the staff could keep an eye on the patients in the recreation room, at least in theory. In practice, the patients roamed outside constantly, looking in at us, making us the ones under constant observation. Since the space was small, there weren't enough chairs, and the existing ones were usually occupied by nurses working on the computers. So, you generally stood in the middle of the room or leaned awkwardly against a desk, making the place feel crowded no matter how many people were inside.

"Here you go, my dear." Jeong handed you a cup of chamomile tea, the steam curling up in delicate tendrils. 

"Thank you. That's exactly what I needed after Jungwoo dropped a big case on my lap out of nowhere. He didn't even give me a heads-up; he just waltzed into the garden and dumped a stack of files on my hands. I swear, he enjoys watching me scramble."

Jeong sighed like a teenage girl from one of those American movies, twirling a lock of her new short bob cut around her finger. "Oh, that cutie. Have you seen him this afternoon? I wanted to show him my new hair. I thought he might appreciate the change. You know, he has a good eye for detail.”

You took a sip of the tea, savoring the gentle floral notes. "He clocked out around three. Said he had scheduled a meeting with his previous seniors and his girl. Probably talking about his residency program and catching up on old times. He looked pretty excited about it.”

"Wished I was her," Jeong sighed wistfully, leaning against the counter. Her new bob swayed as she shook her head. "It must be nice to have a boyfriend so cute like that. Plus, he's a nurse. It makes his appeal get a boost. I mean, who wouldn't want someone who can take care of them and look like he walked out of a K-drama? Remember when he helped old Mrs. Kim during her panic attack last week? The way his hands moved so gently, so sure..."

"Please, stop," you groaned, feeling the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. You set down your cup with more force than necessary, the china clinking against the saucer. It was bad enough that Jungwoo was the topic of many daydreams among the staff; hearing it out loud made it all the more embarrassing. And it certainly didn't help that you'd caught yourself staring at those very hands more times than you cared to admit.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I forgot I'm talking with Mrs. Cold here."

"Mrs. Cold, huh?"

"Well, you know how it is," Jeong leaned in conspiratorially, her breath smelling faintly of the walnut cake. "You've got that icy exterior, but we all know you're just a big softie underneath. Like a lollipop with a hard shell and a gooey center. Besides, it's kind of endearing. The way you pretend not to care when Jungwoo brings you coffee every morning, or how you always make sure he eats during long shifts..."

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, sure. Just call me the Ice Queen of Gonjiam.”

“Hey, it’s better than some of the other nicknames flying around,” Jeong winked, glancing around as if to make sure no one else was listening. “Remember when Nurse Kim accidentally dyed her hair green and everyone called her ‘The Hulk’ for months? At least your nickname has a certain... elegance to it.”

“You're impossible, Noona.”

Just then, the door to the nurse's station creaked open, and Go Sangman entered, his presence immediately commanding the room. The man was painfully thin, almost skeletal, his frame accentuated by the oversized white coat he wore. His thick glasses magnified his eyes to an almost comical degree, and his hair clung to his scalp in a desperate attempt to cover the bald spots. A dark blue one.

As always, though, he exuded a strong smell of mint gum that he was always chewing. 

It was one of the few things you shared in common while you worked at a downtown asylum, and you recalled that he smoked a lot. However, he had given up smoking, got married, and had a young child since then. You pondered Sangman's potential as a father. Thought he was not a very caring guy, and yet here he was—the new employee of the month, with his picture emblazoned on the bulletin board outside the "aquarium," surrounded by an outrageous gold border.

He gave you a cold smile. "Funny running into you again, Y/N."

"Small world."

"The world of mental health certainly is," he said, as if to imply that he could also be found in other, broader worlds. You tried to imagine what those might be like, but all you could visualize was him hunched over a dimly lit desk, engrossed in the latest volume of "Attack on Titan" or scrolling through a forum dedicated to anime theories.

"How's Ji-Young and little Soo-Min?" You asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Ji-Young has become quite the entrepreneur," he finally said, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. "Her brownies are practically flying off the shelves. And Soo-Min... She's already the teacher's pet. Loves her new ‘Frozen’ backpack and can’t stop talking about Mrs. Kim, her homeroom teacher. Time flies, doesn't it?"

You nodded."It sure does."

Sangman stared at you for a few seconds. You had forgotten his habit of pausing, sometimes for a long time, forcing the other person to wait while he considered his response. It annoyed you now, just as it did back then.

"I’ve joined the team at a rather inopportune moment," he said finally. "The sword of Damocles is hanging over the Gonjiam."

"You think the situation is that bad?"

"It's only a matter of time. Sooner or later, the government will close our doors," he replied, his eyes narrowing as he leaned against the doorframe. "The question is, what are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?" Jeong asked, pausing mid-bite of her walnut cake, the crumbs scattering onto her clipboard. A child’s laughter at a funeral.

"Well, when the ship starts sinking, the rats run away. They don't climb aboard."

You were perplexed by Sangman's direct aggression. You decided not to take the bait. "It's possible. But I'm not a rat. And in that case, you are the one who should leave since you’re new here."

Before he could respond, a violent bang on the reinforced glass interrupted the conversation. Hanna was on the other side of the window, pounding on it with such ferocity that the glass vibrated. Her face was pressed against the glass, nose squished flat, features distorted to the point of resembling something out of a Francis Bacon painting. 

"I'm not taking this shit anymore. I hate these fucking pills, man..."

Sangman opened a small hatch in the glass, the kind you see in old bank teller windows, and spoke through it. "Now is not the time to discuss this, girl."

Hanna's eyes were wild; her pupils dilated. "Discuss? What's there to discuss? You people don't listen. You just shove pills down our throats and expect us to be grateful."

"I'm not talking about this now. Make an appointment to talk in a private setting. Please, step back.”

But Hanna was having none of it. "You mean the isolation room, right? Where you can pump me full of more drugs?" Her words were laced with bitterness, and you couldn't blame her. The isolation room—Room 317, a windowless cube—was a last resort, a place none of the patients wanted to end up. The walls were padded, and the only window was a small, barred one high up on the wall, allowing in just a sliver of daylight. Designed to break the spirit.

“Go. Away.”

Hanna furrowed her brow and thought for a while. After that, she turned and went away with a heavy step, leaving behind a small condensation circle where her nose had touched the glass. Her slow shuffling step, with one foot dragging slightly behind the other due to an old injury sustained during one of her episodes, was audible.

Jeong sighed while pouting, "Poor Hanna."

Sangman grumbled, " There’s nothing poor about her. Difficult. That 's all she is."

"Do you even know why she is here?" You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the chamomile tea in your hand, before eyeing his red face, the veins in his neck bulging slightly as if he were restraining himself from snapping back.

"Double homicide," Go replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "She killed her mother and sister. Smothered them while they slept."

You shook your head slowly, the corners of your mouth curling into a grim smile. "No. Wrong. She actually killed her abusive father. The one you’re talking about is Gunwoo-shi. Before calling me or other people rats, you should recognize you’re one yourself.”

Sangman’s eyes widened momentarily, a flicker of uncertainty breaking through his usual facade. His fingers twitched, as if reaching for the pack of cigarettes he no longer carried. "I don't recall—"

“Of course, you don't," you interrupted. "You’ve always been quick to judge, slow to understand. Hanna was admitted last spring. Maybe you’re too busy with your ‘research’ on the effects of antipsychotic medications on her to notice the details. She killed her father in self-defense. He broke her soul before she broke his neck.”

“Ouch!” Jeong giggled. “You deserved that, oppa!”

“That’s not funny,” Sangman retorted, rubbing his arm where Jeong had playfully swatted him. His glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them back up.

Ignoring them, you watched what was happening on the other side of the glass. 

Hanna had joined the other patients. She was much larger than the others. One of the patients, a man named Minho with a penchant for collecting bottle caps, handed her a crumpled five-thousand won note, which she pocketed with a practiced nonchalance. Minho's eyes darted around nervously, his fingers twitching as if he were itching to add another cap to his collection. 

Just as you were about to resume your conversation with Jeong about the teenager’s relationship, you noticed a stillness settle over the room. Across from you, Jeong looks like she might be sick; her face is ashen and she keeps licking her lips, a nervous habit you remember from when she first started working here. Go Sangman stays rigid near the doorway, his arms crossed tightly across his chest and his mouth slightly agape as if unable to find words for once.

It was as if someone had pressed a mute button, silencing the usual ambient noise of whispers, shuffling feet, and the hum of fluorescent lights. Every head, every pair of eyes turned slowly to the left, towards the maximum security room.

You followed their gaze and felt a chill run down your spine. The double doors of the high-security wing creaked open, and there he was—Seo Moonjo. Flanked by five guards, he walked with an unsettling calmness, his eyes scanning the room like a predator surveying his territory. The guards looked tense, their grips tight on the batons at their sides, ready for any sudden movement. They had seen this before—patients attempting to attack their infamous new roommate in order to earn his favor and join his ranks.

As they led him towards the solitary dining area, the patients parted like the Red Sea, creating a wide berth for Moonjo and his entourage. Some of the more unstable patients reached out as he passed, their fingers barely grazing his skin. Their eyes were wide, filled with a mix of awe and fear, as if they were in the presence of some unholy deity.

"Moonjo-ssi," Yoo Gi-hyeok said, his voice trembling. He stretched out his hand, trying to touch Moonjo's face as if seeking a blessing. "Save us..."

The dentist’s lips curled into a smile, but it held no warmth. His eyes were dark, devoid of any human emotion. He allowed the patient to touch his cheek for the briefest moment before the guards shoved the man back, causing him to stumble and fall. 

Gi-hyeok didn't seem to mind; he lay on the floor, gazing up at Moonjo with a look of reverence. His eyes were glazed over, his mouth slightly agape as if still tasting something—perhaps what little piece of human connection he got from touching the infamous killer or perhaps simply relishing in fear itself. Whatever it was, it made them all feel alive in some twisted way.

A savior? Or a butcher? Did the others sense the predator within him, the one that saw them not as individuals but as prey? As potential meals, are their flesh and bones nothing more than sustenance for his insatiable hunger? Did they sense, in some deep part of their psyche, that he would devour them, body and soul?

And what did Moonjo see when he looked at them? Did he see the delicate curve of their necks, the pulse of their blood just beneath the skin? Did he imagine the taste of their fear, the texture of their flesh as his teeth tore through it? Was every touch, every glance, a prelude to a feast, a silent promise of their inevitable consumption?

You couldn't tear your eyes away from the scene. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion—horrifying yet impossible to look away from. Moonjo continued his march towards the solitary dining area, his presence casting a long shadow over the room.

Jeong took a quick sip of her tea but spilled some down her chin when her hand shook; she quickly wiped it away with a trembling hand. 

She glanced at you with wide eyes before looking back at Moonjo's retreating form. ” It's his first day here and they act like this when he's around. They treat him as if he's some kind of messiah."

With that, Moonjo and his guards disappeared behind the heavy metal door of the solitary dining area, the clang of the door echoing ominously through the now silent room.

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

Kwang, Min-Jun's father, short leashes his dogs again. They were valuable, and he had no intention of losing them to a shot female doe howling and gibbering just down yonder. His son reloaded their guns and snapped them closed. That howling had chilled you and made the sweat under your arms run down your back feel like ice water. When situations become uncomfortable like this, people look for someone to guide them and in such cases, Kwang Jun steps up. He wasn’t feeling much of a hero right then—quite the contrary—but he did it nonetheless, leading the way toward an outcrop of alders jutting ambitiously from the woody fringe on your right side while you followed nervously at a short distance behind him, trying hard not to stumble over roots or fall behind too far.

Only once did he halt his stride—long enough to crush his spent cigarette underfoot—and then push ahead into the vast open area beyond trees filled with dense underbrush.

To the left, the riverbank sloped gently. Thunderstruck, you halted, wishing you could erase the sight that greeted you, a sight that would haunt your dreams—it was the sort of raw, sun-scorched nightmare that lurked beyond the ordinary—church suppers, walks along the vibrant Han River, honest labor in the factories, stolen kisses under the cherry blossoms. As you'd often told Ae-ra after her nightly story, there's a grimacing skull lurking behind every man's smile. That day, you saw it—you saw the grinning skull.

Sprawled on the riverbank was the most beautiful doe, a bullet lodged in her back. Flies had already begun to gather, buzzing around her wounds and settling in the congealing blood. Her head turned towards the gray sky, as if admiring the sparrows launching from the Lotte World Tower before retiring to the bushes. And then you notice it—a slight bulge in her abdomen. She was pregnant.

So often you read in the local paper that “the killer showed no remorse,” but that wasn’t the case here. Min Jun was torn open by what he had done, you saw it in the trembling of his lips, the quivering of his right point finger on the trigger, the way his eyes widened and darted around, almost as if seeking an escape from the reality he had created. . . But he would live. The doe would not. She had been torn open in a more fundamental way, a way that the blood seeping into the earth couldn't even begin to convey.

You have never been as quiet as you were at that moment, holding that live track. Your whole body just stopped working. Your legs felt like water, jelly, completely unreliable. Your mouth opened. You didn't open it; it opened by itself, a gaping maw trying to silently scream. You couldn't move, but you could hear, see and sense everything inside you and for miles around. It was like you were hyper aware of every rustling leaf, every distant bird call, every breath you took. You thought of church mornings at the confessional with that smelly priest, and you thought that Min Jun and you would soon be joining him in seeking absolution.

You think it was fear. You're always fearful. For what you've done, for what you haven't, for things that haven't even happened yet. The fear is a constant deadweight. A backpack full of wet cement is strapped to your shoulders, dragging you down. You were fearful of not spending enough time outside, of playing with your dolls—a Barbie with a missing shoe and tangled blonde hair that you found in the trash and the plush rabbit Dad won you at the county fair before getting drunk and hitting Mom in front of the Mayor. Fear accompanying your neighbors on their hunt. 

You were fearful of not trying hard enough to be better.

"Come on, girl. Get closer. Don’t think too much about it. Her head will have a special place in our family’s house," Kwang chuckled as he finished lighting his tobacco stick, the one he always kept tucked behind his ear, before ruffling your hair and pushing you to stand in front of the bloodied carcass. "She turned out to be on our way; she turned out to be prey, kid.”

You think about the way he said it. Turned out. Not grew up to be a prey. She turned out to be prey. Like she was always supposed to be this way, and it was just hiding inside of her. And this was all inevitable. And her instincts of submission were hiding right underneath the surface when she birthed her fawn in the spring, teaching it to navigate the forest, to find the sweetest grass by the riverbank, to leap over the streams that crisscrossed the woods. Like a volcano that's seen as a mountain, the ones people live right on top of. 

It doesn't look deadly until it is.

Your bones shift away from one another like nervous tectonic plates as you crack your head down to finally look at the animal’s eyes. Toes become bloated like little water balloons as you kneel in the grass, the damp earth soaking through your worn-out Converse sneakers. Your eyes crystallize and for a second, everything feels okay as you wrap the frayed, weathered cord around the doe’s neck, the rough fibers scratching against your palms.

Then you explode.

No.

You don't explode.

You slowly morph as you finish the third loop. The wick effect. Your own fat keeps you inflamed. Looking into the water of the river, you see yourself changing. Your reflection warps; your features distort and elongate. Your hair falls out in clumps, drifting away like dandelion seeds in the wind. Your eyes, once black and sharp, soften and take on the glassy, lifeless stare of the doe. You watch as your skin stretches and sags, transforming into a hide, your freckles merging into the spots of a fawn. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, but no sound comes out—only the soft, pitiful bleat of a wounded animal.

Just before you fully morph into the doe, before your mind succumbs to the instinctual fear and resignation of a hunted creature, you wake up.

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

You reach for the hairbrush and start smoothing down your wild hair. It always stuck up all over the place in the morning, especially after a nightmare that involved placing the corpse of a doe in the back of a truck. 

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Still the same, old you: short, black hair that reached down to the chin, black eyes, and splatters of freckles over the ridge of your nose and the rest of your body. Your nightgown had slipped down during the night, revealing a pale shoulder. You stopped brushing out your hair and tugged it back up.

Your eyes caught the glint of the diamond ring on your finger, a small but noticeable sparkle even in the dim morning light. You looked outside. The sky was gray today, with a blanket of clouds promising a downpour. The kind of weather that made you want to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over your head, and forget the world existed.

It's funny, isn’t it? 

Sighing, you reached for the pack of cigarettes and the lighter at the far end of the vanity, only to find nothing. Jesus. Min Jun and his fucking ramblings about lung cancer and how, as a doctor, you should stop going to the hospital smelling like nicotine or weed. The endless lectures about the carcinogens, the secondhand smoke, the image you presented to your patients—it was all part of his new routine.

“Looking for this?” 

You cracked your head to the side, turning to see the man himself standing there in the doorway, wiggling your cigarettes and the lighter. He was already dressed in a new, crisp suit with trousers tailored to his frame, as well as a tie that matched his jacket and polished leather shoes from Ferragamo. God, he had been insufferable since he discovered aesthetics on his social media feed, always posting pictures of himself in meticulously coordinated outfits, each post tagged with #OOTD and #Style Goals.

But, yeah, today, his clothes matched the color you always associated with him.

Yellow.

Min Jun’s yellow wasn’t the vibrant hue of sunflowers or gold. It was the jaundiced yellow of sickness, the kind that creeps into your skin and festers. It was the color of deceit, of broken promises whispered in the dark. Every time he flashed that politician's yellow smile, the one inherited from his dad, it made you nauseous. Old man Kwang, who had escalated a non-violent protest into bloodshed. It was Min Jun, though, who took Ae-ra with him that day. He paraded your girl around like some political prop to gain momentum for his father’s campaign.

You could never forgive him—not after what happened to her.

Because, in the end, it was their ambition that had taken your daughter away. A lamb led to slaughter.

Colorful flyers and bold banners invaded the city streets while chants and marches echoed in every corner—all for endorsing Kwang’s political charade. Slogans rang through speakers: "For a Brighter Tomorrow," "Unity and Progress," "Kwang Jun for the People." And Min Jun, playacting as the perfect son, had pulled Ae-ra into that cyclone of chaos. Your sweet little girl was swallowed by a turbulent crowd, lost within its confusion—her wide eyes were framed on the hospital TV screen as she clutched her new Hello Kitty backpack from Lotte Mart nervously—a maze of pink braids bouncing behind her with every step she took.

Everything around you in the psychiatric ward was fast and stressful that day, but you were stuck in tar while everyone else was on land. Sinking slowly while other people were using their legs to run in circles to help the Gonjiam Hospital with all the hurt people. Your legs didn’t work for days. Neither has your brain.

And now? Now you haven't cried since three weeks ago on the third anniversary of her death; your eyes feel dry and cold. You've tried, but there's just nothing. Even when you sit away from Min Jun and ignore his extended hand, watching things that aren't lungs move his chest up and down, praying to feel something for him, there's just silence in response. 

You did love Min Jun once. At times when he was cornered, you would dive into the deep end, plunge so suddenly it would cause waves to ripple out, drawing the public’s attention away from him. You would swim to abandoned shores where you would carry buckets, helping him scoop up the murky water of regrets as he cried out till the ocean itself seemed to tremble and the sky collapsed into the horizon. 

But what has he done for you? All these years of sacrifice have caused this world to erode everything that was once pure and you can no longer breathe with a rib missing. There was all of this water settling deep within the walls of your lungs, drowning you slowly. 

So, after her death, he grabbed another bucket and took you to the abandoned shores, where you used to scoop up his regrets to free him from all his mistakes. And you didn’t even cry out till the ocean itself seemed to tremble and the sky collapsed because, after all these years of carrying his mistakes, how could you believe that you had become one?

“Do you mind knocking before entering my bedroom?”

“Oh, come on! Don’t be so grumpy at this hour!” Min Ju retorted, his voice carrying an almost cheerful lilt that grated on your nerves. 

Sleeping in his office wasn’t doing the best things for his princess back; of course, you saw it as he walked in a hunched way. His loafers made no sound on the thick, cream-colored carpet, but the rustle of his suit filled the silence. He placed the lighter and the pack on your side on the vanity, making sure not to knock over the scattered makeup compacts and the crystal perfume bottle.

From the corner of your eyes, you noticed how he kicked the clothes you left on the floor after getting home exhausted from another grueling 12-hour shift. You noticed how he scoffed as he saw the patches on your faded covers, once a deep navy but now a murky gray from too many washes and your sweat.

“Did you wet the bed?” His laugh was a little louder this time, but still hollow. That was his old joke. It was stupid. 

Long ago, you pretended to laugh, pretended to play along, as if to apologize in front of former friends. In front of your own eyes, for admitting such a yoke. Nothing, however, was funny to you anymore.

“No, I had another nightmare.”

The cigarette finally lit, and you took a slow drag, feeling the familiar burn of nicotine as it filled your lungs. You discarded the lighter in the jewelry holder plate, where it landed with a small clank, nudging a pair of earrings slightly askew.

He scrunched his nose the exact same way Ae-ra used to before deciding to grab all the covers, making a bundle in his arms. “Nightmares again, huh? You know, Y/N, maybe if you didn’t bring your work home with you, you’d sleep better. All that stress isn't good for you. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, letting out a plume of smoke, coughing. “I’ll get right on that.”

He received the phrase with displeasure, as always, when your "animal intensity shocked him." He fixed his eyes on you, and progressively his features transformed. You almost blushed. The constant preoccupation with reaching his thoughts had not granted you the power to penetrate the most important ones, but it had honed your intuition regarding the smaller ones. You knew that for him to pity you, you had to be ridiculous. Neither hunger nor someone's misery moved him more than the lack of aesthetics. Loose hair, damp with sweat, fell over your flushed face, and the pain, to which your long-calm features had not yet adapted, must have twisted your mouth, lending them some grotesque note. At the most grave moment of your life, you were ridiculous, his pitiful gaze told you.

Finally, after seconds that felt like centuries, his eyes briefly flitted to the divorce papers on your nightstand but he ignored them. Instead, he focused on the small details of the room—the way your books were scattered everywhere, mostly medical journals and a few dog-eared novels, a framed photo of you and Ae-ra by the Han River, and, in the darkest corner of your room, your unfinished canvas.

“You know,” Min Jun began, walking towards your creation as if he were a little boy eager to discover his mom’s secrets. “I remember when you used to teach Ae-ra how to paint every night. So sweet….”

People said that a lot. Even your own mind did, sometimes. Be sweet like before; be better for the people around you. They knew there was a gaping hole inside of you, and they poked and prodded in there, looking for bits of Ae-Ra floating around in the void. As if somehow you could reach inside yourself and pull parts of her out—parts that you lacked. But she wasn't there. She was nowhere. When a part of you disappears, you change, and sometimes it's impossible to go back to who you used to be. That's what people didn't understand. That’s what this cosplay of SpongeBob didn’t understand.

You coughed again, then took one last inhale and stubbed the end of it on the vanity’s smooth and sanded surface, ash and embers falling to the carpet like crumbs off a pastry. “Yeah, well, those days are gone.”

Min Jun touched the dried paint, lingering over the signature line that remained blank. “You know, maybe if you spent half as much time on this marriage as you do at Westlake, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

You bristled at his words, but he continued, undeterred. “You’re always so busy, Y/N. Always with your patients, your research. Think about Ae-ra. She wouldn’t want this. She wouldn’t want her parents to fall apart like this.” He leaned closer, his cologne—something expensive and heavy—filling your senses and making you want to recoil.

“Don’t you dare bring her into this,” you snapped, your voice breaking. “You think you can manipulate me with memories of her? You think that’s going to work?”

His eyes softened. “I’m not trying to manipulate you. I just want us to be a family again. I miss her too, you know. Every single day.” He reached out to touch your hand, but you pulled away, the gesture feeling like a trap.

You pushed past him to the dresser made of dark, deep oak with elegant twisted legs and gilded golden trims. You picked out your attire for the day, folding it into a bundle: a red silk blouse, black high-waisted trousers with a tailored fit, a leather belt that cinched snugly over your waist, and your usual black heeled boots, still at the foot of the bed. There was still some mud caked on the bottoms, no matter how much you had scrubbed them the night before from running after a patient. You’d have to ask Jungwoo for his shoe shining spray.

With your clothes in hand, you made your way to the bathroom. Min Jun followed you like a shadow, still grumbling something about you and your work, but you tuned him out, focusing instead on the sound of your bare feet padding against the cold, hardwood floor. Still, after twenty seconds, you had enough.

You stopped at the bathroom door and turned to face him. “Why aren’t you at work already? Taking care of Daddy’s laundry?”

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his face tightening in a way that reminded you of the time he had to tell his father that he didn’t want to go into politics. “I was actually trying to be good for you. I know your car is still at the workshop and your driver is on vacation.”

You turned on the faucet, letting the warm water fill the tub. “I’ll take a cab,” you muttered, the words rolling off your tongue with a deliberate calmness, pronounced in a way that revolutionized and exposed what was most hidden within you.

While waiting for the water, you grabbed a towel from the shelves in the back as well as a bar of soap.

Min Jun’s eyes narrowed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, sure. Just like you always do. Ignore the problem, run away.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you laid out the towel on the heated rack. “You’re so dramatic, Min Jun. It’s almost entertaining.”

“What’s so funny?”

You turned off the faucet and threw your head back, your hair falling behind your back like a cascade of dark silk, the ends brushing against the lace trim of your nightgown. You laughed then, a sound that felt foreign, almost unnatural, before walking towards him, cornering him against the sink. He almost dropped the bundle of sheets in his hands, his eyes going wide with a mix of surprise and something else—fear, maybe?

For the first time in a long while, you saw the old Min Jun, the rebellious teenager who once stole his father’s suits to impress you, the same boy who would sneak flowers into your school locker when no one was watching. He used to bring you daisies, your favorite, wrapped in newspaper because he couldn’t afford anything else. Now, he stood before you, a stranger in an expensive suit, holding onto wet sheets and a past that no longer existed.

After feeling helpless, unsure of what to do with yourself, not wanting to continue the same past of calm and death, and unable to dominate a different future due to the habit of comfort, you now realized how free Min was and how unhappy he had been. His past—obscure, riddled with frustrated dreams—had left him unable to settle into the conformist, half-happy world of mediocrity.

You leaned in, your breath warm against his cheek, and whispered, "Min Jun." 

The sound of his name seemed to snap him out of his daze, and he blinked rapidly, trying to regain his composure.

He tried to take a step back, but the sink behind him left no room for escape. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his, and he flinched, almost losing his grip on the sheets.

“You think I don’t know you, huh?”

“W-what?”

He raised his eyes, meeting your anguished face, and narrowed them, analyzing and understanding you. There was a long minute of silence. You waited silently. You knew this moment was the first truly alive between you, the first that connected you directly. That moment suddenly separated you from all your past, and in a singular premonition, you foresaw that it would stand out as a red dot over the entire course of your life.

“Are you fucking out of your-” he began, but you cut him off, your words spilling out in a rapid-fire burst.

“Elections are coming up, aren’t they, honey? Elections are coming up, and your damn wife isn’t going to any of those shitty interviews or rallies anymore. Your wife doesn’t appear on the cameras, and it is making the public’s attention go to us instead of your father, and that is driving him mad. And now? Now I’m taking over Seo Moonjo’s case! What a perfect way to steal his lollipop, huh? So I’m guessing you’re being all sweet like that because something’s going to happen this weekend, isn’t it? A meeting or a family dinner? Or do you want to take me to bed, soften me up like a piece of meat and tell you all of the things that serial killer told me?”

Min Jun’s face flushed a deep red, his hands trembling slightly. “Are you really trying to use your psychiatric skills on me?”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Oh, darling, I don’t need to use any skills on you. You’re an open book and I know you're scared, aren’t you?” You whispered, your lips barely an inch from his ear. 

“Scared that I’ll mess up your perfect little plans? Scared that I’ll drag your name through the mud along with mine.”

[abbysbasement]

ABBY ‘WAR MACHINE’ ANDERSON

—short thoughts

• A honey girl, always keeps a summer tan, usually from working out on the quad all day. Practically glowing all of the time and the girls are insane about it.

• Sorry, the braid is dead. Only ever really wears it on the rugby field, and when she’s walking around campus, her hair is usually down, or up in a bun and held back with a sweatband. Whatever mental image you’re conjuring in your mind, it’s correct. Even that one.

• Her father is the country’s premier neurosurgeon, and he’s donated a lot of money to Jackson University. A library there, a faculty building there, even refurbishing the rugby field for the season. He practically gives a blank check each year, and because of this, consequences don’t really exist for Abs and she gets away with any and everything. The reason why she has an air fryer in her dorm and the RAs pretend like they don’t see it.

• Proud community strap. Was notorious freshman year for having a rotating cycle of girlfriends and side pieces. ‘Those are not healthy coping mechanisms, Abby.’ Her therapist says, but is there really any better way to ease your mind that slipping deep into a warm body, tight and soft and wet? No, probably not.

• Has the prettiest smile, smiles with her eyes, always so charming with plump, kissable lips. Has perfect teeth, never missed a dentist appointment and gets check ups religiously. Had braces in the 10th grade and when she had her first kiss with a girl she cut her lip and it bled all down her mouth. She probably fainted idk.

• Girl himbo (I know what I said.) butch himbo? Butchbo? Actually super smart and well read, majoring in animal science to become a vet tech. Spends a lot of her time in the school library, when she’s not on the field, or at a party, or in a stranger’s bed. Or in her own bed, nursing a hangover, whatever’s more common.

• Still roommates with Manny since freshman year. Originally she got set up with Leah, who then of course wanted to room with her boyfriend, who was conveniently dorming with Manny. A little form-filling here, some schmoozing there, a little ‘my dad owns this school’ over yonder and it was a match made in heaven. Nobody has a deeper, more intimate connection than a butch lesbian and her boy best friend.

• Terribly afraid of needles. She can’t pinpoint specifically what she has against them but they inspire the same nausea in her that heights do, so when she can she steers clear of them. In a turn of drunken, reckless events, Manny convinced her to get her ears pierced, because pretty girls love stud earrings, obviously. By the time the piercer did one ear, Manny had to carry her out of the parlor because she had COMPLETELY passed out.

• Between classes and practice, she forgot to clean her piercing and her ear got infected. She had two large-scale mental breakdowns; the first when she woke up leaking and burning from her ear, which had already sucked the metal halfway into the flesh, and the second, when her dumbass roommate said, “it’s okay, man. I have pliers, I can pull it out for you and then you’re good as new.” She almost threw up.

• The great piercing debacle of ‘21 ended in her calling up her dad, bawling, because she didn’t know what to do, Manny sitting on the couch listening to her freak the fuck out in the bathroom. “This is what happens when you put foreign objects into your body, Abs.” He chided, as *another* needle was plunged into her skin —local anesthetic— before he sliced open her earlobe with a scalpel.

• The proud driver of a cherry-red enclosed Jeep Wrangler, fully paid off by her dad as a highschool graduation gift, an upgrade from the white Audi she got as a 16th birthday present. She gets it rewrapped every six months —the ice blue was real popular with the ROTC girls, the olive green got the environmental club girls out of their panties, the red and black is a pretty good catch-all— (school colours, by the way!)

• Gets her car detailed once every two weeks, the back seat has those mud mats laid down. they’re not for mud.

• Retired horse girl, ALMOST got a pony for her fourteenth birthday! Then, shit happened… and she didn’t get the pony for her fourteenth birthday.

• Loves revenge and power plays, actually! It’s her specialty at this point😚 Got into some medium-tier beef with some dickhead on campus, and somehow his mouth got ahead of him and ended with her being branded as the town’s bulldyke. Interestingly enough, the day didn’t end in Anderson-typical violence. Instead, as one does, she trailed him home one day, borrowing Nora’s black sedan for recon. Just for field research, obviously!

• In the interest of honesty, Abs was definitely planning on stealing the wheels off of his car, or putting bleach in his gas tank, —sugar is a myth, just so you know— until she saw the most beautiful creature strolling out of the house and into a white SUV. Then, her plan changed for absolute scorched-earth total destruction, to an excruciating slow-burn.

• The next week, while shopping at the grocery store which she totally didn’t drive 30 minutes out of her way to go to, she had her first meet cute, coincidentally, with a gorgeous 40-something that just so happened to be some asshole’s mom.

• Before she knew it, she was fucking her on every surface in her house, —artfully furnished, great feng-shui— the kitchen, the bathroom, her marital bed, the couch, essentially the full tour, until they got to her son’s bedroom. Kept a mental note, and when she excused herself to the bathroom she probably erased all of the little shit’s PlayStation saves, too.

• When you start fucking a guy’s mom, it changes you. Your wardrobe especially. Including an arsenal of completely coincidental, just for fun slogan tees, with hits like “I ❤️ HOT MOMS!” “PROMOTED TO DADDY” and a personal favourite, “MAN, I LOVE FISHING!”

* And of course, she comes back to campus fresh off of a 3 hour stint of eating out a woman twice her age, to greet her new best friend with a smile and a, “Hey, your mom makes a good apple fritter! Dessert was fuckin’ greaaat, too! Practically finger lickin’ :)”

* CEO of revenge, comedically evil.

[a-class-attempter]

Whumpee was tied to a dentist chair, mouth held open with metal clamps. Their breath was erratic and they felt like their heart would beat out of their chest. They had pulled against the ropes for so long, their wrists were raw and their hopes of escape were destroyed.

Whumper walked in wearing a medical mask, holding pliers in one hand and scissors in the other. “Now, Whumpee, you’re going to choose, do you want to keep your tongue or your teeth?”

Whumpee shook their head, tears flowing freely. Their attempt at speech was nothing but garbled nonsense. Whumper smiled behind the mask. “Looks like you don’t need to keep either.” Whumper moved the overhead light over Whumpee’s face, blinding them. “Now, just hold still…”

Whumpee would never forget the feeling of their own blood clogging their throat.

[matchstixx]

The People We Think We Know

Chapter 2

Pairing: Tobirama x fem!Reader

WC: 2,134

CW: Death, mildly graphic description of gore and sickness, mentioned/attempted human trafficking but no actual happenstance

Read on Ao3

[Series Master List]

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This opportunity cannot be wasted; manipulate, scheme, lie, do whatever it takes to survive.

The thought is still disconcerting even after repeating it each morning when you wake up and each night before you sleep, for the past five years. Like a piece of your past self’s morality still trying to maintain structure within this world you’ve been thrust into. Beg, barter, steal? You’ve done it all by now in this 5-year-old body. It’s easy enough, since adults don’t expect you–a visible child in their eyes–to have the mind of a 24 year old. And why would they? It’s not like transmigration is a thing here…or maybe it is? You never finished the manga.

Between rent, tuition, food, studying, class, job shifts, and more and more and more, there wasn’t really any time or leftover money to go buy the newest volumes (and the store clerk yelled at you the last time you tried to speed through the pages, telling you to ‘buy it or get out’).

So, catching up on the Naruto series was quickly reduced to streaming it off some sketchy website on your phone while you were studying–rewinding it every couple of minutes when you missed something important. Then quickly morphed into nothing at all when your parents berated you during winter break about your declining grades because of the distraction.

And slowly, you were being crushed. Already two years behind on your 4 year degree, debt adding up, increasing shift hours, piled up homework and projects. It was wake up, eat, survive, sleep, and repeat, again and again and again and AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN.

And then, there was the accident.

You’d like to say it was quick, that you hadn’t laid on the concrete for 20 minutes, bleeding out, broken bones pressing up through skin, and collapsed lung straining to inflate with each draw of breath. The EMS responders had been kind, you vaguely recall, a pensive seriousness on their faces and reassurances that ‘everything will be okay, just stay awake for me.’ And for a couple moments, you had believed them.

Death wasn’t that bad. The lead up was–for sure–but actual death? It had really felt about the same as being put under at the dentist’s for your wisdom teeth removal. A heavy lethargy and the vague awareness of the passage of time, but ignorant of how long it’d been since you had closed your eyes in the first place.

And when you had opened your eyes again, it had been to a midwife jostling you about for a reaction in a rustic room; a sweaty, exhausted woman collapsed on what could barely be called a bed in the corner and a grumpy man staring down at you with disappointment and disdain.

It was weird being a baby with the mind and awareness of a grown adult. Weird to have a different name and face and family. You had resisted the mortifying experience of being breastfed for as long as your stomach could take (a whole 6 hours) much to the dissatisfaction and worry of the woman who had become your mother in this world.

(A part of you had almost given in to the guilt after hour 2 when the woman had begun crying, pulling at her hair and smacking her head as she pleaded for you to eat. But working through the realization that you had died and been reborn–while maintaining your adult sentiency as a newborn–had you holding on stubbornly to your own pride.)

It wasn’t until you had turned 3-years-old in this world, when you had realized that you had transmigrated into the world of Naruto.

You had been born into a small village made up of outcasts and wanderers, in the middle-of-nowhere-Land of Fire, to farm hands who had barely even read or heard stories about shinobi, let alone seen or met one. For a while, you had thought that you just had been reborn into one of the historical periods of Japan; with yukatas, kimono, and shoji screen doors.

It was a small Senju unit that had shown up in town demanding room and board that had triggered your realization. A heavily pregnant woman was being escorted by the shinobi group, with a 4-year-old holding one of her hands, a 2-year-old grasping the other, and a 1-year-old strapped to her back with a length of cloth. Your mother had quickly urged you to help her clean the empty room that used to be your ‘grandmother’s’ for the woman, the shinobi taking up residence around the house with severe looks.

She had gone into labor later that night and you were left with her three sons to listen to the screams and sobs happening from the other side of the house. The 4-year-old, a brown-haired boy with a bowl cut, had cried the whole time, curled up with arms crossed over his ears and head. The albino 2-year-old had sat eerily still and silent the entire time, holding his swaddled little brother in his arms firmly as the baby snoozed through the noise. You had simply left them be in their own forms of anguish, quietly serving tea and dry, nearly-stale, crackers; your movements closely scrutinized by the red eyes of the younger boy across from you.

The albino boy only reacted once that night, in the moment right before the house went deadly silent; a furrow to his brow and mouth pinching into a thin line as tears flooded to his eyes but didn’t spill.

The Senju unit left the next day, led by a severe looking man. The two boys from last night silently followed him with bowed heads and a little brother in each of their arms.

There was a new grave mound in the cemetery that morning, the dirt freshly dug and covered in the middle of the night while the boys had been asleep.

—

A year and a half later, your ‘parents’ died in an epidemic in the village. Your ‘father’ was the strong, silent type, upset at having been given a girl for a child. Although, stubborn denial had him dragging you out to the fields and tool shed each day to teach you how to work with your hands, much to the begrudgement of your mother. The whole time he cared for you, he would make the standard, berating commentary at your ‘mother’ about being a ‘good wife’ by giving him a son. She had just gotten pregnant three months before she died to the sickness. Then, barely a month later, husband followed wife.

Part of you had felt bad; a weird kind of grief held for people that were simultaneously your entire world, and yet somehow still strangers. There was no funeral, the mortician/gravedigger/town doctor had died within the first 2 months of the outbreak; the villagers had taken to throwing all of that day’s bodies into large pits and lighting them on fire. They would burn for hours into the night, the smell of burning flesh and blood and puss a nauseating thing that would sometimes keep you up at night, retching off the back porch.

You had quickly packed up a bag after a somewhat appropriate amount of grieving time, spent holed up in the house and eating all of the food in the cabinets growing stale and moldy. It was easy to find Father’s hidden money stash, a large handful of bills that he set aside to spend at the dusty bar a few buildings down. He used to tell Mother that he had ‘worker meetings’ with the other farm hands in town, which was actually just all of the married men going out to drink themselves into a stupor and make perverse commentary about the young women in the village. A part of you knows that Mother was aware of what he was up to as she would spend the time teaching you to read and write–skills that your Father had been adamant about not needing in life–, never commenting on the strong smell of alcohol coming from him when he would get home.

A couple of Mother’s nice-ish kimonos get folded up in the bag, hopefully to be sold when the coins run out, and you cut up a pair of Father’s hakama to use while you travel. Then, you take to the road without a single word to any of the other villagers; they’d probably figure you went and died in the woods out of grief.

You learn to avoid the various clan compounds, unfriendly at best or completely hostile at worst to strangers and outsiders, moreso to those claiming to be unaffiliated. Large villages are also approached with caution, the inhabitants of the nicer streets gazing at your stained and dirty clothes with disgust and refusing you sales. You’re mostly ignored in the more impoverished areas; where you have coin, vendors will sell–regardless of your age and lack of adult supervision.

It’s an attempted kidnapping from a group of human traffickers that leaves you without your bag, discarded in your struggle, and clothes ripped and dirty where you had raced through the dusty back alleys of a town in your haste. When you assess the damage later as you’re trying to clean out the stains and mend the large gashes, you decide to steal a mostly empty rice bag behind one of the houses on the edge of the village. The grains fill you for a week and a half before you turn the empty bag into a makeshift dress to replace the pieces of cloth that are practically sloughing off your bony body at this point.

It’s a long 7 months filled with wandering about to new towns to steal food from. Your stomach is gurgling and clenching around its emptiness when you hear the sound of celebration in the distance. Eventually, you come across the walls of a clan compound, the sentries sparse in their towers and quickly distracted by the stone you throw further into the woods. When they disappear, you squeeze through a crack between two of the large pikes of wood, split open with rot and waterlog, and barely covered by a shrubbery blooming with large flowery petals.

From experience, you make your way to the temple first after you can tell that whatever festival is taking place is set up in the main village area instead. Bowing your head to the statue of the goddess in the temple’s main chamber, you mumble an apology and thanks for the food. A brief glare of sunlight across the gold gilding of the statue almost makes you think that the goddess is granting you permission to the food offerings laid at her feet.

You made it halfway through the plate when the miko finds you with an enraged shout.

The ‘innocent, poor child’ ploy you’ve curated over the years easily slides into place when more adults show up. You crank up the pitiful act when the matriarch, ‘Yoko’, looks upon you with a level of adoration that only a woman who draws happiness from raising kids can manage.

You barely manage to keep the surprise off your face when Yoko calls out to the boy in front of you with a familiar name. He stares at you with a wary distrust, eyes flickering to who you gather is his father in deference. The Uchiha compound. Just your luck to stumble across them of all people.

It’s hard to keep the childish expressions from cracking and revealing the more complex intrigue that flits to the surface as you are brought to the clan head’s house. You pretend to take interest in the architecture, using the time to look at Madara and the other Uchiha sons out of your periphery. Madara stares at you with obvious suspicion while the other three, unmentioned by name in the manga and anime, stare at you with blatant curiosity.

It’s odd, seeing Madara before he succumbed to rage and despair. He has so much personality, lofty and naively unstructured goals, and strong attachments to each of his family members. His facial expressions are comical when compared to the serious version of him you’d seen in fanarts and video clips.

You slink into the futon after you shoo him out of the room, the full brunt of all of the events in your new life and the past 7 months hitting you hard enough to bring you to tears. You bite them back and pull the covers over your head to hide the quiet whimpers that seep out.

The tears eventually dry up as the exhaustion starts to pull you under, your mind churning with plans and next steps. There is no rest for the wicked.

This opportunity cannot be wasted; manipulate, scheme, lie, do whatever it takes to survive.

<- Prev Chapter | Next Chapter ->

[wolfxplush]

The Kiss of Betrayal

(I lied and cut a lot out cause why not. If you get the Bible reference in here kiss me. You know the rules- read the tags for tws!)

The wind roared with a biting chill, howling through the rusted fences and over the rooftops of Bullsworth Academy. Max Whitelocke stood on the edge, teetering slightly as he looked down at the courtyard below. His breath was ragged, his eyes wild and distant, gazing far beyond the school. The weight of everything—his obsession, his hatred, his desperation—pressed down on his chest like a leaden hand, suffocating. It was too much.

He hadn’t planned it this way. Not exactly. But standing on the rooftop now, with his body trembling in the cold wind and his mind unravelling, Max couldn’t see any other way out. Gary. Always Gary. It had always been Gary.

And now it would end with him.

Max took a step forward, feeling the gravity of the earth pulling him, welcoming him into the nothingness below. For a brief, fleeting moment, he wondered what Gary would think. Would he even care? Would he feel guilty? Would he mourn him? A bitter smile twisted Max’s lips. No, Gary didn’t mourn anyone. He didn’t care about anyone.

But Max did. He had cared. And that was his mistake.

With one final exhale, Max let his body fall forward, weightless for a second before gravity seized him, pulling him down. The wind screamed in his ears, and for the first time in a long while, Max felt free. And then—darkness.

•

Max stood at the edge of the courtyard, staring at the crumpled figure lying on the concrete. His own body. Broken and bloodied, limbs twisted in unnatural angles, head smashed against the pavement. He had thought it would feel different. He had thought there would be peace, some kind of release in death.

But there wasn’t. There was just emptiness. The cold, hollow nothing of it all.

Max blinked, confusion clouding his mind. He was dead. He knew he was dead. He had jumped. And yet, he stood here, his feet touching the ground as though he were still alive, his hands trembling as he reached for his own body. His fingers passed through the broken figure, translucent and weightless, and Max let out a ragged breath.

“What…?” His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. “What… is this?”

The courtyard was slowly filling with people. Teachers, students, some with horrified expressions, others with morbid curiosity. None of them saw him, the ghost standing among them. None of them even glanced his way.

He was a ghost. At least he thinks he is. Hard to really tell when you have been invisible your whole life.

The mangled corpse at his feet served as a good telling though. God, he looked even uglier in death. His headgear snapped and bent off. A few teeth ripping out along with it. At least in death you don’t have to worry about the dentist.

His eyes gather over to students, many bloodied and beaten from the showdown. But Max wasn’t interested in them. Not the teachers murmuring in shock, not the students gasping and pointing. His eyes scanned the growing crowd, desperate for one person. One figure.

Gary…Where was Gary?

And then he saw him.

Gary Smith stood near the back of the gathering crowd, leaning against a cop car, his arms restrained by tight handcuffs, his face unreadable. For a second, just a brief moment, Max felt a flicker of hope. Maybe Gary would see him. Maybe Gary would understand.

He walked—no, floated—toward Gary, his heart hammering in his chest, even though he knew it shouldn’t beat anymore. He reached out, his hand trembling as it moved closer to Gary’s face, desperate to make contact, desperate to feel something. His fingers passed through the air, through Gary’s skin, through everything. Untouchable. Though he supposed Gary always was.

He was nothing. And to Gary, he had always been nothing.

“Gary…!” Max’s voice was hoarse, broken. It’s hard to talk when your neck got snapped in god knows how many places. He stood in front of him, screaming, trying to make him hear, to make him see. “Gary, I’m here! Look at me! Please!” His cries fell out into the cold wind. As if a mere whisper of air.

But Gary didn’t move. He didn’t even glance in Max’s direction. He was staring off into the distance, his eyes cold and detached, his mind far away, as though nothing in this moment mattered. As though Max didn’t matter.

Max’s chest tightened. He tried again, his voice rising, cracking. “Gary! You have to hear me! I did this for you! I did all of it for you..” he begged. Oh god he begged.

Gary’s expression remained indifferent. A hollow pit began to form in Max’s stomach, a slow realization creeping in that this was all for nothing. He had given everything to Gary. His life, his loyalty, his obsession. And in return, he had received nothing.

Not even a glance to his corpse.

Max sank to the ground, his hands trembling as they hovered over his own body, his ghostly form flickering in and out of the physical world. The pain in his chest was unbearable now, a deep, gnawing ache that spread through him like wildfire. He couldn’t feel his body, but he could feel the crushing weight of it all—the years of following Gary, the years of hoping for some kind of validation, some kind of acknowledgment.

And now, he was dead. And Gary still didn’t care.

Max’s vision blurred, his tears mixing with the cold air as he looked up at the sky. The once clear blue had turned a muted gray, clouds rolling in with the promise of rain. He tried to speak, tried to scream, but the words caught in his throat, strangling him.

“Why…” The word was barely a whisper, choked and broken. “Why can’t you see me?” He asked-well. Anything. A bitter laugh escaped his cold lips. Wheezy, and wet. Ironic isn’t it? Gary didn’t like to look at him when he had a pulse either.

Gary didn’t hear him. Didn’t see him. He just stood there, silent, waiting for the cops to drag him away. Max’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces, the weight of his devotion crumbling under the harsh reality that it had meant nothing.

All this time, Max had thought he and Gary were connected. That they were more than just friends, more than just accomplices in chaos. He had believed they were the same. That they needed each other. A god and his disciple.

But now, as Max looked at Gary’s cold, unfeeling face, he realized the truth.

Gary had never needed him. Gary had never even wanted him.

Max had always been alone.

The truth tasted bitter, or bloody he should say. Tears dripped down his face. Gently he set his hands on the sides of Gary’s face, brutally beaten from who he had to guess was Jimmy Hopkins. They phased through, max having to hold his arms steady to get them in place. And then—

He kissed his cheek.

•

The police arrived in full force, surrounding Gary as they pushed him into the back of the cop car. The students were murmuring, whispering behind their hands as they stared at Max’s lifeless body, still sprawled on the pavement. Some of them looked shocked. Others looked indifferent, as though it was just another spectacle in their meaningless lives.

But none of it mattered to Max anymore. Nothing mattered.

He stood in the middle of the courtyard, his ghostly form flickering as the reality of his death settled in. He was gone. Truly gone. And no one cared.

Gary didn’t even look back as the car door slammed shut, the sirens blaring as they pulled away from the school. Max watched them go, his heart heavy with the weight of it all. The finality of it.

The crowd dispersed slowly, some lingering to gawk at the scene, others muttering in hushed tones as they left. But no one stayed. No one mourned.

Max was alone. Utterly and completely alone.

He wandered through the school, his footsteps silent, his presence unnoticed. He drifted through the halls like a shadow, a ghost among the living, watching as life went on without him. The students carried on with their day, the teachers continued their lessons. The world kept turning, indifferent to his absence.

It was as though he had never existed at all.

•

Days passed. Or maybe it was weeks. Max couldn’t tell anymore. Time had lost all meaning. He wandered the school, aimless, watching as the world moved on without him. The students forgot. The teachers forgot. Even the place where he had fallen had been cleaned, the bloodstains washed away as though they had never been there.

But Max couldn’t forget. He couldn’t leave. He was trapped, bound to the school, bound to the life he had left behind. His body was gone, buried somewhere far from the place he had called home. But his soul remained, tethered to the hollow halls of Bullsworth Academy.

And Gary… Gary was gone too. He had been taken away, locked up in some institution or prison, far from Max’s reach. Max would never see him again. Never speak to him again.

It was over.

Max sat on the rooftop, the same place where it had all ended. The wind was cold, the sky dark and heavy with rain. He looked down at the courtyard below, at the spot where his body had once lain, broken and lifeless. There was no trace of it now. No reminder of what had happened.

He was nothing. And he always had been.

The rain began to fall, gentle at first, then harder, pouring down in torrents. Max let it wash over him, though he couldn’t feel the cold, couldn’t feel the wetness. He was numb. Completely and utterly numb.

For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting the darkness envelop him. Maybe, one day, he would fade away completely. Maybe, one day, he would be free of this place. Free of the memories. Free of the pain.

But until then, he was trapped.

[sabo-has-my-heart]

hey!! would you take a request for law / other op doctors dealing with stuff like toothaches? like a s/o who hates hates hates dentists and most medical things, but they end up with a cavity / toothache and what law would do in that situation?? idk i have this lil hc that he sees dentistry as a medical side quest of sorts lol, plus who else would the crew mates go to for toothaches and stuff u know??? idk dw if not i just thought it could be a sweet idea

So I actually had a bit of a harder time with this one so if you don't like it I deeply apologize. Ironically, I have a dentist appointment of my own on Monday, lol.

Warnings: dentists

Word Count: 980

     Law crossed his arms as he gave you a hard look. You’d been avoiding him again, or rather, you’d been avoiding his check-ups again. As a doctor, he did the entire ship’s medical check-ups, because of his medical background, he’d briefly looked into other types of doctor work such as optometry and dentistry in his free time or on those nights where he couldn’t sleep and was up all night. While dentistry wasn’t exactly his favorite area of work, he refused to let the crew’s health suffer, even if it was oral health. You, however, hated the dentist, well, you hated most things that involved a doctor, but dentists were the worst. The constant scraping of your teeth, feeling the metal picks stab at your gums, the taste of iron in your mouth when they bled. The taste of the polish or whatever it was that they put on your teeth towards the end, that water in your mouth that was always suctioned out because they told you not to swallow it. Everything about dentists sucked in your opinion, so you avoided it as much as possible. You’d go in for your yearly medical check ups if you absolutely had to. You’d go in if you had an injury bad enough to need more than a bandaid, but you’d avoid your dentist check ups like the plague. It was why you brushed so well and took such good care of your teeth, so that you wouldn’t have to see him for dental work. That being said, some things couldn’t be avoided completely. Sometimes, no matter how well you brushed, you would get toothaches or cavities, this was one such moment. Now you’d been avoiding Law as much as possible because you knew he’d notice, you knew he’d figure out what was wrong; though it seemed as if he’d figured it out anyway. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

     “I keep telling you, you need-” “but I brush really well! You know that! The last check up, you said my teeth looked great!” you whined, cutting him off, not wanting to hear him lecturing you.

     “That doesn’t mean that you won’t have complications from time to time. It’s the same reason I give yearly check ups, to catch this early, so this doesn’t happen.” he said, lecturing you anyway. You looked away, crossing your arms as you did so. Part of you knew he was right, but that didn’t mean you had to like it. 

     “Come on, let’s get a look before it gets worse. I don’t want to have to sedate you and surgically remove the entire tooth.” he said, gesturing for you to follow him, something you did rather reluctantly. Sitting in the chair, you fidgeted as Law got things ready, setting out the various instruments that he’d need. Staring at the various metal pieces, you couldn’t help but cringe at the sight of the sharp metal pick that you knew you’d be feeling against your teeth. The scraping that you swore you could feel up into your brain, that felt like was scratching against your very mind. 

     After what felt like an eternity of Law scraping, sighing, and shaking his head, the normally stoic doctor pulled away, giving you another look. One that told you all you needed to know. He was going to tell you something was wrong, followed by another lecture.

     “Can… can we skip the lecture this time? I get it, I should have asked you to do this sooner, I’ll be… I’ll try to be better next time.” you pleaded, making the man sigh for probably the millionth time in the last hour.

     “Fine, but if this happens again, I make your yearly check ups madatory.” Law threatened, giving you a very serious, very hard look. At the moment, it was mostly something he suggested, something he preferred the crew to keep up on, but he didn’t enforce it. Meaning he was serious about this. Getting out the things he’d need, you cringed, you recognized what he was grabbing, you had a cavity. Despite your best efforts, you had a cavity. 

     “Don’t give me that look, Y/n. It’s just one, you’re fine.” he said as he had you open your mouth again. You swore you could feel him filing the cavity in the same way you could feel the scraping, the sensation making you want to squirm. You knew if you did, Law would scold you and tell you to sit still, but that didn’t really help, finding the whole process to be highly uncomfortable. Finally, finally, the man finished, setting his tools down and sitting upright.

     “There, you’re done.” Law said, pulling his mask down. You almost jumped out of the chair, moving your jaw as you tried to get the sensation of the dental tools out of your brain. As always, your mouth felt strange, but your teeth no longer hurt and you could escape, which was all that mattered to you right now as you started heading towards the door only to be stopped once more by Law, his hand around your wrist.

     “I mean it, Y/n. Don’t wait so long next time. I don’t like it when your health suffers when it can be easily avoided.” he said softly. You gave him a soft smile and nodded, he hated seeing you in pain or discomfort, especially when he was able to do something to fix it. Law placed a soft kiss to the top of your head, happy that you were feeling better. You couldn’t help but love moments like this, moments where it was just the two of you, moments where Law would show you how sweet he was. Even if the moment was being shared after the ‘torture’ of getting your teeth taken care of and standing next to all the dental instruments.

[allgreekbitch]

@marauders-girls-ships-microfics may 7, smile, wc: 701

Marlene hadn’t told Mary. She thought it’d make a great surprise for her.

So when Mary asked her where she was off to earlier that morning when leaving the house, she obviously couldn’t say she was going to the dentist. So she told the greatest excuse she could muster: grocery shopping.

And it was after she blurted it out that she realised she hadn’t taken a small detail into consideration when thinking of the excuse.

Mary loved going grocery shopping with her.

So, naturally, Mary had gotten up and said she would come with. And Marlene had panicked. How could she tell her she couldn’t come without making herself look suspicious?

And, honestly, she didn’t actually manage to do that. She just said something about how she’d have to stop by Lily’s flat to grab something and how it’d be a long drive and she’d end up bored, and Mary didn’t buy it at all. So Marlene left their flat all suspiciously to go do some mysterious task she called “shopping.”

That’s what happened from Mary’s point of view, at least.

Marlene was just going to the dentist to get those butterfly shaped tooth gems she had been thinking of getting for months.

They had seen them on a pin while scrolling on Pinterest with Mary, and she had made a comment on how cute they’d look on Marlene. Marlene, however, had only said that she didn’t feel like having gems on her teeth. But it had been months since then, and that had changed.

She thought they’d look so good on her. So she made a dentist appointment and decided to surprise Mary.

When she was back home, though, Mary was busy.

She was running around the flat from surface to surface, from drawer to drawer, from cabinet to cabinet, looking for some files before she had to leave for work.

Marlene walked in with a smile, hoping that Mary would notice the shine on her teeth. But nada.

Mary was too frantic, running around.

When she noticed Marlene, she only spared her a glance. “Have you seen my binder? The dark red one. I have a super important file in it, and I need it.”

“Uh… no, I haven’t.”

“Damn it!”

Mary tried going to the other side of the room but while passing by her, Marlene grasped her wrist to stop her. Mary looked at her, the worry in her face evident.

“I’m gonna be so late, Marlene.”

Marlene smiled sympathetically. “Hey, calm down, relax. Where did you last put it?”

Mary turned to her side and pointed at a drawer unit. “Well, I remembe—“ her words fell short, and her eyes, now wide open, returned to Marlene. She seemed shocked. “Smile.”

Marlene, having forgotten about her tooth gems, furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”

Mary rolled her eyes, logically impatient and running out of time, and used her thumb to push Marlene’s upper lip up. And that’s when Marlene realised what was happening. So, she smiled.

Mary’s eyebrows shot up, her eyes went from the gems on Marlene’s teeth to Marlene’s eyes, her own eyes filled with something Marlene couldn’t quite figure out.

“You got the tooth gems,” she stated, in awe.

Marlene nodded, her smile not faltering. “Just did.”

“Just now?!”

“Mh-hm. I just went to the dentist.”

Mary stared at her, mouth agape in shock, but Marlene could still spot that nervousness in her eyes. “Don’t you need to find the binder?”

“It can wait,” Mary waved it off. “Does it feel… weird?”

Marlene chuckled. “A little bit.”

“Can I feel it?”

Marlene raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me if you can kiss me? Babe, you’re my girlfriend, of course you can kiss me.”

Mary huffed a laugh. “Right.” And she placed a palm on the back of Marlene’s head to pull her in until their lips connected. And it was just as wonderful as every other kiss they had shared before.

Right when Mary tried to deepen the kiss, Marlene pulled away. “What about the binder? Don’t you have to go to work?”

Mary repeated her previous words, “It can wait.” And she pulled Marlene back into the kiss, who chuckled before their lips reconnected.