#for the better now. its for the worse and that is just... ;; i'm crying screaming throwing a table BUT i hope you like this song even thoug

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Movie Week

Day 3 - Hush (2016)

Noncon yandere slasher x fem reader - 5.2k words Tags: knife play, spitting in your mouth, slight degradation, DEAD DOVE

Quit fucking squirming. I will cut you, understand?

There. See? Not so hard. Just hold still and let me look at you.

Pretty thing... Even prettier with the way you're all stretched out under me. Never thought I'd be so into a girl, but I guess I was just waiting for the right one to come along.

What's that, honey? Can't really hear you through the gag. Don't really care to neither. I'm not here to listen to you talk.

Hmmm, you're a cute little thing too, you know that? I noticed it the first time I saw you. Sitting in the hot tub with all your friends, getting drunk and stumbling around all helpless. Don't blame yourself too much, but you're the whole reason I ended up here. Did what I did.

It was fate, really. Or luck. Bad luck, on your part. Great fucking luck on mine.

I don't really walk through the woods on my way home. But the snow was coming on and I figured a few minutes shaved off would save me a world of trouble.

Didn't know folk stayed all the way out here. Guess this is some kind of AirBnB situation? Yeah, your plates aren't local, I noticed that much.

I heard you laughing. That's what dragged me off the path. Should be the other way around, don't you think? Me, the big, bad killer, luring you off into the cold, scary woods. But no. Not this time.

Heard you laughing and it got me curious.

If your host kept their fence in better shape maybe I'd have given up. Too fucking late and too fucking tired to be hopping fences.

You're all quiet now. What, you like listening to me yammer? Or are you just curious? Probably ain't easy to be you - some deranged killer coming out of the woods and picking off all your friends. Hell, I guess I'd want to hear his story too, if I was in your shoes.

Where was I? Right, the hole in your fence. Reckon you didn't even notice it. Had no reason to go looking for it.

But I found it. Looked through it just to see what was so damn funny. And that's when I saw you.

D'you know your hot tub is right under those fucking - whaddya call 'em - fairy lights? They make you look like a fucking dream. Reflecting off your skin where it's all wet. Playboy centre fold kind of shit.

I didn't even notice your friends at first. Couldn't take my eyes off you. Kept wondering what your skin felt like - all warm and wet from the water? Or chilly where the air touched you?

And then you stood up and I got a real good look at you. Didn't really think I had a type, but baby, it's you.

What are you looking at? You keep darting your eyes at the door, like someone is gonna save you.

Not happening. No one left out here but you and me.

Do you know how far we are from town? I bet that's why you booked this place, right? A nice, isolated cabin where you and your friends can party as loud as you want. That backfired pretty bad, didn't it? They screamed and screamed and no one heard 'em.

You're crying again. Is it grief or guilt?

Don't worry, baby. I'm here to kiss it all better.

Killing is... You probably think I'm a fucking serial killer, don't you? Guess I probably am. That's the kind of thing they call you when the bodies start stacking up, ain't it?

Thing is, it's never planned out. I don't do this shit for pleasure. At least, not the way you think.

It's like there's this pressure in my head. Building. Getting worse all the time. Only thing that makes it go away is this. Killing.

No, I don't know why they haven't caught me either. Like I said, I don't plan this shit out. It just happens. Like something inside me snaps and my head won't go quiet until its over.

You look scared. Guess I would be too, if some bastard covered in blood had me tied to the bed.

You're the last one, y'know. In case you're still wondering.

All your friends are dead. Even that flighty little bitch who tried running through the woods. Fuck, that was so annoying. Bet she was an annoying friend to have too, huh? I saw the way she was grinding up on your boyfriend last night. You shoulda put her in her place. 'Swhat I would have done. Bash her pretty face in and see how much your boyfriend likes her then.

Sorry. Got a bit worked up for a second.

We've already established I'm not the most... balanced person. So maybe don't do what I do.

I never talk this much. Don't really have a lot of people to talk to. Those fuckers at work are all brain dead, and my friends are mostly in the pen. Hard to talk when they've only got half an hour a week on the phones.

You look like you're the type to listen though. Sweet. Caring. Type to give a kid a kiss on the knee when they fall off their bike and start howling.

Y'know, I almost feel bad about this. But I guess you should know for sure, given what comes next. Might stop you from feeling like you're cheating or something.

You boyfriend is dead.

Thought he was gonna give me some trouble, big guy like that.

Nah. Bled like a stuck pig. Barely knew how to fight. Dissapointing honestly.

You're crying again. Is it the fact that your boyfriend is dead or the fact that I've got you all pinned up under me while I talk about him?

Either way, I like it when you cry.

Yeah, I know. Yet another fucked up thing to like. I mean, I know it's fucked. But I can't help it. It's the way I'm wired.

You must be wondering why you're still alive.

Truth is, I'm not sure either. I don't get, like, turned on when I kill. It's not enjoyable that way, y'know?

But seeing you run away from me? Scrambling like hell, almost making it? Yeah, that sure as fuck turned me on.

Don't look so surprised. I'm literally on top of you, what did you think was gonna happen?

Oh, and now you're squirming again. Can you at least let me finish talking first?

Stop it. Quit fucking moving so much. Hey -

I said FUCKING STOP.

There. Nice and quiet now that I've got a hand on your throat.

Anyway, where was I?

Right, I don't get turned on by this shit. I try not to do it at all, but that's plain impossible. My head goes all weird and then something small sets me off and next thing I know there's a dead cashier or an old lady with their head bashed in.

I've been trying to find other ways of letting off steam. Nothing works. Nothing scratches that itch.

Well, that's what I thought. Until I ran into you.

Y'know, your friend group is the only time I've done this shit premeditated? I spent all night watching you. I'm the one who pulled the spark plugs out of your car. I'm the one who tripped the lights. That was particularly fun. Had people stumbling over dead bodies in the dark and then screaming their heads off.

It was the most fun I've ever had. And I think the whole reason is you.

At the back of my mind, I knew I was going to save you for last. Like a little treat.

Oh, you don't like that at all, do you? You're crying even harder. Didn't think that was possible.

Don't wanna be my dessert? Don't wanna be all sweet for me? That's too fucking bad, sweetheart. 'Cause only one of us has a knife and it sure as hell ain't you.

At first, I thought I was just going to kill you. Maybe take my time with it. See what it's like when I think things through.

But then I caught you. Actually held you against my body while your kicked and screamed.

I don't know what makes you so special.

All I know is that when I finally had my hands on you... I stopped thinking about killing.

Maybe I just got all that shit out of my system when I was busy with your friends. But I don't think that's the whole truth.

When I hauled you up here and tied you up... I gotta be honest, my thoughts were getting real filthy.

That's new. Like I said, this shit doesn't turn me on. I've never had fantasies about... well, I guess we should call a spade a spade, huh? I've never gotten turned on thinking about forcing someone.

But that's exactly what I'm going to do to you. We both know it.

Hey, no turning away. No closing your eyes like I'm some boogeyman that will just go away. Look at me. I said -

Look. At. Me.

Mhm, ain't that pretty? So fucking scared. You make me feel like a God.

Tell me something sweetheart, am I your type? If I wasn't covered in blood and stuff. Don't worry, you can be honest.

No? Didn't think so. Your boyfriend looked sweet. Kind of guy who asks if he can kiss you and hold your hand and all that sappy shit. Me? Well, we both know I ain't asking before I take what I want.

Y'know, it's funny. When I was a kid, I ended up in juvie. Over some stupid shit. Vandalism or something. Can't remember. But when I was in there they had this shrink. Used to single me out all the time for extra sessions. Said he was worried about some "escalating violent tendencies" or something. I didn't really listen.

But now? I think he might've been onto something. I just kill to scratch the itch, y'know? But this? What I'm about to do to you? Oh baby, it's all pleasure.

It's going to be a real fucking pleasure to screw you, sweetheart.

Ha. Look at you go. You really think you can fight me off now? Bit late to try the muay thai, doll.

Where should I start? I think we'll go with your shirt. I've been wanting to see what's under your bra ever since I saw you in your bikini.

Hmm, your hands are in the way with the way I've got you tied. Guess I'll just have to rip it. Hope it didn't have sentimental value.

Just gonna grab it by the collar and...

Would you look at that? Shit tore like fucking paper. Guess that's the universe's way of giving me the go ahead.

Let's toss it. Get to the good stuff.

Oh. Oh my. Is that a lace bra? My favorite colour too.

Aww, did you dress up all pretty for me, sweetheart?

Let me just... Fuck, your tits feel fucking amazing. The perfect size for me. Cute little nipples too. I wonder what happens if I pinch 'em like this...

Baby, was that a moan? Did you just moan for me?

Ha! Didn't know you were such a slut. Thought for sure you were the sweet little girl-next-door. Barley been kissed, barley been fingered, never been fucked.

Don't get all shy now. No use hiding your face. We both heard it.

How about we just say that your body betrayed you? Would that make you feel better? I can fuck you good and proper and when you come you can pretend you didn't enjoy it. There, will that help you sleep at night?

No answer. Guess you can't really give one. And even if I did take that gag off, I reckon you wouldn't have much to say beyond, "Please don't fuck me Mr Serial Killer! I'm saving it for marriage!"

Hmm. Maybe I'm not so opposed to that - hearing you beg a little. Especially with those pretty tears in your eyes.

...No. I'll save that for later. For now...

I hate to cut your bra off, sweetheart. It looks real expensive. But I'll buy you a new one, promise. Victoria's Secret or whatever you want.

Look at you freezing up. Don't like feeling my knife tracing up your belly? Here, why don't you feel it at your throat too?

Sharp, ain't it? Even after everything I've used it for.

You're not going to keep giving me a hard time, are you? I can fuck you with my knife at your throat the entire time if I have to. Awful dangerous that. One little slip...

Yeah, you're gonna be good for me. I can see it in your eyes.

Let's get back to it then. Gotta say, I'm getting hard just playing with you like this. Dragging the tip of my knife down your chest, slipping it under your bra... it's such a pretty sight.

Hold still for this part. Don't wanna cut you too bad.

The straps first. And now the band...

Shiiiit doll, it's even better than I hoped. Look at those tits.

You don't mind if get a taste do you?

Mhhmmm. So warm. I kind of want to just...

Hah, look at the way you squirm when I bite your nipples. What's wrong, gorgeous? Worried I'm gonna leave a mark? Worried your boyfriend is gonna find out? I think he's beyond caring at this point.

Speaking of marks, I've always wanted to give a girl a lovebite. Ma used to say it was trashy, but I think it's kind of sexy. Walking around and everyone knowing you've been fucked.

Here, tilt your head to the side a little. I want to kiss your neck.

Was that a shiver? Don't like me so close, is that it? I ain't gonna bite out your jugular like a dog. At least, not today.

Hmmm, you smell amazing. How the hell do girls do that? Smell like fucking strawberries and shit? Makes me want to gobble you right up.

How do you feel right now, I wonder. Big, scary killer kissing your neck and saying you smell good. I wonder if this shit turns you on. I've heard some girls are really into this "dark romance" stuff. Don't really think I'm being romantic right now, but who's to say?

Why don't we check?

Hey, I'm just unbuttoning your jeans. Quit trying to buck me off.

I could fucking cut them off, if you want me to use my knife so bad.

Yeah, that's what I thought. All nice and sweet for me when I mention the knife. Fucking ridiculous. I can kill you just as easy with my bare hands.

See? You've gone and pissed me off. I was trying to be nice to you. I'm not even going to bother anymore, if you're going to be like that.

Matching panties. Fuck, I'm not even in the mood to appreciate them anymore.

Just gonna rip them off and get straight to it.

Two fingers enough for you sweetheart? Goddamn, look at you arching off the bed. Two fingers too fucking much, apparently.

Shit, you're tight. Must not want this at all. Not surprising. I reckon if I play a bit with my fingers, you'll loosen up. Biology and all that.

God, it's so fucking sick seeing my fingers sliding into you like this. You're getting my gloves all slick and wet. Bet that must feel real strange, huh? Getting finger fucked while I'm still wearing my gloves?

Guess I was right about the dark romance thing. You're soaking. Does this shit really turn you on? Hell, you're about as sick and twisted as me, if that's really the case.

Don't like that, do you? Yeah, I can tell.

You make such cute noises, you know that? All these little gasps and whines. Not like that fake shit you see in porn.

Didn't think I'd be getting so turned on just fingering a girl, but hell baby, I'm 'bout to burst my jeans.

I can't believe I'm about to do this, but it's too late to stop now. Let's get my belt off...

Aaaah, that's so much better. Was fucking strangling my cock. Here, let me grab your thighs and hook your knees over my shoulders.

Yeah, this is perfect. Let's me hold onto your hips real nice.

Can you feel that, sweetheart? My cock rubbing up against your pussy?

Stop shaking your head like that's gonna stop me. Kicking and screaming and crying ain't stopped me, what makes you think I'll change my mind now?

Give me a second. I want to look at you properly. Make sure I remember this for the rest of my life. The first time I'm fucking my girl and ain't she prettier than a picture? Not even my wettest dreams could have come up with something so perfect.

Only one thing in the world could possibly makes this better.

See my knife? Feel the way I'm pressing it against your cheek? Remember that feeling when I slice your gag off.

I want to hear three words. That's it. Anything else and I start cutting, got it?

Good. Now, here's what I want you to say.

"Please fuck me."

You got that? No begging me to stop. No asking me to go slow. Just begging me to fuck you. Nothing else.

And if you ruin this for me, sweetheart? If you fuck up my perfect fantasy? You'll be joining your friends. I don't need you breathing to fuck you. Just warm. Understand?

Good.

There. Your gag is off. What do you say?

Ha! Baby, how can I resist when you ask so nice? Sure honey, I'll fuck you. I'll fuck you so hard my cock will brand itself inside your belly. Ready?

Fuuuucckk.

Oh God, you're the hottest cunt I've ever had. Just wanna stay here for the rest of my life, deep inside you.

Here, let me press my hand against your lower belly when I start thrusting.

Shit, I can actually feel it.

I can feel my dick inside you. Heh, guess I'm a little too big for you afterall.

You're sucking me in, you know that? Your pussy wants me. Don't matter that I'm practically splitting you in half. Your filthy, whore cunt still wants me.

Aww, look at the way you flinch when I swear. Bet your boyfriend never said a single mean thing to you in his life, huh?

God, it's hard to keep so slow. But I'm managing it, just for you. Giving you time to adjust. See? I can be a gentleman too sometimes. Say thank you.

I said, say thank you.

Sure thing, doll. I'll do anything for you. Well, anything except let you go. Ain't gonna be doing that anytime soon, not with how perfect you are for me.

Never had a fuck this good in my life. Didn't think it could get this good.

Hey, don't look away from me. Did I say you could look away from me?

Do I gotta grab your face and force you?

There. Let me see those pretty eyes. Let me see the fear and the pain and the guilt. Give me everything, baby. I want it all. Every part you have to give. Your body. Your soul. They'll all be mine by the time I'm through.

Can't keep holding back. Grab the sheets if you have to, but I'm not slowing down after this.

That's it. Fucking take it.

Take it take it take it. Take my cock and beg for more.

Pretty little slut, I'm gonna fuck you rotten and raw. Ain't known the meaning of getting dicked down until I came along.

Fuck, that's it. Cry for me. Let me see those tears.

Listen to you, repeating what I told you to say like it's going to save you. Just makes me want you more, baby.

Hell, you're tight. Gonna cum inside you. Gonna mark you up. Gonna make you mine.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You were made for me, I get it now. Made just for me. No one else is ever going to touch you. I'll kill them. I'll kill you.

Take it, bitch. Take my cock and keep begging for more.

Nothing could pull me out of you. Not heaven or hell or judgement day. This is right where I belong. Inside you. Raping you.

Yeah, that's exactly what this is. Ain't no use denying it. I see you shaking your head like hearing the word makes it real.

That's what I am, aren't I? Your rapist.

And you're still begging me to fuck you.

Oh, you're fucked, doll. Well and truly fucked.

Open your mouth. I want to lean forward and let my spit drop into your mouth while I screw you bleeding.

Swallow.

Good.

You're never going to get the taste out, y'know that? I'm always going to be a part of you - my spit, my cum, all of it. Inside you forever.

You can scrub away my touch but you'll never outlive these memories, baby. I've burnt myself into your head.

Even if I let you go, I'll always be with you. More than your boyfriend. More than any lover you've had or will have.

It's me. It's always going to be me. Your worst fucking nightmare made real.

Tell me you want it. Say you want me to fill you up. Beg me.

Yeah, that's it. Just give in, baby. Stop holding yourself so stiff and just let it happen. Enjoy it.

Bet your man never fucked you this hard, huh? Bet your cunt was dying to be filled with a real cock.

Here, let me move your legs down so they're around my waist instead. I want to kiss you.

No, don't shake your head. You let me spit in your mouth but you don't want to let me kiss you? The hell kind of prude mentality is that?

I'm just going to... yeah, grab a fistful of your hair so you can't keep avoiding me. Look into my eyes, baby. Look at the man who owns you.

Mmhmm, you taste like cotton candy. How the hell do you taste so sweet?

It's kind of cute how inexperienced you are. Got no idea how to kiss a man properly. But it's okay, love. I'll teach you. I'll teach you plenty - how to kiss, how to take cock, how to suck dick.

Better than a college education and all it costed was the lives of your friends. Sweet deal, huh?

Here, kiss me again. No, I don't mean just holding still while I kiss you. I mean I want you lean up and kiss me like you want me back.

No? No?

Listen bitch, you don't get to say no.

Not to me, not ever. Do I have to grab your jaw so hard I leave bruises?

Kiss me back. I'm not fucking asking.

Why the hesitation anyway? I'm in your cunt, aren't I? There ain't any modesty left between us.

Or is it one of those special things? Like how backdoor doesn't count as losing it before marriage?

No, not quite. I think it's more so about the uh intimacy. Yeah, I reckon that's what this is about. Kisses are special. Only for the man you love. Sure, I'm balls deep inside you but if you don't kiss me, it ain't so bad. Is that right? Did I get it?

Hmm, from the way you're avoiding my eyes I reckon I hit the nail on the head.

Baby, do you really think there's anything you can keep from me? I told you once already, I'm taking it all. Everything you would have given your boyfriend, your husband, your true love. All that and more.

So, kiss me back.

That's it. Good girl, taking orders like a champ.

I think I won't ever get tired of your mouth. Kissing you...

C'mere, I want some more.

What's that, doll? You asking me why I stopped moving? Guess I just want to bury myself inside you a little longer. Don't want this to end.

'S hard though. Hanging on so long. If I didn't like you so much I would have busted ages ago.

Hmm, this is nice too. I could get used to this. Cockwarming. Never saw the appeal, but then I've never had a cunt as velvety soft as yours.

You're kind of cringing, why is that?

Hurts? Oh, you mean when I stay still? Yeah, I reckon that's a whole different type of hurt, ain't it?

Want me to start moving again?

Yes? Ha! Never thought I'd hear you say it, doll. Say it and mean it, too.

Let me start moving again and -

Huh. You're liking this. Or at least your body is. You're kinda shifting around to meet me when I fuck into you. Don't think you even realise you're doing it.

Aww, are you embarrassed? Don't hide it from me, sweetheart. I think it's cute that you want to fuck me back. Makes my heart all soft and warm and shit.

Got me feeling - what's it called again - yeah, paternal. Got me feeling like I should take care of you. Should kiss those tears away.

I reckon we're about the same age, but that don't matter. I feel all...protective. Like I ought to lock you away, keep you safe from all the other bastards in the world.

Sorry. I think I'm a little cunt drunk. Got me sayin' the dumbest, sappiest shit.

I reckon we ought to finish this, yeah? Aww, look at you nodding and agreeing with me. You want my cum that bad, doll? Don't worry, I'll give it to you. Give you every drop.

Need to go deeper. Need some leverage.

Oh, this'll do nicely. One hand on your hip and one around your throat. Let's me pull you back onto my dick with every thrust.

Your throat feels so fucking right when I hold you like this. Gives me all the power in the world. One little squeeze and I've stolen your air right alongside everything else I've taken.

Look at the way you're squirming. I think you're 'bout to come. Didn't think I could wring it out of you, but I reckon it's just another sign that we're meant for each other.

Let me pick you up a little, wrap my arm around your waist so you're bouncing on my cock. Hmm, I can kiss your neck like this too.

Shit, that's so much tighter. You're strangling my dick, baby. Go easy, God.

Oh, fuck I'm so close. I think you are too.

Where's my knife? Hey, don't squirm, I'm just gonna cut your hands loose. There.

Here, wrap them around my - huh, guess I don't have to tell you. Mmm, really diggin' your nails in, ain'tcha? Holdin' onto me like I'm the last lifeline in the whole world.

No, don't move. I like it like this. All pressed up against you.

Gonna hold onto my knife though. Can't have your hands loose and leave my knife lyin' around. Nah, don't worry. I ain't gonna hurt you with it. Just gonna keep it in my hand.

God, baby. Do that again. Grind on me again.

Mhmm, that's so...

Sorry. But I'm not holdin' back anymore. We're finishing this.

Hold on tight. I'm gonna give you the best ride of your life.

Hahh, listen to you whinin'. Fucked all the thoughts right outta your head, didn't I? You ain't even usin' words no more.

You're close. I can tell. Just come for me, doll. Quit worryin' 'bout right and wrong. Just shut your brain off and let your pussy get what she needs.

Thaaat's it. Keep grinding on my cock.

Fuck, I can feel every little tremor and squeeze.

Yes, just like that. Come on, come on now. Give in, baby. It was a losing fight from the start.

Oh God, that's it. You're squeezing me to hell, baby.

Dammit, I can't hold on much longer.

Fuck, oh fuck. That's it, yeah that's it. Take it. Take it. FUCKING TAKE IT.

Take my cum, baby. Have every drop of it.

I fucking love you. I do.

My fuckdoll, my pretty girl. Take every drop baby, you've earned it.

Damn. I can't - I can't even talk. Gimmme a minute. I just... needa catch my breath.

Fucking hell.

Hey, c'mere. No pulling away now. I want to keep holding you so close.

Just let me rest my head on your neck for a sec, okay?

Mhhmm. You still smell so good. But I can smell the sex on you now too. You're like a bitch after heat.

I like it. Like smelling myself on you.

Shh, no crying. Just hang onto me. Dig your nails in, if it makes you feel better.

You're my girl. I'll take care of you. I promise.

No, I'm not pulling out. I'm going to keep you plugged up. Don't want to waste all that hard earned cum, do you?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Shhh, baby, shhh. You're okay. I've got you.

Here, let me move the hair out of your face. I want to look at you.

Ah, there she is. My girl.

Look at those eyes... You're even prettier now, baby. Didn't think it was possible, but it's true. The way you're looking at me... All soft and defenceless... It's the prettiest thing I've ever seen.

You look surprised. I can be nice too, y'know. Just got to get all the cruelty out of my system.

Ma used to say it was the devil. Used to call it my devil face. When I'd get so bad that I'd kick the cat or pinch the baby or set things on fire.

I bet I scared you real bad, huh? Your whole body is shaking.

Shhh, you're okay. I've calmed down now, see? I'm not going to keep hurting you.

Here, I'll even hum you a song. The lullaby my ma used to sing me whenever I had a nightmare. And I reckon this sure as hell is a nightmare for you. The worst night you've ever had.

C'mere, put your head on my shoulder.

There, a little better isn't it? You're not crying anymore.

What's that, doll? Did you say something?

Will I let you go? Oh, honey. What a silly question...

I can't. Even if we ignore the fact that you've seen my face and heard my voice and have my DNA all over you, I don't want to let you go.

I wasn't lying. I think I'm falling in love with you. And I realised something. Fucking you... it's even better than killing. Doesn't scratch the exact same itch, no. But it comes pretty damn close.

Close enough that I think I'll be able to hold off. Close enough that I think my head will stay on straight if I have you around.

Not guaranteed. I can't control this shit, God knows I've tried. But maybe there's a chance.

I'm not letting you go, love. No way in hell.

You're the best damn fuck I've ever had.

Day 1 - Fear (1996)

Day 2 - Secret Obsession (2019)

Day 3 - Hush (2016)

Day 4 - The Perfect Guy (2015)

Day 5 - The Boy Next Door (2015)

Day 6 - The Invisible Man (2020)

Day 7 - Til Death Do Us Part (2017)

Taglist: @jsprien213 @trolleri-trollera @mel-vaz

[dollfacefantasy]

dig your claws right into me ♡

logan howlett x fem!reader

logan hurts you when he has a nightmare. now you both have to deal with the fallout.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, descriptions of nightmare, injury, and blood

a/n: reader is a mutant but i didn't specify her powers so you can imagine what you want. just some sickly sweet intimacy cause that's what i was feeling tonight <3

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The words come out whispered as Logan's lips press against the three tiny bumps of developing scar tissue on your abdomen.

"I already told you that you don't have to be sorry," you say. Your voice drifts into the space between the two of you as soft as the movements of your fingers running through his hair.

"Well I am, bub. You should want me to be."

Each one of his hands rests upon either side of your waist. His fingers squish against your flesh while his eyes stare at the scars on your belly. He gazes at them like the small marks, all equidistant from one another, could be willed away by his harsh look. He hated the fact that they were there at all. Even worse, that he was the one who gave them to you.

"But it was an accident," you respond, giving one of the tufts of his hair a gentle tug.

His dark pupils flit up to look at your face. "Doesn't matter. It being an accident doesn't change the fact that you're gonna have these marks forever. I wouldn't care that it was accidental if I'd killed you."

He remembers the night it happened that seemed like a real possibility.

His light sleep had been interrupted by a nightmare. Over the time that had passed between then and now, it'd become indistinct from all the others he experiences regularly. The only difference between that one and the ones he'd had since he'd started sleeping next to you each night was the intensity. That night had been rough. Normally when he slept in your room, he seemed to be able to tone it down. Almost as if his brain knew to not act up while your relationship was still starting to blossom.

But two weeks ago, his mind didn't care. It flash-banged him with the usual images of himself in that tank. The searing, splitting pain of the adamantium attaching itself to his bones.

Usually, if he had a nightmare beside you, he'd grunt and twitch, maybe shift around a little. That night though, you got to see the whole performance. The tossing and turning, sweating and moaning, tense limbs and scrunched up face.

Poor, sweet, innocent you thought that you could just wake him up. Your hands nudged at his bicep and shoulder as you gently cooed "Logan. It's just a dream."

In the end, your tenderness didn't matter. When he actually came to, your anguished cry was all that registered. And then he felt the sharp heat between his knuckles that meant the claws were out. His heart dropped and his vision nearly blacked out. He couldn't have.

He retracted them as quickly as they'd appeared and pulled back to look at you. Crimson flooded the gray t-shirt you'd worn to bed. The three little spots spread into large blooms of scarlet. Your hands flew to the spot to clutch at it, but they did nothing to stop the warm liquid from spilling out.

"No, no, no, fuck," he'd whispered frantically as his mind raced for a solution.

Your cries morphed into whimpers. Soft and vulnerable. Like a prey animal that'd been fatally wounded but not put out of its misery. Blood seeped out onto your bedding, and it was then that he rocketed off the mattress and scooped you up into his arms.

Fortunately, Scott, Jean, and Storm were already outside the door in the hall, having heard the scream. A gathering of students lingered behind them as well. Shame coursed through his veins, albeit dulled by the panic. He remembered thinking it was stupid, but after the adrenaline left his system, it was the dominant emotion he was left with. Ashamed was the only word that could describe holding the knowledge that everyone here now saw he was capable of hurting the woman he loves. Maybe he was no better than an animal.

In truth, shame was all he felt now. So much relief settled over him since you'd made it out alive. Thanks to the enhanced physical capabilities from your mutation and Jean's adequate medical skills, these scars would be the only lasting effect of the wounds.

He'd rushed you down to the infirmary faster than he'd ever moved in a non-combat situation. His feet thundered down the stairs, a part of him withering to ash with each little whimper you let out as the motion jostled your body around.

"I'm sorry, bub. Almost there. We're almost there. You're gonna be ok," he'd mumbled out thoughtlessly, saying anything he could that would bring you even a shred of comfort.

He kept your hand in his the entire time you were down there on the cold examination table. His grip stayed firm. He wouldn't let the anxiety over your well being consume him. This was his fault, and now you needed him. He didn't get to be worried or upset or anything that wasn't in support of you.

When you howled in pain, he winced as if he was the one being treated. You cried for him, choking out "Logan" through tears over and over. It tore him apart inside. All he could do to soothe you was stroke your cheek and murmur reassurances in your ear.

"Shh, shh, shh. You're doing so good, baby. My strong girl. Being so brave."

He usually reserved affection for private moments, but in those painful seconds, it felt like you two were the only ones in the room.

These thoughts running through his head display across his face. The way his cheek squishes against your tummy and his eyes vacantly stare at the wall opposite his bed. You told him the next day that everything transformed into a blur in your mind. You remembered the feeling of being stabbed and the sight of him panicking, but beyond that nothing specific stayed. You knew he held you and talked to you even though you couldn't recall an individual thing he said or did.

That was fine with him. He listened to you tell the story from your perspective. You spoke with your normal cadence, the usual happy glow in your eyes, and the same animated gestures coming from your hands. His eyes lingered on your torso though. The bandages peeking out from underneath your clean camisole he'd changed you into.

Every last detail of the incident was etched into the deepest part of his psyche. Most likely stored away as material for future nightmares. As much as he hated it, he figured that's the way it should be. He didn't deserve the peace that comes with forgetting.

For the first week after it'd happened, he wouldn't sleep with you. He'd stay with you, cuddled against your body, until you drifted off. Then he'd get up and skulk back to his own room, leaving you cold and alone on your bed.

Eventually after a few more days, you got him to try it out again, but he'd only do it in his own room. It was hard for him to be in yours. New sheets covered your foamy mattress now since the blood wouldn't wash out of the old set. Each brush of the novel material against his skin was just a rose-printed reminder of what he'd done to you.

He's snapped out of his recollection when your voice returns to the original conversation.

"None of that stuff happened though. You didn't kill me, and you're not going to. I'll be more careful next time," you break the silence with a gentle reassurance.

Next time. That's what hurts the worst. You knew this would happen again. You'd promised that when it did you wouldn't try to wake him. Wouldn't touch him or do anything that could set him off. Just give him his space and let him work through it.

"I don't even want you worrying about being careful when you're trying to sleep," he grumbles.

Your nails scrape over his scalp, making his eyes flutter. A deep sigh leaves him. As much as he hated himself for all of this, he could never help easing up under your touch.

"You're worth it."

Three words you said so often. He never believed them, but that didn't stop you from repeating them like a slogan. Instead of arguing with you over the validity of the statement, he stays silent. Replaces any verbal response with a physical one by nuzzling into the warmth of your stomach and laying kisses around your navel.

You watch the affectionate gesture and trail your fingers down to the nape of his neck, massaging the tender skin there.

"You are," you whisper, "One mistake doesn't define you. Doesn't change how I see you."

"It's not just a simple mistake-" he starts.

"Yes it is," you interject, trying to nip his self doubt in the bud.

"It's not. It's not like I forgot your birthday or left my wallet behind when taking you out."

"It's still an accident. The severity doesn't change the intention. Would you hate me if my powers acted up and hurt you?"

God, you could be just as stubborn as him. It grated on his already frayed nerves. He shifts to look up at you fully. And some of that building tension dissolves upon seeing the earnest look on your face.

"It's not the same. Anything you did to me, I would heal," he says.

"I'm healing too. I'm just not as fast as you," you respond. You actually smile as if this is some lighthearted matter. Of course you knew it wasn't the same. You presented no danger to him whereas if he'd nicked you an inch to the left, he might be talking to your headstone right now instead of you. That wasn't the point though.

He shakes his head. "It's different, bub. But I'm not even saying you should hate me..." 

In truth, he didn't know what he was saying. If he wanted you to hate him or stay away from him, he could be the one to break things off. But he was still right here, arms wrapped around you and head hovering inches away from your body.

"I just think you should be more cautious than you're being," he finishes, "I don't want you to think you have to put up with this."

You frown and pet his hair. "I don't think that."

"I'm not trying to lecture you, baby," he sighs, "I just don't want to hurt you again."

He could certainly flaunt a pair of puppy eyes when he wanted to. The way he was looking up at you now made him seem so sad and wounded. Like a dog who can't control when he bites but gets kicked aside for it all the same.

"You're not going to. We'll be careful. It was an accident," you say, tone almost pleading, "You're still my Logan."

To go along with your words, you pull on one of his arms, beckoning him closer. He complies with your request and scales your body so that the two of you are aligned. You stare up into his eyes and the whirlpools of emotion within them. Your hand lands on his cheek, your thumb stroking back and forth in small swipes.

"I'm not gonna let you pull away cause of this," you whisper, "It wasn't your fault. You don't choose to have those dreams."

You can tell he wants to argue, but he struggles to find the words. Indirectly cutting him off, you guide his head closer to yours. His face slots against the crook of your neck, and yours does the same in his. You nuzzle him there, breathing in the rich, musky scent of him.

"You're not wrong for wanting to be happy. You don't deserve to be alone," you say and kiss below his ear.

The words make him ache from within. His metal bones vibrate with the weight of possibility of that being true while his heartbeat feels as though it stutters between his ribs. He wants to huff and say that he knows, that he doesn't need you psychoanalyzing him, thank you very much. But none of that will come out. So instead he chuckles. He tries to make it sound smooth; although, the awkwardness is apparent in each bit.

He pulls back a little and smirks down at you. "So you think I'm cut out for being gentle? Is that it?"

You know what he's doing. As closed off as he tries to be, you don't need telepathy to sense what he's feeling. You let him play it off with a joke though. If he's joking, he's not drowning in self-pity, which is all you want.

"Mhm, I know you are," you say and nose at his cheek, kissing the spot on it without facial hair, "You may have claws, but you purr like a kitten when I have my hands on you."

His eyes roll when you say that. He leans down and begins to return some of your loving gestures.

"Don't go telling people that. It's only for you," he murmurs.

"Of course, of course," you say with the same subtle playfulness.

Words die out in favor of using your mouths for better things. The kisses are lazy, built more off of love and adoration rather than lust and passion. One of your arms loops over his shoulders to keep him close while your other rubs at his side. The tip of his nose brushes your earlobe as he lowers to kiss down your throat.

His lips meet your pulse point and the divots in your neck that make you shudder when touched. He's familiar with all your secret spots by now. He plays you better than any instrument. His breath fans over your skin as his teeth scrape against the same flesh. His hands work below, squeezing your waist, fingertips leaving little bumps in their wake.

The hand of yours that had been on his side drifts further down and wiggles its way between your two bodies. Your digits stroke his pelvis above the area his cock would soon begin to harden.

A groan reverberates through his chest as his shaft rises to attention. From this angle, the pads of your fingers can reach the tip. You rub on it with light pressure, up and down. That gets him to repeat the groan, only this time the undertone of need is more prominent.

His lips latch onto your neck to work a little mark onto your skin while he pushes the waistband of his sweatpants down his thighs. You were only wearing a cropped t-shirt and panties, already easily accessible.

He nudges your thighs apart further and grinds his bulge over your mound. The heat from both your aching centers grows hotter with the friction. Arching your back off the bed, you whimper softly for further satisfaction. He presses you back down using his larger stature.

"Patience, sweetheart. Being gentle, remember?"

He only teases you with a few more grinds of his hips before his boxers vanish too and his heavy cock rests against the soft fabric of your panties. You feel the familiar thickness at first. Then his fingers swoop down and pull your panties to the side so he can slot the drippy tip against your folds. Precum smears against your slick, velvety skin.

Seconds later he splits you open. He bites his lip while you whine, his fat cock pushing further into your wanting hole. You squeeze around him. Your walls clamp and contract on his length. It doesn't push him out, merely sucks him further in. He chokes out a low moan from how tight you get.

So tight and so wet. Arousal oozes from you in no short supply. It didn't take much to get you going for Logan. A few touches alone had you leaking like a broken faucet. You whimper as he bottoms out, hips jerking as the head taps your cervix. He always gets so deep it's nearly unbearable. Even when he's going slow like he is now, he's all you can think of. He fills you up down there and occupies all the space in your head.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks.

You nod, unable to respond verbally as you adjust to the intrusion. 

He doesn't give you a prolonged period of time to adapt right now. Normally he would, but most other times, he'd be going much faster than he plans to at this moment. Typically, he'd let you get comfy with the stretch before drawing his hips back and then pumping them forward again. He'd slam in and out of you. It'd be loud with the sound of skin clapping combined with your moans and his growls. It'd be rough and quick. The bed would shake and bobble around with the force of him.

But tonight, none of that happens. He barely even pulls out to thrust. He stays nice and deep, grinding his hips rather than fucking himself in and out of you. You whine in sweet stretches of sound. He sighs and grunts against your neck. Neither of you sound like feral animals going into heat.

You loved when you fucked like that, but right now, both of you needed this. Each roll of his hips felt like a stroke of heaven brushing your insides. Your limbs curl around him tighter to keep him close. Your arms guard his neck while your legs dig into his hips. He's so lost in the feeling of you, he can't even tell where he ends and you begin.

"Tell me how it feels. Need to hear you. Wanna know I'm doing it how you need," he mumbles.

"Feels perfect," you whimper in return, "So fuckin' deep."

"Good. I only ever wanna make you feel good."

You nod, knowing it's the truth. "Anyone can hurt me, but only you know how to make me feel like this."

His eyes scrunch up at your words. He just feels lucky he has his face buried against your skin so you can't see. It had been just what he needed to hear. Boosting himself onto his knees a bit more to gain some leverage, he grips your hips and ruts against you with the slightest bit more force.

You whine at the soothing rhythm in which your bodies rock. The sense of satisfaction brought on from this took root in the deepest pit of your belly. You weren't gonna explode like you often did. Probably wouldn't scream or scratch up his back. But you could tell you were gonna cum hard.

Without saying it, he communicates he feels the same. His lack of usual dirty talk tells you everything you need to know. His cock stays nestled deep inside your pussy as he works you both to the edge. His face remains flush against your neck.

You cum first, and he follows right behind. You tighten up, toes curling and a high mewl echoing out of your throat. Your body shivers. He spills his release inside of you, his energy leaving with the sticky ropes of cum that fire.

He goes boneless on top of you, still cherishing the feeling of your skin on his. His breaths feel cool against your sweating skin.

"My baby," he sighs. His eyes flutter shut. He knows he has to pull out before he knocks out for a while, but he can do that in a second. He just needs a few more minutes of this.

You press a few kisses to the side of his head and rub his back. His hand slides between both your abdomen to touch the scars, reminding himself what he's capable of despite his current tenderness.

After a few moments, he pulls out and slumps to the side of you. You peck his lips and take the acquisition of space as a way to cool off. His eyes are drooping already. It feels good seeing him so relaxed. You kiss the space between his brows, then the bridge of his knows, and end on his lips.

"Sweet dreams," you whisper, wishing that would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay. At least for tonight.

[aurumalatus]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 2.5k

genre/warnings. pixelprincess!au (princess!reader x knight!kinich), one bed trope, princess is nervous to sleep alone with a man (who isn't)

summary.

after a long journey, kinich and the princess finally turn in for the night at an unfamiliar inn. the only problem? there's only one bed.

author's note. i'm finishing this at like 5am so if there's any errors i'll look over it/fix it when i wake up LOL. for now, please scream and cry about knight!kinich with me. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!!

𝐩𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It’s too warm.

As a princess born and raised in the land of Pyro, you’re accustomed to heat—thrive in it, even. It’s one of the reasons you dread trips like these so much. Foreign nations, even those with the mildest of temperatures, tend to feel a bit too chilly for your taste. Your father often jokes that you could withstand the heat of the Sacred Flame itself.

At the moment, though, you wouldn’t mind cracking open a window or two, even in the dead of winter.

The journey here had been difficult enough, boring as it was. Kinich had threatened to leave you alone in the woods a few times if you kept poking at him, but it was all you could do to not fall asleep. Attending foreign dinners always resulted in long journeys like these, though you know how important it is to maintain close relations with allied countries.

A few bumps in the road made this trek especially long, however—a number of bandits and blocked off paths added an irritating amount of time to your travel, until you and Kinich decided to rest for the night before heading home tomorrow. It had been difficult to even find a place—most inns had been full by this time, but you’d been fortunate to find one with a single open room.

A single, open room containing a single, solitary bed.

That aside, it’s a nice enough room, really. The dark mahogany furniture is carved with intricate nature-like patterns, flowers and leaves that crawl up the legs of the chairs and the foot of the bed. The whole place smells pleasantly of teakwood—a scent that, for better or worse, you tend to attribute to Kinich.

Your knight sits in front of the darkened fireplace, fiddling with a flint until it strikes with a small flame, then enkindles the rest of the wood. A flushing warmth instantly permeates the room. Usually, you would thank him for his efforts—he knows how cold you get—but now, you feel a thin sweat forming at your brow.

Kinich stands, brushing off his hands and admiring the firelight. The lighter strands of his hair glow in its radiance. “That should last us for a bit.”

He tugs at the clasp of his cloak, pulling the garment off and tossing it onto the chair in the corner of the room. It’s a thick fur with ornate green and gold trim; you’d given it to him as a gift during the Winter Festival a year ago. You let your eyes follow the motion, watching the dark cloth drape over the furniture—somehow, you feel too awkward to look at your companion right now. He glances at you, as if wondering what you’re doing just standing there, but doesn’t comment on it.

“Actually, I’m a bit warm,” you say, thumbing at the edges of your sleeves. Kinich raises a brow, genuinely concerned.

“...It’s wintertime,” he says, an obvious statement that seems to ask what the hell is wrong with you.

“Yeah, and I’m warm,” you retort, arms crossed. He looks at you, then looks at the fire, then looks at you again.

“Alright, but if you get cold later, don’t come crying to me,” he says, kneeling down again. Then, under his breath, he mutters, “though I have a feeling you will anyway.”

He toys with the kindling for a bit longer, until the raging flames die into smaller embers and the room cools down. As much as he gives you a hard time, he prioritizes your comfort as much as he possibly can. 

With the temperature now taken care of, there is still one other source of discomfort in the room, you think, glancing back toward the bed. It looks temptingly comfortable, with thick sheets and fluffy pillows, but you can’t fathom sleeping in it at the moment. 

“You realize that we can’t sleep here, right?” you say, staring down at your feet.

The dark-haired knight is busy rummaging through his rucksack, only half paying attention to what you’re saying.

“I don’t see why not. The bed is big enough.”

He’s right; it’s a king-size, and the two of you would have no problem fitting. Still, the thought of sleeping in a bed with him makes your face warm in a way that can’t be blamed on the fire.

“...There’s only one,” you manage.

Kinich looks up at you, deadpan. “An astute observation. Maybe you’ll be able to count to three by next year.”

“You little—”

The nervousness turns to irritation at his nonchalance—honestly, the thought of sharing a bed with a man you aren’t married to seems a bit inappropriate. And though you won’t admit it, you’re a bit offended that he doesn’t seem even slightly nervous to sleep with you. Kinich isn’t a nervous person by nature, that’s true; it takes quite a bit to get him to show any sort of strong emotion. But a small part of you is disappointed that he doesn’t seem to care about the situation at all.

“You realize it’s just us, right?” you say, urging him toward the root of the issue. Even just stating that fact makes an anxious lump form in your throat.

Kinich considers your words for a moment, pausing his ministrations, before meeting your gaze directly.

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” he says, raising a brow. 

The implication makes your face heat up, and you find it almost worse that he had addressed the elephant in the room.

“It’s not that!” you argue hastily. Kinich seems unbothered by your protests, fiddling with the intricate straps of his armor and the laces of his boots. He works about removing them in a fashion that’s so robotic that you’re sure he must’ve done this millions of times. 

“What is it then?” he retorts, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Do you snore?”

“I do not—”

“Sleep talk?”

“No, it’s just—”

“Sleepwalk?”

“No! But—”

“Great,” Kinich decides, clapping his hands together as if to end the discussion. Rising to his feet, he gestures to the bed, even going so far as to pull the blankets back invitingly. “Then sleep.”

It’s hard for you to win against him, especially at times like these—truth be told, you actually are quite tired. With a huff, you begrudgingly climb into bed, nearly hanging off the edge with the ample space you leave.

Kinich doesn’t join you yet; he’s still fixing his clothes and tidying his other belongings. He takes good care of his things, you’ve noticed, almost neat to a fault. There’s a strict routine he follows during the night; before bed, he always takes special care to maintain his weapon.

You watch as he oils and sharpens his blade, brow furrowed in concentration. He’s always been very particular about the thing, as if it was an extension of himself, as long as you've known him. His movements are notably precise and intricate, and overwhelmingly gentle. Lost in watching him, you just about jump out of your skin when his eyes suddenly flicker to you. 

“You know, most people rest with their eyes closed,” he hums, amused at having caught you in the act.

“You’re annoying,” you mumble, sinking deeper into the pillows to hide your embarrassment.

He shakes his head. “And you’re supposed to be sleeping. So I guess no one’s happy.”

You pull the blanket up until it brushes your chin. You don’t need it; your skin feels like it’s on fire, but somehow it feels too vulnerable to be uncovered right now. 

“You’re telling me you don’t feel weird about this? At all?”

He sets the sword aside and finally removes the last of his armor, simply left in his training tunic and loose pants. The shirt is tighter than you remember, you think briefly. You force yourself to look away.

“Should I?” he asks, brushing off his clothes. “Are you going to do something to me?”

The corner of his lip twitches, and you nearly roll your eyes—he amuses himself way too much.

“No!”

“Then we’ll make a deal. I won’t do anything to you if you don’t do anything to me. Then, we’ll both peacefully sleep so that I don’t have to deal with your crankiness in the morning.”

Irritatingly, he’s right about that too. The two of you will have to head out early if you want to make it home for your lessons, as well as Kinich’s other guard duties. And, truthfully, you don’t tend to be a morning person—it’s all Kinich can do to even wake you up on time.

You huff, shutting your eyes. “Fine.”

“Oh?” You can hear the mirth in his voice, and it only makes your irritation grow. “So you were planning on doing somethin—”

“I wasn’t!”

Kinich doesn���t say anything more, likely sensing that you’re on the precipice of genuine frustration—he always knows your exact limits, even when you don’t say so. 

For a few minutes, you really do try to sleep. But your heart is still pounding, and as much as you try to ignore it, it threatens to burst out of your chest. You reason that you would feel this way no matter who you were sharing a bed with—it’s just not a feeling that you’re used to. It’s certainly not because it’s Kinich.

You imagine him sleeping beside you, and your fists tighten until your nails form crescent-shaped imprints in your palms.

Definitely not because it’s Kinich.

Your stomach turns as you listen to your companion move around the room, organizing his things. Everything about him is so calm and quiet, including his footsteps—they’re barely a whisper across the floor. The anticipation nearly swallows you whole, and you wait for something to happen—the blankets to pull back, or even a dip in the mattress.

For several long, torturous minutes, nothing happens at all. In fact, you can’t even hear Kinich anymore, not even a single breath.

Did he leave the room? 

Gathering your courage, you silently will yourself to open your eyes, afraid of what you’ll see. It takes you a bit, too absorbed in the awkwardness, and three silent mental countdowns later, your eyes finally snap open. Instantly, you discover two things:

Kinich is not in bed with you.

Kinich is nowhere near you at all.

Instead, the knight is sitting across the room, back against the door, head leaned back and both eyes shut. His greatsword lays across his lap, fingers already curled around the grip—he’s always ready, as usual. 

“What the hell?”

You don’t mean for it to come out so loud or so aggressive, but your hand is too late to clamp over your mouth.

Kinich cracks one eye open, fixing you with a lazy stare.

“I thought you said you don’t sleep talk,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion.

“I don’t—forget it, what are you doing over there?”

He sighs, pulling a knee to his chest and resting his chin on top. He looks much softer like this, in training clothes and lacking his headband—the curtain of his hair parts a bit as he leans over, and you catch a glimpse of the scar there. It’s thin and silver, barely peeking from his forehead.

“Unless I was mistaken, you seemed uncomfortable with the prospect of sharing a bed with me. I may not have been raised a prince, but even I wouldn’t force something like that on a lady.”

Your teeth sink into your lip. The explanation makes you feel stupid and guilty at the same time. Stupid, because you’re really not sure what you’re even afraid of if Kinich climbs into bed with you. Guilty, because you’d been so argumentative with him, even when he was trying to respect your wishes.

There’s three beats of silence.

“I changed my mind,” you manage to squeak out.

“You don’t have to,” he says, tracing the blade of his sword. An expected answer. “I’m fine sleeping here, really.”

And you know he really would be—he’s certainly slept in worse places. But something about him sleeping there while you warm up under thick blankets leaves a rotten taste in your mouth.

“Well, I’m cold now,” you say, shifting under the covers, “so can you come sleep?”

He looks unconvinced by your plea, head tilted. “Weren’t you the one who said it was too warm?”

You pout in reply. “I changed my mi—”

“—changed your mind, yeah, yeah, I get it.”

Kinich rises to his feet, slow and steady. He seems more tired than he lets on, likely the result of the events from earlier—he had been the one to deal with the bandits, after all. You merely watch as he strides toward you.

“Just remember, you’re the one who offered,” he warns, crossing to the other side of the bed. “So don’t kick me in your sleep.”

You don’t say anything at all, firmly fixated on staring at the wall—you don’t think you could stand to look at him right now. When the sheets get pulled back, you suck in a breath.

To your embarrassment, something warm draws up from your quick-beating heart as Kinich lies down behind you. You chalk it up to natural human reaction—you’ve never shared a bed with someone like this, after all. He’s gentle as he lays down, the mattress barely reacting to his movement. You squeeze your eyes shut as he adjusts, shifting the blankets and pillows, hoping he won’t sense your overwhelming nervousness.

“This okay?”

You chance a look in his direction. His eyes are half-lidded, heavy with sleep, but they seem to pierce right through you. He’s being very particular about the distance between you—close enough that you can feel a bit of his warmth, but far enough that none of your limbs are touching.

This is fine, you think to yourself, drawing in a long, slow breath. This is totally fine.

You nod meekly, and Kinich sighs, shuffling into a more comfortable position as you turn away.

“Good,” he murmurs, warm breath pooling at the back of your neck. It makes you shiver, somehow both relaxed and on-edge, even as he curls slightly closer to you. “Go to sleep then, Princess.”

He’ll be awake for a while, you know. He never goes to sleep before you do—even once you do, it’ll probably be another half an hour before he follows suit. The thought leaves you hyper-aware of his every breath.

So, for the next fifteen minutes, you lie awake, hopelessly thinking of the man laying next to you. And, for the next fifteen minutes, he lies awake too. Your mind grows foggy, begging for rest, but you still feel something tugging at your chest. You wonder if Kinich feels the same way.

“Kinich?” you finally whisper.

There’s a pause, like he’s deciding whether to reply seriously or to scold you for not sleeping. His voice comes out hoarse, a deep rumble from his chest.

“Yes, Princess?”

A yawn crawls out of your throat.

“...are you warm enough too…?”

Your voice trails off as you finally succumb to the clutches of sleep. Kinich listens as your breathing turns to an even rhythm, calm and serene. For once, he’s glad that you’re not looking at him—if you did, you would see the way his skin is flushed a deep red, from his ears to his neck.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I am.”

[yawnderu]

cr: @ave661

Simon wasn't a stupid man. He always knew better, knew to look between the lines even when you tried your best to be deceiving. Even then, the pure rejection you showed to your newborn baby was something not even the best actress could hide. Refusing to hold her after she was born and fully shutting down on Simon, screaming at him whenever he tried to offer any sort of help and support, only getting worse if he ever tried to approach you while holding the baby.

Post-partum depression is no joke, Simon realized after doing his own research, only then realizing just how bad it can get after accidentally stumbling on article upon article of mothers getting to the point of harming their own child. You weren't like that— Simon liked to convince himself despite the growing pit of dread in his stomach, anxiety seeping out of every pore of his body when even months later you refused to hold or interact with the baby.

It all came crashing down after he came back from deployment, the nanny holding his daughter while soothing her with calm words, doing her best to console the crying infant despite the tears falling down her cheeks when she confessed to him that you're gone.

Gone without a trace, at first. Simon wasted no time using his connections to know where you were. Laswell was the most helpful, giving him all the details of the help center you were in, yet even then, Simon didn't reach out first in fear of messing up your progress, not wanting to add more stress to your situation when you were trying to get better.

Four years. For four years, Simon's life was divided in deployments and taking care of his daughter at home, never once thinking about moving on, always asking Laswell for updates— updates she was glad to give him using her own connections, wanting to give Simon some peace of mind even if it went against the rules.

“It's okay.” Simon reassured his daughter, his long sleeves wet with cola that she spilled from her little cup. His home was the complete opposite of the absolute hell he grew up in, not allowing himself to scream, hit, or take out his frustration on the little carbon copy of himself sitting on the couch.

“'M sorry, daddy.” Her sweet voice made the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile, planting a soft kiss on the top of her head, taking off his sweater and putting it away, wasting no time on grabbing a towel to clean up the now sticky mess of coke on the table.

“It's okay, love. Jus' don't tip it, 's gonna spill.” She gave him a small salute in understanding, a cheeky grin on her lips when she saw him holding in his laughter, knowing fully well she's copying him— as usual.

The doorbell ringing got Simon's full attention, giving his daughter one last look before he went to answer. His eyes widened slightly the moment he saw your shorter figure waiting for him, purposely making yourself smaller like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, a small folder held in your hands. You're both quiet for what seems like forever, the only sounds coming from your daughter in the living room, the TV displaying a kid's show Simon put on.

“I'm so so—” You don't even have the chance to finish your sentence before you're being pulled into a tight hug, Simon's burly arms wrapping around your body, every single second spent missing you, secretly hoping you'd come back one day crashes down on him the moment he feels your arms wrap around his waist, holding him as tight as possible, as if he'd disappear if you don't hold onto him for dear life.

“I got better.” You whisper into his ear, rubbing his back soothingly when he doesn't let go of you. Not yet— not when the love of his life is finally back after years. He plants a soft kiss on your shoulder before his face goes back to burying in the crook of your neck, taking in the familiar scent.

It takes minutes for Simon to finally let go, hesitation clear in his actions as he looked down at you, keeping one hand on your waist in silent fear of you seeping through his fingers. The folder in your hand gets his attention, giving you a questioning look before you offer it to him, managing to give him a small smile of reassurance despite all the anxiety and fear.

“My psychotherapist wrote it. It's... just a paper that shows the progress I've made from her perspective.” You stand awkwardly as he reads the document, taking in every single word written by the woman who has been helping your for four long years. You can hear your daughter giggling at the TV show, only making the anxiety in your stomach grow more by the second.

To your surprise, Simon steps out of the way to allow you into the home he created, his safe haven. Nothing changed from the last time you were here, other than toys scattered all over the place, likely from Simon being too busy bonding with his daughter to even clean.

You can see the little girl sitting on the couch as you walk closer, her brown eyes fully focused on the screen until she hears something from behind her. She's so much bigger now, looking like a tiny carbon copy of Simon, down to the little skull-patterned pajamas she was wearing.

She turns around after seeing you from the corner of her eye, her little face lighting up into a toothy grin as she jumps from the couch, sprinting towards you as fast as her little legs allow her to.

“Mommy!” You crouch down to her height out of pure instinct, almost being knocked off balance when she crashes into you, her tiny arms wrapping around your neck. The fact that Simon never stopped talking about you to her and kept your pictures warms your heart, being as delicate as possible as you hug her back.

“Y'look so pretty.” She has Simon's accent, making you let out a small laugh before looking down at her, cupping her cheek just to examine her features better.

“Thank you, sweet girl.” You're glad for the way she cuddles up to you again, not bothering to hide the tears falling down your cheeks at the sheer love displayed by the same girl you left four years ago. Your gaze drifts up to Simon, whose eyes are glossier than usual despite the fact that he's not shedding a tear. He gives you a small nod in acknowledgement, not daring to look away from the heartwarming scene in front of him.

“Daddy talks a lot about you.” She whispers into your ear, covering her mouth as if she's telling you the biggest secret ever. You giggle at the little gossiper, your warm hand running up and down the length of her hair.

“He does?” You whisper back, giving Simon a cheeky look at the admission, one of his thin eyebrows raising when he sees your daughter nod her head vigorously, giggling as she looks at Simon.

“Well, I'm sure he talks a lot about you too.” The pure forgiveness that comes from both of them drowns the guilt, if only for a short while.

“You're such a pretty princess.” Your arms wrap around her again, rocking her softly from side to side, allowing yourself to take in their love. It doesn't take long for Simon's resolve to falter, dropping to his knees and wrapping his burly arms around his girls protectively, planting a little kiss on your forehead.

Despite everything, there's no one else he'd rather spend the rest of his life with.

Dad!Ghost Masterlist

[riddlesrizzler]

We're All Mad Here

summary: You were never meant to leave. characters: mad hatter! mattheo. cheshire cat! enzo. caterpillar! theo. white rabbit! draco. alice! reader warnings: DARK! blood, weird, creepy vibes. mentions of death and gore. word count: 1.4k

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭

The garden twisted around you like a living thing. The air was thick, suffocating, laced with the scent of the damp earth and something ugly, something rotting. The statues lining the hedges weren't right- cracks webbed their marbled faces, their mouths frozen mid scream, their hollow eyes dripping black.

And then there was a boy.

Draco Malfoy

His coat, though still pristine white, was torn at the edges, as if something had been gnawing at the fabric. His skin was too pale, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he ran- no, staggered- past you, clutching a golden pocket watch so hard his fingers had gone bloodless.

"Too late-too late- bloody hell- I'm too late-"

His voice was hoarse, raw with panic. But it was the sound behind him that made the blood in your veins run cold.

A skittering. Fast. Wet. Wrong.

Draco turned his head- just for a moment. That was all it took.

The shadows lurched from the hedges, something long and many- limbed slithered in from the dark.

And then he was gone.

No scream.

Just the sound of bone snapping.

Silence fell.

The garden seemed to breath.

You go to turn to run, this couldn't be right, but the ground was no longer beneath you.

The world collapsed into a vast, gaping, dark hole.

and you fell.

-

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬

When you hit the ground, it moved.

The earth was slick, pulsing, as if you had landed atop of something alive. The air was stagnant, filled with the metallic scent of blood.

The trees stretched impossibly high, their bark dark and gooey, as if they had been crying thick, black tar. No leaves. No wind. Only stillness.

And then-

Laughter.

Low and amused.

"Lost are we, Alice?"

Your breath hitched.

Enzo Berkshire lounged in the branches above, half hidden in the twisting dark. His eyes gleamed, wide and reflective like an animal's, catching the dim, unnatural light. His grin was too sharp. Too wide.

Like his mouth had been cut open just to stretch that far.

"Where-" You voice caught. Your throat burned. You swallowed, trying this again. "Where am I?"

Enzo tilted his head, the movement slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up prey.

"Now that's a question," he murmured. His voice slithered through the silence, curling around your ribs, tightening. "But I have a better one."

His grin widened and stretched.

"How long do you think you'll last?"

You felt something shift around you.

A wet, scraping sound.

Shallow breaths.

You turned-

And froze.

The trees weren't trees at all.

They were bodies.

Twisted, gnarled figures with their mouths sewn shut, their limbs stretched and fused into a grotesque, bark covered forms. Their fingers twitched. Eyes rolled in the sunken sockets, black tears leaking from the corners.

One of them moved.

Its jaw, half-unstitched, creaked open. A single, whispered word slipped free-

"Run."

You did.

Your feet slamming on the shaking ground as Enzo’s laugh cackled around the edges of the forest.

-

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳

The deeper you went. The worse it became.

The sky overhead was off- not a sky at all, but writhing mass of shifting shapes, twisting in ways that made your stomach clench. Something was moving up there. Watching.

Then- a towering shape loomed before you .

A mushroom.

But it was rotting. Black and moldy. Dripping ooze from its thick, bloated stalk, and the smell- God, the smell- was unbearable, heavy with the stench of death.

Atop the mushroom sat him.

Theo Nott.

His long coat was tattered, frayed, and stained with something too dark, something red. His fingers moved idly over the steam of a pipe, inhaling deep, slow breaths. The smoke curled unnaturally, forming shifting shapes that resembled faces.

They were twisted, screaming with no sound, before they disappeared into the air.

He exhaled, and the voices wisped around you.

"You've already lost," Theo muttered, his voice low, knowing.

Your stomach twisted. "Lost what?"

Theo smiled- it was small, at the edge of his lips, yet the tiny gesture was unsettling.

"Yourself."

The voices grew louder as the smoke moved towards you, circling around your fingers, slipping beneath your skin. You could feel them. The ghosts of Wonderland. The ones who had come before. The ones who had gone mad.

You stumble back, choking on the scent of burnt flesh.

Theo's gaze followed you lazily, half-lidded, bored. "I would run if I were you."

The trees contorted violently, their skeletal branches snapping and twisting as if something was crawling beneath their bark, trying to get out. The ground groaned in response.

You took it as a sign to keep running.

-

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺

The tea party was a graveyard.

A massive table stretched before you, impossibly long, its wood blackened and splintered, gouges cut deep in its surface. The chairs were overturned, some shattered into jagged remains. The dishes were broke, porcelain shards glinting like teeth in the dim light.

And the bodies-

They sat in their seats, their faces frozen in time, twisted in horror. Their hands were clawed at their throats, their skin sunken and grey. Rot clung to their bones, the scent was cloying, making you nauseous.

And at the head of it all-

Mattheo Riddle

The king of the mad.

He lounged in his throne-like chair, legs stretched out, fingers idly tapping against the armrest. His top hat sat at an angle, casting his face in a shadow. His smirk was lazy, but his eyes-

His eyes.

They were dark, endless pits, something alive shifting within them, swirling like the sky above.

"Finally," he mused, his voice smooth and deep. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come."

Yow swallowed hard. "What is this place?"

Mattheo chuckled. "You already know, don't you?"

The shadows around the tables moved.

The corpses had turned to look at you.

Hands- rotting, bones- began to twitch, fingers curled.

It had felt like their stares had sucked the air from your lungs, your soul.

Mattheo stood, slowly, like he had all the time in the world. "You still think you can leave, don't you?" he tsked, taking a measured step towards you. The candlelight flickered in his gaze, casting a sharp gleam across his smirk. "Poor, sweet Alice. Always clinging to hope."

You stumbled back, but the moment you moved, the shadows shifted to close you in. The walls seemed further away, stretching into an endless abyss.

Mattheo shook his head.

"You don't understand yet, do you?" His voice was soft, almost gentle as he reached for you, fingers cold as they traced down your arm. "You've been drinking the tea, breathing the smoke, listening to the wind." His smirk widened, and you could see the madness curling beneath his skin. "Wonderland has already seeped into your veins."

His grip tightened.

"And there's no going back."

You pulse hammered. "I-I'm not like you."

Mattheo laughed- low and weighted, the sound settling around you much likes vines that started to take over a building. "Oh, but you are." He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "You were never sane to begin with."

The room twisted. The walls melted, dripping like wax. The floor buckled, and suddenly you were falling, falling-

Mattheo's voice followed you into the abyss.

"You're just as mad as the rest of us, Alice."

[sunflower1experiment]

Willing Risk

Risk

"yOuR pRe-Ecious, exPERIMENT, has not awoken from slumber, why is that?"

His voice scares you, why? Is it because your body can tell when it is threatened, are you now the one who is prey once again? Or is it because something is really wrong with you.

You feel different

You feel, unnerved, curious, hungry.

Something is speaking to you, "It's alright my dear, take your time, I know you're scared, it's okay. If you can hear me then stay silent." Robotic hands begin to caress your face, you remain quiet while your button eyes stare at the ceiling, but the vision was hazy, nothing remains behind those beautiful loving eyes the doctor once adored.

At some point he would remain in his quarters of work, holding you by the face while his screen presses against your soft fabricated body. "I apologize for what I did to you my dear, but here, you are safe."

No, here you felt trapped, and you could tell someone was speaking. Not him but you, "He is wrong."

You stare at yourself, this puppet, doll, porcelain being that you are: "No matter how many times he says so, nothing has changed. He wanted to remove the heart on our sleeve. It is his fault, do you hear me, his fault that we're hungry, his fault that you have this urge....the urge to feed.."

The doll walks towards you, slowly moving its hands around your neck, "I will be patient, one wrong move. I know, you wish to spare the children who seek refuge here and work for Prototype for safety, but....the bigger bodies, the ones who serve him." You both lock eyes for a moment when this doll holds your stomach. "He did this to us, he took our child, children, now he expects us to eat them. How dare he."

For the remainder of the hours that pass, you were quiet, less you, when he shows you the flowers you and him would exchange together. He was met with a blank expression, unmoving, always neutral. It made the doctor a bit shaken, by how you barely react. Were you grey rocking your emotions? So, he grabs one of the critters, placed them in your palms gently. "I wish you'd respond. My dear."

When he leaves you remain still for the time being, listening closely, looking at the surroundings. This was a lab, this was the lab...

The lab of death, pain, torture, every time you closed your eyes you would hear the screams. Screams that would fade into pitiful sobs, sometimes you’d breathe shakily and he’d immediately hold you close in hopes to hear something, anything. But he was met with silence, so he lays you back down, rubbing your hair slowly.

The world fades, you’re so pitiful, yes, your fault, so so pitiful and pathetic….you have to stop acting as if you’re the victim…not when the kids have it worse.

"Mz?" Your eyes snap, now alive, moving anxiously while you breath with a stumbling hobble. "Hey! Don't worry pal, I gotcha." Doey? Which one was it? You start to breath heavily while gripping your stomach.

Memories were now flooding back, and his voice was an earworm that flows in throughout the brain, you needed to see him. "Please don't cry, I- I don't know what to do." Upon hearing Doey's broken voice you pause with clarity roaming over your face, finally calming down you begin to breath normally before sniffling sadly. "....I'm sorry."

"Its not your fault, he killed you. It was terrible."

"No, Doey. It is my fault, I was just trying to grab food from my office but, I wandered then.." The sounds of neck fracturing, limbs being broken, your terrified, blood curdling screams. The way he'd repeatedly apologize yet he didn't stop, the state you were in simply broke Doey when he informed Poppy. Poppy was beside herself, not a day went by, she was imagining the horrors your own lover put you through, each thought became more vivid as they pass. Weeks went by, so she sent Doey to check on you, which is why he was here now.

You rub his head while he lays on your lap for comfort, he deserves better. You'd think to yourself while those memories slowly emerged then they’d leave, that voice was growing, clawing at your throat….does it burn? Or do you just want to scream.

“…..Doey, I need you to go…somewhere for me…deep in the lab I have a hidden food stashed there. It’ll last for a bit…but, once you get them. Do not come back, okay…” He nods while you caress his cheek then press a small kiss against his forehead.

He leaves once again, at least you didn’t scream. But you got up from the table, then began walking through the laboratory. Your ankles shift causing you to stumble, so you just take the chance to learn walking again. As you move deeper within the underground tunnels of this labyrinth, you start to hear screams again, screams that slowly turn into crying. Your body begins shaking violently, eyes shaking while the buttons slowly drip blood, then you feel something else…

Tw// Blood, gore, loss of child, vivid descriptions.

Everywhere you look, all you could see were hallucinations of Harley’s scientists hurting the children, tearing at them, gaslighting them or simply ignoring the children. You breathe out as Riley screams in agony, you wanted to throw up. Your ugly cries and twisted face while the voice scolds you for moving, “Stop thinking about them! Stop digging before you cause our plan to fail!”

You gasp out, blood and drool combine together as it pools the floor. Breathlessly gripping at your seams while your hands dig at them agonizingly, then you lay on the floor, squirming and kicking. No you deserve this! Better yet, you should sit through the pain and squirm while those memories and feelings erupt inside you. Like a wound having peroxide poured all over it, were you insane like your lover? Surely that can’t happen, this can’t be happening, no one was as mad as him!

Then you hear them, the sounds of…crying? A toddler…a baby, you reach down for your stomach: your breathing starts to become ragged, thats when you hear their cries grow louder, louder, “you’re lacking something….”

He caused it, you stare at the floor the memories of your baby after the miscarriage…those babies…Quinn…

Quinn…

Riley…

Marie…

Theo..

Matthew and Kevin…

So many more children….

It was as if his timing was always right at the worst moments, as soon as everything began to click about what happened to you.

Loud screams erupt throughout the underground, the shrieks of anger, sadness, terror. Harley ran in as he finds you screaming and slamming everything off the tables. Your body stumbling mindlessly, the amount of agony your voice held until he hugs you close then shushes your crying form while everything slowly floods out…

The blood, your saliva and then the eyes, the blood tears fell to the ground while Harley holds your face. “What the hell happened!?”

Prototype clicks on his fingers, “iT seEms your EXperiment, knows everything…you wanted them to lack this bleeding heart…your partner used the last of it to mourn.” It points at him.

“yOu dId this, now you will be stuck with whatever your partner displays. Hopefully your experiment knows which side to choose, also….add more traps for Experiment 1322…your plans can only work out so far until my patience is met.”

It leaves, Harley looks down at your now bloody face. Holding you close the tv head carefully nuzzles your cheek, “…..What did you see?”

“….I was trying to protect you…But- I could smell…” you shake your head while you hug yourself..

The being that you considered to be yourself sighs, “We both could smell it and got hungry..but..hah.” You start to laugh as tears fall down, “I could hear everything! Was it the scent? The sudden strong hearing? Or was it the cameras? What did he do to me?”

You turn while it offers you a hand, “He turned us into a doll…no, he turned us into a monster..now, will you snap out of it? Or writhe in pain while he assumes his precious partner is alive and well enough to remain tame by his side?” Your eyes stare at your own, grabbing your own hand, this reflection of your desire to seek revenge. Slowly you look down, your hands showing your robotic phalanges, and doll like hands covering them.

Then you turn to a mirror watching as your button eyes hide your robotic LEDs, carefully you tear at it…then reveal those lights…Now revealing you, for who you are.

You felt…better, felt free, felt…

Hungry…

How much time needs to pass before one realizes the entirety of the bad choice one makes?

Harley had to understand where he went wrong, you loved him. But also felt indifferent, when the words would leave your mouth he felt annoyingly confused, the confusion always made the man angry for his partner.

Why did it have to be you? Not Leith, not the others!? The man’s tv head presses on your head while you hug him close. “…..I will miss your embrace….”

Those were the last words you uttered out to this robotic creature he hosted as, then he was cut off, watching through the cameras as you practically ate the robot, your teeth tear at it’s wires before digging deep for food to devour. Suddenly you pull at its arm and then eat more wiring, licking up the oil…

Displaying your profound love for him, you’d utter out. “I love you” or hold the mangled robot’s hand to your cheek while oil drips from your lips. Mascara drips down your doll like face, while your soft lips touch the screen. “I guess thats why we’re stuck in this hell Swayer…”

You then turn to the screen he watches you through, “Perhaps in the form of twisted love we’re perfectly matched…”

You smile widely as you snap your fingers, the lights cut off, and Harley had to listen to your feet and claws crawl out the room. He felt something he hadn’t felt in so long, was it fear? No, anger…no.

Excitement

“The experiment was perfect…” He utters out, before writing more notes…

His eye lands on the picture of you and him holding each other. You truly were the most..

perfect experiment

—

Deep within the no mans land, the safe haven toys shook with frightened eyes…

“Poppy…” one of the toys ask, holding her hand. She shakes her head with a shaky sob, “He really did it…He killed Mz…” she mourned your death early in case it turns out you were fine, but those screams…the bloody images of your body fills Poppy’s mind.

The blood on your neck, the broken mangling he caused, her mind flicks to Prototype’s hand injecting itself into your chest. She covers her mouth as tears begin to roll down her bloodshot eyes, until Doey came in….

With stacks of food, so much food it made Hoppy and Dogday gasp. “Mz told me about the hidden foodstash.”

He sighs while placing them down, a mini boogie bot shuts the safe haven. “And?”

Hoppy goes to him with a curious gaze, “The doctor turned Mz into a doll…but..it was- hard to decipher…their breathing was normal but the human essences of them was..barely recognizable. It was like boogie bot but the layers..” Doey sits down while the toys take out the organized food, Dogday looks over at Poppy.

“Poppy, you and Kissy said Mz went out…what happened?”

Poppy opens her mouth, nothing could even respond with reason that made sense. “I- we…I warned…nothing I said would even be acknowledged.” He nods in understanding sadness. Kissy then looks around, as if having heard something, she then walks over to the secret entrance with curiosity.

“…..Kissy?” A Bobby bearhug critter follows her, with a small head tilt. She then gasps at the sight before her….

“…….D-Doey!?” Everyone turns over, they see someone in the distance..a cloaked figure.

Who could that be?

The figure then keels over, and lands on the hard ground. This figure….had flowers on its body…why?

Doey moves closer, Poppy does the same. Everything was quiet…

[insanity-all-the-time]

now i'm thinking about the banishing of the names and its making me genuinely crazy

just like imagine the creature that is literally bound to your soul, the one in the world that you are the closest too, someone you have spent your whole life with, sharing thoughts with sharing joy and jokes with. the creature that knows you better than anyone else, better than yourself, the creature that chose you, and stuck by you at your worst and your best.

imagine watching them lose themself completely, lose their name, their identity, their whole self, they're reduced to a wild animal. it's a fate worse than death and all you can do is watch, there's nothing in all your years of magic that can help you now.

your dragon isn't even dead, it's still alive it's standing right in front of you but it's wrong, the look in its eyes is blank, not the intelligent gaze you've come to expect, it's mannerisms have even changed, it holds itself differently too. it's all wrong.

and your struck with the realization that you'll never get your dragon back, even if you survive this they will never be the same, you will never fly above the clouds with them your consciousness melding together, you will never lay under their wings and be known truely, and when you try to call out their name you can't.

every memory you have of them is changed now too, a blank space in your mind and-you realize-your soul itself. maybe you let out an anguished scream but it's not right, you want to be able to call its name, to see even a flicker of recognition in its eyes.

there's nothing though, even as you scream and cry the creature shows no signs of empathy or understanding. it tears you apart, any semblance of sanity you still had is gone.

and like man i would go insane too

anyways i wrote this bc i read a good fic that inspired me so go read that i just reblogged it

[viridian-dagger]

That You Are - 2

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x OC

Rating: Explicit/Mature - 18+ only! Minors DNI

Warnings: sex worker!oc, age gap!, non-explicit discussions of sexual assault and physical assault, vague descriptions of sex work and injuries related to sex work, Abbot has a crush but she has one right back, blood, concussions, loss of consciousness. We're about to get into the meat and potatoes of this fic so strap in

Reminder that this is a companion to Residuals (a Robby x reader fic) by @eureka-its-zico but this can be read on its own. Jenn's character Dr. Fullerton is featured

word count: 2.5k

Author's Note: I'm gonna be so real with yall I forgot about this wip entirely. So sorry for months of waiting 😅 you can thank @escapingjune for reminding me it exists lol and I promise the next part will absolutely take just as long for me to post lmao

Previous

The waiting isn't even the worst part, it's the way Dr. Langdon keeps pacing around. She can see flashes of his hair and a single eye through the slit in the curtain every so often. But she ignores it, ignores him, because the room hasn't stopped spinning yet.

The way she's lost track of time should be concerning but she chalks it up to the disorienting nature of the ER with a dead phone. It's been a while since she's seen Dr. Javadi, who had come back with a smile and a pleased, “you're not pregnant!” Before disappearing back into the chaos. The CT and x-ray haven't happened yet, but Plan B is sitting on top of the pile of clothes three feet from her. 

They told her she should wait to take it until after the CT, and she agreed at the time, but when she sees the three police officers walk in and Dr. Langdon all but sprints over to them, she knows exactly how easy it'll be to slip out the door before anyone notices she's gone. The hospital security guards are mostly there to make sure no one gets in; they don't pay attention to who slips out. 

The world swims and blurs a bit when she stands, keeping Langdon directly in her eye line even though the image of him goes watery when she bends forward to grab her shoes. The gown comes off easily and she has to fight the urge to scream when she pulls the dress over her head; the fabric feels like knives, and the stretch to get it on pulls something deep in her that nearly steals the breath from her lungs. But she pushes through it, pushes through the pain, and snags the little box off the chair before pulling the gown on again over her dress.

As soon as she can see Dr. Langdon turn away, she slips out through the curtain and walks toward the restroom by the ambulance bay that Dr. Javadi took her to earlier — no one questions her, and no one stops her. It's all too easy to disappear into the city.

It takes her a block to ditch the hospital gown and put her heels back on, regretting immediately how they squeeze her toes, but thankfully home isn’t too far from PTMC; the walk home from Presby is far worse. The only thing she’s looking forward to is the warm embrace of her shower, her sweatpants, and her own bed. 

The walk is slow, and she feels almost drunk with the mixture of vertigo and nausea but she makes it home in one piece, stumbling through the door with a sigh. Her shitty studio apartment above a Thai restaurant is far from what she would consider safe, but it's home for now. She almost has the money for something better, for something more, but every time she thinks she’s getting somewhere, Ivan comes to collect. And despite how painful giving him money is, it hurts less than what would happen if she doesn’t pay. She knows what will happen if she denies him, and she can’t risk being out of work for that long.

It’s only when she’s standing under the barely lukewarm spray of her shower head that she lets herself cry. She knows her ribs are broken, and her nose is probably broken too, but thankfully it doesn’t look out of place or crooked. The pain becomes secondary to the burn off fear and anxiety that crawls under her skin. 

Because she hasn’t had a close call like this in years. In fact, she doesn’t think it has ever been this bad. She knew she had been stupid though, careless. Because she had let her own sentimentality cloud her judgement. Because for a moment, under the strobing lights of the club, she thought it could have been him. The silver streaked hair, the impassive expression, the strong but deadly build. She had to do a double take when she saw him sitting at the table. But then she saw the differences between him and the doctor who occupied her thoughts; Dr. Abbot’s hair had a slight curl, he held himself in a way that was powerful but not brutal, and his eyes were never cold.

It took her too long to realize the difference in their eyes was the most important. Because when her client’s eyes went blank and cold with his hands wrapped around her throat, she really thought he was going to kill her. And Dr. Abbot had never been anything but kind and gentle to her, despite the hard exterior he kept, and his eyes were always warm. 

She really hates the way her crush on him makes her feel like a blushing school girl. He’s probably got some pretty wife, a couple of cute kids, and a house in the suburbs — she probably doesn’t even register in his mind beyond being a patient he sees pass through on occasion. But he’s nice to her, and that means something to her. He’s the only doctor she’d seen before today who doesn’t look at her like she’s less than, lacking in some critical way. He just gives her the same wry grin and dry jokes about whatever cause she says her injuries are from.

She crawls into bed and thinks about how grateful she is for Dr. Fullerton and Dr. Javadi — they seemed like they were really trying to help. And she chalks it up to the concussion when her vision blurs with tears she refuses to let fall any more when she thinks about how Dr. Fullerton argued with Dr. Langdon, how she had defended her against his bullshit accusations.

She spends the afternoon dozing and struggling to stay conscious as time passes through her like a sieve. Ten minutes seem to stretch in her mind painfully and unendingly, but the next two hours disappear in an easy sigh. And before she knows it, she has to drag herself out of her bed and get ready for her shift. 

Each step is agony, pulling near silent whimpers from her throat. But she knows she has to go; it's her first night at a new club, one that seems nicer, safer, than the one she's been dancing at a few nights a week since she turned 20. When her life fell apart.

She takes care to cover her rapidly bruising eye first — thankfully the swelling is at a minimum now — but it stings so much she can feel it in her teeth when she has to tap the concealer into the dark spots in the hollow of her eye. She's never been more grateful she doesn't have to kiss anyone tonight, because even the pressure of the cigarette between her lips brings tears to her eyes.

Once she looks normal, again — not a trace of bruising to be found on her face — she goes through the motions. Fixing her hair, dousing herself in glitter, filling her bag with outfits and shoes, and she drags herself out the door again.

This time it's easier to navigate, even with the world tilting on its axis with every blink and the half a can of her energy drink threatening to come back with a vengeance. But she's not balancing on 6 inch platforms this time and she has a pack of cigarettes in her bag, so she'll take the wins where she can find them.

It's dark when she leaves, so the walk is a blur of light and sound, and when she finally gets to the club, the pulsing lights and deafening bass are almost too much to bear. But she swallows the nausea, the near blinding pain, and gets to work.

----

Abbot’s plans for the day go awry when he hears the only other thing he listens to the police scanner for. And once he hears there's a shooter at Pittfest, and all trauma patients are being routed to PTMC, he's already set her far out of his mind. Because they need him, and he needs to be there. 

Chaos is truly the only thing that drives her out of his mind, because there's no time to think, there's only action. And despite how much he hates it, despite how much he wishes the shooting didn't happen; he thrives under the pressure of it. Because he does love his job, and he knows he's good at it too. 

The drive back to the hospital is filled only with thoughts of preparation, mental organization, and deep breaths as he lets go of last night’s shift. He knows Mike is going to be hanging on by a thread, especially with the Dr. Fullerton shaped landmine that strolled into the ER behind Gloria that morning. 

But when he gets there, everything fades into a blurred hum. He assesses, he treats, he moves on to the next.

It's only when the stream of patients slows to a trickle he's able to fully get back into his own head. It's only been a few hours but the exhaustion hits him like a truck. 

He's also glad he’s there because Robby is losing it while dancing around Fullerton, who looks like she’s in the deep end as well. But she’s doing far better than Robby is. Probably because she accepted the hand Robby always refused. But Jack thinks — hopes really — he accepts the hand after tonight, especially after he sees the way the two of them are leaning on each other. 

He hopes they can work their shit out; Robby hasn’t been the same since she left.

PTMC isn't supposed to get any trauma patients after the shooting, but three ambulances come through in rapid succession, and he just knows that it’s Shen’s fault somehow. But his knees threaten to give out when the last one rolls in. Because despite the sheer amount of blood and how swollen her face is, he knows it's her.

For a single, solitary moment, he thinks she’s dead. She’s fucking limp on the gurney and there’s so much blood. But then her eyes flutter open and he can breathe again, but he can’t take a step toward her. He’s rooted to the nurse’s station until he sees Fullerton and Robby run toward her, that’s when he turns and walks into the first trauma bay he can find.

-----

One second, she was upside down on the pole and the next, she's blinking away fluorescent lights that stab into her brain like hot pokers as ceiling tiles pass by.

“Oh thank fuck she’s awake,” she hears someone sigh, but the black spots dancing in her vision completely block them. The voice is familiar, but she can’t place it. “Kat, it’s Dr. Fullerton, you’re back at PTMC. Do you remember what happened?”

The words were stuck in her throat along with the bile that threatened to come out; she’s never felt so dizzy in her life. All she can do is shake her head and hope Dr. Fullerton can see it, but she feels like she’s drowning a little bit, desperate to suck in air.

“Okay, that’s alright,” she says, “We got a call that you fell while you were on stage and hit your head. We’re worried because you had a head injury this morning and didn’t get a CT. Are you dizzy? Nauseous?” 

The urge to lie is there, but the panic overrides that, “Fuck,” she gasps, “yes.”

”Do you have any other pain, Kat?” She hears someone else ask, and her vision swims as she looks around to find him — Dr. Robby. “It sounds like you’re having some difficulty breathing, does it hurt, or does it feel like you can’t breathe?”

”Drowning,” she wheezes back, and the room goes quiet for a second before exploding into chaos. But the sound starts to fade out and the world goes grey before it disappears into nothing.

-----

Jack doesn’t want to think about her, he tries not to think about her, but as soon as he walks out of the trauma room, he’s looking for Fullerton. And his blood goes cold when he sees her braced against her knees against the wall in the hallway. 

He doesn’t remember walking over to her, but he‘s standing in front of her and staring at her, panic choking him, until she surfaces. But when she does, she only looks tired, not distraught. Because Jack knows what loss looks like on her, and this isn’t it.

”What happened?” He forces out, desperate to sound normal despite the fact that he feels raw and exposed in a way that makes his skin crawl. 

“Patient from this morning, obviously beaten but adamant she fell and requested Plan B. Possible orbital fracture and rib fracture—” Jack feels his chest ache. She’d probably been there, in the waiting room, while he worked that morning. “—but she skipped out before we could do CT or x-ray.”

The worst case scenarios filter through his mind as he watches Fullerton, waiting for more information. He won’t act until he knows everything, he knows he shouldn’t act until then, but he feels it clawing up his throat and taking hold of something in his chest. Rage. 

It's an emotion Fullerton shares because she keeps going, face twisting and nostrils flaring in anger. “She left because the cops came looking for her after someone called saying she was aggressive and drug seeking.”

He knows that she’s aware of exactly who called the cops but is trying to hide it. “And now?” He asks, bracing himself for the worst.

”She’s getting scans right now,” Fullerton sighs and he feels his hands start to shake in his pockets. “Thankfully she avoided a pneumothorax from a broken rib pressing on her lung and she lost consciousness right after she came in, but her vitals stabilized after we got her rib shifted. She apparently fell off the stage at the strip club and got knocked out cold. The manager called the ambulance and they brought her to the closest trauma center.” The relief Jack feels is violent and immediate. He knows there’s more, but he doesn’t care. She’s alive, and that’s all that matters. “Michael is worried about the back to back head traumas, and honestly so am I.”

Jack is too; he’s seen her with more concussions than he would like to count, and he knows she’s been to other hospitals in the last few months as well. He presses down the anxiety that threatens to climb up his spine, and keeps himself as neutral as possible. “Let me know when she comes back from scans?”

“She’s been your patient before?” Fullerton asks and Jack can’t lie to her.

“Yeah,” he nods, and the look she gives him has him looking away, but he can see the smirk grow on her face. “She’s one of the ones that sticks in your mind, you know?”

Fullerton’s smile makes him roll his eyes, which only makes her laugh harder. “Ooh, you’re down bad for her aren’t you?”

“I don’t even know what that means,” he lies with a scoff. “Just let me know when she comes back down.” He says, turning around and walking away. Her laugh haunts him as he walks back into the trauma bay, but he’s laughing with her now. Because she is alive, and he won't let her slip away without a conversation this time. 

-----

Taglist: @wayiiseetheworld @equallyshaw @soiiifon @pocket-of-possibilities @beebeechaos

[tan1shere]

Scare You

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: not much to say except enjoy ! I hope this is good :) (it's kinda bad I'm sorry ☹) @omwtfybbbbb

Warnings: none really ! She comforts you

Masterlist

You didn't want to be here. But yet you were forced by your friends. Claiming, "You never got out of your house." - "You're a scardy cat Y/n." - "Loosen up, Y/n." So ofcourse you wanted to prove that wrong. But you were failing. Terribly. So terribly whenever a scare actor would come anywhere near you, you'd hang onto your friends arm for dear life. Was it stupid? Maybe, but you couldn't help the fact you got scared easily. Maybe it was down to childhood trauma so when stuff like this happens it triggers you. It couldn't get worse, surely.

Yup. It does.

You were walking around and for a good amount of time, you thought you were alright. No one had come up to you. Which is why this hurt really bad. One of them, a girl. Comes up behind you grabbing your shoulders briefly and making a loud growl. Your body sinks to the floor curling up into itself as you scream. Billie had faced many people with bad reactions. But not this bad. Not one she'd truly feel sorry for. Your friends tug you up. "Come on, it's fine." But it truly wasn't, you look back at the actor. Tears brimming your eyes slightly.

Her mood changes and her heart aches. She loved her job but not at that price. Sure she loved scaring people but not to the point of tears. This hurt her deeply, and all she wanted was to comfort you. But you were sadly out of sight.

Your friends continue to drag you along until one of them realizes your tears. "Ok, guys maybe we should call it quits for tonight." One of them furrows her brows. "Oh come on, Y/n needs to toughen up a bit." Their voices become distant as they argue. You couldn't take it, standing up and walking off. "Some friends." You mutter, walking along when all of a sudden you feel a hand on your shoulder again. You screech but they shh you calmingly. You turn to face them warily. "Hey its ok. It's just me from earlier." The woman says, taking off her mask. She was gorgeous.

"Oh.." you shy away. "I was going to say it wasn't my intention to scare you but- that's literally my job. I mean-" She sighs. "I just didn't mean to scare you to the point of literal tears." You blink at her. "Are you ok?" Your shoulders just shrug. "I'm so incredibly sorry-" But your tears come again. "I- I didn't even want to come here but my so called friends made me, making me feel like I was pathetic and I just wanted to prove them wrong but I didn't because I truly am pathetic, getting scared over people pretending all because of what happened when i was younger." You sob.

All the sentences were shakily said. She softens her look, going to carefully bring you into a hug. You tightly wrap your arms around her, needing that comfort right now. "They are certainly not friends. Nowhere near that title." Her hands smooth out your hair softly. Your breathing coming back to normal. "Shhh." She gently says. Your eyes close. "You're not pathetic, I promise you angel. I'm scared of alot of things too." You pull away to look at her. "Really? But it can't be anything like this? And I doubt it's silly like mine." "Water."

You stare at her for a second. "Water?" She nods. It honestly made you feel better. "Not so silly now huh?" You give her a faint smile. "You have a beautiful smile, keep it on more." Your cheeks heat up at the compliment. "Thank you for coming back to see me." She smiles, nodding. "It hurt when I saw you were crying I had to make sure you were ok." It was sweet to you. The reassuring nature of this girl was a huge comfort.

"Hey, what do you say we give those 'friends' a run for their money. Literally." She says.

"Great idea."

[i-cant-sing]

I'm not sure what I want to write about but I have this very overwhelmingly strong urge to write about Platonic Yandere Gojo Saturo x teen/adult reader. And not like just light fluff, I'm talking about unhinged yandere Gojo- the one from the latest panels where he was fighting with Sukuna- that Gojo.

Like that Gojo just radiates "buffed up cool dad finally puts his foot down and is now actually low key scary".

Hmm, I mean I could see unhinged Shibuya arc Gojo just going absolutely feral as he drags you away from Toji (your dad) and begins to actively kill him, no matter how much you beg and grovel to spare your father's life. How you can't bare to see your dad taken from you again.

But Gojo? Nah, he doesn't care. He was serious when he took you in (kidnapped u from Naoya/Zenin Clan) and told u that he'll be the father you need.

And he doesn't even have any qualms about knocking you out either, he doesn't need u interfering mid battle and getting injured in the process. He might even hand u over to Yuta and others and cheerfully threaten them to keep you safe while he obliterates Toji, because yes Gojo is 100000% jealous of Toji and you bonding/being closer to each other than u are with Gojo. How fucing dare you??? Does he need to do the speech again?

"Through heavens and earth, I alone am tge honored one" or whatever 🙄🙄🙄

OR OR OR

Listen to me- Romantic yandere UNHINGED Gojo with reader who'd been selected by his clan, trained and raised by them for you to be Gojo's bride. Obviously, growing up Gojo was like "yeahhh, you're not good enough for me" and well treated her like absolute trash (he insulted her) which them lead the clan to be even more harsh on you because why the hell are you still not able to seduce Gojo????? So, basically poor reader is just being absolutely miserable throughout her life until one day the Gojo Clan is finally like "Alright, we gave it our best and Saturo still doesn't like u, so you can work as a maid in our house" and like instantaneously her life turns much better now that she doesn't have the pressure to be the trophy wife/heir producer for Gojo, and reader now can even leave the house to run errands.

But then Gojo notices that there is one less person who was constantly fawning over him, vying for his attention, and he's trying to figure it out who it is when he realises its you! And when he asks his clan about you, they tell him that they demoted u to a servant instead of future Mrs Gojo and Saturo is like "hm. Okay." And it doesn't exactly hit him how much this affected him until he saw you giggling away with some man.

He doesn't react immeadiately, still treating you like you're just nonexistent to him, but deep down, it eats him up the way you were touching that man's arm, the way you looked at him like he hung the stars for you.

Why tf weren't you like this with him?

Whatever. You're just... so beneath him. Why even bother thinking about you?

And then Shibuya arc happens. This man gets trapped in the prison realm and most of his thoughts are occupied by you, and how after be defeats Sukuna and the gang, he's gonna date you and you'll be touching his arm, looking at him with goo goo eyes.

Except when he comes out, for whatever fucking reason, you're fucking clinging onto some guys shoulders, acting like you're a damsel in distress, and if things weren't worse before, they certainly were when you kissed the man in front of him (okay but like u didn't know Gojo was watching u two. Like you were with your man in alley, kissing and hugging each ither lovingly after just barely escaping death from curses and then mf Gojo is just hovering in the sky above you)

Of course, now it's instantaneous death for your man, and then Gojo is just dragging you screaming and crying, and you're like "WHY? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME??" And Gojo very cheerfully tells you, as if he still wasn't covered in blood from your man-

"I don't want my wife-to-be cheating on me."

Like whoa! Where tf did that came from???? And you're all like "What are u talking about??? Your clan ended our relationship- if you could even call it that?? Besides, you're the one who always said that we're not compatible because I'm beneath you."

And Gojo doesn't even bat an eye, as he goes "doesn't matter. You were born for me. You were made for me to marry, play with, discard, do as I please. So don't you ever even look at another man again, or I will be the one to rip your eyes out." And you know that he's capable of doing that after u just witnessed the live demonstration of your man being murdered.

Anyways, jealous Gojo, be it romantic or platonic, is dangerous unhinged Gojo.

Look at him, the tiny waist, the Toji Fushiguro fit.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

In Love and War (6)

Author's Note: This came out angstyyyyyyyyyy, I'm sorry idk what happened. It's gotta get worse before it gets better, I guess.

Content Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Azriel using Truth-Teller, Mentions of Abuse/Death

Chapter 5/ Masterlist

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

I can’t breathe. The walls of the tent close in, the dark leather pressing in closer and closer. If the ground were to open up and swallow me right now, I wouldn’t even have the presence of mind to scream. The fall would be a welcome reprieve from the roaring of my heart in my own ears.

What does he mean our fathers killed each other?  

It’s wrong. He’s wrong! He’s lying. He has to be lying!

I roll over so I can face him, so close on this small mat that our noses brush. His violet eyes glow in the darkness of the tent. “What do you mean?” The panic that edges my voice makes me sound shrill, even in my own ears.

I don’t want him to answer, but I desperately need him to tell me everything all at once. The wine threatens to come back up in a rush as his hand skims up my side to cup my cheek, “Tamlin didn’t tell you?”

How dare him touch me while we have this conversation; what is so broken and wrong inside of me that I let him? I know that I am shaking in his grip and when he starts rubbing calming circles into my cheek with his thumb I lean into that touch like it might give me one last life line to cling to.

“He said you killed my father.”

He stills, wings fluttering; I feel it pass through him like its own little draft, skittering across his wings. A dark mist follows, seeping from his skin. 

I know we’re not supposed to be talking about this, but the words are already out, whether from the wine or by the sheer desperation I feel crawling beneath my skin. I need to know! I need to know that everything I had believed was true. That all that I was doing this for was not based on a lie. 

He brushes his nose over mine, lips ghosting over my forehead. “When I see what they have done to you, I wish I had killed them both.”

My stomach twists. No. No. This can’t be happening!

“But no, it was my father, in retribution for what they had done.”

But I saw him holding the sword! I saw him leave the tent! I never saw his father’s body and Tamlin had always said he arrived too late to save any of them, that all he could do was fend Rhys off to keep him from slaughtering what was left of us. 

The confusion must be evident on my face, because he asks, “You really don’t know, do you?”

It’s more than a little patronizing but I don’t even have the energy to be angry about it, because my whole life is a lie! I’ve spent decades hating him. I just offered up my body and possibly my future to destroy him for nothing? For something his father, who’s long dead, did?

“Maybe we should talk about this in the morning,” he suggests and it’s definitely because I’m crying now and not because he’s trying to avoid it. 

My throat feels like it;s closing. “No!” And it’s then that I feel the faintest prick of fangs growing behind my lips. “Please just tell me.”

His thumb soothes over my cheek again, like he can feel the sudden shift in my being. I don’t know where that rush of power comes from. Maybe it is some sort of effect of being so close to him while he repairs the wards. 

“Rhys!” It’s always Azriel that interrupts us somehow, the shadowy male hurtling into the tent with that wicked looking dagger in hand. “We’ve got movement in the hills.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Now? Of all the Cauldron damned times for Amarantha to show herself, it has to be right now?!

Rhysand is on his feet in an instant, reaching for my discarded chest piece and ushering me into it, our conversation forgotten. “How many?”

I wish I could say I possess his ability to compartmentalize tasks, but despite the worst possible danger knocking on our unguarded and unwarded doors, all I can think about is how desperately we need to finish this conversation. 

“Five, a scout and four chargers. I’ve got Nox and Avos on their trail, but I don’t see any marks yet.” Azriel continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

Rhysand slings my quiver and bow over my shoulders again, checking all the straps to ensure they’re in place. He’d never taken his own armor off, only the belt for his sword, he uses a tendril of shadowy darkness to strap it into place while he finishes with me. “Stay with her.”

Azriel eyes me like I’m a pile of shit he accidentally stepped in, but I’m too busy trying to wipe my eyes on my sleeves to care. “You might need me out there,” he protests.

“Might,” Rhysand counters, stalking out of the tent in search of his horse. “But I definitely need you here more.” He grabs the reins on his horse, the mount still saddled, just in case we’d needed to leave in a hurry. Dinner threatens to come back up as I watch him slide into his cloak. I’ve spent my life hating that triple star pattern that will sit over his eyes, cursing his existence, wishing him every pain and misery imaginable for ruining my life and it wasn’t even his fault?

The ground is unsteady beneath my feet, I feel myself stumble and sway and I can’t tell if it’s the wine or the reality of the situation that makes my legs feel like jelly. 

I want to go home! I want this to be a bad dream. 

For a moment, I think he might simply toss the cowl over his head and mount up, leaving me to sit here in the misery of our half finished conversation, but he comes back a moment later, hand sliding into my hair as he tilts my head back and kisses me swiftly.

He should taste as bitter as the wine we’d shared. I should feel nothing but misery when he slips his tongue behind my teeth, but when he has me like this, nothing else matters. There doesn’t have to be anything between us. I do not feel like some broken, wretched thing.

“Don’t leave Azriel’s side,” he says as he pulls away. “We’ll finish our conversation when I return, I promise.” Then he mounts up, calling for half of the men as he goes. The thundering sound of the horses hooves as they race down into the grassy hills beneath us makes it feel like we’re standing in the center of an earthquake.

There’s enough moonlight to watch them go, their mounts and flowing capes in the wind making them appear like wraiths racing towards the enemy. 

With half of the men gone, and two scouting, that leaves Azriel and four other men to guard camp. None of them look too happy about it, least of all Azriel, who keeps watching me out of the corner of his eye like he thinks I might disappear at a moment’s notice. I remain next to him, anxiously shifting my weight from foot to foot, hoping the chill on the wind might wake my dull senses up.

Shadows drift off Azriel’s shoulders, but unlike Rhysand’s that always stay curled around his body, Azriel’s drift off like inky tendrils, testing the wind around him. Some slither along the ground like snakes, searching through patches of grass for an unwanted scent, others drift away, testing the wind for him. One remains perched over his ear, and I hear the faint sound of whispering like the shadows are reporting what they find. 

We can no longer see the others, and I spin slowly around in a circle, taking stock of my surroundings. We’re a little higher than the base of the mountain, perched on a cleft in the rock for a better vantage point. The ward remains behind us, I think, without the trail of Rhysand’s magic, I still can’t see or feel this one. To the left and right, the rocky base of the mountain is dotted with ancient trees, some thicker than a house, but the coming winter has stolen their leaves, no vantage point for archers to be had there without being sitting ducks. Beneath us, the rolling hills of grass stretch far out of sight. If Amarantha brought an army behind those first five riders, she’s hidden it well. Still, the thought makes a chill run up my spine and I keep a hand around the hilt of my dagger, just in case.

Azriel does nothing to quell my nerves, just stands there, still as a statue, listening to his shadows, eyes glued to the horizon. I can’t help but wonder if his shadows show him things as much as they tell him. Can he see Rhysand right now?

My stomach twists at the thought. I can’t see him. I can’t hear if he’s ok. There’s nothing in my arsenal to tell me that he’s coming back. And Cauldron boil me, I want him to come back. If he dies without finishing our conversation, I might never learn what happened. Whether it’s the truth or not is yet to be seen, but Tamlin’s account and his account are different, and I will be damned if I don’t get some answers from someone. 

The hand not holding my dagger reaches up to rub at the scar above my ear, hidden under my hair. Tam and I had been fighting that day, he’d been on edge about something and when I’d pushed too hard he’d shoved me right into the corner of a table. I’d been in the healer’s tent getting stitches; all these years I’d thought it was the Mother looking out for me, that little accident might have just saved my life. But looking at it now, I can’t help but wonder if it kept me from seeing the truth. 

I shift my weight again and Azriel’s gaze flicks back to me once more, irritated, like I’m somehow distracting him. 

“Sorry,” I mutter, locking my knees.

I can stand still, it’s fine. I force myself to focus on my breathing, but in the silence there’s one nagging thought that eats at me: Do I really believe Rhysand is telling the truth? I take him to bed one time, accept a couple gifts from him, and what? Believe everything he says as truth? Are claims of a mating bond really enough to make me believe he’d be open and honest with me? A mating bond certainly hadn’t saved my mother.

I close my eyes at the thought of her, chest aching. Did I believe Rhysand was right about that too? That my father had used her powers to try and breed powerful sons, not because he’d loved her? I’d certainly never seen my parents be affectionate towards each other, not even in the way Rhysand was with me. They’d never held hands, never ridden out together. He’d kept her clothed and fed, sure, and entertained her obsession with fairytales when it suited him. My mother told me, on one of her days of clarity, that he’d carved her rocking chair for her when he’d found out she was pregnant with Tam. But I never saw him be warm with her. I’m not even sure I ever saw them kiss, even on the cheek. But a lack of affection in public didn’t mean he cared so little about her he let her, supposed, powers drive her insane, did it?

“A scout’s coming back,” Azriel says, breaking me out of my thoughts. 

My eyes snap open as the rider crests the hillside and comes into view. Illyrian mounts really are beautiful, all sleek muscle and rippling midnight black manes. Together they make a lot of noise, but alone, they’re pretty damn quiet until their hooves hit rock.

Azriel motions me to follow him as he goes to the edge of the cleft in the rocks and waits as the scout approaches. “Well?”

“Not Amarantha,” the scout says and I let out a breath of relief. 

“Who the fuck would come out here then?” Someone behind me challenges. 

“Spring,” the scout says and all the blood drains from my face.

Azriel glances at me, but there’s pity in his hazel gaze this time. 

I swallow the lump in my throat. Not now, I’m not ready to see them yet! 

“What do they want?” I’m having a hard time processing that Tam would waste resources looking for me, especially when we’ve barely had horses to spare to move camp, let alone ride all the way out here.

“Proof you’re alive,” the scout says, holding out his hand.

It’s Azriel that smacks his hand away. “She only rides with me or Rhys.”

The mount shifts beneath the scout, his hood falling even lower down his face. Something feels off about it and I glance at Azriel for confirmation I’m not alone. He nods at me as he steps closer, hand on the small of my back as he leads me to where his own mount chews on a dying patch of grass. 

“Be ready,” he says in my ear.

The scout fidgets in his seat like he’s not used to riding in one and it’s that more than anything that has Azriel’s shadows flying off his shoulders to grab the rider by the wrist and yank him out of the saddle. He slams into the ground with a scream, the sound of bones crunching against rock so loud I wince as Azriel hoists me up into his saddle. 

I grab the reins to keep the horse steady, trying desperately to remember where Rhysand had held his hands when I rode with him. 

Azriel stalks over to the male, wings flaring as he knocks the back of the hood back with the tip of his dagger. Even in the moonlight, I know what swatch of dark hair and golden eyes. One of Tamlin’s Wolves, Andras. Of course he wouldn’t know how to ride, we’d survived a lot of skirmishes over the years because Tam had used his shapeshifting powers to change the men into beasts to fight. 

Azriel crouches in front of him as Andras grips his clearly broken shoulder. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

Andras’ gaze flicks to me first. Thankfully, Azriel’s horse is a lot more patient than the others and my own nervous energy hasn’t caused it to run off. If anything, I think the animal cares less about my presence than its usual rider, because it goes back to eating.

“Your whore of a warlord-” that’s as far as Andras gets before Azriel slams the hilt of his dagger into the other male’s throat.

“Start like that again and I’ll make sure you never use that shoulder,” Azriel threatens with so much venom, I shiver. 

Andras coughs, good hand reaching for his throat and Azriel slams the blade clean through his forearm, pinning him in place.

I look away as Andras screams. He is not my friend, I can do nothing. I have always done nothing. The males have their fights and their quarrels and I have always stood on the sidelines waiting for the violence to pass like a good girl. 

“Ok! Ok!” Andras rasps. “I had orders to get into the camp and get Y/N, that’s it!”

But wasn’t being tired of standing on the sidelines that prompted me to stay here in the first place? Wasn’t I trying to make things better for my people? How was sitting here helping them?

“What about the others?” Azriel questions. 

“I don’t know! Lucien was supposed to handle that.” Andras replies through gritted teeth.

Do I even want to help them? If Rhysand was telling the truth, whose side am I even on? My head hurts from the questions, my stomach still churning end over end. I don’t know what to do.

“Where’s Tamlin?” Azriel asks as he rips the dagger out. 

Andras screams, the sound echoing off the rocks. “There’s only five of us! Tamlin never left camp.”

Of course he would send Lucien and not risk coming out here himself. That would put him face to face with Rhysand and he’d lose. And looking at it now, I realize that he knows it. He’s always known it. I rub a hand over the scar on my hand. Did he know about the bond too? Had that been why he was always so sure that I knew Rhysand was the enemy?

Azriel raises the dagger to make another cut and Andras screams, “I swear I’m telling the truth!”

“Azriel,” my voice is steadier than I feel and all eyes suddenly turn to me. I need to get answers. I need to do something. “Take me out there please.” 

“No.”

I tighten my grip on the reins. I’ll go out there myself if I have to. “If it’s Lucien, then it’s not a fight they’re having. Let me diffuse this.” I’m not sure I mean those words; I’m not sure I have the power to do anything but watch horror after horror unfold around me, but I know that I have to try. I have to attempt to put my life back together. I have to find some bit of order or I’ll go insane. Besides, this is Lucien we’re talking about! Surely he could see reason, right?

Andras is looking at me like I’ve grown a second head. 

“Tie him up,” Azriel says to one of the others as he stands and wipes his blade on a cloth that hangs from his belt. “I’m not done with him.”

“But I don’t know anything!” Andras protests as two men haul him to his feet, wrenching his broken shoulder in the process. Blood drips from his forearm, down his fingers. Regardless of the confusion I feel swirling around inside me, he’s still a part of my people. Lucien is still family. If I can keep any more bloodshed from happening between our two people I will. 

“I can work this out. Not everything has to be a bloodbath.”

Azriel swings himself into the saddle behind me and steals the reins. “If I so much as hear an arrow being fired, we’re turning back around.” He snarls.

“Fine,” I concede, because at least it meant I tried. 

“Rhys is gonna kill me for this.”

----

I’m not convinced Azriel’s horse isn’t a wraith. It’s almost completely silent, save for the softest hint of breathing imaginable. When it breathes, little wisps of shadows escape out its nose. I wish I had time to ask him about it, but there’s none, not as we race over the hills, fast as the wind. 

No arrows rise up to meet us, so at least I’ve been, so far, correct about Lucien not leading an ambush. Their scout must have taken down one of Rhysand’s and stolen his mount and cloak to look presentable. At least, I tell myself it was just that and not that Lucien ordered a man killed to try and get to me. Lucien, who would sneak me snacks and who secretly taught me how to fish; Lucien who used to braid my hair for me while we sat on the creek bed, making jokes. Lucien who had always been a spot of sunlight in my world, who looked after me like a brother, and promised to scare away any suitors who made me uncomfortable. Lucien was a good male; the best of us, even, the thought that he might be capable of such violence makes me nauseous. I have had too many life changing questions hurled my way tonight, I cannot bear another one, especially not about him.

We crest a particularly large hill and finally get a glimpse of the Illyrian riders. They’re not fighting. In fact, they’re just standing there, in formation behind Rhysand’s horse. The warlord himself stands in front of it, shrouded in that heavy cloak, facing off against Lucien and his three dismounted riders. They’re all armed, but no one is actively fighting each other, I take that as a good sign.

Though Lucien doesn’t look particularly pleased to see me riding with Azriel, nothing but unbridled horror crossing his scarred face as we approach. 

When we get to the bottom of the hill, I jump off the horse, much to Azriel’s dismay. 

Lucien takes a step towards me, but growling, Rhysand steps in front of him. “Touch her and you’re dead, Vanserra.”

The men move to let me pass through and I focus all my energy on breathing evenly as I walk towards them. Does Lucien know? Did he hide this from me too? Or was he just as blind as I was?

“Y/N, are you all right?” Lucien asks, his metal eye whirring as he looks me over. 

My chest feels like it’s gonna rip right down the middle and spill my heart right out onto the floor. I don’t know who to believe. I don’t know who I want to believe. This is Lucien we’re talking about, he would never willingly hurt me. He comforted me when my entire world fell apart, he helped Tam and I bury them. I want so desperately for all these onlookers to leave, so it’s just the three of us and the truth, but the way they all stand there, armed and ready tells me that’s not happening. There hasn’t already been bloodshed here, because Lucien was waiting for Andras to give him some sort of signal that it wasn’t necessary. Because he was expecting to be able to just kidnap me.

Why do all these males constantly treat me like I’m just an object to be snatched up on their whims?

Rhysand’s hooded head is angled in my direction, watching my approach through the stars in his cowl. I don’t like that I can’t see his eyes. He doesn’t look like the Rhysand who’d just been holding me. He looks like the male I remember from my nightmares.

And Lucien looks like someone I don’t recognize at all.

How am I supposed to make sense out of any of this? Seeing them doesn’t make it easier. 

The Illyrians shift behind me, horses snuffing in agitation, kicking up loose strands of grass. I feel their unease as easily as I can see it in the males behind Lucien. Maybe this isn’t the time for answers, maybe all I can do right now is keep them from killing each other. Regardless of who’s right here, I don’t want to see either males hurt.

“I’m fine,” I lie as I come to a stop at Rhysand’s side. His gloved fingers brush mine like he might take my hand, but he doesn’t. 

Lucien stares back and forth between us. “I wouldn’t call being kidnapped fine.”

Rhys growls again, the sound skittering over my spine, “But you’d call letting her starve to death on a solo hunt fine?”

Lucien’s mouth pulls back in a grimace. “Tam made a mistake, he admits it-”

“He admits it?” His wings shake behind him, darkness drifting in waves from beneath them until it shrouds him more than the cloak. There’s so much of it Lucien retreats a step. “How brave of him to admit he fucked up and yet he still let it go on this long before someone came looking.”

Lucien keeps his gaze on me. “It won’t happen again. We’ve talked about it. Trust me, next time-”

“There is no next time,” Rhysand snarls. “She’s not going back with you!”

Lucien’s hand falls to his sword hilt, but his gaze remains on me. “Let her come home. Let this be settled and done. Tamlin sent money-”

A whip made of starlight appears in Rhysand’s hand, knocking the bag of coins Lucien pulls off his belt from his hand and scattering it across the grass. All of the men with Lucien draw their swords, even as the redhead tightly grips his own. Rhysand can easily kill him here and he will if Lucien keeps talking. I need to diffuse this, I need them all to leave each other alone. I’m not done here, and even if Lucien won’t understand it, I can’t bear to see him get hurt.

“He’s my mate,” I say and the words taste like a betrayal.

Lucien’s face twists in a mixture of horror and disgust.

“No one is keeping me here against my will.” Well, mostly. It’s not like I’ve put that to the test, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

“That can’t be true,” it comes out like a whisper, as if he doesn’t want to believe it. I suppose, if our places were switched, I wouldn’t want to either. “You did something to her.”

Rhysand huffs, “I didn’t and I wouldn’t.”

“Like you didn’t slaughter thousands for Amarantha?” Lucien snarls.

Rhysand freezes, still as death beside me.

Azriel, silent in the grass, has come up behind me, his presence a steadying energy amidst the chaos I feel swirling around us. What does he mean he killed for Amarantha? Isn’t he trying to kill her?

“That’s enough,” Azriel hisses. “The lady told you she doesn’t want to go back with you. Respect that and go.”

Lucien doesn’t move. “He didn’t tell you that, did he, Y/N?”

“Leave!” Azriel snarls.

“I’m sure he didn’t tell you how he whored himself out to her either. Why do you think the Illyrians have so much land?”

Azriel steps around me, shadows swirling, dagger in hand, but it’s Rhysand, who’s now almost wholly surrounded by a dark mist, that puts out a hand to stop him. “Everything I did, I did for my people,” he says in a voice that’s so low I almost can’t hear it over the wind. “Everything Tamlin is doing now is for himself.”

“How noble,” Lucien snarls. “If your intentions are so pure, let her go.”

Rhysand turns to look at me, pushing the cowl off his head so I can see his face. The moonlight doesn’t hide the shadows under his eyes, or the weight I see crushing down on his shoulders. It’s impossible to miss the way his wings droop behind him. My chest aches at the sight of him, something clawing in desperation beneath my skin begging me to find a way to take that burden from him. 

“Do you want to go back with him?” He asks.

I don’t know if what he’s said tonight is true or a lie, but I know here and now that if I said yes he’d let me walk away. No strings attached, if I took Lucien’s hand and got on that horse, he wouldn’t fight me.

I don’t know what I want any more. I don’t know who I am anymore. Everything I have built my life on feels like it's crumbling beneath my feet. And everyone is just standing there watching it happen. 

No one has ever offered me a choice like this before. My whole life I have been told where to go and who to be and given one taste of freedom I had still followed exactly what was expected of me, hoping that it would finally make me feel at peace. But I haven’t felt a moment of peace in all of it, except when I was in Rhysand’s arms. It’s impossible that he of all people could make me feel like that. It shouldn’t be this way. 

And Lucien, who I always considered another brother, who shared food at my table and always made me feel like I wasn’t a waste of space, was now someone I didn’t recognize. There is no sign of Rhysand’s missing rider among them. I don’t know if he’s dead or not, probably, judging by the way Lucien keeps looking at Rhys like he’s an animal. 

It’s a startling sight, not because I would have looked at him like that myself a couple days ago, but because that’s how Tam always looked at me. Like I was some thing that was so inherently wrong; some creature that needed to be tamed and bridled. Those pointed tips of the fangs I felt try to make an appearance earlier have come back, poking into my lower lip. I feel something shifting beneath my skin, a beast awakening from some deep slumber. My hands open and close reflexively at my side. The stirring feeling is strongest in my chest, right where I sometimes feel that weird pressure that’s somehow tied to Rhys.

“No, I don’t want to go back with him,” the words are steadier than I feel, my chin raised. I do not cower from them, or the fact that I mean them. Even though Lucien looks like I’ve punched him in the gut. I can’t go back. Not until I have the truth. Not until I can make sense of all this mess I feel in my head and in my heart. 

“Tamlin won’t take me back anyway,” I pull the gaps in the arms of my sweater down, so he can see the stars inked across my skin. “Nor do I feel like being tossed out again.”

“Y/N…” Lucien shakes his head, auburn hair flying around his tan face. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Rhysand won’t stop staring at me. I think he’s waiting for me to change my mind. 

“Please leave, Lucien,” I say, only looking at Rhys. I’m a terrible person, because there is so much unbridled hope in his eyes, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, waiting for me to take my chance and run; I’d been playing games this whole time, he hadn’t.

He hadn’t been playing games. 

I’d used him, taken what I needed, and had planned to throw him out when I was done. Even if he had killed me father, I was still… I was still just like my own father. The realization nearly knocks me off my feet. What have I done?

“This isn’t the end of this,” Lucien hisses as he backs up, never leaving himself exposed, even as he reaches for his mount. The horse is old, it’s mane patchy and unkept, I’m not sure how it carried Lucien here, let alone how he expected it to carry the both of us. “Tamlin will consider this a breach of your agreement.”

“We agreed not to kill each other,” Rhysand returns. “If he comes at me now, then he’s the one that broke that agreement, not me.” 

Lucien swings into the saddle with ease, mount shifting slightly beneath him. “What of my scout?”

“What of mine?” Azriel returns.

“Food for the vultures,” Lucien snarls and my heart sinks even further. What if I’ve been wrong about everybody, not just Rhys?

“Then so is yours,” Azriel returns.

Lucien leaves with the remainder of his men, no further fight for Andras life to be had. Rhysand watches them go, wings still drooped behind them like they are impossibly heavy. I should try and comfort him, as that thing in my chest demands, but I can’t. My limbs refuse to move, feet rooted in the grass. What have I done? Where did I go wrong in all of this? I was just trying to do what I thought was right, but I’m not sure I know what that looks like anymore.

“Are you all right?” Rhysand asks once they’re gone. On instinct, he’s throwing his cloak around my shoulders again, cocooning me in that blissful pocket of warmth that smells like him. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve any of his kindness. 

“I don’t know,” the words slip out of me. I can’t think past the roaring in my ears. What have I done?

His hand falls to my back, gently leading me back to his horse. 

“For the record-” Azriel starts, but Rhysand cuts him off, “I know, Az. Thank you for staying with her.”

I think, even as we mount back up to return to camp, we would have all been better off tonight if this had been a fight with Amarantha.

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

Tag List:

@judig92, @randomperson1234sblog, @nyxbranwenn, @lilah-asteria, @barb00235, @landofpetrichor, @hjgdhghoe, @buttermilktea11, @yourforeveryoungblog, @sassyn, @zoeisdreaming6, @minnieoo, @girl-math-aint-mathing, @raisam, @inloveallthetime, @blessthepizzaman

[anomaly-076]

Tkdb characters comforting you after finding you having a mental breakdown

‎‧₊˚✿Masterlist✿˚₊‧

♦ I've been writing a bullet-point HC style a lot recently so I decided to switch it up ^^ Reader and the character are written as friends, but can be read as dating (or more ;))... [Apologies for the differences in length, but some scenarios just came out that way U.U]♦

Characters: Alan, Sho, Haru, Haku, Jiro, Professor Dante, + a bonus secret character :D

    ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Alan quietly enters your room to see you angrily pacing back and forth, dodging some flying object by mere inches you angrily threw without a care for where it would hit and land.

"Hey, everything okay?"

You head snaps in his direction. Angry stare ready to scorch your intruder not softening even after realizing it was just Alan. Normally you might be able to snap out of your on edge state, but not right now.

"Everything okay? You wanna know what's not okay? I'll tell you... Every. Fucking. Thing!" you spit into his face, getting so up close you can smell the sweat mixed with motor oil that seems to follow Alan everywhere.

If it were any other Vagastrom student, they'd be already thrown across the room, but in your case, Alan is even too stunned to consider that an option. This is the first time Alan sees you ready to set stuff ablaze with your sight alone. He's sure that if your stigma were related to fire, the whole dorm would be on fire.

"Hey now..." Alan finally says something after a few seconds of returning your intense eye-contact.

You don't answer and instead turn on your heel and kick something out of your way as you stomp to sit on your bed.

Only now does Alan have the chance to look around. The walls are dented more than they were before, there's pages torn from a notebook scattered all over the floor and all your stuff is a complete mess, indicating that your rampage has been going on for a quite long time.

A shaky breath coming from your slumped form draws his attention back to you. Are... Are you crying?

Alan is still unmoved from his position at the door. A weird feeling washes over him as he sees you bury your head in your hands and slide them up into your hair to pull on it. Your torso folds forward to dangle between your spread legs as you start to let out breathy sobs.

He's unsure of what to do. He's never been one to deal with emotions, let alone help someone else deal with them. A slight panic starts to take over him.

Then, as if his body moved on its own, Alan finds himself crossing the mess of a floor, stepping over anything scattered there, to sit next to you on your bed.

"Hey..." he tries to say as softly and compassionate as he's able to, but you either don't hear him or pay any attention to him.

"Hey." Alan says again, this time louder and tries to bring you back to reality by running his palm down your back.

You finally seem to snap out of the worst and your torso slightly rises for you to look at Alan from the side of your tear-filled eye.

"Hey, c'mon..." it comes out as another attempt from Alan to comfort you, but in reality he's begging for you to stop. Your crying makes something inside him feel bad, almost painful and he's begging you to stop crying so the unpleasant feeling goes away.

And you wish you could stop, but the tears just keep on coming and there's no stopping. You just shake your head and look back down on the floor, but you do try to control your sobs and reduce them to mere hiccups.

"I... S-something bothering you?" Alan is unsure how to talk to you without making your situation worse again. To him, it feels like most things he'd try to say will end up being the wrong choice.

Thankfully, you fully rise back up with a sigh and look at Alan with now fully red and puffy eyes, heavy with exhaustion.

"I'm just so fed up and tired with everything..." your voice is shaky and coarse like you've spent the better part of the past our angrily half screaming to yourself (which you did and Leo, being Leo, overheard it and sent Alan to investigate).

"Hey, I'm here... You can talk... or... not..." Alan trails off. In talking about feelings he's even more helpless than at consoling someone. So he just awkwardly puts his hand around you and pulls his closer to him so your sides are touching.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

"Hey Y/N, I got my R&R approved. You wanna go for a dri- huh?" Sho walks into your room without knocking, like he usually does, but immediately stops in his tracks once he doesn't see you any of your usual activities you'd normally do at this time. His eyes scan the room until they land on your curled up form in a corner of your room, whimpering.

"Woah... Y/N, you with me here?" he quickly makes his way towards you and falls to his knees right in front of you. From the state you're in, he's unable to tell what is actually wrong and the only way he can find out what, is by you telling him.

Your head pick up to reveal an empty stare, void of any spark of emotion, and Sho immediately understands.

"Hey now..." he pries your hands off your legs from clutching them close to your chest. His strong hands spread your legs apart to pull you into his lap and hold you against his chest, cradling you.

Reluctantly, you hands wrap around Sho's back, returning his close embrace as you hide your face in his neck. The smell of cologne and the food from his truck hits your nose and comforts you to some degree.

As his own hands roam over your back, Sho hums softly and nuzzles his head against yours. Originally, he wanted to go visit some new bike parts place since he finally managed to get approval to leave Darkwick, but now he's more than anything interested in making sure you're okay.

In his head he's already coming up with a list of stuff that you might wanna do to make you feel better from what he remembers you told him you liked. Thankfully Leo's R&R was approved too, so he won't barge in on the two of you. Sho or you wouldn't hear the end of it.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Everything is loud. So loud. Too loud!

The sound of animals in their pens. Ren watching some movie or playing one of his games and complaining about Haru. Someone's footsteps outside your door in the common room. The banging of pots and pans in the kitchen. And the there's that damn scratching of something against a piece of wood!

That sound is about to drive you crazy in your frantic, borderline panic attack state. There's a slight pounding in your head and your breath is quick as you pace around your room like and animal in a tiny cage.

Oh great... Now the footsteps are getting louder. Just what you need...

"What is it Peekaboo? Hm?... Oh!" you can hear Haru's voice from the other side of your door shortly followed by brisk knocks on your door.

"Kinda busy..." your response comes out as a low growl, similar to some of the anomalies in Jabberwock's care.

"Ah... But Y/N, Peekaboo is worried. He says you've been walking around like that for a while now. Don't your feet hurt?" with your eyes trained on the door now, you can see the handle move as Haru tries to open the door. Luckily you locked it while your hands were still able to not shake as much as they do right now.

You ignore Haru's worried question and growl to yourself instead. He's always so cheery, it annoys you to no end right now.

Your door flies open and stops you dead in your tracks. Of course, you should've known that locks won't stop Haru.

A flock of anomalous animals flood into your room through the now open door with Haru standing in them.

"Y/N!"he exclaims in dismay upon seeing the state you're in. All the animals are around you. Some are jumping up at you and some are biting your ankles as a sign of affection, all trying to cheer you up, able to feel the mood you're in.

"Boo..." Peekaboo silently chirps in, echoing Haru's tone of voice. If you were able to look closer, you'd be able to notice he's got tears in his eyes.

"Y/N! Are you okay?" as Haru approaches you, the animals around you scatter away from you, giving him more space to assess your state.

"I- I'on... S'-s'just... Guess... I j-just..." you struggle to formulate your thoughts. They're racing too fast to be able to catch just one of them.

"Hey, hey, hey, slow down Y/N. Just breathe..." Haru guides you to sit down of the ground and takes a deep breath with you.

"Focus on me and breathe, okay?" his voice is gentle, very different from his usual demeanor while trying to advertise capybus tours.

As Haru talks you down from your frantic state and helps you breathe your way through, the animals come and join you, some trying to calm you in their own way and some resorting to just taking a nap around you.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

You've been working on your project for so long and now you're just going to ruin it with your tears. Great. Just another thing to make your mood worse. This project has been taking so much out of you, you don't even want to finish it.

"Mental health check!" Haku hums, peaking into your room. You've told him about your project and how much it's driving you insane, so he's been checking in on you the whole time.

After seeing you openly sobbing above your project you'd worked so hard on already, he's quick to slip into your room and move it away from you so you don't ruin it any further.

Before you're even aware of his presence over your tears, Haku is already picking you up and carrying you to your bed. After getting on it himself, he positions you in his lap, facing away from your desk, which would remind you of that mess that's been ruining your life for the past month or so.

"Aw, come on now... You're doing a great job. I'm really excited for it to be done and I know it'll be amazing just like everything else you've done." Haku tries to calm you down as one of his hands strokes your cheek.

"B-but i-it's not w-working... I-it sh-should, but isn't..." you sob and your upper body threatens to collapse onto Haku from the strength of them.

"Hey... Hey..." Haku brings his other hand to pick up your face and look at him, "It will work, you just need to take a break."

"N-no, it w-won't... I-i've bee working on it fo-for so long and it just won't... I'll just ha-have to cancel the-"

"No, please don't do that... I'll help you. We're all so looking for you to get it out there..." Haku tries to wipe the tears off your cheeks, but another ones are soon flowing down again.

You shake your head and start trying to turn around to look at you project again. Haku stops you and meekly smiles at you.

"Let me tell tell you what... We go out, have some ice-cream, hang out and maybe watch something in my room and then tomorrow I'll have a look at it and see what we can do... Okay?"

  ⋆˚✿˖°

"Y/N, hello?" a tired voice calls out to you.

You don't have to turn around to be able to tell it's Jiro.

"Y/N, you were supposed to come in today for a checkup so Yuri sent me for you."

You're still unmoving, just laying on your bed, on your cover and staring at the blank wall in front of you.

"Y/N?" Jiro approaches your bed and touches your arm.

You're still dressed in your dorm uniform despite it being a good few hours since your classes ended and you were allowed to change.

Jiro's gloved hand sneaks up to your neck, his two fingers searching around for a pulse point.

"What are you doing?" you say with a flat voice, almost like you're not fully present, but you sadly are.

"Making sure you're alive. Your catatonia and lack of response worried me."

You don't even answer and only hum in acknowledgement.

Jiro sighs and sits on your bed, inspecting your state.

Despite being a medical student, his studies sometimes included a psychological aspects. Based on them, Jiro was able to determine that your state must've been caused by some severe distress, forcing your brain to shut down and fully detach from reality in order to cope.

Sadly, no treatment came to his mind, so Jiro just kicks off his shoes and lies down behind you and throws his arm around your waist.

Hopefully his closeness can make you feel better. If not, he'll have to call Yuri, but now he wants to try and be there for you alone.

  ⋆˚✿˖°

Dante could swear he turned all the lights off in his private library, but apparently one of them was still on. It was always such a pain when he had to go back somewhere because of his disability.

With a sigh he opens the heavy door to find you surrounded by some of his books. You're frantically reading the contents of one of them and scribbling something on a paper next to it.

"Ah, Y/N. Isn't it rather late to be researching?"

Dante's sudden presence startles you and as you quickly move to face him, you accidentally knock over the book you were reading.

"Dante, sorry, you've startled me." you sheepishly admit, trying to hide how anxious you are.

"Tell me, what could possibly be so important at this hour, dear?" Dante is faster than you and pushes himself forward to pick up the fallen book.

You take a deep breath to seem like you have it all together, but you can't, "I couldn't sleep. My mind's just filled with all these horrible what-ifs and I couldn't stop them so I thought that maybe if I knew what to do, it would help."

"And what are these what-ifs about, Y/N?" Dante's expression softens.

"I don't know... Everything."

Dante sighs and starts pushing his wheelchair towards the sofa in the middle of the room, "Although I do believe that problems should be faced head on, perhaps you'd prefer if I read your favorite book to you as a distraction?"

  ⋆˚✿˖°

⋆˚࿔ Secret character 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

"Tough day?" a smooth voice interrupts your thoughts as you absentmindedly pet one of the mail cats, staring off into a space.

"Yeah..."

"Now what could worry a pretty little head like yours?" the owner of the voice comes closer and sits down next to you on the bench.

Your eyes are glossed over with tears so the stranger next to you only looks like a dark-grey smudge.

"Do you know what helps me, while I'm feeling down?... There's this kid, Rui, and he has all of these amazing drinks that taste like alcohol but aren't..."

"I-i know..."

"Hey, maybe if you're down, we could go together right now since my shift's ended."

"Nah thanks..."

"Oh, it's Elias, sweetheart."

[8-rae-rae-8]

Haiii haii!!

I'm currently super sick right now, and I'm wondering if you could write about little! Graves who is sick and he's being taken care of!! Thank you, and your writing is chefs kiss!!

ITS BEEN MONTHS. BUT YES. YES YOU CAN.

I GOT YOU THANK YOU

AO3 link or read below - 4K words :)

There was a time, not too long ago, where sickness festering into his fragile body meant a new set of jobs to handle, a different kind of crushing pressure where cruel eyes darted to him at every little sniffle. It's instinct to suppress the rattle in his bones, shield his cold body with a jacket over a hoodie that's just a few sizes too big, while his mind screams to hide.

Phillip knows that feeling well. Better than any Little should have to. He won't dare to mutter that it was unfair, those cries won't reach anyone's ears. There was only so much his mind could take before he believed the cruel words shouted in his ears.

He deserved to be sick.

It was his fault.

How dare he want someone's help. Littles like him didn't get to need.

Hiding meant it would hurt less, whatever punishment would pelt his skin like heavy hail. After so long, being able to hide became a lifeline, something he could run to, tuck himself away wherever his shaking shoulders could fit. He knew no one could save him from the booming voice demanding from him and the cruel hands taking from him. Worse, he knew no one would even try to rinse away the evidence of his hurt. Phillip Graves didn't deserve to be saved in such a way.

The shepherd who once held his loyalty was guiding him to slaughter, while his soft eyes trusted with every part of his being. A lamb lead to death doesn't think there's a herd to hear his call.

Phillip never thought anyone would hear him cry for help when no one ever came for him. His pale, illness riddled body was only ever looked at, never seen for what it was: a silent plea for help.

Yet, here, tucked gently into a freshly made bed—a crib meant for Littles—the smallest sniffle and whimper has a Caregiver running without so much as a second thought. He doesn't have to beg for the simplest things, there's no punishment for his aches.

Sweat dampens his forehead, dirty blond hair sticking to his skin. Sometime in the middle of the night, he wiggled his way out of the pajamas that were picked out for him hours before. The heavy blanket separates his feverish body from the harsh chill of the air around him. Is it really that cold?

Quietly, the smallest grunt falls from his lips as he squirms in the bedding. Two trembling hands grab at the blankets, pushing and pulling at the fabrics. The Little doesn't toss and turn, eyebrows bunched at the center whenever he moved just a little too much. It pulls a louder, more uncomfortable sound from him.

A few days prior, Phil started feeling off ever so slightly, but it wasn't ever enough to mention. Nausea here and there, a headache every so often, chills whenever the wind shifted just a tad. Maybe he should've thought about it a little harder than he did.

The act of just moving sends a burning sensation through his stomach and up his throat. He should have known better, taken some kind of medicine—not that he knows quite where they keep pills here. It hurts to move, his muscles cramp with the effort, and yet, he can't stop the sore squirming.

Above the bed, settled on a shelf just to the side, a baby monitor blinks to life at the smallest sounds of his distress. Phillip doesn't hear the sound of the tiny beep over his own discomfort.

Two minutes is all it takes for the silhouette of a Caregiver standing in the doorway. A container in hand, one the Little hasn't seen in his few months with them. Not that he thinks to glance over, eyes screwed shut. He squeezes the fabric in his hands, grip loose despite the effort he tugs at the blankets with.

Only when he hears footsteps get close does he open his tired eyes. Sleep sticking to his eyelashes as he rapidly blinks. Was his heart beating weird before?

"Shh, shh… It's okay, love." The familiar voice speaks, a hand reaching over the crib to flick on a small lamp. Warm but dim light washes over the Caregiver. In a fluid motion, he crouches down at the side of the bed, a hand on the blue starry blanket Phil refused to sleep without.

A small breath of relief leaves him. It's just Price. The carer he's gotten so used to calling 'Mama' over the last few months. It doesn't leave a bad taste in his mouth the way 'Papa' does.

"Just Mama, see?" John whispers. His blue eyes scan Phil's body in the low light. From his sweaty, pale face, to his uncomfortable squirming.

Timidly, the Little nods, lower lip shaking with every inhale.

"Can I take your temperature, bud?" John hums. The hand on the bed reaches to gently rest over Phil's chest, feeling the hammering heartbeat beneath his palm. A frown spreads over his lips for a brief second.

The moment he attempts to talk, he immediately shuts his mouth again. Those blue eyes open wide, a wave of panic washing over him. His tummy hurts. Mama asked him a question and he couldn't answer. Instead, he feels his stomach churning harder and harder and the bile rising in his throat.

"Phil?" The Caregiver's question is quickly disregarded as he reaches out as quickly as possible to grab the bin next to the bed. Years of training and practice making this at least predictable enough to prevent as many tears as possible.

A quiet cry falls from Phil's lips, his hands on the blankets quickly move to clumsily grasp the plastic in front of him. No, no- he doesn't wanna be sick.

"Oh, love…" Price sighs, pulling himself up off the floor just enough to sit by the Little on the bed. The hand that had been on his chest moves to rub circles into the boy's back. "I know… Let it out, you'll feel better once all the icky is gone." He comforts, pulling a blanket around Phillip's shoulders.

"Mama..!" Phil clutches the trashcan. He doesn't wanna. He can taste the feeling on his tongue, burning at his throat the more he tries to stop it.

"I know, baby, I know…" John murmurs, "You have to get it out. Mama will be right here the whole time." He promises, voice quiet and gentle as he continues to rub his back.

He doesn't like being sick. Everything gets so much bigger around him and he can't stay in control of even the most basic things. The control he's tried to keep for so long starts slipping away from him and he can't protect himself anymore. There's no getting bigger when he's sick like this, the fuzziness creeps into his head, cementing itself there for god knows how long.

It makes him weak, useless. It's not fair, he won't ever say it. He won't complain like that, he hasn't earned the right to. He tries so hard to be okay, to be big and well-behaved. Being sick ruins all of his efforts. He can't fix himself if he can't think straight.

With a broken sob, the contents of his stomach fill the trashcan. It hurts. Phillip whimpers between heaves, that hand on his back never leaving even as ringing fills his ears instead of the Caregiver's voice.

Splotches of black fade in and out of his vision once he finally stops and gets to breathe. His body shudders with the effort to get air in his lungs.

Out of the corner of his vision, he sees Price reach down and turn to him with a little rag in his hand. He moves the bin just enough to reach to the Little's face and wipe away the puke on his chin and lips. Phillip sees him talk but he doesn't hear a word John said.

Instead of repeating himself, John simply smiles at him and presses a small kiss to his temple, uncaring how sick the other may be. It's his job as a Caregiver to be there for all of it, all of the times the boys need changed, bathed, cleaned up after, and all of the times their giggles and laughs filled the walls of John's home.

Painfully, Phillip whimpers at the gentle affection. His blue eyes staring up at Mama, teary and scared. He can just make out the 'It's okay' beyond the temporary ringing in his ears.

The rag is set off to the side in favor of gently pulling Phil close, the bin settled back on the floor for the time being. The Little's twisting and squirming stopped the moment he got all of the icky stuff out of his tummy, at the very least.

Exhausted as if he hadn't slept, Phillip practically falls against Price's chest. His eyes blinking shut as he pants, mouth open to pull in deeper breaths, his nose too stuffy to breathe correctly. An arm wraps around him, holding him steady. The moment Phil puts his full weight against John, tucked delicately under his arm, the Caregiver winces slightly at the heat radiating from Phil's sick body.

Why does he have to be sick? Did he go out in the cold without any protection? Was it raining? He can't remember why. It's not fair for it to just happen. He was doing so good. He was settling in perfectly.

The room remains quiet until Phil tilts his head up to Price, looking up through his wet eyelashes. Silent, waiting. He didn't do anything wrong, right? Mama isn't mad at him? For throwing up? Making a mess? Crying? He was doing so well. He didn't mean to get sick.

"How about we get you cleaned up, bub? These sheets are probably icky now, hm?" Price hums, a sad smile on his lips.

Phil hesitates. He isn't mad. Why isn't he mad? Judging by the bags under Price's eyes, he's just as tired as Phil is. Isn't he mad he got woken up? The Little's lip trembles again, blue eyes tearing up again.

"Oh, baby…" Mama breathes out. Gently, with a blanket still wrapped around Phil's shoulders, he lifts the little one into his lap. He stopped caring about catching the boys' sicknesses a while back, comforting them was all that mattered.

Solid warmth surrounds him quickly, the steady beat of Price's heart settled under his ear. As if he's something fragile, something worth caring for, John cradles him in his arms. Slowly rocking with him where they're sat, not bothering with the sturdy rocking chair a few steps away.

"Let me take care of you, yeah, pumpkin?" John asks, a hand brushing back the hair stuck to Phil's forehead. "I know it's scary, being sick isn't fun." He doesn't hesitate to press another soft kiss to the Little's forehead.

Somehow, the unfamiliarity of this kindness is more terrifying than it would be to have an order shouted at him, something demanded from him. That, he knew. He knew all of that well. This is so different. A few months away can do a lot to help, but it can't undo every scar over his skin. It can't reverse the instinct to run and hide, as much as they all wish it could.

Being taken care of is scary when the only hand that touched him before would leave bruises. Home wasn't safe, work wasn't safe. He didn't know anything but avoidance, how to stay light on his feet so no one would hear him, how to silence his cries so no one knew it hurt.

This is all new. A hand coming closer never meant it would all be okay, those hands would never soothe him. And now… Now, Price is looking at him so delicately, like everything could turn out okay, somehow. It makes his head feel much more fuzzy. Every little act of care pulled him down further, making him smaller and smaller.

He can't take care of himself like this. No matter how much he's tried before, it always ended in tears and hiding as far away as he could get. He didn't need to hide here. It won't hurt, they won't hurt him. Mama won't hurt him.

Sniffling, the little one nods again. He shudders as he inhales, the skin around his chest tightening as he forces himself to agree. He has to trust this won't hurt.

Nothing but feelings come up when he thinks about it. Maybe an echo of similar words whispered into his ears a long time ago. Something gross and sinister. 'I'll take care of you.' In a voice he can't forget. All of the terror sits right in his chest, buried in the space behind his heart.

This won't hurt like that did. Mama won't do that to him. He promised.

"Do you want a warm bath, or new cozy pajamas?" Price asks, while leaving room for Phil to not make a choice at all. Two choices, narrowed down for him.

Phillip blinks up at him for a solid few seconds, letting the tears roll down his cheeks and immediately having them wiped away by Mama's hand. Gentle. Mama won't hurt him. Nervously, he glances out to the hallway, his lip bitten between his teeth.

"Bath?" John questions, answered by a little nod.

Bath times aren't known to always go smoothly in the John Price household. Each of them have their moments. Johnny's panic attacks, Simon's wailing if the temperature is off just a bit, Kyle refusing to get out of the bath once he's already in it, and now Phil's fear of getting anywhere near the water despite wanting it—wanting all of the icky to go away.

It's scary. For each of them, bath time had become a punishment at some point in their lives. Phillip can't remember the last time it wasn't scary. Would the water scald him? Would it be freezing? Would the soap be okay for his skin? Is he icky? Can he even get clean to begin with?

Patient as ever, Price always reintroduces him to the water. He keeps his hand in the water until Phil learns it won't hurt him. The temperature is just right. Their soaps are all on the ledge of the tub, along with some bath toys, the shampoos and conditioners that Phil likes, the body wash that makes him calms him at the comforting scent. Strawberry hair products and lavender body wash, the ones he so timidly picked from the store shelf weeks ago.

It took weeks for Phil to even touch the toys. His excuses were always that those weren't for him, the other boys wouldn't want him to touch their toys, he'd make them gross just by touching them. No Little should react that way when offered something they so clearly want. Phillip's shoulders shouldn't raise and his eyes shouldn't dart around like he's one step from a punishment.

The times Phil doesn't fight bathing are few and far between, even if he asked for a bath. The task of actually doing it weighs on him.

This time, he's too tired to let out anything but a small whimper as Price tosses away the worn clothes that was still on and slowly helps him into the warm water. A new set of pajamas lays on the counter, next to the blue puppy themed towel, with a little hood on it. Unlike the others, Phil doesn't have a hook in the bathroom yet for his towel.

Not too hot, not too cold. A timid hand pats at the surface of the water, feeling the liquid move under his have. Too tired to do much of anything else.

In the bathroom lighting, sitting in the tub so quietly, Phillip looks so small. His shoulders pulled in closely, eyes staring down at the water as he clumsily plays with the water. Sweat highlights the bony spots on his pale body, the spaces not yet filled with muscle and fat the way it had been before the man he called his Caregiver lead him to a slow death.

A little rubber ducky floats into the ripples of Phil's movements. In his peripheral vision, John carefully crouched down at the side of the tub, one hand in the water with his sleeves rolled up to help the little one get all clean.

"Do you want to play for a little, bub?" The carer asks, feeling the warm water around his hand. Subtly making sure it is the correct temperature—Phil won't cry in complaint if it isn't, he'll sink into it despite the pain of the drastic temperatures he's been forced to sit in before.

The offer makes Phil raise his eyebrows slightly, those blue eyes sparkling a tad as he looks up at Price. He's sick and Mama isn't being mean. He gets to play? For just a moment before the scary part? Even still, after months, a part of him believes the bath won't last long and he'll be hosed down like a misbehaving animal. Is the scary part washing up, or the slightest chance Price will reach for the shower head instead of a rag to wash him?

"How about we do.. five minutes of play time, then we wash up?" Price suggests, checking the watch on his wrist for the time—Two in the morning, not that Phil has to know.

Slowly, the Little nods. Despite the ache in his bones and the growing throbbing in his head, he wants to play, just a little bit while he can. Now that his stomach isn't killing him and he can sit for a minute without feeling like he'll either die or throw up again.

"Play for a little bit, pumpkin, Mama will be right here." Price promises, pulling his hand out of the tub to dry it off and watch the little one play for a bit. To get any throw up and sweat off of himself for now, John tosses his shirt into the laundry bin.

Phillip lasts all of three minutes before he simply sits there and looks up at Mama with his sad blue eyes. The light over the tub and the brighter one over the sink burns his tired eyes, the water doesn't feel right, and he can feel every little bit of air coming from the vent. Goosebumps rise on his skin, slipping further under the water doesn't stop his weak shivers.

"All done?" John asks as he reaches for the shampoo and a rag to shield the Little's eyes from the water.

A broken whimper falls from his lips. He doesn't wanna be all done. He doesn't want to be tired and he doesn't want to be cold!

"I know, love, I know…" The Caregiver frowns, "We have to wash up. I'll be fast, yeah? I don't want you covered in sick and sweat…"

The promise doesn't matter much when he remembers those same words being spoken to him by a liar with a sharp tongue. It'll be over fast just meant that the pain would remain seared into his skin longer, leaving him aching for far too long because he tried a little too loud for everything to stop. The solution was to make it go by fast, Phil would learn his lesson to stop asking for mercy eventually.

He never did.

And still, he wants to believe that Mama will stay true to those words. How many times has he promised that so far? That he wouldn't lay a cruel hand on Phillip, on any of the boys? How many times has he actually believed that without an ounce of doubt?

He wants to trust Price not to hurt him too, he has to. What power does a Little possibly have here?

The fever doesn't help his train of thought. Melting the Little's thoughts into pools of emotion he can't discern enough to make sense of. They wouldn't make sense anyway in the state he's in, would they? Too small, too scared and too sick. Being sick brought it's own fears to the table. Why can't he just be small and happy for once?

Can he do anything but agree with Price so gently offering to wash him up? It's not fair that it's so scary. Does he even get to say no?

He doesn't want to be icky. Mama doesn't want him to be icky.

So, holding his breath with his rosy cheeks puffed out, he agrees.

Despite everything he's been shown, every bit of hurt that's ever racked through his body, John's version of being fast was absolutely nothing like any memory he could pull up. He is quick, all without pressing a bruise into the Little's fragile skin, washing away what remained of any sick on his shivering body.

More gentle than he deserves. A soft rag wiping down his tired body. He doesn't have to put in an ounce of effort when John leans over the tub and does just about everything for him. Cleaning any more the vomit from his chin, washing his hair without tugging at the blond strands as he keeps the water away from his eyes with a dry cloth.

Phillip didn't have to ask to be handled with care, he's just given it without begging.

John Price doesn't take his boys' trust lightly, an abuse of power is a betrayal when their eyes reflect something so small, utterly dependent on him for love and care. That's why he picks Phil up from the cooling water with such careful, precise movements and promptly swaddles him in the towel that had been set aside.

Even as the little one squirms, he doesn't fear being put down when John pulls him against his bare chest. The little hood on the puppy themed towel flips over his wet hair when John expertly holds him up with one arm for just a moment.

"All done.. All done." The carer mutters, voice soft in his ear. He steadily lays Phillip's head down on his shoulder, a slow sway to his movements. Warmth surrounds him in an instant. Cold water still clings to his skin, but John holds him closer, just as he needs without the Little saying a word.

Timidly, Graves tucks his feverish face into John's shoulder. His arms tucked into the towel in a loose swaddle, he merely snuggles in as much as he possibly can manage. Quiet, uncharacteristically so for him. All of his scared whimpers and frustrated sounds buried somewhere in his chest where he can't reach for them anymore. Is it his temperature? The weariness in his bones? The sickness bubbling in his tummy?

He doesn't want to make a sound. Price is so warm and he's so cold. If he says something, cries out at the wrong time, will he get put down? Will Mama get frustrated with him? Will he take the warmth with him? Make him shiver until he dried on his own?

"That's it… Just rest for a minute." Price hums, adding a soft bounce as he sways with Phil. One arm holds him up under his thighs, the other wrapped around his back for support. His head tilts to lean against the other's.

All he does is nod, barely enough to be noticeable. Why would he fight that? He doesn't have to say anything, does he? Mama's got him, right? His shoulders relax steadily, lips parted to breathe when his sniffles don't do anything to unclog his nose.

The light silence is only broken with John's quiet hums that aren't ever met with a response. Not wanting to upset the little one by moving him suddenly, he turns to glance in the mirror above the double sink.

Sure enough, Phillip's eyes are closed. He looks peaceful like that, so very small in John's arms the way the others aren't. Weeks of hiding from someone hurting him down would do that. The others are filled out with muscle and fat, while Phil only just started gaining his back. Being in fight or flight mode for so damn long didn't help him. He's small, but not always in the way that brings joy to the Caregiver's heart.

This time, though, John smiles fondly at the reflection of his boy sleeping on him.

[zoropookie]

WHAT YOU WON'T DO FOR LOVE (WYWDFL) — NINE

YOU couldn't be having a worse halloween night. choose your fate with your fellow readers and see if it gets better!

chapter 7.5 — chapter eight — chapter ten

soulmate!wanderer x gn!reader

You didn't think you were ever going to get an opportunity like this again.

In the midst of apprehension and fear, you stood there next to your captor stiff. Standing in the lingering shadow of your own fate, heart beating fast in your chest, the drumming in your ears getting louder with each second passing. You don't know if it was the winds shiftiness that was making you unsteady, or the sore wrists you inhabit, but something was clawing in your chest.

You couldn't let it show, not now. The car hummed lowly in front of the two, and as you narrowed your eyes towards the guy, your throat tightened. You had a window, one moment to speak up and this would probably all be over. You wanted to cry for help, as unrest clamped hard on your throat.

"I'm only checking to see if you kids need any help," She called out, her voice soft but probing, like she already knew something wasn't.

"We're fine," He said, low and controlled with a certain gravel, cringing at his pacing. You felt like you were splintering apart. "Everything's fine. We're a little tired from a show."

"A show?"

Yeah, if we're calling wild goose chases 'shows' now, I'm sure you won't tell her that, though. You could only smile with a more comfortable aura this time to mask the tension, but your eyebrows were furrowed. "College adaptation of Scream. Spooky...!" You wanted to raise your arms to do jazz hands, but you doubt that would make it look any less suspicious.

The woman's eyes lingered on you a minute longer, face creased with confusion. She hesitated, glancing at the man beside you, slowly absorbing what could be going on here. She tapped on the wheel in thought, her head tilted. "My granddaughter loves those movies, I believe," She said slowly. "Maybe you two go to the same school as she does?"

You looked at your kidnapper, to which he looked at you back, the both of you with side eyes. The dryness in your throat making it more difficult to speak. "Yeeeeah!" You both drawled.

"What a small world. Pretty sure she was the only one who at the rehearsal, we told her to get out, but she just kept insisting." He forced out, the smile on his face twisting into a little bit of a rougher one as he started becoming impatient. The laugh from his throat was hollow, almost foreign, as if it came from someone else. You were crumbling yourself, breaking down bit by bit.

"That sounds like my Julia," The woman said lovingly. "Be sure not to keep those ties on you for too long there, okay? You two are quite dedicated to the craft, I hope to see you out there!" Her voice was soft, probing, but with hardly any suspicion anymore.

It was unfortunate how bad your heart dropped in your chest that there was no. A specific feeling crawling up your spin like icy fingers, she gave you one last look, as if she was trying to find something, a little...unspoken cry for help. You stayed quiet as a mouse, still. "Have a good night, you two." She reached for the gear shift, and the car hummed softly.

She pulled away as the two of them smiled, eyes tracking the slow moving car. Her taillights casting a faint red glow over the darkening streets. She was gone, and in the moment that you two were standing there in the wake of the closest call you could muster, the brief flicker of what you thought was hope was extinguished again.

You squeezed your eyes shut in exhaustion. You were so fucking close; so agonizingly close, even. The universe was turning its back on you yet again as you stare at the distant and foggy path.

But...? For some reason, you felt relieved, too. Not with how your situation faired currently, but that you may have saved a life. You didn't have that much going for yourself right now, so it was nice to feel like you at least did something right. That feeling in your chest made you want to climb mountains, though for a brief period of time until you looked back at your kidnappers severely handsome face.

He seemed to be in thought too, but for a less innocent reason you could easily scope out. "What now? You gonna cut me up and stuff mashed potatoes in me like I'm a turkey? Do it."

"I'm glad you still have the heart to make jokes," he replied, cocking his head slightly as if trying to figure you out. "It makes me feel less bad for what's going to happen next." His fingers drummed adroitly on the hood of the car, each tap threatening your neck like a coiled snake.

"Oh, fantastic!" You threw your conjoined wrists up in defeat. "You know what? You're full of shit, right? Because you don't even know if I saw you stab your friend, and even if I did, why would I snitch you out when you're quite obviously going to come for my cheeks?! You should be thanking me that I saved your ass, but instead you're doing this bit where you act all mysterious and try to keep me on my toes. Jokes on you, I've watched Twilight before. I know what guys do to chase their toys."

"That's nice." He droned. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I have no idea why you want to kill and murder me, either, but we move on, I guess!" You spat, before sitting on the gravelly path and loosening your shoulders. "I give up. If you want to leave me like roadkill on the side of the road, do it. I don't want to go home, anyway."

He was irritatingly handsome in this light, like a villain carved from some god damn ancient myth, indifferent to your fate. Like you were just a mere mortal to him, and his lips quirked in a small and solemn smile. As per usual, he found it funny that you were throwing your hands up and surrendering. "I didn't go through the trouble to do that."

"Yeah you did. You're all the same." You shot back, your voice sulky and heavy. "It's always this fucked up game to keep you from getting bored. Until you find the next one."

He knelt down, the darkened gravel crunching under his shoes. "You don't know shit about me to even be concerned on whether you're dying today, or tomorrow, or any time soon." He said so quietly his voice was almost a sharp whisper only you could hear. He was turning your words over in his mind, shaping it himself. His face was inches from yours again, holding a long gaze. "But you're right about one thing."

Your stomach churned, and just as your fears predicted, you sucked in a deep breath, your mouth falling ajar before looking down at your shoulder. It took you a minute to process what happened before a large, crimson stain ate away at what was left of the fabric there. You felt warm, a different type of pain from what your body was already experiencing.

"I do get bored easily."

You could barely grasp onto what he was saying properly from how your shoulder screamed, excruciating lapses of pain rushing through your body so prominent that you fought not to pass out. You didn't care to try not to cry and wail in pain, you had nothing to lose.

Crimson spilled from your hands as he forced the knife out, the gushing of the liquids leaving him to marvel at your inner turmoil. Impenetrable enjoyment, as you already noted flowing through his body as he let out a resigned sigh. He lifted his hand to grab violently at your face, holding it with little regard in his hands, the metal of the ring on his thumb almost splitting a part of your chin.

"No more." He said finally, tone devoid of his previous one. "We're done playing, 'soulmate'."

no poll for this chapter! (you guys are kinda bad at this, no offense. see you next week!)

taglist ♢ @kinvasions @kazumiku @animeobsessed56 @levianamor @auroratumbles

@mellowberrie @scarawiki @xxxion @shutingstar @feikyuu

@mercy-not-merci

[siriusly-yoongi]

She wants to be saved chapter 10

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

Pairing: alpha BTS × omega reader

Chapter Warnings: I don't really know what to put for warnings, bad writing, mute reader, POV changes, depression, bad eating habits, mentions of self-harm,

Word count: 2795

I'm doing my best to keep it the right day of the week but I keep forgetting and if its Wednesday and then the next day ends up being Saturday just pretend that's how days work alright 😂

I know this one's short, I've been depressed as hell the past couple days and writing hasn't been easy. I'll get a longer chapter out soon i promise.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

YOU

You wake up the next morning to find Yoongi already gone. Today's gonna be rough you can already tell. You can feel the tears pooling in your eyes, then they're falling down your cheeks.

You lay there for an hour, waiting for the tears to stop but they never do. You sigh and get out of bed, leaving Yoongi's room. You pass Hoseok and you drop your eyes to the ground, expecting him to make a comment about you crying but he doesn't. He just ignores you.

You make your way into the kitchen and find Namjoon and Jin talking while Jin makes breakfast. Namjoon notices you're upset first.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

You make a sound somewhere between mewling and keening. You're upset and you want Yoongi.

Namjoon tries to comfort you but nothing helps. "Yoongi just went to the store baby. Is that why you're so upset?" He speaks to you like you're a child, but you cant bring yourself to care.

Maybe it took a couple days for it to set in, what happened to you. What your mate let happen to you.

Thinking about it sends another wave of tears and by this point you're just inconsolable. You're not screaming or sobbing or anything, but the tears just wont stop.

You head back into Yoongi's room and curl up on his bed. You're really wishing you hadn't taken down your nest. You don't have the energy to build a new one right now.

The tears eventually do stop and you're left feeling numb and empty. You slide one hand underneath your shirt and start to slowly pick at the scabs that had formed over the cuts on your stomach, ripping the wounds back open. It makes you feel a little bit better but you still feel hallow.

Is this because of the mate bond? You've been okay when you're with Yoongi, but it seems that whenever he leaves, you get worse again. Maybe the separation isn't causing the depression, maybe being around your mates masks it. Makes you feel better. Then once you're alone again, you're left to feel it once more.

Yoongi does eventually get back home, really he's only gone for about an hour and a half. You hear his voice. He sounds happy. He's gonna come in here and notice you're pathetic self and its gonna ruin his mood.

So you leave.

You get up and head outside. You can't head upstairs because they'll see you and your puffy eyes and the blood on your shirt and it'll ruin everyone's good mood. It's Sunday, the weekend, when its supposed to be happy relaxing time as a pack. You aren't a part of that pack. Your issues shouldn't ruin another pack's pack time. You're mates, sure. But you aren't pack.

You don't go very far, walking a few feet into the woods then sitting down against a tree. You don't have the energy to go any further. You're tired. Physically and mentally, you're just tired.

You must've fallen asleep because the next thing you know you're being lifted into someone's arms. Still half asleep, you don't freak out like you usually would. Your head is tucked against their shoulder and you're surrounded by the scent salted caramel.

You're carried inside by this point your eyes are closed again, you're too tired to care who's holding you. It hasn't registered yet who's scent this is.

"I found her, she was asleep against a tree" your eyes snap open and you tense up as soon as he speaks. Taehyung is the one carrying you.

You quickly squirm away and stand up, pulling away from him.

"Sorry, I was trying not to wake you up. I probably should've gotten Yoongi to carry you."

You're caught off guard by this. He's being nice to you? He hasn't been nearly as mean as Hoseok, sure, but he's never been nice. And here he was apologizing for not considering your feelings. You're not gonna question it, you're just gonna hope it stays this way.

You are however going to remain cautious.

"Why is your shirt bloody?" Namjoon's eyes narrow and he walks over. You don't have your phone so you cant answer. Jimin realizes this and hands you his.

I scratched the scabs off

Namjoon gives you a disappointed look, you whine.

Don't look at me like that, you're not my father

You hand Jimin his phone back and go grab yours, coming back out and standing next to Yoongi, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together.

"I wanna hold hands too!" Jungkook runs in and tries to take your other hand, you quickly pull it away, glaring at him

"Hey it'll work one day!" He takes Jin's hand instead.

"Now that Yoongi is home and we found you, we can have breakfast" Jin smiles, you groan.

You really don't feel like eating this morning. It takes so much effort and it ruins your mood for the rest of the day. Any time you eat you feel like you look like a massive whale and its hard to be in a good mood when you feel gigantic. Your mood is already shitty enough today.

Yoongi pulls you to the table and you sit down. You pout as Jin puts a plate with slices of banana and grapes cut in half. You give him a weird look. Why the hell did he cut your grapes in half, you're not two.

"What?" He looks at you like you're the weird one.

Why'd you cut my grapes like I'm a toddler

"Let me take care of you! God!" Jin laughs, you just roll your eyes.

You poke at the banana with a chopstick, not wanting to eat it.

"I thought you liked fruit baby, what's wrong" Namjoon sighs, looking at you with a worried expression.

I don't want it, I'm tired

"Omegas are always tired" Hoseok mumbles. His tone isn't mean, but its slightly annoyed. Like he's upset he has to deal with my presence.

Okay I'm more tired than usual

He grumbles and goes back to eating

"Just eat at least a little bit please." Namjoon's still looking at you

You eat a few slices of banana then push the plate away. You look up at Namjoon, your eyes pleading.

"You're eating more later" he sighs, giving in

After you clean up, you head upstairs to your room and grab an armful of blankets, dragging them downstairs to Yoongi's room. You don't make a nest, but you do make a pile of them and burrow into it. You don't have the energy to nest, so you settle for this.

Yoongi comes in a little while later and finds you half asleep in your little blanket pile. You keep almost falling asleep, but for some reason you just can't.

Yoongi walks over and crouches down in front of you. "Building a nest is too much hm?"

You nod, crawling out of your blanket pile and climbing into his bed instead, not even having the energy to keen at him. You look at him, silently hoping he understands what you want.

He gets into bed with you and lays down, facing you. Your bruises are all still sore but you just want someone to squeeze you. You lay on your back and grab your phone.

Lay on top of me

He gives you a weird look. "Excuse me?"

Lay on me!

When he doesn't, the tears start again. You're constantly on the edge of a breakdown and every little thing is making you cry today. You should probably cry it out, that'll make you feel a lot better. But you're too stubborn for that.

"Okay, okay. I'll lay on you." he pushes himself up on his arms and hovers over top of you. "Are you sure? I don't want to crush you, you're so small and I'm much heavier than you are.."

You reach up and try to pull him down. He sighs and carefully lowers himself onto you and you let out a contented hum. He's still holding some of his weight up, you can tell. You whine at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and trying to pull him again.

He complies this time and fully lays on you and you chirp at him. "I don't like this. I feel like I'm gonna hurt you"

You can feel how nervous he is, so you sigh, and push at his chest so he knows he can get off. You don't wanna make him uncomfortable.

He gets off of you and lays back down next to you. Your emotions are immediately back all over the place, but at least you got a few seconds of peace.

"I just don't want to hurt you, kitten"

You appreciate how much he cares about your well-being, but you still need that deep pressure.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

TAEHYUNG

Taehyung[11:48]: Are you still awake

Y/n[11:53]: Yes

Taehyung[11:55]: Will you come into the kitchen for a minute?

If she doesn't come out, I won't be surprised. The last time someone brought her somewhere in the middle of the night she got attacked.

To my surprise, a few minutes later I hear soft footsteps padding down the stairs. I guess she hadn't even gone into Yoongi's room yet. Her eyes are red and puffy, like she's been crying.

"Are you okay?" I ask, hoping she cant tell how nervous I am.

I don't want her to be afraid of me. I know i haven't been the nicest to her but I'm hoping I can make it up to her. I don't trust her fully yet, I'm really trying to though. I know not all omegas are like our last omega. Hobi and I were a part of a smaller pack before we found the rest of our mates. It was him and I and an omega. But that's a story for later.

She shrugs, her body language closed off and suspicious. She's keeping her distance, I cant say I blame her.

I drop it for now, knowing she isn't gonna tell me anything anyway. "Come with me, i have something i wanna show you." I smile nervously, walking toward the sliding glass door to the backyard. She hesitates, but follows me. Honestly I think she's too afraid to say no. She probably thinks I'm going to force her to if she doesn't come willingly. She looks terrified.

"It's nothing bad I promise" I try and reassure her.

I lead her to the little shed we have in the yard. No one ever uses it and its always empty. Its white on the outside with a little window facing the house. Its a decent size for a little shed, maybe 10 feet long and 7 feet wide. I open the door for her and step aside, watching as her eyes light up.

"Namjoon let me decorate this for you. I wanted to say that I'm really sorry for how I've been treating you. It hasn't been fair to you and its not how I should be treating my mate. I know this doesn't fix things but I hope it at least makes up for some of it"

She lets out a little squeal and runs inside, I smile and follow. Inside there's fairy lights strung along the walls, lighting up the space. I had Namjoon help me put a mattress in here that fills up about half of the room. The mattress is decorated with stuffed animals, pillows, and blankets. There's a few little shelves on the wall and a small desk. I hung a small TV on the wall as well. I had to run an extension cord from the house to get power out here. I also added a little space heater fir the winter and a box fan for the summer. Its nothing fancy, but I thought she'd like it. Its cozy, omegas like cozy things. At least I think they do.

She runs back to me and catches me completely off guard when she throws her arms around me, pressing her face into my chest. She rubs her cheek over my shoulder a few times before pulling back and running back to plop down on the mattress. I don't think I've ever seen her properly smile like this. She really is pretty when she smiles.

She scented me lightly when she hugged me, and now all I can smell are salted caramel cookies as our scents mix together. I think its my new favorite scent. Can you make candles out of someone's scent? Our mixed scents would make a damn good candle.

She chirps at me and I smile. "I'm glad you like it, princess"

She looks at me with her head tilted slightly amusement written across her face.

"What? The rest of the pack treats you like a little princess.. I thought the name was fitting." I cross my arms, still smiling.

She turns on the TV and puts on some kid's cartoon. She points to the other end of the mattress from where she's curled up and I'm a little bit shocked. I didn't think she'd be willing to give me another chance so easily. I guess it goes to show how much I really misjudged her character.

I sit down on the opposite end of the mattress. She only hugged me because she was excited, I know she's not ready to be close to me yet and that's okay.

We watch cartoons for a while and at some point i fall asleep because the next thing I know I'm waking up from her kicking me in her sleep.

I sit up and look at her, she's sprawled out on her stomach like a starfish.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

NAMJOON

Yoongi comes out of his room with a concerned look on his face "Y/n never came into my room last night"

I get up and go check her room. It's empty. I briefly start to panic until the back door opens and both Taehyung and Y/n walk in.

She doesn't seem distressed or injured and further than she already is. That's when I remember the shed and I relax, he probably just took her out there.

She runs over to Yoongi and grabs his hand, tugging him outside. The whole pack follows them outside, we're all curious. I haven't seen the shed since I helped Tae bring in the mattress at the beginning. No one else knows I let him do this either.

When I see what he did with the place I cant help but smile. She's standing inside with Yoongi, holding his hand as she shows him all the stuffed animals like an excited little kid.

Everyone is smiling except Hoseok. "You too Tae!? Have you forgotten that she's an omega!?"

"No i haven't forgotten. She's actually really really sweet. She isn't our last omega, Hobi. You should really give her a chance." Taehyung sighs softly, looking at Hoseok with a disappointed expression.

Hoseok just walks over and rips the stuffed animal she had in her hand away from her, ripping its head off and throwing it on the ground.

"HOSEOK!" I scold him

He spins around to look at me "She doesn't deserve this! She's been nothing but trouble! You guys are constantly worried about her and if she's eating enough or if she's gonna hurt herself again or if she's gonna drop or cry! She's an omega, omegas are emotional and love attention! You're all giving her exactly what she wants. She's faking this!" Hoseok shouts

She pulls away from Yoongi and pushes past everyone, running back into the house. Jin goes after her.

"Hoseok no sane person would hurt themselves, especially as severely as she does, just for attention. She tried to hide it. If she wanted us to know she wouldn't have covered it up. If she was faking an eating disorder she wouldn't be this skinny and she wouldn't be able to go this long eating so little. She would've caved by now and eaten something substantial. If she wanted attention she wouldn't stay silent. She's traumatized and she's sick Hoseok. Heaven forbid Taehyung realized she's not your past omega and tried to apologize to her. She's your mate Hoseok. Just like we're your mates. The only reason I haven't kicked you out of the house is because she doesn't want that. She asked me explicitly to not kick you out. She doesn't want to break up the pack. Kicking you out will make her feel horrible and that's the only reason you're still here right now because I am done Hoseok. I am done with your behavior towards our mate." My voice gets louder than I mean for it to and I end up yelling at him.

[lucygxybaird]

What about Billy doting over an injured reader? Or the other way around?

i'm not sure this is 100% what you asked for but i tried lol

It happens in a moment.

You’re riding home during a storm, the dirt roads churned into a river of mud by the deluge. It’s almost impossible to see, between the driving rain and your hair whipping in your face, strands plastered against your cheeks and your forehead. As lightning cracks the sky like a broken eggshell, you urge your horse faster, hoping to get home before the storm gets even worse. 

Your horse snorts in exertion, and you see her hoof plunge deep into a pocket of muck, her headlong forward rush arrested so suddenly that you both cry out, her whinny of alarm blending with your scream. You pitch forward, flying over your horse’s neck. The last thing you remember is the slate gray sky wheeling above you, spitting needles of rain, and then everything goes black. 

You don’t know how long it’s been when awareness creeps back in, heralded first and foremost by pain.  Aches thread themselves into your bones and your head throbs in time to the beat of your heart, which feels sluggish, as if it’s trapped in honey. Your arm feels strangely heavy, bent at an odd angle, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t find the strength to open your eyes. 

You feel a cool pressure against your forehead, trickling over your temples, and it takes you a moment to understand. There’s someone pressing a wet washcloth to your brow, and as your eyelids flutter, attempting once again to pry themselves apart, you hear a soft, low voice urging you to be still. 

The thing is, you’re fairly certain you would know that voice anywhere, and only its velvet-edged smoke could draw you out of the darkness weighing heavily on your mind. 

“Billy?” you croak, and this time, you finally manage to open your eyes. 

His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, with dark circles sitting underneath them like crows haunting a tree branch. Billy tries to smile, but his eyes are glassy, and he has to swallow hard before he says, “Hey, baby.” 

You swallow, too, wincing as it feels like barbed wire has wound itself around the column of your throat. You want to say that you’re sorry, but you’re so very, very thirsty. Instead, you manage to say: “W-water?”

Immediately, Billy reaches for you, helping you to sit up enough so you can drink from the cup he presses to your lips. There’s a tin pitcher on your bedside table, and the water is blessedly cold. You wonder how often Billy has freshened it, waiting for you to need it. “Here,” he’s saying, his arm around your shoulders. “Is that better?”

You nod, and then you tug on the collar of his shirt with your good hand, wanting him to lay down with you. It’s only then you notice that you only have one good hand. The other, along with your right arm, is wrapped up in bandages, a splint forcing the arm into an L-shape that’s bound to your chest with a sling.  Billy understands what you want before you can ask again, and he carefully shifts his weight onto the mattress beside you, his arm still wrapped around you.

Your body aches anew from the simple movement just required to sit up, and you sag against Billy’s chest, a little whimper catching in your teeth even as you try to prevent its escape by clenching your jaw. Billy’s forehead creases. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

“I’m—” You shake your head. “I’m okay. I’m just…sore.” 

It’s putting it mildly, but you don’t want to stress him out any worse than you clearly already have. He sighs, burying his face against your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “The doctor will be back in the morning,” he says. “I’ll ask him if there’s anything stronger for your pain, okay?”

You nod, though now that you’ve settled in his arms, you feel better. Part of it is the warmth of his body, soothing away the ache, but more than that is the comfort of Billy himself: the familiar scent of his skin — the strength of his embrace, even as you can tell he’s holding you gently, carefully — the gentle carding of his fingers through your hair, an instinctive bid to comfort you. 

The two of you lay there in silence for a few moments, and you know (or, at least, you hope) that it’s doing Billy as much good as it is you, to be nestled in bed together after what happened. Which — you frown a little as your memory falters, and you realize you can’t quite recall what actually did happen. 

“Billy?”

You feel him jerk underneath your cheek, and you realize with a start that he’d probably dozed off in the cradle of silence. “What?” he says, and your guilt deepens at how groggy he sounds, and at once, how worried. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” you say, reaching up with your good arm to touch his cheek. “I just…I don’t really remember what happened.”

Billy softens at your touch, closing his eyes for a second. Your heart sinks. 

“Billy, when was the last time you slept?” 

He shakes his head. “I dunno, it doesn’t matter,” he says. “I’ve been takin’ care of you. You broke your arm, y’know, when you…when you fell. That’s what happened, you fell off your horse. I…”

You wait, pressing your lips together. You start rubbing the heel of your hand in soothing circles over his chest, where his heartbeat is pressing a rapid drumbeat against the thin cotton of his shirt. 

“I was wonderin’ where you were, and I was gettin’ worried, especially with the rain bein’ so bad, so I…I went out and tried to follow the path I thought you might have used. I heard your horse first, makin’ the most godawful racket…I followed the noise, and she was panickin’, stuck in the mud, and then I saw…” 

He takes a deep breath. “I saw you, layin’ there, and you looked so…you looked like a broken doll, and you weren’t movin’, and I thought…”

You wait again. 

“Anyway, I—” He clears his throat. “I got you on my horse, and I was able to get your horse out of the muck, and I brought…I brought you home. Your arm is broken, and you’ve got bumps and bruises just about everywhere.”

“Yeah, I know,” you mutter, despite yourself, but you’re rewarded with Billy’s dry little chuckle. 

“They were…they were most worried about your head,” he says. “The doctors say you were lucky the rain softened up the ground so much, but still…”

“How long have I been asleep?”

He pushes a ragged sigh out of the depths of his chest. “A few days.”

You can feel every bit of his worry in the tension radiating through the sinews of his body, and you nestle closer to him, despite the jostle of discomfort. “Well, now you’ll just have to wait on me hand and foot until I’m all better,” you tease. “Pretty soon you’ll get sick of me.”

He chuckles again, and this time it sounds more like him. “I can’t imagine gettin’ sick of takin’ care’a you, honey.”

Not that you really doubted otherwise, but he’s true to his word. 

The doctor has decreed that you need to stay in bed for the next two weeks, and Billy is determined that you won’t set so much as a toe on the floorboards in that time. Every meal is brought to you in bed, he  drags the big metal bathtub into your room, and when you beg him for some sunshine, he carries you out to the porch and sets you in a rocking chair, nestled in blankets. 

“Mmm,” you sigh, your eyes drifting shut as Billy pulls a brush through your hair, using long, languid strokes from your scalp to the ends of your hair. “That feels so good.” 

Billy gives a low, soft laugh. “Yeah?” he says, and you hear a smile in his voice. “I’m glad, baby. You want it done up in a braid?”

You laugh, too. “Billy, you don’t have to…”

“I want to,” he insists. “I know you like to sleep with your hair plaited up. Let me.” 

With your arm still bound up, it’s not like you can really do it yourself, and in any case, you don’t have the heart to refuse Billy — especially not when you turn your head to look at him, and he’s giving you that patented pleading look. “Yes, please,” you relent, and at once his pout melts into another smile.

You close your eyes at the pleasant tugging sensation to your scalp, a soft sigh leaving your lips. “Thank you,” you say, and you can almost sense him shaking his head. 

“You don’t have to thank me, honey,” he says. “I love takin’ care of you. And I’m just…I’m glad you’re okay.” 

He ties off your braid with a length of ribbon, giving the knot a gentle tug to make sure it’s in place. You turn in his arms, the only unwieldy thing now being your broken arm. Thanks to Billy’s dedicated care, your aches and pains have all faded away, including the pain in your head. “I am okay,” you remind him. “You’ve been taking such good care of me, Billy. It means so much to me.”

Billy kisses your forehead. “You mean so much to me,” he says. “You’re my girl. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.” 

You purse your lips thoughtfully, and he raises an eyebrow. “What?” he asks. 

Looking up at him from underneath your eyelashes, you wheedle, “Do you think you could let me make dinner tonight? I wanna take care of you for once.”

You can tell he’s actually thinking about it, wondering if you’ve regained enough of your strength. But it’s equally clear he’s going to relent when his shoulders soften. 

“Alright,” he says finally, and you beam. 

“Thank you.” 

Although you do manage to make dinner for the two of you, Billy insists on setting the table — which actually ends up being a blanket outside, under a phalanx of stars. “So I have a deal for you,” he says, after you’ve eaten. He has your head in his lap, and your good hand is combing gently through his hair. 

“What is it?”

He smiles, looking up at you. “I take care of you,” he says. “And you take care of me. Alright?”

You lean down toward him, giggling when he props himself up on an elbow to meet your lips.

“Alright.”