#grey linoleum bathroom

[whovians-suffer-most]

Contemporary Bathroom in Chicago Inspiration for a medium-sized contemporary 3/4-gray tile, porcelain tile, linoleum floor, glass-front cabinets, two-piece toilet, white walls, undermount sink, and marble countertops remodel.

[hotspothutspot]

Contemporary Bathroom (Chicago)

[earth2steve]

kiss!

something re first kisses : eddie munson x gn!reader, suggestive content, 18+

the rules are sort of blurred being that you'd been friends for so long, you think. it doesn't help your dates have all been of the fairly casual kind, either - you're not totally sure which ones had even counted in order to implement a rule by numbers.

so you're stuck in a sort of grey area - an in between, where you both know you want to kiss eachother - of course you do. but for one reason or another neither of you have done it. it's sort of lovely, really, in a middle school kind of way.

but you do really, really want to kiss him.

you can't manage the number across both hands you've thought it just today.

you float between classes as usual - sharing lunch and fleeting hugs and banter at lockers. it's the first moment you get alone when you meet him in the parking lot at 3, leaning up against the driver side of the van with a sparkling grin. for the millionth time, you think about how you'd like to kiss it right off.

he checks his hair in the driver side mirror before you pull out of the lot, and you count a million and one. 

ten minutes later, you're cornered in his kitchenette, legs swinging against the cabinets as eddie stirs at a pot of mac and cheese on the stove.

he looks softer outside of the fluorescent lighting - maybe a little tired, but all domestic and lovely. his shirt keeps riding up as he flings open cupboards and flits about, revealing a sliver of his stomach and the waistband of his boxers that your eyes track like a hawk.

it feels different to bring it up now - outside of flirty banter and the rush of his van down the street. in the relative stillness of the room, the prospect of his mouth on yours is far less casual and far less amusing a topic of conversation.

you can tell he's thinking about it too - he keeps looking at your lips before your eyes when he looks at you and he's dropped the spoon twice on the linoleum already.

"hey, eds? is that nearly done?"

"uhh- depends how hungry you are. this first one is done but i was gonna do another box-"

"it can wait. c'mere a sec?"

eddie huffs out a big breath and smiles sort of shyly. he switches the stove off and slides the pot to the next burner, and then he's right in front of you. he slots himself between your dangling legs, fingers toying with the seam of your jeans on the outside of your thighs.

gentle, you reach forward and fiddle a little with his hair; tucking wayward strands behind his ears.

when you properly look at him, you sort of wish you hadn't. he's looking at you like you've hung the fucking moon - like an excitable puppy. or rather, a slightly exhausted but blissed out puppy after a walk.

you want to kiss him until there's no air left in your lungs.

eddies knees give out and slam into the cupboard when you tell him so.

“i’m sorry - could you repeat that?”

in lieu of a response, you lean in and draw him closer by the chain around his neck. his eyes drop to the movement of your fingers and his breath hitches in his throat.

“i said - i wanna kiss you. is that okay?”

eddie makes a noise that might’ve been intended as a laugh. “stupid question.”

butterflies thrum and multiply in your stomach. 

“yeah? my bad. wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

“jesus, fuck - are you kidding? if you knew how often i think about kissing you you’d call the police. i have kissing-you tunnel vision. i wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

laughter blooms and fills the inch of space between you.  

“stupid question.” you repeat. 

eddie nods, poking teasingly at your cheek with a ringed finger. amusement dissipates quickly. 

“eds?”

“mhmm?”

“gonna kiss me now?”

he smells of toothpaste when he leans in, and you realise with a squeeze to your heart that he must've brushed them when he'd gone to the bathroom. you tug him closer with your legs, heart in your throat. it's a struggle at first, to stop smiling long enough to kiss him properly, but you get there. his lips are plump and eager against yours and you're quick to dizziness.

he's sweet at first, gentle and firmly slotted and with an air of reverence.

quickly, reverence devolves into desperation. eddie kisses like he's trying to eat you alive — jaw fallen slack, pushing out throaty little noises that you swallow down whole.

when you pull apart for air he looks drunk, lips slick with saliva. your hands are tangled in his hair, and his have landed on your waist and ass. you can't think about it too much or you might pass out. eddie is letting you kiss him. and eddie is very good at kissing you back.

"get comfy." you muse, starry-eyed. "i gotta make it up to you now."

eddie’s brows curve into a frown, but the smile stays stuck. 

“everytime i wanted to kiss you and didn't,” you explain. “god — when you were telling me about your campaign last week. i was trying so hard to listen, honest, but you were in such a frenzy and you were so passionate and happy to be telling me about it that i just wanted to like, plant one on you."

"shit — don't start with that, sweetheart. if i gotta make up for everytime i've thought about kissing you your lips'll fall off."

you flush hot from the inside out. hands slung around the back of his neck, knees bracketing his hips.

"lotta other places to be kissed, eds. we can get creative."

eddie groans like he's been punched, head falling to your chest, hair tickling your collarbones.

you have to reheat the mac and cheese, in the end.

[wzrd-wheezes]

Forget Me Not - Remus Lupin x Reader

AN - this amazing idea was thought of by the lovely @thepunisherfrankcastle who posted this the other day. I couldn't not write it. Thank you for letting me write your beautiful idea.

Warnings: contains mentions of blood and an accident (nothing graphic literally a sentence) memory loss but other than that some angst and a bit off fluff.

3.8k words

It absolutely ruined him when the accident happened. The way her body fell limp in the rubble, blood smeared across her face. For a split second, everyone thought she was dead, unable to bring her back round. Remus knelt by her, brushing the dust off of her face, trying to mop up the blood with the hem of his t-shirt. 

She was in the hospital for weeks, barely allowed to have visitors. The closest Remus got to her was through the cloudy glass that looked into her room from the corridor. He spent hours with his forehead resting against the glass, trying to get a glimpse of her to see if she was okay. The doctors seemed to keep pulling the curtains around her for privacy, promising to update him if anything happened.  

He spent days waiting outside of her room, his back stiff from sitting on the hard plastic chairs, staring at the worn linoleum floor. The bright, fluorescent lights gave him a headache. He couldn’t even bring himself to read the book that he had tucked away in the back pocket of his jeans, his mind was a mess of thoughts and he found it hard to focus. Every few hours, the lady with the tea trolley would come rattling down the corridor and she would give him a sympathetic smile as she handed him his drink.  

James and Sirius came to visit, they sat with him for hours, trying to convince to go home.  

“C’mon, mate. You need to get some proper food down you at least.” James reasoned, looking at the crumpled paper coffee cups and the empty cigarette packets that were laying at Remus’s feet.  

“What if she wakes up and I’m not here?” he answered, staring into the grey-ish cup of tea he was drinking. 

“Then they’ll call you and you can come straight back.” Sirius rubbed his shoulder comfortingly, “You’ll feel better after a decent sleep. Can’t imagine you’ve had much here.” 

Remus finally looked up, weak smile forming on his lips. He nodded – Sirius was right. He had barely slept since he’d been here. The uncomfortable surroundings and constant buzzing and beeping from the machines made it near impossible. He was exhausted. There were dark smudges under his eyes that were getting worse every day, a shadow of stubble across his jaw and his hair was a mess from him anxiously running his hands through it. 

When he stood up, it felt like every bone in his body cracked, clicking back into place. Since he got here, he had barely moved, only getting up to go to the bathroom or to get a cheap coffee from the machine. He groaned, rubbing his hip to ease the pain.  James and Sirius led him back to the car, Sirius’s hand planted firmly on his back, guiding him.  

Remus could barely get his key in the door, his hands were shaking so badly, a combination of anxiety and the lack of food and sleep. His friends had offered to come in with him, to sit with him for a while. James had even offered to go and collect some of his mum’s cooking for him to eat. Remus politely declined, not feeling up to the company. Reluctantly, his friends retreated leaving Remus alone.  

He wandered around the flat for a while, rummaging in the cupboards for something to eat, slotted two slices of bread in the toaster and flicked the kettle on. Y/N would go mad when she found out he wasn’t looking after himself properly.  

The living room felt eerily empty without his girlfriend. The ticking of the clock was driving him insane, and he switched the radio on, trying to drown it out. Eating felt near enough impossible, his mouth was dry and the bread felt like he was chewing on cardboard. His fingers reached out for his mug, taking a swig of his tea trying to dislodge it from his throat. He rubbed his hand over his face. God, he was tired. The thought of sleeping in their bed alone was unbearable, the two of them hadn’t spent a night alone since they moved in together.  

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he must have because he woke up abruptly to the sound of the landline ringing. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt disorientated. It was nighttime now, the living room was bathed in gloomy moonlight and he nearly tripped over as he rushed to the phone.  

“Hello?” His voice came out strained.  

“Hello. Can I speak to a Mr Lupin, please?” the voice asked.  

“Speaking.”  

“Ah, hello Mr Lupin. We’re just calling to let you know that Y/N has woken up. She’s still a little groggy but if you wanted to come over in the morning to see her then you can.”  

Remus felt like he could cry. It took all of his restraint to not just drive straight to the hospital now, but he knew he needed to let her rest if she had just come round. Instead, he went for a shower, finding the hot water soothing against his tired body. He ran his hands through his hair, lathering up the shampoo. For the first time since the accident, he felt like he could breathe properly again.  

The bathroom was filled with steam by the time he got out. He could barely see his reflection in the mirror as the condensation dripped down it. He winced as he saw his himself, his fingers tracing the bags under his eyes. He rummaged in the cabinet for his razor, deciding to clean himself up a little before the morning.  

That night, he decided to sleep on the sofa again, he told himself that it was just in case the hospital rang again, so he could hear the phone. Deep down, he knew that it was because he didn’t want to sleep in their bed without Y/N.  

A decent nights sleep was much needed, Remus only awoke when the morning sunlight streamed into the living room. He looked around groggily, his eyes squinting in the bright light. He wasn’t used to waking up in his own flat, the last few times that he dozed off, when he woke up it was to the fluorescent hospital lights and the doctors walking down the corridor, doing their morning rounds. 

He got dressed quickly, and gave himself a once over in the mirror before he left, running a hand through his hair, trying to tame the unruly curls.  

When he arrived at the hospital, there was a crowd of doctors and nurses that were outside of Y/N’s room. He waited anxiously for them to stop talking, nibbling on the skin of his bottom lip. 

“Mr Lupin?” one of the doctors turned around, “We’re glad you’re here-” 

“Can I go in? I need to see her.”  

“Of course. She’s having a few issues with her memory at the moment. She can’t seem to remember much from the accident but seeing a familiar face might help jog her memory.” The doctor informed him.  

Y/N looked better than he thought she would when he entered. She was propped up against some pillows, her face was patched up a bit and she had multiple wires and drips attached to her that were connected to different machines. She cocked her head when Remus walked in.  

“God, I’m so happy to see you. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Remus rushed over to her, planting a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She stayed silent for a moment, her brows knitting together.  

“I’m really sorry. Do I know you?” she pulled away from him. 

Remus stood stunned for a few seconds, at a complete loss for words. He felt like time had stood still. He hadn’t noticed that the doctor was stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand. Remus spun around when he spoke.  

“That’s normal,” the doctor began, “There tends to be memory loss in the days after someone wakes up from an accident so severe. Sometimes it takes a while for them to remember everything.” 

“What do you mean ‘a while’.” Remus stressed, “I thought you said that she couldn’t remember the accident? Not that she couldn’t remember me!”  

“She has an incredibly severe concussion. The extent of her damage is worse than we originally thought. She’s suffered a significant amount of brain trauma, which has most likely caused her to lose her memory. We’re hoping that it won’t be permanent, and her brain heals itself. But it could take days, weeks or even months.” The doctor explained carefully. 

Every trace of colour drained from his face and he felt his stomach sink. His breath caught in his throat, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. The doctor left the room, saying something about giving Remus time to process – he wasn’t really listening.  

Remus moved to sit by her bed, reaching to take Y/N’s hand in his but withdrawing his fingers almost immediately. Y/N just sat silently, staring at Remus he could near enough see the cogs in her brain turning, trying to work out who he was. 

“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeated, “I feel like I’m supposed to know who you are but I just can’t remember.” She bit down on her lip. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Remus said, trying to remain calm. He was trying to look and sound reassuring, but tears were stinging at his eyes and he was doing his best to hold them back. 

“Something keeps coming to my mind when I look at you. It’s right on the tip of my tongue,” she looked at him earnestly, “You know when you can’t remember something but you know that you know it?” 

“I’m Remus,” he nodded, “I’m your boyfriend.” 

“My... boyfriend?” her eyes widened and she reached a hand up to her mouth, “How long? Have we been together a while?” 

“Since we were at school.” Remus confirmed, smiling sadly.  

Y/N was speechless. It was as if she was going from one emotional state to another. She looked completely lost, struggling to get her head around the idea. She looked at Remus, observing him with a newfound curiosity. Tears threatened to spill out of her eyes and she swallowed hard, looking away for a moment. 

“I- I don’t remember anything.” tears were falling now, she was growing increasingly more distressed.  

“I think you should go now, Mr Lupin.” the doctor had appeared at the door again, “We need to let her rest. You can visit again tomorrow.” 

Remus stiffened as he spoke, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t agree, he didn’t want to leave her on her own. He didn’t trust himself to speak, as if the words would open the floodgates and he would lose it completely. So instead, he just reached out and took her hand, squeezing it tightly for a moment before he left. 

When he got home, Remus wandered aimlessly through the flat, his eyes dull and his expression sombre. He made himself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the kitchen table. Sirius and James had left him messages on the answering machine, but he couldn’t muster up the effort to call them back.  

Remus just sat there, thinking over his past. Over everything they had been through together. He had known Y/N for as long as he could remember. They had met on their first day of school, forming a group with James and Sirius and had been inseparable ever since. It was when they reached their teens that Remus started seeing her in a different light. He started noticing how she would lean into him to whisper things when they were doing late night study sessions in the library. How her nose would crinkle up when she laughed, how the sun caught in her eyes when they would spend lazy afternoons by the lake.  

He had never had much in terms of affection, his childhood was pretty ropey, and he spent as much time as he could at school. Even when he grew up, girls never seemed to go with him. It was hard, when you were friends with people like James and Sirius, people who flirting and talking to people came so naturally to.  

He had never thought that someone would love him like that. The way that Y/N did. When he finally opened up to her about his feelings and she reciprocated, he felt like the happiest man in the world.  

He remembered all the times he had stayed up late studying, even though his body ached and his mind was growing less coherent by the house. He remembered the times when she would sneak off to go and make them both coffee, kissing his cheek before she left. He remembered being so damn tired the next morning but getting to spend time with her was so worth it.  

When they eventually got their flat together, he was always so excited to spend his days off with her. It was as if he never had to worry about what he would do when she was around. He could just relax. He would do little things, like leave notes in her books and whisper sweet nothings in her ear as they snuggled up on the sofa.  

The years of feeling underserving of being loved seemed so trivial now- so stupid. Y/N loved him. She loved him completely and irrevocably. Yet now, she had no idea who he was. 

His head felt heavy and sore from all the thinking, from not letting himself feel for so long. He slumped forward in his chair, his elbows resting on the table, his face buried in his hands. He hated that the accident had happened. That he had to look at her and be a stranger to her. It was like there was a knife in his gut, the blade twisting every time that Y/N said she didn’t remember him. What if she never remembered him? What if this was his one shot at love and it had been ruined? For years, Remus had had a horrible thought in the back of his mind that their relationship was purely circumstantial, that if they had met in any other scenario that she wouldn’t have fallen for him. Now, it seemed like his worst nightmare had come true.  

When he went back to the hospital the next day, he spent the walk to Y/N’s room trying to convince himself that this all was just some crazy dream, that he would walk into her room and that she would recognise him. He was devastated when she didn’t. 

“Are those for me?” she asked when he walked in, nodding towards the bunch of flowers that he was holding. 

“Yeah.” he smiled, feeling somewhat shy, “They’re your favourites.” 

“Well, I’m glad you remembered.” she joked. 

She laughed and he couldn’t help but feel his heart leap just a little. He didn’t even think that this was all new to her, that her personality might have changed. She still had her wicked sense of humour. He chuckled, but the sound felt hollow in his chest. A part of him couldn’t be completely happy, not while she still didn’t know who he was. It was bittersweet to hear her joke, it was as if nothing in the world mattered apart from the fact that she was here right now. 

“The doctor was saying I should go home soon.” she broke the silence after a few moments, “He said something about how being in familiar surroundings might help jog my memory.” 

“I think that’s a good idea.” he smiled softly, “Do you want to come home?” 

“I think so...” her voice trailed off, “I’m just worried. I mean, you say that you're my boyfriend and I believe you but I just still don’t remember anything.”  

“We can take things slowly.” he replied, “We can get to know each other again. You can get to know me...” 

It pained him to say it. His heart raced as he realised what he had just suggested. They would be starting over. He had a horrible worry in the back of his mind. What if he couldn’t make her fall for him again? 

A few days later, Remus drove her home from the hospital. They didn’t feel as uncomfortable around each other now; Remus had been at the hospital pretty much constantly for the past few days. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye as the car pulled up outside of their flat, searching her face for a hint that she remembered where she was. 

He felt his heart plummet when her eyes didn’t flicker. She didn’t seem to recognise anything as they walked into the flat. She looked as if she were a stranger in this place that she called home just a few weeks ago. He led her to the sofa, sitting down next to her. Every few seconds, his eyes would wander back to her face, wanting her to notice him, to remember him. It was like he was playing tug of war in his head, part of him wanted to break down and cry, the other was telling him to stay calm. He knew he had to stay strong for her. 

“If you feel like you need space, let me know.” Remus offered, “I just want to make sure that you’re comfortable, that’s what I care about most.” 

“Thank you,” she smiled, looking down at her hands as she wrung them together in her lap. Her hands were always a sign of her stress and anxiety – he had known that since school. 

“I put together a box a stuff. Just bits and bobs from the last few years. Y’know postcards, letters, photographs, that kind of stuff. I can go and get them if you like?” 

Y/N spent hours curled up on the sofa, sifting through the box that Remus brought her. She pored over the photographs, tracing their faces with the tip of her finger. He felt his heart throb when he saw the spark of happiness light up her eyes. It seemed like she was enjoying looking through the photographs, seeing all the good times they had in the past. He watched her, her smile was infectious, momentarily making him forget about everything that had happened. 

“You wrote me all these letters?” she asked, wafting one in his direction. 

“Yeah. I started doing it when we were at school, y’know over the summer holidays and then I started leaving them around in places for you to find. I’ve done it for years.” 

“You really loved me, huh?” she mused. 

“Love.” Remus corrected her, “I really love you.” 

“Even now?” she cocked her head to look at him, “Even though I can’t remember anything?” 

“Of course. I always will.” he met her gaze, his eyes softening, “It’s such a shame that you can’t remember everything but you get to rediscover who you are and who you were. I’m just happy that I get to be there alongside you for that.” 

“But won’t it just feel like dating a stranger? Starting afresh?” her voice grew quieter and she looked down at her hands, picking at the skin around her nails.  

“I get the pleasure of getting to know you all over again.”  

Over the next few weeks that they spent back at their flat together, Y/N’s attitude towards Remus shifted. She had started to become more comfortable around him, like she wasn’t seeing him as a stranger anymore. They would spend hours curled up on the sofa together while she asked Remus to tell her stories about their time at school. She would laugh at his jokes, playfully hitting him on the arm as she did so – something that she used to do when they were younger.  

For the first time since the accident, she started flirting with him. It was nice to see her back to the playful, flirty girl that she used to be. She would often tease Remus about their past and then take great delight when his cheeks went pink. Her touches started to linger and she had even started leaning against him when they sat together, her body brushing against his.  

He was starting to be more affectionate with her too, though he was hesitant to initiate it as he didn’t want to move things along too fast and spook her. A sudden rush of excitement would wash over him whenever she showed any signs of falling into their old patterns. He couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off of his face. 

One evening, while they were cooking together in the kitchen, something that they always used to do, he caught her staring at him. Her eyes roamed over his face, taking in every detail like she was trying to commit it to memory.  

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Remus teased.  

“Oh, shut up.” she laughed, turning away from him to stir the pot on the stove. Remus just chuckled, shaking his head and looking back to the dishes that he was drying. They stayed in comfortable silent for a while, occasionally Y/N would sing along to songs on the radio if she remembered them, though she would often get the words muddled up. 

“Hey, Moony, can you just pass me the saltshaker?” she asked, her eyes still focused on the bubbling pan.  

“What did you just call me?” The plate that he was holding nearly slipped from his fingers and he turned around so fast that his neck could have snapped. 

“M-Moony.” she repeated, though this time the word felt unfamiliar in her mouth. It had come so casually before, dripping off her tongue like honey. 

“You haven’t called me that for ages.” he said, his voice thick with disbelief, “I didn’t think you’d remember. How did you even...” his voice trailed off. 

“I don’t know.” she moved to look at him, her eyes wide, “It just slipped out. It suits you though. Moony.” 

Remus could have fallen to his knees. This was the first time that she has remembered something. Something about him. The way she said it so easily, as if nothing had happened at all. It was the first sign of hope in weeks that her memory might start to come back. Even if it didn’t Remus was enjoying getting to know her all over again.  

While Remus lay on the sofa that evening trying to get some sleep, he had taken to sleeping on the sofa until she was more comfortable around him, he couldn’t believe that she was starting to fall for him again. The ever-present voice in the back of his mind had started to quieten. He had been so worried that his one shot at love had slipped from his grasp and it was killing him that there was nothing that he could to do make her remember what once was. He couldn’t believe his luck. The girl of his dreams had starting to like him, again. The first time wasn’t just a fluke like he always thought it had been. She liked him and she chose him again. 

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

hiii could you do more of Baby!Seonghwa pls?? I loved it and i can’t stop thinking about it since i’ve read it, amazing work btw thanks <3

Medicine

❥Yandere Park Seonghwa x fem reader

➯a/n: this is a work of fiction and does NOT represent a healthy little and caregiver relationship, or a healthy relationship of any kind. i'm back at it with my mommy hwa shenanigans while tweaking with the shells plot line mwahaha

takes place before Baby (you don't have to read to understand but it gives this some extra spice)

✃ "I'd burn alive just for the soft light on your face." -Paper Doll, Flower Face

✫彡wordcount: 3k

♡'･ᴗ･'♡(ಡ‸ಡ)(¯ ³¯)♡genre: yandere, angst, hurt & comfort

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: stockholm syndrome, periods and period blood(non descriptive), everyone is morally grey, non sexual nudity, references to sh and violence(not towards reader), it's fair to say seonghwa is a murderer lol, jongho and baby bff agenda as hinted at in the first part, more exploration of how the members are affected, one mention of sewer slide, mingi needs a hug fr, not proof read

⁂perm taglist: @stvrfir3 @tunaasan @marievllr-abg

✩index: little space; a regressed state of mind where one feels like a child. hyung; a name for an older male friend or sibling, used by other males.

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

  Seonghwa was certain that he could handle anything you threw his way after five months of being his captive in his care.

      He knew you well, better than he knew himself most days. Even before he had 'taken you home', he tried to learn everything about you to make the transition easier. Some things though- were impossible to know.

     You hadn't gotten your period since before your 'big move', as he called it. He read up on all things womanly to be better prepared so he knew that stress could cause you to skip it. And it did for a long while. Now, though, you were starting to settle in.

     He knew they were painful. But nothing prepared him for the heartbreak when he saw you in the state you were in now.

     He had just gone downstairs to get the mail, but that was apparently all the time it took for you to lock yourself in the bathroom.

     "I don't know what happened, Hyung!" Mingi was just as panicked as Seonghwa at the moment, he felt responsible for whatever was happening behind the locked bathroom door. What if you had gotten into their razors? It would be all his fault... His Hyung trusted him with his Baby and she dashed away before he could even register it.

     Everyone saw the shift in you the past few days, moody and hungry and tired. One of the managers even had the nerve to ask if you could be pregnant. As if Hwa would ever let you skip your birth control.

    "She just ran off! Everything was fine," Mingi continued as he jiggled the knob relentlessly, slapping his palm on the wood while calling out.

     His voice was so loud in Seonghwa's mind. He was so overwhelmed. Scared. Full of rage.

    And then they heard the shower turn on.

    At least he knew you were alive in there.

    "Baby?" He pushed his younger member out of the way and knocked on the door much gentler. "You know you can't take baths alone. Open the door and let me help you."

     There was no response.

    "Now, Baby."

    Only the sound of the water hitting linoleum tiles.

   "Don't make me count to three."

    Mingi backed up at that. He hated when he counted just as much as you did.

    But he didn't have to count, when he heard the tiniest sniff from over the pelting water his body reacted for him. His shoulder came in contact with the door and in the next second he had broken through the frame of the door.

    Mingi looked on in shock, eyes fixed on the metal lock on the door which was still stuck out in place. They followed to the doorframe, splintered open. Then they fell to you, curled up naked on the bathroom floor under the raining water. He looked away at that, turning and crouching down to pick up the broken pieces of wood to busy himself until he knew you were okay enough to leave you in Seonghwas care alone.

      Seonghwa had kneeled next to you, uncaring as the water soaked the knees on his pants. Even more uncaring as he leaned over your face, blocking the water with the back of his head and soaking the collar of his shirt and his hair. The scorching water dripped from his hair to your face as he cupped it in his hands, inspecting you for any damage on the surface.

"Baby, my baby, what's wrong?" The pain in his voice was just as present as the pain in your face. Wound tight like your eyebrows as you winced.

"H-hurts." Was all you could manage, groaning as he untucked your arms from around you to inspect you further. You were fine on the surface.

"Hyung..." His head snapped back to Mingi, who held out your shorts pinched between his fingers, touching them as little as possible. There was a dark spot on them, red and angry as it stained the pattern.

He looked down slowly, eyes meeting the drain as it sucked up the pink tinted water.

ఌ

It took all the convincing in the world from Seonghwas part that for you to remember that you weren't dying. That this happened to big girls every month. Eventually he managed to dry you off after letting the water sooth you for a while and set you up with a pad from the box he's had under the sink since he brought you home.

But then again, some things he couldn't have been prepared for. You told him your periods weren't just painful, they were debilitating. He wished he would have asked you before hand to be more prepared- but now he knows better for next time!

He set you up on the couch with a sock full of uncooked rice that he'd heated up placed on your stomach while he did frantic research on his phone. He peeked back and when he saw you were fast asleep, tuckered out from fighting the pain, he made a beeline downstairs- not even bothering to wait for the elevator and essentially jumping down the stairs.

     He barged right into Yunho and Yeosangs dorm, making a mental note to scold them for not locking the door later on. But for now he was on a mission for his baby.

    "Hello, Yeosang," he greeted briefly as he barged into the room as well, going straight to his shelf of supplements and vitamins. He could only stare dumbfounded as he scooped up what he needed and left. "Bye, Yeosang."

"Hello, Yunho." He spoke as he passed him in their kitchen. He raided the pantry and left with a simple, "Bye, Yunho." The both of them looked on in confusion as their Hyung left the dorm, not bothering to even shut the door.

     "Yah, that's ours!"

    Yunhos yell when unheard -or rather uncared for- as he was out the door just as fast as he came, desperately rushing down the hall as they looked on.

ఌ

That was how everyone ended up in the top story dorm, watching in confusion and anxiety as Seonghwa sat down his stolen goods on the coffee table infront of the couch, careful not to wake you. He went to walk off, and Wooyoung opened his mouth, "is she o-"

      "Shh!" The eldest shushed harshly, shutting him up as he sped walked away.

      "Hey, thats mine!" Another victim of Seonghwas thievery followed his Hyung with a sleepy grimace, blinking confusedly at the scene in the living room.

They had all seen some strange behavior from their eldest member, especially through the past nine months that lead up to this. The day you met was like a switch flipped in his imbalanced mind.

They hated you for that. Or rather, hated the idea of you. Every one of their moral compasses was spun in a complete three sixty when their Hyung kidnapped you those five months ago. He wasn't the same. For the good or bad, you changed Seonghwas live, all of their lives-

For bad, you had been the reason that Hongjoong had to pick dirt from under his nails after covering up one of his best friends sins. You were the reason Mingi had to take a three week hiatus to cover recover from the bruises from when he made eye contact with you. You were the reason that a quarter of their staff had to be paid off when the word spread, just to keep everything from going public.

But then- you were the reason that Seonghwa had started smiling again. The reason he tossed his blades into the river. You were the inspiration to eight different songs in only these few months, one of which was a major break through for them. Your childlike attitude beamed through the apartments.

You brought a certain light to their lives, one that was emitted from the fires of Hell.

They promised themselves they'd be indifferent to you, to not get involved as much as possible for the sake of their own sanity and morals. And yet, here they are.

Gathered in the living room with heavy hearts as they looked over you, silently begging for Seonghwa or Mingi to tell them what was wrong with you.

"Hyung..." Jongho spoke as softly as he could, his eyes couldn't help but fixate on the way you held yourself like you wanted to disappear. "What did you do to her?"

He, out of everyone, was most worried.

He hated this situation just as much as the others. Hell, he was still fighting himself every day to turn his Hyung in- even if their entire worlds would come crashing down. Because he hated to see you in pain. An innocent person suffering because he was too cowardly.

You were attached to the hip the second that Seonghwa let you out of his room. You dashed for the scariest looking member... because he was less scary than the man who snatched you up, who you thought you could trust. You hid behind his arms as everyone else looked on, simply staring in the disbelief of what their once trusted and kind member had done.

Hongjoong was in the same boat, just as troubled as Jongho was with the entirety of what had become their lives. He prided himself in the fact that he was a good person, through and through. He did good deeds when no body was looking, simply because it spread good feelings. All he ever wanted to put in the world was positivity. But when he saw the tears that his best friend caused, his heart made him simply look the other way. You didn't like Hongjoong much. His picture in Seonghwas room taunted you, made you resent him for being so obviously close to the source of all your pain. But he didn't treat you any different for it.

"Park Seonghwa, you promised you wouldn't hurt her like that," Hongjoong sneered through his teeth, ready to grab his only Hyung by the ear when he heard a small grumble from the couch.

You blinked. Once, twice.

And then you broke into a waterfall of hot tears.

"Hey, Baby it's okay," Seonghwa tried to soothe you, only to be pushed flat away from you as Jongho came and took his seat infront of the couch where you were situated.

"Hi, little bear," he cooed, taking you into his arms immediately when you weakly opened yours. He moved slowly as he sat on the couch with you in his lap, but slowly wasn't slow enough to stop the aches from pulsing through your veins on what felt like a molecular level.

It was Wooyoungs turn now to feel brave and stand up to Hwa- well, stand over him as he watched his baby with tears of his own welling up. "She's never cried this hard, what did you do?"

"Baby-"

He was pushed back down as he reached for you, a begging pout on his lips as Yeosang held him down by his shoulders.

He didn't know what had changed in his members but he knew it was shit timing. You needed comfort and calm, not to see your caregiver held down and restrained from you.

A pink sock hit Yeosangs head and he looked up with soft shock written on his features as he met your eyes. You immediately looked down, you still weren't allowed to look them in the eyes and you most definitely didn't want a punishment ontop of natures own. "Don't hurt my Mommy..."

"Honey, did your Mommy do this to you?" Yunho asked as he bent to your level.

You simply shook your head. Were they really fighting over your well-being? Why didn't they do that months ago when this whole fiasco started? You blinked away the thought as another teeth gritting cramp hit you. You hid in Jonghos sweater, trying to quiet down your sobs.

It wasn't all for naught though, as you could hear Mingi finally speaking up when he returned from the kitchen, a baby bottle of juice in hand that he sat down with Seonghwas thieved goodies. "She got her period..." Some of them immediately started cooing over you, and while you couldn't tell who with your head trying to burrow its way into Jongho to hide, it still made your ears feel hot with embarrassment.

"Oh, poor baby," San was the first one to speak, plugging in the heating pad he was robbed of minutes early with zero hesitation, gently draping it over your lower back.

"Get off me," Seonghwa finally snapped and pushed Yeosang and Wooyoung away, crawling on his knees to the couch. "Baby, I've got some stuff to help you but you'll have to come off Jongho, okay?"

You had a hint of defiance in your pain filled eyes as you peeked from the plush sweater you were hidden in. "No, big bear," you put on the cutes and hugged Jonghos neck tighter.

"I know big bear is comfortable," he bit his tongue as he looked at the way you so willingly curled into his youngest members lap for comfort that he should be providing, "but give me five minutes, I need to take care of you."

"Come on, little bear," Jongho sat up as careful as possible, ignoring the tug on his heart as you whined. He cared for you, of course. But he feared Seonghwa more.

Wooyoung couldn't bear to watch anymore, taking San's hand and disappearing down the hall. He used to look up to Seonghwa, now he could barely look in his eyes.

Mingi followed their lead, he wanted to be strong and comfort you, but he simply couldn't handle another second of seeing you reduced to tears. He'd never watch you cry again. His heart couldn't take it. Maybe that made him a coward of a man, but he didn't care at the moment.

That left Hongjoong sat across the coffee table with Yunho, Yeosang lowering himself into the armchair, and Seonghwa on his knees infront of you as you clung to Jonghos neck.

   "Good..." He was certain there was blood filling his mouth from the way he bit down on his tongue. "I didn't want to leave you so these will do for now until I order your own, right?" It was rhetorical-was it? It's not like you had a choice in the matter. But he was so kind that it made your brain foggy. Like he really cared of your opinion for a moment.

    "Magnesium, zinc, and vitamin d," he explained as he took one from each of the bottles. "More vitamin d," he sat the bottle of juice next to your legs. "And comfort," he drug the basket of sweets that he used as rewards for good behavior to the edge of the table and let you take a peek, seeing the new and unfamiliar chocolates on top.

Intrigued by the fancy looking wrapper, you reached out. Seonghwa only put the medicine in your hand. "Medicine first, Baby. Then you can have all you want from the basket."

Seonghwa was a lot of things but he wasn't a liar, never to you.

So, you sucked it up and took the medicine.

ఌ

Later that night, everyone besides Hongjoong and Jongho had returned home (save for the three that actually lived in the apartment with you). Mingi didn't exit his room, not even for dinner. San came and joined movie night after Wooyoung left.

The movie long ended, leaving everyone in the room dead asleep besides Seonghwa. How could he sleep at a moment like this? His Baby could wake up at any moment and need him.

So, he just sat and watched over the most important people in his life. His best friend, laid on the couch with his head on the opposite end as you, curled into a ball with nothing but a stuffed monkey to keep him company. His youngest member, laid on the floor with a pillow to his chest. And San, he was-

"Hyung?"

He was awake. Seonghwa perked up a bit, blinking away that familiar look in his eyes before he turned to the armchair where San was draped in a strange position. "Hyung, you should go to sleep..."

Both their eyes drifted to you, sound asleep. He'd either have to curl up behind you on the couch with Hongjoong or move you to your shared bed.

"You know..." San sighed, almost silently. "I hate you for what you did to her. For what got us here. But I would be lying if I said you didnt take good care of her. You love her, don't you?"

"I love her more than life." It was a declaration that was as easy as breathing. Though he'd never said it out loud to anyone other than you. Until now. Seeing you like that... "I love her. I never want her to be in pain like that, you don't understand, San. I was ready to kill myself if she was dying."

"Don't be ridiculous-"

"I'm serious."

The look in his eyes told him he was was. He would never joke when it came to you. He was always dead serious. He would rather not be in this world at all than be in it without you. "I know you don't understand, I'm not asking you to. But I had to do what I did. I had to do it. I had to."

"I know." And he did. San knew that, by all means Seonghwa didn't have to do what he did. He didn't have to kidnap you and keep you imprisoned in their dorm and buy people off to keep their mouth shut. But Seonghwa thought that he did. His mind had convinced him, and there was no turning back.

That first night, when they found you tied to his bed, that was all he could say. I had to. I had to. I had to. With his head tucked between his knees like a scolded child defending themselves- although everyone was too shell shocked to even say a word until Wooyoung broke the silence with a simple, 'what the fuck.' I had to. I had to. I had to.

"Do you?"

San licked his lips, took a deep breath, and rolled around to face the back of the arm chair. "I know you, Park Seonghwa. And you did what you believed was necessary. I can never agree with your reasoning... but I'll never fight you on it. Take your baby and go to bed. We're all tired."

Seonghwa couldn't see them, but there was fat tears rolling down San's face. He hadnt cried over this. But something had finally faded away and let him. He never referred to you as that. He liked to think you'd enjoy being separate from the life that Seonghwa had built for you. Not that you could notice most of the time, forced so deep into little space that your head felt light and fluffy like a bag of cotton candy.

    He must have finally come to terms with the fact that this was reality.

     "C'mon, baby girl," he heard him whisper, followed by a small groan as you were picked up. He waited until he heard Seonghwas door click. And he let all his tears free fall.

    Seonghwa set your tired form down on your side of the bed, crawling in after you while trying to push away that itch in his brain that was screaming that he forgot your nightly routine. He tucked that little voice away and settled in bed, bringing the soft comforter over you both and melting into his pillow with a sigh.

    He gathered you close as gently as possible and rubbed your back, staring up at the ceiling and listening closely to your breathes as they evened out to quiet snores.

      A smile played at his lips.

    For a moment he felt like everything would be okay. You had your medicine-

He felt you curl closer to his warmth, and he brought his finger tips up to brush your loose hairs back with a tenderness reserved only for you.

-And he had his.

ఌ

[yellowbunnydreams]

Only Donors Left Alive [Vampire! Dave Miller x F! Reader] (Part 1)

~By popular demand, like weirdly popular for a cameo character in another fic, we're writing Vampire Dave today! Wooo! Also a big shout out to @ruh--roh-raggy and @springlockedfool for being feral over this man with me and springlockedfool for making some awesome art of the wet spaghetto based on our conversations/Do You Need Some Vitamin D?.~

Taglist: @ruh--roh-raggy @springlockedfool

CW: 18+ MINORS DNI- Female Reader, legal age gap, older man/younger woman, graphic acts of violence, biting, knife-play, blood, blood-drinking/licking, unbalanced power dynamic, anaemia, possessive behaviour, partial nudity

Hurricane was a small town with a nothing of particular note going on in it. Or at least, that was what you had been told by the realtor when you'd been looking for somewhere quiet to move to after you'd decided to move out of your parent's house. They seemed content to let you move to a small apartment in somewhere suburban, it had apparently been much more of a thriving town in the eighties, but you preferred the quiet.

As you'd dragged your suitcase from the cab in front of the apartment complex on the edge of town however, you'd already begun to notice a few things that weren't quite right with Hurricane. Although, you easily brushed it off as nerves with moving to somewhere unfamiliar and new.

The apartment complex itself was a drab, dusty grey concrete building that looked like it hadn't been externally renovated since it was built some time in the peak of Hurricane's history and as you let yourself inside the foyer, you noticed the lights had a sickly glow to them. Flickering hallogen lamps that gave you a subtle creepy feeling, like you were walking into somewhere you weren't meant to be.

The place was crap, the rent was cheap, but you were sure you could make it work out for yourself. At least, when all your things arrived over the next few days.

Sighing to yourself, you looked at the notice in your hand and shoved it roughly into the pocket of your denim jacket. Noticing a little elevator nestled into the back of the lobby, you went to try the button, waiting for the doors to open up. Hearing the grinding of metal against metal, and the squeal of the service brakes as the doors to the elevator shaft creaked open, the floor itself an inch or so above the level it should be, you decided it was in your best long-term interests to take the stairs.

Dragging the suitcase up wasn't easy, especially when you realised that you were on the top floor. But you had paid extra on the deposit for a larger apartment, and with four units of each floor and only two on the top floor, you weren't going to complain too much.

The hum of the lights as your breath sounded loud in your ears was somewhat comforting. Looking between the two doors, fishing the paper out of your pocket, you confirmed the number and shuffled over to your new door, wrapping your fingers around the metalic key in your pocket and unlocking the door.

Despite the dingy exterior of the building, the apartment inside was quite clean and somewhat modern. Spacious, painted a soft creamish beige on the walls, the floors were shockingly even laid down with a fresh layer of linoleum. The cupboards were painted a faint pastel bluish-grey, and the vinyl counters were clearly freshly laid, mimicking a black granite. The whole apartment smelt faintly like fresh paint and bleach.

"Well...this is home, I guess." You muttered to nobody. Leaving your suitcase by the door, you decided to explore the space.

The rest of the apartment was just as spacey. A slight hallway, a combined kitchen and lounge, you were quite surprised by the spacious bathroom too, the dark tiling along the walls contrasting to the white floors and a seemingly generous shower. And finally, the bedroom, it was perhaps a little smaller than you originally anticipated, but it was still large enough for you to fit a double bed inside and it came with a built in wardrobe along one wall. This place could easily be home, once the smell of heavy duty cleaning products aired out and you made sure to check the lease on how you could decorate.

Looking outside, you realised how late it was getting and decided to see if you could find somewhere that would deliver food to you. Scrolling through your phone and selecting a pizza place that sounded good, you began to unpack what little belongings you had managed to fit inside your suitcase, wanting to keep yourself busy.

After-all, you were sure you would have time to look around the sleepy little town in the morning.

The next few days were uneventful, much to your boredom and frustration.

All your boxes had arrived, you'd set up furniture, made sure appliances were up and connected. But you had begun to realise there were a few things that were not quite right with Hurricane when you had ventured out into town to grab supplies and things.

Firstly, there were the telephone poles, covered in staples like they were once decorated with posters of some kind, but the few you saw seemed to be missing pets and the occasional human face staring back at you. It made you sad, but when you asked the cashiers about it at the local store, they simply stared at you with wide eyes like they were surprised you had noticed. People didn't talk to each other in the same way as they had back home either. Back there, you went into a store and you could hear something like ten different conversations, but you had only heard whispered conversations amongst small groups that seemed tense when you passed by.

But you shrugged it off, you'd moved states, moved towns, brushing it off as simply strange, you tried to ignore the gut feeling you had that there was something else lurking beneath the surface of it all.

Entering your apartment building, you nearly tripped over a package sat in the lobby. Glancing over it, you realised that the box was addressed to the unit besides yours. Despite being there for a few days, it had seemed strange to you that you hadn't noticed anybody else living in the building, but you assumed that you would all meet at some point.

Balancing your groceries on top, you grunted as you picked up the box. Surprised by it's weight as you glanced at the elevator before sighing and lugging it up the stairs, knowing your legs were going to look great after how many times you'd taken the stairs recently. Although you had to admit that you really hoped your landlord fixed the elevator soon and allowed you to have a day off from going up and down to the top floor each and every time.

The usually twenty minute climb took about forty with the additional box and groceries.

When you reached the top step, you were glad to put the box down. Breathing hard and sweat beading against your brow in the Utah heat, heart pounding in your chest and ears as you let out a frustrated sigh. Closing your eyes for just a moment to gather yourself.

"Well aren't you a pretty sight?" The voice behind you suddenly made you gasp and whip around, heart beating even faster as you were met at first with a white-ish shirt that seemed a little baggy for whoever was wearing it.

Stepping back involuntarily, you noticed a tall, lanky man standing a little too close to you for your comfort. Having to look up slightly, you watched a crooked smile creep across his gaunt face, dark eyes darting about in a way that made you wonder if perhaps he was as flustered as you. Glancing over him as a whole, he appeared to be wearing some kind of unbranded security uniform, white with black epaulettes and black slacks. Not hiding his wiry figure, he looked greyish and like a particularly strong breeze might take him out upon initial inspection.

"Sorry?" The word tumbled from you quickly, and his gaze finally settled on yours for long enough to realise that he had blueish eyes, although they looked darker thanks to the heavy dark circles beneath them giving them a more sallow appearance.

"Oh you don't need to apologise, sugar, it's not often I get visitors all the way up here. And certainly fewer that look as....delectable...as you." The crooked grin spread, revealing crooked teeth, those blue eyes focused on you intently still as he looked down at you, you could feel your cheeks heating up under his intensity. But something about that same intensity made your skin crawl uncomfortably.

"I'm not a visitor, I live on this floor. That means you must be my neighbour, right?"

The man blinked and you felt a sense of relief washing over you as his smile faltered for a moment before that lopsided, cock-sure grin crept back onto his sharp face. Rubbing his hand along his black slacks before offering it to you, making you worry what he'd been touching before you tentatively shook it with a polite smile, caught off guard as his thin, dexterous fingers squeezed and you felt the strength behind his boney appearance. His skin felt cool to the touch and a little clammy, and you thought that maybe he'd just wiped down his sweaty hands to make it a little more pleasant for you.

"So you're my new little tenant. My my, aren't I a lucky guy."

"Come again?"

"Oh I will, pet, don't you worry. Dave Miller, landlord and your neighbour." He introduced himself as he kept hold of your hand for just a moment after you loosened your grip, making you laugh nervously. Bringing your hands back to your sides as you tried not to let your shocked expression show. "How are you enjoying the unit? I've had to perform some renovations after the last tenant....left some damage."

The way Dave spoke was a little odd, and you heard something of a British accent in that raspy, gravelly voice. People could be socially awkward, you reasoned with yourself, and Dave didn't look like the kind of man who easily socialised as his eyes once again were darting about in a way that made you subconsciously think of a wild animal. His dark hair looked slightly greasy, tousled like he's simply run his fingers through it when he woke up.

"The apartment is great! I love how spacious it is." Glad to change the topic as you suddenly remembered your groceries, picking them off of the top of the box and gesturing towards the large package with your free hand. "Oh, and um, I found this in the lobby? I hope it's yours, it was a pain lugging it up here, but at least I got my cardio in!"

"Hmmm? Oh yes, thank you sugar. And don't worry, I know you did, I could hear you all the way downstairs." Continuing to give that wide, crooked smile that felt uncomfortable as you swore his eyes darted to your neck and trailed up before focusing on you once again.

Bending over, Dave picked up the package easily, making you raise an eyebrow as you were still thinking about how rude his comment seemed, were you really that out of shape carrying up the box that he could hear you?

"I should...go put these groceries away,"

"Of course, I should put mine away too. It's been a pleasure meeting you," your name dripped from his tongue in a way that made your heart race and cringe at the same time. Like he was almost tasting it, a thought that made you shudder as you headed for your door. Turning your head over your shoulder to see if he was still there and found him staring after you, seeming to watch you with that crooked smile that didn't quite reach his darting eyes.

You decided you didn't know what to think of your landlord as you closed the door behind you and shut him out.

You rarely saw Dave after your initial introduction, at least for the first week or so. Occasionally you'd spot him in the evenings wearing that white uniform shirt that you were sure he'd stained permanently grey, but whenever he saw you, that lazy smile creeped onto him and you couldn't help but smile back. Often afterwards, you were left confused and disoriented by the action, like something had over ridden your senses to force the action. Dave made you feel slightly uneasy, at the very core of each interaction.

As did the growing number of missing posters in Hurricane.

You'd been in the supermarket when you heard your name called, one of the locals that you recognised as working in one of the mechanic's shops was stood by the register with a frown on his bearded face. The elderly cashier looking concerned as you pointed to yourself before moving over cautiously, wondering if you broke some small town ettiquette.

"You're new to town, right?" He asked gruffly, making you shrug and smile a little nervously at the sudden question.

"Yeah, moved in about a week or so ago now, sir."

"You live in that apartment complex on the edge of town, don't ya?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful, there's been...things...happening..." He gesticulated vaguely and the older cashier scoffed, blinking behind her thick glasses at you as she smacked on on his shoulder, tutting disapprovingly.

"Don't mind him lovely, he don't know how to talk to people. What he means to say is that there have been a few people going missing in Hurricane recently, and all the locals are nervous. Especially since they're mostly out of towners and...well...people that live on the fringes of our social circles." She explained, making you think back to your walk home, how you had noticed a few more posters up than when you first arrived. "Do you need a ride home? Jason here can give you a ride, I worry about a young lady walking home this late if there's been all this strangeness about."

You smiled and thanked her, assuring her and who you found out to be her son that you would be fine. You were always fine. If anything, you refused to mention how it felt like the last few nights you had been followed by somebody. However, whenever you turned around or glanced into a reflective surface as you walked past, you never saw anybody. Putting it down to your paranoia about the missing people. Soon, it was time to walk home again however, and you said your goodbyes.

The streets were beginning to turn dark as you walked through the cooler evening temperatures. Stopping to look at one of the telephone poles that had many posters stapled to it, finding a total of five people and four pets that had gone missing over the short time you'd lived in Hurricane.

If anybody had been more superstitious, they might have blamed you for it all.

As you were lost in thought however, you heard the screech of barely working brakes and turned to look at the noise naturally. Spotting a Toyota Corolla pulling up, beat up silver, the tyres looked like they were on the verge of needing replacing, and as the window rolled down, it was both to your dread and delight that you realised it was Dave behind the wheel. An uncustomary scowl on his face even as he looked at you.

"The fuck are you doing out here?" His rasp sent a shiver down your spine, frowning, you crossed your arms across your chest and raised an eyebrow.

"Good evening to you too Dave. I tried knocking on your door this morning to let you know that another package had arrived for you." Watching his scowl lessen as he ran his slender hand over his angular face. Sucking his crooked teeth slightly.

"I don't do mornings, sugar, no matter how tempting the little treat at my door is." You felt your cheeks flushing as you felt that gut twist once more despite the flutter that the compliment caused in your chest. "You shouldn't be out here all alone."

"So people have said."

"Let me give you a ride."

"Absolutely not."

"Alright, let me give you a ride back, please, sugar. This ain't even about rent, it's the principle of the thing." Dave sighed, looking at you with a scowl until you sighed and nodded your head. Walking around to his passenger side and barely had yourself buckled in before he pulled a u-turn in the middle of the road.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"Nope, Dave Miller. I'd rather hear you screaming that." The comment crawled under your skin and made you cringe, watching that sleazy smile come back. There was the Dave you'd seen and knew. Unsure on how to respond as he drove through the darkened streets, hurtling towards your complex with a practised precision.

"Are you heading to work?" Attempting to change the subject, he nodded as his face contorted into a mask of concentration, his eyes darting wildly, although they seemed to focus a little too intently on you whenever you spoke to him directly.

"Yeah, the night-shift is always fun as long as you're not afraid of what goes bump in it." His way of speaking still resonated to you as a bit odd, but despite it being something like the second time you'd spoken to your landlord, you couldn't help but think that it was simply him.

Sooner than you expected, you were outside your building. Unclipping your seatbelt quickly, only for Dave's hand to reach out and hold onto your wrist. Your eyes widening as you turned to look at him, watching that somewhat feral smile with sharp, slightly disarrayed teeth lazily spread as he gazed up at you, bending in his seat and bringing your hand up to his cold, thin lips. Making you cringe physically and mentally, seemingly to his amusement as he began to chuckle. Swearing his fingers were positioned like he was taking your pulse before he let you go, licking his lips slightly and humming in thought.

"Have a goodnight, sugar. Make sure to lock your door tight, you wouldn't want....something...unsavoury...getting in, would you?" Phrasing it like a question, but your heart pounded as you weakly nodded and felt your body shaking slightly, climbing out of Dave's car and heading into your building as quickly as you could. Feeling his eyes burning into your back before you made it into the lobby and peered out, watching his silver car slowly pulling out of the parking lot once again.

No wonder the rent was so cheap. You weren't sure how anybody could stand being neighbours with Dave for extended periods of time.

[kashi-prompts]

Title: Cuts and Scrapes, Soap and Kisses

Prompt: Kakashi comes home exhausted and dirty. You take care of him.

Pairing: Kakashi x Reader

Rating: T (pure fluff, no smut)

A/N: Ya girl loves the fluff just as much as she loves the damsel in distress trope (not listed here tho lol).

***

Thud

You lifted your head from your pillow, your ears perking up at the sound of Kakashi's bag dropping on the linoleum floor of the kitchen. Quickly, you stood up, yanking the sheets off from your legs and shuffling your feet quickly towards the sound of a heavy sigh.

In the kitchen, he faced away from you, looking down as he shuffled the mail left out for him in his hands. You watched him for a moment, noticing the tear of his uniform on the back of his upper arm. Between the parted fabric was a small razor like cut, its blood dried. His shoulders sagged in exhaustion.

"You're home," you smiled softly, leaning your body against the door frame. Quickly he turned around, dropping the mail back onto the counter. He sighed in gratitude at the sight of you, a content smile behind his mask.

Without saying anything, he lifted his arms, urging you to come forward and envelope yourself in his chest. You pressed into him, smelling the musk on his skin from a long week away.

"Sorry if I smell," he murmured apologetically, kissing the top of your head.

"Oh, not too bad for you only being away for a week," you laughed, pulling away to look up at him. Your eyes searched his, his eyebrows perched in amusement.

His gaze was tired. Hues of purple painted the thin skin under his waterline. You reached up, rubbing the dirt from his cheek with your thumb. He smiled softly.

You took his hand, yanking him towards the bathroom.

"You should be asleep right now, [y/n]," he reminded you. "You have to be up early for work tomorrow, don't you?"

"Yes," you said, turning the light of the bathroom on. "But I'll be fine."

"I can clean myself," he began to laugh, watching you yank his forehead protector off and toss it on the counter. You reached up, peeling back his mask to reveal a line of dirt where the hem of his mask usually sat.

"Just relax," you smiled, standing up on your toes to plant a soft kiss on his lips. You held his bicep to steady himself. His muscles loosened.

Carefully, you continued to disassemble his uniform piece by piece - his heavy jonin jacket, his kunai thigh case, his gloves. Turning around, you turned the shower head on, letting it warm as you knelt down to begin unraveling the soiled tape on his legs.

"Sit," you ordered calmly, guiding him to the edge of the toilet seat cover. You continued to unravel the tape around his feet and ankles, dirt floating onto your tiled floor. Looking up, his eyes had closed, his shoulders slumped as he attempted to crack his neck.

"Was the mission successful?," you asked him quietly, pulling at the hem of his shirt.

"Mhm," he replied in a murmur, opening his eyes as he lifted his arms up. You slid the shirt off, tossing it to the dirty pile of clothes before returning again to pull off the chain mail undershirt. Underneath, there were thick, ugly bruises on his chest. His arms were littered in scrapes and cuts and you frowned, tracing a finger over them.

You looked back up at him, his eyes watching you intently as you assessed him.

"Did you clean these?" you asked, pointing at a particularly gnarly cut on his bicep. He shook his head, his eyes fluttering closed again. You reached under the bathroom sink, retrieving an overly used bottle of rubbing alcohol and a few cotton balls. Dowsing the cotton balls in alcohol, you carefully dabbed his wounds, hearing a soft hiss come from his mouth.

“Sorry,” you frowned, leaning down to kiss his grimy forehead. You lifted a hand, grazing his jaw and feeling the grey stubble on your finger tips.

"You need a good shave, Hatake," you smiled, discarding the cotton balls in the trash. He chuckled to you, eyes opening.

"I need a good nap, is what I need," he chuckled.

"C'mon," you stood up him, testing the water temperature before peeling his pants away and ushering him under the shower head. You watched him bow his head, the hot water dripping down each strand of silver hair and down his shoulders. Without him noticing, you slipped out of your clothes and under the stream of warm water behind him.

"Oh?" He lifted his head, peering back at you as he sensed your presence behind him.

"Don't get any ideas," you giggled, watching him raise his eyebrows expectantly, "You can barely stay awake now."

"That's true," he agreed, nodding as he rubbed his face in the hot water. You slid a hand up his neck, watching him lean his head back as you began sifting the water through his hair. The first time you had slipped a hand through his hair, you had never suspected how thick it would be. The water barely penetrated its wild form. Carefully, you squeezed out some of his shampoo, rubbing it between your hands and combing it through the clumps of silver on his head. He groaned happily, feeling you massaging his scalp.

You continued to clean him, scrubbing his back with a washcloth and soap and rinsing his body gently. He smiled softly at you when you finished, wrapping yourself in a towel as he dried himself off. You could smell the fresh scent of sandalwood on his body, the satisfying aroma of clean, scrubbed skin in the air.

"I'll shave in the morning," he told you you, pulling on a pair of boxers.

"I can help you," you offered with a smile, tracing a finger down his stubble once again. He grabbed your finger gently, pressing the tips to his chapped lips.

"You've done enough," he whispered tenderly, his voice husky with sleep.

You smiled again at him, letting him hold your hand as you walked him into your bedroom, guiding his sore body under the sheets. He groaned again, his body creaking as he relaxed, stretching his legs out. You crawled back into bed next to him, pushing his damp hair from his forehead. He shifted his head on the pillow, facing you under the dim light of your nightstand lamp. One eye opened, a half, tired smile on his lips.

Leaning your head over, you kissed him gently once, then again, then on his nose. You smiled, feeling his arm snake around your shoulder and pulling you close to him. You traced the curve of his bicep, feeling it flex as he squeezed you.

"I love you," he murmured into your hair. "More than anything."

"I love you too."

[betweendisorders]

(trigger warnings in tags)

Basil is folding origami.

The edge of the bathroom counter crests over Aubrey's hair.

It flows past her, like stagnant filth. Like her house was flooded in it, up to her eye level, and then past her hair. Gentle pressure on all her fragile bones.

A fluorescent bulb burns. Ugly, artificial yellow.

She reaches up. One hand fumbles over the cold linoleum. Slick, icy cold water. Small hairs. Shaved stubble. A prickle, a sticking. Venus fly trap.

Her other arm hangs limply by her side, all undone.

She pulls herself up. Clambers over the side, with pained little noises. Has to crumple her body, fold herself against knives' edges. Turn herself inside out. Make herself unnatural.

There's a clatter against the floor, as a razor falls off. She ignores it.

It's a fortune teller. It's made of notebook paper, torn to be square. A little uneven, so some of the teller's teeth are larger and more jagged than others.

He has a quiet sort of expression. Focused. He makes art from notebook paper, and glances across at her.

They're in his driveway.

Nobody's home. Not anymore.

She sits down. The counter is as cold as it is filthy. She's careful not to knock their toothbrushes off. There are two. Aubrey isn't completely sure which one is hers.

She opens the cabinet, with her good hand. The mirror cabinet. Like a magic door, all secret and tucked away. Right where she never would've guessed, last birthday, when she cut herself slicing a cupcake in half. Sliced her skin open on Mom's broken promises last year, about next year, which became this year too quickly for her to keep up with.

Last birthday, when there was nobody to tell her where the med kit was.

But that was last birthday. Next year is here, and all the secrets of the world reveal themselves, when Aubrey's arm comes undone.

He looks embarrassed, when he notices she's watching him. "It's, um. It's a fortune teller." He laughs, a little, to himself. At himself. "It's silly, I know."

"Yeah," Aubrey says, shortly.

He smiles, briefly, across at her. A little pained. Looked back down, and stopped smiling. "Yeah," he agrees, playing with the fortune teller. Putting his fingers through the gaps. Shaping it properly.

And then, he started unfolding it. Ruffling through his pockets, to fetch a scratched, rattling, cheap plastic mechanical pencil.

He glanced at her. Anxious in the eyes. Unable to ignore her. "What, um... what fortunes do you think I should put?" he asked.

The mirror is stained.

Old spittle. Flecks of toothpaste. Smears of something grey and thick, semi-solid. Indistinct streaks. Smudges. Scratches. All those things that marked it as uncared.

Aubrey looks through the mirror.

On the other side, there's a her that isn't her. Her tearstains are permanent. Snot dribbles down from a quivering lip. Blood covers her shirt, dries against her chin.

The bathroom beyond is indistinct. The foggy, dirty glass that covered the shower - no bathtub beneath - glittered faintly. Horoscopic. The linoleum lapped against the smudges on its surface.

Aubrey looks to the other side, and sees a beach. Wishes she could be there, because her reflection isn't her.

"Don't ask me," Aubrey says, shortly. "I don't have a clue."

Basil looked down again. "Okay," he said, quietly. Willingly.

He's stark pale. As pale as he was drowning.

Fuck. "Fuck," she says as much. "Something good, I guess." She sneered, at the horizon beyond him. Glanced away. "God knows we've earned it."

Basil hesitated, for just a beat. Looked like he wasn't so sure.

His pencil scrawled against the paper.

I love you, Mom lies. The stench of blood thick in Aubrey's nose. Warmth, sickly, cradled carefully against her chest. Bundled and fumblingly uncaring. A dying sun, never to collapse into something bigger, or brighter, or supermassive. Just... going away.

I love you, Mom promises, and breaks it next year, when it comes too quickly.

(Anger needed an outlet. Mom wasn't here.)

Aubrey's arm was undone, and her reflection looked scared. Empty in the eyes, quivering lip.

Happy birthday, Mom didn't bother to lie.

"Happiness is just around the corner," Aubrey read aloud.

She looked across at him. Glared flatly. "Did you put this on all the flaps," she asked, though her tone was more like a statement of fact.

"Um... No?" He looked uncomfortable. Vaguely pained. She couldn't tell if it was confusion, or nerves. At being caught.

If he'd done it, at least.

She was sure he had.

She dropped the fortune teller onto the concrete. Let it splay out of her hand, and slip down. Tumble onward, and onward, and onward. Land hard. Bite off its own tongue, so the bark of the future wouldn't warn her.

"Life's bullshit," she said.

Basil hummed, vaguely. Looked away.

"...And then it ends," he said, quietly. Made a feeble attempt at a shaky, pained smile. "Might as well make the most of it?" he offered, like a consolation prize.

And Aubrey, for just a moment, thought of the beach. Where the ocean met the land. Where the unknown met home. Where she could wade into the water and still be safe, and the sun shone so brightly.

The fortune teller crinkled.

The sound made Aubrey's arm ache, dully.

(cross-posted to ao3)

[myristca]

task 002 - oblitus residence

the house becca lives in is by no means a replacement for her family home, but it's livable. the kitchen would be enough for her to make a meal in, but the appliances are dingy and unreliable. it took a while for her to not hate the butter yellow wallpaper and avocado green linoleum floor. a round dining table is in another corner with three chairs tucked against the wall and a spare coat hangs on the fourth. in a terrible habit, her clean laundry is folded here and left in the open for an embarrassingly long mount of time. anything used on a daily basis is left here too, making the table an odd reflection of her 'collected, yet cluttered' mental state. the living room furniture is mismatched in a way that shows someone tried to make it look nice with what was available. the couch and armchair are both blue and sagging, well used and arranged around a fireplace. she likes to sleep in the chair on cold nights. last, but surely a previous occupant's source of pride, a scuffed and dusty cabinet filled with little paintings, trinkets, sculptures, and a complete eight setting bone china set with matching silverware. it always makes her wonder which things were brought and which already there. each room has a standard bed, except for the king her ex insisted on having and no, he didn't get to take it with him, along with a dresser and nightstand set. threadbare throw rugs try to add color against the greying hardwood floors and scratched walls. others have left behind various pieces; an alarm clock, flower vases, wooden carvings, etc. becca's favorite is the dreamcatcher hanging in a grimy window that reminds her of the one her younger son had made during a summer camp when he was a kid. she actually likes the bathroom, especially since the hot water works- somehow. the tiles don't get too cold and the ventilation fan works without rattling. the window had even been painted in a whitewash to give a clouded effect. it feels like the safest room in the house. sometimes, on the worst nights, she'll drink a little more and waste a little battery power to play music from an old cassette walkman, and let herself sing through the house like she's in a karaoke bar again. if it weren't for a solar charger packed into her camping supplies years ago, she isn't sure she would have made it this far. there is a door that connects the garage to the house that has been boarded closed. there was a minor incident in her first year when the monsters were able to slip inside and came much closer than becca was comfortable with. afterward, it was a project to organize the space and distribute some things to where they would be more useful, while most of it was left inside. her garage is free for anyone to rummage through for supplies or tools, though she's not entirely sure what's left anymore. any time becca brings a new item inside, it doesn't come without a measure of guilt for becoming complacent and comfortable. but happiness is traded from the dead to the living and who was she to deny a gift like that? ( pinterest )

[olliethescribe]

Uhhhh, man, I have not posted writing in a while… Sorry about that! I am depressed. Which is homophobic considering it’s Pride month /lhj - I’m working on things, however. Very slowly. At a snails pace….

On the bright side - here’s a snippet from a side fic I’m working on called Sweet Stargazer! It’s a pre-canon hippoworm fic that explores Warren and Ron (Hypno) meeting way earlier and falling for each other (:

Warren is 21 and Ron is 19 in this fic - thought y’all should know since it becomes plot relevant.

Enjoy!

The Shell station convenience store was alight with a yellow glow. Two cars, a pick-up truck and a dented van, were parked outside, one parked far better than the other in the only handicap space, as a pale gold moon hung in the evening sky. It was far too late into the night for anyone to possibly be up, the clock hands reaching several tics past one. And yet… 

The distant drone of overheated fluorescent bulbs barely registered with the only two patrons of the establishment as they moved from aisle to aisle. One of which had exited the bathroom, wiping his eyes, muttering to himself before proceeding to mill about. Both patrons were in their own little worlds, not minding the other as they shuffled tiredly around the other, an absent-minded passing of ships in the night. 

Ron Pewhairangi whistled silently to himself as he glanced disinterestedly at packets of crisps, taking more note of the tall blonde an aisle over than the snacks themselves. He cocked his head as his eyes followed the fellow between a gap in the shelves, discreetly looking the guy over.

The fellow had medium length hair that spilled down his face, covering one eye before being swept aside. It appeared to be dyed blonde, his brown roots on display when he’d so carefully bend to inspect the lower shelves. His legs tapping the linoleum floor of the shop sounded heavy, a light clack most would expect from marble or metal. He wore full length grey sweatpants that ended at his ankles, a beat-up pair of white sneakers, and a light blue hoodie with the hood down. His hands were jammed firmly in the middle pocket, with one making the occasional appearance to flick through the sugary selection. His fingernails were painted aquamarine, and his eyes were a hazel green, skin around them slightly puffy as if he’d been crying. Plenty of cool tones about him but he seemed just a little miffed to match, his teeth briefly on display with shiny braces as he muttered curses about something not being able to fit through the door and having to walk instead. 

Ron pretended not to be eyeing the guy as he heard him shuffle over to the next aisle, coming his way with a selection in hand. He kept his head down, sights set on the floor below in an attempt to draw less attention to himself. And for a moment it seemed to work. 

Well that was until the taller of the two bumped into the shorter one just a touch too roughly as he missed his step, dropping his stuff before righting himself on a nearby shelf. 

“Apologies for the spill. Allow me to help.” Ron’s accented voice cut through the silence, catching the tall fellow’s attention.

Warren Thaddius Smith looked down at the person before him, the same guy he’d seen wandering around and perusing the crisps disinterestedly, the one who was wandering around when he stumbled in and rushed into the bathroom with his head down. That guy. It was just passing glances before, but to get a closer look, oh boy, was this guy pretty. 

Short black hair curling into haphazard waves, light brown eyes that shimmered, dark olive skin, a gold hoop earring clipped to one ear, and the beginnings of a mustache. He was on the heavier side, wearing a black hoodie with Houdini’s visage gracing the back, the front decorated with fine gold lettering that said ‘now you see me” on the front and ‘now you don’t!’ on the back with sparkles around the text, also wearing blue jeans and sneakers. The guy’s buck teeth were prominent as he smiled, passing his fellow patron his things back, his black chipped nail polish catching in the grainy light. 

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Warren looked away, trying not to stare.

“Least I could do, Warren.” 

His attention snapped back to the guy in front of him, still puzzled by the accent he couldn’t quite place. Warren hadn’t introduced himself, had he? He searched his mind for a hint, doubting his memory.

“How do you know my name?” Warren raised an eyebrow, accessing the situation. “Have we met before?” 

The fellow before him snickered before pulling out a wrist watch, his wrist watch, his name engraved on the inside on the sterling silver back. 

“Nah, mate.” He passed Warren his watch back, who snapped it up in confusion. “Let’s make things even. You can call me Ron.”

Warren shoved his watch into his hoodie pocket, not sure if he should be angry or impressed. The night was already strange enough without getting pseudo-robbed. He regarded the pretty criminal with weary eyes.

“Why’d you steal my watch, Ron?” 

“That’s what we in the business call ‘sleight of hand’. Couldn’t resist an opportunity to show off, y’know?” Ron winked, ready to pull out a deck of cards before deciding to dial it back a bit. This Warren fellow seemed nonplussed. Tough crowd. 

[invivoinsomnium]

How about this for a scenario: It's a Tinder date, just like all the okay ones: the family restaurant is alive with the usual Happy Hour buzz and throng of corporate suits and stained jeans alike - the guy you're meeting is dressed like the former; his teeth are white and his emerald-green eyes are fixed on yours as you talk, laugh, sing, even -- but only when him and you decide to play a song on TouchTunes. It crosses your mind you might have one more with him and then maybe -Your eyes snap open to a dark ceiling, crickets chirping not far outside of an open window. You hurt your neck how hard you whip your head around and you realize you're home, in your apartment, in your room, no memory of how you got there. You sit up slowly with a groan as your belly screams with pain when you go to sit up; there's an overflowing moisture between your legs that squelches when your thighs separate as you assume a lotus pose. You gasp when the pain in your head hits you. You let your head fall into your open palms as the throbbing behind your eyes bangs like war drums; you can swear you can feel your heartbeat in your ears, feel it pulse in your neck - and oh God, your stomach. The room positively swirls as you swivle yourself from under the oddly-damp sheets. Your able to rise to your feet for only moments before you collapse to your hands and knees, a hard wretch seizing your body, turning your face hot and locking up your throat and chest - but thank God, nothing came of it on the carpet. But in gagging, you used more energy than it would take to stand. So, you drag yourself across the room to the bathroom; by the time you do, your hands and knees hurt only slightly less than the cramps that started part way through your journey to the toilet. You consider flipping the switch, but you know the light would only hurt. Dread brings a brief, cold chill to your burning flesh - you must've been a mess on your date. You're gonna have to give him a ca-- A knife twists in your uterus that flattens you on the cool linoleum. Your hand finds its way under your night shirt - another cold draft of panic prickles your neck and sends butterflies aflutter in the storm raging in your lower gut. You run your fingers over and over it with dread at the thought of what that lump could be. You were just at the doctor's last year and --You cry out this time, gasping raspily for air when the next cramp finally lets you move. The lump has gone from small enough to fit under your middle finger to nearly golf ball sized. Impossible.Pure adrenaline pushes you through the pain of rising to your feet, at least until you try straightening up; your ab muscles are still tight and twitching from the last wave of pain and you can bring yourself to endure being fully upright. You lean forward to support yourself on the porcelain rim of the sink with one hand as you fumble for the light switch with the other. You shut your eyes to get ready for the wash of light; your not ready see yourself in the mirror once your eyelids finally relax. Fresh blood is creeping down the inside of either leg along with... something you've never seen coming out of you, thick and sickly grey. You clap the hand you're not holding yourself up with to your mouth in a panic. On instinct, you look at yourself in the mirror to reveal even more surprises. Your cheeks and chin are swollen with fat you haven't seen on your face in years - but not just on your face. Your arms, hands, breasts - especially your breasts - all puffy and full and you can swear you can feel your skin somehow tightening around body. Your eyes fixate on the lump a few inches below your belly button that seems to start twitching the more you look at it. This time you reel back as far you can to scream as loud as you can -Your jaws lock and you exhale the scream through your nose; you stare at your tensed jaws with shock and horror. "Shhhh. Too.... loud."

(There's more but the character limit cuts the story off in a spot that makes even less sense so I cut it here 😆)

That's alright. I have to admit, this certainly gets me curious. So many questions...

Who was the man? What was he? How did I get home from the bar? What am I pregnant with? Is the pregnancy drawing to an end or do I still have some time to go before I have to give birth? Finally, who whispered those last three words to me?

Very intriguing, I like the concept.

[singingshutin]

Islands: Home

Scenes from the lives of the Edwards Island survivors.

Read on ao3 or down below the cut!

Home.

Alex was home.

For the hundredth time, she stepped over the threshold. For the thousandth time, she kicked off her sand-filled shoes. For the millionth time, she waded through the quicksand of the living room carpet, trudged across the endless fields of kitchen tile, and limped down the yawning maw of the dim hallway. Loop after loop, her destination was the same: the glowing cracks of light shining around the bathroom door. Loop after loop, Jonas muttered something about a last cancer stick; to come get him when she was done. Alex’s head nodded on pure reflex.

She’d done this all before.

Shirt, pants, socks—she let her clothes fall where they would. She wouldn’t touch that blue-hemmed baseball tee again. Her jeans—she had other pairs. She wouldn’t wear the prison garb Edwards Island had assigned her ever again.

Michael’s jacket, though—

Instead of kicking it into the soggy trash bin of bad, bad memories with the others, Alex hung the coat on the back of the bathroom door with the same care afforded to any crown jewel or ceremonial robe, stroking out its blood-red folds with the reverence it deserved.

Faith discerns the things of God, Jonas said. If there was a God, Alex was pretty sure this coat was a third-hand acquisition from the Big Man Upstairs. First His, then Michael’s, then hers.

Alex gave the jacket one last squeeze and stepped into the shower. A hiss as she turned the knob: scalding streams of water burst forth from the showerhead, accompanied by a billowing cloud of steam. Her aching muscles sagged out of tense knots in the heat; the heavy citrus scent of grocery-store body wash swirled in the air as she scrubbed every last trace of that Godforsaken landmass off her skin. Not a single grain of sand escaped her violent scrubbing—scraping at the same skin over and over until she was redder than a boiled lobster and just as tender.

The old towel that her mom had been getting around to replacing for the past year felt softer than silk, and she folded herself deep into its tired recesses. Toothpaste just as minty as Jonas’ menthol cigarettes—though quite a bit less stale and sooty—burned on her tongue and she brushed away at the chalky taste of possession, the bristles of her toothbrush prickly on her gums from the pressure.

It always took exactly two minutes and twenty-seven seconds to get the last of the foul tang out of her teeth: two seconds to grab Michael’s jacket, nine to race down the icy linoleum hall to her room, and another twelve to wriggle into fresh, clean, wholly-un-ghost-touched pajamas. Dry, socked toes padded up to the doorway—the patio was damp, wet socks were worse than ghosts—and Alex tapped on the glass. Jonas’ head jerked around with a sucking hiss, a puff of grey smoke disappearing toward the fading stars, as if frightened by her sudden approach. 

The two blinked at each other for a long moment.

Alex nodded, and Jonas turned back toward the misty grey sky, his shoulders loosening, head falling forward to rest on crossed arms and latticed railing in a muffled sigh of relief.

As silently as she’d slipped up, Alex crept away. He’d be in once he finished smoking. He always was. The steady patter of his shower had lulled her to sleep—what? The past seven hundred or so times? She’d lost count.

Except this time was different, wasn’t it?

Alex fell back into her bed, sinking deep into the pile of blankets. A billion times she’d made it here: a billion times over a billion years across a billion loops. She knew every crack in the plaster, every stain on the walls, every dying glow-in-the-dark star clinging grimly to the ceiling.

But, for the first time, Riley had done it.

Riley had closed the portal.

Alex pulled Michael’s jacket over her head.

And, dear God, please let it be the last time.

[reyesstrand]

first lines tag game

thank u for the tag @iboatedhere <3

rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

wait in the fire

Rain pelts down on TK's shoulders as he rounds the front of the car and slips in behind the wheel. It's completely unrelenting, the kind of downpour that makes him think of Manhattan: of stormy walks home, the water of grey puddles sloshing around his shoes and the cold working its way deep into his bones, a welcome bolt of awareness to his foggy brain.

like water in your hands

After the news eventually spreads, nobody questions it as TK starts offering to do extra chores. He's been completely exhausted these past few days, in part due to the calls they're still getting after the frog-rain-heat-wave, and partly due to the fact that he just can't sleep.

dream this night away

For all they've gone through to get here, the wedding thankfully goes off without a hitch. TK was certain something would happen, as the universe has never really been interested in steering clear of them when it comes to inflicting disaster, but it feels like he can finally breathe again when they realize everything is going to plan.

 (not afraid of) living on a fault line

Marry me.

It's been on his mind for a while now—imagining how the syllables might feel in his mouth, imagining how freeing it might be to just let his feelings out when it's always been so easy to run from them in the past—but TK never thought it'd happen like this.

not a victory march

There's nothing he knows more intimately than this: the time-slowing, numbing sensation of grief. It feels like something heavy; something with claws and teeth that hides in the shadows, lulling him into a false sense of security until he's taken by surprise and bled like an animal.

to be reborn

Twenty-two hours after TK is admitted to the hospital—after a doctor tells Carlos, point-blank and in so many words, that the best they can do is keep him sedated and comfortable; after he cries his eyes out in the last stall of the men's bathroom in an ICU he'd rather never step foot in again; after he nearly bursts apart at the seams when his mother comes in, carding her fingers through his hair and kissing his cheek and caressing her rosary beads, joining him in his silent vigil for someone who isn't even his, anymore, not really—the skies open up and light shines down on them once more.

some and now none of you

Because he doesn't know if he can handle anything else, Carlos pays attention to the small things as they wait. The old pipes creaking from the sudden cold. The little hole on the inside of his jacket pocket that widens as he toys with the loose threads. The squeak of wet shoes against the linoleum floors of the ICU hallway, people coming and going and coming and going.

our bodies, possessed by light

The first thing TK registers when he steps outside is the cold. It's that nose-burning, take-your-breath-away kind of cold, where it settles quickly and bites at your exposed skin, and it's been like this since the temperature dipped into the freezing range the first night of Hannukah.

safe like springtime

Despite the gentle hum of the air conditioning and the crooning voice of Bob Dylan spilling out of the speakers, all TK can focus on is the anxious tap tap tap of his own foot against the floor of the Camaro. TK gnaws at his thumb, going after a stubborn cuticle, his foot tapping growing stronger by the second. He tries to focus his attention on the endless stretch of farmland bordering the long road they've been driving down for nearly twenty minutes, momentarily staring at the horizon and praying for a sudden and fierce range of storm clouds to appear.

got real love maybe

The weight of a long shift—filled with the monotony of paperwork and inventory, a part of the compromise he'd settled on with both his father and Tommy when he'd insisted that three days was enough time for him to recover from his mild concussion and they approved him only for light-duty—slowly eases from his shoulders as TK drives the familiar route, finding it second nature, now, to turn down the second street on the left and immediately pull down the visor to block the setting sun from his eyes.

no pressure tagging @strandnreyes @carlos-in-glasses @lovesgalores @sunshinestrand @tailoredshirt @maxbegone @safeashousespdf @reyescarlos @morganaspendragonss

[ajgrey9647]

...okay, in lieu of the reblog, but no tags, I am going to leave ONE fanfic title prompt here and just...see what happens. Fanfic Title prompt: Boom! Comics; Drakkon or Omega Jason + "a house of lies and pride and bone; a house afraid to be alone"

So this got a lot longer than I anticipated. I also got another short plot bunny up and running. Tinkered with combining but thought they were better apart.

This actually reminded me of the scene in Drop Dead Fred, where they visit the house in Liz's mind and have to overcome the different people blocking her through.

So without further ado:

Frightened, Lonely Child, Under Lock and Key

Chaotic. Turbulent. Violent. Abusive. Intense. Invasive.

Those were just a few of the words that came to Drakkon’s mind when he thought back on his childhood and early teen years, if he admitted to thinking about that time period at all. But, of course, no one would even dare to ask the tyrant such personal questions. It was best to keep your head down, do your job, and blend into the backdrop.

More often than he cared to consider, the nightmares still found him; late at night as he lay under the plush, emerald comforter and silken sheets surrounded by downy pillows. It crept upon him like a feral cat stalking a rabbit. Before he was even aware of it, the sharp fangs had punctured his delicate neck and then bounded off with him in its grasp.

Drakkon felt deep frustration that he would awaken suddenly, heart pounding, muscles tensed, waiting for blows from literal ghosts. His jaw would ache from the constant clenching as he twisted and thrashed his head side to side. The bedsheets would be soaked with sweat and he would have to peel the clinging material from his scarred flesh.

In the bathroom sink, he’d splash cold water on his face, the shock snapping him back from the past. Deep steadying breaths as he gripped the white porcelain and avoided looking at himself in the mirror. Drakkon had no desire to gaze upon a weakling fearful of terrors in the dark.

Goddammit, he was the monster that elicited fear and horror; powerful and God-like, he would pass his decrees of punishment for those unlucky enough to be caught transgressing his edicts.

His palace was solid, grey stone, looming against the sky. Prisoners being escorted toward the massive, impenetrable walls would quake in fear as they knew there was no way to escape. The accents, art, and furnishings were opulent and grand, intricately detailed, and usually constructed of expensive and rare materials. Only the best found a place in Drakkon’s abode and his private bed chambers dripped in gold, silver, ivory, silks, and furs.

In another lifetime, the man once known as Tommy Oliver resided with his adoptive parents in a nondescript two-story yellow house with a short, cracked driveway leading to the garage. The windows were always obscured with heavy curtains and the front door was always shut against the outside world. Visitors were discouraged; not that there was usually concern for anyone to show up unexpectedly.

Unless you counted the police and CPS.

Inside these particular walls, one could always count on seeing large, gaping holes punched or kicked in the drywall or a door, broken dishes, liquor bottles lining the linoleum floor of the kitchen, and cigarette butts smoldering in chipped mugs. More often than not, the sound of drunken yelling and angry screeches sliced through the air as Mr. and Mrs. expressed their many differences of opinion or contempt for the other. Tommy would cower in his room upstairs, usually hiding under his bed, which sported a bare, lumpy mattress, pillow, and used cartoon-themed comforter. He tightly squeezed the well-worn plush dog to his chest; the pup was missing an eye and in some places the stuffing breached the seams.

He would tremble at every screamed insult, crash of glass, or slam of a door. His face would bury itself in the puppy’s warm, soft hair and it acted as a buffer between the outside world and his inner one. The little creature had carried so many hot tears soaked into its fabric.

Eventually, the flash of red and blue lights would illume the outside of his window as the cops arrived, the warbling siren heard long before they pulled into the drive. It never comforted Tommy; he was never truly safe.

As he’d gotten older, the frightened child grew to care less and less. Slipping into the dented refrigerator, he’d grab the long, cold glass necks of his old man’s liquor bottles and spirit them away upstairs. The drunk never noticed. So, Tommy hid away in his room, drinking to quiet the voices in his head that hissed to him how unloved and unwanted he was, that he was a failure and a disappointment.

Tommy’s body grew bigger and stronger, muscles bulging under his skin as he found his niche in martial arts. He used his strength to intimidate and harass, pick fights in school, and run from the police who would show up at altercations. He just didn’t care anymore.

He was an admired vandal; Tommy’s ‘artwork’ graced many businesses and abandoned buildings. Spray paint and brick walls were his first mediums. Not that everyone appreciated his ministrations. Despite his swift speed, he’d been cuffed many a time and hauled back to face the music.

His ‘dad’ would rant and rave about what a disrespectful little shit he was, how he couldn’t keep his ass out of trouble, thumbed his nose at authority. Tommy thought this was all rich coming from him, but the old man didn’t seem to note the similarities. A dirty, cracked hand would swiftly knock him across the face for ‘back talking’. As time went on, the physical abuse came to rival the verbal.

Why couldn’t Tommy act right? What was wrong with him? What mental defects did he have in his unknown genetic pool? His ‘concerned parents’ only wanted to help, as they assured CPS that they would provide whatever help the poor child needed.

Too many doctors, shrinks, and medications to count. His list of diagnoses was lengthy and debatable among the physicians attempting to provide care. Clearly, he possessed a defiant, surly attitude, lacked basic appropriate social interactions, and was a chronic liar.

Damn right, he lied to the doctors! Tell the truth about what went on at home? Who wanted to stir that shit storm? It wouldn’t change anything anyways.

The medications frequently made him sleepy and fuzzy minded. He either felt ravenously hungry or lacked any appetite at all. His frame became more lanky over time, but no less strong. Eventually, he pocketed the pills in his cheek and chucked them when no one was looking.

Tommy used to spend so much time curled on the stained-up mattress in his room, staring out the window and imagining a different life, one with more power and prestige, money, fame, and admirers. He promised himself that one day things would change, and he would be the one making the orders and commands. His voice would carry the weight, his opinion would be of the utmost importance.

You could bet your ass, too, that he would live some place grand and expensive, luxurious in its appointments. No broken doors or walls, trash littering the floor, secondhand bedding featuring cartoons he was way too old to associate with. He didn’t know how he’d make it happen, but it just had to be. Tears dripped from his lashes to dampen the pillow he’d hugged to his chest as he sobbed.

It didn’t matter who he had to step on to get to the top. People were fickle; they’d kiss your ass one minute and stab you in the back the next. They were unpredictable and could leave you bleeding out in the street if you were no longer of importance to them. There were no guarantees. People who were supposed to love you were no different if his real mother and father were anything to go by.

He didn’t need a fucking soul, he sniffed to himself, hugging the pillow tighter. Who needed all those strings? He’d couldn’t miss what he’d never had: love, comfort, understanding, support, the warmth of a partner’s body cuddling close. The tears scalded the skin of his cheeks as his heart clenched with desire for these experiences just the same.

But unless you exercised complete control of another human being, there was no way to be sure of them. Their choices had to be taken away, the very cadence and details of their days determined for them. Tommy knew that even then, he could never allow himself to be weak and feel reciprocal caring. Never again he be vulnerable to a fragile human’s emotional variability. There could be no ties.

Rita had underestimated the young teen’s commitment to cutting out the weak roots tying him to others. She’d never seen the blade coming, never could have predicted it. His loyalty was only to himself at the end of the day.

Tommy, now Lord Drakkon, placed himself far above humanity. He took power by force, by intimidation, by fear, by torture, by blackmail. If he had something in his sights, it was a good as his already. He didn’t concern himself with the pain and suffering of those weaker than himself; they were no more important than cattle in his eyes.

Whatever he felt could comfort the frightened, unloved child at his core, the tyrant made an obsessive mission to obtain it. No material item had ever been able to silence the broken loneliness that he determinedly tried to ignore.

He kept strict order, both in his palace and in his private life. Routine, dedication, planning/plotting, story weaving; each had its own compartment in his mind. His servants knew to keep everything running like clockwork from his usually decadent breakfast preference to the time he luxuriated in his baths to the precise way he wanted his bedlinens creased. You didn’t want to be slacking in any area if you wished to keep breathing.

Drakkon did have a secret though, a secret that he kept locked away deep in the bowels of his dungeon. One that screamed, cursed, and resisted his authority. A dark-haired, dark-eyed skilled fighter whose brilliance with tactics and strategies made him extremely valuable. Otherwise, the tyrant would have merely snapped his neck like so many others.

That’s what he claimed to the Sentries who were aware of the Red Ranger’s continued existence. Drakkon didn’t answer to them of course, but he knew the human propensity to gossip behind another’s back. God help them, if he ever heard his name in their mouths. If they wanted to huddle like a flock of diseased pigeons and speculate on someone’s personal business, it had better not be their master’s.

The Red Ranger.

Yes, such a lovely possession. So fiery and wild in his anger, so mouthy and irritating. Drakkon wasn’t lying when he said that Jason was a trophy he’d joyfully claimed; but as a trophy there wasn’t much point. No one outside the palace knew he still lived. The deliciousness of the secret, the smug knowledge that he kept to himself when he battled with the Coinless resistance. It was his alone.

But if he were honest with himself, at least, he would admit to there being more to his desire to keep Jason alive. Drakkon found a strange fascination with the Red Ranger, a pull towards the other boy. It wasn’t something he could easily verbalize. This was mainly why the Red Ranger still lived after he’d crumbled and gave up his information.

There wasn’t another individual Drakkon could name as being someone worthy of admiration besides himself. Except for Jason.

The Red Ranger was strong, determined, brave, fiercely protective, a pure wall of safety if you were in his care. Drakkon vividly remembered the night he had dinner with Jason at his home, how he’d easily invited him to eat there again, the concern in his beautiful brown eyes. Of course, he would never forget their drunken foray at the seedy bar, how easy Jason had been to talk to once he’d loosened up.

Jason had borne the brunt of his sadistic fuckery for far longer than he expected. His bullheaded stubbornness had also been an annoyance but Drakkon could appreciate the strength of his will under hellish treatment.

Yet, underneath all that flashy bluster was a soft teddy bear, a cocoon of safety and warmth. Sometimes, he wondered what his life would have been like if he’d met Jason earlier, before everything went to shit. But it would have not mattered in the long run.

‘That shit’ wouldn’t be happening under his old man’s roof. The drunk claimed he tolerated the bullshit antics and wiles that the teen routinely put them through, but there would be zero acceptance for disgusting, unnatural acts while he was on watch, by God. If Tommy wanted to be a ‘little princess’, he’d spat crudely, he’d have more to worry about than a goddamn broken arm.

 Now, Jason was trapped like an animal in a cage, completely at his mercy. Much like a butterfly fluttering against the glass sides of a jar. Drakkon could brutally rip his wings, his life, away at the slightest whim, but he did not. Every day the frightened, confused teen bawled in misery, not knowing what more the evil Ranger expected from him.

The tyrant was obsessive in his desire to completely control the other boy; no, not a boy, not a human being. Not anymore as far as Drakkon was concerned. His ‘puppy’ required a firm hand to train him, to discipline him, to demonstrate who the alpha of the pack was. In that way, Jason would NEVER leave him. His pet would always be by his side, dedicated to pleasing his master.

In that way, Drakkon would never, ever be alone again.

[samhainmade]

MOVING DAY - Self Para.

Sometime in late June, Shona get’s her belongings ready to move in with Oz, and tries not to think about the bittersweet memories of her crappy apartment.  

TRIGGER WARNINGS - poverty, parental abandonment, anxiety (attack), guilt. 

Shona wistfully sighed as she leaned against the doorframe of her bedroom, looking into the vast empty space that once resembled a landfill of her clothes and personal items. Her bed had been stripped of linens and stood bare exposing every cigarette burn or spilled wine stain on the old mattress. Every poster, picture and decor on the walls had been torn down leaving small patches of squares lighter than the rest of the badly painted wall for all to see. She hadn’t been bothered to repaint it– who gave a fuck anyway. She had taken the lamp and bedside locker, the bulb from the ceiling lamp as a force of habit and an oddly shaped mirror that hung awkwardly across from her bed. Most of her clothes had fit into her busted up, faded in colour suitcase and everything else stuffed into two large black trash bags for easier transportation. Shona knew she would want for nothing with Oz, that his fortress of power and all its servants or butlers or whatever the fuck would provide her with everything that was possibly needed. So there was no need to take the chipped, ceramic ash-tray she had painted with her mother when she was a young child. She did not need to bring the coffee stained mug that was clinging together with sheer desperation from being over washed for over twenty years, her mom might come back for it. And the painting of the farmhouse with the donkey, one her mother had done just before she’d gotten too sick to do her duty, before she’d left Shona to do everything herself. 

The afternoon sun spilled through the open blinds, illuminating the dirty window and Shona closed over the bedroom door with a harsh thud. Stepping away she passed the bathroom with the leaky faucet and the mirror stained with toothpaste splashes, the basin had turned from white to a faded grey over the years and was now proudly sporting a large crack threatening to come apart at any second. Shona tried to push away the memories of brushing her teeth next to her mom, standing on an upside-down laundry basket to look into the mirror. She’d once been too short to reach but now she towered over the sink, but her mother would never know that. The bathtub with the built-in shower hose that never stayed one temperature taunted Shona as she shut her eyes and tried not to picture the bubble baths with fresh lavender from the garden, but the smell of the memory lingered in the air as six year old Shona giggled with delight while her mom helped her create potions in an empty shampoo bottle. Shona shook her head with disgust at the innocent memory, focusing on the limescale that had built up onto the tiles and the grime clinging to the rotting shower curtain she should have replaced a long time ago. There would be fancy bubble baths, temperate showers and functioning sinks at Oz’s place. Maybe the toilet would flush with ease also or wouldn’t shake or churn like it was about to explode every time it was used. 

In the kitchen living combined space Shona had her trash bags filled with clothes she probably wouldn’t wear, and trinkets she would never look at again in the middle of the room in front of the open door leading into the hallway. Next to the small rectangle shaped area stood a crumbling kitchen on faded marble linoleum. The cabinets creaked every time she opened them, the shelves were loose and mostly bare apart from some half eaten boxes of cereal, random tins of beans and tuna, and an almost empty jar of coffee. The fridge was small with ancient stickers from the 90’s half peeled off, a light that flickered if the door was kept open for more than 15 seconds and had a peculiar odor like spoiled milk from underneath it. At Oz’s house everything would be sparkling clean, she could have delicious breakfast in bed if she fancied it. The pantry would be fully stocked and the electricity bills always paid. And nothing would be spoiled with stickers or drawings from a dumb kid trying to kill time whilst her Mom was out doing hell knows what. 

The carpet that swallowed up the rest of the floor was a faded navy and in desperate need of a vacuum. The discolored sage love-seat that pretty much sunk to the ground when you sat on it had left four permanent square shaped indentations into the carpet, it hadn’t been moved since Shona was a kid. She tried not to think about what kind of dirt and bacteria was fermenting underneath it. The wall paper was dated and peeling in places, Shona had never cared enough about it to repair it. What was the point? No one else was going to see it.  Before drawing the curtains to a close Shona took one last look out the big window in her apartment. The terrible view of Evermore’s more undesirable area that she’d grown used to. The car park for residents with its parking lines practically invisible after years of weather damage, it wouldn’t matter though, the people here parked how they wanted. The Snuggly Duckling waving up at her with its lights off and questionable smudges on the window’s. The steps outside where she’d first met Luis and Barrett, her very best friends. They had been through it together. This place was a hellhole, but it was home. And for such a long time it was all Shona had ever known, perhaps that’s why it was so difficult to leave. 

An overwhelming sensation of guilt began to swell in Shona’s chest. The room felt hot and stuffy, and she began to notice how difficult it was to breathe normally. The short bursts of air caused her even more panic and she remembered this feeling from when her Mom didn’t come home. She was having a panic attack– but this time she was the one who wouldn’t come back here. Placing a hand over her chest Shona tried to slow her breathing into something more manageable, trying to trick her head into calming down, in just a few short minutes she could close the door and hopefully never think of this rotten, beat down, piece of shit apartment ever again. And then she smelled his cologne in the air, heard the familiar footsteps down the hall and into the living room. She turned to face him with her suitcase and trashbags at her feet, and he smiled; then suddenly everything was okay. Oz standing there with a glint of sweat on his forehead from moving her belongings, the car keys in his hand and a grin that said ‘Lets Do This’, it was almost enough to break her completely. Shona had to fight with herself to convince her brain she deserved this. A safe apartment with someone who loved her, and she could not wait another second to live there with him.

Quickly, so that she couldn’t change her mind at the last second, Shona grinned back at her boyfriend. Her partner, her person. The man who she loved and who loved her too, even if her Mother never did. Despite the fact she had an abundance of issues and not a penny to her name, Oz loved her and all her strange little quirks and Shona, dumbfounded by his kindness, had taken too long to accept it. And today she was so grateful that she did, because it was time to leave behind part of the pain and begin what could be her happy ever after. They both deserved it. Kicking the trash bags towards him in her typical reckless fashion, Shona dragged her suitcase along the dirty carpet and met him in the door frame. “Lets do this.” She smiled, slamming the door shut behind them. She didn’t bother to take a final look at the toxic wasteland, money pit of a home. It was her Mother’s problem now, wherever the hell she was.

[joi-in-the-tardis]

I got the notice of intention to vacate yesterday from my complex. It lists all the things one must do when one is leaving. One of the things listed is to make the walls "all one color." Now, I've never painted. BUT. Their people made repairs and painted a slightly different color in my dining room. I have never cared, but this is not my fault and I'm not wasting my time, money, and spoons to fix it. I've dedicated quite a lot of energy to anticipating this problem... but I've decided I don't care. I don't care about the deposit. Would it be nice to get some of it back? Sure. But, I gave up on it the day the cheap linoleum in the bathroom turned grey.

Anything that isn't my fault? It'll go in my one-star google review.