#him trying to be assertive when he says he wants to be discharged

[hersweetrevenge]

firstly, ahhhhh this is everything to me !! secondly, i cannot even explain how excited to see this unfold, the amount of work you've put in is astounding and it absolutely shows, even just one chapter in !! 💗 thank you for writing and sharing !!

buckle up because i have some thoughts and cannot keep my mouth shut:

He falls down, and down, and down further than that. 

i love the coma dream. you totally capture the way that dreams can be really volatile and changeable, even if they feel very visceral. and pretty much everything that has gone wrong for corey is all summed up in this one dream.

Oh. I’m in the hospital, he thinks. He closes his eyes again. ... Corey drifts away on the morphine. 

it's always lines like this that get me !! i love this, him realising he's in the hospital and he's a least somewhat safe. i think it links really well to when nancy gives him more morphine -- it gives the sense of purgatory really well, like he's stuck in this place between death and rebirth for a while, not really with it.

Then he feels sick. Something bad happened to Ronald. 

ahhh you touched on it a little bit in Penpal, where corey doesn't know what he would of done about ronald if terry hadn't got there first, but i love the different angle you take in this piece, where he doesn't even remember what happened at first but he knows it was something bad. i think their relationship is definitely complicated and weird and strained, and i love seeing little insights about it woven into the story !!

Of course Momma didn’t make this spaghetti, he thinks. Momma’s dead... Motorcycle accident? No, that was Daddy.

ahh the moment he remembers that joan is dead but can't remember why or how, and the mention of his dad 😭 this whole sense of him being disconnected from himself after the fact works so well, and i can see it. i remember you've mentioned before that the stress/trauma/head injury combo contributed to him finally snapping and i love how this is playing out with that context in mind.

also, him relating really mundane things back to joan !! i hope this happens more, it feels so fitting to how everything revolved around her for so long.

The grief builds and builds until it feels like it’s smothering him... He is completely and utterly alone. 

ouchy 😭 this moment hits hard, seriously !! the point where he realises everything is gone. i love that there is this low point, where he isn't thinking about what to do or how to fix things, he just has this moment of absolutely wallowing because he has nothing left. make that boy suffer lol

did God love Corey Cunningham or hate him?

nancy is the real mvp here, i love her !! thinking about corey in the immediate aftermath of the accident is so intriguing to me. i love that she tries to be as unbiased as possible. corey needs someone who is just kind to him, no ulterior motives, no expectations. that's what i love about a lot of corey fanfiction, is the common idea of giving him someone who is there to be kind to him 💗

I wish I was like them, he thinks. Dead... A fitting end for a short, stupid life. 

ouchy, another hard hitter !! i feel like corey's suicidal tendencies are overlooked a lot, but it fits here so, so well !! nothing ever went his way, he feels doomed from the start and i can definitely see him thinking death would have been the answer. his last attempt at autonomy and still he wakes up to nothing. i think the desire to make an attempt again would wax and wane (a la novel canon), but it's interesting that you bring it up.

He remembers the time he spent in jail after the accident with Jeremy, viscerally. No way he would ever do that again

yes !! i love that you mention him being a jail after the accident !! it's something i've been wondering about (how long would he have been there? would he have been able to afford bail?) so it was interesting to see it crop up here !! i totally agree that corey would have a strong revulsion of the thought of being sent to prison, plus him thinking that is worse than being alive, which is already worse than if he'd just died.

And maybe they’ll have drugs, he thinks, the last of the painkillers from the hospital leaving his system.

ooh the way this got me thinking 👀 i am very excited to see if this is a recurring theme !! he is going to be struggling, with the physical pain and with coping with his new life, i wouldn't be surprised if he gained some sort of dependency for a while. that's a much darker path than if he just goes through a delayed rebellious phase of recreational experimentation like i think you've mentioned before lol

And just like that, Doug Mulaney’s disappearance and the murders of Tanner Mathis and Deborah Jennings go cold.

the joes sure are a duo lol it's a tricky situation to figure out, especially when there is evidence left behind and bodies still missing while corey kind of just gets away with it to a degree, but i think you're explanations work really well !! and i am so looking forward to how corey's paranoia about it plays out and effects this new life he's trying to make for himself.

ahh i could go on and on about this but to finish off, this was an amazing first chapter !! setting up so many ideas and weaving in enough information to hook me instantly. i'm so excited for the rest of this novel !!

Clean Again

survivor!Corey Cunningham x fem!Reader

After miraculously surviving the injuries he sustained on Halloween 2022 and narrowly avoiding arrest, Corey Cunningham lives in constant fear of being found out. He tries to keep his head down and be as invisible as possible but the first time he sees you, you see him too. Can he have a relationship with you without you really seeing ALL of him? What happens when you eventually catch a glimpse of his secret? Is love worth the risk?

new chapters posted every Thursday between 9 and 10 EST

Chapter 1: ESCAPE FROM HADDONFIELD read on AO3 | tumblr chapter index

general warnings for this fic - angst, fluff, eventual smut (MDNI), canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore contents/warnings for this chapter- gun violence, long hospitalization, prescription pain killers, wishing for death, description of a corpse, referenced past abuse (fuck you joan)

5,668 words

@rebel-blue @heartrot666 @wolvesandvampires @cordelium @toxicanonymity @multifandom--mess @hersweetrevenge @futurewife dm me or reply to this post to be added to my tag list 💕

Beep. Beep. Beep. Whoosh.

It’s pitch black. Corey can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed. He can’t hear anything except a distant beeping, punctuated by occasional whooshing. The sounds feel familiar, but he can’t figure out why. Then they fade away.

God it hurts! Everything hurts, pain like he’s never felt before. Can a person die from pain? Or is this pain what dying feels like? What being dead feels like? What Hell feels like? If he’s dead, and Hell is real, that’s certainly where he’s wound up. 

But now what’s this? A new sensation, like being swarmed by ants. And the ants eat him, all the way down to shiny, clean bones. Skeletonized. The places where he’s been reduced to bone no longer hurt. 

There are voices. Speaking in a language it seems wrong for him to hear. Something alien, or maybe something lost not long after we started walking upright. They’re warped, and warbling, like they’re being played at the wrong speed. There’s that beeping sound again. Laughter. It’s laughter, and they’re all laughing at him. 

Corey sits on the witness stand at his manslaughter trial. The gallery of the courtroom is full of people. But as he looks the crowd over he realizes it’s really all just one person. 

It’s Momma, 20 Mommas, only able to comfort him for a few minutes at time before she makes all his problems about herself. No one will ever love you like I do, and this is how you repay me? You’re killing me Corey! Is that what you want? To kill your mother?

It’s Laurie, 20 Lauries. Aiming revolvers at him. Do you wanna do it, or you want me to? She asks before unleashing a hail of bullets. They ricochet wildly around the courtroom, splintering the wood of the witness stand, releasing tiny explosions of drywall, shattering every lightbulb overhead. Riddling Corey’s body with holes, turning him into Swiss cheese. Then the dust settles and everything is normal again.

It’s Doug. 20 Dougs, guts spilling out of his stomach, throat gurgling and full of blood. You’ll be lucky if you make it back to the station. I oughta put you in the ground, you psycho son of a bitch! 

It’s Michael. No. 20 people wearing Michael’s mask, but none of them are Michael. One by one they reveal their true face. Corey’s face. Each one puts a finger up to his lips. Shhhh. Then he disappears. 

The Corey on the witness stand turns to the judge. It’s Jeremy, neck lolling, blood gushing from his split scalp. Answer the question, loser! Did you kill me on purpose or not!! He screams without moving his slack, dead mouth. Now the judge is Mrs. Allen, and she leans down to him, still screaming in Jeremy’s dead voice. You think you can just have fun with your friends!? You don’t have any friends, you ugly, white trash nerd!

A hole opens in the floor of the witness stand and Corey falls. He falls down, and down, and down further than that. 

He lands with a hard thump on the floor of the sewer. Pain radiates through his limbs and he gasps for air. Something crunches and squelches beneath him. He scrambles to his feet and looks at what he was laying on. His own corpse. Rotting and partially eaten, rats and insects swarming it. It’s wearing the silly scarecrow mask. 

He removes the mask from his own dead face. The inside is full of bugs. He shakes them onto the ground, then puts it on. As soon as it touches his face, he panics. His fingers skitter over the hard plastic surface, desperate to claw it off, but it’s stuck like it’s fused with his skin.  

Allyson pulls the mask off of him. He’s lying in a puddle of his own blood, and she’s hovering over him, holding his head in her hands. She thinks he’s dead. Her tears fall onto his face and slowly dissolve him until he’s nothing but a stain on the hardwood floor. 

Corey opens his eyes. He can’t see anything, but he knows his eyes are open.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Whoosh. 

Oh. I’m in the hospital, he thinks. He closes his eyes again.

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The morning of November 2nd has barely begun, but there is chaos brewing in the Warren County Sheriff’s Department. With Michael Myers turned into hamburger, things seemed like they would be calm for quite some time, and yesterday had been a great beginning. But this morning Joe Grillo and Joe Ross came to work with vengeance in their hearts. They corner Richard Wright as he fills the coffee pot with water from the cooler. 

“You collected a handprint from a glass door at the Mathis scene, right?” Grillo demands.

“Yes?” Richard replies in confusion.

“Did you run the prints?” Asks Ross. 

“No. It was a Michael Myers murder. We only collected the print because we didn’t realize it was him right away. Why would we run it?”

“Did you ever see Michael Myers before he was shredded, Dick?” Ross asks. 

“Big guy,” says Grillo. “Gigantic hands.”

“Okay…?” Richard says, still confused. 

“Handprint you collected at the Mathis scene looks kinda small to be Michael,” Grillo explains. 

“It could belong to Mathis, or the girl we found at the scene.” 

“Nope,” Grillo says. “Too small to be Michael, too big to be one of the victims. Could belong to a fourth person.”

“Could belong to Corey Cunningham,” Ross adds.

Richard takes a second to process this information. “Cunningham was a Myers victim too. He was barely clinging to life when we found him.”

“He got in Doug’s face at the diner on my birthday,” Grillo says. “Doug disappeared right after that. Seems suspicious, doesn’t it?”

“Seems like a coincidence,” Richard says. He moves to walk away but Joe Grillo and Joe Ross press in on him. Water sloshes out of the coffee carafe in Richard's hand.

“Oh yeah? Remind me who the victims were at the scene when you investigated,” prompts Ross.

 “Tanner Mathis and Deborah Jennings. So what?”

“Jennings worked at the Mathis clinic. Know who else worked there?” Grillo asks. “Allyson Nelson,” the Joes say in unison.

“Great police work,” Richard says sarcastically, trying again to walk away from the conversation. Joe Ross and Joe Grillo just tighten their press on him, until he can smell the unique reek of their combined breath. 

“Allyson was with Cunningham at the diner on my birthday,” Grillo growls.

“Joe, this town is fucking tiny. I’m sure everyone in the diner on your birthday was connected to each other and Michael Myers in some way. You’re grieving. We’re all grieving. But you can’t let that cloud your judgement. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Richard finally manages to shoulder his way out from between the Joes and the water cooler. 

“Not everyone in the diner that night killed a kid!” Ross says after him. 

Richard turns on his heel. “Jeremy Allen’s death was an accident. Cunningham was acquitted.”

The Joes laugh mirthlessly. “Run the fucking prints, Dick.” Grillo says. 

“What’s going on here?” Asks Frank Hawkins as he comes into the break room. He hadn’t heard much, but his ears had pricked up at the name Cunningham. Frank numbered among the few in the Warren County Sheriff’s Department who had believed in Corey’s innocence from the beginning. He’d felt a pang of sadness when he’d seen the poor boy’s body crumpled in the foyer at Laurie’s house two nights ago, and he held a tiny kernel of hope that he would survive his injuries. 

“Just trying to make sure our police work is thorough and complete, Frank,” says Joe Ross.

“They wanna run the handprint from the Mathis scene,” Richard clarifies. 

“That was a Michael Myers murder, and Michael Myers is dead.”

“Michael Myers is. But Corey Cunningham isn’t,” Grillo says.

“Yet,” Ross adds darkly. 

“Why would it be Corey Cunningham’s handprint?” Frank doesn’t follow.

“They think he had something to do with Doug’s disappearance. Mathis and Jennings both worked with Allyson Nelson.” Richard rolls his eyes, something he’s found cause to do quite a lot of this morning. 

Frank doesn’t like this at all. He feels a kind of paternal care for Allyson, as Laurie’s granddaughter. He’s not sure what her relationship with Corey is, but he wants to protect her, protect both of them after they’ve been through so much.

“Michael Myers is responsible for Doug’s disappearance.” Frank says. “Let it rest. We all need to try to move on.”

“You can move on. I’m gonna run those fucking prints,” Joe Ross says.

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Corey comes to his senses slowly, head unfogging a little bit every day. He struggles to make meaning out of the things happening around him, to remember why he’s in the hospital. It seems like something he should know. 

Today Corey feels the best he’s felt since he realized he was in the hospital. He’s still in pain, excruciating pain. He tries to move around but it feels like his body has forgotten how to. His muscles groan and his nerves tingle. His arms and legs are heavy and wooden. But his brain is churning. His thoughts are more than just smears.

The TV on the wall in the room is turned on. Through the blur without his glasses, he recognizes Judge Judy. Ron likes Judge Judy, he remembers. Then he feels sick. Something bad happened to Ronald. 

A nurse comes into the room. Corey can’t move his head, but he moves his eyes towards her. Her wavy brown hair is pulled into a ponytail.

“You’re awake! Welcome back to Earth!” She says to him as she putters around the room. “Are you hungry? I can have them deliver some solid food for your lunch now that you’re awake.” She checks his vitals and marks them in his chart.

“Yes, please,” Corey whispers raggedly. His voice is small and unfamiliar to him. 

“How’s your pain?” The nurse asks, vial and syringe in hand. He can’t find an answer. It’s awful, but it doesn’t feel like it’s happening to him. This stiff, immobile body isn’t attached to anything. Someone else is in pain in this hospital bed. He rolls his eyes around, trying to see the nurse better without rotating his head. “Well I’m gonna give you some morphine, okay? Right in your IV, and you’ll feel better in a flash.” She plunges the medicine into the line, and Corey feels it move slimily around in not-his veins. 

“Thank you, Allyson,” he croaks.

“My name’s not Allyson, hon.” She leans over him so he can see her better and taps her name tag. “I’m Nancy. I’m making sure the TV remote and the nurse call button are within your reach if you need them, okay?” He feels her press two rectangles of plastic into his right hand. Then she leaves and Corey drifts away on the morphine. 

He wakes up to someone else coming into the room. A blond boy in his late teens, pushing a tower full of trays. He removes one and brings it over to the bedside table. Corey rolls his eyes towards the boy and watches him uncover the food and adjust the height of the table. 

“Enjoy your lunch, Mr. Cunningham,” the boy says as he leaves the room.

Corey looks down at the food. A plate of spaghetti sits in the center of the tray. His stomach turns. Fucking spaghetti. Momma’s worst meal, he thinks. Still, he finds himself suddenly ravenous. He shovels the spaghetti into his mouth as quickly as he can with his heavy arms and frozen neck. It surprises him that it’s not disgusting. Of course Momma didn’t make this spaghetti, he thinks. Momma’s dead. He stops chewing mid-bite. 

He’s certain his mother’s dead, but he can’t remember why. How did she die? Motorcycle accident? No, that was Daddy. But then why can he picture her body, slouched and covered in blood? He feels like the answer is in his head, right there, in front of him, but he can’t quite reach it. After a moment trying, he gives up and goes back to eating. 

It’s later. Corey doesn’t know what time it is, or what day. Only that it must be evening and it must be a weekday, because it’s dark outside and Jeopardy! is on the TV. He hears voices outside his room, he thinks they’re saying his name. He gropes for the remote and hits the mute button when he finds it.

“Is that the Corey Cunningham in there?” A voice says.

“What do you mean?” Another replies. This one is sort of familiar.

“You don’t know about Corey Cunningham!?” The first voice hisses.

“Can’t say I do,” Nancy answers.

“Oh my god! I heard about his case on this podcast I listen to, Manslaughter Monday . He killed a kid he was babysitting in 2019. Threw him over the railing of the stairs from the third floor! The kid cracked his head wide open when he landed. And the fucking jury let him off! He claimed it was an accident and that the kid was pulling a prank on him when everything went wrong. I don’t buy it for a second.” The first voice giggles.

“Maybe you should listen to fewer podcasts,” Nancy sneers.

Corey hears two sets of feet retreating from his door and down the hall. 

Suddenly everything crashes in on him. Memories battering him in unrelenting waves. He remembers how he got hurt. He remembers the bad thing that happened to Ronald. He remembers how his mother died. And he remembers Allyson, cradling his head in her hands, certain he was dead. Ice runs through his veins as he realizes that Allyson is probably dead now too, because he woke Michael Myers up. He promised Allyson he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. But he had happened to her. 

Corey sobs, a massive, heaving sob. Sitting in the dark, the glow of the TV on him like a spotlight. The grief builds and builds until it feels like it’s smothering him. Squeezing his throat the way Michael had in the sewer. He screams, but no sound comes out except a faint and rattling rasp. The beeps on his heart monitor accelerate to break neck speed, but nobody comes to check on him. He is completely and utterly alone. 

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

While Joe Ross sends the bloody handprint from the glass at the Mathis crime scene through the computer, Joe Grillo calls Haddonfield Memorial Hospital. Grillo is transferred from department to department. No one seems to know what happened to Corey Cunningham on Halloween night. Of course not. HMH administration has always been a shit show. When his daughter was born, Grillo half expected them to give him the wrong baby. 

The handprint doesn’t go any better. Four of the fingers are smudged and one is only partial. The computer can’t read them. Ross has to make a special request for a human expert to analyze the prints. That only escalates things with Richard Wright and Frank Hawkins. 

“Frank needs to learn it’s time to retire,” one Joe complains to the other. 

“He’s only obstructing us because he wants to protect Laurie Strode. Well, fuck Laurie Strode!” The other Joe says.

Doug’s body still hasn’t been recovered. Why should they protect that old broad’s peace when their best friend is missing and it’s the Cunningham cunt’s fault? 

The two sides split the Sheriff's Department. Most of the men on the force agree with the Joes. Cunningham got off too easy after he killed Jeremy Allen and they hope he’s still alive so they can have their second chance to fry him. Metaphorically, thanks to Illinois doing away with the death penalty. But there are those who believe investigating the murders and Doug’s disappearance is a waste of resources now that Michael is finally gone for good. Even most of them don’t think Corey is particularly innocent. They just don’t want to deal with the whole mess any longer than they already have.

The tension around the station is palpable. Some deputies have refused to speak to those on the other side of the issue. Joe Ross’s own father Elvis has been short with him since all this started. He’s never said he thinks Joe should end the investigation, but he doesn’t have to. Just as Ross starts to worry that the Sheriff will call everything off, the prints come back from the human expert.

Joe Ross sits at his desk with the envelope in his hands. He taps his foot impatiently as he waits for Joe Grillo to show up. Finally, Ross sees him approaching. Before Grillo even gets all the way to his desk, Ross is unsealing the envelope. His gut is telling him the news is bad, and he wants to rip the bandaid off. Grillo arrives at his elbow just as he slides the report out.

Thumb and pointer finger inconclusive. Too smudged even for the county’s top expert to get anything from. Middle finger, ring finger, and partial pinky — positive identification. There it is, the thing that Ross has been hoping to read for weeks, but was convinced he’d never see. Suspect Name: Corey Cunningham. He turns to Grillo to celebrate just as the other Joe’s phone rings. 

“Grillo,” he answers gruffly, annoyed at the interruption. Ross strains to overhear the conversation, but only gets one side. “You did?… Okay, so where… Let me get something to write this down.” He gestures roughly to Ross who shoves a pen and a sticky pad into his hands. Ross watches as Grillo writes down an address a couple hours away from Haddonfield. 

“Is this it?” He mouths to Grillo, who waves him away as he finishes his phone call. “Is this it?” He repeats as Grillo hangs up.

“That’s it. He was airlifted. He was only at Haddonfield Memorial to get onto the helicopter and someone fucked up his records. I’m leaving right now to go see if that motherfucker is still alive.” The Joes high five in triumph as Grillo shrugs into his coat.

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Nancy is sitting by herself at the nurse’s station organizing paperwork when a cop walks up. He’s not dressed like local police, his uniform is green. The patch on his bicep says Warren County. He smacks his badge on the counter and clears his throat.

“Yes?” She replies in a sour voice. 

“You got a Corey Cunningham as a patient in here?” The cop asks. 

“I don’t know, deputy, do you have a warrant?” Nancy attempts to match his posture and tone.

After Dottie, that vulture from maternity, had come to ask about Corey the other night, Nancy had gone home and done some research. She found the podcast and listened to it, despite her usual distaste for true crime bullshit. The storytelling was garbage and the hosts seemed to derive an obscene pleasure from the suffering of everyone involved, but it gave her a basic understanding of what happened. Afterwards, she found a YouTube channel that posted a video claiming to analyze the psychology of Corey’s police interview. It had been a long time since Nancy took psychology, but she knew most of the claims in the video were bogus, just like the podcast. She tuned most of the narration out, focusing on the footage of Corey. She couldn’t help but care for the boy in the interrogation video. He seemed so small and naive. Completely unprepared for the harsh reality of what happened to him. 

The arresting officer was a real piece of work too. Lying to Corey and making thinly veiled threats to his safety. If this is how he behaved when he knew the conversation was being recorded, she could only imagine how he treated suspects outside of the camera’s watchful eye. When Corey turned his frightened face towards the lens, Nancy felt like he was looking right into her eyes, begging for her help.

When the video ended she moved onto news stories, trying to find a less biased perspective. It proved difficult. His trial had to be moved to a different county because he had no hope for an impartial jury in his home jurisdiction. The town had a serial killer problem or something, and Corey’s accident had turned him into the villain they needed. It was sick. And that blabbermouth Dottie was probably telling everyone in the hospital that they had a real life murderer in their midst. 

That was when Nancy had first started caring for Corey, when he had just been transferred out of the ICU. She’d felt deeply disturbed while reading his chart, and absolutely astounded that he’d survived. Two gunshots, a stab wound, and a broken neck. Multiple large bruises and massive soft tissue damage, some of which was already old and healing. Mild concussion, also days old. Cuts, scrapes, friction burns. A nasty gash in his palm that looked like it had already been stitched closed once, with a bright red spider web of infection streaking from it. 

Was it lucky or unlucky that the knife had passed right between major veins and arteries? That it had just barely clipped his vocal folds? That two of his vertebrae had been fractured, but his spinal cord remained undamaged? Was it lucky or unlucky that, despite the infection already festering when he arrived at the hospital, all his wounds closed with ease, that he was spared sepsis and gangrene? After everything he’d been through, did God love Corey Cunningham or hate him?

“A warrant?” Grillo responds, sounding annoyed.

“Yes, sir. I can’t confirm or deny if someone is a patient without a warrant, it’s a breach of privacy.” 

“Can you get me someone who’s in charge around here?” He slaps his badge against the counter impatiently. 

“Sure I can, sir. But we’re really short staffed right now, so it would probably be hours before they would have time to speak to you. We’re busy saving lives.” Instead of ruining them, she wants to add. 

“Fine. A warrant.” Grillo says tersely. He smacks his badge on the counter one more time before turning away and heading towards the elevator. 

As soon as she hears the doors slide closed, Nancy pulls up Corey’s chart. She scans it quickly, trying to figure out how close to discharge ready she can get him, tonight. She can’t let the boy from the interrogation video go through that again. It would really be best for him to stay in the hospital for at least another week, but that is not a luxury he has. Corey Cunningham deserves a break, even if just a small one, and Nancy can give it to him if she acts right now.

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

Corey looks at the ceiling, noticing a cluster of dead bugs inside the light over his bed. I wish I was like them, he thinks. Dead. Turned to paper by time. Forgotten and inconsequential. A fitting end for a short, stupid life. 

There’s a small knock on his door, followed by the creak of hinges. Corey attempts to move his head to look, but mostly fails. In the very edge of his vision he sees Nurse Nancy entering. Her arms are full with some kind of bundle.

“How are we doing?” She asks. Corey can’t be bothered to respond. “I’m gonna sit you up, okay? I have something important to talk to you about.” 

The bed rumbles to life and folds Corey at the waist until he’s the most vertical he’s been in weeks. “What is it?” His hoarse whisper less jarring to him every time he speaks, getting used to the way he sounds now. 

“A cop came by just now, looking for you.” Nancy says gravely. Corey tenses up at this information and it sends pain radiating through him. He winces and Nancy looks at him with pity. “I know who you are. I know about the manslaughter case. They didn’t have a warrant so I couldn't tell them if you were a patient or not. They’re going to be back soon.” She puts her bundle down and stands with her hands on her hips.

“I have a plan,” she continues, “to get you out of here before they come back. You’re not ready to be discharged yet, but I think you have better odds out there on your own than inside a jail cell. It’s up to you if you want to stay or go.”

“What’s the plan?” He wheezes. He’d do anything in the world to avoid going to prison. He remembers the time he spent in jail after the accident with Jeremy, viscerally. No way he would ever do that again. He’s confident that now he could handle the guards and the other inmates much more effectively. But he had spent his whole life in a cage, under surveillance, suffocating. First Momma, then all of Haddonfield. Fuck that. He would rather die than spend another moment on lockdown, in a very literal way. The only thing worse than being alive would be prison.

“You’re going to ask me to discharge you against medical advice. I’m going to beg you to stay for just a couple more days, a couple more hours even, until the doctor can come look you over at least. You’re going to refuse.” She starts to unravel the bundle she brought with her.

“You were so insistent that I had to let you go. So I printed your chart and some care instructions…” She waves some papers around, “and brought you some warm clothes from the lost and found, since what you were wearing at admittance was destroyed.” One by one she holds up a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a sweater, and a parka. “I just guessed your size.”

Corey listens carefully, amazed and confused at the lengths the nurse is willing to go to to help him. She knows about Jeremy but she must not know about everyone else. She would stick her neck out for a kid who caught a tough break, but certainly not for an honest to god, cold blooded killer.

“When I asked how you were getting home, if you had anyone to look after you, you refused to tell me. I did everything I could to keep you here, and everything I could to discharge you safely when you wouldn’t stay. What do you think of that?”

“I think you better discharge me, right now. I’m ready to go the fuck home, and I’m not waiting for the doctor.” He tries to muster an insistent tone. 

“That’s what I hoped to hear,” Nancy says with a smile. “I’ll be right back to remove your IV and all that.” She practically runs to the door.

Corey sits uncomfortably in the truck stop diner booth, chewing a piece of leathery bacon. It takes great effort to sit up straight, his muscles weakened so much by his hospital stay. If he can catch a ride with one of the truckers in the parking lot, hopefully they’ll let him lay in their bunk. And maybe they’ll have drugs, he thinks, the last of the painkillers from the hospital leaving his system. He doesn’t know where he’s going, or what he’ll do when he gets there. He just knows he needs to get the fuck out of Illinois as quickly as possible. 

Nurse Nancy had unhooked all the wires and pulled out all the tubes that helped Corey stay alive, then got him dressed. She brought him his work boots and his father’s ring, the only two things that hadn’t been cut off by medical personnel on Halloween. The only two things in the world left from his old life. Someone had already scrubbed the blood out of the crevices in the ring, destroying the evidence that Corey was not merely the victim of another tragic Halloween in Haddonfield. Then Nancy ordered him an Uber and gave him all the cash in her wallet. A total of $78.

He swallows the last sip of his chocolate milk, sludgy with undissolved syrup, then slides awkwardly out of the booth. He doesn’t leave a tip. He only has $65 left after the food itself. He stumbles on unfamiliar legs through the diner, past the coin operated showers, and outside. He scans every face he sees, looking for someone who feels right. Friendly, or else easy to intimidate. He spots a gangly young man who looks about his age, maybe younger, hopping down from the cab of his truck. Corey doesn’t know much about fashion, but he thinks this guy looks punk or something. Like the dudes in high school whose girlfriends all dyed their hair purple, who he had always wanted to be friends with. 

“Hey man,” Corey says to him, trying to sound casual. “Can I catch a ride with you?”

“Where are you trying to go?” The punk driver asks.

“Wherever you’re willing to take me.” Corey tries to shrug but it hurts too much.

The driver agrees to give him a ride. He says his name is Evan. Corey doesn’t offer a name. Evan tells him they’re hauling a load of cheese from Wisconsin southward to Georgia. Corey has to get out before Evan makes the cheese drop though, because he’s not supposed to have anyone else in the truck with him. 

Evan turns the volume on his cacophonous music down to talk. From his friendly chatter Corey deduces it’s sometime during the week between Christmas and New year. Holy shit, he was in the hospital a long time. In October he’d hoped he could kiss Allyson at midnight on New Year’s. He’d never done anything to celebrate, and they would be in a new town, starting their new lives together. Now Corey would be alone for the holiday. Starting a new life by himself, while he can only assume Allyson’s life is over. He looks out the window so Evan won’t see his grief.

As they barrel south, they pass through miles and miles of empty fields, waiting, dormant. The flatness of the plains gives way to hills and then mountains. The elevation changes make Corey’s ears pop, and the tight curves in the road jostle him from side to side. He doesn’t ask Evan if he can sleep in the bunk, or if he has any drugs, and Evan doesn’t offer. Not long after they exit the mountains, they enter the tangled web of Atlanta, the highways and interstates knotting around each other, ensnaring cars like thousands of insects. Then they emerge into central Georgia, and Corey sees the south as it’s represented in cartoons, tiny little nothing towns separated for miles by woods and family farms. 

Evan pilots the truck through endless decrepit historical downtowns with mostly empty storefronts. These places aren’t dissimilar to Haddonfield, slowly becoming more abandoned and rotten in the wake of Michael’s rampages. The familiarity is bittersweet. Corey wonders if these towns have their own boogeyman legends. He wonders if their boogeymen are real. A hard, dark part of him hopes they are. That these towns have all felt the wrath of the monsters they personally created. 

They come to a truck stop on the edge of a city. Even from here, just barely within the limits, Corey can tell it’s the biggest town they’ve seen in hours. Evan informs him that his destination is nearby, so this is where they must part. Corey thanks him for his kindness then slips out of the truck.

Late December in south Georgia is much warmer than in Illinois, and Corey starts sweating in his parka immediately. But he keeps it zipped, with the hood up, to obscure himself as much as possible. He shambles across a parking lot to a motel that looks like it was frozen in time 60 years ago. He spends all of his remaining money on a room for the night. The towels are scratchy, the bed frame is creaky, and there’s a mysterious stain on the carpet in the corner of his room. None of it matters. He peels off his parka and falls straight to sleep. 

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

A few days after Corey’s escape, Nancy is once again seated alone at the nurse’s station when the cop comes in. This time he slams a warrant down on the counter. 

“Corey Cunningham,” is all the asshole says. Nancy takes the warrant from him and makes a big show of reading it. Grillo’s face starts to turn red. 

“Checked himself out against medical advice,” Nancy says, biting back a smile.

“Where the fuck did he go!” Grillo demands, half shouting.

“I need you to keep your voice down, deputy. This is a hospital. Patients don’t usually make a habit of telling me their plans after they leave, especially those who are adamant about leaving before their treatment is complete. I can give you his chart, but your guess about where he is is certainly better than mine.”

Nancy prepares the information requested in the warrant, feeling victorious. She smiles the rest of the day. Good luck, Corey Cunningham. She tries to think loud enough for him to hear her, wherever he is.

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

When Grillo gets back from his second trip to the hospital, Ross can see all over his face that the news is bad. Fuck, is all he thinks. 

“He was there. I got his chart,” Grillo tells him

“That’s what we wanted?” Joe Ross says, confused.

“He was there. Past tense. He fucking checked himself out against medical advice! He’s in the fucking wind!” Grillo roars.

“Well, put out a fucking APB then!” Ross yells back. But he knows before he finishes his sentence that an APB won’t be happening. Nothing else will be happening, because here comes the Sheriff, striding towards his desk with a stern look on his face. And just like that, Doug Mulaney’s disappearance and the murders of Tanner Mathis and Deborah Jennings go cold.

[anordinarymuse]

unrecognizable.

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Summary: big fight leading to breakup :(

Warnings: angst, established relationship

Word Count: a little less than 1k perhaps

a/n : dialogue mildly based off of real life + if anyone wants to submit angst requests (possibly including dialogue or song inspo🥹🥹) pls do!! trying to get back into it

navigation.

request here.

Arms were crossed as you faced the freshly discharged from the hospital wing Draco, your cheeks hot from anger and frustration. It was the day after Katie Bell returned from St. Mungos, and the rumors were that Draco had cursed her—and you knew it was the truth.

Once you witnessed Draco’s reaction in the Great Hall and found him after his fight with Harry, you clicked two and two together. All the times he was “up late night studying” or “asking professors last minute homework questions,” he was actually working on the cursed necklace.

“This is how you are Y/N. It doesn’t matter what I say. I tell the truth, you’d be upset. I tell a white lie, you’re still upset!” Draco shouts, his voice echoing off the walls of the abandoned classroom the two of you had been fighting in for what felt like forever now.

“Fine. You’re right I’m still upset, but-” You take a small step backward, noticing he’s grabbed a ruler to fidget with. “The truth counts for something.”

Draco bites the inner of his cheek before responding coldly, “I can’t say anything because if your other friends finds out, then it’ll be my neck at the end of the Dark Lord’s wand, not theirs. Everything I’m working on it’s- it’s too important to be fucked up.”

This selfish asshole, you thought to yourself. Draco convinced himself that he wasn’t like the others, convinced you even, but he truly was no different.

“You almost killed Katie Bell. Can’t you get that in your head? You almost killed her,” the images of Katie’s still and ghostly state, from when you visited her at St. Mungos, flicker like a reel in your mind. “Is it a crime to try and save her life?!”

“See, right there. That’s why you can’t know the truth. I can’t trust you. I can’t trust you with my life because you’re busy trying to save theirs!” And there it goes, your breath hitches as Draco violently chucks the rules across the room. It flies right past your cheek, cracks against the wall, and clatters against the floor.

“You’re my girlfriend, Y/N. You’re supposed to be on my side,” Draco asserts darkly, slowly brooding toward you. With each step he takes forward, you take one back, until your back hits the wall behind you.

“Your side? And what side are you on Draco?” You challenge him angrily.

You search his gaze for the Draco you’d called your own, and he’s not there—only a stranger. Instead, Draco’s glare sends chills down your spine, and the hope that he’d come around begins to crackle and snap just like the ruler he had flung.

“Maybe…maybe it’s time we call this,” you attempt to say calmly, though your lip visibly quivers and the words leave your tongue a bitter aftertaste.

Draco furrows his brow, taken aback, “What? Don’t throw away everything we have because you’re pissed off.”

You avoid eye contact, but Draco, as a last saving grace, reaches to gently cup your cheek he says softly, “Y/N, I love you, you know this-“

“You don’t trust me, and you can’t tell me the truth,” you interrupt quietly, turning your cheek just slightly away from Draco’s palm, “This love you’re talking about, that- that can’t be enough.”

Draco takes a step back, and his facade dissipates. “Do you want to be next victim? If I tell you sensitive information Y/N, it makes you the target. Better Katie Bell than you.”

“Do you hear yourself right now? It’s mental.“

“You can’t leave me. You’re all I have-“

“No, I’m not. If I were, you wouldn’t concern yourself with the offensive actions of He Who Must Not Be Named.”

Draco goes silent, and you take it as an opportunity strike again.

“You tell me this-” you grab his forearm to reveal the Dark Mark, at your touch his body cringes, but you force yourself to ignore his discomfort, “-means nothing to you, but it does.”

Draco tears his wrist from your grasp before replying weakly, “I have no choice, Y/N.”

You study him long and hard, words collecting at your lips, but you don’t know how to express them. He doesn’t get it, he won’t ever understand.

With that in mind, you pivot toward the door. Immediately, Draco launches forward, grabbing your wrist and tugging you backward. His other hand rises to your chin, turning your face to look him directly in the eye, “Don’t. Walk away from me, and it’s really over,”

It sounded dramatic and cruel. But you knew what he meant—no more protection to keep the dark side from reaching you. One step and all the safeguards would vanish.

“It’s for the best. I know you know it too,” you say in a low whisper as a single tear slides down your cheek.

With that his grip on your wrist loosens, and your hand falls to your side. His warmth dissipating leaves chills down your spine, the clock above the chalkboard reverberates with each tick, and any last words have slipped from your mind. You tear your eyes away from Draco’s, whose expression has turned from cold to unforgiving, rather unrecognizable.

**********

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[jazzyblusnowflake]

do u have any headcanons for Nuzi? sorry if you've already written about this before and I just didn't see it-

Oh boi anyone here into silly headcanons? XD ill put them under the cut just in case cuz i write a loooooooooooot lol

i usually just make headcanons as i go with my fics, its hard to think about for them specifically but here i go trying, hope you enjoy uwu

Some Nuzi Headcanons i got ùwú:

[for the drone universe ofc, some of my human HCs don't work in the drone universe sadly lmao]

considering this is at a time where they would become official or heck maybe the tragedy ends and they are happy together or something:

Uzi loves calling N "Puppy", sometimes she would also call him "Sunshine" or "Angel" but her & Ns fav would be "Puppy". however N usually doesn't call Uzi many nicknames other than "Zi" rarely- and maybe occasionally "Birdie" when they are more lovey dovey- he's more into pet names like "honey - darling - sweetheart - etc" and not much of a tease... although at times when they get a bit more spicy and he DOES want to tease- he could go towards names like "lil biscuit", "baby bat", "my lady" and etc but again, very rarely 6v6;;;;

they both had to download helpful content on how to flirt 🙄 although they caught on pretty quick lol.

N is subconsciously protective of Uzi, often curling his tail around her without realizing it, or stepping in front of her; but Uzi is consciously protective of N- especially when he's being bullied or degraded- she would cut off anyone's conversation if they were talking about N badly with something like "oh stick a fork in it J-" before changing the subject-

Uzi is actively a smartass sass mouth- she just never really had the confidence for standing up for herself- but with N she's grown to be a bit more confident in herself- and yet N has never seen her be aggressive to HIM lmao- and then when he sees how sometimes she absolutely drags some other drones he has to literally pick Uzi up from the scruff of her coat and tell her to please be nice XD

Uzi and N are absolutely, hopelessly touch and affection starved- this makes them get really cuddly as a way to recharge themselves emotionally. occasionally they just sit next to eachother without words and rub their heads against eachother like cats and sometimes Uzi just sits on his lap and randomly starts prepping his whole face with tini kisses- as if to say mine mine mine- and N is... well just sitting there wagging his tail like an excited puppy :D no words needed between them, just healthy and wholesome touching, cuddling and affection from eachother-...... i mean it could get spicy too- lmao 👀 cuz Uzi really loves taking off Ns hat for more comfort and just threading her hands in his hair- sometimes tugging gently to tilt his head for a more firm and heartfelt kissing and makeout sesh- they rarely get that needy but N happily reciprocates and his grip on Uzi's body/hips tightens pulling her flush against himself more-

at the beginning they are both a flustered mess doing or saying anything romantic but then Uzi started liking teasing and flustering N at any chance she could take. N is just too easy and too smitten for her.

N also occasionally gets the confidence and mood to be more forward and assertive and teasing Uzi over things he knows she's into and Uzi is absolutely into that shit- she's sat 😤

they do share oil sometimes through bites or kisses- but usually that's only when they feel extra frisky lmao-

Uzi gets easily embarrassed during intimate moments and since contact and touching easily discharges their power as sparks, Uzi often uh.... ends up with multiple soft-reboots or powering on and off which kinda overheats her body and CPU alot lmao-

they like drawing and listening to music together- Uzi actually likes watching N draw even if they look amateur and childish- she finds them extremely cute and hangs them up in her room when he draws for her <3

they did NOT start out sleeping next to eachother well. Uzi has nightmares a lot, and even without them she still moves around frantically and is just never in the same position when she wakes up, meanwhile N sleeps like a dead person, he hardly moves and he got used to the pose of crossing his arms on his chest so yeah... dead pose lmao. this made him get kicked alot or shoved in the slot between the bed and wall often- [if he didn't sleep on the other side and just straight up get kicked off the bed anyway]😭. even at times when he decided they could sleep hanging from their tails Uzi often still found herself in the middle of the night hanging haphazardly, limbs and wings in every direction and clothes riding down which made N almost start laughing when he woke up seeing her like this 😭😭😭. in the end one of the ways they ended up making Uzi sleep alot better was cuddling. N would just hold Uzi close, if hanging he would put his wings around them. Uzi would resist and push against him alot at first but slowly after time her nightmares subdued and she felt calmer sleeping at night.... also they put a cork or something on Ns tail when they sleep lol-

All drones, disassembly or worker, can make their cores whirr in a purring noise, its just that its louder for disassemblers, the noise of Ns core helps Uzi relax <3

Uzi can lift N very easily, straight up on her shoulder even.... and somehow N is very turned on by this as she could easily carry him around bridal style if need be- esp if she gets jealous of N interacting with others and just throws him over her shoulder and leaves- or uh.... yknow, if Ns hurt or something, yep 6x6;;;

Uzi is also turned on by the fact that N is so much bigger than her. they be casually sitting and inspecting eachothers hands and Uzi's is smaller and she just blushes fervently imagining all the things she wants his hands and claws to do to her.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND thats about all i can think of atm without spoiling much of my own future ideas lol, hope it wasn't too annoying, but i really enjoyed writing this uwu<3

hope yall enjoyed it too if you made it til here :p

i diiiiid wanna include some nsfw hcs too but im gonna keep this ask as sfw as possible for now. 😇 those would be nsfw specific hcs anyway lmao

[grievedifferent]

"Discharged on 16th May after final consultation proved satisfactory."

what this likely means is that josh was no longer suicidal nor was he showing as being a "risk factor" to others. he likely wasn't fully better being discharged, you rarely are, but he definitely was not as "okay" as he made himself out to appear to be.

also, it's interesting to note (and i hardly see this mentioned), but josh was in an in-patient observational program for 30 days, being discharged mid-may. no one wondered where he was? i guess his parents likely would have covered, maybe saying he was overseas with family back in egypt, but he wouldn't really be able to contact any of his friends. and would he want to? in that state? probably not, right?

chris mentions he's never seen josh as anything but okay, but also does reflect that josh is "clearly off his meds" without actually getting confirmation from hannah's diary that josh is on medicine, just that josh was in therapy (and had been for a long time), thus prompting us to believe chris at least knew josh was being medicated, and by that logic, we can assume either one of two things: chris always knew josh was on some form of medication, likely explained as anxiety or depression, or chris knew josh was on medication in the year between the prank and the return, which would make sense. the entire depth of josh and chris's relationship needs to be explored more deeply ... in another post. but i have asserted that chris likely knew josh was struggling before the prank on hannah (maybe assuming josh was depressed at best and potentially bipolar at worst), but was more aware of josh's mental health status post-prank on hannah given context we're provided. i talk a bit about this here. if you want more chris and josh context, here's a good post about that.

here is the wiki's capture of the psychiatric reports found by sam.

we know josh has been in therapies and taking medicines as early as age eleven (give or take depending on when you peg his birthday, i have his birthday being oct 29, 1994).

that's a really long time to "be in the system" meaning that he is several things: familiar with the system, shuffled through the system, and ultimately? like many? somewhat of a victim to the system. i say this because there are some critical failures in helping a) assess josh's mental illness appropriately, b) get in contact with his parents because he literally told dr. hill he was planning something three weeks before executing it, and c) he's seeing a lot of different people all the time for this.

we to remember this: josh is an extremely wealthy young man. he has resources and advantages financially most of us just will never know or have. he's also still in the care of his family. his parents can find him the best care anywhere in the world, often sending him out of state and likely even out of the country if necessary.

they will find anyone anywhere to help their son. reputations are on the line, too. while that's harsh to examine and realize, it's true. josh can't be out here acting in a way seen as anything other than desirable. being eccentric is fine, albeit pushing it, but that's about the most extreme he can be. i think he's on an incredibly short leash that extends way too far, if that makes sense? i describe his parents often as "absently present". he always feels they're around, even if they aren't, which is why he makes such a point that there are no parents with them.

i'll link this post into my full timeline i'm going to make eventually of that year, with references to marked day's of josh's canonical past, and then try to add context, but this is like ... the start of that. i also just really wanted to highlight that he was gone for literally thirty days. he also likely wasn't just sprung out and ready to chat right after, to be honest. there's a home recovery period, too; a sort of reassembling before going back into "real life".

also, this timing in april/may makes sense since he was admitted for treatment as a suicide risk in march ("Referred on 03/14/2014 due to potential suicide risk").

[quinloki]

A Light Touch

Fem Reader x Eustass Kid

CW: language, assault, violence, sexual themes and situations, implications of non-con, loss of limbs, blood. 18+ Only.

Beginning - Table of Consent -

Chapter 3: Victoria

"Get in the wheelchair, Mouse." Eustass directed. He and Killer had arrived early to visit and were already here when you started going through the discharge process. The two of them were more comfortable with the steps needed than you had expected and you wondered if there were a lot of injuries at their mechanic shop.

"I can walk." You assert, sliding off the bed after Killer had tied your shoes for you.

"Yeah, and if you don't get into the wheelchair, they'll sic an orderly on us. It's hospital policy." He grins and pats the seat.

You narrow your eyes. "You ass, you just want to be able to say you can push me around."

"I could just carry you out of here." He threatens, but the smile on his face tempts you.

You look between Eustass and the chair and then decide to sit in the chair. You're currently on day three of knowing this guy and there's no way you're going to catch feelings for someone who you don't really know. Even if his scars, eyes, hair, voice and body are hot in ways that you hadn't expected. At least when you first noticed him you could blame the painkillers.

Your face is turning pink, but you're not facing him so you're so safe.

"I'll go get the truck. You two try not to burn down the hospital." Killer says, slipping out of the room with your stuff. He held out the rumpled gift box from the day before. "Not opening this?"

Your eyes widen. The box had been set at your bedside, but you slept so much you'd forgotten about it, and then Coby had arrived and you napped before Kid and Killer showed up.

"Ack – uh, I will when I get home, I guess. I don't want to delay getting out of here."

"Don't like hospitals, Mouse?" Kid teases, pushing you out of the room and following behind Killer.

"Mm." You grunt the response, and seem to shrink in your chair as you're wheeled through the hallway.

"Care to elaborate?" There wasn't a tone in his voice. No teasing, no demand.

"In the car, sure." You answer automatically.

"You're not going to panic on me before we get there?"

"I never panic." You assert, maybe a little too forcefully.

"Everyone panics." Eustass said flatly.

"Even you?"

"Mm."

"Can't picture it."

"Flattery won't get you anything, Mouse."

"Oh, I bet I-." You stop, feeling heat in your ears.

You didn't need to turn around to be able to picture the devilish grin curling across Eustass Kid's face. You could feel the evil glee practically radiating off of him, and the worst part was that it stirred things in you. He could be married for all you knew. To Killer, for that matter. None of your conversations had been personal, or at least not overly personal.

You felt Kid lean down as his pace slowed just a little. His voice was soft and low near your ear, and you could feel goosebumps race across your skin.

"You bet you could, what, Mouse?"

You can't stop yourself from making a noise, an undeniably needy noise.

You half expect steam to rise up from your skin you're so red so fast. You put a hand over your face and just will the Universe to whisk you away before you die from literal embarrassment.

There's a hum from Eustass, and you can practically picture someone ringing a gong and awarding the round to him. There's nothing you can say to salvage your predicament, it's best to just remain as quiet as possible until something distracts him.

As it turned out, the one to get distracted was you.

Coming up to the exit you caught sight of a car in the pick up area and couldn't help a small gasp.

"What's up?" Eustass asks, looking around.

"I think that's a 1957 Chevy Bel Air!" You try to keep your voice down, but the excitement was spilling out into your words. "Haa, it looks like a sedan model, those're rare. The collectors snap up all the convertibles and coupes and the sedans get forgotten, but for a sedan it's just so nice. Oh man, I wish I could see the interior. The original leather seats are nice, but some people have done suede instead and I'd almost be afraid to sit on that, but it's gotta be so comfortable. I wonder if it's inline 6-cylinder or the original turbo V8. I mean, it's been so many years an original stock engine would be insane, and a modern V8 would have a lot more power and fuel efficiency.

"Ah it's oil-slick black too!" You're outside now, getting a proper look at it, and the sun plays off the black paint, sending up subtle sparkles of rainbow color flecks. "Damn that's deep red... suede... and Killer."

Killer had closed the trunk and had a wide smile on his face.

"No way." Your eyes go wide and your jaw drops. You leap out of the chair and look at Eustass, who has the most impressive shit eating grin on his face. "THAT'S YOUR CAR?!" You're pointing at him almost accusingly.

"It's slightly modified." He admits, setting the wheelchair off to the side and holding out a hand. "Wanna sit in the front, Mouse?"

"Yes. Yes, I do." There might've been something about maintaining your pride, or not giving Kid another win so soon after the last one, but you'd never been so close to such a cool car. The idea of getting to ride in one almost makes you nervous, but if Kid's going to let you ride upfront you're not going to argue.

You go over to the other side of the car and reach for the handle. You hiss in pain as you knock the raw end of your hand-less arm into the door. Swearing you turn from the car and stomp your foot on the ground a couple times until the initial sharp sting begins to subside.

The smiles on Kid and Killer's faces evaporate.

"Son of a feathered mother bitch." You growl, and then reach out with your right hand. "I'mma ram this damn thing into everything until I get a prosthetic, aren't I?"

You successfully break the uncomfortable tension that had started to fall over everyone with your creative swearing, and Kid snorts. "Probably."

"The rehab from the prosthetic's not going to be graceful either," Killer warns, holding the door for you as you get into the front seat.

"Don't worry Mouse, we'll make it as painfully embarrassing as possible." Kid promises, slipping into the driver's seat.

You laugh despite it all, and only sigh a little when you start struggling with the seatbelt. You grumble under your breath for a moment, trying to snap it into place on your own, but it's not happening. Eustass is looking at you with half a smirk on his face.

"Need a hand, Mouse?" He says deliberately.

"You have just been sitting on that, waiting, haven'tcha?" You grumble, even as you smirk. There's a bemused grunt and you decide that you'll give as good as you're getting, respect for the car or not. You look into Kid's eyes and flash the biggest, toothiest smile, before chomping down on the seatbelt to steady it so you can click it into place.

"I'm good." You say, settling into the seat comfortably.

You hear Killer grunt behind you and even Kid laughs. "Bite Victoria again and I'll bite you, Mouse."

"You're all bark anyway," You dismiss the threat.

"Care to test that?" The edge in Eustass' tone is almost enough to feel like a bite all on its own.

"Not with me in the damn car, Kid." Killer barks. There's an sound in his voice that makes you realize Kid may have actually bit you.

Kid grunts and turns the key, bringing Victoria to life. The rumble of the engine hits so well, and you're realizing some of Kid's modifications. It might be the sedan body, but it wasn't the original V8, there's too much power in it. It's not a modern engine though, or if it is it's been modified to purr like a proper muscle car's engine.

"Where to, Mouse?"

"North," you muttered absently, checking out all the knobs and accents and even checking out the glove box. "When you run out of land you can turn around and head back to South Blue."

Kid grunts and looks over his shoulder at Killer. "What's her license say?"

"42 Rosilea," Killer started reading. "Glao district, it's not far from the shop."

"You're both horrible."

"I'll drive you to your rehab appointments in Victoria, so calm your tits, Mouse." Eustass grumbles, putting the car into the gear and taking you away from the hospital.

Your dream car rides like one too. Victoria purrs once she's up to speed, but accelerating causes her to growl and it's perfect. The shocks are a step up from the stock option for the older model car, and you can barely tell that you're touching the road things are so smooth. Whether he meant for it to be or not, the car was a glimpse into a side of Eustass you imagine he wouldn't admit to.

Luxurious.

"We're in the car, Mouse." Eustass points out as you start to get comfortable and stop poking at everything within reach.

"We are." You answer him honestly, not understanding.

He rolls his eyes. "You said you'd elaborate in the car."

"Hu---oh!" You clear your throat and sigh. "I said, I heal fast right?" Eustass makes a positive sound. "And I do, and if someone pays too much attention it can get uncomfortable."

"Do you actually have a devil fruit power?"

"Nope. I wasn't even fed one without my knowledge as a kid or something." You admit. "I work for the Registry office, everyone there gets tested as part of the hiring process. I just heal fast."

"I'm getting the impression you're underplaying the 'fast' part of this."

"I mean, I'm not going to regenerate my hand, it's gone." You admit a little more sourly than you mean to. "But I already lied to the nurses a couple times before we left. Ah... shit, if you two were going to take advantage of me, you'da bloody done it by now."

You start pulling the gauze and tape from your arm.

"You get blood on that seat, Mouse, and we will have a problem." Eustass warned.

"Calm down, all the scabbing came and went last night." You admit, and feel the car swerve a bit before Kid regains control.

"Sorry, what?" Killer questioned, undoing his seatbelt and leaning forward.

You hold up your left arm. The end of it is still raw, and there'll be a good bit of scarring, but the amount of damage meant you should've been dealing with stitches and wound care for at least two weeks, if not longer. Instead there's some angry red lines, and completely clean bandages.

"And you've been tested?" Killer questions in disbelief.

You nod. "Yearly, it's part of the compliance of the job. I don't know how to explain it. I heal fast."

"You don't heal fast, you heal like you're wearing a goddamned Germa Raid Suit." Kid barks.

"I wish I had that kind of resilience." You admit.

"Don't we all? Fuck, Mouse, no wonder you wanted to get out of there." Kid swore.

"My mom was pretty adamant about not letting people know how fast I healed up. She used to say she was worried about the government conducting experiments or something. I don't know, it sounded a little paranoid to me, but I listened to her talk about it for years, so I get nervous in hospitals. They run all kinds of tests cause they have to, and who knows what would've popped up on some routine scan."

There was a heavy silence in the car for a long moment and you felt Killer grip the back of your seat. With his hand on your right side, his voice on your left, you effectively felt caged. Not that there was much of an escape from two healthy tall guys while you were in their car. Even if you were outside of the car, your differences in stride did not give you an advantage.

"Yet you're telling me and Kid." Killer points out. His voice is low and dangerous, and you feel a chill run through you despite it all. You aren't afraid, but you're realizing that there's a side to Killer that might be why he's called Killer. "You don't know us, (Y/N), we could turn you over to worse than the government."

You could feel Kid side-eyeing you while Killer leaned back into the back seat. You start wrapping your hand back up and sighed lightly.

"Right or wrong for it," you admit, staying focused on your task, "I trust you two. You've already had a lot of chances to be real bastards if you wanted to, and you haven't been. I'm not going to demand you spill your life stories to me or anything, but if you're like, gangsters or something, then maybe I'm just destined to be friends with gangs."

"You make it sound like you're the kid of a Warlord." Eustass states flatly.

You can't help yourself, laughing before you continue. "Who knows? Mom never talked about my dad, so maybe?" You shrug it off and smile. "I told you guys, you're my first friends since school, yeah?"

"Yeah, Mouse." He grunts.

"You might know my friends, I don't know exactly what they're up to lately, but I heard something about them being the kings of East Blue." You explain and hear Eustass swear.

"I swear to the gods, Mouse, if you tell me you're friends with the Straw Hats I'm going to throw you out of my car."

You wrap your arm around the seatbelt and consider things for a moment. "Can I answer after you drop me off at home?"

You see Eustass' grip tighten on the steering wheel. If he was a cat you were sure you'd be able to see his fur on end and his tail would be so fluffy it wouldn't fit in the car. He wasn't angry, he wasn't full of rage, but there was a very strong feeling of aggravation rolling off him. Killer wasn't saying anything, so you didn't say anything either, and after a long moment Eustass let out a string of swear words that would make a sailor pale.

You swallow hard, but the tension has your stomach knotted. It feels like you've already lost your new friends. You open your mouth a couple times, but you can't bring yourself to say anything. Shrinking into your seat the rest of the ride goes by quietly, and you do you best to hold back bitter tears that keep threatening to flow in the silence.

Ah well, at least you got to ride in Victoria before things fell to pieces.

Next Chapter

[antigonenikk]

do i dare//disturb the universe?

words: 1621

chapter 1/?

pairing: eugene sledge/john “bucky” egan

summary: Eugene Sledge and John Egan are both adrift in the wake of the War. They find each other in a small bar in a small corner of Chinatown. And the rest, as they say, is history.

also posted on my ao3: @wintersangels69

"And indeed there will be time

To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”

Time to turn back and descend the stair,

With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —

(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)

My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,

My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —

(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."

-The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

—————————————————————

There were certain things he couldn’t do anymore. Certain things he couldn’t take. And one of them was sitting still. After- well, after, there had been talk of sending him back stateside. Buck had headed back to Wyoming soon as V-E Day and went, and Bucky was right behind him. That was, before the goddamned Docs put a stop to it. As they so helpfully pointed out, Buck had had time to recover. Had been fed and watered and was back to looking like a real human being in between his rescue and his transfer back to East Anglia. Not so with Bucky. According to medical personal on base, Bucky wasn’t going to be able to go anywhere for at least six months. See, Bucky was down to 125 lbs, half his teeth had rotted out somewhere between Bremen and Berlin, he had sores all on his feet infected and peeling from frostbite, and to top it all off he had what the Docs were calling “mono-nueropathy of the upper limb” which really just meant that his left arm kept fucking twitching. Wouldn’t goddamn stay still. All of this combined meant that Bucky himself would have to stay still. And for a long time.

It was killing him, honest to God. Buck had given him a sort of sympathetic look before he was set to leave, standing awkward by his bedside. Like he was asking John for forgiveness. For what, he couldn’t be quite sure. For leaving maybe. But it seemed lately like Buck was always leaving. Those last few months marching from one camp to the next, he had started to forget Buck’s face. The color of his eyes. The way his eyebrow would twitch when he thought something was especially funny. All he could remember was the back of his head, gleaming and golden and leaving him. Always, always leaving. But that’s how it was, wasn’t it? With people like him. Unnatural, too loud, too brash, cloying and clinging and desperate for an ounce of human touch or feeling. It never worked. No matter what he did. Whether he was loud or quiet, strong or weak, joyful or stoic. He’d made himself into a million different men between the time of his birth and the time of his discharge from the military hospital, and none of them had ever warranted anything but the back of some poor fucker’s head. He’d had a lot of time to think on that, while recovering. He’d heard the boys in the middle of the night cry out, and he’d try and pace with his stupid fucking feet, and he’d stare out the windows as the nurses fussed over him, and he’d think. About Buck. About Leaving. About Home. About what any of it all meant now that he’d survived. What were you supposed to do, after you had spent years sure you would die, trying desperately to do anything you could to survive? What did it mean to live after all of that? It seemed to Bucky like everyone around him had it figured out. Everyone but him.

He wasn’t pathetic enough to follow Gale to Wyoming. He’d had a letter delivered two weeks before his release about the wedding. And that was great. Real great. He wanted to be angry, but he knew he wouldn’t have come to the thing even if he’d been able to, even if the wedding had been held off until he could walk on his own two feet. They were young, and in love, Gale and Marge, like two fucking little Dresden Dolls, perfect happy life perfect happy family. He would have ruined it anyways. And now there was no place for him. All those nights, the soft brush of a hand in his hair, whispering, love you, Buck, love you, and never once hearing it in return. There was no place for him there. They discharged him in April 1946, after months of grueling recovery and only a handful of letters, and he headed out for somewhere. Somewhere else.

From the top deck of the boat, crowded on all sides, he could feel the breeze in his hair, and it didn’t feel like freedom should have. It just felt like more nothing.

—————————————————————

He was back on Peleliu in the dream, for some reason. Sid was above him, blood leaking from his open mouth. He hadn’t known what to do. He tried to call for a Corpsman, but the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t move his arms couldn’t move his legs just the oppressive heat drowning him. And then he’d felt fingers in his mouth, and he’d looked up, and there was Merriell, his glacier blue eyes wide with unhinged glee, a knife in hand, tearing out his back molar. He tried to scream, tried to tell him. It’s me. It’s me. But the image shifted. And instead of Merriell it was him, Eugene, grinning at him beneath the pelting rain. He pulled out his own teeth, one by one, his face in an approximation of a smile, laughing, and then-

He woke up silently. He couldn’t help it if he tried. The memory of that noise, the shovel hitting the poor fucker whose name he never learnt, the memory wouldn’t let him ever get to anything but a choked out whine in his sleep. No matter how bad the dreams got. His mind knew, vaguely, that he was back home. But his body was still on that airfield, in the middle of a warm wet hell, saying, “It was him or us.”

He wasn’t gonna be able to sleep. So instead he wandered downstairs, watching the sun rise through the curtains. College, of course, had been a bust. He was technically on break and set to return in the fall, but he knew deep down he wasn’t going back. Couldn’t stand to look in the eyes of people his age and see souls lurking back there. The resentment within him bubbled up each time he saw souls that still lived and breathed and hadn’t been left back with a crying baby in Okinawa. And besides, he couldn't stand their smug indifference, as if any of them knew what it had been like in the thick of it. Half of them hadn’t even served, and the other half kept talking about the European Theatre like it meant something to him. They’d been back home for a year before he’d had an inkling of returning to the waking world, and it showed. While they celebrated Hitler’s defeat he was in a foxhole being shot at, losing his humanity inch by inch.

Part of him wanted to go to New Orleans. To ask why. Why. Why wasn’t he good enough for Merriell? Why did he leave him there, sleeping, on that train bound for Alabama? Part of him wanted to run down the street to Sid and Mary’s house and start screaming at the both of them. “I used to fuck your husband! I used to fuck him! And he left me there without saying fucking goodbye! He didn’t warn me!”

He didn’t warn me. And now it was all too late. He wouldn’t go back to school. And he’d been trying to survive for so long he couldn’t kill himself. And he couldn’t stand the thought of New Orleans and the rejection he’d find there. And going to Sid’s was really just a funny little fantasy, something to indulge in when he was feeling real low and wanted to cry for the sake of crying. There was nowhere left to go, nowhere really. And he couldn’t stay here.

The urge to flee came inside of him and started tapping at the walls of his chest. He had to get out of Mobile. He had to leave, now.

In his room he spent an hour packing the essentials. His Bible from the War tucked into his back pocket. A few changes of clothes. Soap and a razor and a second pair of shoes. A book by Eliot. It was funny. Before the war, he always thought Eliot was a real sop. Could never get into the lilting rhymes. But now, it seemed reading Four Quartets or Alfred Prufrock was the only thing that could get him to calm down when the noise reached unbearable levels inside his own head.

There was only one thing for it, really. New York. The idea called to him, deep in his bones. He could feel it. He could belong in New York. He could be as inverted as he wanted to be and no one would bat an eye if he picked the right neighborhood. He could hide among the faces of strangers and forget that the word sledgehammer existed in the English dictionary. It would be like Peking. Which he had learned to love so dearly. The noise and the beautiful tonal language, the bright lights and the rickshaws. Maybe he’d move to Chinatown even. He knew the language alright, and he’d never felt as at home as when he was dining with one of the host families last winter. Yes. Yes. This would be good. This would be a fresh start.

He left a letter to his parents. He didn’t want to give it more thought than it needed. A swift separation was for the best. It was only a matter of time before they too got sick of him, and sent him to the hospital, having seen the weakness and the black ooze at the heart of him.

By noon he was on a train headed due North, set to run into the open embrace of a new city. Set to run straight into the back of one John Egan.

[cryscal]

Four Words Tag Game part 2!

@aether-wasteland-s has tagged me to hunt down four words in my writings: fortune, sigh, release and tremble. I hope you enjoy the results!

And a gentle, no-pressure tag to @elliehopaunt, @bigbad1880, @queerlilchinchin, @heavensfallenfaction and aaaaanyone else who wants to take a shot! I offer you admit, firm, pleasure, and throat. As always, any form of a word works.

fortune – Untitled bit from the same WIP as Past Perfect

“So ... you do tarot.” “Yep.” Mo acknowledged her new roomie’s not-question without turning from the spread of cards in front of her. “And it looks like you’re pretty serious about it.” This time her eyes did shift, flicking to the dozen decks and several books on the subject loading down one shelf of her tiny dorm bookcase. “Also true.” “But you say you’re not a fortune teller?” At last Mo turned to face Aihe, looking up at her lounging on her bunk. “I am not, no.” (Strong, assertive features, warm brown skin, bright brown eyes, one hand playing with the pounamu pendant her-- sigh –boyfriend gave her) “Why not? I kinda thought that’s what tarot is for.” Mo snorted, then gave the Maori girl a smile to soften it. “That’s what many people think. But if you need a name for what I do, call me a soothsayer.” Aihe’s smooth brow furrowed. “Isn’t that just another word for--?” “Nope.” Mo picked a card from the top of her deck and twirled it in her fingers. “Fortune telling implies telling someone about their future. But sooth just means truth.” “Oh.” (softly curved lips pressing the edge of her glass as she took a long sip of the wine they were sharing) “So you’re a truth speaker.” “I try to be.”

sigh – Past Present

“My real name wouldn’t mean much to you; you couldn’t pronounce it, for one thing. But I have used other names. You may call me Trishna.” “Trishna … Sanskrit for thirst.” “Or desire.” Yes. It fit her. “I’m sorry, Trishna.” “None could blame you for your rage, sweet one. I’m only grateful that you were able to leash it.” Dareios drew one more deep breath and let the words out on a shuddering sigh. “Not me. You.”

release – Essence (BSG 2003 fic)

“And Laura--” He looked up and met her eyes. “--if you ever do need to talk, I'm here.” The dam very nearly broke then, with her hand in his and her vision filled with the tenderest look she'd ever seen on his face. It nearly broke, but she knew that if she started talking now, she would wind up shrieking her agony and fear and rage into his shoulder. His shoulder was strong; she wanted to trust it so badly ... This time she was the one who dropped her gaze to their hands. “Thank you,” she whispered. Those large hands surrounding her own squeezed briefly, then released. “Do you need anything else? A meal, perhaps?” She just stopped herself from shuddering. She'd had to take something in preparation for tomorrow's tests, something her stomach hadn't liked. “No, not right now, thanks. I'm fine.”

tremble – Past Present

“There’s no right answer, is there?” His voice sounded thick. “No matter who it was, they wouldn’t be worth your parents’ lives. And if there was no one, that’s worse.” The contempt in her eyes landed another telling blow. “Too bleeding right,” she sneered as she stalked past him. “Do what you’re going to do. I don’t care anymore.” Reg’s gaze shifted between Dare and Mo desperately, the strain of loyalties and uncertainty plain in his tween-aged face. Dare stood silent, only turning when he felt Mo rebound off his own ward, the barrier he’d set between the three of them and the door. No energy discharged to shock her, but the momentum in her stride turned into an equal and opposite reaction, knocking her to the floor. She regained her feet and reached out, touching the spot where his spell scintillated after her impact. Whipping around, she fixed him with an outraged scowl. Dare met her gaze and held it. “I know you don’t care,” he whispered. “But I do.” Mo hunched her shoulders, both fists clenched and trembling now, the card bending. She ground out three words in absolute, single-minded fury. “Take. It. Down.”

[teiasviago]

Signs

Episode: “Je Souhaite” | Rated M | @today-in-fic | Warning: if any of the symptoms of pregnancy are squicky for you, it would be best to avoid this fic. Also, a reminder that we use Fahrenheit in the U.S., so don’t freak out at the wonky temperature stuff, my Celsius loaves.

Scully feels a little guilty for sending Mulder home last night after teasing him all day about what she was going to do to him in bed, but she blames her upset stomach on being “forced” to skip lunch that day. Scully had waved him off after three hours of on and off vomiting, feeling like she sent the entirety of her pizza and soda into the toilet.

She’d sent him back to his apartment so he’d stop hovering, his incessant chatter only magnifying the headache beginning to build at the base of her skull.

Mulder had called as soon as he got home, leaving a voicemail for her to please not come in tomorrow if she’s still sick. Well, Scully had fortunately felt right as rain when she woke up, aside from the minimal gnawing feeling in her stomach.

She regrets eating two bagels with lox and her real cream cheese now. This must be her punishment for breaking the rule of saving it for the fair amount of bad mornings she encounters. Her stomach’s mutinying again at the smell of Mulder’s black coffee and she can feel another toilet session coming on.

“Oh, God,” Scully whispers, all intent to apologize and press a soft kiss to his lips going out the proverbial door as she sprints out the real one and hauls ass to the bathroom.

She must have a stomach bug, Scully reasons, trying to even out her breathing as she folds some paper towels and wets them before pressing them against her face and neck. She’s suddenly feeling strangely hot, evidence of her sick flushed away.

Mulder knocks three times on the bathroom door. “Scully?”

“Yeah?” she sends back, splashing her face with water. She groans as she feels another gag coming on.

“I brought you some ginger ale and—and some Pepto Bismol. And Tums. I know you don’t like the Pepto but, you know, I figured this called for all the stops.”

She can imagine the look on his face as he hears her vomiting again. Scully checks her watch when it’s over. It’s still only 8:27 in the fucking morning!? How the hell is she supposed to make it through the rest of the workday like this?

The door hinges creak and she looks over at Mulder. “I told you not to come in if you’re still sick, Scully.”

“I wasn’t! I felt fine this morning, and then I walked in the office and smelled your coffee and...”

He leans against the counter and crosses his arms, puckering his lips as part of his exaggerated thinking face. Scully stands up straight and shoots him a look. Mulder shakes his head and puts his hands up. “Look, all I’m saying is that it looks like the same thing happened last night. As soon as we got out the ice cream, you bolted to the bathroom.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “What are you getting at, Mulder?”

“Just that you should go home and at least take a nap or something. If you stay off your feet for a few hours and relax, I’ll be happy. Nibble on some crackers, catch a soap opera...” Mulder shrugs. “You’re clearly sick, Scully. If not for yourself, do it on the chance that it’s contagious.”

Scully places the wet paper towel on the back of her neck, holding it there. “Fine. But only because it might be contagious.”

“I mean—that doesn’t make it better, but thank you nonetheless. Do you want me to drive you? What if there’s a random smell that sets you off on the ride there?”

She rolls her eyes but tells him, “Fine.”

—

Mulder’s assertion that certain smells have been setting off whatever’s going on with her stomach seem to be proven true when she comes back to the office after a few hours of rest and relaxation to the harsh sight of a man whose... whose mouth suddenly disappeared and had to be surgically recreated. Not a twinge from her stomach aside from shock butterflies.

Scully’s relieved that she’s been able to keep down her lunch. To be fair, it was crackers with a little cheese and a full two cups of water to make sure she was hydrated, but any food is good food. She proudly announces to Mulder during their ensuing flight the next day that it seems whatever illness hit is gone.

—

It’s not cold in Creve Coeur, Missouri—certainly not in Spring—but Scully’s feeling every degree of the breeze through the open windows like it’s in the thirties. She’s shivering the entire car ride to the Mark Twain Trailer Park, and noticeably enough for Mulder to glance at her with concern before putting up the windows and turning the heat up.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little cold.”

He frowns at that but lets it go until they hit a red light, when he leans over and presses his hand to her forehead.

Scully quirks her lips in a smile. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your temperature,” he replies. “You don’t seem to have a fever...”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she insists, leaning into his hand for the few seconds she gets the light turns green.

“Alright, but if you’re still sick, Scully, then you have to promise me that you’ll go back to the motel, okay? I brought the meds just in case, if you need them.”

She smiles softly and places her hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

“It’s what a good boyfriend does.”

—

Her stomach bug really does seem to be gone, which is a relief. However, she’s now insatiably hungry for two things: Mulder, and the bagels from the bagel place two streets over from her apartment. Well, she consoles, one is attainable, at least. And, boy, does she attain it. They’re both breathing heavily by the time Scully’s through with him, and even though they’re sticky with sweat, she curls her body around Mulder’s anyway.

Her breasts are tingly, which has never happened after sex before, but she chalks it up to Mulder’s harsh treatment of her only a minute ago as she nuzzles his chest. She inhales and sighs happily. “I love the way you smell,” she murmurs.

He laughs and she feels it against her cheek. “Coming from the woman who made me start using a different deodorant,” he jokes, squeezing his arm around her shoulders. “Your nipples are darker.”

“What?” Scully props herself up with her forearm to make proper eye contact as her brows furrow.

“Yeah. I don’t know. They’re darker. Feel a little heavier, too. You didn’t notice?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “Unlike you, Mulder, I don’t spend hours studying my boobs.”

He shrugs and rolls them over so he’s hovering over her on his forearms. “Your loss.”

—

“Fuck,” she swears, digging around in her suitcase, fresh from her shower. She’s only got one hand because the other’s holding her towel wrap together.

“What?” Mulder asks around his toothbrush, exiting the bathroom. His tie is slung behind his neck and his suit jacket is waiting for him on the bed.

“I don’t have any panty liners.”

“Do you want me to go out and get some?” he asks, heading back to the bathroom to spit.

“Yeah, that would be great.” Scully walks past him into the still-warm bathroom and lets the towel drop as she uses the one wrapped around her hair to dry the wet strands.

“Alright. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She drops the hair towel when he takes the singular step needed in the tiny motel bathroom to invade her space in favor of pulling him down for a kiss by the ends of his tie. “Mmm, settle down or the plan’ll be botched.”

“I was just thanking you,” Scully says, affecting innocence as she does his tie for him.

“For buying you panty liners? What would happen if I surprised you with some ice cream?”

“I would eat the ice cream.”

“Damn.” Mulder presses a kiss to the top of her head before heading out to put on his suit jacket. “Do you mind me asking why you need panty liners? Also! What brand?”

“Any with wings. And I need them because there’s been an unusual amount of vaginal discharge in my underwear and I don’t want to ruin any more of them.”

“Right.” He steps back in view of the bathroom and takes in her naked body.

Scully raises an eyebrow at him. “What?”

(Their books on pregnancy are buried inside their storage closets from a time best forgotten.)

“Nothing. I just like looking at you.”

She smiles at him, drying her hair again. “Get going, hotshot.”

—

Halfway through the flight home, Scully discovers something that makes her a bit worried. She’s not supposed to get her period until next week, so the blood on the liner she quickly tosses away with shaky hands can’t be because of that. She tries to forget about it as she walks back to her seat next to Mulder, but he must see something on her face that prompts him to ask if she’s okay.

“I’m fine,” she lies, managing to give him a smile. “Just tired.”

He seems to accept that and leaves her be. It’s not even a lie; she feels exhausted after everything that happened over the past few days. Scully makes a mental note to book an emergency appointment with her Ob-Gyn when they land, and closes her eyes.

—

“Dana,” Dr. Namin starts, disrupting her patient’s thumb twiddling.

Scully abruptly stands up as her doctor moves to stand in front of the exam table, computer and several documents in hand. “You don’t look concerned,” she says, following Namin to the exam table.

“Because there’s nothing to be concerned about at this stage except plenty of rest, hydration, and eating at least three good meals a day,” Scully’s doctor replies, opening up her computer and spreading out the documents. “We’ve done all the tests you asked for, but nothing came up. However, based on the symptoms you listed, I performed one more, and that’s where we found the culprit.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re pregnant, Dana. Plain and simple. Congratulations.” Dr. Namin slides one of the documents towards Scully, who takes it. “You’re about three and a half weeks along. You can take all the papers. There’s suggestions for all the prenatal vitamins you’ll need to take and how much water to drink in a day. Resources for managing symptoms, too.”

Scully nods dumbly, tears gathering in her eyes as she stares at the diagnosis. “Um, when should I come back?”

“Don’t worry about that right now, I’ll have someone give you a call with that information. Just relax and enjoy the news. I remember how much you wanted this, Dana. I...I don’t know how this happened, but the baby’s doing well. Minor bleeding is completely normal and you don’t need to worry. If it gets worse or doesn’t stop soon, then come back.”

“Okay,” Scully chokes out, smiling widely as she wipes away her tears and collects the documents on the exam table.

—

She spends a few hours at her apartment trying to figure out how to tell Mulder the good news but gets nowhere. In the middle of pacing around her couch, one arm unconsciously wrapped around her abdomen, her phone starts ringing.

“Scully speaking.”

“Agent Scully,” Skinner starts, and she immediately knows that Mulder’s done something stupid again, “could you check on Agent Mulder? He snuck into my meeting and was yelling at my chair.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Scully hangs up the phone and sighs heavily. Looks like God’s giving her a sign to just get it over with. When she enters the office, however, the woman Mulder keeps insisting is a genie is there, too. She licks her lips nervously and tries to ignore her.

“Skinner called me, Mulder. Is everything alright?”

Sitting at the desk, computer on, she has to wonder what he’s doing. “You don’t remember disappearing off the face of the Earth for an hour this morning?”

She gives her head a small shake as she tells him, “No,” truly starting to get concerned.

Mulder just shrugs with a little smile and gets back to typing with a nonchalant, “Well, I guess everything’s okay.”

Get it out, just say it, she thinks, trying to psych herself up. She sighs. “Mul—” But the woman’s still there in the office. “Could you give us a minute, please?”

“Sure,” the woman—Jenn, Mulder told her on the plane—says with a nod.

Scully steps closer to the desk, butterflies in her stomach. Jenn isn’t moving, and it’s making her annoyed, quite frankly. “Like, today?” she says, turning around, but the black-haired woman is nowhere to be found, not even in the annex. Scully turns back to her partner, extremely confused. “Where the hell’d she go?”

Mulder childishly imitates a genie disappearing and she feels the sudden urge to laugh at the thought that this man is the father of her child. “No...” she says, softening the guffaw trying to escape to a scoff-laugh. “It’s gotta—” She scoffs for real this time. “It’s gotta be hypnotism, or—or mesmerism, or something.”

And thus begins the verbal sparring. As he lists all the things he wants for the world, Scully thinks, again, of how this is the father of her child. Something suspiciously soft is trying to emerge from her heart as she responds, and she’s a coward to boot, so she leaves without telling him. Driving back to her apartment, Scully feels guilty at how little effort she put into trying to break the news to Mulder. She just—she doesn’t know what to make of the news herself, let alone how to explain it to him.

An hour into The Exorcist, hugging a pillow as she wishes Mulder was watching it with her, the phone rings. “Scully, do you wanna come over and watch a movie? I’ve got your favorite popcorn...”

She grins. “Of course. I’ll bring the drinks.”

—

They’ve both changed their clothes for the movie night, and when Mulder opens the door, they’re sporting matching grins. “Oh, zero alcohol content?” he faux complains, taking the case of six drinks into the kitchen. “Is this your punishment for me, Scully?”

She elects not to respond as she follows him and takes out the package of popcorn and a pot. “Can you grab the olive oil, Mulder?”

“Yeah, of course.” He puts four of the drinks in the fridge before reaching into one of the cabinets to grab the oil and put it on the counter next to the stove, which Scully’s turning it on.

“I’ll never understand why you won’t just microwave them. It’s faster.”

“Yeah, but if you do it in the pot, it tastes better,” she shoots back, opening the package and pouring the kernels into the pot.

“That’s just because of the oil.”

“Well, you can continue to eat shitty popcorn for the rest of your life if you want, but I’m going to eat my good popcorn.”

They turn to face each other as the kernels pop and hit the lid, a staring contest beginning. Scully wins when she licks her lips and distracts Mulder enough to get him to blink.

“Ha! I got you! I win!”

“That’s cheating!”

“I won!” she says in a sing-song voice, emptying the finished popcorn into the bowl.

Mulder shakes his head with a smile. “Why don’t you take the drinks and get comfortable. I’ll finish the popcorn.”

Scully nods and does as he suggests, but as she’s crossing into the living room, she pauses and turns around. “No butter, please,” she says, and he turns around with a scoop of butter in a bowl in his right hand, the handle of the microwave in the other.

“No... butter...?” She nods. “We always put butter on the popcorn, Scully.”

“Well, I don’t want butter this time,” she says, and makes her way to the couch, sitting down and placing the drinks on the coffee table. She hears Mulder sigh heavily and put the bowl of butter in the fridge before making his way to the living room, bowl of popcorn in hand.

He shakes his head as he grabs the movie case from the table and inserts it into the player. “Can’t believe you don’t want butter on your popcorn. Eugh. It’s un-American.” He steps around the table and sits down next to Scully.

She takes the case from where he left it and makes a face. “Caddyshack, Mulder?” she questions.

“It’s a classic American movie,” he insists, grabbing his drink and propping his feet up.

“That’s what every guy says.” Scully grabs her own and untwists the cap, tossing it onto the table. Mulder does the same, but his bounces off onto the floor, and she laughs into the bottle. “So, uh... What’s the occasion?” she asks, as if they still take the justifying movie nights thing seriously.

Last week’s was I thought you might need some help feeding your fish.

“I don’t know. Just felt like the thing to do. Cheers.”

Maybe it is time to turn over a new leaf, especially considering the baby growing inside her, cell by cell. They clink their bottles—“Cheers,” she says—and drink. Tell him, tell him, tell hi—

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I, um, never made the world a happier place.”

They nod together and Scully knows that this is the moment to tell him. She takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m fairly happy. That’s something.” A smile slides onto her face and she looks at him, a lot more than fairly happy now. “Actually, I’m ecstatic.” She gives a little laugh and reaches into her pocket for the piece of paper she’d stared at for hours earlier.

“Really? Is there a specific reason, or...?”

Scully pulls the paper out and looks at the blue highlighted text on the portion of the paper that’s not folded back for a moment before handing it to Mulder. “That’s why,” she says, voice trembling a little out of happiness.

She watches his face as the words sink in. He reads it again, murmuring, “Diagnosis: pregnancy (3.5 weeks),” as he does so, a grin spreading across his lips. “Scully...”

“I know,” she says, setting her bottle on the table, and before Mulder can say anything else, she cups his cheeks and kisses him, unwilling to fight the urge.

“Scully, this is wonderful!” He laughs joyously and kisses her again, setting the paper and his drink on the table. “I’m so happy.” He brings her into his embrace and buries his face in her shoulder for a long moment, both of them starting to cry. He suddenly pulls away and puts his hand on her abdomen under her shirt, his other arm still wrapped around Scully.

“I love you,” she tells him.

“I love you, too,” he replies.

[wonlouvre]

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 3.2k WARNINGS: child trafficking, child labor

a/n: just a disclaimer, i am not that well-versed when it comes to investigations and trial procedures at the court. please do correct me i make a mistake. i hope you enjoy this new part! i think we have about three or four chapters left. ANGST is on the next part :’(

seven: if you can’t believe | masterlist

“On April xx, 20xx, at approximately 10:30 in the morning, two unidentified males entered and held hostage the Emergency Room of the Royal Hospital. The nurse in charge of the information desk said that the two males approached the desk and asked if there were two boys (their identities are yet to be confirmed) admitted to the hospital. They claimed that they’re their guardians and wish to have them discharged and transferred to a different hospital. Based on their description, the nurse confirmed that there were two boys who came to the hospital earlier in the morning. However, the nurse informed them that they are not cleared to be discharged yet as per doctor’s orders and if they wish to discuss with the doctor-in-charge, they can. They only need to present IDs or any documentation to prove that they are indeed the guardian.

They did present IDs however, it was not valid and accepted by the hospital. The two males started demanding to see the two boys and insisted that they will recognize who they were. At that point, the nurse said the two males’ were beginning to raise their voices. The nurse asked them to calm down and wait patiently for the doctor-in-charge to arrive. That’s when the two males pulled out handguns and threateningly pointed it at the nurse.

The Royal Hospital’s security was alerted and immediately called the Royal Police. The hospital’s security was able to distract the two suspects until one of the police officers fired a shot. Fortunately, no hospital staff and patients were harmed. It is yet to be identified how the armed suspects were able to enter the hospital undetected. 

The Royal Police cannot release the names of the suspects and any other details as the investigation is still ongoing. However, we are looking at the direction that this could possibly be a  case of child trafficking and the two suspects are perpetrators. 

Please be rest assured that we are committed to solve this case and hold everyone involved accountable. We ask the general public to only believe verified information and wait for the official statements that the Royal Police will release accordingly.

Thank you for your understanding.”

You’re both crestfallen and angry. This paper would probably rip apart from the way your hand is deathly gripping it. It’s never easy to read and hear about crimes committed against innocent people. It’s never easy because they don’t deserve to go through the torment, harm and trauma. You wish you could avoid it, but it would be wrong and unfair to the victims. So no matter how heartbreaking or uncomfortable it is, you read and you listen because you have to be aware of it. You have to know and not turn a blind eye because they deserve to be heard and fought for. 

This black and white statement of the Royal Police is nothing but horrible. How did the kingdom let this pass? For a kingdom that’s so proud of its enforcement of strict laws, how did this crime happen right under its nose? 

It weighs on your heart and ever since you’ve taken hold of this piece of paper, you don’t know how to continue on with the day anymore. You lean your head against the backrest and stare up the ceiling. You breathe in and breathe out, getting yourself together to think, to function.  

Something is telling you that there is more to this hostage taking at the hospital and this case of child trafficking. And you desperately need to know. You’re already aware that the authorized and concerned people are doing their job already, but why is it drawing your attention? 

You release an exasperated sigh and massage your right brow. It’s been twitching due to the boiling anger inside you and you just want it to stop. The only way for that to happen is to find answers. Picking up your phone among the pile of papers, you dial the number of the person you’re sure that can give you any information, big or small. 

First ring. Second ring. Thi---, “Your Highness.”

You’re quick to your feet the moment he answered. “Hey Seungkwan. How have you been?”

Boo Seungkwan is the man to call. A persistent and assertive prosecutor and person in general. Definitely one of the brightest classmates and lawyers you have ever met. It’s no surprise that he’s hired by the Supreme Prosecutor’s Office as a prosecutor. He knows what he’s doing and more than doing, he knows how to fight to the end.

He actually wanted you to join together and you considered the offer. However, due to your position in the kingdom, you realized that practicing in private is more suitable for you.

“Well,” he says and pauses, “I have been better. How about you, Your Highness?”

“You know that you can call me Y/N, right?” You remind him, offering a smile even though he won’t be able to see it. “We went to law school and passed the exams together.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, not a big fan of throwbacks. “To what do I owe this phone call anyway?”

“About the recent statement of the Royal Police, is there anything you’d be willing to share with me?” You requested and faced the window that’s overlooking the city. 

You hear him chuckle on the other line. “I knew you’d ask. You do know that I’m risking my job as a prosecutor because I can’t say no to you right?”

“Is it something… big?” You ask nervously, biting the insides of your cheek.

A beat of silence passes and you can tell it is without having him say it. You think your heart is going to explode anytime soon.

“Big or not, it’s a case and a crime,” he retorts. “But this is something that Their Majesties need to brace themselves for,” he continues, warning laced on his voice. “It can shake the cabinet as well because we can tell that one, and if not, some of them are involved.”

There it is. The cold hard truth. There was nothing else to say. It’s more than obvious that the kingdom’s cabinet has been compromised and it will blow right at your family’s faces. You don’t even need to doubt it. But still, your blood runs cold at the thought. 

“Thank you Seungkwan,” you say and breathe out a defeated sigh. “Let’s meet for coffee some other time.”

You hear him say “anytime” and then end the call. 

You toss your phone back on the table and cross your arms as if you’re trying to hug yourself. Your eyes are out of focus and your mind has questions that need answers. This case is not even about protecting your family’s reputation anymore. It’s about your family protecting its people, its children, from this. 

You’ll probably never forgive yourself if you and the rest of your family have failed to do its promise and duty. 

“Your Highness?” Jeongyeon knocks on the wooden door and calls for you, pulling you back to the ground. “Are you ready to go?”

You frown and tilt your head to the side, confused. You don’t remember having errands outside the office today. 

Jeongyeon notices your confusion and says, “Your monthly checkup is today.”

Oh. 

“I’m sorry. It must have slipped my mind,” you say and quickly gather your things so that you can leave now. “Thank you, Jeongyeon.”

She nods, understanding what you meant. She keeps the door open and waits for you to pass through. 

What the hell am I going to do? You ask yourself. A million thoughts has started running inside your mind from reading the statement up to finding out that this case could potentially be a crime syndicate. A crime syndicate that the Royal Family failed to prevent. Every day, there are crimes that get tried and solved in this kingdom. But for this particular crime, it doesn’t happen every day and it shouldn’t be in the first place. But, your kingdom must have grown complacent because here it is, a ticking time bomb that will explode anytime soon.

How did this happen and who allowed this to happen?

“Your stress levels are quite high compared to your previous check-up, Your Highness.” The doctor gives you a knowing smile after reading the results of your tests today. 

“It’s because of work,” you make an excuse and return his smile with a sheepish one while scratching the back of your neck. “I think.”

The doctor tried to muffle his laughter, but you can hear him snicker nonetheless. He just nods and mutters an, “alright,” and proceeds to write down the results and updates of this consultation. 

“Although there is nothing to be concerned about, I still advise you to take things slow,” he once again points out the reminder that he gave from the first time you got admitted. “Remember, I’ll never get tired of saying it.”

You nod and purse your lips in a smile. “I promise I’ll try.”

He raises his eyebrows at your answer, but lets it go in the end. 

“I think we are good,” he says and leans his elbows on the table, hands clasped together. “Let’s go back to your yearly check-up, like the usual.”

“Thank you for your time.” You stand up and reach your hand out to shake his. “I’ll see you next year, then.”

The doctor replies with his smile still intact, “I will be here.”

You think about taking the rest of the afternoon off and just go back to your apartment. You suddenly don’t feel so good and present, for lack of a better word. You just want to think alone, away from any distractions. 

On your way out to the door, you pull your phone out from your bag to call Jeongyeon. This floor of the hospital is private and reserved only for your family. It’s something you’re not proud of and you should probably talk to Their Majesties about it. You sigh and hold your phone to your ear as you proceed to the elevator. You're only a few steps away when a familiar voice makes you stop.

“Hey.”

You jump in surprise, almost dropping your phone and bag. You turn around and you’re not so surprised anymore to see a grinning Wonwoo with hands inside the pockets of his white coat. With a roll of your eyes, you finally relaxed your tensed shoulders and walked towards him.

He meets you halfway and holds his hand out. You happily take it, making it easy for him to tug you close to his chest, bringing you in for a hug. You wrapped your arms around his neck while his around your waist. Just like that, his breath against your skin made all your worries vanish.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, distancing from him but not letting go. 

“I knew that you’d be here,” he answers, keeping his hold on your arms. “Had to see you.”

You scoff and give his shoulder a light shove. “Shut up. We were inseparable until our last day at your hometown and yet you still want to see me. Aren’t you sick and tired of my face yet?”

He pinches your cheek and kisses the tip of your nose. “Of course not.”

“Well, I’m leaving,” you announce and let go of him, reluctantly (as always). “You should probably get back to work.”

Wonwoo doesn’t let you move any further and drags his hand from your arm to your hand, swaying it from side to side as he whines out, “But, I’m on my break. Can’t you stay a little longer?”

You don’t really give in easily and it takes a lot of persuasion before you actually do. Jeongyeon can’t even convince you to stop going home late. But with just one request and pleading eyes, Wonwoo has you standing inside his office. 

It’s spacious, but a tad bit messy. There is lots of paper. In fact mountains of them, which you are very familiar with already. A wall of books is on one side of the room while three respective desks are on the other side. There’s a window, which is good, you can see some natural lighting. And of course, a small pantry for coffee and snacks. 

Wonwoo offered his chair for you to sit on as he prepared you something to drink. You still look around and try to keep yourself occupied. Your eyes trail on his desk eventually and you can’t help but smile. If every corner of this room is in disarray, Wonwoo’s desk seems to be the only area that is not. There’s nothing much on it except for a jar of pens, pencils and highlighters, a notepad and some bookmarked books. 

“You’ve met Soonyoung, right?” He asks, coming back with  two warm cups. Coffee for him and tea for you. “I share this office with him and another doctor.”

You nod and take a quick sip. You noticed that it’s almost lunch time on the clock above the door and wondered, “Is this all you’re going to have for lunch?”

“I had some cheeseburger earlier this morning, so I’m good,” he answers and leans against the edge of the desk. “How about you? Are you hungry?”

You smile and shake your head no. 

Then, it got quiet. 

It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but you think Wonwoo can sense something else by the way his eyebrows raise as if he’s waiting for you to say something more. He sips on his coffee one more time before placing the cup down on the table. Afterwards, he takes matters into his own hands and swivels the chair you're sitting on by the armrest towards him, catching you off guard.

His actions almost made you drop your drink and you thought for a moment if you should punch him again. “What are you doing?”

Wonwoo just gives you a mischievous smirk before leaning down to kiss your lips. Your eyes dilate in surprise while the rest of your body freezes. You’re just thankful you’re already sat on the chair, otherwise your legs would give up and you’d fall. When you don’t resist, his kiss deepens, demanding. But it didn’t go any further than a few more pecks here and there. You let him be until he decides to pull away, but not without giving one last long smooch. 

“What was that for?” You ask, suddenly shy. 

Wonwoo just nonchalantly shrugs. “Just wanted to kiss you.”

“You startled me!” You hiss and slap his arm.

Wonwoo has started to take pleasure in seeing you all flustered and shy. He finds it cute and he’ll take every chance he gets just to see it. But he knows there’s something bothering you and he’s hoping you give him the chance to hear you out.

“Talk to me,” he says while crouching, almost sitting down on the floor to meet your height. “What’s on that brilliant head of yours?”

You roll your eyes at his choice of words but give in nonetheless, “It’s the hostage that took place previously. There’s a new update about it.”

Wonwoo exhales and moves to massage your thighs. “I read about it briefly earlier.”

You nod and let the silence engulf the two of you once again. 

“Listen, the kids they we’re talk---”

“Wonwoo!”

You jump when the door of the office suddenly bolts open with two unfamiliar boys dressed in hospital gowns running inside. They’re quickly followed by a panting Soonyoung who gives the two of you an apologetic smile. Wonwoo immediately stands up as they excitedly dash towards him while chanting his name. 

“We heard you were on a break, can we play now? Please?” The little one, which you assumed was the youngest, pleads and hops in the hopes of Wonwoo carrying him. The other one, who’s much taller, does the same but he’s only clinging to his arms.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted something, Your Highness,” Soonyoung says (you’re sure he’s teasing) and gives you a salute. “These boys never get tired and I have no idea how.”

You stand up from the chair too and try to get a good look on the boy’s faces, but you couldn’t because their attention is only on Wonwoo. 

“We’ll play, alright?” Wonwoo tries to calm them down.”But I want you to meet someone special first.”

Your heart skips a beat meanwhile Soonyoung’s jaw drops in a silent squeal. 

“They were the kids from the statement,” Wonwoo warrily says while making the boys face you. 

Statement?

Your heart skipped one moment and the next it dropped to your stomach. You didn’t expect it to be them. You really hoped it wasn’t them. You don’t even know how sure you are that it’s them. But when you finally meet their eyes, these boys don’t seem to be so unfamiliar anymore.

It’s them.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Wonwoo asks, suddenly concerned by the sudden downcast of your face. 

“Wonwoo...” you weakly whisper. 

They’re one of the children adopted from the orphanage.

“Can you ask the orphanage if they can give us a copy of photographs displayed at their gallery?” 

A phone call has never felt so dreadful. You can’t help but bite your nails as you listen to Jeongyeon adhere to your request. A lump has already formed on your throat and you don’t even know how you’re going to swallow it. 

You slide your phone back to your pocket when Jeongyeon said she’d get back to you shortly. You turn around from where you were standing and see Wonwoo and Soonyoung playing with the two boys. It’s bittersweet. For one, you’re glad they are free and happy and on the other hand, it doesn’t sit right why they have to go through terrible and unimaginable things just so that they can be.

And it doesn’t help that it all happened here. 

Wonwoo told you how they got to know them and how he had asked the hospital to keep them here in the meantime, in coordination with Social Services of course. He didn’t need the hostage taking or the police’s statement to know what’s going on because his guts already told him the moment he saw the state of the boys. But then again, what happened only confirmed what he feared the most. 

Wonwoo deviates his attention to you and notices your lost gaze. By the looks of it, he’s aware that this is bothering you. He gives Sam’s hair a ruffle before standing up and walking to where you are.

“Are you okay?” He asks, reaching his hand out to softly squeeze your arm.

“Yeah,” you affirm, but the palm against your forehead doesn’t seem to agree. “I just… I can’t believe this.”

“It’s okay,” he tries to soothe your distress with his hand cradling your face. “I mean, it’s not. But, it’s not your fault.”

Why does it feel like it is? 

You couldn’t ask him that out loud so you just give him a nod instead. Wonwoo knows you’re hesitant to believe him and he doesn’t like it. He takes your hands and squeezes them. 

“Look at me,” he commands and when you don't, he lifts your chin up himself. “I’m confident this will be solved in no time. Have faith in your people and yourself, hmm? ”

“Okay,” you answer and that makes Wonwoo smile. 

Okay. You’re going to stop wallowing in your own uncertainty. You draw your eyes back at the boys and at this moment, you promised that punishment will be inflicted to everyone responsible for their suffering. 

No matter what it takes.

[mypoisonedvine]

Will you do a mini sequel for “Dishonorable Discharge,” where Bucky makes the reader come with his tongue like he promised? Btw, this isn’t a request, I’m just curious.

I know you said it’s not a request but I got randomly inspired so I’m gonna do a drabble about this!  (read dishonorable discharge here if you haven’t already), tw for incest (cause the original fic is incest) and dubcon 

“Wait, don’t,” you whimpered when he dropped to his knees in front of you, grinning as he started to push up the long skirt of your nightgown.

“No more waiting, sissy, I made a promise and I’m gonna keep it,” he explained as he exposed your legs to the chilly air.  Couldn’t he at least do this in bed, and not in the middle of the hallway on your way to bed?

He started to kiss your skin and move higher up to your thighs.  Shame burned your cheeks as he pushed your legs apart, not struggling at all even when you tried to clamp them together.

“Don’t be shy, baby, you’ve got nothing to hide... such a beautiful pussy,” he whispered, diving in to lick a stripe over your sex.  It made you feel dirty, and strange, but it felt so frustratingly good too, and when he did it again you had to bite back a mewl.  “Y’like it, sissy?  Girls always say I’m real good at it.  But all I ever wanted to taste was you.”

He sucked your bud between his plump lips and your head fell back against the wall he had you pressed up to, your eyes squeezing shut.  “J-Jamie,” you whimpered, making him chuckle which sent vibrations over your sensitive folds.

“Bet you’ll come real fast, even when you act like you hate it,” he added with a taunting kiss to your bud.

“No I won’t!” you denied, hating how you sounded like a whiny little sister when you were trying to be assertive.

“Here, let’s make a bet, sissy,” he offered, leaning a bit back to stare up at you with a twinkle in his eye.  “If you don’t come in the next thirty seconds, I’ll leave you alone like you pretend to want so bad.  But if you do, you need to do whatever I tell you to like a good little girl.  Deal?”

As always, your cockiness was your downfall.  You knew you couldn’t come that fast, no matter how talented he claimed to be, so you nodded.

“Start counting,” he instructed in a coy challenge, leaning in when you shakily muttered: “one.”

You gasped as he sucked on your button hard and fast, lapping out with his tongue to tease your throbbing entrance.  “Two, three,” you continued against the desire to choke on the words.

Though you did your best to keep counting steadily, your eyes squeezed shut when he pushed his tongue inside you, curling it against a spot that forced you to dig your fingers into his hair and try to pull him away.  

“Ten, f-fuck, eleven,” you whimpered.

It was already a struggle to keep count as you felt pressure tightening deep in your belly, his teeth grazing over your sensitive skin just enough to almost hurt, and yet you liked the way it hurt.  Even his fingers digging into your thighs added to it all, and you hated that you couldn’t stop your hips from rocking on top of his face.

“Fourteen, fifteen-- ohh, p-please, slow down,” you begged weakly, your thighs quivering around his head uncontrollably.  You could feel his smirk, you knew he knew that you were already much too close.  There was no way you could last another fifteen seconds, and you tried so hard to act natural so he might not notice.  Of course, every time you held back he pushed you harder, moaning against you, sucking and licking harder, gripping you tighter.

“N-nineteen!” you shrieked, pulling his hair hard as your whole body began to shake, waves of arousal leaking out against his face while your eyes rolled back and your mouth fell slack.

Your whole body went limp above him, and you felt him grin as he lapped up the last of your come while it trailed down your thighs.

“Not even twenty seconds, poor baby,” he laughed, holding you to keep you upright as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up.  “Told ya I was good at it.”

Humiliated, you turned away and looked at the floor, feeling his hot breath against your neck as he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“You lost the bet, sissy.  Are you gonna do what I tell you?” he hissed.  Shamefully, you nodded.  “Good.  Get on the bed,” he demanded, pointing to the half-open doorway to the bedroom you two apparently shared now, “on your hands and knees.”

[kaisa-ryo]

Sukuna Ryōmen NSFW Alphabet

Warning: English isn't my native language!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*

A = Aftercare (What he likes after sex)

Lie on your back with your arms crossed under your head. Most of the time, Sukuna looks up at the ceiling and thinks about something; sometimes he talks to himself, asks himself if he really loves you or pretends to love you. But when you start to cuddle up to him, he looks at your sweet sleeping face and, smiling for some reason, gently squeezes your hand, which rests on his chest, and snuggles up to you.

B = Body part (His favorite body part)

At first you thought he was joking when you said he liked your whole body. But he was not joking. From the outside, he really admires your whole body, because for him you are the most perfect specimen in the world, and he was simply mesmerized by your perfection. Perhaps it will surprise you, but you began to realize your sexual attraction only with him. Before him, you had no idea how good you are. Yes, there were those types who said that your eyes should be mesmerizing and your hair should be long. Or that you must have big lips. Naturally, for a long time you considered your appearance as your biggest flaw. But against the will of fate, as in a typical love story, one possessive brute appeared and made you love yourself. You haven't confessed to him yet that you are grateful to him for teaching him to love yourself. And even if every day he notices some flaws in you, you still don't listen to him, because you know that he still likes your body, it's just that such an egoist has a habit of influencing you and the people around you.

C = Cum (Everything about sperm)

Anywhere, as long as it is your body.

Yes, inside, too, is no less horny, but hell, you seem so spoiled and dirty in his eyes when you are covered in his cum. He will not let you go to the shower right away, because he wants your body to be more saturated with his scent. And he doesn't care that you are indignant, that you are uncomfortable. If he needs it, he will do it.

D = Dirty secret

Public sex.

Sukuna moans at the thought of how he is leaning you as much as possible against the panoramic window so that everyone can see how you wriggle and groan. You feel his tense flesh, watch how he digs more and more into your buttocks, and feel how his penis, increasing in size more and more, pierces your pussy. It seems as if in the whole universe there is nothing but his rhythmic movements inside you. Everything else: people outside the window, cars, barking dogs - nothing compared to this powerful electrical discharge that escapes from your body at that moment.

E = Experience

It was several times before you. Only now, none of them wanted to start a relationship with him. As, in principle, he is. Yes, baby, sex without obligation is still in fashion. You yourself can no longer remember why it was you who decided to take such a brave step - to meet with the curse, and even with their king. Probably because even behind the veil of selfishness and dependence on power, you could see in him one pitiful, but still a drop of humanity. Naturally, Sukuna did not disregard this and even imbued with your enthusiasm. And this splinter is still amazed that you have not left him yet.

F = Favorite position

His most favorite is missionary and doggy style with a squeeze of your wrists over your head. So he can do whatever he wants: change speed, pace, bite, and you cannot stop him or push him away.

G = Goofy (Serious at this moment?)

No.

During the process, he can throw something dirty and humiliating. Can slap, bite or hit. He cannot stand it when it is quiet and only spanking and your moans are heard. He needs to create a whole performance, whatever, just to fill the room with something passionate other than silence.

H = Hair (Is the hair okay?)

Not at all.

The king of curses does not see the need for this at all. If you're uncomfortable with giving a blowjob, he doesn't care. He's not going to waste time making you comfortable. Only throws a short "bear with it." But one day you still managed to persuade him to at least try, smirking him with cute eyes. Then he “limped” for a long time and was angry with you, because it was as if his skin had been ripped off below him, and now everything became sensitive. You laughed at him until everything grew back again, and Sukuna vowed that he would never shave his pubic hair again.

I = Intimacy (Romance)

Oh, he has a problem with that. But don't be in a hurry to despair, he just started to learn!

Most recently, he stopped making a grimace of disgust after kissing you on the cheek or kissing the back of his hand. There were some compromises - now he began to inhale your scent into all his lungs. Then you asked why and why, and received in response what he liked, how you smelled, adding that for all the time that he was on Earth, he had never felt such a unique and intoxicating scent. Not to say that it did not bother you at all, then you really felt a pleasant feeling of goosebumps.

He has no money for gifts, but if you try, he can take you to any place. If you want - to the forest, if you want - to an amusement park, if you want - to a park of culture and rest, if you want - to a museum. In general, such a good guide. Lazy and does not immediately agree, but still a guide.

You push him to all these (however, there is no one else), forcing him to watch dramas, musicals, family comedies, throwing fleeting glances at him when the romantic scene begins. He will cast a second glance at you and guess your goal, sighing in disgust and rolling his eyes.

J = Jack off (masturbation)

It happened a couple of times. That same dirty secret.

To be honest, he didn't react in any way when you caught him doing it in the middle of the day. Unless he just wanted you to "help him." You rolled your eyes and slammed the door, leaving for another room. He grinned maliciously with such a predictable reaction. He was sure that you wanted it, it was just that you didn't have the courage.

K = Kink

If you only knew how languidly he sighs when you give yourself pleasure. Especially if you do it for him. The way you do it turns all his ideas about sex upside down. How you moan when you play with your nipples and stick thin fingers into your hole - it makes his mind melt in an ocean of pleasure. How he fidgets, waiting for your orgasm when you start kissing him. How do you hold his shoulders, snuggling up to him so that he can feel all your hidden virtues. He asks for more and more. And then suddenly he sharply grabs the hair and digs his lips hard into your mouth. He has very strong arms, it seems that even a pinch of effort, and your head will be ripped off. Yes, power and the elements of BDSM are also on his list of favorite things about sex, as are bites or wet sucks.

L = Location (Favorite places to have sex)

To be honest, he has no preference.

If he wants to fuck you on the kitchen table, he will. If he wants to fuck you on the couch, he will. In the laundry, he'll do it. It's no secret for you that he would not mind trying a couple more places and he will never get tired of coming up with new ones.

M = Motivation

He likes it when you suddenly start to dominate or suddenly rub against his cock.

He realizes that he has a competitor and this idea turns him on as hell. Sukuna naturally loves to compete, and you also add fuel to the fire. Naturally, he will not give in, because you are still a pitiful person in comparison with him, and your power must be defended. Therefore, do not be surprised if he begins to act more efficiently than usual in order to assert his own greatness. And Sukuna will try to show you how small and insignificant you are, unlike him.

N = No (Which will not do)

Greed and the desire to completely control the process, of course, is what he aspires to, but when he sees you suppressed and constrained by some thought coming directly from your subconscious, it worries him much more. Such vulnerability literally tears him apart. Under the pressure of circumstances, he turns, in a sense, into an evil, but caring mother. The king of curses first looks at you, as if expecting your gaze on him. Realizing that this is useless, he starts the dialogue first:

— Well, what is different?

Now you didn't want to answer him. I didn't even want to see him. This is not the first time he has shown waywardness. It started to exhaust you in order. The thoughts in your head were dark and your voice sounded cold and indifferent. I thought that it would be better to kiss you or touch you tenderly, but his hands at that moment were too persistent. It infuriated, but it was already impossible to leave. And he did not stop talking to you.

— Sor..m.. - the words from his lips sounded somehow strange. He seemed to have eaten the last syllable.

— What? - you responded.

— Sorrmm...!

— I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.

— Forgive me already, fucked up!

He rolled his eyes after you started either laughing or crying (you laughed and he realized it almost immediately).

O = Oral (Likes to receive or to give)

Receive. Definitely.

What else can you expect from a cursed spirit like him? He will definitely make sure that the blowjob is the longest process in sex for him. Moreover, he will do this persistently: winding your hair around your hand, forcing you to swallow the penis as deeply as possible, so that later as deeply as possible and finish. He doesn't care if you gag, cough or provoke a gag reflex. Sukuna insists that you have to endure, adding "for my sake" with feigned tenderness. You have no choice but to succumb to his pressure. After all, if you do not do this, do not expect that he will please you.

P = Pace

Very lively.

There is hardly a second when you can completely relax. He will hammer into you like a jackhammer, dig his nails into the skin, leaving red streaks on it, and whisper something viciously at the same time. In order to somehow soften these moments, you intensely squint and succumb to his tricks, allowing you to lull your vigilance and give an outlet to the accumulated tension. But you still feel a growing wave of excitement inside you. And Sukuna knows it, as if he reads your thoughts.

Q = Quickie

Immediately starts high. And if because of this you end up quickly, he will require a second round, then a third, and so it will continue until he gets tired of it. Your sex play can last for hours. His "come on, I know that you are already at the limit" will be repeated so often that you will not even be able to think about anything other than orgasm. And he fucking loves it.

R = Risk (Ready to experiment)

Always ready.

You have such compelling requests almost every day. You refuse the majority, because they sound too crazy, but he does not despair and continues to whisper details in your ear, if you nevertheless agreed. And this is, surprisingly, really a working method.

Did the baby suddenly want sex on the roof? Why not!?

On the director's desk? Oh, how can you refuse when you ask him so sweetly, moaning into the phone speaker and squeezing around the air, instead of which there should be yours and only your Sukuna.

S = Stamina

Fuck with him until the morning? Easy! If you are free all weekend, he will definitely find time for you to have fun (if you understand what I mean).

T = Toys

Bad attitude. It's just bad.

— This crap can't take and replace my dick like this! — shouted the King of curses, — Or do you think that she will be better!?

— No, that's not what I mean! — you yelled, — I just suggest you try.

— In that case, I'm against it.

He turned around and left.

You rarely managed to convince him, and this time he was seriously opposed to it. Well, if you want to try them, then you have to do it alone in secret from him.

U = Unfair (Does he like to tease)

It is already difficult to remember at least one sex in which he would not tease you.

Yes! God yes! He knows that you want him at any time of the day or night. Every minute ... He knows all this and feels as if it is a part of him, as if he was destined to constantly touch, squeeze, lick and caress you. Feelings are heightened more if you tell him this directly. For this, he is ready for almost anything. He is ready to give up and just melt between your legs. His skin is so sensitive to your touch that every movement of yours creates desire in him. And an ordinary "dirty slut" excites both of you no less than any other intimate intimacy.

V = Volume (How loud is it)

Loud.

The kisses that descend on your goose bump, lower and lower, turn into a marathon of moans and screams. Whichever of you tries to sound quiet, at times like this it becomes useless. Sometimes you even thought that Sukuna just wanted to shout you down. Such thoughts make you smile involuntarily.

— Why are you smiling? Are these days over?

W = Wild card (Random headcanon)

One neighbor lives next to you. Kind and friendly. Every day, there is a new gift for you - a cake, a cookie, or even a garden gnome. In general, he loves you very much and is constantly interested in when you will marry.

One night you were especially noisy: the bed was reeling back and forth, its back was banging against the wall, and you were screaming with pleasure so that the glass trembled. In general, it is not clear how the house sustained both of you, but you woke up in the morning as if you had slept for a whole month.

You were lying around, unable to even pick up your phone or go to the toilet. And then there was a knock on the door.

You quickly pulled on your panties, threw a robe over your naked body and with small steps ran to open the door. There was a neighbor at the door. It turned out that she had heard the noise from your house all night and decided that they were burglars or worse. The morning head, with difficulty digesting information, finally woke up and at that very second you felt so ashamed that you winced and closed your eyes.

— The guy and I had a fight a little. But it's okay. Rampaging is the norm for him.

She was a little taken aback by this answer.

— Was it me who was on the rampage? — There was a hoarse voice from behind, — Yes, you rode on me like a stallion! Although, to be honest, I liked such a filly...

The neighbor stares at Sukuna, dumbfounded.

You wanted to put it in a blender right now.

X = X-ray (What's under the clothes)

20 cm. During erection ± 2.5

Y = Yearning (How high is the sex drive)

As stated earlier, Sukuna is not good at compliments or gifts. And he himself constantly claims that this is not necessary at all. He acts on the following principle: good for you, good for him, then everything is fine and nothing else is needed. You want something romantic, not depraved. Sometimes he gets bored with his reproaches and requests to spend the evening in bed again. One gets the feeling that he is not capable of anything else.

Sukuna wants to change for you. Listens attentively when you say anything about the human world. What are the customs, countries, traditions, sights. He remembered everything that you said to him and remembers, too, what you tell to this day. He wants to prove that you were not mistaken by discerning humanity in him, towards which no one ever dared even look. She looks at other men, studies gestures and tries to repeat them. Now you do not understand this, but one day you will realize it, and you will love him like you never did before.

± 8/10

Z = Zzz (How quickly falls asleep)

He does not fall asleep and does not sleep. And he goes to his tomb and sits on the throne while thoughts of you visit him. The more he thinks, the more he wants to touch you. Take it and never let it go Any philosopher would say that you are the same as all people. She is as ordinary as millions of others, with her weirdness and naive dreams. Anyone would say, but definitely not him. He doesn't care if you’re ordinary or not, but he wouldn’t date you if he thought the same way. Even if you don’t live a thousand years like him, you’re ready to give you half of your life force, just to die with you.

He doesn't like such thoughts. They don't like the fact that you tied him to yourself, just once you smiled sweetly. He gets angry and screams that he allowed himself to get too carried away by you, and everything around, the whole world is just a pitiful soap bubble, which does not exist even in such a seemingly huge format as your most human soul of all.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*

[purpleyellow]

Painkiller

Seventeen 14th member

Hayun’s masterlist

“Hayun stresses out the 95 line after her surgery”

Requested by: anon

a/n: Feel free to share your thoughts with me. Requests are open! 💙

After getting discharged, Hayun got prescribed some painkillers in case the discomfort of the surgery got too much, which they advised it would considering at her time in the hospital, she had them in her iv preventing any severe pain. And even as she left, she was mostly numbed by the dosage she had gotten. Six hours later was a whole different story. 

As she sat on the couch and watched some of the boys clean the mess they had made in the kitchen - a very delicious mess that she wasn’t allowed to eat- Hayun started feeling the small pressure on her surgical wounds start increasing to something more uncomfortable.

Yet, she didn’t want to compromise and take the pills too soon. The girl had this thing where she avoided taking medicine as much as possible, mostly because of the side effects that could happen. That added to the fact that when she was young, she would rather wait for her headaches to pass instead of asking her grandparents for help, made her extremely against taking painkillers until the pain was no longer manageable.

Adjusting herself on the couch, Hayun caught the attention of Joshua, who let the kitchen towel he was holding fall on the floor before he ran to her side. 

“What is it? Do you need something?” He asked, holding her arms and helping her move her back to the armrest, all of that while taking some cushions and putting them as a backrest for her.

“I’m fine, I won’t break whenever I move” She rolls her eyes as he adjusted her arms on her lap. Patting her head, Joshua gave her an assertive smile, said “Better be safe than sorry” and left back to the kitchen.

Hayun squirmed herself into being comfortable and tried to ignore the feeling of someone watching her again. Looking around, she soon spotted Seungcheol and Jeonghan standing still next to each other while analyzing her every move.

“You have got to be kidding me” The girl whispered under her breath when the leader squinted his eyes at her. 

Thankfully, Seungcheol didn’t have time to say or do anything before Dokyeom jumped on the empty space on the couch and handed her a cup of jello “Here’s a very fancy dessert to a very fancy and sick person” 

“Not actually sick but I’ll take the jello” Hayun rolled her eyes, taking the spoon from him and bopping his nose before diving into the cup.

“But are you feeling tired? Like how does it feel? How do you feel?” He slightly crosses his leg, making a motion towards his belly “Is it feeling… empty?”

“Empty?” The girl repeats trying not to laugh and Dokyeom nods fully serious “They took the thing out, so like, can you feel the space left behind?”

“Not really but thank you for wondering, I guess” Hayun laughs but changes it into a cof after she felt the area of the surgery tightening. Within a second, Jeonghan grabbed another cushion from the floor and shoved it on her back along with the other ones placed by Joshua. 

Sitting on the armrest, the boy casually rested his hand on her shoulder before questioning how she was feeling. Hayun decided to play along and sighed leaning her head back on his thigh “I think there’s something wrong actually”

“Wait, what?” Seungcheol stepped away from the wall and approached the couch while Jeoghan shoved his hand on her forehead to feel for any fevers coming up. 

“It’s nothing, geez let me breath” She swatted their hands away crossing her arm over her chest “I’m past the point of dying already. Can you stop being on your toes?”

“Are you seriously not feeling anything?” The leader asked sitting on the floor next to her and Hayun nodded, hiding a deep breath as she made small movements to adjust herself again.

Usually, with small headaches, you don’t realize that they’re getting worse until it reaches a point where it’s unbearable. Hayun would say the pain she was feeling worked the same way as headaches, considering she had been sat there talking to the boys for around half an hour when she finally realized it felt like a hammer was being constantly pressed against her stomach.

She blinked a couple of times, trying to focus back on the moment, but before she fully registered what was going on Seungcheol had fully turned to her and pressing a hand on her cheek “You just went really pale right now. What’s going on?”

“The doctor said I might feel the incision for a couple of days, don’t worry” The girl gave him a smile shaking her head and Jeonghan looked up from her face, motioning for Joshua, who had joined them and was sitting where Dokyeom was, to go to the kitchen.

“We’ve the medication prescribed to her with the rest of the medical stuff,” He indicated to the younger who gave a thumbs up right before getting up.

“You don’t have to get anything. I won’t focus on it and puff it’s gone” Hayun closed her eyes making an explosion with her hands and the three boys scoffed. 

“What about you take the painkillers and, puff, we don’t have to worry about you passing out,” Joshua said throwing the container to Seungcheol and filling a glass of water.

“You had your body cut open, ignoring the pain won’t make that disappear” Cheol took out a pill from it and place it on her hand “This will”

“Why does this situation looks like you’re giving me illicit drugs?” Hayun rolled her eyes and just as she was about to say something else Jeonghan took the pill from her hand and shoved it into her mouth. Making a face, her voice increased her disgust “Ew, it’s dissolving already”

“Here you go” Joshua forced the glass on her hands and she finally took a sip “Great, now you’re going to feel better”

Patting her head, Seungcheol took the glass from her and went back to the kitchen. Of course, not without saying “Please let me know when you’re in pain again, or I’m returning you to the hospital” first.

[chazz-anova]

A Little Bit Of Magic - Chapter 1

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Lady Veronica Rook, a wizard turned rogue bounty hunter and part time thief, is approached by one of the King's men on a stormy night to acquire her services. Little does she know, she's setting off on a quest that will change her forever. (Fantasy!AU)

A/N: LITERALLY I saw one picture and that spawned this entire AU lmao, this has been a fun start and I'm excited for the rest of this little mini-series! I hope you all like as well <3

Dancing candlelight casted amorphous shadows on a bare stone wall. In the center of the room, a firepit blazed; warming the bones of weary travelers who sought refuge from a tempest storm brewing outside the walls of the inn.

Barmaids bustled from table to table, bringing stout ale to rowdy patrons. One such patron sat at the short oak bar, nursing a tankard of beer. In front of the customer stood a barkeep who looked rather piqued. “Veronica, every night you sit here and take up space that could be filled by paying customers. Pray tell, what must I do to squeeze some coin from you?” The woman asked, her sunny blonde hair bobbing as she swept a damp rag over the counter.

Across the bar, Veronica looked up from her stein with a smirk as she replied, “You’d just as likely squeeze coin from me as easily as you’d milk a dragon, Mary May. Is there not a special allowance for a friend who’s saved your life twice over?”

“If I’d known your aid would end up costing me damn near a barrel of ale in the long run, I would have gladly thrown myself into the jaws of death!” Mary professed dramatically, a small smile giving her away.

V rose her tankard high, proclaiming “And what you pay in ale, you make back doubly in entertainment!”

With a sigh- the barmaid stashed the rag she’d been holding under the counter. “Well allow me to take my leave, before your entertainment proves to be too much!” Mary May rolled her eyes as she departed to the back storeroom; Veronica always knew how to work her last nerve.

Now left to her own devices, the woman spun in her seat to analyze the other patrons. She hoped with any luck, she could swindle some coin from someone deep in their cups to secure a room for the night. Unfortunately- saving a friend’s life only afforded you free drinks, not free rooms. Having grown up in the streets of the Kingdom of Hope, Veronica trusted her pickpocketing skills; especially in a tavern such as this.

The Splayed Eagle Inn was run by V’s friend, Mary May, and had been her home for the past few months. All types found themselves in this bar, whether they be well-to-do, working class, or a simple ne’er-do-well. Of course- Veronica liked to think she didn’t fit into any of those categories.

Sitting around the main floor of the inn were a few possible targets, and our girl set to sizing up the first; an older man seated in the corner. He wore the garb of the royal guard. His complexion was that of worn leather, and his eyes scanned the room suspiciously. ‘Not a great mark..’ Veronica thought, shifting her gaze to her next person.

The person in question was not a person at all, but rather a dwarf. The short man guzzled beer from his stein greedily, egged on by two more of his kind. Finishing the drink he slammed down his cup and roared in revelry. ‘Though dwarves love gold and these ones would certainly have some coin, perhaps they are a hair too unmanageable for a robbery.’ Considering this, the woman moved down the list.

Just as Veronica was about to size up her next mark, she felt a hand on her shoulder. The blonde turned, expecting to see Mary May had returned to give her more grief. V was surprised to see an unfamiliar face and she immediately went on the defense, shrugging the stranger’s hand off her shoulder. “Can I help you?” Her words dripped with distrust.

The stranger met her eyes with a look of contempt, and V considered grabbing her dagger in case things became dicey. The woman who’d grabbed her shoulder stepped back now, regarding Veronica coldly with dark eyes. She wore a black fur cape with the hood up, obscuring her features, though her greasy black hair hung in matted locks on her shoulders. She lifted her hood to reveal a ghastly scar across her face. “Yes, mage, I do believe you can help me.” The stranger chuckled.

Hearing her true title, Veronica started visibly, but quickly recovered. ‘How does she know? Certainly this wench is no mage, I sense no magic in her! Is she an assassin from the Guild? Gods, Mary May will kill me if I’ve brought such darkness to her doorstep!’ V’s inner monologue was harried, in contrast to her cool voice as she rebuffed, “Mage? Surely you jest! I am but a humble adventurer.”

Spitting at her feet, the woman scoffed. “Save your lies! I already know of you, Lady Veronica, and of your discharge from the Royal Mages Guild. I come seeking your help in regards to your… new vocation.”

“And what would that be?” V continued to be difficult, her tone hostile. She didn’t like how much this woman knew of her.

“Bounty hunting, of course. Or was it not you that the Royal Guard granted a bounty to just a week ago for bringing in one of the Banshee Queen’s sprites?” At this, Veronica’s mouth drew into a thin line. She knew she’d been got. The ravenette shrugged, “I dare not judge, how else is a rogue witch to make any coin these days?” Though she put on a facade of good cheer, something dangerous lurked in her gaze.

A humorless laugh escaped Ronnie and she lifted her chin defiantly, “Even if you speak the truth, why should I help you, hag?”

Smiling cruelly, she retorted “It is not I who requests your service, but your King and country.”

“Well, his Kingly-ness will simply have to bring is ass down here if he truly wants me help!” V laughed, chalking up the woman’s words to a childish prank.

Suddenly- the stranger closed the short distance between them and the mage felt the tip of a blade threatening to pierce her gut. “I would recommend a modicum of respect for King Dutch. As his bodyguard, I may feel inclined to defend his honor.”

Under her breath, Veronica murmured ancient arcane words and a ball of flames appeared in her spread palm near the woman’s head. “And I may feel inclined to worsen your scar if you do not back away.” She growled the threat, feeling a rush of relief when the King’s bodyguard moved away. She would rather not release a fan of fire in her friend’s bar.

Sheathing her dagger, the woman took a breath. “Let us start over. I am Jess Black, bodyguard and right hand to King Dutch Roosevelt.” She gave a stately bow along with her title.

“Well Lady Black, what would you have of me?” V asked, voice laden with suspicion. Though she preferred to seek her own bounties, a requisition from the King was sure to bring decent coin.

As they began to discuss business, Jess took a seat next to Veronica and spoke vaguely. “Our ruler would have you retrieve a package for him, for a hefty reward.” When the mage said nothing, she continued, “I cannot divulge the details- but you will find what you need in the hamlet of Fall’s End with a cleric named Jerome.”

“Am I expected to go forward with such little information?” She shook her head in disbelief, finally finishing her drink.

“You are expected to do as our ruler bids! I have told you all I know.”

Veronica’s brow furrowed as she probed, “Surely his majesty has sent some sort of incentive, if it is truly he who sent you!”

Jess sighed heavily, producing a leather pouch from the folds of her cape. She set it on the bar with a clink, and V grabbed it immediately. “Gods, there must be nearly forty gold here!” She exclaimed, counting it out quickly.

“Our benefactor has put this forward as a downpayment of sorts, with the promise of more once he’s gotten his package. On the condition that you leave immediately.” Jess asserted with a nod.

The blonde eyed the gold hungrily- knowing she was on hard times. “Well if my kingdom needs me, who am I to resist the call? Though surely ‘immediately’ could mean ‘first thing in the morn’, with his Highness’s mercy?”

Putting a hand on the pouch of gold, the ravenette shook her head. “I must insist on your departure this night, King Roosevelt wishes for no delay in your meeting with Jerome.”

For a moment Veronica’s gaze shifted from Jess back to the pouch of gold, but she relented with a sigh. “It will take me a moment to prepare myself, and I shall make haste.”

Jess gave a rare smile, acquiescing “Your speed is most appreciated.” She turned to the back wall of the bar then, wondering aloud, “Where is the damn barkeep?”

With their conversation over and coin now heavy in her pocket, V slipped behind the bar to the back office where she’d stashed her travel pack.

Mary May’s office was small but tidy, featuring a large desk and business ledger. Sitting there was Mary herself, counting out coin into the safe next to the desk. Next to the safe was Veronica’s beige backpack, which May let her stash in the office during business hours. Hearing her footsteps, the blonde turned away from her safe to face V. “Ah, come to retrieve your loot without buying a room to store it in first? You must have gotten yourself a job.”

A smile crossed Veronica’s features, showing pearly white teeth. “You know me well friend, I must be off immediately unfortunately, so it would appear you’ll save some ale tonight yet!” She crossed the threshold into the room, leaning over the other to grab her sack.

“My, it must be an illustrious one to cause you to abandon a perfectly good night of drinking!” She chuckled.

This made the blonde stop a moment as she considered telling her friend the details. Thinking better of it, she instead said, “Nothing so fancy! I should be back in a week at the latest, try not to miss me too much!” Giving Mary May a chuckle., Before Veronica was fully out the door, she leaned back to say quickly “And be sure to give your worst service to the raven-haired patron sitting at the bar!”

V slung her sack across her back, weaving through Mary May’s drunken customers towards the front door. Once she cleared the room, she turned back one last time and saw Jess staring at her as she departed. The look on her face gave her chills.

The heavy door to the Splayed Eagle Inn opened with a prolonged creak, and gave way to a gust of wind that caused the mage to pull her cloak closer around her. She stepped foot into the deluge outside and hustled into the treeline, taking her first steps towards facing an evil she couldn’t begin to imagine.

[alwaysmychoices]

The Memorial

Synopsis: On the day of Danny and Bobby’s funeral, Charlie slowly (and unwillingly) begins to feel the impact of her trauma, and Ethan tries to protect her from her own pain.

Chapter 20 of the “with and without” series

Previous Series: “a weekend with dr. ramsey”

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlotte “Charlie” Greene)

Words: 5.8k

Rating: T (language)

tw: disassociation, trauma, emotional distress negative self-talk

disclaimer: I used my experiences as inspiration for Charlie’s emotional state. I am not a trained mental health professional and apologize if I misrepresent anything in this chapter.

That morning, Ethan had no choice but to discharge Charlie from the hospital.

There was no reason to keep her, even after an unusually thorough final exam. Her vitals were normal, and she hadn’t exhibited any concerning side effects from her treatment in days.

Charlotte Greene had survived. She was in the clear now.

For the first few days, Ethan didn’t let himself dream of such a thing. He didn’t want to be disappointed if she took a turn, and he didn’t want to blind himself in his diagnosis and treatment of her. It was only in the last 48 hours that her discharge had become a real and impending event. Truthfully, he could have released her yesterday. The only reason he didn’t was that she experienced a few headaches he wanted to keep an eye on.

But it wasn’t the headaches, not really.

Ethan kept her in the hospital because, deep down, he doubted she was ready to leave.

Charlie seemed fine – sometimes, on a good day, even normal. But there was a haunting in her gaze, a lingering ghost in every movement. Something unresolved and untouched hid in every interaction.

The truth was that they neglected her psychological healing, placing all of their emphasis on her physical improvement. Each of her loved ones denied this to themselves, of course. They showered her with support and affection, and when she had those moments where she seemed lost in something, they stayed with her until she found her way back.

But they hadn’t touched the root of it.

They hadn’t had the courage, nor the stamina.

They didn’t know if they avoided it for themselves or for her. The free days – the one where she wasn’t thinking about her tragedy – were the best. She was a model victim, full of energy and strength. She made jokes from the confines of her hospital bed and offered warm smiles to comfort her loved ones.

Her parents left Boston confident that their daughter would make it through. Even when her father harbored doubts, he looked to Ethan to protect her.

But Ethan knew.

Somewhere, deep down, he knew.

He observed as if surveying her for cracks in the façade.

Even now, as Charlie collected her things from the hospital room in preparation to leave, he studied her. She seemed happy. She felt happy, but Ethan wasn’t sure if she was.

“You’re pouting,” Charlie commented playfully as she picked up her jeans and started to shimmy into them. Sienna had been kind enough to bring her a fresh set of clothes from the apartment so that Charlie didn’t have to leave in the scrubs she wore when disaster struck. Sienna had been more than happy to do it. It gave her a sense of power, that she could do something for Charlie after feeling powerless during her suffering.

“I don’t pout,” Ethan murmured, taking a seat in the free chair. He was, of course, still pouting.

“Well, I’m happy,” Charlie commented as she continued dressing, “I’m finally free, and I’m counting down the hours until I can finally take a shower in my own shower. I never thought I would miss water pressure this much.”

Charlie had a whole list like this – full of tiny luxuries and familiar habits that she missed. Some of them she already had plans to satisfy, like the shower and her coffee maker. Some were more abstract, like dinners with her friends and hearing Sienna hum during their morning routine. There was one she wouldn’t take a “no” on, which was that she intended to spend the night in Ethan’s bed no matter what happened today.

Right now, the world was full of possibilities, and after so long, she could finally reach for them again.

Ethan felt guilty for what he would say next, but he was also confident it had to be said.

“Will you be attending the memorial today?”

He watched the crack in her sunny day take shape and splinter her soft smile.

Charlie froze, and a cold, cold realization washed over her. It froze everything it touched until it reached her bones. Nothing was safe from its icy grasp.

It was a warm room, Charlie knew it was. And so, she pretended she wasn’t cold, even if her teeth felt like chattering.

“Is that today?”

Charlie knew it was today, but she asked just to be sure.

“Yes, at 3:30 pm.”

Charlie nodded, instinctively rubbing her arm as she tried to channel the warmth and happiness she felt only moments ago. It was coming back – so very, very slowly.

“You don’t have to go, you know,” Ethan ventured carefully.

As he expected, Charlie’s eyes shot to him with an expression that could only be described as surprise and disgust. She had to go. Those men died for her!

They…

They died for her.

Charlie felt knocked back, and afraid Ethan would see it, she shook her head and turned her gaze to her jeans as she buttoned the top.

“I have to go, Ethan.”

“No, you don’t.”

They’d had this conversation last night, and even if Ethan knew he would lose, it felt imperative to try.

“Ethan.”

“Rafael Aveiro isn’t going.”

“Because he wasn’t medically cleared to go. That’s not the same.”

“Everyone would understand, Charlie.”

“I wouldn’t understand, Ethan,” Charlie insisted, “I have to go, for me.”

Ethan knew this was a terrible idea. He wasn’t sure why or specifically what would happen, but he knew Charlotte Greene should never step foot inside that memorial.

But there wasn’t much he could do. He knew Charlie very well, and if she intended to go, there was nothing he could do to stop her. Even if he demanded she avoid it and threw up barriers, she would overcome each obstacle with a vengeance. She was a stubborn woman with conviction, a damning combination.

All he could really do was make sure she didn’t do it alone.

“Alright,” Ethan conceded, earning a look of shock from his girlfriend, “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll come by to pick you up.”

Charlie squirmed, surprised by how easily he’d given up the fight. It gave her a moment of pause, and at that moment, she wondered if she was making the right decision. But then the thought faded, and her certainty returned.

She owed it to Bobby and Danny…

“Do you want a ride home?” Ethan offered, still a bit nervous about letting her out of his sight today, “I have time to take you, if you want.”

He’s scared, she realized quietly.

It was startling to see, though the sight was not unfamiliar.

Seeing fear now felt wrong. This was their happy ending, wasn’t it?

Charlie crossed the room to reach her boyfriend, who watched her in silence. When she studied him, she noted the exhaustion and the concern etched into his handsome face. Between his eyebrows, a firm wrinkle of unease sat. She gently smoothed it with her thumb and hoped that was enough to settle it. Ethan recognized her attempt at assurance and comfort, but he didn’t feel like he deserved them.

He was supposed to take care of her, not the other way around.

But really, they needed it equally.

They were two shattered people fumbling to put themselves back together.

“I’ve missed walking,” Charlie politely refused his offer. Ethan wasn’t terribly surprised she did.

“You have my number if you need me,” Ethan reminded her, and something warm settled in her heart, a break from the bone-chilling sadness.

She loved him so, so much.

“I’ll be fine, Ethan,” Charlie said with the upmost confidence.

Ethan raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I will be!” Charlie insisted.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Ethan declined to confirm her assertion. He couldn’t in good conscience assure her when he didn’t believe her.

Charlie wished he would anyway.

She made a show of rolling her eyes like she was amused with his overconcern. Ethan wasn’t impressed with the display.

It didn’t take long for Charlie to finish dressing and collect her things. When she was done, there was nothing left to keep her in this hospital.

They hesitated at the door and watched one another to see who would make the first move to leave.

Instead, Ethan kissed Charlie softly, whispering, “Goodbye, Charlie.”

She smiled into his lips, “I can’t wait to kiss you somewhere outside of this hospital.”

Ethan grinned. He felt a profound sense of relief that she would make it out of this building. His wonderful Charlie could do anything with this independence. She would continue to exist, even out of his line of sight. She was no longer a fixture in this hospital, nor a victim to gawk at during rounds.

She was free.

They were both free.

Ethan wasn’t sure what came over him. It could only be explained as an instinct to run. He was sure they had to. He was convinced that they were up against a tragic, impending disaster and that they needed to leave while they still had time.

“Why don’t we run away?” Ethan asked.

“What?” Charlie laughed, but the severity of his expression made her smile falter.

“I’m serious. Let’s run away, right now.”

“You’re at work,” Charlie cautioned with confusion.

“So? I doubt anyone would begrudge our departure after everything we’ve been through,” Ethan decided, “We’ll just go somewhere – anywhere you want – and come back whenever the hell we want to.”

Ethan wanted Charlie to say yes more than he’d wanted anything. He wanted this more than he wanted her to say yes to his offer at a relationship all those months ago. Really, he didn’t just want it. He needed it. It felt like the only way to quell his growing anxiety and avoid pain and tragedy. It was the only way to protect her.

But Charlie wasn’t the kind to run away.

She was the kind to try, even if it broke her.

It was one of the reasons Ethan loved her, but it was also one of the reasons she scared the hell out of him.

Placing a comforting hand on his cheek, Charlie kissed her nervous boyfriend softly and told him, “I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?”

She never gave an explicit answer to his offer, but her aversion was answer enough to disappoint Ethan.

“Okay,” Ethan conceded weakly, kissing her forehead one last time.

When she walked away, Ethan wondered if he was worrying all for nothing.

She looked strong. She looked healthy. She even looked happy.

But something told him that she wasn’t, and against his best wishes, he trusted it.

Charlie left Edenbrook to a relieved fanfare. Everyone wished her well and showered her in comfort and adoration. A few of the nurses who had stayed with her this week took turns giving her goodbye hugs. When they held her, a quiet thought wondered if they just wished they could hug Danny. A pair of rowdy interns cheered when she walked by, but Zaid silenced them with a glare. Sienna paused her rounds just to give Charlie a big, tight hug.

It was a powerful and cheerful time.

But then she was at the front door of Edenbrook, and Charlie hesitated.

She felt almost contained to Edenbrook, like something would break if she exited.

It was an irrational fear, of course. That’s what she told herself when she finally made that first step on the sidewalk.

They never made it out.

Charlie felt the air get knocked out of her chest at the mere thought.

But that was ridiculous. It was a thought – and an intrusive one at that.

She wouldn’t let it stop her.

What makes you so deserving to get out?

Charlie gritted her teeth and fought the thoughts as she took another step.

They didn’t stop, though. At every block, there was something new – some horrific image in her mind, some intrusive thought, or some terrible memory.

She heard it in the voices of strangers on the street, but every time she looked over at them, they hadn’t really said a thing. They observed her wild, scared expression with a sense of concern and avoidance. More than one stranger took a few steps away when she looked at them.

They weren’t talking to her. Charlie knew that.

Still… little snippets of their conversations twisted into dark, terrible words.

“They deserved life more, you bitch.”

“You only lived because you’re a coward.”

“Would you have even saved them, if you could? Or are you too selfish?”

Even the beep of a cell phone brought her back to the horrible, irregular beep of Raf’s heartbeat monitor that night.

It followed her.

It was everywhere.

The anxiety started in her chest, but it spread through her body like an infection.

Like the infection that should have killed her.

Charlie fought it. She rebelled against the thoughts and battled the improbability of the dreadful words. She went in and out of panic in a series of disorienting flashes.

She didn’t always know where she was.

Once, she looked around the group surrounding her as they walked the crosswalk, and she wondered how she got here. Where had she been? Where was she going?

Then, it came back. She remembered again, and she pretended she never forgot.

Somehow, she made it home.

She was relieved to see her building. Quietly, she recognized that it was a miracle she navigated so well when her grip on reality felt fragile. But she pretended that nothing was wrong. Of course, she got home. She was normal, after all. Those were just bad thoughts and bad moments. It didn’t have to mean anything.

Then she realized she was just staring at her building.

She made no moves to go inside. She didn’t even fish her keys out of her purse.

Something in there was a threat, and she couldn’t go home yet.

She started walking away with no real plan. First, she thought she would just stop at a nearby coffee shop, drink an espresso, and then go back to normal. But she walked past the coffee shop and kept walking. She wasn’t sure where she was going.

A mile later, she finally decided.

Half an hour later, Charlie knocked at Rafael’s front door. Within seconds, Rafael’s grandmother opened the door with overwhelming exuberance. Charlie hardly had a moment to process Juliana at all before she was pulled into a big, tight hug.

The affection, if just for the moment, knocked Charlie out of her fog.

Juliana ushered Charlie inside with offers of drinks and snacks.

“Oh, thank you, but this is all too much,” Charlie insisted.

“Nonsense!” Juliana exclaimed, pushing a plate in Charlie’s direction, “You saved my beautiful boy. Nothing is too much for you!”

“Your beautiful boy saved me,” Charlie asserted with a bit of guilt. She wasn’t a hero. She didn’t deserve all of this.

A gentle creak of a door alerted Charlie to Rafael’s presence, and he sheepishly corrected, “We saved each other.”

When Charlie looked in his direction to greet him, Rafael knew.

Something was wrong.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something in her eyes was amiss, even pained.

Charlie finally caved and accepted a dessert. Juliana, however, wasn’t satisfied and began packing her a tin of goodies to take home.

While she was a few feet away, Rafael took a few tentative steps towards his friend.

“How are you?” Charlie asked when he was close enough.

Rafael shrugged, “I can make it up the stairs without wheezing, which is an improvement.”

Charlie nodded slowly, “And Sora?”

“Definitely over,” Rafael confirmed, “But I think it’s for the best. You and Ethan?”

Charlie thought back to their night in quarantine, when Rafael implored her to tell Ethan how she felt. She was happy to have taken his advice.

“I told him I loved him. He told me he loved me, too. Naturally, I cried,” Charlie smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, “I don’t think he believed me until the next day, though. Something about deathbed confessions not being as meaningful.”

“At least it worked out for one of us,” Rafael smiled playfully.

He was watching Charlie, though. She realized it during a pause in their conversation. She felt studied, and she wondered what he saw.

Whatever he interpreted couldn’t have been good because, after a beat, he asked her to join him on his walk. Just as Ethan had hours before, Rafael regarded Charlie with concern.

Charlie accepted.

They navigated Rafael’s neighborhood largely in silence. The silence invited the fog back, and by the time they reached the park, Charlie felt like she was fighting against wet sand to keep moving. She was almost as exhausted as Rafael as they collapsed into a nearby bench.

Charlie felt like Rafael was the only person in the world who might understand what she couldn’t yet put a name to. But given the opportunity, she was too afraid to ask. If she asked, it would be real, and she wasn’t ready for it to be real.

“I never asked how you were,” Rafael said pointedly.

“Are you asking now?” Charlie asked, looking ahead at the park instead of her friend.

“I am.”

Charlie thought for a moment – maybe too long of a moment, really.

“My reports say I’m perfectly healthy,” Charlie finally answered.

“That’s wasn’t quite what I asked,” Rafael seemed amused like he had expected her to evade him.

Charlie rolled her eyes at his smirk, but it was a show. She just wanted to seem amused, too.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

He gave her time, allowing the silence to stretch until she finally had the strength.

“Does it stay like this?”

Rafael raised an eyebrow in silent question, and she let the façade slip just enough for him to know what she meant.

Charlie wanted Rafael to tell her that, while he felt what she feels now, it eased over time. Being home helped him become whole again. The thoughts and the panic would subside if she just waited.

But Rafael told her the truth instead.

“Yes,” he admitted, “I feel it every second. Sometimes, I feel like it’s harder at home. I wake up at home with my family and my life. And they… they don’t.”

His words crushed Charlie, and she sank further into the bench.

“Do you feel like it’s everywhere?” her voice was so soft, so scared that it shook Rafael to his core, “Like… if you’re just walking down the street, do you feel like you hear the bad thoughts? The ones that remind you of what happened.”

Rafael looked terrified.

He was, he realized belatedly.

Not just for himself and his trauma but for her and hers.

“Sometimes,” Rafael confirmed, “I feel it mostly in the pain… When my body aches and fails to do easy things, I’m so angry and then… Then, I remember why and what happened – and that Bobby and Danny only felt the pain in the end.”

Charlie grimaced, and she held onto the bench until her fingers turned white, fighting the wave of pain that followed the mental image. She looked pale and on the verge of collapse when she finally opened her eyes again.

“Don’t go today,” Rafael warned.

“I have to,” Charlie swallowed, “I couldn’t save them… I might as well honor them.”

Rafael didn’t have much of a counterargument, so he didn’t give one. He understood. In a lot of ways, he felt the same about the memorial. He, unlike Charlie, had been saved by his precarious health. He didn’t have to make that choice. He was relieved, even if he felt a twinge of cowardice for not even trying to go.

When Rafael didn’t try to stop her, their conversation fell into a lull.

The silence was nice.

Neither of them expected anything from the other.

They didn’t have to pretend to be okay…

Maybe they should have stayed.

But they didn’t.

Charlie, looking at her watch, realized she was running out of time. When she told Rafael that she had to go, she looked normal again – strong, even. Like she was clothed in armor. Like, maybe, if you squinted, you didn’t have to worry about her.

Rafael wished her well, and she started to leave.

“Wait, Charlie,” Rafael called out before she got too far away.

Charlie stopped, turning to him with an expectant expression.

“Thank you for making it out of that room.”

Her heart stopped, and her eyes watered.

They were supposed to be dead, and her heart burst with how happy she was that he was alive.

“Thank you for making it out, too,” Charlie was sure she had never meant a thank you as strongly as she meant that one.

He smiled softly, and then she left.

This time, when she reached her apartment, she had the courage to step inside.

It was… eerily the same.

Like this apartment was magically immune to all of the pain and trauma.

Something echoed in the halls, something she couldn’t yet touch.

The thoughts were distant though, but… so was everything else.

Charlie tried to put her life back together. She unpacked her things, cleaned her room, and started a pot of coffee. The entire time, she struggled to keep moving. She kept finding little moments of lost time. Alone, they were strange, but together, they were terrifying.

She knew her surroundings, yet something about them felt strange. She knew where she was, what she was doing, and what she was supposed to do next. But the haze…

It surrounded her.

It was everywhere but somehow out of sight.

She never saw it coming, but when she snapped out of it, she realized it had enveloped her.

She was empty, but the thoughts were finally quiet.

She felt nothing, but at least she didn’t feel the torture.

Charlie kept going because Charlie was the kind to always keep going.

When she turned on the shower, she was fighting to stay here, to stay aware. She wanted to stay.

The water was hot, obscenely so. The shock to her system burned more than just her skin. Her mind felt like it was ablaze, and finally, Charlie felt herself again. She didn’t know how much she missed her awareness until it was back. She turned the water hotter to keep feeling it.

Then…

She was back in the hospital – in the burning hot shower after she was released from quarantine. She was alone washing off the sweat and grime of that hospital room. She used shower products that weren’t hers, that didn’t smell or feel like her. She was alive. But who else was?

She was a lone survivor. She was the final girl. She was the lucky one.

Charlie screamed.

No. No, Charlie really screamed.

She was back in her apartment, and she was screaming.

She caught her breath, reaching for slippery tiles to find her balance.

She slid. Or maybe she sat down.

But she was on the shower floor, knees pulled to her chest as she begged for fresh air.

She sat on that shower floor, hoping for a miracle. She put faith in everything.

In the water, that it would wash away her pain.

In the air, that it would allow her to exhale her guilt.

In her body, that it would remember how to stand again.

But gasping through the water, she just felt like she was drowning.

Then…

When it was too much, when it was all too much, it stopped.

Like a warm, protective hug, her brain shielded her.

And then it was over.

What felt like seconds later, there were loud knocks at her front door. They were jarring and set her free from wherever she had been.

Charlie looked around frantically, trying to remember where she was.

The shower was still running, through the water was less hot now.

Everything looked the same, but…

But the sun was lower.

Charlie scrambled for a towel and turned off the shower. She fumbled for her phone on the counter, and her heart sank.

An hour.

She had lost an hour.

The knocking started again, and Charlie didn’t have the time to process what her lost hour meant. Still trying to get her bearings right, Charlie went to the front door and swung it open to find out who the fuck was so insistent about getting inside.

It was… Ethan.

And he was dressed in a suit.

Why was he-?

The memorial.

Ethan watched as her eyes widened in understanding and then panic.

He didn’t know what to think or how to interpret her apparent confusion. She was soaking wet still, as if she had just gotten out of the shower, and her skin was bright red, like it had been burned by the water. She looked…

Confused.

And scared.

Ethan immediately knew that something was wrong.

“Charlie, are you okay?” he broached carefully, taking a step toward her. He wanted to hold her, but she looked fragile…

“Yeah, I just, um… I was just…” Charlie stammered, “What time is it?”

“Three,” Ethan answered.

“What?” Charlie felt a wave of nausea. The memorial was at 3:30.

Ethan surveyed her again, taking in every clue like she was a mystery to be solved.

The wet hair. The confusion. The panic. The inability to explain.

What was it?

How did he help her?

“Charlie, why don’t you know what time it is?” Ethan asked cautiously, placing his hands carefully on either shoulder. She was hot to the touch.

“I, um, I was just in the shower,” Charlie answered. She felt like her mind was sludge, and words were nearly impossible to string together, “I must have zoned out and lost track of time.”

“For how long, Charlotte?”

Charlie dropped her eye contact and shrugged.

He leaned closer, pushing her soaking wet curls out of her face, “Rookie, please. How long?”

Her green eyes were full of fear as she finally admitted, “An hour.”

Ethan’s chest tightened, and he let out a horrified, terrified huff of breath. Instinctively, he pulled her in, tucking her safely in his chest where he knew she was okay.

She told herself she didn’t know why he was doing this. It just a little bit of time – only a little scary. More confusing than anything.

But she fell into his arms like she needed it because she did.

Ethan didn’t care that she got his suit wet.

He only cared that he had her.

“We’re not going today, Charlie,” Ethan decided authoritatively, “We’re not.”

“Ethan!”

“You’re not,” Ethan said more firmly.

“I have to be there!”

“No, no, you don’t,” Ethan pulled away just enough to look at her so she would know how intensely he meant this, “You do not need to go, Charlie. You need to make it through today. I’m not letting you do this to yourself just because you feel some obligation. Charlotte Greene, you owe your survival to no one.”

He knew she didn’t believe him by the way she averted her eyes.

“I have to go,” she insisted forcefully.

“No,” Ethan shook his head, reaching for her hand determinedly, “Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

He started to pull her to her bedroom, but she remained firm.

“Please, Ethan,” she pleaded.

Ethan felt a moment of pause.

The way she looked at him… like she needed this, like she needed him to let her have this.

His heart broke.

His beautiful, wonderful Charlie was in so much pain.

And he caved.

He caved because he wanted to make it go away so, so badly that he was willing to make a thousand mistakes.

He grimaced but consented, “Fine. But we still need to get you dressed.”

Getting dressed, like everything else, was hard.

Charlie struggled against her mental fog, and as a result, she moved slowly. She was frustrated as she tried to push through her shortened routine. Even just putting her hair into a braid felt like a monumental task, and she cursed under her breath.

Why couldn’t she just be okay?!

Ethan stepped in before she could get too irritated. He helped her finish the braid and secured it behind her back. He found her dress hanging on the door and helped her step into it. He hesitated after he finished with the zipper, wondering once more if he should stop her before it was too late.

“I’ll be okay,” Charlie whispered, watching his hesitation in the mirror.

Ethan didn’t believe her.

Instead, he kissed the side of her head and whispered, “I love you, Charlie.”

She smiled – a real one. A tired one, but a real one.

Ethan found her shoes on the bed, and he held her hand for stability as she stepped into her high heels.

Then, she was ready…

And he had to take her.

Ethan didn’t leave her side, not for a single second. Not when they parked at the cemetery and were surrounded by friends and coworkers. Not when people tried to call him over to give their condolences. Not when Charlie’s friends surrounded and showered her in support.

Especially not when Danny and Bobby’s families greeted her and thanked her for all she did to try to save them. Not after, when they stepped away, Charlie collapsed into his side, tears running down her face.

He never left her.

Ethan held her hand the entire time. He didn’t give a shit who saw or what they said.

It was a relief when the service began, and everyone stopped crowding her. They stood in the back, where no one cared when Ethan put his arm around Charlie’s waist to hold her up. It was a lovely service – lighthearted but reverent. There were heartwarming stories and cheerful anecdotes. Bright, shining moments of joy were followed by waves of grief and anger.

When the families stepped up to the podium and began to speak, Charlie absently whispered to Ethan, “I think I’m supposed to speak…”

Ethan thought that was a terrible idea.

But out of respect for her grieving process, he asked, “Do you want to?”

Charlie considered it.

In her pocket, she had a piece of paper where she’d scribbled thoughts last night. It was full of platitudes and grief, even an admission that she couldn’t save them.

She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say any of it.

She couldn’t even hear it.

“I think I want to go home,” she replied.

Ethan nodded thoughtfully, squeezing her waist reassuringly, “Okay. I’ll tell Naveen, and then we’ll go.”

Charlie nodded weakly and missed his warmth the second he stepped away. A minute later, Ethan returned to guide her back to the parking lot. They slipped away quietly. Only a few people noticed, and they were respectful enough to not say a word.

In the car, Ethan held her hand.

The fog was back and even stronger.

Charlie was silent. At times, she felt like the only thing keeping her connected to reality was Ethan holding her hand.

Ethan took her back to his apartment, where he knew she would be safe and free from well-meaning mourners and friends. He held her in the elevator and regretted letting her go to unlock his front door. Ethan had never been more relieved by Jenner’s love than when he saw Jenner shower his girlfriend with affection, allowing her to crack a small smile.

Ethan left Charlie and Jenner in the living room to change out of his wet jacket.

Alone for the first time since he found Charlie, he drowned in awareness. His Charlie…

He almost cried. He wanted to cry. He wanted to release this. He wanted to go back to the hospital, where he and Charlie slept quietly and smiled from across rooms.

He didn’t want to grieve.

Neither did she.

He had to protect her. He had to save her. And he didn’t know how.

Ethan sat on the corner of his bed, waiting for an epiphany.

Instead, he found Charlie standing in the doorway.

“Are you okay?” Charlie asked quietly.

Ethan shook his head resolutely, “No. Are you?”

Charlie let out a deep, deep breath.

“Not at all.”

Ethan laughed at the honesty. She had been lying to him all day, and hearing the truth was nearly funny when it was so glaringly obvious.

“You should have made me run away with you,” Charlie grumbled, kicking off her shoes as she walked into his room. She fell into his bed like it was the only place she felt safe.

But really, did she even feel safe there?

Ethan placed a comforting hand on her back and drew a soothing pattern with his fingertips,  “We still can.”

Charlie sighed, her eyes closing just a little, “Right now, I just want to stay in this bed.”

“You always liked my bed,” Ethan observed, kissing the top of her head. He kicked off his shoes and then fell back into bed beside her, turning his body to face her.

“It’s because you’re usually in it,” Charlie mused.

Her eyes were closed with Ethan decided to wrap his arms around her, tucking her head safely in his chest. She fit in his arms like he was designed to hold her…

When she looked up at him again, there was something raw hidden in the green of her iris.

“I almost lost you,” she said it like it was a revelation, one she hadn’t let herself think of since that night.

“I think it’s more accurate to say I almost lost you,” Ethan suggested.

“I’m serious, Ethan.”

“So am I.”

Charlie hadn’t allowed those kinds of thoughts or memories to permeate her life. She hadn’t wanted to be sad, but…

They happened.

They were real.

They followed her anyway.

“I woke up, and you weren’t there,” Charlie said, more to herself than to Ethan, “I was relieved. I missed you, but… I didn’t…”

Something was stabbing her.

Something inside. Something sharp and terrible and scary and it was here.

“I didn’t want you to watch me die,” she said in one breath, just to get it the fuck out of her.

She needed it out. She needed all of it out. It was trapped. It was torturing her. It was going to kill her.

She couldn’t breathe.

Or maybe she could…

She panted, trying to just fucking decide.

The fog was gone. The haze left.

And she was there, and she felt it. She felt all of it.

Nothing came to save her from the feeling.

She wanted to scream again, but it came out as a mighty, aching cry. She devolved into uncontrollable, body-shaking sobs.

The cracks in her perfect, sunny day splintered and shattered the illusion. There was nothing to hold on to now… It was just rain.

No, she was wrong.

There was one thing to hold on to.

And she held onto him just as tightly as he held on to her.

Ethan wasn’t going to let go, so Charlie let herself fall.

That didn’t go where I thought it was going to go, but wow... this may be the saddest chapter I’ve ever written. 

permanent tag list: 

if you would like to be added/removed/I forgot you, let me know

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[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Hmm, still thinking about character profiles… might try and do something with that after this arc, since I didn’t do it before the USJ arc. Or maybe I should wait until after the Sports Festival? I suppose I’ll have to wait and see if I have enough material…

Still, it does feel weird to try and do character profiles when there are other ones out there that are so much more detailed and really dig into things. I mean, it can’t necessarily hurt for me to do, but it’d also push back the chapters even further when I just want to get caught up, so… bleh.

Anyways, chapter.

[No. 16 - Know Your Enemies]

First off, Mineta, why. Just. Sigh. 

Our first panel has izuku and Tsuyu wading towards the edge of the water, Izuku cradling his broken finger while Tsuyu drags Mineta along. Long and short, Mineta says the villains will be stuck together all day. Izuku is muttering about how lucky they were, because that move was a real gamble, and if the villains had been smart, a few of them would have been hidden under the water. He can guess they weren’t thinking ahead, but they still need to be careful…

Tsuyu tells him to stop, since what he’s muttering about is scary. She then asks him what they should do now. Izuku determines that their top priority is calling for help, and that if possible, they should follow the shoreline and make for the exit, avoiding the plaza altogether. (Meanwhile, Tsuyu asks if Izuku’s okay, which he confirms even while wincing over his injury.) Izuku’s narration recounts that their first battle ended in a win, but that he’d made a deadly wrong assumption. 

Huh. Izuku is using his elbow pad as a temporary compress for his broken finger. Interesting.

Tsuyu accepts Izuku’s plan, and then notes that Aizawa is drawing a large number of villains to the plaza. Izuku is worried about their teacher, noting that there’s too many enemies. Of course, Eraserhead is holding his own out there, but it’s too much for him, and that he had to know that, but jumped in to protect the class anyways.

Mineta think Izuku is planning something stupid (which I mean, rude but fair) while Tsuyu gives a neutral ribbit. Izuku clarifies that he isn’t saying they should dive right into the fight - just that they watch for an opening and do what they can to lighten their teacher’s load. The narration from above finishes with an ominous statement - thinking that they stood a chance against those enemies was a grave miscalculation.

Then we get an overview of the USJ and where everyone was sent, serving as the ‘cover page’ for the chapter. 

Interestingly, neither Aoyama or Hagakure have a confirmed location, though I am aware that Hagakure later states she was in the same zone as Shouto. And Shouji… oh, poor Shouji…

Can’t believe my good hugs boy was slandered like this… damn you Viz…

Not to mention the disrespect to our goddess Yaomomo… when will it end...

Next up, we get to see Shouto being casually intimidating. He exhales a chilled breath as his shoulder starts to steam, musing about the villains’ divide and conquer strategy. He then notes with a half-hearted preemptive apology that it’s hard to see the villains who were in the landslide zone as any more than thugs with quirks they can’t even handle. 

Jesus christ where does his ice end.

Shouto approaches the closest villain - perhaps the leader of that squad - his boots crunching in the ice as his left side continues to steam. The squad leader(?) calls him a bastard and complains how he reacted the second he was warped there, as well as wonders if he’s really just a kid before complaining about the pain from the frostbite of the ice.

Shouto briefly flashes back to Shigaraki mentioning how they brought along so many playmates (which I guess confirms that Jirou and/or Shouji forwarded some of what the villains were saying down in the plaza because otherwise there’s no way they should have heard from that distance.) He thinks about how the villains want to kill All Might, and and first, they’d all seemed elite, so they could use their numbers to overwhelm him. But taking a closer look, the pawns are only there for the kids, nothing but a gang of low-level cannon fodder. As far as he can tell, there are only about four or five really dangerous individuals there.

He then sits down(!!!) as he gets the villains’ attention, noting that at the rate they’re going, their skin will rot away from frostbite. The villains are alarm, but Shouto continues on, explaining that he’s trying to become a hero, and that heroes don’t do such horrible things. As he thinks about what he needs to do next, he asks the villains what makes them think they can kill All Might, and to tell him their plan.

Shouto, my man, that is a power move and a half right there, I cannot believe he actually sits down and makes them talk to him like an unruly class of students or sommat. Just, fucking hell, I don’t even know if he realizes how effectively he just asserted his dominance.

Our next scene shift (and the last for this post) is over to Yaomomo, Jirou, and Kaminari in the mountain zone, surrounded by enemies. 

Pick your fighter. I’m Birb Dude. 

A lot of those enemies have weapons of zome kind and are overall fairly intimidating, though there’s also this one fucker-

I’m sorry I just cannot take this one seriously, what the FUCK is that. There’s certainly some other questionable villains in this mess, but that one just. What.

Anyways. Kaminari just dodges a heavy punch from the big villain with the weird helmet on. He yelps as he gets closer to the girls and gets into formation (back to back to back), complaining about his whole life flashing before his eyes and asking who the hell those guys are and what they’re doing there. Jirou tells him to worry about that later, with Yaomomo stating they need to figure out how to get away from that mob. 

Jirou asks Kaminari to confirm he’s a ‘lightning guy’, and then tells him to just fry them all to a crisp. While she’s holding a presumably metal sword. Yeah no, I can’t see anything wrong with that plan. Kaminari is offended because why wasn’t she paying attention when were partners during the battle training? 

He then goes on to explain that he can only cover himself in electricity (so he wants a weapon), then goes on to say that he can discharge it, but he can’t control it - he’d hit them as well! Kind of like Todoroki’s power. He also states that he’s still trying to call for help, but his special transceiver is being jammed. He then finishes with the statement that they can’t rely on him, so he’s relying on them, giving a thumbs up with a bit of zap coming off of it.

Jirou grumbles about how he blabs a lot for a guy, then turns and kicks him into the crowd of villains, telling him to be a human stun gun. Kaminari yelps in disbelief at the betrayal, smacking right into the huge villain who almost punched him before and giving the guy a real good zap. Jirou is unimpressed as Kaminari realizes that the adhoc plan actually worked, and that the two can in fact rely on him after all. Jirou notes that that was easy.

Two other villains move to go after Kaminari, who is STILL somehow zapping the guy (how is that villain not dead yet??), with the rock fisted guy aiming a massive bouldery fist at a scared Kaminari. However, right before it hits, it gets cracked open by some kind of soundsave, leaving the villain’s unprotected fist to land right in Kaminari’s face and get them brutally zapped as well.

The boar-masked villain with knives tries to leap in, but a net shot from seemingly nowhere catches him mid-air and sends him falling to the ground caught up in it. We see right after that it was shot from Yaomomo’s right forearm / elbow, all while she’s blocking another strike from a different villain with her staff. She tells Jirou and Kaminari to get serious, with Jirou apologizing as she lifts her short sword again. 

Jirou unplugs her ear jack from the speaker in her right boot, the jack retracting to normal length as she notes that she had a good plan, but Kaminari… (something? IDK. I guess he’s in the way? Or she wasn’t expecting his quirk limitations?)

We get her full name - Jirou Kyoka - and a description of her quirk, Earphone Jack.

We also get to see her use her quirk without the speakers, directing one of those amplified heartbeats as a direct attack at some of the villains, who hold their hears as they shout from the pain. Jirou blocks another up-close sword attack with her own short sword, nothing that in her costume request, she asked for a way to focus her sound in one direction.

A question about her costume, like. Why are the speakers in her boots? I mean, I know her costume needed speakers to direct her quirk, but why not go for something like Present Mic’s costume where she could have the speakers on her shoulders and so a lot closer to her quirk???

Yeah, I need to try and keep remembering that these are first draft costumes made by fifteen year olds and not meant to be used in the field / against villains yet. Sometimes I am a dumb. Thank you discord for knocking my head straight.

Moving on, we get Yaomomo kicking another villain back as she states that ‘it’s ready’, which confuses Jirou and I guess the villains as well. The villain she kicked stumbles back as Yaomomo crouches over, her back starting to bulge as she notes that it took some time, what with it being a larger object. The back of her costume tears open in a fairly gruesome-seeming image, only for the next panel to reveal it’s some kind of huge sheet that shoot out over her and Jirou’s heads before coming down to completely cover them both.

The villains are confused about the sheet, asking if the kids are trying to shield themselves. Meanwhile, Kaminari seems done shocking the other villains, stumbling as others start to run at him with their weapons or hands poised to strike. Momo clarifies that the sheet is a 100 mm thick insulation sheet, then tells Kaminari ‘now.’ Kaminari, nose bloody, realizes her plan and let her know that. He lifts his arms, telling the villains that he’s actually super strong before bringing them down and fully unleashing his quirk, zapping all of them at once.

Pikachu, use Thunder!

As the quirk wears off, we see all the villains are in no condition to keep fighting. Smoke rises from the insulated sheet as Yaomomo lifts the edge, noting that now that that is handled, she’s worried about the others, so they need to hurry up and regroup. Jirou is flustered as she points out Yaomomo’s wardrobe malfunction (which I will not be sharing here), while Yaomomo calmly replies she can make more clothes. We also get a blurb on Yaomomo’s quirk:

As well as probably one of the most important things that Bones cut out for some stupid reason: belly rolls!

Yes, Yaomomo actually has a healthy weight in the manga. I mean, all the girls do, but still. Why do animes just ruin this stuff. 

Anyways, our last two panels of the page and this half of the chapter show Kaminari totally brain dead as he cheers, with another blurb about his quirk:

Behind all three of them, we see a fist smashing up out of the ground, showing that someone managed to dodge that super-attack after all…

Anyways, that’s a wrap for now. Next time is all Aizawa and Shigaraki, and that’s gonna be… messy. See y’all then!

[stellar-imagines]

HEADCANONS REQUEST: ❝S/O with Railgun quirk.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki, Aizawa Shouta, Takami Keigo ]

「Headcanons of Midoriya, Bakugou, Aizawa and Hawks with S/O who has a Railgun quirk.」

MIDORIYA IZUKU

♤ Midoriya, oh this boy, here is a handful. He's all over you when he witnesses you using your quirk. There was one instance where Aizawa wanted to see everyone's special moves and all that. Boy was watching when you pulled out a small coin from your pocket and raised your right hand and flipped in into the air. You were focusing the currents to the palm of your hand and aiming at the walls of concrete that Cementoss had readied for you. When you propelled the coin using electromagnetic force, everyone was surprised that you had cut through the walls and the wall of the gym.

♤ Not a page but an entire notebook dedicated to you and you only. Often trains together with you just for the sake of seeing more of your quirk in action. The entire notebook has the full details of how your quirk works, your capabilities, and applications that you were capable of. He finds everything you do amazing, from creating lighting spears, summoning real lightning, creating powerful electromagnetic and a sword made of iron sand. And when you use your quirk for minute operations, it intrigues him.

♤ He finds it quite intimidating when your quirk goes off when you get a bit angry or surprised. Midoriya has witnessed you pissed when someone was messing with you during the joint training with another school. You unleashed your quirk out of anger and had Aizawa stepped in and scolding you for letting your anger get the best of you. He knows not to get on your bad side and anger you in any way.

♤ Trains occasionally with you because you're super strong and challenging. On your free time, you both would either work out together, do your homework together, or just relaxing in your room together. But as students from the Hero Course, it was more natural for the two of you to train with one another. Midoriya provides great advice and has a lot of ideas for you to improve your quirk and all that. Even when he gets his ass handed to you during training, he's still praising you for your abilities. 

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

☆ You bet this guy falls in love because you whooped his ass in training. To say that you had a similar quirk like Kaminari was a great mistake. Bakugou blatantly pointed out that your quirk was much stronger than the other electric quirked user — which earned a whine from the blonde male who was comforted by Kirishima who knows how it feels like. Honestly, he thinks that it's kinda hot how you're able to defeat him with ease and assert your dominance by saying that he should challenge you when he's much stronger.

☆ Calls you “Biribiri” as a nickname and just annoy you. He thinks your quirk is super strong and the fact that you have such control over it amazes him even more. Different from Kaminari who seems to have almost no control with his quirk and gets his brain fried whenever he exceeds his own limits, you were capable of discharging a maximum output of 1 billion volts. That aside, you have the ability to observe and manipulate electric, magnetic, and electromagnetic fields. 

☆ Bakugou finds you a worthy sparring opponent. Your quirk was a strong one due to its large output and a vast range of applications. Not only that but he's actually very fucking proud of you at the Sports Festival because you were able to beat the shit out of your opponents so easily. He might not be the type to compliment you directly but behind your back, he's boasting. This guy tells everyone that you're a fucking badass, super strong, and to top it all off, you were cute, pretty, and all his.

☆ There was one time where you accidentally walked into his room while he was in the middle of changing. You were so surprised that your quirk went off which resulted in a blackout in the entire city. Bakugou finds it really funny until this very day and teases you about it whenever the two of you are alone. But Aizawa isn't amused because he had to explain the situation to the principal and apologize to the workers in the electric company on your behalf.

AIZAWA SHOUTA

♡ Aizawa never judges anyone based on quirks but he can't say that he wasn't surprised when he first saw you using your quirk. This guy doesn't show that he's amazed at all though, he keeps his usual stoic demeanor in front of you as if he was trying to maintain his image in front of you. Behind the scenes, he's super proud of you and tells everyone that you're the fucking best out there. Of course, you don't know any of this because he never says it out loud.

♡ Your powers were very dangerous but with your abilities and the way you utilize it in battle, makes him relieved to have you as a partner. Aizawa observes you more than a normal person would and you noticed that a bit later into the relationship with him. He was an observant kind of guy to begin with, he pays attention to all his students which proves that he's a person who analyses. This guy knows every single little thing about your quirk but he keeps it to himself.

♡ He's quite nurturing and loves to see you improve day by day. Aizawa may not look like the type be in a relationship and people have rarely seen him with a girl before. However, in reality, he's very attentive and involved in his role as your boyfriend. This guy knows everything about you. He trains with you quite often, mostly on hand-to-hand combat and occasionally refining your quirks. 

♡ His favorite past time is just sitting around in his apartment with you and doing nothing at all. Aizawa is constantly swamped with work, whether it was grading papers or evaluating his students performance training, preparing new training assignments for students, and whatnot. The guy likes a break from all those things and just relax but if you convince him to train with you, he will oblige. After all, he has front row seats to watching you train your quirk.

HAWKS (TAKAMI KEIGO)

♧ This guy, despite not looking like it, he's quite intrigued by your quirk. Hawks isn't the type to judge someone by their quirk to begin with. However, with a flashy quirk like yours, he unconsciously associates you with your quirk. These things include giving your nicknames relevant to your quirk or making puns related to your quirk. Though it was endearing and funny at first, it didn't take long for you to lightly hit him whenever he cracks a stupid pun in your presence.

♧ Training isn't that common for Hawks and it was usually just him keeping his body in shape. On the other hand, you would train your quirk. He enjoys watching you train, it was an opportunity to admire your abilities and throw in some compliments casually. Speaking of compliments, this guy never seems to get flustered when he's making stupid puns and cheesy compliments. He's just super proud of what you can do.

♧ The person who relies on your quirk for small things just for the sake of annoying you. Of course, just harmless little things like making you use your quirk to turn on the television when he can't find the remote. Hawks find it amusing that your quirk is capable of hacking things, like electronic locks, computers, and anything that is digital or electronic. Once he asks you if you could automatically respond to the emails from his annoyingly strict secretary, you end up telling him not to be such a child.

♧ He knows what you're capable of doing in combat and he knows not to mess with you because you're able to destroy him effortlessly. But he can't help but think that you actually look cute when you're a bit mad. Those tiny, non-harmless sparks of electricity the forms on your cheeks and hair when you're slightly irritated at something was just super cute to him. Hawks loves to poke your cheek and mutter how cute you are when you're angry which often results in you threatening to bit his finger him and zap him with a million volts.

Total: 1404 words Published: 27.06.2020

Thank you for requesting! ｡٩(ˊᗜˋ)و*｡ Sorry to make you wait for so long! ― author Lou

Thank you for requesting! Hope you enjoyed it! ― author Natsuki

Requests are closed for now! Matchups are closed!

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.