#ill be fine and ill get through it. just a little stressed is all

[zephyrsobsessions]

Shit I forgot about wip wednesday. Was gonna post but got my ass handed to me by my biomed illustration class lol. I'll post something tomorrow when I get a sec, thanks for everyone who tagged me 💚

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

working for 12+ hours today in front of a computer screen made me come to the realization that maybe murder IS warranted sometimes 🙃🤪

[peachesofteal]

Like Real People Do previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au CW: none

Riley is pouting.

She wriggles in her seat, hands on her hips, nose turned up in the air. “I don’t like carrots.”

“Okay well, that’s too bad because they’re part of your dinner.” You don’t have the finesse of a parent. You’re not a mother, there’s no natural instinct, and there’s certainly not a guidebook.

But you’re trying, even if it’s not enough. It’s all you can do, try for her, do it for her.

“I don’t want them.” You sigh.

“Riley, please. Come on, you have to eat vegetables.”

“Says who?” This girl is going to be the end of you.

“Says me, okay? I’m in charge.” You always thought ‘you’re not getting up from this table until you’re done x y or z’ was stupid, but now, it’s making a lot of sense. She scowls at the carrots, but spears one with a fork. “I cooked them in brown sugar, they can’t be that bad.” Even if they were good, she wouldn’t admit it now, but after the first few bites, she eventually finishes all but one straggler.

“Can we watch a movie before bed?” You shake your head and try to cut off the guilt that’s already building from having to deny her.

“You have time for a shower and maybe a few pages of your book.”

“Why?!” She stomps her feet and you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Riley, we went riding after school, and that takes up those extra two hours you have between dinner and bed. Right?” She huffs. Crosses her arms and then-

“You’re mean.” She doesn’t understand and you don’t hold it against her, but it still stings.

“I know,” you sigh, defeated. “Now up you go.”

You don’t wish your dead sister and her husband ill will, but sometimes, you do curse them for very good reasons.

One those reasons is the fact that they sunk Tess’s earnings into buying a horse farm with too much land, used all of their savings to help finance building a house from scratch and a new barn and now…

You’re paying a mortgage you can’t keep up with.

You stare at your phone, the open banking app. You wait to stress out over money after Riley goes to bed as a rule. She’s a kid, she’s been through enough, she doesn’t need more… anything. Stress, worry, fear. That’s for you to handle, and at the end of every month, when the payment is due, you feel like a ticking time bomb. Checking your accounts obsessively, adding up numbers again and again, going to sleep and waking up thinking about it.

It’s exhausting, but what are you supposed to do?

Sorry Riley, we have to sell the house you grew up in, all the horses, and your mom’s legacy. Let’s go live in a two bedroom apartment?

Yeah, no.

“Daisy?”

“What?” Ava is blinking at you from across the table and Olivia is frowning.

“We asked you what you thought? About the new job?”

“Oh. Sorry I wasn’t paying attention.” Too busy doing math. “It’s fine. I’m getting used to it. It was a steep learning curve at first, you know? The babies are so little.” They exchange a look. “What?”

“Have you talked to Doctor Riley?”

“I mean, yeah? He’s basically in charge of the unit, so…”

“No. Have you talked to him.” Ava emphasizes, and you sigh.

“No. I haven’t figured out a way to bring it up, and he only recently stopped laying into me all the time. It’s not like I planned this I… I’m trying to figure it out.” Olivia nods thoughtfully, and points her fork at you.

“Maybe you should let it slip during pillow talk.”

“What?!” Ava’s eyes go as round as the moon, and Olivia snickers.

“Doctor Riley has a thing for Daisy.”

“No he doesn’t, she’s full of shit, and lower your voice, Liv. Jesus.” Gossip spreads like wildfire in a hospital. She shrugs.

“He stares at her all the time-”

“He’s just intense-”

“And she saw him naked-”

“Just without a shirt on-”

“Oh my god.” Ava laughs. “You like him.”

“No, I do not.”

“Uh huh. Look at you. You’re getting flustered and you never get flustered.” She’s cackling now, head tipped back, and you have an urge to punch her in the throat. “I don’t blame you. The older man thing is hot.”

“Oh my god, it’s not an older man thing and I-”

“It would be okay, you know.” Olivia interrupts quietly, “if you did. What happened-”

“Well I don’t so it doesn’t matter.” Her focus shifts, attention turning towards something behind you, and the tension in your spine releases.

“Paul Revere.” She coughs into her hand, and as you freeze, Ava perks up.

“It’s just dad and Doctor MacTavish.” Ava has called John dad since he dressed her down in a hallway one time and punctuated his lecture with ‘I’m not mad at you Ava, I’m disappointed.’ She waves. “Hi dad!” He shakes his head from across the cafeteria, mirth shining in his blue eyes, and she sighs.

“I don’t care what you say. The older man thing is hot.”

“Excuse me?” The woman startles at the sound of your voice. “Can I help you?”

“Oh I’m Samantha.” Okay? And what the fuck are you doing at Ellie’s crib? And why is your hand in there?

“Is there something I can help you with Samantha? Take your hand out of the crib, please.” You edge closer. She’s right at the rail, looking down at Ellie, your patient, your baby for all intents and purposes, with a small, sad smile on her face. Panic flares in your blood.

“How is she doing?” She does remove her hand, thank god, because if she hadn’t you don’t know what you would have done. Twisted her fingers until they broke, maybe.

“Who are you?” She blinks, and you look her over, checking for a visitor pass or an ID badge of any kind. When you don’t see one, your hackles raise even higher. “This is a secure floor, how did you get in here? And where is your mask?”

“Oh I’m her aunt. Her dad let me in.” You look around for the father, Seth, to find he’s nowhere in sight. There’s no way for you to verify this woman is who she says she is, and this is your baby. You’re not taking any chances.

“Okay. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Her laugh is quiet and awkward as she gives you a weird look.

“I’m staying here until he gets back. He asked me to.” Your stomach ties itself into a knot. This woman could be anyone, she could be sick, she could be a baby-napper for all you know. She hasn’t been checked in, she doesn’t know any of the protocols. She could touch something. Pull something. Disconnect something. She had her god damn hand in the crib, and who knows if she washed it or what she was doing.

“That’s fine, but you’re not wearing any identification and you haven’t checked in so you’re not supposed to be in here.” It’s a struggle to keep your voice even keeled, and you have to press your nails into your palm to keep your hand from shaking.

“This is my niece,” she snaps, “I can be here if I want to be.”

“No actually,” you reach past her towards the wall and slam one of the buttons. “You cannot.” She goes from irritated to angry when security appears at the sliding glass doors but before your shoulders can drop from their position beneath your ears, you see him. Your ghost. Doctor Riley.

He’s a step behind Henry, a scowl already pulling at his lips. Great.

“What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is I was trying to tell this woman I’m Ellie’s aunt, but she freaked out and got aggressive with me.” Anger licks up your spine.

“I’m not some woman, I’m her nurse. I’m responsible for her, and this woman is not supposed to be in here.” Your heart rate is climbing. You don’t know why this situation is digging under your skin, but it’s escalating, you’re escalating. “She hasn’t been checked in, she has no ID and says Ellie’s dad let her in. She doesn’t have a mask and she hasn’t been screened for upper respiratory or fever, and she had her hand in the crib. She could have been touching her without washing her hands, she could have been touching her lines or…” you trail off. Isa is watching from her patient’s crib across the room with a thumbs up, and Key is at her side, smiling. Proudly. You take a deep breath. “She needs to leave. Now.” Your pulse is pounding under your jaw like you’ve just run a marathon. You look to Henry for back up, and he’s swift with it.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but Daisy is right. You can’t be in here.” Her eyebrows shoot into her forehead.

“This is ridiculous. I’m family!” She’s still ranting as he ushers her out, yelling about getting you fired, but it feels inconsequential. Your responsibility is to Ellie, not some stranger who claims to be family. You don’t care.

But you are shaking.

“Daisy.” Doctor Riley’s voice is that gentle tone, the one that’s smoothed out around the edges and endlessly patient. “Take a breath.”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Take a breath.” You suck in a short burst, but he shakes his head. “Slowly.” He takes stock of Ellie’s monitors before looking down at where she sleeps. “You have nothing to apologize for. Your patient is vulnerable and cannot advocate for or protect herself, so she needs you to do it for her. It’s your job to take care of her and that’s what you did.” You nod, horrified at the lump starting to grow in your throat. What is happening to you? Where is your control? Your chest rattles with an exhale, and his eyes find yours. “You kept her safe.” Riley flashes through your mind. Safe. Healthy. Happy. The lump in the back of your throat grows bigger, and you look away immediately. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” You croak. One syllable, because you’re afraid your voice might break on two.

You take a breath. You hold it. The world disappears for a moment as your lungs start to burn and you refocus, repair these cracks, this loss of control, and when you reemerge, when you release your air, everything is fine again. Normal.

Except Doctor Riley is studying you, and after a deep breath of his own, he frowns and walks away.

[moondustbaby]

A Little Surprise

Blue Collar Husband!Rafe x Wife!Reader

Summary: You’ve been feeling off for weeks and find out you’re pregnant with your first child. It wasn’t planned, but with Rafe’s support, they’re both ready to take on this new chapter together.

⸻

It was supposed to be just another day. Another busy day at the middle school where you worked as a secretary. The days seemed to blur together lately; you were running on autopilot, completing tasks while trying to keep your energy up. The end of the school year was always the busiest, and you had been working late hours to help the teachers wrap up grading and paperwork. Your job was demanding, but it was fulfilling. But lately, the exhaustion was getting harder to ignore.

At first, you thought it was just stress. Being married to Rafe Cameron, the blue-collar guy who worked sunup to sundown at his construction company, meant your life was never slow-paced. And when it was, there was always something else—like taking care of your house, making sure dinner was on the table, and keeping track of the bills. But recently, something felt different. Something that you couldn’t shake.

Your stomach had been off for weeks, and it was starting to become more than just the usual fatigue that came with being a wife and working woman. Every now and then, you’d feel a wave of nausea, a dizziness that caught you off guard. The worst part was the exhaustion. You felt so tired all the time, no matter how much sleep you got. And there was the small thing you kept pushing aside—the fact that your period was late.

But you told yourself that it was probably just the stress from everything going on, the endless paperwork, the chaos of managing a school office. Besides, you weren’t sure if you were ready for something as big as a baby. Rafe and you had talked about it a little, but you always ended up pushing it out of your mind. The idea of becoming parents scared you both, even though the love between you two was unshakable. You didn’t know if you were ready for all the changes.

Still, the nausea wasn’t going away. You tried not to pay attention to it, swallowing down your discomfort with each passing day. But then one morning, you woke up feeling especially ill. You had been working late the night before, finishing up last-minute forms for the teachers, and had barely gotten any sleep. When you tried to get out of bed to make breakfast, the dizziness hit you so hard that you had to sit down for a moment, holding your head in your hands. You could barely keep your eyes open.

It wasn’t until you were sitting at your desk later that morning, staring blankly at the pile of papers in front of you, that you felt the familiar symptoms all over again: nausea, dizziness, a constant feeling of fatigue. This time, it wasn’t something you could push aside. You pulled out your phone and did a quick search on the symptoms you were feeling.

Early signs of pregnancy…

A list popped up that sounded too much like what you had been experiencing: nausea, missed period, fatigue, dizziness.

You stared at the screen for a moment, your heart beating faster. Could you be… pregnant?

It was too soon for you to know for sure, but you could feel a pit forming in your stomach. You weren’t prepared for this. Not yet. Rafe had been working so hard lately, and you both had been busy enough just managing life. But the thought that you could be pregnant sent a whirlwind of emotions through you.

Your phone buzzed with an incoming text from Rafe. “How’s your day going? Kids okay?”

You blinked at the text, trying to shake off the overwhelming thoughts flooding your brain. You typed back: “Tired. Kids are fine. Busy day at school. Hope you’re not working too hard.”

Rafe responded almost immediately: “You should try to rest tonight. I’ll be home early. You deserve it.”

You smiled softly at his message, but the words of the pregnancy search kept echoing in your mind. How were you supposed to tell him? Could you tell him? Were you ready?

You couldn’t ignore it any longer, so during lunch break, you ran to the store and grabbed a pregnancy test, your heart pounding in your chest. The thought of being pregnant made your hands shake as you paced back and forth in the bathroom, the test in your hand.

You stared at it, your thoughts racing. You didn’t know how long you stood there before the result showed up, clear as day. You blinked at the two lines, feeling your heart drop. You were pregnant.

You blinked again, letting the information sink in. It felt surreal. Was this really happening? You suddenly felt a rush of emotions—panic, excitement, fear. You thought you’d have more time before taking this step, before becoming parents.

After a few minutes of standing in the bathroom trying to calm your racing heart, you decided to text Rafe. “I need to talk to you when you get home.”

His response came instantly: “Of course. What’s going on, baby?”

You chewed your lip, unsure how to respond. Should you just say it now? Or wait until he was home? You didn’t want to worry him too much, but you needed to tell him—he had to know.

When Rafe finally got home, you were sitting on the couch, your hands in your lap. He kicked off his boots and came over, sitting beside you, his brow furrowed. “You okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“I…” you started, hesitating for a moment. You couldn’t believe you were about to say it out loud, but the words spilled from your lips anyway. “Rafe… I think I’m pregnant.”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. You could see the wheels turning in his head as he processed what you’d just said. His eyes softened, and then a small, almost incredulous smile crept onto his lips.

“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice a mix of shock and excitement.

You nodded, feeling your heart race again. “I think so. I’m pretty sure.”

Rafe sat back, rubbing his hand over his face before he let out a low laugh. “Well, damn. Guess we’re in for a ride, huh?” He reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly as he looked at you with a mixture of emotions.

“You’re not mad?” you asked softly, still nervous about his reaction. You didn’t know why you were, but you needed to hear him say it wasn’t a mistake. That you hadn’t messed everything up.

“No,” Rafe said, shaking his head. “Of course not. I’m just… surprised. But I’m excited. I’ll admit, I didn’t think it’d happen so soon. But we’ve got this, okay? We’ll figure it out together.”

You felt a sense of relief wash over you. Rafe had always been there for you, and he was here now, in the middle of this unexpected, crazy moment. “I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice shaky.

“I know you are, baby,” he said, his voice soft. “But we’ll do this. We’re in this together.”

You smiled at him, feeling the warmth of his words wrap around you. Suddenly, the worry faded just a little bit. Maybe you weren’t ready, but you could do this—together.

And just like that, the fear and uncertainty began to melt away, replaced with a quiet, overwhelming sense of joy.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: this was sooo cute to write 🥹 i love them together, should i write more of them in their early years of marriage or some more with their first baby??

♥️ lani

Send Me Requests! 💌

Masterlist

[thragedys]

Clear Mind

Ren x Fem Reader

REBOOTING...

Synopsis: With many dreadful thoughts lingering on your conscience, you have been experiencing trouble regarding trust in the people close to you. With the news rambling on about murders and the everlasting feeling of eyes glaring at you, you’re close to breaking. You can’t shake that forever-present paranoia alone.

Word count: 2.3k

Includes: Ren x Fem Reader, comfort, Ren being sweet, establishing a relationship, smut, oral, cunnilingus, kissing, clothed orgasm

A/N: Ren is too cute! I had to write something about him.

It was strange—his behaviour. You’ve never seen anything quite like it, the constant jitters in his facade. Your emotions are constantly changing. At this point, you are uncertain how you feel towards Ren. Part of you pities him and wants to remain his friend, but the other wants to get as far away as possible. Miles, perhaps a new city. However far your legs can take you.

He hasn’t done anything to harm you. He would never. His protectiveness, however, disturbs you deeply. How he told your friends he was your boyfriend without the slightest hint of hesitation, the way he’s so effortlessly affectionate and intimate. If you’re able to clear the air with him this evening, there will be no more worries remaining. Other than the uneasy sensation of a set of prying eyes burning through you every passing moment. 

You blame your neighbour, Violet, for that unnerving sense of paranoia. She just had to mention she witnessed someone exiting your apartment. Someone you weren’t aware was in there in the first place.

Knock, knock, knock.

Three gentle taps against your door. It’s Ren. Your heart sinks to your stomach as you stand to your feet, legs wobbling as you make your way to answer. Pulling down the handle, you take a deep breath and gaze up at the lanky figure before you.

“Hi! Is everything okay? You look… Ill?” Ren pats his hand against the side of your face and you huff, feeling guilty for ever suspecting anything of him. Awkward people tend to shift their behaviour when around new individuals to avoid getting embarrassed, that’s likely his reasoning.

“I just need to talk to someone. I’ve been having trouble sleeping recently.”

“Told you that you could stay at my place whenever you wanted, didn’t I?” His smile was soft, raising the bag of goodies he brought with him. “Can I come in? It’s food and a few other things.”

…

“Wow, you don’t look well at all… Are you sure you’re okay?” His concern grows as you snap out of your trance, opening the door further for him to enter.

“I’m scared, Ren.”

“Of what? You can tell me anything— everything for that matter.”

“I swear I saw someone outside of my window a few days ago. I don’t know what they were doing, but I saw them. Hardly anyone is ever out there.”

“Hmm? Were they looking your way?”

“…I don’t think so. I can’t remember.”

“Okay, that’s fine! Don’t stress over it. We can talk about this after we eat. You need to get some food in you.”

Pulling out the boxed portions of food, he slides yours over and begins digging into his own, keeping a keen eye on you while you nibble at your meal. Even though you can’t shake the impending dread, you regain your appetite after seeing he purchased your favourite for you.

Now you feel a little bit better. You push any food waste aside and notice how he immediately goes to dispose of it, taking care of your duties inside of your own home without you having to ask. Ren was a sweetheart.

“How do you want to do this? Lying down, sitting, standing?” He taps his fingers against the tabletop, his eyes filled with worry as you space out yet again.

“Do what?”

“Talk. I wanna hear everything you have to say so you can get it off of your mind.”

“Oh, the sofa will do. Thank you for coming over.”

“No need to thank me! I’m happy to be here, so happy to be with you. I missed you so much.”

Not quite catching the last part of his sentence, you sink onto the sofa and rest your head against his arm. You pour your heart out to him, unsure if you’re overstepping by not holding back — but he did tell you he’s here to listen. And he did. 

When you finished listing off your worries, he hummed and squeezed you tighter, now realising that during your full confession, you somehow ended up in his embrace. His nose is pressed into your hair, one hand stroking up and down your back, hushing you as a few tears slip from your eyes.

“Don’t cry, Angel… You’re safe, I promise.” Judging from the tone of his voice, you can tell he is hurt by how upset you’ve been. “I’m here for you. Do you want to stay at my place tonight? Clear your head, get away from all those thoughts.”

“I can’t hide from my fears forever, Ren.”

“Then you’ll have to let me fight them off. I’ll beat up the bad guys for you and the bad thoughts.” He raises his fists playfully, locking eyes with you as you lift your head.

“Are you sure you could handle them?”

“Easily! Oh, I forgot to ask…” Ren murmurs, twiddling with the fabric of your shirt. “I am allowed to stay over, aren’t I? I brought my essentials, so…”

“Of course. I’m going to use the bathroom; you can go get yourself comfy.”

“You’re the best! I’ll be waiting for you.” He springs to his feet and wanders off into your bedroom, leaving you to tend to your nighttime routine.

Applying the final step of your skincare, you pat your face and yawn. It has gotten quite late, you’re starting to wonder whether Ren fell asleep without you. Entering the bedroom, you spot him sitting on the edge of the bed, as though he was seriously waiting on your command so he could lie down. His eyes sparkle when they land on your figure, and his arms open.

“Snuggle?” He flutters his eyelashes, his blue eyes boring through yours as you sit on his lap.

“Sure.”

“I checked outside of your window. I looked everywhere I could and saw nothing suspicious. I might have scared them off.”

“Maybe you did.”

“Do I get a reward?”

“Do you deserve one?”

“But… I protected you! I made sure any scary people left you alone. They won’t dare try anything while I’m here.”

“I was teasing you, Ren.”

“Oh…”

“You’re such a good boy. You do everything you can to help me.”

“Don’t say things like that…!” His face lights up a bright shade of red, eyes snapping to the side to avoid your gaze.

“Why are you so cute?” 

“Dunno… Why are you so beautiful? You are an angel. My angel.” Ren trails off, propping himself above you while your body is crushed to the mattress. “Mine.”

Your face is held in his palms, his eyes laced with nothing but adoration as they analyse you. He was tracing every detail of your face, trailing down your body, and stopping in their tracks when he felt a tug on the sleeve of his turtleneck. As he redirects his gaze back up to your face, he notices how your hand sneakily wrapped itself in his hair and edged him closer towards you.

He can never get used to this. The way you kiss him first destroys him. If he wasn’t desperate enough before, he is now. After recollecting his thoughts, he nips at your bottom lip and grants himself more access to your mouth, taking control from here. His pretty girl shouldn’t have to put all the work in.

“Can I…?” Ren mumbles into your mouth before pulling away, the string of saliva keeping you both connected. He twangs the waistband of your shorts, his index finger tracing swirls on your exposed stomach.

“Yeah…”

“I’ll be gentle. I know you haven’t been feeling your best, so let me do everything today. I just wanna take your mind off of things. I want you to be happy again.”

“I am happy when I’m with you. You make me feel safe.”

“…?” Ren halts, his hair brushing against your leg as he stares up at you from between your thighs.

“You mean a lot to me, Ren. More than you think. You drop everything for me when I need you most—no one has ever valued me that much before.”

“It will always be you above anything else. Nothing will ever be more important than you.” He slides down your panties, revealing the mess before him. 

“I love you.” Ren uttered, planting kisses down your inner thigh.

It went unheard, exactly as he was hoping it would. His words were mumbled as he delved in between your folds, his tongue exploring you frantically as if it were his first time. Your cunt was familiar with him now. His tongue traced the shape of a heart on your clit, then repeated similar motions until he watched your eyes flicker shut.

“Keep them open, please…” Ren laces his hand with yours, giving it a firm squeeze.

He wants you to watch everything he does, wants you to remember who made you feel so good.

Your hips buck forward, accidentally pressing yourself even closer to him. His hands wrapped around your thighs, holding you firmly in place while he savored your taste. No other reward could compare to this. The thought that you were this wet because of him riles him up. He made you this way, no one else. 

Slipping two fingers into your entrance, he remains gentle like he had promised. He was relishing in your reactions, slowly bringing you closer to an orgasm, then taking it away by altering his rhythm. It’s not that he doesn’t want you to cum for him—it’s that he doesn’t want this to end. For the past few days he hasn’t seen you face to face; he had craved this exact encounter.

Your walls tighten around him, an indicator that you won’t be able to hold on much longer, but he doesn’t slow down. He’s lost in your taste, entranced by the way you push yourself against him, allowing him to ravish you as if you were his last meal. The longer he goes, the sloppier he gets. Due to the grip you have on his hair, it became quite messy—the strays flying freely.

“I’m so close, Ren…” You whine, letting his name roll off of your tongue a few more times. Your eyes have grown hazy, unable to take them off him.

“Then cum for me. It’s my reward after all…”

Hearing his words pushed you, causing the cord building intricately inside of you to snap. You muffled your moan, forgetting the time and the likelihood of your neighbours attempting to get rest. The last thing you need is a visit from security due to a noise complaint. Ren pulls back, sliding his fingers from your cunt and wiping any fluid that smeared on his face away.

There was something odd about him. Whether it be the dark lighting or that look in his eyes—there was a different energy surrounding him. He likes the fingers that have been inside of you, sending a shudder down his spine. 

“What…? Do you want a taste too? I don’t mind sharing if it’s with you.” Ren pouts, extending his fingers to brush across your lips, smearing your slick across them.

“You’re looking at me all funny. Is there something wrong?” Ren’s once smug demeanour disappears, his hand patting his face while you shake your head.

“You’re so handsome. I’m so lucky.”

“…!” Ren leans forward, his breath hitching as if he were in disbelief.

“I was jealous when that girl was all over you in that store. Really jealous. I don’t know what we are or if we even are an official thing, but I know I would love to be your real girlfriend.”

“Angel…” Ren murmurs, utter disbelief upon him as he tries to get his words out. “You’re going to make me cry— in a good way… A really good way! I never knew—”

“Can you stay over more often?” Your eyes water, locking with Ren’s teary pair.

“I’ll stay over whenever you want, all you have to do is ask. I can’t believe this is actually… Do you know— Ugh. I can’t get my words out, why now?” Ren mopes due to his poor communication, but your chuckle grants him enough reassurance to continue trying.

“I was hoping you felt the same way I did, but I didn’t want to force anything on you. I’m sorry things have been so confusing between us. If I would’ve known, I would’ve made it all so much clearer.”

“Does this mean we’re officially dating?”

“I suppose… but, if you want the truth, we already were a long time ago in my mind. My eyes have only been on you. They always will be. They always have been…”

“Hm?” You rub your thumb over his knuckles, curious to hear what he said.

“Nothing, I’m just rambling on, typical me…” Ren beams, nestling his head down onto your chest. “It feels nice to know you’re only mine now.”

“Did you think I wanted anyone else?”

“No… but! That doesn’t stop people from wanting you. They can’t have you, so I win.”

“You seem very proud of yourself.”

“I am. I’m an even prouder boyfriend knowing you’re the one I have.”

“I’ll pay you back tomorrow.”

“Huh?” Ren lifts his head, his brows furrowed.

“I didn’t have the chance to give you any pleasure.”

“I had lots, don’t worry. Seeing you like that was enough for me.”

“Did you…?” You raise an eyebrow, squinting your eyes as your inquisitive nature piques.

“…” Ren’s cheeks light up, already aware of what you are insinuating. “Well— Yes! How couldn’t I? You’re just soo pretty, and you were moaning my name in that whiny voice, and—”

“It’s okay; you don’t need to explain. Do you want to clean yourself up?”

“M’ too sleepy. I’ll take a shower in the morning and sort everything out then.”

“I’ll make sure to wake you up nice and early with me in that case.”

Accepting defeat at the early rise, Ren groans and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. His body is sprawled out on top of yours, his limbs snuggling you tightly. There is no chance of you escaping him in the night with his sheer strength, you would need to be plied off of him to be free again. Before you know it, your eyes unwillingly close and your heart sinks with his, blissfully falling into a slumber together.

[vanessagillings]

I’m posting the ever-so-rare photo of myself alongside one of my characters based on my childhood because today is World Autism Acceptance Day, and I wanted to show my little corner of the internet who this particular autistic person is:  

I was officially diagnosed in February, at age 38 (I’m now 39). A lot of people thought I couldn’t be autistic.  Some people who know me in real life still don’t.  And until around 10 years ago, I didn’t think I could be either, because I was nothing like the stereotype media portrays. I was told that autistics lacked empathy (untrue), and never played make-believe (also often untrue) and only enjoyed STEM.  I was — and am — an empathetic artist -- and make believe?  I can spend days sketching finely bedecked bears brewing tea or carefully choosing the right words to weave tapestries of fiction — though perhaps my hyper focus was a bit of a red flag.  Even so, how could autism describe me?  I was a good student.  I got straight A's. I didn’t act out in class.  I can make eye contact…if I must.  And lots of girls hate having their hair brushed with an unholy passion, right?  Clearly I swim in sarcasm like a fish, so autism couldn't be why I was so anxious all the time, could it?

If someone had told me when I was younger what autism ACTUALLY is — instead of the nonsense I’d seen on screens — I would have seen myself in it.  I didn’t hear that autistics have sensory issues until I was in my mid-twenties, which is when I first began to really research autism symptoms, and I had almost all of them:  sensitivity to light, smells, fabrics, temperatures, textures, and certain touches, all of which make me feel anxious, I fidget (stim), I never know what the hell to do with my hands or where to look, I talk too little or too much, I have special interests, I have entire animated movies memorized shot-by-shot and can remember the first time and place I saw every movie I've ever seen but I often forget what I'm trying to say mid-sentence, I echo movies and tv shows (my husband and I have a whole repertoire of shared echolalias, making up about 20% of our conversations), I was in speech therapy as a kid, I have issues with dysnomia and verbal fluency, I toe-walk, I can't multitask to save my life, I like things just-so, I’m deeply introverted but not shy, I need to recover from all social interaction — even social interaction I enjoy — and I find stupid, every day things like grocery shopping, driving and making appointments overwhelming and intensely stressful, sometimes to the point where I struggle to speak.  It turns out, I am definitely autistic. My results weren't borderline. Not even close. And while these aren’t all of my challenges, and not everyone with these symptoms is autistic, it’s definitely something to look into if you present with all of these things at once. 

So why did it take me so long to get diagnosed? The same bias that exists in media threads through the medical community as well, and because I'm a woman who can discuss the weather while smiling on cue, few people thought I was worth looking into. Even after I was fairly certain I was autistic, receiving an official diagnosis in the US is unnecessarily difficult and expensive, and in my case, completely uncovered by my insurance.  It cost me over $4000, and I could only afford it because my husband makes more money than I do as a freelance illustrator — a job I fell into largely because it didn’t require in-person work; like many autists, I have been chronically underemployed and underpaid, in part due to physical illness in my twenties, which is a topic for another day.  But it shouldn’t be like this.  It shouldn’t be so hard for adults to receive diagnoses and it shouldn’t be so hard for people to see themselves in this condition to begin with due to misinformation and stereotypes. Like many issues in America, these barriers are even higher for marginalized groups with multiple intersectionalities. 

It’s commonly said that if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person.  This is why it’s called a spectrum, not because there’s a linear progression of severity (someone who appears to have low support needs like myself might need more than it seems, and vice versa), but because every autistic person has their own strengths and weaknesses, challenges and experiences, opinions and needs.  No two people on the spectrum present in the same way.  And that’s a good thing!  No way of being autistic is inherently any better than any other, and even if someone on the spectrum struggles with things I don’t — or can do things I can’t — doesn’t make them more or less deserving of respect and human dignity.

But speaking solely for myself, the more I learn about autism, the happier I am to be autistic.  I struggle to find words and exert fine motor control, but my deep passion and fixation has made me good at art and storytelling anyway.  I find more joy watching dogs and studying leaf shapes on my walks than most people do in an entire day.  More often than not, the barriers I’ve faced weren’t due to my autism directly, but due to society being overly rigid about what it considers a valid way of existing.  My hope in writing this today is that maybe one person will realize that autism isn’t what they thought — and that being different is not the same as being less than. My hope with my fiction is to give autistic children mirrors with which to see themselves, and everyone else windows through which to see us as we actually are.

If you’re interested in learning more about autism or think you might be autistic, too, I recommend the Autism Self Advocacy Network  autisticadvocacy.org and the following books:

What I Mean When I Say I’m Autistic by Annie Kotowicz

We're Not Broken by Eric Garcia

Knowing Why edited by Elizabeth Bartmess

Unmasking Autism by Devon Price, PhD

Loud Hands edited by Julia Bascom

Neurotribes by Steve Silberman

(trigger warning: the last two contain quite a lot of upsetting material involving institutionalized child abuse, but I think it’s important for people to know how often autistic children were — and are — abused simply for being neurodivergent).

Thanks for reading 💛

[backtothefanfiction]

Oh Baby | PART 4: THE ATTACK

Manny Alvarez x Reader Insert

Summary: The Scars attack the media tower and it changes your's and Manny's approach to this whole entire pregnancy

Warnings: Mature, pregnancy, threat, murder and sacrifice, guns, canon typical violence, use of y/n

Word Count: 4k+

A/N: although I've been ill this week and still not had a chance to fully catch up with getting ahead of this story again, I didn't want people waiting too long for the next instalment, especially when it was as action packed and dramatic as this. as stated previously I am playing fast and loose with canon events, things will still happen the timelines are just a little adjusted for the timings of Y/N's pregnancy. this one is a little gruesome in places and very tense but ends with a bit of hope for the future. enjoy.

2 WEEKS LATER

Tension between the WLF and the scars had increased tenfold in the last few days. It had always been bad, but recently the Scars had found a new lease of life and stepped things up a notch. You were up at the top of the old media tower on look out when the call came through the talkie.

“Tower 3 this is tower 7, we’ve got movement from the park that’s headed your way. Over,” a wary male voice came through. 

“Tower 7, do you have eyes on how many?” you heard your partner for the day, Dan, ask.

“Tower 3 this is Tower 2, you’ve got a breach on your East side,” you heard come through.

“Shit,” you mumbled as you moved across the floor of the old radio control tower to look out through the open window. You just caught a glimpse of two robed figures climbing up and sneaking into a window on the second floor. “Fuck! They’re in the building!” you called across to him before the emergency warning lights came on and an alarm started blaring.

“Shit, what do we do?” you turned and asked Dan. 

“Y/N?” Manny’s panicked voice crackled through the walkie talkie.

“I’m here,” you said, reaching for your own walkie.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“A group of scars have broken into the building,” you stated, gunshots echoing up from the floors below as members of the WLF started firing on the religious nut jobs.

“We have to go down there and help them,” Dan said as he readied his weapons. 

“But what if more of them come? Someone needs to stay on look out,” you objected.

“Yeah and a fat load of good that did us,” he bristled. “They still snuck up on us and got in anyway,” he said, as a high pitched scream permeated up the stairwell. 

“It sounds like a blood bath down there.”

“Which is why we need to go down there and help them,” Dan argued, but before he could even take another step towards the door, Nora came running in. 

“We need to get out of here right now!” she said.

“But what about the others,” Dan argued.

“We’re fucking outnumbered,” she stressed and a pang of fear moved through your stomach. Although you had only seen two scars enter, it was clear there were a lot more who had snuck in when you weren’t looking.

You quickly clutched protectively at your belly. You had seen what the Seraphites had done to members of the WLF before and you highly doubted that you being pregnant was going to be much of a deterrent when it came to splitting you open and leaving you tied up with your insides on your outside.

“Y/N!” Manny’s panicked voice came down the walkie talkie again. “Talk to me, tell me what’s going on?”

“We need to find a way out,” Nora said, pacing over and stealing the walkie from you and talking to Manny directly.

“Nora?” he questioned, worried. “Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s fine,” Nora reassured him. “They’re both fine. But they won’t be if we can’t find a way out-“ she said, but all three of you froze as the sound of a door opening echoed up the stairwell and more footsteps began to thunder up them.

“We need to hide, like right now,” Nora stressed, reaching for your arm and pulling you to one side.

She pulled you down under a desk, tucking you both in tight as the footsteps and shouting grew louder. You held one hand protectively over your belly as your other hand moved up to muffle the sounds of your panicked breathing.

You could hear Manny’s voice coming through the walkie talkie where she had discarded it to leave as a decoy and give you both a chance, but it was breaking your heart knowing how worried he was.

You chanced a quick look around the side of the desk to see where Dan was, spotting him crouched over by the door with his gun at the ready, waiting to catch the Scars by surprise. As the two robed men burst through the open doors you quickly tucked your head back in again and closed your eyes. You desperately focused on remaining calm. You felt Nora’s hand reach for yours and her grip on your fingers felt calming and protective as you listened carefully to the two men beginning to scout the room. 

They made it five steps in before Dan struck out, shooting one of them in the head, but the other was already trying to tackle him to the ground, just as another set of footsteps landed on the top step to join.

“Who else is up here with you?” The Scar, who had now pinned Dan down to the floor, asked.

“Uhhhgg-“ Dan groaned before you heard him spitting blood out of his mouth. “No one!” he grunted. “There’s no one up here, I’m the only one,” he said and your heart plummeted as you heard him sacrifice himself in order to save you. 

You were thankful that Manny had stopped trying to radio over at that point too, so he wouldn’t reveal Dan’s lie. There was more grunting and shuffling as the two Scars continued to wrestle with Dan and get him to his feet, but he was putting up a good fight. 

There was a sudden groan and a thud and all went quiet and you were sure Dan was knocked unconscious. Your legs and breaths quivered as you listened to them drag his body from the room and begin to take it downstairs. Knowing what they were sure to do to him, made your stomach lurch and you quickly scrambled out from your hiding place to vomit in a nearby bucket. 

“Fuck,” you heard Nora sigh. “He sacrificed himself for us.”

“Probably shouldn’t waste that then,” you muttered, as you spat into the bin one last time before coming up for air.

“So what’s our plan?” you asked, as you finally took in the way Nora was pacing back and forth thinking. 

“We need to find a way to get downstairs without being caught.”

“How long do you think until backup arrives?” you asked, chancing a look out the window. “I mean, maybe we just stay put?” 

“If they find us hiding they’ll for sure trial us for insubordination.” 

“I mean, I’m pregnant, can they blame me?” you said, indicating to the child growing in your belly with exasperation. 

“All the same, who's to say they won’t be coming back to fully make sure no one else is up here, or to signal to their friends or something?” she suggested.

“Okay, so we take the back staircase and hope to slip out.”

“That means we’ve got to cross over on floor 6,” she said. 

“Okay. We can do that?” you said breathing heavily as you tried your best to psych yourself up, but it wasn’t working.

You moved to grab your pistol from your thigh, checking the bullets before you put one in the chamber ready.

“Ready?” Nora asked you as she did the same, taking up her stance ahead of you and placing herself in the firing line first should anything happen. 

“No, but, we’re gonna do this anyway, so-“ 

You quickly wiped your sweaty palms on your trousers before you lifted your gun up in front of you, ready, again. You both took it slowly as you began to creep down the stairs one by one. You attempted to keep your breathing under control and tried to stay as alert as possible despite everything in your body telling you to go back and hide. You tried to think of Manny. You thought desperately of your kid. The idea of him holding them in the future on a back porch, watching the sun go down behind them on a farm in the middle of nowhere, filling your mind. You had to fight for that moment.

You both hesitated at the door that lead to the 6th floor. Nora silently told you to wait where you were as she risked opening the door and checking the corridor for any immediate assailants. When she had confirmed it was clear she silently motioned for you to follow. 

You both kept taking it in turns to circle the other, one of you always having their eyes forward, whilst the other watched your backs. Despite a few smears of blood here and there, it was quiet. Too quiet. 

As you reached the end of the corridor of old dressing rooms, you faintly heard a sound coming from one of the sound stages further along the corridor. You both knew you should be running in the opposite direction from it, but still you couldn’t help but be drawn to it. 

As you got closer, the voices became clearer. “Hoist her up,” one of them said before the sound of a woman crying out in distress came echoing down the corridor.

“Please, no, don’t do this. I’ll tell you what you want to know, just please-“ she pleaded desperately, but it didn’t do her any good. 

The sound of mumbled chanting began to fill the air and the leader of the group of Scars stepped forward, reciting a rehearsed speech about sacrificing the young woman to Her. Your hand reached for Nora’s in solidarity as you both waited for what came next. The young woman’s shrieks became louder and there was the horrible sound of ripping flesh before her blood and guts spilled loudly onto the floor.

The sound alone made you want to puke again and you quickly lifted the back of your hand that was holding your gun to your mouth to hold it in. Carefully, you slowly breathed in and out through your nose and tried to ride out the feeling.

“Hey,” you heard a familiar voice whisper urgently and your heart leapt as you turned your head to find Manny hesitating on a corner, further back up the hall from the direction that you just came. 

Quietly, you and Nora crept back up the corridor towards him. The second you were close enough to him he wrapped you tightly in his arms, kissing the top of your head. “Oh thank god you’re safe, I thought you were dead,” he said, his voice muffled into your hair and you were sure if you looked at him you might find him crying, but he wasn’t. He was too much of a well trained soldier to break in the middle of a mission. No matter how personal it might be. 

“We need to get out of here,” he affirmed when you finally broke apart.

“How did you get in?” Nora hissed at him, as more muffled screams came down the hall. This time they were much more manly and you worried they might have belonged to Dan.

“Got in through a window on the second floor,” Manny replied, subtly pushing you behind him as he moved his gun back into a readied stance in front of him. 

“Can we get back out of it?” Nora asked him in a hushed tone.

“We can,” he said, “but I don’t know how well Y/N will climb out-“

“I’ll try, I’ll do anything. Just get us out of here,” you hissed at him. 

“Okay, follow me,” he said, before he began to stalk back up the corridor to the staircase you’d just come through. 

All was quiet as the three of you raced down the stairs, Nora now taking the lead as Manny watched your backs, always keeping you in his sights. 

“Which way?” Nora asked quietly, in case there were any more of the Scars lurking about on the lower levels looking for stragglers.

“Left,” Manny informed her and the three of you began to move down the dark corridor in the direction he’d stated.

“It’s just around the corner,” Manny pressed, as he continued to usher you along with a protective hand at your back.

You all came to a stop at the window that was smashed in. A large jagged part of glass covered in blood still clung to the frame and it turned your stomach again. 

“Did you do that? Are you hurt?” you quickly turned to him, frantically checking him over as Nora assessed the drop.

“No, no. It must have been one of them. I’m fine,” he reassured you, but it did little to ease your rapidly beating heart. “I’m okay,” he stressed, his hand resting on your cheek earnestly as he met your eyes. “I promise. Lets just all get out of here,” he said, as another painful scream rang down from the floor upstairs.

“Come on, I’ll help you out,” Nora said, already through the window and standing precariously on top of an old air conditioning unit.

“Is that gonna hold both of us?” you asked her as she reached her hand back through the window for you. 

“It’ll have to,” she said. “Come on.”

You looked down at the drop and your butt tingled, your knees growing weak in fear. You never used to worry about heights like this, but you had more than just yourself to think about now. As you hovered with one foot on the ledge, ready to push yourself up, a crossbow bolt came soaring through the air, lodging in the wall inches from your head.

“SHIT!” you heard Manny swear, turning and lifting his gun to fire two shots into the chest of the Scar that had just appeared at the other end of the hall. “We have to go, NOW!” he stressed. “Y/N, jump through the window.”

“I CAN’T!” you gritted, frozen.

“YES YOU CAN!” he barked.

“Come on, I’ve got you,” Nora said from the other side.

“I can’t!” you said again, your voice wobbling as a whistle came from somewhere in the distance.

“Yes, you can,” Nora responded calmly, her hand reaching out for you as Manny took a step back and raised his gun in preparation. “I’ve got you, okay? We’re gonna get out of this. Come on,” she said, just as Manny fired yet another shot into one of the Seraphites at the other end of the hall.

You braced yourself, taking one more deep breath for courage before you hoisted yourself up onto the window ledge, your hand catching on one of the broken shards of glass and slicing through the skin on your fingers, but you tried to ignore it. You let yourself take Nora’s hand and she helped you steady yourself as you moved out onto the AC unit.

You tried to focus forward and not back as Manny fired two more shots and your heart shot up into your throat.

“Come on,” Nora said, hopping down onto the next ledge and reaching back up to you as you sat yourself on the edge of the unit to drop down. 

“Manny?” you called back, looking back through the broken window for him, but he wasn’t there. “Manny!?” you called again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. GO!” he stressed as he stepped back towards the window.

“Come on, I’ve got you,” Nora said, raising her hands up to catch and steady you as you slid off the AC unit and landed with a thud on top of an old rusting dumpster. “Manny!” she called back to him when you were safely down and there was a beat before he finally climbed through the window and you could breathe a sigh of relief.

You hesitated as you waited for him to climb down and join you both on the ground.

“Come on, let's go!” Nora stressed, beginning to side step back towards the main road. “COME ON!” she shouted at yourself and Manny, as he hung back and checked that no one was about to follow or start firing from the upper floor at you.

“Let’s go,” he said, reaching for your hand, your fingers stinging as his firm grip squeezed the open wound there.

You kept running until you were safely out of potential range of the Scars bolts and arrows, but didn’t stop until you were all back in the safety of the WLF barracks.

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

“Are you okay?” Manny asked as the two of you lay out on his bed together later that evening. 

It was just the two of you in the room, Nora still assisting with the mission to try and retrieve any potential survivors of the attack. You had been silent ever since you’d gotten back. Someone in the infirmary had cleaned out and bandaged your hand, but you had no idea who it was. You were barely just aware of Manny still clinging to your side, keeping his eye on you after the scare you’d both just had. And it was that very scare that had you so deep in your thoughts.

You remembered back to that morning in the farmhouse after you’d told him you were pregnant. Coming to Seattle was only meant to be a temporary solution, but just over five months later you were still here. 

Your eyes dropped to the baby forming in your belly. This was no life for a child. Even though the risk of infected and running into danger was everywhere, staying put and raising your child here in Seattle with the current tensions and Isaac’s radical plans, suddenly didn’t seem all that appealing. Not that it had ever been appealing, but you’d never stopped and allowed yourself to think about what you both should really do.

“I don’t want them to be like us,” you finally said, your voice shaky and hesitant as you rubbed soothingly over your bump.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” you said, turning your head to look at him. “We were both so young when we joined the fireflies. We were practically kids- were kids,” you corrected as you thought back to when you signed up on your 15th birthday. “I don’t want our kid to be a child soldier like we were. I don’t want them to be a soldier at all,” you clarified.

He was silent as he thought that over, his teeth chewing at his lip as he processed what you were saying. 

“I know that they could never have a life like we had before the outbreak,  but surely there’s got to be something closer to it than this,” you said, motioning to the tiny room you shared with Nora. “I mean there’s got to be more settlements like Jackson we could go to,” you replied. 

“So you want to leave?” he asked, his brow furrowing at the idea.

“Yes. No. Oh I don’t know. But what I do know is that I don’t want my kid to experience what I did today. I don’t want them being brought up in the middle of a fucking terf war where people are being killed left right and centre. I don’t want them waiting up with me worried about whether or not you’re gonna make it back from checking out a hoard of infected,” you stressed. 

“I want them to have a place where they can play outside safely. Maybe make some friends. To feel free and not have to live in fear all the time.”

His face fell to watch his fidgeting hands as he processed your words. They made Manny’s gut churn uncomfortably and he slowly began to realise that what he was feeling was guilt. In all the time you’d been living in Seattle, he had not once thought about the reality of bringing his kid up here and what that would truly be like for them. He realised he’d been complacent. Just because he had lived like this growing up and he didn’t know better, it didn’t mean his own child should have to live like this. He hadn’t put much thought into kids at all before all of this happened. Hadn’t had a single thought or day dream about what it would be like or how he’d like to raise them given the chance. But you were right. Of course you were right. This life wasn’t good enough for your little niño.

“So where do you want to go?” he asked.

“I dunno?” you said. “You heard of any other colonies other than Jackson?” you asked.

“No,” he replied disheartened and you both fell silent.

“You ever think about going back home?” you asked into the quiet of the room, as you both sat in deep thought, trying to come up with a plan.

“Not really,” he said, his hand moving absentmindedly to stroke at your belly in an attempt to ease the tension that was rapidly beginning to build in his body. “Not really much to go back to. What about you?” he asked. “You said you were born in Arizona, right?”

“Yeah. Chandler, Arizona,” you said. 

“What was it like when you left?” He shifted himself down the bed slightly, propping his head up on his fist as he looked up at you, the fingers of his right hand still stroking soothingly across your skin.

“I’m not sure. My mom and dad got me out of there just before Fedra went in to clear the area.”

“You think there’s much there?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Besides, it would take us nearly a whole month to walk there. Probably longer with me in my current condition.”

You both fell into comfortable silence again as you thought. But as his fingers kept sliding absentmindedly back and forth over your bump, you couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time he had done that and suddenly you were back thinking to that farmhouse again. You tried to think back to its surroundings. To imagine what they’d be like without all the snow. How big the fields were. What resources were nearby.

You ultimately knew it wouldn’t be a good fit- even if it did still have hot water. You knew for true survival you needed community. People who worked together to protect each other. Who had different skills so they could fix any problems that may arise that neither you nor Manny knew how to fix. After all, you’d both been soldiers since you were young teens and neither one of you had honed many domestic skills over the years. 

But you knew the idea had legs. You just needed to find the right place. Somewhere like Jackson, but that wasn’t Jackson. Somewhere that wasn’t bitterly cold in the winter you thought. Okay… so that meant headed south. But to where?

“What about Northern Cali?” he suddenly asked as if he was reading your mind. “It’s not as far. We could make it in a couple weeks. Guaranteed decent weather. There’s a fair bit of farmland and small towns up there that would be ideal for communal living like they do in Jackson. Just… more relaxed maybe?” he said, finishing his thoughts out loud. 

You didn’t hate it as a suggestion. I mean, you could travel that way and still not be guaranteed to find anything, but it was worth a shot wasn’t it. You looked to your belly again. You were nearly 6 months along. Most likely would be by the time you and Manny organised your plan properly and actually decided to leave. Travelling across the country at 6 months pregnant on foot wasn’t ideal, but you knew you had to do something- and you definitely didn’t want to stay here. 

“We don’t have to decide tonight,” he said, bringing you back out of your thoughts. You could tell by his expression that the look on your own face- as you thought- had begun to stress him out. “It’s been a long day and you should rest,” he said, referring to the ordeal with the Scars back in the media tower.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “You’re right.” But even though you tried, you still struggled to sleep. Between flashbacks to the afternoon being hunted by Seraphites, to trying to think of the best way you could raise this child in the world's current state; and just genuinely beginning to feel uncomfortable sleeping with a growing child in your belly, getting your brain to switch off was damn near impossible.

[kiame-sama]

Which of the Monster men would be the definition of ‘We’re pregnant’ if the Human gets pregnant?

Or even funnier, they’re the ones who act like they’re pregnant while the Human is just fine (Only confused about their behavior)

Warnings: reader pregnancy, Humans Are Extinct Yandere TWST au, yandere, yandere relationships, yanderes stressing out, monster au, yandere monsters, mention of oviposition (for the egg bearing species), adult themes, by selecting 'view more' you consent to view content and are of age to view content

~~~~

Azul is STRESSED while you are pregnant. He struggles to sleep the entire time and he becomes extremely wound with anxieties. While his eggs take up residence in your body, he doesn't want you lifting a finger. He will do everything in his power to take on your responsibilities and take care of you. He even gets occasional bouts of illness akin to morning sickness because of how stressed he is.

Even when you actually safely deliver the eggs, Azul is stressed. He wants you on bed rest for no less than six months. You will have to convince him to let you loose or he will be shepherding you back to your room the entire six months. He is counting, recounting, and double checking the tank where he keeps the eggs while they grow. Every few hours he has to count again and he will panic if he believes one is missing. Seeing his little ones develop in their pearl-like eggs gives him such pride and such anxiety.

Vil is stressed and controlling about the few things he can control while you are pregnant with his eggs. He is ordering the most expensive and softest of bedding, turning his plush bed into a literal nest with blankets layered around the edges with pillows. The center is countless thick blankets that sinks a good level beneath the raised edges and is incredibly soft. Where Vil is no expert nest builder, he does make an impressive incubation site. He is ensuring EVERYTHING is prepared and planned for in every regard so that you and his eggs are safe.

Harpies commonly share parental duties once the eggs arrive, and Vil is no different. He is incubating them and fiercely protective. So long as he has eggs, he is guarding them fiercely and hostile to everyone except his mate. He is constantly turning them, listening for any signs of movement, candling them to see how developed they are, and ensuring they stay warm. Vil is more stressed about the eggs than you are and he will ensure you also incubate them with him.

He is going through each and every emotional disruption with you because he is magically linked to his growing child in your body. Genies can procreate with every gender and sex, even without actually having sex. Genie infants- as they are developing- require intensive magic input from their Genie parent and are quite literally telepathically linked to their Genie parent. They are a literal accumulation of their Genie parent's magic in physical form.

Kalim knows your cravings before you do and will have food ready the moment you actually register you are craving something. He is also in synch with your mood swings because of his connection to his infant in your body. Every teary moment, every bout of anger, every elated emotion, all of it is felt and shared with Kalim. He actually gets morning sickness where you don't even slightly endure morning sickness. He will even know when the infant is moving around and will wince if they thrash their limbs inside of you. The actual birth is also a shared experience as Kalim will endure the lion's share of your birthing pains.

Riddle is in absolute and genuine agony when it come time to deliver the foal. You will have to have a C-section and Riddle will be an inconsolable mess the entire time. He is pacing, snorting, clacking his hooves, and ill tempered the entire time he is stuck away from your side. Holding his precious little Foal is going to make him break down in sobs as he is overcome with joy. He will take care of you and your Foal while insisting you rest for at least a full year. He is determined to keep you both safe.

Riddle is INSUFFERABLE while you are pregnant. His heart is in the right place, but you are likely to snap at him more than normal given his arm-chair parenting and matter-of-fact behavior. He is trying to plan your every meal and activity down to the last detail, so you will have to have a talk with him. He does it due to his anxiety and fear of not being a good father, but it is mainly to cover up his absolute and blinding anxiety. He is trying to control what he can to avoid thinking about what he can't control .

Malleus is the most ornery, ill-tempered, over-protective, territorial, and downright hostile Dragon while you are pregnant. Towards you, he is sweet, gentle, soft-spoken, compliant, indulging, and patient. Towards everyone else he is awful, though towards his Hoard (Lilia, Sebek, Silver, Maleficent, and Malefica) he is a lesser degree of ill-tempered but still noticeably shorter tempered. Anyone trying to get close to you will be met by a furious Malleus who hisses and rages until you are left alone again. Only medical professionals are tuly allowed near and even then Malleus has to be present the entire time.

Walking? I think not! Malleus will willingly be in his Dragon form to ferry you around. Very few are stupid enough to challenge a Dragon and even fewer would be so bold as to try and take a Dragon's heavily pregnant mate. Even after you deliver his eggs into existence, Malleus is an over-protective and territorial wreck. This is on top of the fact that the eggs hatch almost instantly due to the overwhelming outpouring of love and joy around them. They are squealing and longing to be held while Malleus is short-circuiting from more than doubling his Living Hoard in moments as his infant Dragons hatch in record time.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Larks and Being Sick

Cole

Will still try to push themself to perform, but even they have their limits

Conks the hell out when they’re sick, and they’ll sleep for hours (Perrine thought they died once)

Loses their voice. Thinks they’ll never be able to sing again.

Hand tremors won’t let them play their instrument

Gets flustered easily with a lot of affection and care (like if they have to be spoon fed because they’re too weak to hold a bowl themself)

Tries to deter cuddles because they don’t want to get anyone else sick

Emetophobic, and ends up making themself more sick by stressing out over possibly throwing up

Clementine

Super cuddly when they’re sick (usually SOMEONE gets sick after them because they were cuddling)

Mainly because they get really bad chills, so they just want to snuggle up to someone to keep warm

Quiet and mumbly

However, they will ramble deliriously when their fever gets too high

PILED with blankets (which Perrine will have to confiscate so they don’t get overheated, much to their dismay)

Kingsley

A big whiny baby when he’s sick

SUPER overdramatic

“I’M DYING!!!” “You have a cold.”

There’s sometimes a little bit of a “boy who cried wolf” situation with him, where he dramatizes how sick he is, but the others would never leave him to fend for himself, even after all the stuff he pulls for fun

When he has to be spoon fed because he’s too weak from the sickness, he’ll somehow find the strength to make a joke like “chop, chop, peasant!” (Perrine once considered pouring the water she was helping him drink over him)

When he’s really sick, he’s super lethargic, and it’s jarring to see him so worn out when he’s usually the most energetic in the group

Likes to lay his head into the lap of one of the others so they’ll play with his hair, soothing him

Will sometimes force himself into the lap of one of the others (mainly Perrine because she’s the big sibling of the group)

Perrine

Hates being taken care of, so she will act like she’s perfectly fine (she’s not)

Will refuse any and all help until she physically can’t move anymore—and even then, she’ll be stubborn

Pulls out the “but I’m the oldest!” card whenever anyone tries to take care of her

“You’re sick.” “No, I’m not.” “You’re burning up.” “I’m naturally warm.” “You’re shaking.” “It’s just a little cold.” “You literally just threw up.” “I meant to do that.”

She worries about the others when she’s sick in bed. What if something happens? What if they burn the house down while cooking?

Cuddly when she’s ill, but she doesn’t go out of her way to ask for any affection. However, she certainly won’t refuse any…

Easily becomes a little stir crazy from laying in bed. She also gets bored fast. She’s wasting so much time just laying around!

Wears her mask 24/7 to hide how pale and flushed she is from fever (the mask is making her sweat bullets)

Once threw up on stage and then passed out mid-performance because she underestimated how bad she felt (everyone was in a state of shock. she had to be dragged offstage by Cole and Clementine while Kingsley distracted the crowd)

Another time she was making breakfast for the group and fainted, and when she woke up, she was covered in oatmeal from managing to bring the bowl down with her

Would rather starve or die of dehydration than have one of the others spoon feed her

One time, ALL of the kids were sick at once, but Perrine pushed through it to take care of the others (she felt like death after, but anything for her friends)

[slattlicker]

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * chicken soup for the drama queen ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: you're too stubborn to admit you're sick. your roommate is too in love with you not to do something about it. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

﹒₊✦ a/n: was feeling a bit ill these past few days, so here's what came out of it.

content: illness, references to financial stress, soft caretaking, unspoken feelings, slowburn vibes

enjoy! (っ´▽｀)っ ♡

✧✧✧

the first thing he notices is the silence.

your room’s never quiet. there’s always something—music on low, movie dialogue bleeding through the wall, the occasional curse when you drop something. but tonight? nothing.

and your door’s still shut.

schlatt shifts on the couch, checking the time. you got home around six—he heard your keys. it’s past nine now. no snack raid. no sarcastic commentary on whatever dumb stream he’s got playing. just… silence.

something twists in his gut.

he gets up and knocks. once. twice. not hard.

 “hey. you good in there?”

silence—then, faintly:

 “yeah. just tired.”

but your voice is off. rough. like it hurts to speak.

his brow pulls together. “you sound like shit.”

you let out a dry puff of air that’s probably supposed to be a laugh. “thanks, man. real sweet.”

he hesitates. “you need anything?”

“…’m okay.”

you don’t sound okay.

but the door stays closed. and you don’t ask for help.

he tells himself it’s fine.

you’re independent. you’ve made that clear. don’t like pity. don’t want hovering. hate feeling like a burden. he gets it. respects it.

still—he can’t relax.

the stream’s still running on the tv, but he’s not watching it. his eyes keep flicking to the hallway. every little creak makes him sit up straighter.

still nothing.

no footsteps. no microwave. no bathroom door.

he waits.

ten minutes.

twenty.

by the hour mark, he’s pacing.

you don’t do this. you don’t go dark. not with him.

eventually, he ends up in the kitchen. it’s not snooping. it’s just… shared space.

the tea mug’s still out on the counter. cold.

there’s another one in the sink—full, untouched. a spoon beside it, sticky with honey.

he glances around.

empty cough drop wrappers. a flipped-over box of off-brand painkillers. that’s it.

no gatorade. no real meds. no sign of food.

his chest tightens.

of course you’re trying to wait it out with whatever’s left in the cabinet and sheer force of will.

because you can’t afford to get sick.

because even if you could see a doctor, you wouldn’t.

because you’re sick, and stubborn, and didn’t want to worry him.

he presses both hands to the counter, head dropping between his shoulders.

you’d mentioned it once. quiet. offhand. like it didn’t matter. said you didn’t have insurance anymore. that you were fine. that you knew how to manage.

and maybe you do. maybe you thought this would pass.

but schlatt’s seen people tough it out until they couldn’t. he’s been one of them. he knows what that kind of stubborn looks like.

he tells himself to let it go.

to respect your space.

that you’d ask if you really needed something.

he tells himself—

then he hears it.

a cough.

no—more than that. it starts low and turns violent. harsh. wet. like your lungs are trying to get something out they don’t have the strength to.

schlatt goes still. then straightens.

stares down the hallway like it’s personal.

fuck this.

he grabs his keys, his wallet, his phone—half-charged airpods jammed in his pocket. no jacket. no plan.

he’s out the door in seconds.

✧✧✧

the door clicks shut behind him as he kicks off his sneakers, arms full of grocery bags.

way too many bags.

he hadn’t meant to buy all this, but every aisle had something that might help—and every time he thought about leaving, he grabbed one more thing.

now he’s hauling in two kinds of soup, actual medicine, fancy tissues, menthol rub, electrolyte drinks, a microwavable sloth, and a soft blanket he definitely didn’t mean to buy but somehow did.

he dumps everything onto the counter, digging for the receipt like maybe that’ll help him spin the total into something under twenty bucks.

then he pauses.

the silence is heavier now. no cough, but the air’s thick with it—like something's waiting.

he knocks again. softer this time.

 “hey. got something for you.”

no answer.

he shifts. “stuff. for your throat.”

still nothing.

"that wasn't...supposed to sound dirty. I mean like, medicine stuff."

he exhales, jaw tight.

“okay. real talk? i know you’re sick. i know you didn’t wanna say anything, but i heard you. and i just blew seventy bucks on cough syrup, emotional support soup, and a whole lot of other shit, so if you make me stand out here like a loser—”

click.

the door opens a crack.

you’re flushed, damp, eyes glassy. you rasp, “hi.”

his chest does a whole thing he doesn’t have time to unpack.

“hey,” he says, voice light. “there she is.”

you try to smile. it dies in a coughing fit so brutal he actually flinches.

that’s it. game over.

he opens the door the rest of the way. “alright. that’s enough. you’re being kidnapped.”

“huh?”

and before you can further protest, he has one arm hooked behind your knees as he lifts you. you make a noise halfway between a groan and a sigh as your cheek hits his shoulder.

he shouldn’t like how you fit against him. he really, really shouldn’t.

“schlatt! this is ridiculous! let me go!”

“yeah, well,” he mutters, trying not to sound winded, “so is coughing yourself to death alone in your room. suck it up.”

you don’t argue again.

you just let him carry you down the hall, bare feet swinging, face half-buried in his hoodie. he can feel your fingers bunch in the fabric of his hoodie. his jaw tightens.

he’s not supposed to care like this.

you’re roommates. just roommates. and yeah, you’re smart, and funny, and impossible to ignore—but that doesn’t mean anything.

except your forehead’s burning against his collarbone. your fingers are still curled tight in his hoodie. and when he sets you down on the couch, you look too tired to even sit up on your own.

so no, he’s not doing great.

he grabs the soft blanket off the pile, drapes it over your legs, tucks it around your ankles like it’ll help.

he sets you down on the couch like you’ll fall apart if he moves too fast.

you groan, immediately trying to sit up, but your limbs aren’t having it. you end up slumping sideways with the blanket halfway around your legs, looking both miserable and annoyed.

schlatt bends to adjust it. you swat at his hand.

“i can do it myself.”

“yeah, clearly,” he mutters, still tugging the blanket into place.

you shoot him a look, hoarse but sharp. “you really went full florence nightingale, huh?”

he blinks. “i don’t even know who that is.”

“google it,” you rasp. then you shift again, tugging the blanket tighter, cheeks flushing—not from the fever this time. “you picked me up.”

“you were wobbling.”

“i was walking.”

“barely.”

you roll your eyes and pull your knees to your chest. “you didn’t need to buy all that crap, either.”

he crosses his arms, brows lifting. “cool. i’ll go return the sloth, then.”

“you know what i mean.” you gesture vaguely toward the kitchen. “soup? meds? fancy tissues with aloe?”

“okay, but the aloe ones were on sale. that was actually a good deal.”

you snort, and then immediately wince, one hand flying to your ribs as a cough punches its way out of you.

his face falls a little.

“you alright?”

you nod, breathless. “that’s what i was trying to tell you, dumbass. i’m fine.”

“you’re very obviously not.”

“you’re making it a bigger deal than it is.”

he crouches down in front of the couch again, hands braced on his knees. “you were holed up in your room all night, sounding like you were hacking up a lung. what was i supposed to do? ignore it?”

“yes.”

“well, tough shit.”

your eyes narrow. his don’t flinch.

for a second, it’s a standoff.

then you sigh, letting your head drop back against the armrest. “you always do this.”

he tilts his head. “do what?”

“this—this whole thing where you act all casual, but the second something’s wrong, you go into emergency mode and buy half a pharmacy.”

“i didn’t buy half a pharmacy,” he mutters, because deflecting is easier than admitting he’s panicking.

you don’t answer. just stare at the ceiling like you’re already regretting this whole interaction.

he exhales, quieter this time. “i wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”

“still did.”

“i just—” he pauses, fingers drumming lightly on his knee. “i don’t like hearing you like that. you sounded bad.”

you don’t say anything. just huff and look away from him.

✧✧✧

the smell hits first—chicken broth, garlic, something vaguely gingery.

you peek open one eye.

schlatt walks over holding a wooden tray like it’s some sacred offering. bowl of soup, spoon, napkin, and a mug of tea balanced beside it.

“you’re kidding,” you mutter.

he sets the tray down on the coffee table and nudges it closer. “you need to eat.”

“i’m not hungry.”

“it’s soup. you don’t have to be hungry.”

you glare at the tray like it personally insulted you. “i’m not a toddler.”

“nope,” he says, plopping down on the floor beside the couch. “just acting like one.”

you scoff. “are you serious right now?”

he picks up the spoon, scoops a small bite, and holds it out like a peace offering. “open up.”

“oh my god.”

“you’re being dramatic.”

“i don’t need to be fed, schlatt.”

“you’ve barely moved in two hours,” he says flatly. “and every time you cough it sounds like your lungs are trying to quit. so yeah—just for today? i’m gonna treat you like someone who needs help.”

you cross your arms. “this is condescending.”

“well...you’re being a brat,” he snaps—then immediately softens. “look. i get it. you’re sick, and miserable, and stubborn as hell. but i didn’t stand in line behind a guy who bought nothing but beef jerky and condoms just to have you glare at a bowl of soup.”

that actually makes you huff a laugh—one weak, scratchy breath through your nose.

he holds the spoon out again. “just eat the soup, you sick little drama queen.”

you roll your eyes, but your expression cracks.

then, slowly—grudgingly—you lean forward and take the bite.

schlatt watches you chew like he’s monitoring a science experiment.

“see?” he says. “not poisoned. well, it might be. but it's the tastiest poison you'll ever have.”

“it’s...fine,” you mutter.

“high praise,” he says, but he’s smiling now.

the next spoonful comes easier. then another. he feeds you slow, careful, with little pauses when you cough or your eyes flutter closed for too long.

and before long, the soup is gone.

you blink at the empty bowl, a little surprised. schlatt sets it aside without comment, like this is just something he does. like carrying you, feeding you, sitting through your snark—all of it is just normal.

you sag against the cushions, worn out but warm. the blanket’s still wrapped around your shoulders, heavy and comforting. your whole body aches. even sitting up feels like a chore.

he watches you for a moment.

then shifts closer. “alright. one more thing.”

you groan. “unless you’re about to carry me to a second location, i think i’m good.”

he says nothing.

and then—gently, like it’s no big deal—he slips an arm behind your back.

you freeze. “wait—wait, schlatt—”

“just lean on me,” he murmurs. “you’re not walking like this.”

“i can walk,” you protest, but your voice is too tired to sound convincing.

he huffs. not annoyed. just... certain.

“but you don’t have to.”

he shifts his grip, hooks one arm under your knees again, and lifts you before you can come up with a better argument.

your hands catch in his hoodie out of reflex. you don’t fight it.

his chest is warm. his hold is steady. he doesn’t say anything smug or teasing, doesn’t call you helpless. just carries you like it’s automatic.

like you’ve always belonged in his arms.

the hallway lights are dim. the candlelight from the bathroom glows ahead, soft and pink. you smell the bath bomb before you see the tub—sugar-sweet, something like strawberries and milk.

when you round the corner, your breath catches.

the water’s already drawn. bubbles thick and glossy, music humming low through his phone on the counter. a flickering candle. a clean towel folded nearby. one of your dumb face masks sitting on the edge of the tub, like he figured he’d give you options.

you stare. “you—what the hell—”

“don’t get mad,” he says quietly, adjusting his hold so your feet don’t bump the doorframe. “you looked like you needed it.”

you blink, throat tight.

“i cleaned the tub, too,” he adds. “ran the water while making the soup…so it should be perfectly warm by now. put in the pink bath thing. figured it smelled the least like a headache.”

you let out a slow breath. your head tips slightly against his collarbone.

“okay,” you whisper. “fine. i give up.”

he smiles—not wide, not smug. just soft. relieved.

he bends to set you down, careful as ever, letting you slide down into a seated position on the edge of the tub.

“i’m gonna go wait out in the hall, yeah?” he murmurs. “take your time.”

you nod. too tired to speak. he reaches out, tugs the blanket from your shoulders gently, and brushes your hair back from your face before stepping away.

the door closes with a quiet click.

and schlatt sinks down onto the floor just outside, leaning back against the wall, knees bent, hands loose in his lap.

he hears the cd player click on, then the opening notes of one of your aesthetic playlists—the one you swore wasn’t for sick days, but always put on when you needed to reset. something soft and ambient, just enough rhythm to carry you.

then, finally, a long, slow sigh. and the faint swish of water as you settle into the bath.

he tips his head back against the wall and lets out a quiet breath.

you’re actually letting yourself relax. letting yourself be taken care of. 

✧✧✧

after a moment, he pushes to his feet, glancing down the hall toward the living room—then the other direction, toward the guest bathroom. his, technically. he slips into it without a sound, running the fastest shower of his life.

by the time he steps back out, his hair’s damp, curls pushed back messily. a soft, worn t-shirt clings slightly to his chest and shoulders, paired with a pair of grey sweatpants that hang just a bit too low on his hips. he wipes condensation off his face with a towel as he pads barefoot toward your room.

he knocks once—habit, even though you’re not in there—and nudges the door open.

your room’s dark, warm, a little cluttered. familiar. he moves carefully, scanning until he spots your favorite pajamas in a half-folded pile on your desk chair—plaid pants and a big hoodie you always stole from him during laundry mix-ups. he gathers them up without fuss and takes them straight to the dryer. warm clothes are always nice, especially when you’re sick.

while the dryer hums in the background, he turns his attention to the living room.

the pillow fort comes together slowly, layer by layer—half couch, half blanket nest, all held together with throw pillows and intention. he pulls the big comforter from his own bed and spreads it out, folding the edges into a makeshift wall. he layers it with every other soft thing he can find—fleece, flannel, that weird quilt your mom gave you that neither of you like but somehow ended up keeping.

in the corner of the nest, he tucks one of those microwavable animal-shaped heat packs, already warm. the tv stays on, volume low, playing something familiar and mindless. the air smells faintly like menthol, laundry soap, and candle wax.

it looks... ridiculous. but cozy.

he checks the dryer. still going.

for a minute, he just stands there, arms crossed, staring down the hallway toward the bathroom. the light’s still on. music still playing.

he walks over quietly. pauses just outside.

doesn’t knock. doesn’t speak. just rests a hand against the doorframe and listens.

you're still in there. the water shifts gently, no coughing. no wheezing. just the occasional sound of you moving—slow, calm, like your body’s finally loosened up, and you’re just getting restless now.

he heads back to the laundry and pulls the warm pajamas out of the dryer—folded against the heat of the metal drum.

and then he pads back down the hall, blanket over one arm, your clothes in the other, ready to collect his girl from the bath.

not that you’re his. obviously.

but still.

✧✧✧

by the time the water drains and the music cuts off, schlatt’s already outside the bathroom door—standing barefoot on the tile, pajamas bundled in one arm, towel folded over the other. he hears you shift, soft steps against the mat. the lock clicks.

he taps the door lightly with the back of his knuckle. “hey. you decent?”

“yeah,” you croak. your voice is wrecked, but calmer. less strained.

he cracks the door open just enough to pass the bundle through without looking. “told you i’d heat up your pjs. straight from the dryer.”

there’s a pause. the brush of fabric changing hands. then a soft, tired, “…thanks.”

he’s already halfway turning away when you add, “you didn’t have to—”

“if you object one more time to me taking care of you,” he calls over his shoulder, “i’m gonna smother you with a warm towel, y/n.”

you huff a laugh. he grins to himself.

“meet me at the sink,” he says. “i’ve got one last thing.”

✧✧✧

he’s already brushing his teeth when he hears the bathroom door creak open behind him.

even without looking, he knows it’s you.

you’ve always used his bathroom when you’re sick—claimed the mirror was less judgmental, the sink was bigger, the lighting made you feel less like a corpse. he stopped arguing after the third time and just started scooting over without being asked.

he glances at you in the mirror, catching the pink flush in your cheeks, the hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, the towel around your neck. damp hair. tired eyes. you look… better. softer. but still wobbly in that way that makes something in his chest clench a little.

“well, well,” he says around a mouthful of foam, “if it isn’t the bubble bath drama queen.”

you scowl at him and mutter something that sounds like “don’t start,” but your toothbrush is already in your hand, so he shifts to make room.

you brush side by side in comfortable silence for a moment. the only sounds are the soft shhk of bristles and the quiet hum of the fan.

schlatt glances at your reflection. foam clings to your chin, your cheeks are puffed out, and somehow you still manage to look smug.

“you’re drooling,” he says.

you point your toothbrush at him, eyes narrowing like you’re lining up a shot.

“say, how many martinis have you had?”

he grins around his toothpaste. “this’ll make six.”

“perfect,” you say through the foam. “bring me five more. line them up by the floss.”

he nearly chokes laughing, mouth full of mint.

you’re already grinning like an idiot, spit pooling in the corner of your mouth. neither of you look remotely dignified.

he wipes his face on a towel. “you know we sound insane, right?”

“speak for yourself, nick.”

he tosses the towel at you. “you started it.”

“please,” you scoff. “you’re the one who made me watch the thin man three times in a week.”

“because it’s perfect,” he says, like it’s a fact. “you just like nora because she bullies everyone.”

“and drinks before noon,” you say, rinsing.

he grins, crooked and foamy. “you saying you relate?”

you swat his arm with your toothbrush and mutter, “line up the martinis and find out.”

it’s ridiculous. but it’s comfortable. a routine that somehow turned into ritual.

he watches you smile around the rinse water, and his heart does something stupid.

when it settles again, you hesitate.

then, quietly: “hey.”

he glances over, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “yeah?”

you’re looking at the sink when you say it. “sorry i didn’t ask for help.”

his hands still.

you rush to add, “it’s not that i didn’t trust you. i just… i didn’t want it to be a whole thing. i didn’t wanna make you deal with it.”

he watches you for a beat, then scoffs, tossing his toothbrush back into the cup.

“yeah, well. too bad. you got soup, a bath, and unsolicited plushies out of it. i win.”

you huff a breath that’s almost a laugh. “thanks.”

“don’t get sappy,” he warns, turning toward you.

you roll your eyes. “i’m serious.”

“so am i.”

and before you can argue or say something clever, he steps closer, slips an arm around your back, and hooks the other under your knees.

you gasp. “are you carrying me again?!”

“victory lap,” he says, already lifting you off your feet. “for surviving your dramatic death-cold, so far.”

“schlatt—!”

“you’ll ruin the surprise if you keep yelling.”

✧✧✧

he rounds the hallway corner into the living room.

and when you see it, you go quiet.

he feels your body go still in his arms, hears the tiny breath you pull in.

the couch has been completely transformed—pillows stacked high along the backrest, every blanket in the apartment layered into a soft, uneven nest. one of those microwavable heating animals sits near the center, already warm. your favorite mug is on the table. a pack of saltines. the bottle of cough syrup. a hoodie in case you got cold. the tv’s playing something familiar and low-effort, barely more than background noise.

he looks down at you.

your eyes are wide. you’re not saying anything.

“ta-da,” he says, trying not to sound too proud of himself.

you turn your head toward him, a little slow, like you’re still processing.

“you did all this while i was in the bath?”

he shrugs. “told you i had one more thing.”

you’re staring at him now. really staring. and he tries to play it cool, even though his face feels warm under your gaze. he shifts you gently in his arms, pretending it’s to fix his grip.

“you’re insane,” you murmur.

“i know,” he says. “now shut up and let me tuck you in.”

he lowers you carefully into the center of the fort. you don’t resist. just sink in, limp with exhaustion, surrounded on all sides by softness. he pulls the blanket over your lap, adjusts the pillow behind your back, and gives the heating pad a little nudge toward your side.

you exhale like your bones are melting.

and schlatt just… watches for a second. makes sure you’re warm. comfortable. breathing easy.

then he clears his throat and shifts his weight, still crouched beside the couch.

“you want me to stay?” he asks. quiet. casual.

you nod, slow. “yeah. if you want.”

he does.

but first—he reaches over to the coffee table and grabs the bottle of cough syrup, holding it up like a peace offering.

“you gotta take this first.”

you groan. “do i have to?”

he gives you a look. “if i built a fort and ran a bath and let you call me nick charles in my own bathroom, you can choke down one tablespoon.”

you scrunch your nose and take the bottle.

he hands you a spoon and your tea to chase it. watches you sip it back with a dramatic shudder like he just poisoned you. you hand him back the empty spoon with the air of someone accepting her tragic fate.

he chuckles, puts the bottle down, and wipes his hands on his sweatpants.

then:

 “mind if i get in?”

you don’t answer with words. just lift the edge of the blanket and scoot a little to the side, making space.

that’s all the invitation he needs.

he climbs in beside you, careful not to jostle anything. the fort shifts under his weight, the blankets folding around both of you.

his legs stretch long, shoulders hunched a little to fit the space. his arm braces behind you on instinct, meant for balance more than contact—

until you lean into him.

your cheek finds his shoulder. your fingers curl lightly into the fabric of his shirt. and when you don’t pull back, he lets his arm settle around your waist, slow and certain.

you breathe in, soft and slow.

“this is really nice,” you murmur, voice all worn edges.

he swallows. “yeah?”

you nod against him. “all of it. you didn’t have to… go so hard.”

his lips twitch. “you saying you don’t usually get gourmet soup and sloth-shaped heating pads?”

you huff a laugh, weak but real. “not usually, no.”

then, quieter: “thanks for taking care of me.”

he doesn’t say anything right away. just shifts a little closer, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you. your legs brush. your breathing slows again.

you murmur something too soft to catch.

he leans in slightly.

but by the time he tries to ask, your body’s already gone still—head resting against his chest, hand curled in the fabric of his shirt, breath warm and even.

you’re asleep.

and now he’s the one wide awake.

the tv flickers gently in the background. your weight is tucked into his side like you were always meant to be there. and his heart? loud. ridiculous. unignorable.

he stares at the ceiling. breathes in. lets it sit on his tongue.

then—soft, just above a whisper—he says it:

“god. i’m already yours, y/n. you don’t even know.”

you don’t stir.

but his arm stays wrapped around you, gentle and steady, until sleep finally pulls him under, too.

[reiderwriter]

Well, Are You Mine?

Final Chapter of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Spencer adjusts to fatherhood alone.

Warnings: Angst, hopeful ending, mentions Canon character death (Gideon), mentions of new parent stress, single parenthood, etc.

A/N: I'm back! The final chapter is finally here, and I'm so very happy!! Thank you all for waiting patiently while I recovered from my illness. It's monsoon season here right now, so I've been hit with just depressing wave after wave of coughs, colds, fevers, and general rainy season ailments. But now this is finished! Thank you for joining ke on this three month journey. I'll be publishing a much happier, much fluffier epilogue within the week, so please look forward to that~♡ Without further ado, The End.

In the six weeks since his daughter had been born, Spencer Reid had experienced what he could solidly call the most terrifying weeks of his life.

The baby cried, and his heart beat out of his chest. Rain or shine, fully awake or fully knocked out, a single gargle or a full on scream and he was sprinting to her side to coo her back to blissful sleep, or to change her, or just to hold her close.

In the six weeks up to her birth, he'd pointedly avoided parenting books on the whole, doing his best to drown out all the memories from reading similar books when JJ was pregnant. Every memory stung as he clawed his way back to the family that was prematurely ripped from him.

But the baby was here now. The baby was safe, and the baby was crying, which he knew was absolutely healthy and nothing to worry about, and completely and totally fine, except it dropped his heart to his stomach everytime she did it.

It wasn't as if your daughter was a particularly fussy child. She was a newborn, she was a healthy weight and size, and the doctors who had checked her over at the hospital after her birth had reassured him multiple times that she was totally healthy. A miracle, all things considered.

And she was his miracle. For six weeks, she'd been his little wonder.

The team had banded together to fix up his apartment while she'd been observed in the hospital for the first few days of her life.

He'd sat and watched her through the newborn window at the hospital while Penelope had cleaned up his apartment, and Luke had built him a crib.

Emily and JJ had gone hunting for baby clothes and found probably a lifetime supply of 0-3 months, 3-6 months, and 6-9 months babygrows, t-shirts, dresses, and matching little hair bows for everything.

The first time he'd seen the socks, he'd broken down.

Arriving back with his newborn daughter to his apartment, he'd carried her to her new room, desk removed and crib added, though the walls were still shelved with books he really needed to do something with. He'd opened the sock drawer and been faced with a drawer full of single socks. There wasn't a matching pair in sight.

He'd pulled his daughter into his arms and held her close as the tears fell once again.

It had been six weeks since you'd delivered your first baby, and Spencer was sure that if you had the opportunity, you'd be cussing him out continuously.

Because as much as he doted on his daughter, his sweet baby, who he swore was already smiling sweetly up at him each time she grabbed his pinkie with her whole tiny fist, he had still not given her a a name.

“We can't just call her baby,” Emily complained to him after three days, already getting restless with Spencer's lack of decisiveness.

“I won't name her without Y/N,” he'd replied, and Emily had shut her mouth, not willing to open up that can of worms around him just yet. The sudden silence whenever he mentioned you was deafening. Spencer felt the team growing rigid each time he said something even slightly hopeful, then gently tried to lead him back to being ‘realistic.’

It had been six weeks since you'd given birth, and smiled at him sweetly as you brought you'd daughter into the world and six weeks since you'd quietly slipped into a peaceful coma.

The first week, he'd been told to prepare himself for the worst. The second week, he'd been told there was nothing more that they could do.

But in the third week, you'd moved. Just your hand, just a twitch, but a sign of life the doctors had been trying to convince him wasn't there before.

In the fourth week, you'd recovered enough to be taken off the ventilator.

You were clawing your way back to consciousness, readying yourself to meet your precious, sweet baby.

In the sixth week after Spencer Reid became a father, he took his daughter back to the hospital to meet her mother again. With some expert baby-sitting from Penelope, he'd managed to visit you once every two days at least in the last few months, but with the little-one still only small, hospital visits to trauma wards weren't exactly recommended.

When they'd transferred you to a regular ward, he'd packed his bags immediately and gathered the baby up, strapping her into her carrier and waiting desperately for visiting hours to begin.

After thirty minutes, he made a call.

“Emily? Can I… can we get a ride?”

Of course, she'd agreed. While no one else had been letting themselves hope, they had absolutely been at his beck and call. He'd been swamped with guilt calling JJ at 3am asking how to settle you because he'd tried everything, and constantly relying on Penelope to come and help him and Luke and Emily, picking up extra hours to finish his paperwork because his paternity leave still hadn't been approved.

He felt guilty, overwhelmed, and stressed, and he needed you to wake up so goddamn much that he feared if he got any bad news, he would shatter. And he didn't know how to be a father, because really he hadn't had one before he was 20 and Gideon became his, and even he had left when things got hard. So how could he be sure he wouldn't.

So he hadn't given his daughter a name. And, yes, it was because he wanted to do it with you, to pick out a name together, but also it was because he didn't think he could stand knowing it if he was too weak and ran from her.

The pressure built and built for six weeks, as he fell in love with his daughter, who deserved better than his love, and then Emily pulled up in his car, and he started sobbing.

“Spencer!” Emily exclaimed, not expecting the outburst at all, the loneliness of the last five months catching up to him finally.

“Emily… Emily, I'm a terrible father-”

“No! No, sweetie, you're-”

“My daughter doesn't have a name!”

Emily switched the engine off and then grabbed Spencer's shoulder, roughly turning him to face her if he wouldn't meet her in the eyes.

“You have survived this job for nearly two decades. You have survived gunshots, and murderers, and loss that I can not begin to comprehend, and you love that child. You are grieving, and you are stressed, and it is so totally, completely normal to not be okay after everything you've been through,” Emily held her breath, waiting for his reply. Just as he opened his mouth to whisper more doubts, the baby in the back seat began to fuss and cry.

Unable to stop himself, Spencer laughed. Emily laughed with him. They sat giggling in the car together, tears in their eyes as his daughter kicked up a fuss.

“She doesn't like hearing you talk badly about her daddy,” Emily joked and started the engine again.

When Spencer finally made it to your room, his daughter had stopped fussing. A quick bottle in the parking lot had mollified her, and she was gurgling softly now, still pink, her eyes tightly closed. He'd dressed her up nicely, or as nicely as he could muster. A cute pink newborn dress for his tiny baby and a matching pink hair bow.

He gathered the baby carrier in his arms and let the hospital doors open for him.

Finding your new ward wasn't hard. The nurses were helpful enough and honestly, he'd taken a look at the building blueprints weeks before, when he'd been obsessing over every small detail of your care, so he practically knew the route by himself.

Straight, then a left turn, then straight again, and a right turn and keep going until there was a final turn into your ward.

He let out a deep sigh as soon as he reached the nurses station and readied himself to ask for you.

“Hello, I'm here to see my Y/N, I was told she was transferred here this morning?”

The nurses on the station looked up at him in shock and blinked at him a few times before speaking up. If ever there was a time to hear the words “you haven't heard?” uttered from the mouth of a nurse in a hospital where your comatose girlfriend was being treated, then it likely wasn't when he held a newborn in his already weak arms.

The panic set in quickly as he tuned the noise out. An older nurse walked around the side of the desk to comfort him, sticking by his side and grabbing the baby carrier before he could accidentally let it go in his shock.

Another nurse came to his side to take care of the baby, and quickly, they both ushered him down another hall to an adjacent ward. He drowned out every word as they tried to comfort and reassure him, his brain jumping to the worst conclusions.

His teammates were right when they said he shouldn't hope. He needed to be realistic now. If you were gone, he had to call your family and organize the funeral. He had to pack up your stuff. He had to settle the hospital bills and decide how you would be seen off.

He had to name his daughter.

The nurses pushed him towards the room quickly, and he mentally prepared himself to say goodbye, but as the doors swung open, he saw you, and he fell to his knees.

“Spencer?”

In the two hours since you'd woken up, you'd been poked, prodded, hydrated, fed, rubbed down, and spoken over like you were still somewhat asleep.

No one had explained exactly what had happened, and no one explained where your baby was, and you'd kicked and screamed yourself hoarse, as the doctors noted down that you still had use of your vocal chords and all four limbs.

So seeing Spencer crash into your room at full force through your tear filled eyes was the best experience you'd had in months, especially when you spotted the nurse with the baby sized car seat coming in behind him.

“Is that my baby? Is that my baby? Please-” You pushed sheets off your body as a nurse tried to hold you still, not wanting you to pull the IV from your arm or the oxygen tubes from your face.

And suddenly Spencer was there, and he'd regained his strength, and his hope, and his happiness because you were awake, and talking and god you remembered.

It was all he could do not to grab you, bundle you up, and carry you away to safety, but the nurse propping you up was stern-looking, and he had a daughter to tend to.

He pulled your face into his hands and kissed you as softly as he could, holding back his emotion as he held you like you would break, feeling your wet tears on his skin.

“I missed you,” he whispered, dropping his forehead to yours as he gently stepped back and allowed the nurses to help you get comfortable.

Then he turned quickly and grabbed your daughter, and your breath caught in your throat as he held her out to you.

“What do I…? Where should I put my hands- Oh god, I'm so unprepared, I-” your eyes welled again, but it was joy as you saw her serene little sleeping face for the first time and he slowly lowered her into your arms. It turns out, no-one needed to help you out holding her at all, because she was so precious and perfect and yours that she slotted into your arms completely, like it was a spot made completely for her, like you'd been purpose made to hold her and be her mother and love her and cherish her.

You cried and looked up at Spencer and laughed. He rested on the side of the bed and pulled you into his arms, and you felt that completeness a second time, and you knew that you were made for him the way she was made for you.

Your family.

It had almost been taken for you, but it was yours, and it was fate.

With a quiet whisper that only Spencer could hear, you leant down to your baby's ear and said your first words to her.

“I wish that I could be your mother in every lifetime, my sweet Angel.”

[uvobreakmylegs]

Imminent

part 2 of the werewolf Nobunaga fic! also in case it wasn't clear in the first part the time period is meant to resemble the mid 1800s

werewolf!Nobunaga x female!reader

Part 1

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, noncon, brief mention of teratophilia, reader is extremely passive

Word Count: 15.3k

“Are you certain that man was shot?”

The voice that came up from behind had you pause, slowly bringing down the ax that you had been using to chop up the larger pieces of firewood. Doctor Mayhew had just exited your cabin, and he approached you with an odd look on his face.

It took you a moment to answer his question, but you nodded soon after as you repeated what you had told him when you had met him in town.

“Nobunaga was bleeding from two different places. And the blood that came from his side wound is still all over his trousers,” you pointed out.

“I see.”

Mayhew stopped before you with a slight huff as he placed his hands on his hips.

“Well, while he certainly has a few injuries, they don't appear to be the life threatening ones that you told me they were,” said the doctor, “in fact, he's in better shape than most of the men I've seen this week.”

“…. Oh…..”

You weren't sure what else to say to that, especially since you were picking up the irritation that was now surrounding the doctor. If what he said was correct, perhaps there was some justification for that; you had pulled him away from Willsden to tend to Nobunaga, a man that you said had been on the brink of death. Yet the doctor had spent less than five minutes with him before coming out to declare to you that he was fine. Given the situation happening in the town that you had only learned of that day, Mayhew wasn't entirely wrong to be unhappy.

Nobunaga had been close to dying when you had found him, though. That was a certainty.

Mayhew huffed again.

“Well, since this is done, I need to head back to town,” he said, “I have patients that are in need of help.”

This was a waste of my time, he seemed to be saying.

“I-I see. Thank you for coming anyway,” you told him.

He just nodded at you before turning to begin the journey back to the village.

“Did you need anything before you leave?” you called after him.

“No thank you,” came the curt reply.

…. He wasn't happy with you. That much was clear.

Mayhew left, trudging back through the snow while you were left feeling confused and a bit foolish. You hadn't meant to exaggerate, nor had you thought you were doing so. The state Nobunaga had been in when you first saw him was still fresh in your mind. With those injuries and all that blood that he lost, you were certain that he needed a doctor.

Putting the ax down against the stump, you headed for the cabin. You wanted to hear from Nobunaga what had happened.

When you entered the wooden structure, you could immediately see why Mayhew had left irritated:

Nobunaga didn't appear to be ill or injured in the slightest.

It felt odd. It had only been a little over a week since the blizzard ended and during that time, Nobunaga's entire state of being had changed drastically. He no longer looked the part of someone on the brink of death. The man you had found when you first laid eyes on him – the sickly pale man with multiple bloody wounds and a knife in his side – was gone, replaced by one with color in his cheeks, no apparent pains coming from those wounded areas and with no issues pulling himself out of bed when he needed to. He was eager to do so, actually, as he eventually made a point to get up and walk about the cabin every few hours while he stressed to you that it was better for him if he pushed himself in order to regain his strength.

It was no different now, as you saw him sitting near the fire, his legs stretched out while he leaned back on his arms, his eyes focused on the burning pile of wood that would soon need to be replenished.

Nobunaga turned his head in your direction when he heard the door open, and he smiled once he saw you standing there.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey,” you began before asking “what…. What happened?”

Nobunaga shrugged.

“Nothing much. He looked me over and said I'll be fine as long as the wounds stay clean.”

“Oh.”

Nobunaga's eyebrows furrowed, and he repositioned himself so that he could lean forward as he asked “is something wrong?”

“Ah, well,” you began as you stepped into the cabin and shut the door behind you so no more of the cold would enter.

“The doctor said that you were in better shape than most of the people he had seen recently,” you finished.

One of Nobunaga's eyebrows lifted as he asked “isn't that a good thing?”

“Yes, of course it it,” you said, “but… How is that possible?”

Even though you saw him before you, lounging about in good health and good spirits, you still saw in him the way he had been previously: half frozen and covered in blood with distant look in his eye as he was surely sitting on death's door. You truly didn't understand how he had changed from that so quickly, nor how Mayhew seemed to not believe that he had been injured to that extent.

You continued, saying “you were almost dead when I found you. I don't understand how you've recovered that quickly.”

Nobunaga scratched the back of his head, his gaze aimed away from you. Perhaps he didn't even know, you thought to yourself.…. You shouldn't be putting stress like that on a man that's still recovering, you thought to yourself. Even if he is doing better than expected.

“I'm sorry,” you then said, seemingly much to his surprise.

“I suppose I'm just confused,” you added, “that entire day and the ones that followed were rather strange. But you don't need to worry about that.”

“No, it's…..”

Nobunaga's voice trailed off, as he didn't seem to know what to say to you.

“Maybe…. Maybe the care you gave me was a lot better than you realized,” he then said, “and that's what helped me get better so fast.”

“But I didn't do anything other than change bandages and keep the wounds clean,” you said.

“Maybe that was enough,” he answered as he shrugged.

“… Oh.”

You weren't sure what to say. Largely because what he was telling you didn't sound entirely right; surely it wasn't that easy to overcome the injuries brought on by bullet wounds. But by all accounts, Nobunaga appeared to be fine. So maybe he was right and what little you were able to do had been enough.

Or maybe Nobunaga was just incredibly lucky the wounds just happened to not become worse over time. That seemed a bit more likely in your mind over anything you might have done.

Oh well. As long as he was healthy, that was all that mattered, wasn't it?

“Did you finish chopping up the wood?” Nobunaga then asked, his gaze once more going to the fire.

Right. You knew you were forgetting something.

“No, I didn't. I thought I'd get some of that done while doctor Mayhew was looking you over, but he finished with you faster than I was expecting,” you explained. You then turned around, preparing to head back outside as you added “I shouldn't be out long.”

But before you left, Nobunaga said “I could do that if you wanted.”

You glanced back at him as you smiled and shook your head.

“Even if you are fine now, it's better not to tempt fate by making you do something arduous,” you explained, “just relax for now. I'll be finished soon.”

“Besides,” you added, “you aren't dressed for the cold at the moment.”

All Nobunaga had were those ratty trousers and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and he seemed to concede when you brought up that point. But even still, Nobunaga seemed disappointed as he rested his elbow on his knee, leaning his chin on his hand.

Worried that he was uncomfortable, you said “I can always run back to town to get you clothes after I'm finished.”

He raised his eyebrow at you again.

“You already went there once today. I'm not making you do that again,” he said, “you're tired too, aren't you?”

Nobunaga was right. You were tired. Even though a week had passed, you still felt the ache that had been brought about after you'd dragged him through the forest. Today hadn't been any good on your legs, walking a total of 16 miles going and coming from Willsden. All you wanted to do was sit down next to Nobunaga and let the heat from the fire soothe the aches in your limbs.

But then how would you keep the fire going when you had nothing else to feed it?

“I'll be alright,” you told him, “and then tomorrow, I'll head out early to the town and get you some suitable clothing.”

Nobunaga accepted that with a small nod of his head.

With a plan seemingly in place, you returned to the outside. But when you closed the door behind you and caught once last glimpse of Nobunaga, that image came again: of the dying man who needed help, a knife in his side.

The door shut firmly, and you stood still for a moment as you remembered that part.

The knife. The thing that fell out of his side – presumably a bullet – that was meant to take his life.

And then there was the way he'd been digging it out of himself.

He'd been desperate to get it out.

Part of you wanted to ask why, as even in a crazed state, you couldn't imagine what would compel someone to do such a thing. But then again, you'd never experienced being in that sort of mindset, so who knew the ways in which it had made sense in his head during that time. He likely didn't even remember doing it, and despite that part that wanted to ask, you kept yourself from doing so. Nobunaga either wouldn't remember or you would bring up a painful memory for him.

You didn't want to do that to him.

After all that he had been through, you wanted to make sure you protected his well being. Both physical and mental.

Due to the way you had hurried to get the doctor the day prior, you hadn't noticed it then. But on your subsequent trip to Willsden that next day, you felt that a grim atmosphere had settled over the town. The people who were outside looked sullen as you walked past, as though some great weight was upon them. You also noticed something else that you hadn't before: two of the homes on your way in to the town had their doorways boarded up. There were no signs of life within those buildings.

While wondering how you hadn't noticed something that obvious yesterday, you also wondered what exactly had happened.

Your answer came from the clerk sitting at the general store's register:

A monster had attacked.

Before the blizzard, he had said, a beast had descended on the town late into the night, breaking into the two homes you had seen boarded up and killing the inhabitants within them before others in the town could come to their rescue. A group that formed to kill the monster chased it into the woods, where three more perished before the blacksmith took it out with two shots.

Although the blacksmith had been successful in felling the monster, a total of seven people had died. Children had lost parents and spouses had lost their loved ones, and just about everyone within the town had been friends with a few of those who were lost. It was hard for most to feel good about the victory when the town had suffered in such a way. Now what most were doing was their utmost to ensure that such a tragedy would never happen again.

“I suppose we can't make fun of the blacksmith for his superstitions anymore,” the clerk said, their tone trying to be lighter as they said “doesn't feel right to mock it when it was his own special bullets that killed the thing.”

“And you're certain that it died?” you asked.

“Well, they didn't find the body,” they admitted, “but by all accounts, the monster took off running and looked to be stumbling around when it did so. The ones that were there claimed that it was in its death throes, so I'm choosing to believe them.”

“I see.”

The clerk then glanced over at you in the middle of wrapping up a parcel for you – filled with clothes meant for Nobunaga – and said “a lot of us thought you were dead.”

You blinked.

“Why?” you asked.

“That thing came from the same direction as your cabin,” they explained, “we had figured it had gotten you first before it came for the rest of us.”

“….. Oh.”

The air between the two of you became awkward, which the clerk immediately realized as they tried to backtrack, telling you that everyone was happy that you hadn't died and the only reason no one had checked on you was because of the blizzard that had hit immediately after the attack. You waved it off, telling them that you understood why no one had checked and that it had taken a week for you as well to feel like you could make the long journey through the snow. That seemed to fix the awkward atmosphere, and you left soon after, the large parcel containing Nobunaga's new clothes in your arms as you stepped outside.

There was only one last stop to be made before you headed back home – to the marshal's office to report the crime that Nobunaga had been the victim of. Once you had told your story, the marshal said that he would look into it, but he doubted that there was much chance that the criminals would be caught given how long it had been by now.

“They might already be dead,” he told you, “either from the weather or that monster. It'll save me some trouble if that's the case.”

“You're lucky to still be alive,” the marshal then added, “being so far away from us, you're an easy target.”

You responded to that statement by giving him a forced smile.

During the walk back to the cabin, your thoughts went in different directions: first of how Nobunaga was right and that there had been little point in reporting the crime, and then of how dangerous things had been in the area without you even knowing of it. Seven people had died, and if those you spoke to were correct, you could have been among them. If the monster had attacked really did come from the direction of your cabin, it could have been very close by without you realizing.

The thought sent a shudder through you, and you held the parcel tighter to yourself as you walked.

The fear that something could get you while you were on your own wasn't a new one – you'd thought about that a lot, especially during the long nights when you had difficulty getting to sleep. The statement that you were an easy target was absolutely correct; were it not for the fact that you had nowhere else to go, you would have left the cabin and moved to be closer to the others.

Although it wasn't entirely true that you had nowhere else to go.

If you really wanted to gain the advantage of more safety in numbers, all you needed to do was find one of the single men of the town and convince him into marriage.

But you didn't want that.

You liked the freedom you got in living at the cabin, even if it scared you sometimes. Although it wasn't a bad idea to purchase some sort of weapon. That wouldn't happen anytime soon, however. Glancing down at the parcel, you felt a bit grim as a fair amount of your jenny had gone to purchasing the clothes. But you got over it quickly. It was necessary. Nobunaga didn't deserve to spend anymore time in the manner that he was. After he had lost everything, you were happy to help.

You were happy he was there, as well. Because despite how you had told yourself that you didn't care about being left alone in the wilderness, it was nice to have someone to talk to. Especially someone as friendly as Nobunaga had proven to be.

And maybe having just one extra person around would be enough to assuage your fears of anything coming for you in the dead of night.

Nobunaga was pleased with the clothes you presented to him that afternoon. Finally, he was able to change out of his bloody clothing and into something nicer. And more importantly, warmer.

“Maybe now you'll let me help out around here,” he told you as he slipped his arms into a jacket.

You nodded.

“As long as you don't strain yourself, that would be nice,” you told him.

“I'll be fine.”

To that, you just smiled and nodded again.

He smiled back at you, and when you looked into his eyes, you saw a warmth within them.

Nobunaga seemed like he was happy.

You were just glad that he was still alive so he could experience such an emotion.

The night ended with Nobunaga making note of the fact that your portion of dinner was much smaller than the one you had given him, but you brushed off the concern as you said this was normal.

He seemed to accept it.

It was as if he'd never been injured.

Within a short period Nobunaga had taken over the more strenuous tasks of maintaining the cabin, most of it involving the chopping of firewood so the two of you could continue to keep warm. You had been worried about letting him do it at first given that one of his injuries had been on his shoulder, and you weren't certain that he should be putting such strain on that area, but he insisted that he would be fine. And that seemed to be the case as you never saw any ounce of pain flash across his face when he would bring the ax down upon the wooden logs.

Despite everything that had happened to him, Nobunaga was doing just fine.

But even with how well he appeared to be doing, you still felt compelled to worry over him. Even if that version of him you had first met was now gone, you couldn't remove the image of him out of your mind. So you made sure to ask after him, if he was feeling well and if he ever needed you to take over that particular task again.

He never did. Nobunaga would always reply that he was fine and that you didn't need to worry about him, and the way he would tell you always indicated that he was being truthful with you.

He also didn't seem to mind at all the ways you kept an eye on him. If anything, he appeared to be pleased whenever you did.

The days passed by comfortably with new routines setting in for the both of you, with Nobunaga taking care of the majority of the work that needed to be done outside while you focused your energies on the interior of the cabin.

Although it wasn't completely comfortable for you, as during the entire time since you had brought Nobunaga to your home, you had continued to sleep on the rug in front of the fireplace. As expected, it was starting to wear on you, but you didn't mention it to him. After letting him use it for so long, you had no intentions of kicking him out of it, and you told yourself that you could bear it.

Despite not mentioning anything to Nobunaga, he noticed.

One night you awoke to find that he had placed you in the bed while you had slept.

While the gesture was surely meant to be a sweet one, you were more alarmed when you saw that Nobunaga was sleeping beside you, as the bed was just barely able to fit the two of you in it.

It caused a mild panic at first as your heart beat rapidly and you looked to escape the situation. With the way he had placed you on the side next to the wall, the options you had were to crawl down to the foot of the bed and get out that way, or clamber over Nobunaga and hope that you didn't wake him as he slept.

You had decided to go with the former, even if Nobunaga did deserve the inconvenience of having his sleep interrupted for the way he'd moved you about like that. Sitting up with the intentions of slipping out of the bed sheets, you glanced over at the spot you usually occupied while steadying yourself with a hand on the mattress.

…. It had been a while since you had slept in your own bed, you thought to yourself. And while you weren't blaming Nobunaga for that, the surface you had made for yourself out of the rug and blankets was barely passable as a spot to sleep in. Your body was tired and sore and it was affecting you during the day.

Nobunaga must have seen that; perhaps that was part of why he refused to let you do the more physical chores, you mused.

You clutched at the blankets on top of you, now not wanting to pull them off so you could leave the bed despite the inappropriateness of the situation.

But he wouldn't have meant anything bad by it, would he? No, even in the short amount of time you had known him, you felt certain that he didn't have any ulterior motives. He had simply seen that you were doing poorly by sleeping on the floor and he moved you to a spot where you would be comfortable. It was purely practical. And while it was still a bit upsetting that he had picked you up and moved you in your sleep, as you thought on it more, you imagined that he didn't know how to start such a conversation with you, or how he might have convinced you that it was fine to share a bed with him. He wouldn't have, most likely, and you would have stayed where you were.

You didn't want to go back to that spot in front of the fireplace now, though you still felt conflicted about staying in the bed.

Then, a new thought – if it was just for one night, that would be fine, wouldn't it? Just once so you could recover a bit more strength, and then you would go back to how it had been before. It was purely practical, you repeated to yourself. The only thing he meant by it was so you could have a comfortable nights sleep for once. It was only good intentions from a man who wanted to repay you for all of your kindness. As long as nothing further happened, it would be okay.

Now having convinced yourself of that, you lay back down on the bed, though you did scoot away slightly from Nobunaga's sleeping form. Or as much as you were able to with the wall right next to you.

There would need to be a discussion about this in the morning, but for now, you chose to rest, and you fell back into slumber with Nobunaga at your side.

That following morning, there wasn't much of a discussion to be had. You expressed how alarming it had been to find yourself in bed next to him, and while Nobunaga acknowledged and apologized for doing that without asking you beforehand, he didn't seem especially sorry. Nor did he seem to really hear you when you expressed why it had bothered you.

It furthered your worry that he was dismissing your concerns. But he did promise that it wouldn't happen again, and since there had been nothing else about him that alarmed you, you chose to take his word.

At least he hadn't pointed out that you chose to stay with him that night.

“If you need to rest, make sure to let me know.”

Nobunaga glanced over at you and gave a slight not before he returned his focus to the forest around him while you followed behind, the basket meant for carrying wood on your back as the two of you scoured the surrounding areas for fuel for the fireplace. As was often the case during the winter, the main effort you took towards surviving was to make sure you kept warm, thus you were often out in the forest for that reason.

It was the first time Nobunaga had joined you.

He'd been insistent, saying that he could help out beyond what you were allowing him to do and that he was worried about you going out on your own. Nothing you said convinced him to let you leave by yourself, and so the two of you left together.

No matter how hard you tried, you still checked over him frequently, ready to give him the option of going back when or if he found that he was straining himself too much. Even if he and the doctor said that he was fine, you couldn't imagine that he really was okay after such a short period of time.

But you got the sense that Nobunaga wasn't as happy now with the way you kept an eye on him. Because of that, you decided to stay quiet for now and hope he would be honest with you if he truly wasn't doing well.

The time spent outside passed in silence as the two of you went through with the tiring but necessary task. Nobunaga showed no signs of being put out, and seemed to be in better shape than you were as after a few hours of slogging through the ankle deep snow, you were starting to reach your limit as you were out of breath and wanted nothing more than to return to the cabin so you could sit down. Your energy was distinctly lower than it normally would be, and you tried to ignore the empty feeling in your stomach.

If he noticed, Nobunaga made no mention of it.

Eventually the two of you had collected enough wood, and it was agreed that the two of you would return, to which you quietly felt relieved. Again, the two of you walked through the woods, and just as before you remained quiet, still worried that perhaps your companion was becoming irritated with you. You walked behind him, allowing him to take the lead as you traveled along the path back to home.

With your eyes on his back, you noticed how often his head turned upwards as he looked up to the sky.

When your eyes followed to where his gaze had gone, you found that the only thing there was to note aside from the many trees was the half full moon in the sky that was present despite it being daytime. Either he was looking at that or something in the trees that you weren't catching any sight of, you mused. Though you chose not to linger on it; it didn't seem to matter much.

It didn't take much longer to return to the cabin, at which you let out a small sigh of relief as you were eager to feel warm again once you were inside.

Nobunaga glanced behind him that time.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Of course. Why?” you responded.

“Seems like you're happier than normal to be back.”

“I suppose there have been a lot of anxieties about the outside building in me,” you admitted, “but there isn't much to be done when we need to head out to survive, right?”

He nodded slowly before turning back towards the cabin as he said “I haven't helped much with those anxieties, probably.”

“Actually, I feel a lot better with you around.”

“You do?”

You nodded at him when he glanced towards you again, and the way you smiled at him seemed to embarrass him as he just as quickly looked away and walked to the cabin with a bit more urgency. Following him at a slower pace, you felt a bit more at ease now.

But that feeling lasted only a moment as you took the time to look about the area that surrounded your home and found your gaze landing on the two pines not far from you. The same two pines where you found Nobunaga once he had woken up.

The same two pines that had the footprints between them on that morning.

You stopped in your tracks as you stared at the area before you, your breathing starting to come in shallow as you remembered what you had been told had happened at the town. You had tried not to think about it as the topic was morbid and scary, but now…. Now you felt rather dense as you hadn't put the pieces together until this very moment, and fear was building within you once more.

Nobunaga's eyebrows furrowed once he saw that you hadn't followed, and he turned around in order to place a hand on your shoulder when he had reached you.

“What is it?” he asked you.

“…. I realized something awful,” you said, your eyes still fixed on the ground between the trees.

“What?”

“When I went into town last, I learned that a monster had attacked,” you explained. Your hands clutched at your skirt as you added “and I just remembered something strange I saw the morning I found you.”

Nobunaga's eyebrows furrowed as he asked “what did you find?”

“Animal tracks. Large ones that were right over there. I thought it was a bear at first, but now I'm not so sure. I think it may have been that monster. One of them even said that it seemed to have come from this direction.”

You let out a shaky breath as you added “seven people were killed before they felled the beast, and I just…… I'm just terrified at the thought of what would have happened if it had broken in. If it was able to kill seven able bodied men and women, then it would have killed me easily. No one would have even known until the snow thawed and they realized I was nowhere to be seen.”

Nobunaga kept his hand on your shoulder while he remained quiet. When you glanced up at him, you found that his mouth was pressed into a hard line, and it seemed as though he was waiting for you to say something else.

But you weren't sure of what else you might say. Everything that could have spilled from your mouth in that moment seemed to have come to a stop, and you were left staring down at that space where you had seen those tracks nearly two weeks before, and all you were capable of doing in that moment was imagining what might have happened to you. If the men from the village would have boarded up the door to your home after finding your body.

You hadn't thought too much on your safety since inheriting the cabin, and now you were wondering if you were only still alive through sheer luck.

Finding your voice again, you then asked “just how close to death do you think I was that night? If that creature really was outside my cabin?”

His hand tensed slightly at the question, but this time, Nobunaga answered.

“Probably really close,” he admitted.

You glanced over to him and found that he was no longer looking at you.

“It was probably up to that creature's whim on whether he would kill you or not,” he said, “he just chose not to.”

“…. He?” you asked.

Nobunaga shrugged.

“He, it, call it what you want. Doesn't matter,” he said, “all that does matter is that you're alive, right?”

“I suppose.”

He arched an eyebrow as he asked “what's wrong?”

“Something else could always come by, couldn't it? And I don't have any means of defending myself. I certainly can't afford any sort of decent weapon,” you said.

I don't even know how long the food I have will last

You kept that thought to yourself, even though you knew you couldn't do that forever.

“If that beast isn't dead, or those men who attacked you come back and find this place….”

Your voice trailed off as you didn't want to finish that sentence.

“You don't need to worry about that,” Nobunaga told you.

“Why?”

“Because I'm here now.”

Nobunaga's hand moved from your shoulder so he could stroke your cheek gently, though you couldn't help but flinch at the unexpected contact.

“You saved me from dying. Somehow, despite how lost I was, you managed to find me, and not only did you take me all the way back here, but you nursed me back to health.”

He was smiling as he told you “so I've decided that I'll repay everything you've done and more. Now that I'm here, you don't need to worry about your safety. Because I'll protect you.”

The words lingered in the air a moment as you mulled them over in your head. A response formed, though your mouth remained closed as you knew immediately it wouldn't be taken well if you were to voice it. To tell him that you felt he was the one who needed to be protected would cause a tension that would be hard to deal with in the small space of the cabin, especially when his eyes burned so brightly with a passion you hadn't seen before.

You gave him a small smile as you took a more diplomatic approach, telling him “of course you will, Nobunaga.”

It sounded forced. It was forced.

And Nobunaga picked up on it as he frowned slightly.

Still desperate to keep the peace, you grasped at his hand on your cheek, pulling it off gently and grasping it lightly as you said “thank you for making me feel better.”

That seemed to placate him, as he nodded. Though you could tell from his expression that his feelings over your response weren't completely gone.

Dread filled you as you made your way towards the pantry that held your food storage. You didn't want to open it as you knew what you would see: empty shelves and barely anything to eat. Whatever you had in there might last you a few days at the most, and after that point, you would need to find some way to scavenge for food until spring came.

…. That was several months away, you noted. With both little food and little jenny left, how in the world were you and Nobunaga going to survive until then?

Your thoughts went everywhere, thinking of the items you owned that you could trade and the few jobs that were available within the town. Walking there in the current conditions would be an ordeal, especially if you needed to do so multiple times a week, but you had no choice. You couldn't allow either of you to starve.

Nobunaga getting some sort of work was also something that needed to happen, though you still found yourself hesitant to bring it up. You had been the one to rescue him, after all. Why couldn't you take care of him sufficiently? Thus, every time you thought to ask him, you felt guilty.

But he was fine. He had said so and had repeatedly prove so. So it was reasonable to expect him to pull his weight, especially when he was the reason why your food storage had depleted so rapidly.

It wasn't like he had meant for that to happen

With a sigh, you willed the thought away. You'd bring up the idea of him working later, but for now, you needed to make up something that would pass as a meal. So while a lump had settled in your throat, you opened the pantry door as you readied yourself for the dreadful sight of barren shelves.

Only that wasn't what you found at all.

Instead of empty shelves you expected, the pantry was overflowing with food. A variety of meats, vegetables and fruits were at your disposal, and all you could do was stare on in shock. None of that had been there the previous night.

It couldn't be real, you then decided.

So you closed the door, and then opened it again after a few moments, expecting the reality of your situation to return once you saw the lack of food within.

Except you still found it to be completely full.

You looked on in confusion as you wondered where this had come from.

“You seem pretty surprised.”

You turned towards the doorway and found Nobunaga entering, a handful of firewood in his arms. Shutting the door with his foot, he walked across the room to the fireplace and dumped the chopped wood within the box that sat next to it, wiping his hands after. You said nothing, at which point he looked back to you, and then he noticed the pantry.

Nobunaga smiled.

“We won't be going hungry for a while now,” he said.

You blinked.

“You did this?” you asked.

He gave you an odd look as he asked “who else would have?”

“But…. But where did you get all of this? How could you afford it?” you pressed.

Nobunaga opened his mouth, as though he was going to answer. But then he stopped and, seemingly thinking better of it, shook his head.

“For you, it might be better if you remain ignorant of that,” he said, “just trust me when I say that everything will be alright.”

…. You didn't like that response, and you were able to come to only one conclusion:

Everything that was in the pantry, he had stolen.

Your head swiveled back to the pantry as you looked over the contents again, and with all of the good quality food that was present, your brain raced as you tried to add up the amounts in your head.

This wasn't some little crime. If you were found with all of this, the two of you would face a severe punishment.

But that wasn't the worst of it, you told yourself. The worst part was that Nobunaga had very likely cleaned out the food storage of someone else. Someone who definitely needed it just to survive.

“Nobunaga,” you began, your eyes darting all about the pantry as you asked “what have you done?”

“I've provided for you.”

You turned your head back to him as he walked towards you while he continued to speak.

“You should have told me earlier that I was causing you issues,” he said, “how am I supposed to know that there's a problem if you won't tell me?”

“I-You were injured and…. I needed to take care of you,” you said.

“So you didn't want to bring it up because of that?”

Though you were uncertain of yourself, you still nodded.

Stopping right in front of you, Nobunaga let out a sigh.

“That's a sweet sentiment, but I'd like it if you stopped viewing me that way. Look at what happened because you weren't saying anything? You were starving yourself just to keep me healthy.”

Placing a hand on your shoulder, he continued.

“I'm not fragile,” he told you, “I can help you. And I want to help you, to keep you safe and to repay you for everything you've done. Whatever it is that you need, I can get it for you. So don't keep treating me like I'm some sickly patient, alright?”

After a moment, you slowly nodded. Nobunaga was either genuinely unaware of your hesitance or willfully ignoring it, because he smiled again while his hand traveled up to caress your cheek.

“I took care of the firewood, so you don't need to worry about that,” he then said. Then, after looking at the pantry, he grinned at you as he added “I'll make breakfast for us, too. With how long I've spent lounging around in that bed, I'm out of practice.”

Again, you slowly nodded and allowed him to push you out of the way as he selected what he wanted out of the pantry.

“What about….”

You trailed off when Nobunaga looked to you, and you didn't know why you lost your voice so easily.

You tried again when you asked “what about the people who need this?”

You pointed to the food as you did so.

Nobunaga gave you an odd look.

“We need this,” he said.

That was all he said before he continued with his task.

The morning was spent with you feeling uncertain and guilty over the meal you ate, all the while Nobunaga had further shrank the boundaries between the two of you as he sat directly beside you.

He seemed proud of himself.

The rate at which things changed left you speechless. Where he had once been the helpless man that you had saved, Nobunaga had now taken charge over your own home. He kept up in taking care of the more physically strenuous tasks, but you were now barely allowed outside anymore as he told you to let him take care of everything.

It didn't sit well with you, but you said nothing as you told yourself that the situation was only temporary. Although it had never been discussed, you had never intended on this being a permanent situation, and surely Nobunaga knew that. It would only last until spring at the very latest, and then he would be gone once the climate outside wasn't so harsh. So you allowed it. It would only be a few more months and then it would be over.

Though there were many times late during the nights that you wondered why you allowed it, and you wondered if this had been born from your desperation to have someone else around the cabin with you.

It brought up questions about yourself which you found you didn't want to answer.

It also felt like it had been an eternity since you had brought him here, and yet, based on the way the moon was slowly filling up with each passing day, it had only been a few weeks at most.

Nobunaga noticed that, as well. Often, when you would peek outside to watch him work, you saw him gazing up at the moon during the day, and the look on his face was difficult to tell what exactly he was feeling.

Was it fear? Or anticipation?

Then, the day before the full moon, something changed.

Nobunaga was hovering over you more than usual.

Like an overly attached pet, he followed after you no matter what you did and seemed annoyed whenever you would back away in an attempt to give yourself some space. That wouldn't last long as you would soon find him hovering around you again, staring intently at you as he did so.

As a result, that day felt especially long. You tried several times to ask him why he was acting the way he was, what was wrong, what could you do to help him?

Nobunaga didn't answer you.

The longer he behaved the way he did, the more unsafe you felt around him. All you could do was wonder why he was doing this.

No words were shared over dinner; neither of you wanted to talk to the other, it seemed. Though you only knew your own reasons as to why you didn't want to speak. Whatever his reasons were and how they tied in to the way he'd been behaving, that was all being kept to himself.

You finished your meal fast, and after you had cleaned up, you found yourself next to the fire with a book in hand as you tried to ignore him. But that didn't stop him from pestering you.

“Why are you sitting over there?” he asked.

“I'd like some time to myself,” you answered, briefly glancing at him before returning to the pages in front of you.

Evidently that wasn't a good reason for you to be away from him, as he then said “come sit with me.”

“…. I'd really like some time to myself,” you reiterated.

He scoffed.

“Hard to get that in such close quarters,” he told you dryly.

“I'm sure we can manage,” you muttered.

“Hm.”

It didn't sound as though he had truly conceded, yet moments passed by and nothing further happened. He wasn't insisting that you go over to him, nor was he walking up to you and getting in your space again. Not that it made you feel any better after his behavior during the day.

That was the only bit of reprieve you were granted from him, as when you were preparing your area in front of the fireplace to sleep for the night, Nobunaga came up and grabbed you in order to take you over to the bed, placing you beneath the sheets before he joined you shortly.

You didn't say a word. And you couldn't understand why you didn't.

Just what was it that was keeping your throat clogged up and your limbs stiff and immobile as you were made to do something that you didn't want?

… Fear, that's what it was.

Nobunaga was scaring you.

As you thought over the events of the last few days – no, beyond that. Nobunaga had been scaring you for some time now. You simply hadn't wanted to acknowledge it because you didn't know how to handle the situation. Now you were stuck in bed with a man who made you more frightened than you thought was possible, and you had no way to escape him.

So you turned over, facing the wall as you clutched the blanket close to yourself. Nobunaga said nothing to you, and as you assumed that he was focusing on sleeping, you told yourself to do the same.

At the very least, this would be over faster the quicker you fell asleep.

If only it was that easy.

How long you spent staring at the wall of your cabin, you had no idea. It felt like hours, but you were certain that it couldn't have been that long. Your sense of time was warping due to your distress. And again you wondered: why was he doing this?

The entire time, you had assumed he was already asleep, but then the sound of him turning over in the bed caught your attention, and suddenly you felt his gaze on the back of your head. You didn't need to look at him to be able to tell how intently he was staring at you. And the longer that went on, the more discomfort you felt as you laid in bed next to him.

Pulling the cover closer to yourself, you shut your eyes as you tried your hardest to get to sleep. It was fine; all he was doing was staring at you. While it wasn't ideal, you could ignore that.

Just go to sleep, you told yourself.

Things stayed like that for a few moments: you slowly curling in on yourself as you willed yourself to ignore the way Nobunaga stared at you, all the while he didn't say a word. He needed to know, didn't he? He needed to realize how uncomfortable he was making you. So why was he continuing to do it? Why didn't he care about how he was affecting you? Why had he been behaving so strangely today?

You could ask, but you doubted he would answer. If he hadn't the times before then why would he do so now?

So again you willed yourself to ignore his behavior.

It seemed to be working. Despite the weight of his gaze that was still on top of you, sleep was beginning to take hold. The exhaustion you felt at this time of night finally allowed you to put those worries aside, and the sound of the wind blowing the snow about outside gave you something else to focus on as you began to drift away.

Tomorrow, you sleepily thought. You would confront him tomorrow. Definitely.

Feeling a bit more at ease now, you relaxed a bit more, fully intending on getting a good night's rest.

You didn't hear the way he shifted in the bed.

But you felt when his hand reached out for your shoulder beneath the covers.

Despite flinching a little on feeling his touch, you did nothing to stop him or even opened your eyes, instead keeping them squeezed shut. You shouldn't be reacting in that way, you told yourself. Slapping his hand away is what you should have done – what you should be doing. Pushing him away and demand to know the reason for his behavior, and if it wasn't good enough, you would tell him that he'd be leaving first thing in the morning. At the very least you needed to kick him out of your bed for the night.

All of those things you could and should have done, yet you were frozen, keeping your eyes closed as you willed yourself to ignore it. Nobunaga's hand remained on your shoulder, squeezing lightly as if to comfort you before he moved, grazing the area between your shoulder and neck with his knuckles.

… Perhaps it was an apology, you told yourself. He recognized now how out of line he had been today, and this was his way of trying to make up for that fact. Nobunaga didn't seem to be the type to apologize easily, so you told yourself that the explanation made sense.

You still weren't happy with him, but if he really did see how tense and upset you were, it was nice that he was making some sort of effort, even if you really wished he would just speak to you.

Tell him it's alright and the two of you can talk about it in the morning

The thought entered your head and, despite the anger you were still feeling towards the man, you decided that you would rather have peace and were about to voice just that.

Only Nobunaga chose that moment to move in closer behind you.

And his hand traveled from your shoulder down to your pelvis.

Your eyes shot open, now fully awake, and you clenched at the covers tightly as you felt that hand gently massage that part of you, moving over that intimate area of yours before settling on your hip, continually caressing you with soft touches through the material of your nightgown. His lips were now on you as well, as Nobunaga placed soft kisses to the exposed skin of your neck.

You knew where this was going and you desperately didn't want that to happen.

Say something, you told yourself. Tell him to stop.

Instead of doing that, your voice caught in your throat and you could only clutch the covers tighter to yourself.

Nobunaga noticed, and the relief you felt when he pulled his hand away from you was quickly dashed when he pried the covers away, leaving your form exposed to the air of the cabin with only your nightgown as protection. In response you whimpered, now clutching at the sheets beneath you as you once again curled in on yourself.

Why? Why were you acting so weak?

Do something

NOW

Despite the voice that screamed at you in your head, you remained frozen as Nobunaga did as he pleased, now appearing directly behind you, his breath hot on your ear as he reached for you again.

That time his hand went to your breasts, and any sense of shame nowhere to be found as he blatantly groped you.

The action caused you to shudder, and that was enough to make you fight back as your hands went to grab his wrist, gripping him tightly with the intent of pulling him off of you.

The noise he made when you tried that was unexpected:

He growled at you.

It was so deep that reverberated in your ear, and you froze again as you wondered how in the world a human was able to make such a sound.

Now stunned into submission, you did nothing when Nobunaga readjusted you, forcing you to stretch back out on your front so his hand could wander about your body freely, groping and squeezing where he liked with his free hand slipped beneath you so he could continue to fondle your chest. That time he forced the neckline of your gown to widen so his hand could slip through, and you felt the rough skin of his hands on your soft flesh.

You could only whimper in protest.

He either didn't notice or didn't care as he nuzzled into your neck, leaving chaste kisses in his wake while his hands continued to assault you, only one doing so with your nightgown still in its way.

How long would it remain that way? When would he tire of just touching you and move on to something else? Based on what you could feel poking into the back of your leg, it was likely going to be sometime soon.

You remained trapped between him and the wall with precious little space between you. With no fight left in you and no way of fighting him off, you pressed your eyes shut once more, hoping that this would all be over quickly somehow.

There was a sense of desperation when Nobunaga finally reached down for the hem of your gown and pulled it up, forcing it over your legs and hips until he had it just above your stomach. Now your entire lower half was exposed completely, and you once again felt the weight of his gaze, this time on that spot between your legs that you still had clenched shut.

…. It was really going to happen this way?

Your breath hitched when you felt him grab at your knee and pried your legs apart without much effort. His other hand had left your chest and you heard the sound of his trousers being shoved down.

You knew what was happening, and you continued to stare at the wall so you wouldn't need to have that image of him forever burned into your mind.

I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this

With that thought screaming through your head, you found your voice, what little there was of it.

“Please don't,” you whimpered.

What came out was so soft that you wouldn't have thought he had heard it. Or if he had, you felt as though he may have pretended that he didn't.

Yet he stopped.

You felt that his eyes were focused on your face, watching you, waiting for you to speak again.

Again, you managed to find your voice, and it was stronger this time when you forced the words out.

“Please. Not like this.”

You sounded pathetic in the way you begged. Whatever strength that you tried to convey to those around you was nowhere to be found now. All there was in this moment was a weak woman who couldn't even look the man assaulting her in the eyes.

No matter how weak and pathetic you appeared, it wouldn't be enough to stop him, would it? You could still feel his hard cock against your backside. He wouldn't stop what he was doing and take care of that himself, would he? Perhaps he would even blame you for this current situation; perhaps he would justify himself by saying that you brought this on when you made no complaint on sharing a bed with him.

You knew there would be many others who would agree with his sentiment.

Tears threatened to fall as you continued to clutch at the bed sheets, trying your best to prepare yourself for this situation that you couldn't escape. Nobunaga's hand was still on your leg, still being held slightly aloft and leaving the soft folds of your pussy exposed to the air of the cabin. It was still going to happen. All he needed to do was shift himself slightly and his length would slip into you. Not without some resistance, but no matter how much your tight walls would fight to keep him out, he would ultimately have his way through sheer force alone.

That was what you had thought.

Yet he now was still. While his hand remained on your leg, he made no move to violate you further.

…. Had your words reached him?

You found that you couldn't help yourself, and you turned your head slightly to look back at him.

Nobunaga noticed instantly, and your eyes met.

He looked uncertain of himself. That uncertainty grew when he saw your fearful expression.

Upon seeing that, you tried again.

“Please, Nobunaga,” you began, “you're better than this.”

Conflict only appeared to grow within him as his eyebrows furrowed and he looked down at you with a guilty expression.

You stayed where you were, not attempting to pull him off you again. Instead you continued to look at him, willing him with every fiber of your being to force him to stop, to make the guilt too much for him to handle. After you had saved his life, that should be enough to make him stop, shouldn't it?

All you could do was hope that it would be.

Moments passed in silence with neither of you saying anything.

Then Nobunaga moved.

He reached for your head and pushed it down onto the mattress, keeping his hand there so you were kept pressed down and could no longer turn to look at him. It hurt slightly, and you let out a small groan of pain only to be shushed by Nobunaga.

Then he let go of your leg and pinned it to the mattress as well.

Now you were confused. The action of holding your head down made no sense if he didn't intend on-

You felt his cock rub against the back of your thighs. Your thighs, that he was now holding down. And after a few moments, he pushed his cock between them.

… Why?

Again the question ran through your mind as you asked why he was doing this to you.

Had he always viewed you in such a way?

You were beyond words now, and you kept your grip on the sheets as Nobunaga continued to fuck your thighs. The hand he had on your head had fisted into your hair, and every now and then he would pull hard enough to make you whimper. Every time that happened, he would shush you. When he kept pulling too hard and you continued to make those small noises of pain, he chose to clamp his free hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

All the while he bore his weight down on you as he kept your legs pinned together with his own, and he continued to fuck into the simulated penetration of your thighs.

His hot breath on your neck became familiar as he leaned himself closer, his ragged breathing horribly loud in your ear as he got off to the awful situation. His hot length continued to breach the skin of your thighs as he kept you quiet and pliant for himself.

Closing your eyes was a poor idea, as you found that cutting off your sight only had you focusing more on the feeling of his dick against you, giving you insights to details you never wanted to know about. Of the veins, his length and the thickness-

No. You didn't want to think about those things.

So you kept your eyes open, keeping your gaze on the wooden wall of your cabin, doing your utmost to keep your focus on the wood grain that ran along the surface and keeping yourself from thinking of the man on top of you and how half of your face was repeatedly shoved into the mattress with every rough thrust of his hips.

The only saving grace of the situation was that he wasn't actually penetrating you.

Not long after, Nobunaga's groans became more guttural and his grip on you became harder. The pace of his thrusting became more erratic until he eventually pulled out of you.

And then you felt the warmth of his seed as he came on your thighs, coating your skin as he let out a relieved groan directly into your ear.

Once he was done, he fell on top of you, his grip finally loosening.

You continued to stay still.

Nobunaga did nothing further to you, and somehow, in the midst of the way you stared at the wall in shock while you tried to make sense of what had happened, you fell asleep. When you awoke the next morning, you were only allowed to stay in ignorant bliss for a few moments as you became aware again of his sticky release that was still splattered on your thighs, and all of the memories came rushing back within an instant.

That had been real?

The proof of that came when you cleaned yourself off with a cloth. At first your motions were slow, but as you thought longer on what had happened, you became more desperate to make yourself clean again. To get it off of you. It felt disgusting and you hated it.

If Nobunaga could tell that you were silently stewing in your feelings of betrayal and disgust, he made no effort to address it.

That day you couldn't bring yourself to look at him. Even when he hovered just as much as he had the previous day, you refused to acknowledge him. Instead of being upset with you, Nobunaga didn't seem to care. If anything, his behavior from the previous day had only escalated, as he made a point to have some form of physical contact with you, be it as simple as his hand on your arm or as extreme as wrapping his arms around you while he held you close, pressing kisses against your neck and humming to himself.

You didn't respond and kept your gaze averted.

How could he do that to you?

How could he continue to do this to you?

You couldn't bring yourself to ask, and your mind was stuck in an endless circle of questioning just what had happened while your body numbly went along with what Nobunaga wanted.

Not long into the day you found yourself sitting on his lap, as he had settled the both of you on the rug in front of the fire. His chest was pressed against yours while his face had been buried in the crook of your neck, and he breathed loudly while he held you tightly. Occasionally he spoke in soft murmurs against your skin, and the hand he had resting against your back would trail up and down against your spine with soft motions, as if to counteract the rough way he had treated you before.

Whatever it was that he said, you didn't hear it. Nor did you bother to struggle when he first pulled you into his embrace. Again, you allowed it to happen. You now found yourself staring up at the walls, taking in the knots in the wood and counting them over and over in your head as your mind no longer wanted to acknowledge what was happening.

This would stop eventually, wouldn't it? It needed to.

Nobunaga would let you go, he would leave, and then you would be free of him.

How you had come to the conclusion that was the way things would play out, you had no idea. But you chose to believe that anyway.

It was nicer to hope that this would come to an end.

And after a long while, it did.

Some time later, Nobunaga finally pulled away from you before he gently pushed you off of his lap, making you settle on the floor while he knelt in front of you. Two large hands then cupped your cheeks, and your gaze was then directed towards him.

Nobunaga smiled at you and leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead. A kiss that you didn't react to. He seemed unbothered by that fact as he followed it up by giving you a reassuring pat on the cheek.

“I'll be back soon.”

With that, he took his hands off of you as he stood to his full height and turned towards the door. With a few short steps he had reached the entrance. And without a single more word, Nobunaga opened the door, revealing the outside. It was getting close to dark, and yet Nobunaga was walking out into the cold without an extra layer of protective clothing or even a lantern to guide his way in what would be the quickly coming night.

Through the snow that layered the ground, through the pair of pines, Nobunaga walked forward.

Going, going.

Into the forest, you watched as his form grew smaller and became harder to see from the trees that surrounded him on all sides. Until…..

…. Gone.

He was gone.

And left in his wake was the wide open door of your cabin, and you, still sitting in the spot where he had placed you.

You didn't stay that way for long. The cold had quickly seeped into your cabin, and upon the realization that he was gone, truly gone, you didn't feel as though you could move. Now that the strength had returned to you, you pulled yourself to your feet and rushed over to the door, slamming it shut and locking it.

Now Nobunaga couldn't get back in.

You sank down to the floor as sobs began to wrack your body, all of the emotion that you had been bottling up within yourself coming out in a burst.

You couldn't sleep that night.

Hours after Nobunaga had left and you had broken down crying, you had briefly found yourself tossing and turning in the bed as you tried to rest. The memories of what had happened kept you from sleeping, and even when you went through with the effort of flipping the mattress onto the other side in the hopes that might make a difference, your sleeplessness continued.

It wouldn't leave your mind, and no matter how many times you made yourself survey the room to confirm that you were alone, every time you closed your eyes, you were back where you were last night.

Pinned down and vulnerable.

You gave up on the bed, and sleep as you sat down by the fire, stoking the dying flames by adding more wood. As you sat there, huddled by the fireplace, you found that you wanted to cry again.

All that you had done for him, and that was the way Nobunaga chose to repay you? By violating you in the worst way possible? How? How could he know all that you had done for him and still do such a thing? The only saving grace of the situation was that he hadn't gone through with it completely once you had begged him not to. But he had still made the choice to use you. And it was clear that he saw nothing wrong with what he had done.

It was sickening.

The tears that were forming were quickly and harshly wiped away with the sleeve of your nightgown. No, no more of that, you told yourself. You had wasted enough of your tears on that man. Tears and effort and your own goodwill. No more of that.

He wasn't in any way deserving of it.

…. Though maybe you weren't entirely blameless.

You glanced about at the closed pantry door that was still full of the food you knew he had stolen. The food that you had found yourself trying to justify, as you had truly had needed it. Would the people of Willsden be understanding? Someone there had surely been the victim in that crime, so you feared that they wouldn't. After how much time had passed since you first learned of the theft, you feared that you would be considered to be just as responsible.

Perhaps you shouldn't have feared the jail cell so much; if you had done the right thing at the beginning, maybe you wouldn't be going through this.

The right thing.

You had thought that had been helping Nobunaga when you found him, but now….

You stayed in that spot by the fire, your arms wrapped around your legs while your chin rested on top of your knees as you watched the flames dancing atop the logs. Late into the night, you sat there, waiting until the racing thoughts in your mind would slow and you would finally feel tired enough to succumb to a dreamless sleep. That was what you needed most right now.

It might be best to stay on the rug, you told yourself. You worried that if you returned to the bed, your mind would be alert again with those awful memories. Perhaps you needed to sleep on the floor again until the inevitable stiffness would return to your joints and force you to take the more comfortable spot on the bed. And if the bed was still causing you issues, you would get a new one once spring came.

….. With what jenny would you do that?

You sighed, pulling your face down so your knees were touching your forehead.

Tears and effort and goodwill and your own savings, and all of it for nothing.

As much as you tried to tell yourself that there was no use in being bitter about it, it was hard to keep yourself from feeling that way.

It was late when you finally felt as though you were tired enough that you might be able to sleep. With still no desire to return to the bed, you laid down on the rug, still staring at the fireplace while you hoped that sleep would find you quickly. Despite the slight chill that came from your lack of a blanket, you felt too tired to get up and grab one from the bed. That was a good sign. That you were too comfortable where you were to grab such a thing surely meant that sleep would soon take you, and your mind could have a brief reprieve.

In that moment, that was all you wanted.

A knock sounded at the door.

Though the sound hadn't made with any terrible force, the unexpected noise wrenched you from that place of rest, and you pushed yourself up by your elbows as you turned your head to face the door.

The knock sounded a few moments later, the rapping of knuckles clear against the wooden surface.

In your mind, there was only one explanation: Nobunaga had returned.

Upon that realization, you scowled.

When he knocked a third time, you settled back down onto the rug, your arms wrapped around you while you drew your legs in closer.

You weren't opening the door for him; you were beyond the point of caring.

So you remained determined to ignore him while he continued to try and get your attention, the force of his knocks increasing and becoming more rapid the longer you made him wait. He would figure it out. He would realize that he was no loner welcome, and then he would find shelter elsewhere. Even if he didn't and he stayed on your doorstep until morning, you wouldn't budge: you weren't letting him in.

After several minutes of ceaseless knocking, it finally stopped. At that, you breathed out a sigh of relief and closed your eyes, happy that it was finally over.

It wasn't.

Because something bashed against the door.

Something that, when it hit, was loud enough to make you jump into a sitting position, your heartbeat increasing in seconds as you suddenly felt terror and confusion as you stared at the door.

When that something hit a second time, you were watching as you saw the wood of the door bend inward, buckling beneath the force of whatever had been launched at it. Whatever Nobunaga was using to try and break into your cabin, it was something large and powerful.

You blinked.

He was trying to break in.

He wasn't even allowing you to be in peace after he had assaulted you; he felt entitled enough to demand entry into your home even after you had locked him out.

How could he do that?

“Nobunaga!” you cried, tears forming in your eyes as you forced yourself to call out his name, “just leave me alone! I don't want you here!”

The bashing against the door didn't stop, and once it hit after you had finished speaking, you noticed a large crack in the wood.

You needed to defend yourself. What did you have? Pulling yourself to your feet, you scanned the room. A knife, you noted, near the area that served as your kitchen. It wasn't ideal considering that Nobunaga was stronger than you, but that was the best you could do. You took a step forward to grab it.

That was when the door caved in.

Splinters exploded everywhere accompanied by cold snow, skidding across the floor and landing at your feet. Panic began to set in, and you yelled at yourself to get the knife before he entered-!

Only when you looked to the doorway, what you saw wasn't Nobunaga.

The thing that entered wasn't human.

It resembled a wolf, though it was unlike any wolf you had ever seen. It was as tall as the average man, or perhaps even taller, and it made sure that it towered over you as it stood upon it's hind legs. As it pushed aside the remnants of your door, you saw that the front legs weren't in anyway normal for a wolf. The way they stretched out and the way that they bent – they looked like human arms that had been covered in pitch dark fur, though the deadly looking claws at the ends of those decidedly monstrous hands were equally inhuman.

Your mind was blank as you stared at it in shock.

As as it bent down to enter through the doorway, you found that your feet were taking you away from the creature, backing up until your heels hit the edge of your soft rug and you found yourself tumbling backwards, landing hard on your hands while you kept your eyes on the thing that was entering your home. All you could hear was your heartbeat getting louder and louder in your ears as the creature stepped inside fully and stood back up.

It looked at you and you couldn't think. You weren't capable of rational thought in that moment and your breathing came out fast and harsh through your mouth.

The only thing you knew was fear; a certainty that your death was imminent.

For a brief moment, you wished that Nobunaga hadn't left you.

The wolf creature took a step forward, the claws in its feet digging into the wood flooring while it held out one of those hands in your direction, fingers extended as it appeared to reach for you.

You responded by backing away, using your arms and legs in an attempt to scramble out of its grasp. But your escape was cut short when you reached the edge of the fireplace. Your cabin was small and there was nowhere else to run to. It blocked the only way in or out, and there was no chance that you could slip past it. It would grab you. It would grab you and it would kill you.

Again everything within you felt certain that you would not survive even a few moments more. This was the end.

It was coming closer with its hand still outstretched. You were trapped, caught between it and the fireplace, the heat of the flames now constant against your back.

This was the end, you repeated to yourself.

But you didn't want it to be.

With the fear overtaking you, you began to attack it by throwing whatever was in grabbing distance.

There wasn't much. The only thing closest to you was the fire poker, and all you accomplished when you threw it towards the creature was having it harmlessly bounce off its leg and clatter to the floor. Part of you knew you should have held onto it, that it would be a more effective weapon if you had kept it, but the sheer panic was still controlling you.

That was what drove you to delve your hand into the fire and throw a burning log in it's direction.

You barely felt the heat that singed your palm and fingers, and it was flying within moments.

The creature actually seemed to look shocked at that.

Yet the second attempt to defend yourself ended up being even more pathetic, as you missed the monster completely and the log went flying towards the other side of your room where it landed squarely in the center of your bed.

The mattress and the blankets immediately caught fire, something which the creature noticed immediately.

And then it switched it's attention.

Instead of reaching for you, it rushed over to your burning bed. Your head turned as you watched it, and you saw that it was desperately trying to put out the flames by beating down on them.

….. Why was it doing that?

You only had the briefest moment to wonder that, as your eyes ended up on the doorway that still stood wide open and revealed the snowy night outside.

Open and now with nothing in your way.

For the first moment since seeing that thing, your mind became clear.

So much time had been wasted while you sat in shock, with fear taking over your brain and forcing you to make erratic actions. But if you wanted to possibly live, you needed to run.

It's attention is on the bed. It isn't looking at you. This is the only chance you'll get.

Run.

Run.

Run

You were on your feet, sprinting forward with a speed that you didn't think you were capable of. You felt the difference when your bare feet ran over the wooden flooring and when they met with the cold snow. It didn't matter. There was no time to think about how cold it was. No time to grab something heavier than your thin nightgown. No time to do anything except run.

It noticed when you ran.

From the corner of your eye you saw it stand suddenly, looking in your direction. It reached out and you saw it's mouth open.

So many sharp teeth. It would bite into you easily.

You sprinted out into the direction that you were sure led to the town, hoping with all of your might that you would lose it in the woods if it chose to follow. You didn't dare look behind you as you left the cabin, too afraid you would see it sprinting up behind you with all of those teeth on display.

A voice called out amidst the wind. A familiar one.

You didn't dare look back.

Less than a minute later and you were slowing, the adrenaline that had pushed you to run no match for the bitter cold of the night. Your fingers were freezing up and every step into the snow sent pain shooting up through your bare feet. But you could handle it; you just needed to last long enough to make it to the town.

If only the shadows of the trees made by the light of the full moon didn't confuse you, making you stumble as you tried to remember the correct way to Willsden. Things could look so different at night, and now you were looking about wildly as you simultaneously looked for an indication that you were on the correct path as well as for any sign of the monster.

You couldn't see it, hadn't seen it since the cabin. Perhaps you truly had lost it.

That thought gave you a bit of hope as you pushed yourself forward, reinvigorated to get yourself to safety.

But the cold won.

The next time you stumbled, you fell fully and landed with half of your face buried in the snow. Your fingers and toes ached and your limbs felt like ice, and none of them were responding to your commands to move. Even pulling your head out of the snow was too much effort for you and you were fighting to keep your eyes open. The energy was being sapped from you completely and you felt your consciousness beginning to fade.

All of that effort, and for what?

The wind that continued to blow about masked the sound of something coming towards you, and the last thing you were able to note was a large clawed hand that pulled you up from the ground.

…..

You were warm.

That was what your brain was able to register in those early moments of you waking up, and at first you didn't question it. After months of dealing with the cold that you had been doing your best to fight, it was nice to feel the heat that was running through every part of you. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes, you found that it felt good.

You let out a contented hum, and you tried to roll over to your side to get into a more comfortable position.

For some reason, you were unable to do so.

That was fine. You were still warm. You quietly willed yourself to stay like this, having no desire to leave this nice feeling. While you would need to wake up and face the cold reality of winter eventually, a few more minutes like this wouldn't hurt.

Though after a few moments, you found that you were starting to feel a bit too warm.

Being warm was fine, but when you were on the verge of being hot – that was more than a little strange given the current time of the year. And as much as you wanted to stay as you were, your brain was rousing you from slumber, and you slowly came to realize that something wasn't entirely right.

As you began to wake up, you found that the heat you were feeling was strongest at your core, and there was…. Something happening that was making you feel pleasure.

A firm, hot length that repeatedly dove into you, pushing in and out and the way it rubbed against your warm walls – the friction you felt – made you shudder. Something was pounding into your pussy, but you were enjoying it.

You still felt weak, but you attempted to lift your hips anyway, trying to get more of that friction so you could continue to feel good. You weren't anticipating the feeling of pressure on your clit as a result of that, and your mouth opened to let out a soft moan.

Your lips were then overtaken. Another pair of lips, far more rough and with stubble along the jaw that scratched at your skin closed over yours, and a tongue slipped past your teeth to caress against yours.

The groan that sounded wasn't from you. And when your lips were freed, you were able to hear grunts and soft mutterings that came from above you.

The voice was deep and you knew you had heard it before.

Consciousness was steadily returning to you, and you could feel now how your whole body moved as that length pounded into you, causing you to shift slightly on the mattress while the length inside of you would occasionally make jolts of pleasure to run through your body. There was also a noticeable level of soreness present in your pelvic region, and when your hips were shifted so they were situated slightly upwards, you felt something drip from your thighs and down your backside.

What is that? What's happening?

This isn't right

Your eyes snapped open and you finally gazed upon the scene you didn't even know you were part of.

You were in your cabin, on the floor next to the fireplace atop a pile of blankets. Why you weren't in the bed became clear as the bed frame that once held your mattress had been placed in front of the doorway to keep the cold out and your mattress was nowhere to be seen. But that was hardly important as you realized something else: you weren't alone.

Nobunaga was with you.

Nobunaga, who wasn't welcome, but had returned anyway.

Nobunaga, was currently on top of you and positioned between your legs.

Nobunaga, who was naked.

As were you.

And when he pushed his hips forward again, a gasp was forced from your throat in response to the friction caused by his cock dragging against your walls.

A quick glance at your pelvic region showed that his length was buried within you.

…. He was fucking you.

And based on the amount of sweat and cum that covered you both, he'd been going at it for some time now.

Nobunaga paused after realizing that you were awake, your eyes meeting his while he stared down at you, still breathing hard as he did so. Your breathing was just as harsh, you realized, and when you took another glance down at where you were connected, you were horrified at how swollen and sore your clit appeared to be. With all of the fluids and the other marks on your body that you could make out – what was wrong with your legs? – you didn't want to think about how many times he had used you for his own pleasure, or how many times he had played with you in your unconscious state to drag out unknowing reactions from you.

You began to tremble beneath him as you looked back up at him, tears filling up your eyes quickly. Surely he would stop and pull away once he saw that you were awake. Perhaps even look guilty at the fact that you had caught him while he was in the middle of assaulting you.

At the very least he should have stopped.

Instead he leaned down to take your lips in a kiss, and his thrusting started up again, though the pace at which he fucked into you had slowed.

You wanted to protest – to shove him off of you, but when his cock once again dragged along the wet walls of your cunt you were taken off guard, and instead you moaned while your body shuddered.

The blankets beneath you felt disgusting, as they were equally covered in a mixture of bodily fluids.

Nobunaga reached a hand down to turn your face towards him.

“Sorry,” he muttered between thrusts.

You opened your mouth, prepared to yell at him -

He shoved two of his fingers into your mouth, gagging you with his ring finger and middle finger as he kept you quiet so he could continue speaking uninterrupted.

“I know I should've waited for you to wake up. I really didn't plan on doing this while you were asleep.”

His eyes flitted down as he looked over your body, looking over the marks he had left on you while you had been asleep. You attempted to look back down as well, though you only got a brief glance before he used the fingers in your mouth to move your head back up.

“You were so cold by the time I brought you back, and that nightgown was soaked by the snow, so I thought it'd be better if I removed it.”

The nightgown…..

Right. You'd run out into the cold. Because of that thing that had entered your cabin. But whatever had entered was now nowhere to be seen.

Where was it? How had you escaped it? Why was Nobunaga back?

How had things gotten to this point?

Nobunaga continued, saying “I did for you what you did for me; I wrapped you up in a blanket to keep you warm. But I was worried that wouldn't be enough, so I decided I could help more if I held you.”

He slowed down, removing the hand he had on your body in favor of scratching at the back of his head, as though he was embarrassed. As if he was speaking of a slight slip up and not a brutal assault that had clearly lasted hours.

“I tried not to do anything more, but I couldn't help myself. So sorry about that.”

He couldn't be that sorry based on the smile you saw playing on his lips.

With his fingers acting as a gag, words were still beyond you, and you looked back to your body he was ravaging.

What was wrong with your legs?

The dark marks that littered your skin were numerous, but they didn't appear to be simple bruises. The shape wasn't right. Especially not with the way that several lines had erratic patterns that almost seemed as though they had dripped down your thighs.

With a great deal of effort, you pulled one of your legs up. And with the light of the fire, you saw clearer what what those marks were:

Blood from the cuts that littered your thighs.

Tears finally began to fall as you let out a high-pitched whine at the sight, your tongue hitting against Nobunaga's fingers as he kept you gagged.

“Shh, shh, shh.”

Nobunaga leaned in again as you started to cry, kissing you on the cheek as he said “I know, I know. It looks bad. But the cuts aren't deep. They stopped bleeding a while ago. They'll heal up in no time.”

That didn't make you feel any better, and the noise you made indicated that.

He sighed into your hair as he continued “I thought it'd be okay if I took you in my other form first, but after how much I cut you up and how much pain you looked like you were in, I stopped after the first round and waited until morning before I continued.”

Other form?

You didn't understand.

But he wouldn't explain it as he began to increase his pace as he moaned on top of you, concentrating as he plowed into your pussy yet again. Immediately you recognized what was coming and you tried to stop it.

Your efforts were so weak that he didn't even notice the way you attempted to push him off of you, or even how you pulled at the long locks of his hair in desperation. Nothing was stopping him, least of all you.

Nobunaga groaned as he stilled above you, leaving you to cringe as you felt his cum filling you up.

I don't want this

Finally, he removed the fingers that he had lodged in your mouth so he could lean down and take your lips in a kiss.

With no way of fighting him, you were forced to accept what he had done, what he was doing, and what he would no doubt continue to do to you.

All because you had come across an injured man in the forest.

He pulled away from the kiss but stayed close, and you saw veneration in his eyes as he gazed down at you lovingly.

“You're perfect,” he breathed, “I couldn't ask for a better wife.”

You whimpered in response, the tears continuing to fall down your cheeks.

Nobunaga leaned down over you, wiping your tears away before he kissed you again.

“I know,” he said, “I'm happy, too.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

I think it's canon that stan smokes and gets high when he was younger

So I'm thinking reader (they are as old as the og mystery twins) is the type to smoke when they're stress and they say that smoking/getting high clears the fog in their brain

So how do you think stan & ford react to this? I mean they know it's bad but it helps them

Most research about the negative effects of weed I found online, whether or not half of them are actual negative effects is beyond me.

Stan isn’t a hypocrite, he’s gotten high before and so he knows what state your life must be for you to resort to getting high as a stress relief.

He fully understands why you’d always resort to doing such a thing but would remind you that you could always come to him if anything was ever bothering you instead of resorting to getting high.

‘I appreciate it but I don’t want to bother you with what goes on in my head, half of the time I can’t even put it into words that best describes what I’m going through but with this,’ you raised your blunt, ‘it helps me in ways that talking to someone else never could.’

‘Okay, just know I’m here to talk toots.’ Stanley said as he patted your shoulder and left you be.

Stan did it to escape everything and avoid the consequences of his own actions, so much so that he often abused the substance on more then one occasion, but after Dipper and Mabel came for the summer, he has later learned to cut down his smoking sessions for the betterment for the twins and himself.

So whenever he sees you heading out towards your designated smoking spot- the top of the shack- he’d sometimes join you for a smoke, especially when Ford came back and had been nothing but a stubborn nuisance as you shared common worries while the smell of his cigarette and weed was all you could smell.

Neither of you spoke but there was a solidarity between the two of you until you were done. Stan knew that it wasn’t exactly healthy but he wasn’t going to cut you off weed completely if it helped when you needed it most, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t not join you to make sure you weren’t abusing the substance like he did when he was younger.

Ford fully understands that weed is a natural product that can calm people who suffer from anxiety and stress related issues, but over-usage of it was highly discouraged.

Ford knew his brother did similar things in his youth and hated it then, but knowing that you did also only made his distaste for the strong smell stronger as he would then avoid any and all areas that you smoked in, and yet the smell clung to you like second skin and Ford was reminded of how much he hated the stuff and would try to give you something that would hopefully act as a replacement for weed.

Unfortunately for Ford it didn’t work and by the end of the week you were back to smoking weed almost on the regular to destress.

He’d even list off the risks you’d run if you low using the substance.

CHS syndrome

Elevated anxiety

Paranoia

Psychosis illnesses such as schizophrenia

Addiction to weed, if you hadn’t already formed one.

Confusions and or potential hallucinations

And so many more but the more he listed the less you seemed to care as you had relied on the weed for a good majority of your life, and did so in controlled quantities but understood Ford’s worries regardless in the matter and placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘I’m fine Ford, I know it’s not exactly good for me but it’s the only thing that helps.’ You tell him.

‘I’m here.’ Ford replied, a little hurt that you didn’t think of him as a good option for distressing.

‘You’re far too busy in your lab or out monster hunting to sit still for ten minutes and listen to me talk about my worries.’ You said as though it was obvious. ‘So weed is my only resort to calm mind.’

‘Meditation exists, so does journaling and or scrapbooking?’ Ford suggests and it was obvious that he was trying to mitigate any permanent damage you might do to yourself in the future.

‘Not my thing and I lack the patience when this mind is loud as fuck.’ You shrugged before walking up to the top of the shack to smoke, leaving Ford a little at a loss of what he could do for you now. He didn’t condemn you for your usage of weed, but he just worries that an addiction will grow from it and he wants to be there for you, he just doesn’t know how…

[rafessweetgirl]

secrets

summary: you’re rafe's girlfriend, but he fucked up and now he needs you to be a little more than just that.

warnings: angst, nothing else fr

a/n: based on diary by alicia keys!! i haven't heard this song in years but when i listened to it a couple weeks ago i alr had a story. very strongly recommend listening to it while reading. (that's fr how i wrote it.) i promise ill get pt 2 of everything you wanted out eventually. love yall <3

i wont tell...your secrets 

you woke up from your spot on the couch to the front door busting open. who would come barging in this early in the morning? only one person came to mind. “rafe?” you sat up, hands bracing against the cushion under you to help you stand up. you walk over towards the front slamming into him. he’s been gone since yesterday morning and he looks rough, like he’s been in a fight. except that is exactly what happened. you reach for his face, but he flinches away. “hey, hey what’s wrong? where were you?”

he shakes his head. “nothin’ it’s fine. i’m fine.” 

he doesn’t look fine, not even close. “rafe, come on, you look hurt, let me help.”

he steps away from you. “i don’t need your help but…” his worried eyes meet yours. “baby i-i did something.”

——

rafes silence speaks volumes. he hasn’t uttered a word since he spoke that cryptic sentence. “you have to tell me eventually, baby.”

baby. he loves when you call him that. it softens the hardness embedded in him. it makes him feel better, worthy of your love that he doesn’t deserve anymore. not after what he did.

“you have to swear you wont tell a fucking soul.” 

your secrets...are safe with me

“it wasn’t john b.” that’s what rafe said. over and over again, like a broken record. that it wasn’t john meaning that it was someone else. what that meant you didn’t know. you assumed it meant that john b didn’t do the something bad your boyfriend mentioned, but instead rafe himself.

“what do you mean? what wasn’t john b?”

“i didn’t mean to, i swear….it wasn’t on purpose.” he turns to you, his knees bumping yours. he grabs your hands squeezing them, using you to relieve his stress. “you have to understand, i was just trying to protect ward.” he starts to try and calm himself. “yeah, i did it for him. wasn't tryna hurt her.”

“i can’t understand what you wont tell me, rafe.” there were so many things that he could’ve done. doing them in wards defense was….odd, to say the least. but about a million scenarios ran through your mind, his hands doing nothing to soothe either of you. “you can tell me anything.”

i will keep....your secrets 

you stare at rafe. you physically can’t move. he was the one who killed peterkin. not john b, like the island had believed. your own boyfriend, your sweet, sweet rafe. he said he did it for ward because “she was gonna kill him, i swear.” but why? 

ward didn’t really respect his son and probably didn’t even love him. and rafe hated him for that. all his life, he treated rafe as less than. so why, when it came down to it, would rafe choose ward?

“i love him, i really do, baby.”

“he doesn’t feel the same, rafe!” he shoots up suddenly, making you flinch.

“shut up! he does, he just has a hard time showing it. but i-“ he accentuates the "i" with a finger to his own chest, “i saved him. and now he’ll actually see me as his son, not just some kid he gave his dna to. but i lose that if i go to jail. so you can’t say a fucking word.”

your heartbeat begins to speed up. he’s putting the burden of his actions on you. you had nothing to do with it but if you agree to stay quiet about the truth, you might as well have pulled the trigger yourself. but you can’t betray rafe. you love him and everyone else in his life has hurt or betrayed him in one way or another. you can’t be added to the list.

tears begin to pool in your eyes. a few fall as you look down towards the floor. “i won’t.” 

just think of me as the pages in your diary

his personal diary. whenever shit goes left he'll turn to you, confide in you. he'll open you up, pick up the pen and write down every little secret. when he's done he'll close your pages and make you swear not to tell a soul. then he'll lock you up, guaranteeing the safety of his secrets. 

lovely divider by @kimjiho1

i wanna start a tag list, lmk if you want added! 💞

[leonkennedybreedingkink]

PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY

bestie!leon kennedy x reader

warnings: 18+, dubcon lol, mental health issues for both leon and reader… he’s a pervert and again ooc but that’s the fun of things. dacryphillia and he’s a little mean and sleazy.

tumblr removes fics with nsfw tags from the tag. ergo i’ve flagged the content at the beginning. you’re also responsible for your own media consumption, so if this bugs you, don’t read it.

Leon sat there on the edge of the bed with you, rubbing your back as you hid your face in your hands. “I just feel like I’m going in circles.” You tell him, lifting your head out of your hands to rest your chin on them. “I mean, I don’t feel like I’m ever gonna get better.”

He can sympathize, he really can, especially when he was in boot camp post Raccoon City and laid awake at night because he had nightmares otherwise.

He rubs your back in circles on autopilot, trying not to get bored or indulge in an impulsive thought that tells you to shut the fuck up and quit fucking crying, maybe open your blinds once or twice a day and you wouldn’t feel so bad. Eat a fucking vegetable or two while you’re at it.

You, believing the best in him, don’t really notice. “I just—“ and your voice breaks, face warming all the way to your neck as you hide your face in your hands again and kick yourself internally for crying in front of him.

You hate crying in front of everyone, your face gets splotchy and you can’t breathe through your nose. When it’s Leon, though, your best friend, it’s a little worse because you’d bet he looks cute when he cries, him and his stupid Botticelli angel face.

And, oh, that’s not really the right move.

He doesn’t remember when watching someone cry would be enough to get him off, except for an adult video he watched had a girl get fucked so good he could watch tears leak out of her eyes, openly sobbing when she squirted because that faceless phallus hit the right spot inside her.

Or when his ex-girlfriend was on her fourth orgasm of the night and she cried just a little while his face was between her legs.

He needed a stress reliever that day, it was a tough time; and he’s never really had to think while going down on someone.

Leon shifts a little and prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that he’s not seriously getting bricked up by you crying. Nope, it’s not going down, shit, he hopes you don’t notice.

You stifle sobs into your palms for a good thirty minutes, face and ears hot enough to power a fucking house. You take a break to wipe your eyes with your sleeve, sniffling wetly before you reach over to blow your nose. “‘M sorry,” You tell him, voice wobbling before you blow your nose and toss the used tissue away.

“It’s fine.” Leon tells you, his voice just a little strained. He wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his lap and prays you don’t notice that he’s bricked up just from you crying. God, Leon, that’s so fucked up. At least those girls—nameless pornstar and ex-girlfriend—were enjoying it, you’re crying because you’re sad and mentally ill.

Again, fucked up.

You cry a little harder when he’s being so kind to comfort you, hiding your face in his shoulder as you sniffle and keep the sobbing to a minimum. When your tears come to an end, that’s when you notice that he’s fully hard beneath you. You lift your head up after a pause, wiping one eye as you look at Leon. “Leon… are you…?”

He can’t quite hide a grimace. “I’m—um, I’m really—I’m not—“ And when he catches sight of your red face and tear-streaked cheeks, he nearly groans, his throat suddenly dry. That’s when he flips you onto your back.

You land in the pillows with a soft grunt, giving him a bewildered look. “What are you doing?” You ask him in a little voice, sniffling and wiping your runny nose.

“Do you ever stop feeling sorry for yourself?” He asks you, one hand planting in the pillow beside your head, the other untucking his shirt.

Your stomach turns and he can visibly see his words hit the mark. “What?” You ask him, eyes close to brimming with tears again.

“Jesus,” Leon swears, undoing his belt buckle one handed cause he’s had enough practice. “You wanna know what I think? I think you like wallowing, I think you like having people consoling you.” His belt comes undone with a rattle, his button and fly next.

You stare at him with your mouth agape before a couple tears slip out. He takes the chance to push up your shirt and lets out a groan when he sees the cute black bra you’re wearing, hands wandering up to squeeze handfuls of your tits.

You yelp, back arching of your own accord—he’s glad that worked, you told him enough of what you liked when venting about your ex-boyfriends not being able to find the clit or eat pussy right.

He’s never had that problem, obviously.

A slightly mean smile crawls across his face before he leans down to lick a tear track up. “Poor, unloved little thing.” He coos, sticking his hands down the front of your sweatpants to find you damp.

Leon rubs circles on your clit to see you grind your teeth and twitch, one of his hands still on your tit as you try not to react further. “You just sit here in your depression cave and feel bad for yourself, huh? Do you even open up your curtains to get some sun? The sun’s real nice, a natural antidote to depression.”

Humiliation and an orgasm lick up your spine a few seconds after he’s done talking, body locking up as your hands fist in the sheets. He tuts at you and sticks his used finger in your mouth, kneeling between your spread legs as he pulls down your sweatpants with the other hand.

Aw, you left a cute little wet spot on your panties, just for him.

You lift up your hips when he tells you to, he throws the flimsy garments on the floor where they land with a soft slap. “C’mon, I know how make you feel better.” He tells you, one hand cupping your knee to put one over his shoulder as he finally pulls down his jeans and boxers to mid-thigh.

Leon sinks in with a stifled groan, then wraps your other leg around his waist, turning his head and kissing your knee once he’s balls-deep.

Your chest heaves and he kisses your collarbone—poor thing, it must be a little much for you, he’s not even moving.

You scrabble at him when he finally does move, nails catching on his shirt before you manage to tug him closer. Each short, staccato thrust makes the bed rock and punches little squeaks from you.

Your door’s open, but he doesn’t feel like closing it, so he puts a hand over your mouth as he covers your body with his, hips grinding to hear you whimper against his palm. “I know, I know, baby.” he tells you, lips ghosting over your cheek before he licks up more salty tears that overflow. “I’ve got you. You’re all empty inside, I’ll fill you up.”

But not before you come, Leon’s a gentleman like that. He loops his arm beneath you and pulls you into his thrusts, you grow a little louder beneath his palm. He shifts so his pubic bone can grind a little harder against your clit and your thigh twitches before you sob against his palm, brows furrowing as you lurch up, more tears squeezing out.

He fucks you through it before pulling out and painting your tummy white, collapsing by your side and panting softly. You sniffle loudly and Leon feels a little bad, rolling over when you do and spooning you from behind, his release staining your sheets as you cry quietly.

He holds you through it, kissing your shoulder and the nape of your neck before hiding his face in your hair. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles after a long silence, “I was out of line.”

You shake your head and stay silent, wiping your eyes as you two cuddle in silence.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

If requests are still open hon, would you mind doing Miguel O’Hara comforting a Spider-Person!Reader who’s been really stressed lately and who is prone to panic attacks and breakdowns? Thank you in advance! Always a joy to read your writing! ❤️

Of course 😭💚🫂 and thank you so much!

Internal Breakdown

Miguel O'Hara x gn!Reader • Rating: pg pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Warnings: Talk of mental health and mental illness, panic attacks, hiding, reader has negative thoughts about themselves, reader is a spider person who can shoot webs (not specified how), overuse of italics, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 611

You’d stepped out for a moment. You had to. 

The way the oppressive weight was just building and building and building. Forcing acid to the back of your throat, tightening your chest in a vice. Making you want to claw and rip at your skin. 

You couldn’t be around people. Couldn’t do that in front of people. The idea of others seeing, knowing, made it worse, so, so much worse. 

You’d rather claw your eyes out than break down publicly. Refusing to give yourself the same graces and goodwill you would gift others. 

If someone else was in pain, in trouble, felt like this, then… well… You’d help them. You wouldn’t judge them. 

You weren’t worth the same standard though. 

You creep into a side room, it was a stationary cupboard originally, you think. Used long before your time. Now, it seemed mostly forlorn, neglected. Some old furniture pushed inside. 

You climb up onto the haphazardly stacked tables and chairs easily, using a few webs to make sure the tower is one hundred percent stable. 

The physicality of it helps, gives you something to think about, focus on. Tricks you mind into believing you're short of breath from the movement and not from the panic attack that’s so close it’s almost completely devouring you. 

If you just sit a while, compose yourself. Focus on your breathing. You’ll be okay. Fine. Fine. Really. 

You’ve only been in there a few minutes when the door opens and you nearly jump out of your skin, just about managing to fight down your instinct to shoot a web. 

Miguel holds up his hands, his shoulders a little rounded in apology. “Sorry.” 

You shake your head, swallow, your mouth upsettingly dry. “Don’t wor- I was just-” Hiding. 

He climbs up quickly, sitting gracefully next to you. Close, but with enough space between you so that it isn’t crowding. 

“You don’t need to explain yourself.” His voice is soft, gentle. Like you’re some wild animal he’s afraid of spooking. “I know things can get a little… much.” 

You want to throw a chair at him. Tell him to get the hell out. To fuck off. You can do this. You can do this. You’re not some child. You’re not-

“I used to hide out on the roof, when there were less of us.” He continues, just as quiet and sincere. “But too many Spider people go there now.” You can hear the hit of a smile, see how his eyes crinkle slightly in the mask.  

For a moment you're dumbfounded, unable to process exactly what he’s saying. “You did?” 

He hums and nods. “I hide out in my office now, got a side room in there, everyone thinks it’s a fancy toilet. It’s really a panic room. As in, that’s where I go to panic. Not, with the locks and stuff.” 

You smile, not sure if he’s being truthful or not, but the effort is endearing none the less. 

“Maybe keep that between us?” He tilts his head to the side and you laugh softly. 

You mime sealing your lips and he chuckles. 

“Thanks.” Rhythmically, he taps his thumb against his thigh for a moment. “We all go through a lot… I know we don’t like to admit it, or show it. But… it’s okay.” He’s quiet, the soft sound of his breathing filtering into the small space. “I just wanted to tell you that. And… you can come and use my panic room anytime you need.” 

Your heart hurts, too full of such a sincere sweetness. “What if you’re using it?” 

“Ah, well, that’s easy.” He nudges your arm gently with his. “We can panic together.” 

Thank you for reading!

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