#maybe maybe ill just rot away like i should

[memesandthingsilike]

.-.

[ruruvxz]

“Where is my friend, smiley?”

Idol!Huh Yunjin x Idol!Reader

↳ synopsis: It was infuriating watching everyone ship you and your label-mate, you didn’t even know how anyone came to that conclusion, you didn’t even interact with her in the public! (Or from public knowledge you didn’t) So why would anyone know about your embarrassing relationship with her?

↳ cw: kinda mean reader, use of language, established relationship, reader is in a fake group, reader was in Produce 48, lovesick yunjin, hidden relationship, tooth rotting fluff (kinda a yapfest abt how much you love her…)

↳word count: 2.5k

a/n: literally my first time writing after awhile, usually my stories are old renditions/proofreads of stories i wrote back in 2023. so this is something im actually really proud of! also this story kinda was inspired by “tingin” by cup of joe more than it was inspired by “where is smiley” by serani poji… LOL

౨ৎ It was odd, and everyone agreed, that the partnership with Huh Yunjin from Le Sserafim and Y/N from Serendipity was perplexing. The only thing connecting both of the girls was the industry they happened to be in, other than that they had nothing in common. Of course, the argument could be made that you and her both participated in the hit reality competition "Produce 48", but everyone knew that was quite a flawed counterpoint.

This was because you were practically thrown out after a few episodes before getting scouted by HYBE to debut months later. And you made it apparent that you didn't want to interact with anyone associated with the production of that show. So with Le Sserafim's debut years after yours, you found it baffling that your company wanted you to "hang out" with the rookie groups, it was infuriating. You worked so hard just to be put with a bunch of girls who couldn't care any less about how much you tried. Despite that, you found mountains and mountains of carefully orchestrated videos of “so-called" proof about you and Yunjin being the "best" of friends.

Whatever it was connecting the both of you was a mystery the fans must solve, and being honest with yourself, you found the whole circumstance mildly infuriating.

So at every turn you tried avoiding that mischievous redhead wherever you went, even when it came to recording meaningless video collaborations, you always mustered up a half-assed excuse. It came to the point where you went out of your way to hide in uncomfortable places just to avoid her friendly banter. Though no matter how hard you tried you could always hear her voice linger longer than it should have in the back of your head. Or maybe it was just how awfully loud her voice was, to the point that it left a ringing sensation in your ear.

It came as no surprise when you heard her voice calling out to your other members inquiring about your whereabouts. This was usually your cue to hide away from prudish questions, last time she had asked you "Do you come here often? You look like you do" unprovoked! Admittedly you knew she didn't mean any harm, but it still struck a cord within you, and knew she was probably going to run towards you asking all sorts of questions. You picked yourself up from whatever task was put on you and quickly ran away from her voice.

Of course, you knew what you were doing was more than ill-mannered, but god forbid she quizzes you one more time about trivial interests. But that was better than confronting her, confrontation was your worst enemy, and so was Yunjin's mannerisms. She was the physical embodiment of what a "dog personality" was, always eager to learn more and help everyone out. it kinda freaked you out to some jealous extent.

So trying your best not to start any conflict with this poor redhead, you decided to best course of action was to camp out around the building's designated lounge. Hoping today would not be the day she decided to check this certain deserted area. All you could do now was fish out your phone from your back pocket to read some forums about your performance and pray that no one would notice you here.

On the other hand, Yunjin was getting more and more hopeless trying to find you around the shared building. Feeling a little lost as she mindlessly drifted across section to section of the HYBE building. Though it hadn't taken poor Yunjin a while before spotting you from the corner of her eye. Her eyes lit up when she saw you mindlessly scrolling on your phone, the energy filling her up with excitement as she inched closer. As she came closer you couldn't help but notice her come closer and closer, realizing your interaction was inevitable.

Jerking your head up to meet her gaze, Yunjin waved her hand as she came within reach of you, letting out a fake smile before putting your phone down. You glanced at her and back to the empty seat resting in front of you, she beamed a bright smile before quickly and "casually" sitting down. Yunjin opened her mouth to speak before you cut her off with a hum.

"Remember, we're the only ones here so make sure to be a little quiet, alright?" You hushed, while she gave you an approving nod, she spoke up this time making it apparent that she was trying her best not to draw attention to the both of you, not like last time.

"Of course, I just wanted to see you it's been so long since I've seen your face..." Yunjin pouts as she looks around making sure the coast is clear from the nosy "enthusiast" who was always oh so curious about you and Yunjin's relationship. Your spine chilling at the thought of people making up such absurd theories about your closeness. The way they could put together such in-depth statements about the both of you always stumped you, how did they manage to procure all this information?

Even Yunjin claimed time and time again that she knew nothing about these fan-made theories, or how her fans managed to get old screen captures of both of you. In actual reality, Yunjin most definitely knew more than he should have! Mainly because it was practically her fault that images of the both of you were wafting around on the internet. See, she wasn't exactly the silent type when it came to friendships/relationships, she loved airing out her own business, which usually came back to bite her in the ass. So needless to say when her old Spotify account was coincidently launched into mainstream media people quickly connected the dots.

For someone who was adamant about avoiding her Juniors, you happened to be insinuated in every one of her, oddly, romantic, playlists. Either that be by a photo of the back of your head being the cover of a playlist titled "The Perfect Pair", or by the fact that all the descriptions were... Unusually corny... even by Yunjin's standards. Each careful string of words all connected with an underlying message about adoration for a certain someone. This didn't help her case since she always spoke about you in high regard whenever she was in a lonesome interview.

And the evidence staked against her was just the tip of the iceberg, it was in fact, much deeper than she'd originally like to admit. If someone with a genuine interest in your relationship with Yunjin researched just a little more about the both of you, they'd probably discover your relationship cut deep. And yes— as much as you tried to avoid how embarrassing your elimination was during Produce 48, you came across one of the greatest person you’d ever meet.

The way she laughed so carefreely, and how her eyes crinkled whenever she smiled, while her gaze brightly met yours. Everything about her made your heart stop, it made you freeze up whenever she looked at you during practice, and it made you such a fool. You knew it was for the better to avoid her, if you didn't, you'd probably be so whipped so hard that you couldn't focus on your own career. But it was so hard, especially whenever she'd run towards you after every practice and performance telling you how well you did. (No one actually noticed anything because you never really got any screen time sadly...) Even if you left fairly early on, Yunjin slipped you her number so you could both keep in contact.

After that day, the one thing you swore not to do, was instantly thrown out the window, as every waking moment you'd secretly visit her to give her your luck. And when things didn't go her way, and she was eventually eliminated, you comforted her in your arms. Before you debuted, you would actively seek your smiling friend, laughing under the neatly shaded picnic table outside the PLEDIS building. It wasn't much nor was it very significant, but being by her side was more than enough for you.

Even after you debuted, you never broke contact with your dear friend, words couldn’t describe how much she meant to you. She congratulated you every step of the way, and you backed her up twice fold, no matter how turbulent her career was becoming you’d stick by her side no matter what. Because to see her smiling face was more than enough for you and you wouldn’t let anything or anyone damage that. So when she finally told you how much you meant to her, you couldn’t help but reciprocate the feeling.

Though when she debuted and years later light babble started to circulate around the corners of the internet, you so desperately wanted to stay away from her, not to damage her career. It was difficult but her happiness, and that smile you treasured so much was on the line, and you wouldn’t—couldn’t let her lose that.

(Of course, she knew what you were doing, she wasn’t an idiot, but it just made her love you even more, the way you cared so much made her heart swoon deeper for you. Yunjin didn’t want to sway your plans because she didn’t want to ruin your career as well, so she too, went with it. But that didn’t mean she ever kept you a secret. You belonged by her side and she didn’t want anyone to forget that. So yes, she was subtly hinting towards her loving fans that her heart fell in the palms of someone else’s.)

So that was what led the both of you to the circumstances you were entangled in right now. Having to camp out in secluded places, where only your faint laughter could fill her ears, and hers only. You reminisced on your past with her, how carefree you both used to be during your youth, but you wouldn’t trade what you had right now for anything. Despite how secretive the both of you were, you were content with having her hands interlocking with your fingers. It was small, honestly not even comparable to how she used to intertwine your lips during rush hour on the bustling streets of New York, but both made your heart race nevertheless.

As she talked about how practice went, your eyes drifted to how she’d scrunch her eyes whenever she laughed about what happened with Eunchae. Despite all the hardships she’s dealt with over the years, she was still the carefree girl you fell in love with. It was honestly surprising how your eyes never faltered off of her even after years of dating. You tried to take the advice from your family and peers that this was some teenage infatuation, but even through crowds of people, you’d pick her gummy smile before anyone else’s.

Your mind drifted to how you’d give her the moon and back, even if no one was watching, you’d give her everything you had. Your eyes, your heart, your mind, anything you could give her, you would. Yunjin couldn’t help but notice your gaze falling from hers and to her cheeks, she curiously stopped her story to call out to you.

“Ah Y/N, are you okay? Are you tired, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have talked your ears off—“ You cut her off by raising your hands to her face, she looked confused as she cupped her face. Yunjin looked even more shocked when you started to pinch her soft cheeks. Squishing them like marshmallows before laughing to yourself silently.

She (very pathetically) tried to swat your hands away before finally giving in with a giggle, placing her hands on top of yours. “You have such an adorable smile, have I ever told you that?” You speak, pulling her cheeks up to force a smile, not realizing she was smiling from your comment. Caressing your hands with her thumb she spoke up once more.

“Yes actually, you always tell me that my love.” She responded, her cheeks flushing red as you continued to play with her face. The way her eyes squinted like a crescent moon made you adore her even more than before.

“Your smile is just so adorable, I’m afraid I might hide it away from everyone.” You joked as you continued, she looked at you even more lovingly than imaginable, if you weren’t in public, you’d probably be kissing her face all over instead of playing with it. You were so distracted by how charming she looked that you didn’t notice a meddlesome paparazzi sneaking in and taking a very sneaky photo of the both of you. (And even if you did notice, you didn’t have the power to stop them, they’d probably run off with the photos before you could even stand up. Though they would probably release the photos later on in the day, and it would rightfully annoy you. You couldn’t deny the fact you were a little grateful that the people knew, the Huh Yunjin was, Y/N L/N’s)

“There you go again— Hey! You know, that was the first thing you told me when we met.”

“Was it really?”

“Yeah, you told me how beautiful my smile was, I was kinda surprised since you approached me in such a huge crowd of people.”

As Yunjin recited the moment you met, you remembered in detail about the interaction, because that’s what changed the trajectory of your life. (The backstage was crowded with everyone getting ready in their bright pink and white uniform, the cameras weren’t rolling so it was awfully loud. Your broken Korean wasn’t helping your cause as you tried your best to converse with your fellow trainees. The sea of faces was difficult to remember, there were 96 contestants after all. Despite how deafeningly loud everything was, and how overwhelming everything felt, your eyes wonder towards a light-brown bob. Her face caught you off guard, she was stunning, and the way she smiled made the world go silent for a few moments. And you needed to talk to her, or this moment would slip through your tender fingers, so you pushed through the crowd just to have one conversation with her.)

“How embarrassing… I hope no one finds out about that.” You sheepishly admit as you move your hands away from her face and intertwine your fingers back to hers.

“I’m sure they’ll find away, but before they do, my smile will always belong to you, Y/N.” She lifted one of your hands back to her face and cupped it to one of her cheeks before smiling softly. Making the already silent lounge even more quiet, as your mind only focused on her delicate smile. The same one you’d turn tides to protect. Your smiley.

opm and ppop lovers rise tf up!!!!!

[loveephia]

TOO ATTRACTED | kita shinsuke

sypnosis: in which kita is crushing over you, his wife, all over again.

content: (🦷) tooth-rotting fluff, kita admits his "troubles" to the reader, he's so romantically dense it's cute, round-cheeks-kita headcanon, aran is mentioned, sorta sucky writing and a reuse of certain phrases and actions from my older posts, timeskip, inspired by that one guy on reddit.

⚠ warning/s: none.

kita shinsuke is starting to feel like he did during his high school years again.

he doesn't know when or how it came to this, where he can't take his eyes off of you, or how everytime you touch him it feels like electricity, but he's starting to think that he's fallen ill.

his face gets warmer, both figuratively and literally, at the mere sight of you. have you always had this effect on him?

kita can't help but sweat when you're close. the way you snuggle into his side to steal all of his warmth almost made him flinch, as if this wasn't already a daily routine for you two.

every time you surprise him with a long kiss, he feels the need to hold you for support. by the waist, he prefers.

and whenever kita sees you playing with your wedding ring (a habit you developed), his heart swells. it's like a little reminder that he's married to you.

kita is lost in thought, and you just so happened to notice. "shin?" you call from the kitchen. kita faces you and sees you slicing some fruit, "are you okay?" you ask.

kita doesn't nod. maybe he can ask you why he's feeling this way. "can we talk?" kita asks, and you nod, making your way over to the couch, placing the bowl of fruit on the table in front of you. "what's on your mind, love?" you ask.

"love.." the nickname you called him every day, and every other day. he can feel your effect on him taking place already; with the way his heart was beating erratically against his ribcage, and the fact that he tries not to fidget with his own fingers.

"i— uhm.." did he just stutter? "..did you do something with yourself lately?" kita asked. you tilt your head before shaking it, "no, not that i can remember. why do you ask?" you respond.

"then i think i'm coming down with a flu." kita says. you widen your eyes that are filled with nothing but care, "really?" you lean over and gently place your hand under kita's bangs and on his forehead. somehow, the effect you had on him doubled.

his breath hitches from the proximity that he should be used to by now. he patiently waits for you to pull away and give him his diagnosis, but you only shrug. "i don't feel anything out of the ordinary.."

kita sighs, maybe it's best if he just tells you what's on his mind. "i just— i feel like how i did when we still attended high school." he says. you quirk a brow, not properly understanding his point of view, "what do you mean by that, shin?"

"whenever you walk into a room, aran would tell me how red my face got. i feel the need to protect you a lot more lately. not because i think you're incapable of defending yourself, but because i just want to. and when you kiss me.. i feel stiffer than usual." kita rants. "my eyes linger on you a little longer than it should, but i can't help it. you're just.." he pauses, seeing the soft smile on your face as you listened.

"so beautiful." he says, breathless.

you caress his round cheek that happened to be painted with a red hue. "now i'm no psychologist, but i think you're in love with me, shin." you said.

kita blinks at you. "but i've always loved you. why did i start feeling this way again only until recently?"

"how you felt when you were younger was probably just a crush, whereas it all felt new to you. being bashful over the person you like is normal." you explained, "like irina firstein said, "feelings don't dissipate over time, but only get stronger and deeper." so you might've just had a shift in the way you feel love now."

"but, alas, love is pretty weird, no?" you giggle.

kita nods, a small smile making its way on his handsome face.

© lowercase intended | loveephia

[minxmut-cafe]

Withered Love

Pairing : YANDERE!! Jimin x reader (referred to as princess)

Genre : modern Au, YANDERE.

Warning : tooth rotting fluff, smut, spanking, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, spanking, oral sex (f. Receiving). Breeding kink, dirty talk (fairly tame ngl)

Word count : 3.5k

Authors note : I hope you guys enjoy this smut. Istg there something about Jimin as a YANDERE that just gets me going. If you want more stuff like this you can request it on my page and if you'd like to support me you can go on my KOFI page. I'm also currently writing a Fantasy au fanfic about jimin so be sure to check that out as well. Enjoy!!!

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Jimin pulled on his jacket, preparing to leave for work. His princess, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, lay on the bed, her eyes wide and pleading as she gazed at him. "Jimin," she whined, her voice laced with sweetness and desperation. "You can’t leave me today. We were supposed to spend the whole day together."

He paused, glancing over at her with a small sigh. "I know, princess. But I have a really important meeting today. It won’t take long. I’ll be back before you know it."

Her lower lip jutted out, and she buried her face back into the blankets with exaggerated sorrow. "I don’t feel good... maybe I should stay in bed all day," she muttered, feigning illness in her most dramatic fashion.

Jimin, who knew her better than anyone, smirked knowingly. "You're pretending to be sick again, aren’t you?" he teased, his tone both affectionate and amused.

She whined louder, her voice thick with mock resignation. "Fine. Go, then. But when you come back, you’ll find my cold, withered corpse. You didn’t water me with enough love," she sighed dramatically. "I’ll be shriveled up, forgotten."

Jimin chuckled softly, unable to resist the warmth in his heart. "Princess, you’re not going anywhere. I’ll make sure to give you all the love when I get back. I promise." But as he continued preparing to leave, she started sighing even louder, fueling the playful yet furious tantrum brewing inside her.

He stopped, watching her for a moment, his resolve faltering as he saw how upset she was. But he couldn’t delay his meeting.

He walked over to her, scooping her up into his arms and sitting her on his lap. "Come on, don’t pout," he said gently, pressing a series of tender kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, and finally, her lips. "I’ll be back early, I promise. Just a few hours. You’ll have my love and attention when I return."

She stiffened for a moment, then playfully slapped his chest with her palm. "You better, Jimin," she muttered under her breath, a sly smile curling on her lips. "Or I’ll have to punish you when you get back." Her eyes narrowed mischievously. "I’ll make sure to leave you a little reminder of what happens when you make me wait."

Jimin smirked, his gaze sharpening. "That’s my job, brat," he replied in a low, teasing tone, the underlying possessiveness lacing his words. "You leave the punishing to me."

Her face flushed with the familiar rush of both excitement and challenge. "You better come back on time, or else," she warned, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Deal," he said with a wink, standing to leave. But as he reached the door, he turned back one last time. "And princess, don't go withering away on me. I want that lunch waiting when I return."

Her eyes softened, and she let out a heavy sigh, flopping back into the blankets. "You better hurry, Jimin," she mumbled. "Or I’ll have no choice but to make sure you're sorry."

Jimin smiled at the playful threat and stepped out, knowing the hours ahead would be filled with her anticipation and her playful, possessive heart waiting for his return. He was already counting down the moments until he could come back, ready to deliver on his promise—and maybe indulge in a little punishment of his own.

The moment Jimin arrived at his office, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to find a series of playful and silly pictures from his princess. The first was of her pouting dramatically with an empty plate beside her, clearly pretending to be starving. The next was a close-up of her face with exaggerated eyes, followed by a shot of her tucked under the blanket, looking like she was fighting off an invisible army. Each photo was more ridiculous than the last, and Jimin couldn’t help but smile at her antics.

Despite the brief moments of amusement, his focus remained on his work, but in the back of his mind, he couldn't stop thinking about her. He had promised to return early, and he fully intended to keep his word.

When he finally stepped through the door later that day, he was met with a sight that made his heart skip. His princess was sitting on the sofa, glaring at the clock with a scowl so intense it almost looked comical. The moment she heard him, her expression softened, and she practically jumped off the couch, squealing as she rushed toward him.

Jimin barely had time to react before she jumped into his arms, her small frame practically tackling him. "You're back! You're back!" she squealed, her face lighting up with a mixture of relief and overwhelming joy. She sniffed him, as if making sure it was truly him, and peppered his face with aggressive, hurried kisses.

He laughed at her overzealous greeting, slightly overwhelmed by her energy. "I kept my end of the deal, princess," he said, once he managed to catch his breath. "So, where’s my lunch?"

She giggled, her eyes sparkling mischievously as she pulled a plate from the nearby table. With a dramatic flourish, she set it in front of him... then promptly sat on it. "Here’s your lunch," she said proudly, handing him a jar of jam. "I’m your lunch. I’m your favorite, right?"

Jimin raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her little game. "Is that so?" he smirked. "Then I’ll need a knife to properly... disassemble my food."

Her eyes widened in concern, her hands hovering over the plate protectively. "A... a knife?" she asked, frowning. "Jimin, don’t you dare..."

Before she could protest further, he burst into a fit of giggles, his laughter filling the room. She pouted at him, crossing her arms in mock annoyance. "You’re such a meanie," she muttered, but her lips betrayed her with a small smile.

The moment she was distracted, Jimin didn’t waste any time. He scooped her up effortlessly, holding her close to his chest. "Guess we’ll skip the lunch and go straight to dessert," he teased, his voice low and playful.

She gasped, her face flushing with a mix of surprise and excitement as he carried her toward the bedroom. "Jimin, what are you—!" she gasped, her voice cutting off as he continued to walk, the playful tension thick between them.

He grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. "You’re my favorite dish, princess. And I’m starving."

As he carried her, she let out a little squeal, her hands nervously clutching at his shirt. "I was joking! Jimin! I’m not really food!"

He winked at her, his smirk only growing. "Oh, I know. But you’re exactly what I need right now."

With a playful laugh, he kicked the bedroom door shut behind them. The game had only just begun, and his princess was in for a whole new level of attention.

Jimin threw his princess on the bed, the shorts of her camisole set riding up. She looked perfect in it. He leaned over her, giving her butt a harsh slap, making her moan. He giggled as she moaned knowing she loved when he spanked her.

“I hope you don't mind me taking a bite off my sweet lunch” he murmured against her necks, leaving open mouthed kisses all over her jaw, neck and collar bones. The princess blushes “I hope you know I won't taste as good since I don't have any meat on my bones” gasping as he licked her sweet spot,

Jimin giggled at her response “oh princess who said anything about eating meat off your bones…I want another taste of your sweet cunt” her face burst into red when he said that. Scandalized by his dirty words she looks away. He moves down sliding the strings of her camisole off her shoulder. Leaving hickeys as he goes. “You've been a good girl and kept my cum in your cunt right?”, the princess nods. Jimin sighs and lands another sharp spank on her ass.

“Words princess. If you don't say it out loud I'm gonna have to punish you by making you scream yeah?” he ordered.

The princess whimpered upon the harsh slap spitting out a pathetic yes. He spanks her again. “Louder” he said. “yes…I was a good girl i promise. I kept it in”. Jimin lets out a satisfied hum as he rips off her cami making her gasp and look at him in betrayal.

“JIMIN! You promised you wouldn't rip another one of my favourites” she pouted but soon forgot when he started sucking on her nipples, while twisting the other one between his index and middle finger, pinching it ever so slightly.

She lets out soft whimpers of his name as she sucks on her nipples teasingly. “Mini…more please” she pleaded. Jimin, wanting to reward her for being a good girl, rewards her by wedging a knee between her legs. Grinding slowly. Her pleased moans filled the air. Jimin moved down from her boobs kissing his way down to her waist band.

He bites the skin right above her belly making her whine. Not wanting to wait longer he pulls off her shorts with her panties and sees the remnants of this morning. He clicks his tongue “awh princess it seems like you lied about being a good girl hmm?” He tuts. She looks up at him with bleary eyes “I was good! I promise. You— you came so much in me it just– some of it leaked out—” she pleads.

“Some of it?” he asks, dipping a finger in her hole. Slowly pushing the finger in and out as he hummed disappointed. “See? it all leaked out my precious.” He sighed “I told you to be good and keep your cunt nice and clenched so you can keep my cum inside, didn't I?”

She nodded, her face flushed as she conjured up some words “I tried I really did I promise..” she said, her voice shaky as her head hung low.

Just as she was about to say something more a harsh spank landed on her clit making her throw her head back moaning his name.

“Tch— seems like I'm gonna have to punish my sweet girl,” he said. His voice strained. The sight of her splayed out like this. Her cunt covered in his cum ignited a fierce possessiveness inside him.

“Nooo minie I promise I'll be good and keep it all in— I swear’’ she pleads. Jimin sighs, flipping her over.

“That's not how it works. My pretty girl.”

He frowns, looking down at her. She was looking at him through Glossy eyes. “Can't you make an exception please?”

She asks, hoping to tug at his heart strings.

Jimin looks down at her thinking. “I can't make any exception princess. Can't have you thinking you got a wiggle room right?” He replied, “— But since you were a patient princess for me I'll try and go easy on you okay?— I'll try not to spank your ass anymore. It seems it's still a bit red from the detour from yesterday afternoon” be said examining her ass cheeks, spreading them apart

Princess blushes letting out a small but firm yes. He plunged two fingers deep inside her. Pushing them in and out— and in and out. She lets out small moans of his name, grabbing the bed sheet as he speeds up.

Jimin leans down licking her clit covered in his cum. “Fuck you taste so good covered in my cum like the dirty little girl you are.” Jimin reaches his spare hand down, palming himself. Moaning against her clit. He continues his assault on her clit adding an additional third finger.

“Ahn–! Jimin, it's too much,” she moaned. “Awh princess but my cocks thicker, If you can't take three fingers how am I supposed to fuck you brainless just how you like it hm?” the princess blushes at his words moaning his name. Jimin curls his fingers up hitting her g-spot making her legs quiver.

“Jiminie faster please” she pleaded. “Tch tch this is a punishment remember?” He teases.

Jimin loved seeing her like this so needy and desperate for release. It was in moments like these when he felt the most desired.

Jimin slowed his movements making her whine and push back “hmm? don't make me spank your bratty ass” he warned. “Can you please just fuck me? Please I've been needy the whole time I was alone” she pleaded, the heat of the moment getting to her head. In this moment all she wanted was for him to fuck her

Jimin hummed for a moment and then unbuckled his belt, zipping down his pants. He pulled out his cock slowly stroking it. The princess lifted up her head wanting to look at his cock. She loved it and he knew it. It wasn't necessarily the biggest cock in the world but his girth sure made it feel like it. He's thick.

In the earlier days of her captivity the princess used to struggle a lot with sucking him off or taking him nice and deep. Jimin started rubbing his tip against her clit moving it up and down teasing her hole. Jimin pushes just his tip in and out teasing her. “Jiminie please wanna be full of you” she mutters, shimmying her butt for him.

“Hmm my sweet sweet girl. Always wanting to be full of cock. Tell me princess, is that all you ever think about?” He asks “my cock pumping in and out of your desperate little hole filling you up to the brim with my cum?” He teases her by pushing his cock in slowly. Painstakingly slow. Princess blushes at his words. She loved it when he fucked her hard. Sometimes that's all she could think about. Him pounding inside her over and over again

Filling her up.

Breeding her. She loved it all.

“Jiminie! More please I promise I'll be good for you and keep it all in” she requests her voice heavy with need as high pitched moans spilled from her lips. He was stretching her out so good with his cock she felt like she was high on ecstasy.

“Hmm my pretty girl wants more?” He asks, his voice was low with a hint of mockery in his tone. “You think you can handle more princess?” He questioned her. As he reached down, pulling her up by her hair as she whimpered. His cock now deep inside her.

“Yes please Minnie” she sobbed.

Oh how he loved it when she sobbed. Jimin starts by slowly grinding against her. Thrusting a couple of inches in and out. Soon he switched to pulling all the way out to his tip and pushing in slowly as she squirmed underneath him.

Jimin pulls her against him, kissing and biting her neck. “Mimi…can you please move faster?” Jimin groans “if I give everything you want it won't be punishment right? We are teaching you how to be patient and do exactly what you're told to hmm?”

The princess whines against him letting out small pleas, promising him she'll behave to which he replied “the next time I tell you to keep my cum inside your—Ahn cunt I'm gonna plug it up nice and tight with the replica of my cock you like so much”. Her breath hitches at that. The thought of her being filled and plugged by him for hours made her salivate.

Jimin speeds up “you want more princess? Beg for it. Tell me how much you want me to pound into you.” he chastised.

“Please, I want it so sooo bad—ahn fu-uhk been so needy since you left. Kept thinking about how i wanted hnnghh to suck you or–or feel you so deep in me the whole ti-IMe” she moans trying her best to formulate proper words. Jimin moans at her words, increasing his pace as he encourages her to keep going.

“ahn—I thought when–ahn fuck Minnie” she whines arching her back as he hit her sweet spot. “Thought when you'd get back you-oh you could eat lunch and then I'd make sure to keep your cock wa—Ahnnn warm~ until you decide to fu–uk me again and again so please please please please please please please please please fuck me please”

Jimins breath hitched. He pulls out, flips her over and swiftly enters her again with a needy moan ripping off his shirt as he starts pounding in her. Jimin, when going fast abandoned all sense of rhythm so his sweet girl had to lay there, hands clawing at his back, back arched against him as he pulled her closer and put her legs on his shoulder.

She laid there taking it all in moaning loudly as he whispered her ears “ahn fuck fuckfuck you like this princess?” He groaned. “You love it when I fuck your cunt like this don't ya?” He whispered, moaning as she clenched around him.

“Fuck you do. You love it when I fuck your needy cunt and whisper dirty little things in your ears hmm,” the princess lets out moans of his name, one hand scratching his back while the other pulled on his hair.

Jimin continued pounding into her but just as he felt she was close he slowed down making her whine.

“Minnie please” she pleaded. “Tch tch tch dirty girl thought I'd let her cum just like that” he scoffs, giving her shallow thrusts

He continues this way for a while making her whine in return. “Who do you belong to princess” he asks.

“Jiminie” she moaned.

Jimin reaches down rubbing her clit. Her legs start shaking. She had always been such a sensitive little thing for him. So sweet. So responsive to his touch.

Jimin starts moving again. Harder and harder until he was pounding in her again. “Minnie please…don't Stop AHN— DON'T Stop pleaaase” she sobs, her body overcome with pleasure as he continues

“Are you ahn~close princess?” He asks, the princess lets out a guttural moan too fucked out to even hear him.

Jimin takes that as a yes and continues till he feels his cock throb. He felt her clenching around him as well. Jimin speeds up going harder and faster

Princess starts moaning his name with each thrust. Jimin too lets out a loud moan before they both cum together. Their orgasms crashing down on them. Jimin came deep inside her. "Fuck..there you go" he exclaimed.

Jimin lay beside her, breathing heavy. After a while his arms wrapped securely around his princess. He peppered soft, lazy kisses across her face, his warm breath fanning her flushed cheeks as he murmured sweet nothings. She let out a contented sigh, nuzzling into his chest like a satisfied kitten.

After a moment of silence, she tilted her head up to look at him, her lips curling into a pout. "I did prepare your favorite lunch, you know," she said, poking his chest lightly. "And I even made some strawberry lemonade to go with it. But now, thanks to you, I can barely sit upright." Her pout deepened as she poked his abs in retaliation, eliciting a soft giggle from him.

"Oh, really?" he teased, grabbing her hand and holding it hostage as he started tickling her sides. She squirmed under his touch, laughing uncontrollably as he grinned down at her.

"Jimin!" she squealed, gasping for breath as she tried to wiggle away. "Stop! You’re gonna make it worse!"

He finally relented, his laughter mingling with hers as he leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose. "You’re too cute," he said, getting up and stretching lazily. His shirt rode up slightly, giving her a glimpse of his toned stomach before he tugged it off and tossed it aside. She watched him swap his formal trousers for a pair of comfortable shorts, her brows furrowing.

"Why am I the only one nakey here?" she asked, frowning in mock indignation. "This feels unfair. You’re completely clothed, and I’m... exposed!"

Jimin turned to her with a smug grin, running a hand through his slightly tousled hair. "Because you love it when I wear formal clothes," he said, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. "Admit it—you were practically drooling when I walked in earlier."

Her cheeks turned crimson as she slapped his arm lightly. "You’re impossible," she mumbled, crossing her arms. But she couldn’t deny that he was right; she always had a soft spot for the way he looked in a suit.

"Stay here," he said, ruffling her hair before heading to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a tray holding her carefully prepared lunch and two glasses of chilled strawberry lemonade. Setting the tray on the bedside table, he handed her a glass before settling back beside her with his own.

"See?" he said, taking a sip of the lemonade. "You didn’t even have to get out of bed. I’m spoiling you now."

She took a sip as well, her pout easing into a soft smile. "You better be," she said, nudging his arm. "After all, you were gone for so long. And you completely wore me out."

Jimin smirked, leaning down to brush his lips against hers. "I guess I’ll have to keep spoiling you then," he murmured, his voice full of warmth. "After all, you’re my favorite princess."

[phantomposting]

So this prompt is probably gonna be a bit niche and only a very specific group of angst lovers may be into it but i mean I write to itch my brand of brain rot so who cares right?

Alright so I was thinking DP x Dc but what if we have a bit of a Tokyo ghoul esque twist. Danny and Damian are twins of course cause who doesn't love a bit of family drama :3

TW: CANNIBALISM, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, STARVATION, GORE, VOMIT

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

So essentially something goes terribly wrong and Danny can't digest food anymore the only thing he can eat is human flesh like a ghoul. Not sure what triggers it wether it's a lab accident or ghost biological thing is up to the writer

Danny doesn't fully know this when things start going south tho all food makes him violently ill and he essentially starts starving himself due to not knowing what's wrong and what he can stomach. Sam and Tucker try very hard to help him but it's a bit hard to truly tell what's going on until it's too late.

Sam accidentally gets a cut while alone with him. Things are a blur. All Danny knows when he comes too is Sam is dead, and he just tore her apart. Her blood is all over him and his mouth and he's in ghost mode. Someone came to check in the screams and saw him the ghost ripping her flesh from bones. Before he can truly absorb what's happened he runs.

So on the run he has a moment of realization. He feels like he should throw up but he can't. He assesses and doesn't know what to do. He wishes he could die he wishes he could rid the world of such an awful beast and fade but he isn't sure how to even do so. Every effort just heals. So he decides to get as far away from everyone he loves as he can.

He goes to Gotham. Its the best way to hide his ecto signature to keep the others from getting hurt and there's quite literally a constant supply of corpses to keep the ghoulish side fed so that he won't black out and hurt anyone ever again. He just needs to keep moving and keep hidden so the bats don't catch on and nobody gets hurt.

While getting into a routine he tries to figure out how to stop this how to go back to normal. He's slowly losing his mind and all this is messing with his protection based core he's falling apart at the seams.

Meanwhile the bats are horrified by the new developments of what seems to bea cannibal in gotham messing with all their evidence. It's really putting a damper on all their investigations and they need to track this guy down and fast if they want to assure the citizens safety.

Joker also catches onto this cannibal and just so happens to run into the kid. He offers him shelter and a role to play in exchange he gets free food from jokers victims it's a win win really. And what a pleasant way to mess with the bats especially with this kid looking like such adoption bait for the guy.

Needless to say Danny agrees having derailed enough mentally that he figures he might aswell just be the villain at this point. He also obtains the name Ghoul or maybe even Ghoulish Laughter under jokers foot.

One night things all come to a head and there's a big fight between joker and the bats. This showdown is where Damian and Danny run into eachother for the first time. Damian is horrified to see what's become his his brother and Danny is horrified to find that he could hurt his own brother and runs.

Joker is pissed Ghoul doesn't stick around. He's gonna starve that stupid beast for his insolence. Damian is determined to find out all he can and figure out what exactly happened to his brother. Hopefully either help him or stop him from ever hurting anyone else ever again.

Writers choice of how they want things to go down from there and wether or not Danny can be redeemed or saved. There's honestly a whole world of possibilities with this one! :D

[sweet-evie]

Satoru & Suguru defending Shoko like…

I have so much brain rot about this, so hear me out and take the imagine/scenario... 😭

TW: Sexual harassment

This also may or may not be inspired by a recent real-life experience of mine where a bunch of guys harassed my friends and I at a bar, but thank God three gentlemen on the opposite table existed and were kind enough to tell the others off and walk us back to our car in the parking lot just to make sure we were safe.

✨ masterlist ✨

Shoko has scary dog privileges... Her "scary dogs" in question being Satoru and Suguru.

The trio had just finished their festival food.

Satoru wanders off to find shaved ice and some crepes, Suguru excuses himself to go to the bathroom, and Shoko willingly stays at their outdoor table, smoking her cigarette while keeping an eye on her friends’ things.

A guy approaches with ill intentions.

He’s hitting on Shoko, trying to engage her in conversation. At first, Shoko entertains him and participates in the casual talk, but when the guy invited her to come spend time with him and his friends (there were 5 other dudes standing not far away, grinning and hollering at their friend).

The guy hitting on Shoko is like, “I promise we’re cool.”

Shoko says ‘No.’ The guy was flirty about it at first, but when she expresses that she’s waiting for her friends, the guy keeps pushing and starts to try and touch her inappropriately. He tried to slide a hand around her waist and Shoko slaps his hand away. He pushes and pushes and leans closer and Shoko’s getting very uncomfortable, but she plays it cool.

Shoko is calm, collected, and plainly tells him something along the lines of, “You’re making me uncomfortable," "Please stop," "Thanks for inviting me, but I’m waiting for my friends. Nice talking to you.”

Unhappy, the guy explains that he’s going to lose a bet to his friends, and grabs Shoko’s arm. He’s manhandling her from the seat, pulling her up, ready to drag her towards his groupies. She struggles and tells him ‘No’ firmly.

People are starting to look…

Suguru is back, sees Shoko’s predicament, and acts immediately.

The guy looks older, a little bulkier, but Suguru isn’t fazed. He closes the gap in three strides, separates Shoko from the stranger and puts himself between her and him. He was just glaring menacingly at first, but the stranger is cocky and flashes a smile.

“This your girl or something?”

“No, she’s not. But even if she is, it’s none of your business. She told you ‘no.’”

Shoko is now just standing casually behind Suguru, taking another drag from her cigarette. There’s tension, and it looked like the stranger was raring for a fight. He’s sizing Suguru up. They’re about the same height… Maybe the other guy was four inches shorter. His friends are closing in now too, subtly.

Suguru looks calm as ever.

“What if we just took her and leave you for dead?” One of the guy’s friends pipes up, grinning and cracking his knuckles, rolling his neck. “Bring it on big boy, I got a black belt.”

He throws experimental aerial punches that look absolutely ridiculous.

Suguru looks dreadfully bored, but he’ll let them talk for the fun… well, until Satoru shows up anyway.

“Five against one, what do you say?” One of the other guys sneered.

Shoko snorts. “If only they knew. Can’t we just go?”

“Satoru should be back any minute now.” Suguru grinned.

“Having one of your other friends won’t save you.”

A guy throws a punch that Suguru effortlessly blocks, dodges, and counters against. It’s at this moment, Satoru shows up with small bags of kikufuku in hand, and he looks surprised for a second, before his face breaks into a shit-eating grin.

“I leave you alone for 5 minutes and you get into a fight.”

“Not like you would have stopped it.” Shoko deadpans. “And they were harassing me. Suguru stepped in before they could.”

“Huh…” Satoru dropped his bags on the table and sauntered up to the ongoing one-sided scuffle between Suguru and four other guys. 

It was a poor match-up. Suguru was alone, but the rest of the men were clearly outmatched. Tired of the bullshit, Satoru uses Amplification Blue to manipulate a pocket of space, pulling all the strangers away from Suguru, sending them crashing against each other. Disoriented, one of the guys get up and try to challenge them again, but Satoru steps up with hands in his pockets and slams his foot into the guy’s face.

Kinda like this...

He was trying to stand, but Satoru kicked him down before he could. One of them tried to touch him but failed (for obvious reasons)...

“That’s for harassing my friend. Can’t even defend yourselves against one guy." (He means Suguru) "You’re embarrassing.” He glowers at Shoko’s assailant over the rim of his glasses. “Think twice before trying to commit a crime, will you?”

SaShiSu, how I love you~ 💔

[drdemonprince]

all the recent talk about not voting has me a bit worried, for lack of a better word.

on one hand, yes so much yes, stop throwing all your time and energy in the insatiable maw of electoral politics, 5/5, no notes.

but on the other hand, where does that time and energy go then? despite lots of talk about mutual aid it doesn't seem to progress much beyond the abstract (at least in the various leftist groups/communities/etc. in my neck of the woods). it's held up as an ideal and great big important thing, but when there's shit that needs doing, it's *crickets*.

maybe it's because so much mutual aid is care work and thus, and i very much disagree with even though i care not for the label, not real activism i guess? like, a while ago a disabled comrade had ran into housing issues because of their illness, so we rustled up some folks to help clean and unfuck their home. which, yet again, were the same (also disabled) people that always show for those things.

coming of four years and counting of pandemic, that's been a consistent pattern. at a time where mutual aid was so needed, such a vacuum left by a state that didn't and/or wanted to do shit, it still fell on the shoulders of disabled people to do all the actual work while the rest just talked about abstract shit. or, to name another thing, diy hrt initiative where it's just a bunch of poor ass trans people scrounging up money to pay for supplies for trans people who have fuck all access, while the rest debates in the abstract about a more better system or whether it's even something they need to concern themselves about.

and like, yes, not pissing away your energy pleading with assholes who don't give a fuck about you is good, but it should only be the start. it sometimes feels like the big plan is: 1) not vote, 2) ???, 3) glorious anarchism/communism/mutual-aidism. i'm not arguing that they need to have it all worked out, but with so much shit that needs doing in the here and now i get a little worried. because that's going to take real work, not talk, and they're not putting in any of it.

I mean, most people won't do (what gets viewed as) "real activism" either. They don't go to protests, smash windows, call jails to check on the status of incarcerated people, cut supply lines, or anything else. And they don't vote either.

We live in a highly individualistic, atomized society filled with people who have been conditioned into an abiding self-interested apathy, and everyone is overworked and broke as shit and juggling a bunch of disabilities while not having any experience with building genuine community and lacking most of the infrastructural and social tools to do so. The number of people who are avowed leftists is vanishingly small, and among them the people who actually walk the talk or have the education and community ties to even be able to is even smaller. Not disagreeing with your read of the situations you're dealing with here, just putting them within the broader context of many very similar problems that I see touch every single aspect of organizing today. even like the most tepid liberal get out the vote kind of organizing is plagued by this, and of course that is by design.

What gives me hope in the present moment is just how many people are completely fucking done with the prevailing system, and how many are refusing to play along with its rules. A lot of the people who aren't voting are not leftists. At least not yet. Just like many of the people who are quiet quitting and half-assing it at work or just vibing on unemployment for as long as they can are not communists. But they do know that the system is bunk and is failing them, and they are refusing to be compliant within it any longer. I believe that a lot of people's better natures do get inspired during a moment of collapse. I also think there is a profound rot at the heart of settler-colonial states that fills them with people who do not recognize themselves as having any responsibility to others. That's all the more reason for such an empire to fall.

I think you're right to worry for the future, though I don't think the reason to be worried is as simple as people not people caring about disabled folks, or any other group. I always wonder who the mythical abled people are who are abnegating their duty in such an understanding of the world. I sure haven't met any of them. I only meet people who are also disabled and don't realize it.

[scarletsaphire]

Danny's parents are wrong. There is no such thing as ghosts, and the "portal" in their basement is nothing more than a hole in the wall. A hole in the wall that holds a nefarious illness that causes Danny to start rotting from the inside out. When other citizens of Amity Park begin to exhibit the same horrible symptoms, will they be able to stop it, or will the city fall to this mysterious virus? -- A little late, but here's my second entry for @ecto-implosion 2024! This one is with @justaphantomhuman whose art you can find here: https://www.tumblr.com/justaphantomhuman/768612892548513792/ectoimplosion-2024?source=share I hope you all enjoy!

The first other person who got infected, or at least that Danny noticed got infected, was the lunch lady. She'd been working at Casper High for as long as anyone could remember, with a picture of her next to the brand new lunch menu hanging in the back of the cafeteria, dated 1967 to prove it. 

She’d always been nice. Not overly so, not in an overbearingly, tooth rottingly sweet kind of way, but in the “always adds a little extra on mashed potato day” kind of way. The exact level of nice a lunch lady should be. 

Maybe Danny should’ve noticed something, when she started adding way more than a little extra mashed potatoes, both to his tray and everybody else’s. Maybe he should’ve noticed when she no longer seemed to reply to the students, working on autopilot and regurgitating a script of “Eat, eat, growing boys and girls need to eat!” He definitely noticed when the force of scooping pees cut into her wrist, and the now loose flab of skin fell into the less than stellar minestrone.

The horror sinking into his gut was almost enough to cover the piercing hunger.

He grabbed Sam and Tucker’s arms, dragging them away from the lunch line to the closest table they could talk freely at. 

“Whu- hey!” Tucker protested, but he didn’t try and break Danny’s grip. “What’s your deal?”

“Did you see that?” He hissed through clench teeth. He ignored their loose rattle.

“See you sacrificing my spot in line? You bet I did.”

Sam elbowed Tucker in the side, which did nothing to stop his protests. She was just better at drowning them out. “Saw what?”

“Her- her wrist. It just fell off. Into the soup.”

Sam paled, and Tucker cut himself off.

“Like…” Tucker asked, eyes darting to Danny’s neck where his skin was still red and loose. 

Danny nodded. “Exactly like that.”

Sam leaned forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. “We can’t let people eat that.”

“Agreed.” Danny's eyes darted to the lunch line; students trailed back to the cafeteria doors and out into the hall. “But how?”

“Easy. Sam, scream that you saw a rat.”

Sam turned sharply to Tucker. “Why do I have to do it?”

“Because you’re a girl, and you can scream louder!”

“We both know that's not true! And besides, I would not scream at a rat.”

“Hey! I have a very manly scream!”

Danny would’ve bit his lip, if he hadn’t spent the last month training that reflex out of him. They didn’t have time for their bickering. They had to act fast.

He jumped up on the table, pointing towards the food line, and screamed as loud as he could. “Is that a rat?!”

To Tucker’s credit, the plan worked wonderfully. The students in line immediately dissolved into chaos, screaming and dropping their trays and running from the line. In some cases, they ran from the cafeteria altogether. 

Danny did not pay attention to the commotion. His eyes remained drained on the lunch lady, as she continued to spoon more and more soup into an abandoned, overflowing tray. Her grip on the spoon didn't waver, even as she began to wear through the bone, more and more splatters of blood mixing in with the soup below.

—

Maybe it was a good thing that the first zombie was revealed in such a public way. When Principal Ishiyama came to try and figure out what was happening, she immediately called the police. And of course, Danny’s parents, with their radio tuned in on police channels at all times, arrived first.

He wished he could've watched them work, but he couldn't; they’d evacuated the cafeteria the moment they arrived. 

“This is why you should bring your hazmat suit to school, sweetie!” Maddie had said, her voice muffled through the full face mask that she wore. Then she was gone through the double doors of the cafeteria to clean up the mess the lunch lady had made, both of the lunch line and of herself. By the time they were done, Danny had left the school grounds.

“Any ideas on how this could happen?” he asked, consciously fighting the effort to kick a rock down the sidewalk. He’d already splintered his toe nail in two once; he didn’t need to do it again. 

Sam worried at her bottom lip before shaking her head. “Not that I can think of. Unless you decided that you were sick and tired of beef paste for lunch?”

Danny threw his weight into her side, knocking her off the sidewalk for just a second. She laughed, then adjusted her course. 

“Maybe we’re looking at it wrong.” Tucker did not look up from his PDA as he spoke, fingers flying over the buttons. “Maybe it isn’t like the movies.” 

“Well, we don’t exactly have a lot else to go off of.”

“Yeah, my parents expected to find ghosts, not freaky zombie virus.” 

Tucker snapped his fingers and pointed at Danny. “But we have that!”

Sam and Danny shared a look. “What, ghosts?”

“Cause we definitely can’t handle ghosts and zombies at the same time.”

“No, of course not.” Tucker held up his PDA, letting Danny see some kind of study displayed on screen. “Viruses!”

Danny took a moment to digest the words before the substance became clear to him - it was on how viruses spread.

 “Its a place to start at least,” Sam said with a shrug

“I do think that's still like the movies,” Danny teased. “It’s not like zombie viruses are real.” He corrected himself after a moment. “Were real.” 

“I mean they kind of are though, present company excluded. There’s some kind of brain disease that takes over deer. And mind controlling funguses that kill ants.”

“Why do you know that?” Danny asked.

“It’s Sam, of course she knows about zombie diseases.”

“Fair point.”

“Anyway, viruses are normally transmitted through either touch and bodily fluid and stuff, or through the air. We’ve already established you weren’t swapping spit with  the lunch lady through any means-” Tucker ignored Danny’s pronounced gagging noise. “-so she must have gotten sick through the air.”

“That’s great!” Sam’s voice was full with as much fake cheer as she could ever muster. It all dropped with her next sentence. “Except that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense! What else could have infected her?”

“Ok then, riddle me this. If it's transmitted by air, why haven’t either of us started peeling yet?”

“Well, obviously-” Tucker snapped before stopping both his sentence and his walk, leaving Danny to run straight into his back. 

Danny backed up quickly, hand flying to his nose. It came up covered with congealed blackish blood. “Aw, crap.” 

“I am so sorry dude, I didn’t think-”

“It’s fine,” Danny waved him off with his clean hand. “Just- tissues?”

Tucker nodded and handed him the small pack from his bag.

“It doesn’t look too bad at least,” Sam said, craning her neck to try and see the damage through the gore. “A little smushed more smushed, but not any more noticeable than the last three times.”

“That’s good.” Danny tore off two bits of the tissue and plugged them into his nose, then began wiping off the rest of it with the remainder. “Sam does have a point though. Anything that could infect her should’ve infected you guys by now.”

Tucker bit his lower lip. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Maybe it's just random?” 

“Maybe it is,” Danny said, looking at the soaked through tissue in his hand. He ignored the way his skin hung loose in some places, and the thin red marks that covered it. “Let’s hope that it randomly decides to fuck off soon.”

—

The lunch lady was in Danny’s basement now, with a pot of water colored brown and a lunch tray that drained back into the pot. It was almost impressive how quickly Danny’s parents figured out how to keep her contained. As long as she had lunches to serve, she was perfectly happy to sit there forever. Which meant that Danny would have a zombie in his basement for who knows how long. 

It’s not like he could judge much. There was a zombie in every room he was in anymore.

He removed the hazmat suit his mother had insisted he wear after he got upstairs. His dad was right where he’d been when Danny got home, crouched on the floor surrounded by tweezers, a magnifying glass, and a minefield of vials. “What are you doing?”

Jack threw Danny a beaming smile that was just barely visible through the hazmat hood screen. “Picking up all of the samples she left in the floorboards. Don’t want to let anything go to waste!”

“Oh. Well, good luck.” 

“Thanks kiddo! Oh, and your mother wanted me to tell you that there’s twenty dollars on the fridge. You and Jazzy pants are gonna need to get yourselves dinner.” He turned back to the floor picking off more tiny scraps with the tweezers. “Your mother and I are gonna have our work cut out for us. You know how it is, science waits for no man!”

“Thanks, but I’m not very hungry.” Danny’s stomach growled, betraying his lie.

Jack laughed. “You’re probably just turned off from everything at lunch. Why don’t you go place the order. Number for pizza’s on the counter!”

Danny nodded his head, then made his way to the phone in the kitchen. He was hungry. He was always hungry lately, and he knew damn well pizza wasn’t going to do anything to help. Still, Jazz would be getting home soon, and it would be nice for her to have something to eat. 

He ordered the veggie lovers pizza with extra mushrooms, just like Jazz always wanted but he’d always fought against. Danny had always held the opinion that if you were going to put that many green things on a pizza you’d be better off with a salad, but he wasn’t going to be eating it anyway. 

Danny had made himself comfortable on the couch while he waited for the pizza. His dad had finished prying skin cells from the floor and had returned to the basement, probably to begin analyzing the samples. Danny had been absentmindedly flipping through tv channels when the bell rang.

On  the other side of the door was a short fat man holding far too many pizza boxes for one order. “Box collector!” 

Danny blinked slowly. “Um… I think you have the wrong house.” He slowly began to push the door closed. “No!” the man bellowed, sticking his foot into the gap of the door. “You called to steal my boxes, I heard you, I heard you say it!” 

“Listen dude, I don’t know whats wrong with you, but I’m not trying to take anything from you!” Danny pushed harder, but the man didn’t budge. 

“Attempted thief! I have come to ensure that you have not taken any other boxes from the box collector!” He was getting louder and louder with each word, trying to push his way into the house.

“I said leave!” Danny grunted, pushing on the door as hard as he could. There was the sickening sound of bones cracking, and for a brief moment Danny stared at his hands still pressed against the door trying to figure out which of them had snapped. But his hands were fine, his fingers were fine, and neither of his arms weren’t bent weird or limp.

His eyes trailed down to the foot still in the door, blood spewing from the gouge the force had left. The bones were crushed together, some poking through the skin, revealing their splintered ends. 

The man on the other side of the door did not stop trying to force his way inside. He didn’t even pause in the box themed ramblings, stacks of pizza boxes still visible through the crack in the door.

“Mom! Dad!” Danny yelled towards the basement door. “We have an emergency!” There was a beat, then two where he didn’t hear anything, and he could almost feel his heart drop into his stomach. Then the pounding of footsteps on metal seemed to shake the house, and his parents threw open the basement door open with a crash.

“Danny! What’s going on?” Maddie said, Anti-Creep Stick gripped tight in her hands. 

“There’s-” The door was shoved hard against Danny, and he stumbled before regaining his footing. “Another one!”

“Another-” her eyes went to the bloody mess on the door frame before she nodded her head. “Jack-”

Jack didn’t need to wait for whatever Maddie was going to say, already running to the door to take the burden off of Danny. “I got it! Go help your mother.”

He ran to his mothers side. “I need you to think really hard. What was he doing here? Was there something he was focused on, something he won’t stop doing besides getting into the house? Anything you can think of.”

Danny nodded. “That’s easy. He’s been talking about boxes this whole time, and has like. A dozen pizza boxes. He’s been accusing me of trying to steal them from him.”

Maddie looked away from Danny, surveying the room. “Go to the storage closet upstairs and get as many boxes as you can. Dump whatever's in them on the floor, we can clean it up later. Bring them to the basement.”

Danny didn’t ask what the plan was, just taking off to do as she said. The storage closet had plenty of boxes of all sizes in it, all filled with dusty old junk that was soon sitting in sagging piles on the floor. He threw the boxes over the banister before following them down the stairs.

Getting them all into the basement was a tricky endeavor, but he managed, and soon Danny was standing in the basement surrounded by empty cardboard boxes and a slowly decaying lunch lady. His mother was nowhere to be seen.

“Mom?” he called out. 

“No mother here, just some delicious soup! Come on sweetie, have a bite!” the lunch lady said. Danny ignored her.

“Over here!” Maddie’s voice was muffled and came from underneath one of the workbenches. Danny made his way over, trying to push the boxes along with him. “Did you get the boxes?”

“As many as I could. What are you gonna do with them?”

“I’m going to trap him.” 

“...with boxes and a desk?”

“There’s a hole in the wall that leads to some kind of crawlspace,” Maddie said. “Pass me that?” She gestured to a sheet of metal, and Danny obliged. “If he does have this obsession with boxes, he should go straight in. And when he does-” Maddie let the sheet of metal fall, blocking the gap underneath the workbench. 

“Is that going to hold him?” 

“We’ll weld it on if we have to, but if our hypothesis is correct, then he shouldn’t even try to get out.” She lifted the metal plate back up and left it on the workbench. “Start tossing boxes into the space back there. I’ll try and lure him in.” She turned to the stairs to leave.

“Wait, no, you’re not going to act as bait!”

“We don’t have much of a choice!” she snapped.

“Let me do it instead.” Maddie stopped dead in her tracks, so Danny continued. “If its some kind of illness then I’ve already been exposed at the door, right? You’re better with welding too, and for all we know, he’s only mad at me.”

Danny could almost hear her inhale through the hazmat suit. “Fine. But be safe, and don’t get hurt.”

“I’ll try.” That’s all Danny could do.

—

Danny remembered Dorathea as a happy girl, bubbly and excited and always wearing old fashioned clothing. Something about her family being renaissance faire actors who had more costumes then clothing. She never seemed to mind, even when Paulina picked on her for it. Dora always said it made her feel pretty, and she’d spin in her full length dress and knock the pencil right off Paulina’s desk. No one ever knew if it was on purpose or not, but it got the bullies off of Dora’s case.

 The Dora Danny remembered was very, very different from the one in the hospital bed.

He knew she’d gotten sick. Really, really sick, the kind of sick that meant she hadn’t ever set foot in Casper High, hadn’t even set foot out of the hospital in months, but knowing that was very different than seeing it. She was pale, her lips almost blue, her cheeks sunken and wires and tubes glued to her scalp and stuck in her skin, leading to IVs and breathing machines and monitors that Danny couldn't even guess at their purpose.

What made it all worse was the work down skin from where she was cuffed to the bed. She was still straining against them, pushing her IV needle further into her skin, causing it to bulge and twitch with every movement. She was trying to say something, but the oxygen mask over her mouth made the words completely unintelligible. 

“It's lucky she was here,” Maddie said to Dora’s older brother, who was scowling at the Fenton’s from the other side of the hospital bed. “The data from her onset may help us save the entire town.”

“I don’t care about the town,” Aragon sneered. “I want you to fix her.”

“Well, given what we’ve seen of previous specimen, it’s likely that-”

“We’ll try our best.” Jack interrupted her with a hand on her shoulder. “Won’t we, Mads?”

The two of them locked eyes, before Maddie nodded. “We’ll do everything we can.”

It took a good hour for the Drs. Fenton to review Dora’s scans and records, and another twenty minutes for them to set the hospital room up the way they wanted. The whole time Danny sat in one of the uncomfortable visitor chairs, bored and confused. His parents had packed him into the car once they’d gotten the call without telling him what was going on, and the explanation they’d given him on the ride was lackluster, to say the least. Only that they’d need his help.

That left Danny to spend nearly an hour and a half sitting there watching Dora. It was clear that she was infected and not just in the way the heels of her feet were worn through from dragging them against the bedsheets. He could see it in her eyes. 

She wasn’t blinking, keeping her eyes wide and frantic and shining with a fevered, desperate need for… something. Danny didn’t know what. If he could understand her frantic mumbling through the mask she’d probably tell him, but that probably wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

“You ready Danny boy?”

Danny tore his eyes away from Dora’s towards his father, smiling at him expectantly. “I would be if you’d tell me what we’re doing.”

“We’re studying the onset, of course! One of our good friends here at the hospital noticed her deterioration and thought it looked like something your mother and I are interested in, so they called us for a consultation!” Jack rubbed his chin. “Well, she said it looked like that weird mumbo jumbo we called science back in college, but close enough!”

“Yeah, I got that. Why am I here?”

“To help, of course!”

“I think what your father is trying to say-” Maddie cut in, “-is that we want you to help run some tests on Dora here, so we can measure her reactions, psychologically and physiologically.”

“Exactly that!” Jack nodded enthusiastically. “Seeing as you already know her, and your…” he trailed off, glancing down at the compression socks Danny wore around his lower legs. His parents had bought them for him, after they’d figured out, well, everything. “...unique condition, we thought you’d be the perfect fit!”

“Oh. Yeah, I can do that.” Danny stood up from the chair, trying to shake the chill that settled into his bones. 

“Wonderful! We’re going to sit over here and monitor everything. When we give you the signal, go ahead and remove the mask. Then just… talk! If we need something else, we’ll ask, okay?” His mom ruffled his hair before moving to the fair side of the room. She used to kiss his forehead, back before they realized he was a contagion risk, but she didn’t now. He missed it.

“Whenever you’re ready, Danno!”

It was almost surprising that Dora didn’t snap at Danny’s fingers when he removed the mask, especially with how she kept staring at him. The same fevered look in her eyes, desperate and needy and begging him for something, it made Danny almost feel like prey. It made the first words out of Dora’s mouth even more surprising. 

“Will you go to homecoming with me?”

 Danny blinked out of surprise more than necessity. “Um. What?”

“Homecoming!” Dora smiled wide, so wide that the corners of her lips seemed to stretch and crack. “It's soon, isn’t it? I’ve had the principal sending me every flyer and poster for weeks! So, will you go with me?”

Danny glanced back at his parents, but they didn’t seem to notice. His mother was engrossed in the display for the machines Dora was hooked up to, and his dad was scribbling notes onto a clipboard with such speed Danny was afraid he was going to break the pen.

Danny began to answer. “Uh… sorry, but I wasn’t really planning on…” He cut himself short as he saw Dora’s eyes narrow, her hands clenched into fists so tight he could see blood trickling from her palms. He quickly changed course. “But if its with you, I’d love to go!”

Her reaction to his yes was maybe even more disturbing, as she fought against her restraints in what Danny thought was celebration. The noises she were making were certainly celebratory, though definitely not intelligible. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke again. “Wonderful! We’re going to dance, and drink punch, and spend the whole night together! I need to practice so I don’t step on your feet!” She giggled, and began turning her body side to side. She didn’t even seem to notice the restraints as she kept twisting to her left, further and further before the sickening snap of what Danny could only imagine was a part of her spine breaking echoed around the room.

Dora’s smile never fell of her face, and her soft humming never fell from her lips.

Danny glanced to his parents yet again as he backed away from Dora, this time met with their looks of horror. Not at Dora and the scene in front of them, but the display. They weren’t writing anything down anymore. Instead, they shared a look, this one holding so much more weight than the one they’d shared when Aragon.

“We’re done here, Danny.” Maddie stood from her chair and started her way out of the room. “Your father will take you home. I need to make a call.”

–

Amity Park had emergency broadcast speakers. That was new information to everyone, including the speakers, if the surprised crackling noises that emanated from it were anything to go off of. When it finally managed to clear into an audible voice, it was a woman’s, cold and calculated. 

“This is an emergency broadcast from the United States Government. If you are hearing this, you are currently under quarantine. Any attempts to leave the bounds of Amity Park will be met with martial force. If you have any questions regarding the authenticity of this announcement, please contact your local government officials. If you have any questions regarding the conditions of your containment, please report to the city hall for a briefing performed by Dr. Madeline and Jack Fenton. Thank you.”

Danny assumed that the announcement was met with chaos. He could picture people yelling into the phone at the mayor’s secretary, people driving to the town outskirts to find the agents, dressed in full, pure white hazmat suits blocking off the road. He imagined people looking at themselves in the mirror, scouring themselves for signs of an illness they hadn’t realized they’d contracted. And then Danny pushed that from his mind, because his parents were wrong.

“We know why you’re all here.” His mother’s voice, amplified by the microphone on the podium, echoed through the walls. “And we want you all to know that we know how you think of us. How you think of our work and our research.”

Danny should’ve been out there with them. Jazz was, and she’d only been informed of the whole situation while Maddie ran through government phone numbers. She hadn’t taken the news well. She’d called their dad a liar, a kook, a fake scientist who was living in delusions. 

Jack had shown her Dora’s scans. The lunch lady, still in the basement with her lower legs swollen to the point of bursting because her heart had given up pumping, who still greeted the family with a smile and scooped them an ever draining bowl of soup. She’d stopped protesting, when the facts were in front of her.

That was why Danny hadn’t given up yet. He had more facts. He knew that they were wrong, that they were making a mistake. He was proof of that. They just didn’t believe him.

“We want to assure you that we are not overreacting. We are not working on fake numbers, and we are not wasting your time. We would be happy to explain our data to anyone interested, just like we explained it all to the CDC, and then the agents of the GIW who recorded the announcement that brought you all here today.”

They were making a mistake, getting everyone so panicked. It was all going to be just fine, like Danny was. Different, sure. It was going to be very different, but Danny had adjusted to the different just fine. The rest of the town would too. 

“We won’t try to put it lightly. We are all dead.”

It would take some time, and people would probably end up hurt. It would suck really, really bad. But it wasn’t death . It wasn’t the end of Amity Park, or the end of the world like they’d been discussing with the agents. It was just… a change.

“A few months ago, an airborne illness was released into the city, infecting everyone who lived here. It progresses slowly, eating away at the infected person's brain until they can no longer feel pain, until their body can no longer sustain themselves. They become solely interested in one thing, one activity or purpose that they dedicate themselves to while the virus continues to eat away at their bodies and the chemicals their damaged brain can still produce.”

Danny wasn’t a mindless shambling creature, he was still him . They’d done scans and tests to try and figure out how it happened, how Danny became an exception. They couldn’t figure it out. Not for certain, but they had a hypothesis.

“You may have heard of some incidents these past few weeks, of common Amity Park citizens suddenly going crazy. We believe the reason they were so susceptible to this disease is because of preexisting brain damage. The disease had less to do, and was therefore able to progress to its final stages quicker then in a healthy specimen. We don’t know how long the majority of us have yet. It could be weeks, or months, or hours. It is just a matter of time.”

The electrical shock from the initial incident had stimulated the virus in Danny’s body into its final stage too early. It didn’t have the time to cause the type of damage it needed to revert Danny to the mindless actions the other infected displayed. It would be impossible to replicate, they said. Danny didn’t believe them. They were wrong, their hypothesis was stupid, and they should never have tried to lock things down. People were going to panic over nothing. 

“We won’t hold you here any longer. Our advice to you all is to get your affairs in order. Call your loved ones who live out of town, hug your family, and find something you love to do. You’ll have the rest of your afterlife left to do it. If you have any questions, we will be in the town hall for the remainder of the day.”

This wasn’t the end of Amity Park. Danny knew it. They would all live to see tomorrow, and every day after it. He wouldn’t accept anything else. He couldn’t.

–

The sun was big and beautiful, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and red and yellow. Its blinding light was blocked by the leaves of the tree hanging over Danny headed, shielding his eyes from the worst of it. The day had been warm, inching just slightly towards uncomfortably so, but now that the sun was setting it was perfect. He took a deep breath that he did not need, letting the fresh air move through his lungs and into his body. 

“It’s funny, looking back on it.” Sam sat on his left, and Tucker on his right. It had become sort of a routine of theirs, to sit and watch the sunset together. There wasn’t much else to do in town anymore, since the power grid got shut down. “Everyone was so worried that it would be the end of the world, but we’re still here.”

Neither of his friends replied, but that wasn’t unusual. They didn’t talk much anymore. He didn’t really blame them. Jazz had talked about how trauma can cause selective mutism, and this whole thing had been traumatic, even if it had all turned out just fine.

“I’m glad I was right.” The grass was cool under his fingers, the ones on his left slick with moisture. It might’ve been warm, if things were different, but it wasn’t. He didn’t mind that. Cool meant water. Dew drops. Fresh rain. Warm was… not those. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I wasn’t.”

A soft buzzing sound came from his right. Danny didn’t turn to look; he didn’t need to. He knew what it was already. Bees. Only bees, buzzing by his ear, Nothing else. “I don’t need to. Everythings ok, and I still have you guys.”

It was instinct that his hand moved, following the cool liquid to its source, tracing the blades of grass and twisting roots to where they pushed into Sam’s wrist. The tips of his fingers were slick with her blood, but he didn’t think about it, and she didn’t care. Couldn’t care.

He closed his eyes as he turned and smiled at Tucker. He didn’t want to see the bulge of a radio speaker in Tucker’s mouth, bloody tears stretching along his cheeks. He didn’t want to see the dial he’d shoved into his eye, tuned to a station that no longer exists, spitting out nothing but the soft buzzing static.

“And we’ll always have each other.”

[comfortless]

syl you can not casually mention blacksmith König and leave it at that!

sighing… ok, yes, i will talk about blacksmith! König more..! ^^

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. violence, physical/emotional abuse, descriptions of injury, death, angst, marriage on the gallows au.

Before König, there was his father, his father’s father and so on. Hardened men who were left to rot on the outskirts of the little village: sharpen blades, birth something from slabs of iron and silver. The work was tedious, but never dull. Scrape, burn, turn and roll- over and over until the smoke rose from the pit to sting at his eyes. Birth by fire wasn’t only in myths of dragons and phoenixes; he witnessed it each time he held pure malice in his hands as his hammer struck. Nothing became something, deadly and cruel. Day and night his life and lungs were filled to brimming with hellfire.

Accidents happen, naturally. No matter how careful he’s been, there’s nothing to keep the flame from entirely taking back after giving so much.

König’s father lost a finger while mentoring him.

His blue eyes were fixed on the man’s callused hand as the freshly smithed blade sliced through the digit like it was little more than a dollop of honey, no blood. There had been nothing but the crack of bone carved cleanly through, then the wet sizzle of meat cooking as it fell into the pit.

His father had screeched like a starved demon then, a barrage of insults tossed his son’s way like little more than passing pleasantries: oaf, useless cur, bitch.

König hadn’t been concerned, he sat on the stone bench looking up at his father and told him so, that he was fine: it had been cauterized, cleansed by the fire.

König lost the same finger that day.

His mother had fallen ill sometime last winter. The last memory he had of her was the look of frailty on her face, how her skin felt so cold and yet she lie dampened with sweat.

The dogs and buzzards had gotten to her grave, but it wasn’t them he felt any of the fire’s malice for.

Just his father.

The villagers didn’t know what became of the blacksmith, but König could recall it every night; how even with his dying breath he had only thought to curse his only son.

So, he wears the hood of the last executioner now, and the people shy away. They don’t like the look of death unless they can participate in it as a divined audience.

The dogs are never hungry, there’s illness all throughout the valley, and sometimes it only shines through in shimmering eyes while the villagers stare and giggle at the next withering soul led to the gallows.

König knows he should be there; like mother and father, his bones should be shared between panting mouths and blood-stained beaks. Sometimes the boars come sniffing too, and he’s always hated them, maybe even more than the birds. They’re ugly and sturdy, squealing and snarling like his father.

The villagers looked at the boars, though, because they were useful. Their eyes were hungry and happy each night the men set out on a hunt, unaware that their sons and daughters lurked in the bellies of the very beasts they starved for.

It’s cold even during the summer months in his shack.

There are blankets, a kitchen, a hearth, but it’s empty. The winter makes its wastelands each coming year, envious of how he can accomplish such with fire instead of ice. He doesn’t need to clean. The ash blackens the wood, cleanses all. One day, maybe, it would scrub him too.

The fire is a womb, but it’s never birthed anything truly alive. Not until her. A wildfire swept the field where travelers had gathered. With their supplies reduced to the very cinders König had come to adore, the surviving members sweep right into this cursed place like it’s a holy temple.

And the fire gave her to him.

König doesn’t know where this woman came to settle from; she isn’t like the other villagers, not even the travelers with their items and skills for selling. There’s still life in her eyes. He watches her as she wanders down the street with a smile on her face, one that speaks of a kindness that not a single one of these people deserves.

She introduces herself to them too, without a title to her name, and all at once any interest fades as the ghosts wander away from her.

His mother used to force him into the church when she was still alive.

She would take him by the hand as he lumbered after her, sticking out amongst the crowd of parishioners who would sing their hymns and stare at him with contempt behind their eyes. He hated going, but he did it for his mother; father was much too busy to spend his time with her and her fantasies. But König learned of angels there, fragile feathered things, all eyes and wings that wouldn’t stand a chance against a blade.

He didn’t think delicate things could be holy until her sweet, gentle smile is cast upon him.

This lady walks right up to him, doesn’t bat an eye at his hood when her lips curl up as she introduces herself. She doesn’t mind the sack of weapons thrown over his shoulder to take to the marketplace— the swords, the daggers, none of it. Her eyes don’t even glance their way; she looks only to him.

Women like this don’t want their homes and beds covered in ash, cinder in place of incense, fire instead of honey. But still she smiles while he says nothing.

König isn’t the only man who’s heart she steals, either.

The village is all gray, smoke and rot except where she walks. Flowers spring up for the coming spring, the deer and foxes are calling out for mates, and it’s all because of her— everyone must know it.

The farmer’s son brings her fresh fruit and whispers into her ear while they pass by his shack on a stroll. The man’s arm curls around her waist so naturally that König can only be reminded of the way that dagger sank between his fathers fingers, tore off a bit of him to feed back to hungry flame. If there were any god above he knew right then that it wouldn’t want him to allow that to happen to her. Not to an angel.

When the rest of the men, dogs and seraphim sleep, König tears the farmer’s boy in two— split down chest to abdomen and left as food for the pigs, right there in the middle of the field.

He doesn’t pray, he hasn’t since the last time he knelt by his mother’s sickbed, but he closes his eyes and breathes out a wish when he leaves that bloodied dagger at her doorstep.

He doesn’t pray, but he weeps when he rallies the villagers to apprehend her. She cries and fusses, face puffy from sleep and hair a mess. There isn’t a speck of blood on her, but the vultures take her anyway. König didn’t want to see her hurt; when her eyes find his, he turns away.

The day of her execution arrives like a festival ceremony. It’s been some time since the last, the scavengers are hungry, so famished he thinks he can almost hear them lick their teeth. There would be no death today, it’s already been decided. In distant places, a single act of devotion is all it takes to save a life, one that the beasts didn’t have the right to take.

The hunger wasn’t always just for death, but for something… a turn and change like steel in fire.

When the angel is taken to her death, rope dangling from her neck like a lead meant for cattle, he steps forward, parting the crowd with an ease. He’s practiced this a time or two in the smoke already, a lonesome and loathing god in the fog. The others scurry from him, looking up at him with pinched brows and bared teeth as if to goad he take her life instead.

Instead, he only catches her eye, smiles and lowers himself on one knee.

[littlejuicebox]

Dancing on my own

Guys I don’t know what this is, it’s just some random angsty drabble that came out inspired by the song “Dancing on My Own” by Robyn (the version by Calum Scott is also nice).

I’m trying to get out of a writing slump so there might be a few more random bits of writing here and there. I’m not sure I even like this tbh lol.

Summary: You and Astarion decided to be just friends after his Moonrise Towers confession. He couldn’t make himself admit to you that he wanted more than that. He knew you deserved better than what he could offer. Now that his quest with Cazador is done, he’s totally lost. He wants you, but you have someone else now; he thinks it’s someone better than him. He’s heartbroken.

Tags/Warnings: PG13, lots of angst, depression, PTSD, low self esteem, depersonalization/derealization, sad Astarion, tbh it’s kinda just a sad bit of drabble

Astarion killed Cazador. You’d think he would’ve been happy… ecstatic, even. But instead he felt exceedingly numb and so, so tired.

It had been nearly a week since then. Astarion had spent most of that time in his room, trancing or simply just lying in the dark. He was exhausted; his limbs felt like lead.

Shadowheart was concerned he had fallen ill and kept checking on him. He would simply grunt to her in response or ignore her line of questioning until she sighed and left.

You came by a few times a day to offer him your wrist; he would drink with a misty-eyed, faraway expression… or sometimes not at all. His hand would linger for a moment on yours, and then he would roll himself the other direction, turning away from you.

It was hard to look at you, to be that close to you, to touch you, to taste you. Blood and sex had been so intertwined in the beginning, it always brought back the memories from before. It made him sick to his stomach.

But his hunger often won, in the end.

How ironic, that the only blood which satisfies his near-insatiable thirst is also the only blood that makes his stomach churn with guilt and disgust at himself.

A double edged sword. Stabbed through his heart.

He should be happy… ecstatic, even. But, by the gods, is he so, so tired. Can a vampire rot into the earth if they stay in one place for too long?

Perhaps. Perhaps he should get up and move, if only to avoid rotting away.

Astarion manages to take a short bath and pull himself together… somewhat. It’s hard to move when your limbs feel like lead. His shirt is wrinkled, and his hair feels like it’s not quite in place, but it will have to do.

The pale elf slinks down to the tavern, where the evening crowd is teetering the hazy line between buzzed and drunk. He’s not in much of a mood for talking to others, so he sits in a corner booth, hoping the natural shadows and his brooding demeanor will deter any visitors. For a few moments he feels normal… or at least acts it. But then he sees you. And Halsin.

Halsin has his arms coiled around you as he absolutely ravages your lips. His thick hands are gripping your body; one hand on your waist, one on your neck. It’s an exceptional amount of PDA; he would vomit, if he had anything left in his stomach from the only small sip he’d taken from you this morning. The hand the druid tenderly placed on your neck is covering the scars Astarion had marked on you from the times before, back when you’d been his. Had you been his? Back before—

“I had a plan. A nice, simple plan…”

“Maybe what you need is a friend, not a lover.”

Astarion had hurt you. He’d hurt you. The look that crossed your face as he confessed is etched into his mind for all eternity; it’s the first thing he sees when he wakes from a trance and the last thing he sees before he slips into one. He’ll never forget the tears that welled in your eyes, which you’d rapidly blinked away. And then you thanked him… thanked him for telling you, for being truthful. Thanked him for hurting you.

He should have lied. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have chose differently from the start.

He knew what he did was terrible; you deserved something more, something real. He just couldn’t be that. He didn’t know how to be… real.

Hells, was he even real now? Was any of this real?

He felt like a shell. Hollow. Empty. It all felt like a sick, strange dream that he couldn’t wake from. All that time he spent running, and now he no longer had to… but who was he, if not a runner?

He’d run from Cazador. Run from you. Run from the concept of true intimacy, which you had so willingly offered.

But now? Now he wanted nothing more than to run to you. He wanted to run into your arms and be held by you, comforted by you. But there you were in the arms of someone who was able to give you what you deserved.

Who was he to get in the way of that? He was nothing. He was no one.

“Good to see you out of bed.”

The vampire rips his eyes away from you and Halsin, where the two of you seem oblivious to the world and stuck in a heated embrace.

Shadowheart is standing next to the booth; her eyes had followed his, and she’d been watching the same passionate makeout scene with mild interest.

She flicks her gaze back to Astarion with a knowing look, and a soft, sad smile crosses her face. The cleric extends her hand out to him, “Come on, Astarion. One dance and then I will let you slink back into this corner to sulk for the rest of the night, if you wish.”

He sighs and considers the offer. He doesn’t want to move, but he can’t keep picking different places to stay and rot. And he can’t keep watching you two. His limbs still feel like lead.

“Very well.” He murmurs, and he takes Shadowheart’s hand.

They dance. It’s a platonic sort of jig, mostly spinning around at arms length with one another. For a moment, Astarion feels a brief glimmer of happiness. He chuckles and smiles; his limbs don’t feel like lead. And then the tune ends, and he’s wandering back to the booth with Shadowheart, and that sinking feeling begins to grow in his chest once more.

“You should talk to them, you know, Astarion. Let them know how you feel. They may choose differently… if you make your true desires known. You did tell them you wanted to be friends, after all.” The cleric murmurs, with another sad little smile. Her eyes contain pity; he hates that.

He’s watching you and Halsin again, where you two are staring contentedly at one another, chatting away. You’re lost in your own little impenetrable bubble. You don’t even see him or notice him at all.

He’s nothing. He’s no one.

Astarion looks so dejected; normally he would be better at putting on his mask. But he’s so tired. He should be happy. But he’s exhausted.

“Maybe I should. But Tav looks happy… I can’t bring myself to ruin that. Selfish as I am, I do care about them, you know.”

Shadowheart nods and sighs. She knows something, he can tell by the look on her face. She wants to say more but decides against it. A small pat on the vampire’s hand and she murmurs, “Good night, Astarion. I hope to see you down here in the morning.”

Then she’s gone, heading upstairs to her room. And he’s alone again.

Astarion watches you two for a bit longer, even though every second he witnesses causes another crack in his fragile heart. Then his eyes return to the dance floor and he sighs before forcing himself out of the booth again. His limbs feel like lead, but he has to start somewhere.

For now, he’ll have to keep dancing on his own.

[blossomwritesthings]

Hii one I loved your recent Minho sickfic, I was wondering if you could write one the other way around but with Felix where he’s sick, (maybe he has a migraine) and the reader takes care of him. 🙁❤️❓

𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬

pairing: felix x fem!reader (afab)

genre: sick!fic. idol!felix. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. reader pov. established relationship.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. mild thematic elements. a lot of angst. felix is sick (with a migraine). reader is soft and caring for him. felix kinda has low self-esteem/doubts about his worth. slight possessive behavior from y/n (in a soft way!!). pet names (affectionately). reader praises felix a ton. toothe-rotting cuteness.

word count: 3.9k

summary: when your boyfriend felix unexpectedly falls ill with a bad migraine, you automatically throw yourself into the caretaker role. but maybe he needs more than just some pills to relieve the pain... maybe, all the medicine he really needs is you.

a/n: this was a fun request to write because having personally suffered from debilitating migraines since i was a little girl, i enjoyed exploring what this could look like for felix, while also incorporating my own experiences with these kinds of symptoms into the fic. lix is so beautiful and I just want to wrap my arms around him and give him a nice, long hug. 🥹💖 NO ONE touch me rn- i'm in my soft felix hours!!! 😭 hope you like this, anon... thanks for requesting! :))

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). © ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

 You automatically knew something was wrong the moment you stepped into a dark apartment. As the front door slammed behind you, you fumbled to find the nearby light switch before turning it on, throwing the nearby kitchen-dining room into a flood of warm light. 

 Because although this was the time when you usually arrived home from work to find your boyfriend, Felix, sprawled out across the living room couch relaxing and playing his favourite video games on the large tv, the space was devoid of any life. 

 Strange. 

 With a glance at the clock inlaid within the stovetop, it read just a little past ten in the evening. Surely, he must not have been home, otherwise, at least a few lights would be switched on in the apartment. He was probably still at the company, working his ass off in practice or doing vocals lessons. Typical Lee Felix. 

A content sigh fled from your lips as you placed your bag down atop the kitchen counter, your shoulder feeling instant relief from the absence. You closed your eyes for a few moments, basking in the utter silence of the apartment before you made your way into the only bedroom just off to the left. Your shared place with your boyfriend wasn’t very spacious, but it was affordable, and it was your own, and that’s all that mattered. 

 Upon entering the pitch-black bedroom, you let out a low grumble to yourself, “We should just keep on a damn nightlight for when we’re away,” you stumbled about in the darkness before you came in contact with your nightstand and switched on the light. 

 And as soon as the room erupted in brightness, you noticed the figure curled up on the bed. For a moment, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. Stopping there, and slowing for a few seconds. Because… had someone broken into your place? A fan, perhaps? Or… a stalker? 

But then, almost immediately after those terrifying thoughts crossed your mind, you recognized the small body. 

 You recognized it all too well. 

 Without even thinking about your next actions, you were flying across the small bedroom. Bending down towards the crumpled form, your gaze came in contact with glassy, dark brown eyes. 

 “Felix- what are you-” You began in disbelief, completely taken aback by his presence. 

 But then he was wincing in pain, closing his eyes again, plush bottom lip quivering just a little bit. “T-The light… can you please turn it off?” His voice was gravelly and low like it hadn’t been used in a while. 

 You didn’t even have to ask why, because you already knew the answer to his odd request. 

  A migraine. 

 And if he was asking for the lights to be off, it must’ve been pretty bad. 

So after you were finished switching off the lamp on your nightstand, you made for the large bay window that was on the other side of the room. You slowly pulled open the curtains until just a sliver of light was filtering through the black-out fabric. After all, you still had to see. 

 Then you were flitting over to Felix again, positioning yourself on the edge of the bed, tilting into him. You reached up to his head and carded a few fingers through his sandy-blonde hair gently. “How long have you had it?” You asked, making sure to keep your voice quiet. His having a migraine wasn’t a new thing. He was highly susceptibly to head pain, and would regularly get headaches throughout the month. But the migraines were always the worst of it all. And with the light sensitivity? That wasn’t a good sign… 

“Woke up with it,” he said in a soft voice. Just then, he cracked his eyes open weakly, his gaze locking with yours. The furrow between his brows and the slight tinge of pink on his cheeks told you all you needed to know about the discomfort he was in. 

 “Which number is this one?” Your fingers took to massaging his scalp in languid increments, watching the way his face scrunched up in apparent relief. 

 “Sixth this month.” 

 “Wow-” You began, your heart throbbing for him. You hated seeing your loving boyfriend in so much pain. And it had already happened six times that month. “What do you think it’s from?” 

 “Stress, probably… that’s what Chan said, anyway.” 

 “What are you so stressed about?” You prodded him, pushing a few of his light strands from out of his eyesight. 

 He groaned and pushed his face into his pillow. “What am I not stressed about?” His voice was muffled against the downy feathers, but you still heard it nonetheless. “It’s… everything, and yet nothing, all at the same time.” 

 “Lix…” You began, voice hesitant, sending a hush across the bedroom. Your fingers stopped their movement in his hairline, your eyes racking over his form. He was clad in his favourite oversized dark blue graphic t-shirt that had a scene from a cartoon that he had grown up watching in Australia. Loose black sweatpants fit snugly around his waist, and he was halfway wrapped up in your bed’s thick duvet comforter. “I’m worried about you…” You trailed off as he moved his head away from his pillow. 

 Biting down hard on his bottom lip, his eyes took on a certain pleading kind of light. “Please… don’t stop.” He all but whispered, motioning towards your fingers that were resting gently atop his head. And the pitiful look on his face just then, the way his voice cracked just a little bit from his misery, forced your chest to squeeze with hurt. 

 “This isn’t healthy for you, baby,” you started up again on the massaging, eliciting a low moan of relief to fall from your boyfriend’s lips. “You need to take a break, yeah?” 

 “How can I possibly do that when everyone is depending on me?” He chuckled in a dry, humorless kind of way. “Besides, this won’t be forever. I’m just getting them a ton because we’re preparing for the new repack and it’s hell at the company right now.” 

 “Still…” Your voice trailed off, as your fingers fled from his hair and swept over one of his temples. His eyelids fluttered at the delicate press of your digits against his heated skin, and a pleased smile spread across your lips. At least you knew how to help him in moments like these. “I just hate to see you feeling so shitty, you know? Want my baby to be healthy all of the time.” 

 At your words, Felix turned from his side so that his back was flush against the mattress. His hair was mussed from sleep and your fingers running through it, his freckled cheeks dusted in light pink from your words. “Damn, have I ever told you how much I love you?” 

 You took a finger and playfully poked at his side, “Yeah, but it wouldn’t hurt for you to tell me again…” You wiggled your eyebrows in a taunting kind of way. 

 And the last thing you saw was his sly grin before he was pulling you towards him. In an instant, he had his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tight to his warm, comfy body and peppering your face with dozens of light kisses. “Love you… so much, angel.” He mumbled against your skin, pecking each of your cheeks. “Love the way you take care of me, hmm?” 

 You chuckled at that, pressing your mouth against his in a loving, serene kiss. “And I love you too,” you started, before positioning yourself away from him and his searching mouth. “Which is why I wanna take care of you tonight. Will you let me, baby boy?” 

 He tilted in just then and pushed a fervent kiss against your lips once more. “Only if you’ll let me do the same next time you’re feeling shitty.” He rose a dark, perfectly-manicured eyebrow your way. And you knew, at that moment, he wasn’t going to budge. Everything with him was reciprocal. If you helped him in any way, loved him in any form, he felt obligated to return it - usually tenfold. 

 So you merely nodded your head in agreement, “Fine, I’ll allow you to help me next time I’m down and out.” You blew a few raspberry kisses against his cheeks, making him huff out a deep-throated laugh. Then you were separating yourself from him completely. “Now, onto the real business of things… have you eaten anything all day?” 

 It was a common occurrence for him to skip all meals entirely when he had a bad migraine, so it was no surprise to you when the look on his face turned slightly meek.“I just had a light breakfast so that I could take my medicine, but it’s definitely worn off by now, so I need to take some more” 

 Standing up from the bed in one fluid motion, you rested your hands against your hips in determination. “Then it’s set- I’ll make you dinner.” 

 He peered up at you through his wispy blonde fringe, “B-But you just got home from work and-”

 You quickly held a finger up to your lips to silence any of his protests. “Ah- remember what you promised me, baby? That you’d let me take care of you tonight?” You sent him a glare, yet there was not a threat to be had in it. 

 A tiny smirk cracked across his lips, “Yeah, yeah- I remember…” He rolled his eyes at you, before snuggling further down into the bed. He was a literal blanket burrito- covered in sheets and the thick duvet coverlet. 

 “Anything you’d like in particular?” 

 “Nah- I love everything you cook.” 

 You tossed him a laugh as you headed for the closed bedroom door, “Ha- tell that to Minho… who’s apparently, the local sous chef around these parts.” 

 As you filtered out of the bedroom, you heard your boyfriend’s laugh follow behind you. At least your presence could take his mind off of the pain. He always said it did. He told you on multiple occasions how having you around him in times like these helped to alleviate some of the discomfort in his head. How, you were like a cooling salve to the throbbing in his temples, always there to support him and give him love when he needed it the most. 

 That night, you awoke to the feeling of shifting on Felix’s side of the bed. Gradually peeling your eyes open and turning your head on your pillow, you caught a glimpse of your boyfriend in the dim lighting of the bedroom. He was sitting up, spine curved, shoulders drawn low, desperately holding his head in his hands. 

 “Baby? What’s wrong?” You asked, concern dripping into your tone as sleep immediately left you. The sight of his slouched form made your heart race because you despised seeing him in such a poor state. 

 “Nauseous.” Is all he could manage to garble out, voice cracking with anguish.

 You chewed on your lip anxiously, pushing yourself up from your pillow and nearing him. You grabbed Felix’s hand, languidly threading your fingers together with his and squeezing gently. “What do you need from me, babe?” You whispered, drawing small patterns against his warm palm with one of your thumbs. 

 A shudder ran through the length of him, as he clutched at his sandy-blonde roots in bated silence, “N-Nothing helps at this point…” he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head ever so slowly. 

 “Do you want me to rub your head like earlier?” One of your hands traveled up his spine, stopping just at the nape of his neck. You began to massage circles into his scalp. “Will that help you feel better, Lix?” 

 Then unexpectedly, he was grabbing ahold of your hand in one swift movement. Your eyes widened in surprise at the frantic look in his eyes just then, as they stared back at you in utter distress. “P-Please, don’t touch my head… just makes me feel worse.” 

 You pulled him towards you, enveloping him in a loose hug. He practically melted in your embrace, his muscles softening at your touch. His entire body was so warm - it always was, like he was your very own heated teddy bear - and you wrapped your arms around his waist, squeezing lightly. “Okay, baby. Whatever you need, I’m here for you, okay?” Your lips found his face in the darkness, and you pressed delicate kisses against his skin. When your mouths collided, you kissed him with all of the gentlenesses in the world, and for a few beats, he returned the kisses. 

 After heavy silence had washed over the bedroom, casting everything in a delicate, forlorn kind of aura, you pulled away from him to catch your breath. And even in the darkness of the room, you could see the hint of pink dusted across your boyfriend’s cheeks. “L-Love the way you kiss me, angel,” he whispered, leaning into you to press another tentative kiss against your lips.

 “I’ve always adored your beautiful mouth,” you replied, a tiny smile cracking across your lips when you pulled apart for air once more. You reached up to him then, tracing a finger around the line of his mouth. “So pretty for only me.” Your hand moved away then, as you cupped one of his warm cheeks with your palm, and he instantly eased into your touch. He had told you in the past how your kisses always made him feel a little better. At the height of his agonizing migraines, he said your lips were like a healing cure for him. 

 And for a few moments, it felt like the potion had worked. A small, content smile adorned your boyfriend’s face, and the perpetual furrow in his brow loosened. His eyes brightened just a little bit at your compliment - at your praises - because he always loved when you said quiet, loving words to him. 

 But then, everything fell apart again- 

 You watched in suddenly tense silence, as his entire body nearly doubled over in pain, spine going completely rigid, ears flushing red, bottom lip trembling. 

 Then came the glossy eyes. You recognized them instantly, for it was an absolute sign of what was to come. 

 In a flash of limbs, he was throwing off the duvet coverlet that he had been wrapped up in, racing to the bathroom with you right on his tail. 

 He threw the toilet seat open just in time as he inclined over the basin, emptying the little contents that were left in his stomach. You hadn’t made him a big dinner - it had only consisted of some scrambled eggs and a small bowl of mixed berries. But even still, it was enough to make him nauseous. 

 “Let it all out, baby,” you encouraged. You were at his side throughout it all, rubbing his back gently as Felix retched up everything he could muster, his stomach spasming with the effort. “It’s gonna be okay…” It fucking hurt you so much to see him in such a condition. You despised seeing the love of your life - your other half - suffering so much. 

 It seemed like it lasted forever, but finally- he pushed away from the basin with a deep groan. You quickly leaned over him and ripped up some toilet paper for him to wipe his mouth with. 

 And when you handed it to him, you quickly realized that his eyes were misty, tears running down either of his cheeks, leaving wet tracks behind on his smoothe skin. The sight of your loving boyfriend breaking down irrevocably caused your heart to crack open into two ugly pieces, and you once again wrung your arms around his hips, bringing him into your chest and giving him a tight hug. You two sunk to the cold tiled bathroom floor, close to the toilet. 

 “I-I’m sorry, angel,” he hiccuped in between his sobs. He buried his face into the crook of your shoulder like he was ashamed of what had just happened. 

 “Don’t apologize, Felix.” You said, trying to put some sternness in your voice. Because why in the world did he have to apologize to you? You were his girlfriend, for fucks sake- taking care of him when he felt shitty was the most basic of things for you to do. “You have nothing to be sorry about.” 

 “Y-Yeah, but you’re always taking care of me… it’s a burden on your shoulders that you didn’t sign up for.” He practically wailed, his tears leaving wet stains against your pajama shirt. 

 “I want to take care of you, baby. I fucking love you, and I care about you. And don’t ever say that you’re a burden to me because you’re not.” You tried not to raise your voice in that tender moment, but his words just fueled the deep fire that was always simultaneously burning inside of you. 

 Because he had said such things before, in the past, when the mean and abusive comments online had gotten to him. When it seemed like everyone thought he was a burden, so he had just assumed that he was one to you as well. But in reality, that was the farthest thing from the truth. He wasn’t a burden to anyone; he was the light to so many people’s lives, but especially to yours. He brightened up your day with just his smile alone, and the way that he loved you - wholly and irrevocably - was such an exquisite thing. 

 “You really m-mean that?” His voice splintered at the end of his words, as he hugged you a little tighter, nestling his head into your warmth. 

 “Of course I fucking mean it, Lix,” you began, smoothing down his hair with a palm. “You’re the light of my world- the reason my life is so complete. And I’ll do anything for you.” At that, you were pulling him away from your chest. 

 The tip of his nose was pink and his eyes were bloodshot from the tears. And with one look into his shiny, deep brown eyes, which were dancing with so many different emotions, your heart broke just a little bit more in the pit of your chest. With gentle fingers, your thumbs wiped away his excess tears. At least the crying had stopped. 

 “Please don’t cry, baby,” you whispered to him, desperation dripping into your tone. “I hate to see you cry, Lixie.” You used the nickname that he always liked coming from you, and watched in silence, as it brightened his face just a little bit. 

 “O-Okay,” he nodded his head slowly, hand finding yours and squeezing your fingers there. “I’ll try… and, I don’t want to feel this way anymore, so I’m going to do everything in my power to not get so stressed out.”

 “That’s my good boy,” you laughed softly, reaching up to his head and gently ruffling his hair playfully. Your eyes flitted down to his face, which was shaded a crimson red from your words. You always loved to rile him up, even in the direst of moments. Seeing him blush so furiously did something wonderful to your ego. His blushes were always so... adorable. “How do you feel now?” 

 “A little better… I think that helped,” he canted his head to the porcelain toilet that was just beside the two of you, not wanting to even spell out the words to what had just happened. 

 “See, baby? I told you that you’d feel better,” you gave his shoulder a nudge, offering him a tiny smile. “Now, do you wanna brush your teeth, and then we can get back into bed?” 

 His eyes pulled away from the toilet and locked with yours, and thankfully- a little bit of that Lee Felix sparkle was back in them. Shining in his eyes, although dully. But at least it was there, even if it was a small amount. “Yeah… I’d like that very much.” 

 And with that, you took both of his hands and helped to hoist him up from the hard-tiled floor that the two of you had been sitting on for the last few minutes. You gently brushed his sandy-blonde hair out of his face as he worked at the sink, and when he was done, led him out of the bathroom and back to bed. 

 Leaning down into him, you tucked your boyfriend into bed, fitting the thick white duvet around his small frame. “Are you comfy?” You asked, as you bent forwards and pressed a kiss against his exposed forehead. 

 “No, not until I’m holding onto you,” he said in that deep voice of his, a sardonic smirk widening across his lips. Then, his hands were winding around your forearms, and you were yanked towards him. 

 You landed on top of his chest with a huff, sending a mirthful glare up his way. “I can hardly imagine that this is going to relieve your migraine.” Nevertheless, his arms wrapped around your waist, pressing your bodies close together. 

 “You must highly doubt the power that your cuddling abilities have over me,” he laughed, and at that moment, it felt like it was the first time that he had done so in ages. Gone was the bleary-eyed shaking Felix from before, in the bathroom. That man had been replaced with your Lix… all bright smiles and tinkling laughter making your chest pound with love. 

 “So I guess we’re just gonna fall asleep this way, then?” You rose an eyebrow his way, earning a dark chuckle from your boyfriend. 

 “Only if you want to.” 

 “Oh, I fully intend to lay here until I am physically forced to move. However, I’m just wondering if you’re up for that challenge.” 

 “Are you fucking kidding me, angel?” He tilted up to you then, pressing a fervent kiss against your lips. “If I could be joined to your hip for the rest of my life, I think I’d take up the offer.” 

 A wide smile broke across your face. “It’s settled then, I’ll be staying right here for the foreseeable future.” You said, pressing a light peck against the warm skin of one of his cheeks. 

 Just then, the both of you erupted into a fit of giggles, as Felix squeezed his arms around you tight, and you gave him slobbery kisses on his nose and forehead. 

 And all at once, the pain and heartache and suffering were forgotten, as the air around the two of you danced with love and happiness. Pure adoration glittered in Felix’s eyes, shining across his face in a wide grin. And you were almost positive that your face was mimicking his expression- which was made clear by the warmth that bloomed across your cheeks at his arms squeezing your waist tightly, and how your soul fluttered just a little bit at the way his perfect mouth kissed you again and again.

 Because he wasn’t a burden. 

 He never had been one, and he never was going to be one. 

 Lee Felix was perfect just the way he was; small frame, fragile spirit, migraines and all. 

 All of it was utterly perfect. 

 He was like an ethereal little pixie, all rainbows and sparkles and butterflies, and everything pretty and warm and bright in the world. 

 And the best part of it all? 

 Was that he was all yours. 

 And you weren’t planning on sharing all of him with the rest of the world - you were only going to allow the outer-most parts of him for everyone else to see and cherish. 

 But the most-beautiful bits of his spirit? 

 Of his soul?

 The tender moments, the sweet kisses, the serene smiles, the silky words? 

 Yeah, you were going to keep those locked away nice and tight inside your heart, so that only you had access to the innermost parts of Lee Felix. 

 Fin. 

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© ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

[ashs-cardboard-box]

Undead Nightmare 2

~ Van Der Linde gang/Male!Reader

~ Platonic

~ 4k words

CW: Gore and disturbing imagery

I'm back !!!! I hope you enjoy :33 I have a few WIP fics I'm working on, along with the long awaited requests. I'm thinking abt making this a "series" of sorts (I <3 Undead Nightmare)

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In the ripe year of 1899, it was as if a new plague had just infected the entire nation– who knew how Nuevo Paraíso was doing. No one knew how it came about. One day, everything was completely fine. The sun rose and fell all the same. The people going about their normal lives without a care in the world. The next, everyone had some sort of illness, it seemed. The animals grew emaciated, more dead than alive, making it hard to find living food. Odd phenomena showed up, like THE walking sasquatch. Due to the rumors that they ate babies, you made sure to put them down before they could.

The dead were rising out of their graves, you were sure you saw your mama come back, right before she took another bullet to the back of her skull. People were killing one another left and right, fighting for their lives.

Dutch had kept everyone on their toes more than usual. Hardly even unpacking before trying to move to another camp. Everyone was scared shitless, as well as confused and partly upset. Surely, it was just mass hysteria. That was what you would assume, if you hadn’t just killed another walking corpse hobbling through the trees at the smell of human flesh.

“Well, what the hell’s wrong with ‘em?” You hear Dutch press gruffly, earning a confused sputter from the undoubtedly inebriated Reverend. Your eyes flick around the trees along the edge of camp warily, trying to find more of those undead freaks. Unable to find any, you shuffle a bit more inward to the center of camp, one rifle in hand, the other on your back.

“I thought you were supposed to be a priest.” Micah remarks sarcastically, as if he had any ground to stand on for morality’s sake, you roll your eyes. You weren’t too sure how it happened, you saw them die right after the Blackwater heist had failed.

Yet, here they were, young Jenny, Mac, and Davey. All tied together in the middle of camp, growling and hissing as Swanson attempts to anoint them with a flask, flicking whatever liquid happens to be inside that thing, but it’s definitely not Holy water.

“Damn, they stink..” Lenny grimaces. His eyes flick over to you as you approach the group before they return to the undead trio. “No better than you or the O’Driscoll.” Bill adds. Normally, it was a comment that would’ve gotten a chuckle, at the expense of the boy, Kieran, you learned, with whom had been practically kidnapped back in Colter.

Everyone was up to their ears in stress, really. The Pinkertons were less of a concern than the rotting bodies that piled in the streets. Add that to the list of trying to keep twenty people alive. It was pretty unanimously decided to send the women and Jack away, board them up someplace with one of the men to protect them. John just so happened to be that man..until he rotates responsibility to someone new, that is.

The gang was tighter than you’d ever seen before, despite joining not too long after Charles had. Trying to protect each other from the horrors that had become society. “Maybe we should just kill them. Get it over with.” Javier suggests, earning a side-eye from Dutch. “He’s right, Dutch. Keeping ‘em here won’t do any of us any good. They’ll only bring a horde.”

“No.” Dutch responds flatly, now outright glaring at you. “We need to stay loyal. Respect our brothers, and dear Jenny, who have fallen before us. If we merely slaughter them..like animals.. We would be no better than they themselves. Savages. Beasts. Faith, and a little redemption, is all they need, son.” You didn’t see Dutch’s point. Not in the slightest. But you didn’t push the issue, knowing chaos was unnecessary during the end of the world as you knew it.

Shuffling off, you spot Hosea sitting on a short stump, staring blankly at the crowd hovering over the trio of undead. “Any ideas?” you inquire, to which he shakes his head with a dissatisfied hum. “It just don’t make sense, Y/N. They aren’t supposed to… y’know.”

You nod as you kneel down next to him, feeling the pressure get taken off your aching feet and back, down onto your knees as they nestle into the grass. Resting one of your firearms on the ground next to you, the other remaining strapped to your back. Despite all the chaos amok, nature still felt the same as it was. You wondered if the trees would remember, only to be pulled out of your thoughts with a sigh from Hosea.

“I sent Sean out with Arthur to find information. Hunt down the nearest school or something..” He mutters, causing you to quirk an eyebrow in confusion. “Arthur and..Sean..? You know he can’t–” You start. “I know.” Hosea cuts in, his eyes flicking away from the crowd to look down at you instead. “Sean can’t read. But, Arthur is the best gun we have, even if he isn’t the most literate. Keeping Sean around camp is a death wish to us all. Like a hyena in a lion’s den.” He explains calmly, earning another curt nod from you. That was the best way to describe ol’ Sean MacGuire. A hyena.

“What’d you want me to do?” You ask, feeling a bit useless just standing around and pondering what to do with Jenny, Mac, and Davey. Hosea hums, reaching into the pocket on his vest and pulling out an old pocket watch. “Maybe you should check on the women with John.. Bring ‘em some food. Find game for Pearson while you’re at it.” He suggests, putting the watch back into its designated pocket.

The thought of leaving camp made you uneasy, but it had to be done. Pushing yourself to stand, you pick up your rifle. Silently dismissing yourself from camp, just as anyone had done before any of this started, you make your way over to the hitch rails and to your horse.

It whinnies as you approach, only growing more wary with the apocalypse, a sentiment you could understand. Holding your hand out in a placating gesture, a small ‘shh’ leaving your lips. The palm of your hand comes to rest on its nose, while the other moves to unwrap the reins from around the rotting wooden rail.

Just as you adjust to step up into the stirrup, you hear someone calling your name from behind you. Turning around quicker than you meant, you spot Charles approaching, Taima in tow. “You need help?” He asks. While you wouldn’t admit it, it’d be nice to have him around. Especially for Hosea’s request of finding game for Pearson, you were a lousy hunter. Ironically better at killing humans than animals. Maybe that was just empathy’s game.

“Sure.” You muse, pushing yourself to mount your horse, swinging your leg up and over the saddle and taking a seat. Slipping one of your rifles into the carbine scabbard on your saddle, the other remaining strapped to your back, not even daring to come down. You need to be ready at all costs, especially with such limited ammunition being passed around. Gunsmiths all got raided God knows when. “‘sea asked me to switch with John, check up on the women ‘n Jack. Bring ‘em a bit of food and bring game back to camp for Pearson.”

Charles merely gives a small hum in acknowledgement, silently mounting Taima alongside you before gently pushing his heels into her flanks, with you to follow suit, allowing Charles to lead you out of camp.

“How you feel ‘bout all this?” You ask, but it’s a bit of a stupid question. Of course Charles wouldn’t feel good about it. No one in their right mind would. “Terrible.” He replies monotonously without missing a beat. “Just feels cruel, I guess.”

“You wonder if they’re suffering?” You inquire. A quick snap of the reins and a small click of your tongue causes your horse to speed up with a small huff. You keep your eyes focused on surrounding land. Watching for both predators, live prey, and those damn freaks.

“Maybe.. But- I’m not them. Ain’t too sure.” Charles sighs, doing the same to be riding alongside you, just heading East and staying away from the streets. Who knew what kind of monstrosities could lie in the cities. You didn’t even want to imagine what Saint Denis was like or how bad it smelled..worse than usual.

It was simple idle conversation, which often happened out on the longer rides, but it made it that much easier to bear. Sometimes sitting for hours at a time, riding down from Annesburg, to Saint Denis, to the middle-of-nowhere New Hanover and back to camp..all in time to make it back for Pearson’s stew in the evening.

Yet, even so, the rides were often longer than you’d like. This one in particular just felt agonizingly slow. It was one of the only times you’d left camp since this whole debacle began and you hated it. Instead of being on edge for lawmen or rival gangs, you were on edge for the growling mob of the undead. Some were slow, some ran after you like their asses were on fire. Some were dumb and brutish, while others spat acidic bile. Truly terrible. Though, the plus side is that they made noise, unlike Pinkertons.

Currently making your way across the tracks separating New Hanover and the East Grizzlies, Ambarino. Out towards a little known cabin Arthur has dubbed ‘Martha’s Swain’. When he first showed it to you, in a desperate attempt for the gang to find some place to hide the women and little Jack, there was one of those rat bastard walking corpses inside. Though, you had little time to assume if she was Martha before she was shot in the face by Arthur. After burying her outside, the cabin was deemed safe and hidden.

As you and Charles approached the cabin, after a damn too long ride, the silence in the air was concerning. Normally, that would be a good thing. Finally a moment to stretch your legs and relax. But now, that was the last thing you wanted. It was suspicious. Charles gives you a side eye with a small nod, pulling his bow out from around his torso and carefully dismounting.

Not wanting to make a ruckus, nor waste ammo, you leave your longarm in its scabbard on your saddle. Instead, unsheathing your knife and hopping down onto the grass with a small huff, your rifle weighing heavy on your back.

You silently follow after Charles, the pair of you half crouch-walking to avoid being seen by anything in the probable vicinity. Your eyes blown wide with caution and your heart racing in your chest, you’re sure your ears are ringing. Rapidly scanning your surroundings as you approach the cabin door. No sign of any threats yet..except for a bear. Your mind flashes with a split image of getting mauled by it, only to shudder instinctively.

Turning your head back to the door as you hear it creak open. Your grip on your knife tightening as Charles pushes it open, bow drawn. The two of you don’t share a word as you follow Charles inside.

To your horror, there’s one of those undead freaks trapped inside the cabin, feasting on someone. A short gasp leaves your lips in surprise, causing it to raise its head just enough from the body, allowing Charles to let go of his bow string, sending an arrow through its deflated, maggot ridden, left eye. Due to the force, the zombie is knocked backwards, dead once again.

“Where the hell is everyone?” Charles asks gruffly, to which you shake your head in uncertainty, already making your way over to the body. You’ve seen a lot of fucked up things in your life, but this takes the cake. The poor sod was still breathing…barely. His blood seeped into the cracks of the cabin, his eyes were wide with terror.

“Help- ..me…” He chokes, and you wish there was something you could do. Several bite marks and infected scratches cover the man’s body, already flushing the skin an unsightly gray-blue, slowly clawing up the man’s insides as the infection travels through his blood stream, though his pulse is slow. Skin was missing from the man’s body, his abdomen punctured and organs ruptured, leaking blood, pus, bile, and, undoubtedly, his bowel contents all over his clothes and the floor underneath. It’s sad– revolting… but every man for himself.

You felt a hint of guilt, sure. Raising your knife above your head with both hands before plunging it down into the middle of the man’s dirty forehead. You can feel bile climbing your throat, forcing you to swallow to hold it back down. It wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before; the man’s skull just split in half like a goddamn onion. Brain matter leaking out of the bowl-shaped-skull, barely getting snagged on the optic nerve before it paints your boots. But, at the end of the day, your conscience was eased. He was put out of his misery, and there’s less of the undead crawling around.

“Gross..” You mutter, your lip curling in disgust as you stand back up. Wiping off the flat of your knife onto your denim clad jeans. Your eyes linger on the man, a sick image burned into your retinas. But, upon further inspection, the man is wearing a green vest, hardly able to be seen underneath the blood. Torn up by the undead’s mangy claws.

“O’Driscoll.” You point out to Charles with a gesturing nod of your head. Charles, uninterested with the scene, steps past you and further into the cabin, searching for where John had taken the women and young Jack.

“Maybe he had something to do with it.” You mutter, sheathing your knife, heading into the opposite side of the cabin to do the same. “Maybe.” He muses flatly, rifling through the many different belongings atop Martha’s rotting wood table. Accidentally toppling over a vase, swiftly picking it up before it could create noise.

Turning the knob of one of the back doors, you use your shoulder to push it open, finding a nearly empty bedroom as well. Nothing of value to be taken. But, abandoning that thought, you move into the room. Your boots squelching against the unknown substance covering the floor. Pushing forward, you make your way to an end table. By the looks of it, it’s already been robbed. You could only guess it was the gang’s doing. Regardless, you pull open the drawer in search for a letter or a sign. Nothing.

Not bothering to close the drawer, you shift to check the mattress. Patting around the edges, feeling for a ripped seam, the wood slats inside creak in agony as a protest to the movements. You could only imagine how old they were. To your shock, you find a hidden letter inside one of the cracks. Internally groaning, you slip your hand inside the mattress, pulling it out, along with whatever insides the mattress had to spare.

Slipping the letter into your other hand, you shake your hand free of the yellow dust that coats it. “Dear Mr. Kilgore–” it starts, but you don’t get much further. Hearing a “you find anything?” from Charles in the other room.

“Yeah!” You call back, walking back through the door, your eyes briefly scanning over the letter. Charles rushes up to you, faster than he meant to. “What’s it say?” He inquires. “From the gang.” you mutter quietly, flipping the page over to check the back of it before turning it over again to read aloud.

“Dear, Mr. Kilgore. Your grand-nieces have just been lovely, it’s truly an honor to have met them. I appreciate you letting us borrow your cabin for the weekend, but I regret to inform you that we must be headed off now. There’s no shortage of adventures to find in the great state of New Hanover. I hear Flat Iron Lake is just lovely this time of year, lots of good fish to eat! Especially from that lovely dock you mentioned that is oh, so near Flatneck Station.

I do hope you would grace us with your presence once more, but we understand if it would be a burden to request such a thing so soon after your return home from France. Do wish your brothers the best from us, will you? Good health is always important to us, you know. Yours truly, Mr. and Mrs. Van Winkle.”

With a small click of your tongue, you hand off the letter to Charles, who accepts it without missing a beat. Even if you weren’t being actively chased by Pinkertons, it was still easier to lie about your identities. You watch his eyes reread everything before you walk right past him, headed for the door. It’s pretty damn clear where they went. Though, a thought lingers in the back of your mind. What chased them off? It had to have been something they couldn’t kill. John was a coward, but he was stupid enough to stand his ground when protecting the vulnerable..right?

“Back to New Hanover, then.” Charles remarks, following you to the door, slipping the letter into his pocket.Though, as soon as you reach the door, you pause. A familiar growling heard from the other side..just barely. Holding up one of your hands, you silently tell Charles to wait.

Leaning forward and pressing your ear to the wood to listen outside. Only for the door to swing open as someone, or something, forces its body weight against the wood, knocking you down in turn. Pinned underneath one of the heaviest undead you’ve come across, you struggle to reach your knife.

Several gunshots ring out inside the small cabin, making your ears ring. You hardly had time to register what just happened before it slumps forward with a hiss, oozing something akin to blood all over you. It smells foul. You could hardly keep yourself from vomiting, gagging and swallowing down the puke that manages to make its way into your mouth with a small shudder.

You completely forgot about Charles until he kicks the hefty zombie off of you, causing the twice now corpse to roll off and onto the floor. “You alright?” He asks, oddly calm as he extends a hand down to you, holstering his gun with his other hand. He hated using it, but sometimes it was more than necessary.

With a slow nod, you place your hand in his own, allowing yourself to be helped to your feet. Your legs feel foreign underneath you as you stare down at the dumb brute that had attacked you. But, you don’t have any time to process it. With a pat on your shoulder from Charles, he finally heads out the wide open door with you following close behind.

Letting out a loud whistle from between your teeth, not exactly wanting to stick your fingers in your mouth after wrestling with that undead brute. Your eyes flicking around your surroundings, hearing the sound of hooves approach. No doubt your horse and Taima got scared of the monster. That or something different.

“You’re quiet.” Charles states bluntly, looking you over, It’s not a judgmental comment– the opposite. He’s concerned. He’s used to your thoughts leaving your mouth before you had a chance to stop it. Though, he could understand. Naturally, anyone would be a bit shaken up. He was confident you would get through it. “Ain’t you always?” You retort without batting an eye, earning a dry chuckle from Charles. “You ain’t wrong.”

Your eyes dart over to movement in the treeline, growing a bit tense at first, only to relax at the sight of Taima’s nose, a hint of a smile crosses your lips at the sight. Nodding towards her as Charles approaches her, whispering a small praise under his breath. Walking past him, you spot your own horse just down the hill, slowly making your way down to it with Charles just on your tail.

Your horse whinnies as it sees you, it’s tail swishing back and forth. “Easy..” you coo, reaching up and gently petting its mane. Getting closer and stepping up into the stirrup, further heading down the hill, expecting Charles to follow suit, which he does.

“There was another letter inside.” Charles mumbles, riding alongside you. You glance over towards him, silently asking for an elaboration, before facing forward again. Both of you heading right back down from Ambarino and back into New Hanover. “From the owner’s husband. He was in the Confederacy.” He explains, a hint of distaste in his tone.

You nod silently in understanding, remembering the skeleton you and Arthur had buried not too long ago. You hardly even registered the sight of the setting sun until it shines right in your eyes, humming with discontent as you squint. Your posture straightens as you focus more and more on the sounds around you, until you follow Charles further into the woods, finally having a bit of respite.

It’s unfortunate, really. Not finding any sort of live animals..or any at all, really. The plains were oddly silent now, more than before. Undead animals haunted the fields, attacking anything in their sights with the intention to infect further. The remaining, living animals were all emaciated. The disruption to the food chain was detrimental to the entire ecosystem…clearly.

All seemed well on the long ride to Flatneck station, until you hear gunfire echoing loudly in the distance. Much to your dismay, Charles races forward, leaving you to follow behind in a huff. Coming across the small, abandoned trading post, you damn near sigh in relief. John is the one firing the gun, getting frustrated with Abigail and readjusting her hold on a rifle to properly aim a half broken beer bottle resting atop the railway tracks.

“John!” Charles calls with a hefty sigh of relief. John tears his gaze away from Abigail and over towards you and Charles. You were sure there was a small smile on his face out of relief. “Uncle Charles! Uncle Y/N!” You hear Jack call before the door to the small building flies open and the boy comes running out. You couldn’t imagine how scary it must be for him.

Both you and Charles dismount at the same time. Jack nearly tackles your leg into a hug, allowing you to ruffle his hair. “We didn’t find any food on our way.” Charles informs, to which John shakes his head with a heavy sigh. “We got a couple rabbits on our way out..ain’t much at all.” “Better than nothin’?” You offer, to which John offers a half-hearted shrug. As Jack lets go of you, you follow after him inside the small building, mostly to check up on the other women. It’s incredibly cramped as you step inside. Five women, excluding Abigail, with Jack and yourself. But beggars can’t be choosers.

Molly is staring at her reflection in the small mirror, gently pulling at her skin. Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly are quietly whispering amongst themselves. Though, Karen seems shaky and jittery. You can only imagine what her lack of alcohol is doing to her body.

“Y/N.” Susan greets with a curt nod, sitting just by the door, her shotgun laying over her lap. A terrifying sight on its own. “Miss.” You reply with a nod of your own. Gently nudging Jack away from you and further inside into protection.

“How y’all been holdin’ up?” You inquire. Stealing a wary glance over your shoulder to make sure Charles, John, and Abigail were fine just outside, before returning your gaze back down to Grimshaw.

“As good as we can be..” She sighs. Her weathered hands idly feeling over the metal firearm. “I imagine y’all saw the wreck the cabin was left in?” You nod, earning a pleased hum from Susan. “O’Driscoll showed up and tried to rob us when John went out for food. He brought a damn.. horde with him. We handled most of ‘em, had to leave when we started getting overrun. Barely had time for Mary-Beth to write that letter.” She explains.

It made sense. A bunch of kick-ass outlaws wouldn’t just..abandon their safehouse for no reason. Leaning back against the doorway, you let yourself slide down it until you’re finally sitting, just relaxing. Resting your eyes with a heavy sigh, you’ve had enough to do with today. Just in desperate need for a nap. Yet, you know you can’t sleep yet. Especially not here. But Gods.. you want to. You definitely need to. You’re not sure how long it’s been since you last slept.

“Y/N.” Charles calls. With a small hum of acknowledgement, you force your eyes open, looking up towards him. “You head back to camp.. I’ll stick around here.” Nodding along blankly, you force yourself to stand up again. Yawning widely as you step fully out of the trading post, passing John and Charles, giving each of them a pat on the shoulder and a small nod to Abigail, shuffling back to your horse and mounting up, setting off into the night.

The lingering burden of finding food for camp weighs on your mind. But, as you slowly trek through the dark forests, you find nothing. You could blame it on your exhaustion or the dark..or some sort of noise, but there’s nothing around. Not a soul except you. It nearly snaps you awake, feeling a chill creep down your spine and the feeling of eyes on you. Clicking your tongue off the roof of your mouth, commanding your horse to speed up. You don’t want to be out for any longer than you need to.

But, as you come back to camp, the ride feels shorter. Dismounting your horse with an exhausted sigh, hitching up the reins to one of the rails, right next to Gwydion, Trelawny’s horse. Not feeling like dealing with the magician at the moment, your eyes flick around camp until you spot Hosea on his bedroll. You offer him a shrug, signifying you didn’t find anything, earning a solemn nod in response.

Hearing the growls and hisses from young Jenny, Mac, and Davey, your day ends just as it started. Laying down on your bedroll, your muscles aching and your skin slick with sweat. Though, unlike last night, you allow sleep to claim you and hope that, at some point, things will be okay again.

.....................................................................................................................

[diaboliklove]

modern day au where yui cannot catch a break, and things only get worse when her house gets broken into by an angry red headed robber — but instead of taking her things, he takes her heart

yui was having the worst year of her life.

even worse than in 2013 when her father wouldn’t let her go to that taylor swift concert since it was deemed ‘unholy.’

she really thought only taylor could understand her.

but now its 2024, and she’s begun to have adult problems. she’s broke, her heater is broken, her apartment has started to fall apart, she stained her favorite pink skirt with coffee, her phone screen shattered when she dropped it on the train, she ran out of her favorite lip gloss, college bills keep stacking up, her upstairs neighbors never stop engaging in fornication, strawberries are out of season so she can no longer afford them and most importantly —

her father just passed away.

and all she wanted now was to rot in her apartment and ask god for mercy on her poor heart.

“it’ll be okay,” she sniffled back a tear. “father used to say the lord puts us through trials to test our faith.”

yeah, used to.

it was now late night, coming back from her fathers funeral she felt more empty than when she first got the news. her feet hurt from the black heels she now had to walk home in, the black dress did little to give her warmth, her cheeks were numb from the cold weather and having to comfort people with a smile that she’ll be okay, that there was nothing to worry about.

… but yui was already worrying about dinner. also how she’d have to shiver herself to sleep again. she couldn’t allow herself to cry herself to sleep again, her face would be frozen when she woke up, and what if she finds another hole in the walls? tape didn’t work last time, and she’s running out of rags to stuff in between them. and what about her job? she can’t buy more rags without it. they granted her a leave of absence due to her fathers passing, but what if they replaced her? if she lost her job she couldn’t pay rent — and she couldn’t ask for another extension on rent, her landlord was fed up enough with her pleading, she wouldn’t get lucky again. and also —

“no, lets just take it one day at a time. thats right,” she neared the steps to her apartment. “deep breath in, and then out. lets have some canned soup for dinner, and then pair it with rewatching the kardashians. yeah. thats a great plan.”

she turned the corner to her door.

“everything will get better,”

she put the key in the lock.

“as long as i stay positive.”

and she swung her door open —

“shit!”

“AH!”

— right into a mans back.

at first she thought she opened the wrong door. but the faint smell of her candles hit her nose, and her eyes fell on the very TV she watched shitty TV on in the mans arms — and then her eyes landed on a fucking sword on his waist.

her eyes followed it as he dropped her TV from his arms, and unsheathed it from his waist —

— and directed it right in between her eyes.

“empty your fucking purse! ill fucking kill you!”

Oh wow. wooooow.

now you would think the right action would be to do as he said. anyone would listen to a manic man with hair as red as blood, especially when they pointed a sword at you that looked like it came from the 1800’s. its not like yui wanted to die, so maybe she should save her life and sacrifice her beloved tv and the few pennies she had in her wallet.

but instead. her face twisted, and yui broke out in the most ugly open mouthed sob she’s ever done.

it wasn’t out of fear. it didn’t even register how this man genuinely had bloodlust leaking out of him. it was out of absolute frustration and sadness that this was becoming her life — and that she couldn’t even have her dream of watching the kardashians.

she fell to her knees. because, seriously, what the hell did she do to deserve all of this? she was a good kid. never acted out to her father and attended mass even when she had the flu. she never wished bad on anyone. but why does everything always have to end bad? on her 11th birthday her goldfish frank died, when she wanted a coffee last week, her card declined and now she couldn’t even sob into her blankets while she heard kim talking about how rich she was. can’t she have one good day? can’t she —

“holy shit, are you crying?” the red haired man didn’t even move.

yui looked up to him, and just stared at the man’s flabbergasted expression. through her tears, she tried to inhale through her nose, but it came out in little stutters. she extended her purse towards him.

“take it. take everything if you want.” yui spoke through her sobs. its not like anything she really wanted was here anymore.

yui curled up into her knees and rocked herself, continuing to cry hysterically at the thought of just her life. she wouldn’t mind if that man stole everything in her house — material objects could be replaced… eventually. when her eyes started to burn by the amount of tears flooding out, she noticed she couldn’t hear the familiar floorboards creak from movement and her purse was still in her hands. lifting her head to see what was going on, she noticed that the man hadn’t moved from his spot, and just was gawking at her sitting on the floor. they held eye contact for a while, like they were both afraid to move.

sure, yui thought he was a manic. but he probably thought yui was a suicidal manic.

while she held eye contact, she finally really looked at him.

he was fit. wearing a black shirt and a ripped jean jacket, yui could tell he wasn’t bulky, but instead quite lean. his pecs were defined and his muscular abdomen and biceps were flexed against the fabric from welding the heavy sword. his joggers looked worn down, and black nikes seemed like they seen better days. his face was … nice. well sculpted and he had a well defined jaw. his lips were plump and chapped from the chill outside.

what threw yui off was the cacophony that was his hair and eye color. bright firetruck red for hair that looked like he hadn’t brushed it in days, and green eyes fit for only a predator. regardless of the situation, yui could tell he honestly was… beautiful. dangerous. probably looked more attractive if he didn’t have his mouth wide open in awe.

his eyebrows furrowed, and he closed his mouth. he placed his sword back in his sheath, and leaned down to grab the tv from the floor. he looked towards yui again, with a face she could only describe as disappointment. clicking his tongue, he began to drag the tv … not towards the door but towards the tv cabinet.

“this isn’t fun anymore. you can have your shitty shit back.”

placing the tv back in its rightful throne, he squatted down and went through a worn down black backpack — that had some random pins of a band she never heard of — that was on the floor. within it, he took out her favorite necklace, her jewelry box, a couple of her wool sweaters and her damn smart toaster she picked up extra shifts for.

“this is yours. ill be back when you’re mentally stable, you deranged bitch.” he motioned to the items on the floor.

“really?”

the robber rolled his eyes. “of course I will be! do you know how much your toaster —“

“— no i mean. you’ll give it back?”

“you want me to take it?”

“well… i’d like it if you didn’t.”

“then! shut the fuck up.”

he grabbed his backpack and swung it around his shoulder. he started making his way towards the door right beside yui. as he took two steps past her, he paused.

“you’re really broke, you know.”

yui sniffled. “i know.”

“like, broke broke. i don’t think ive ever broke into a house that had so much of nothing. what are you, a level one sim? do you have no hobbies? do you even eat? i see nothing to even munch on here.”

“… i have soup.”

“you literally have two cans of spaghetti-os and tomato soup.”

yui sniffled louder. “i know.”

things were silent for a while. yui was sure the robber was still there, probably reconsidering his decision. she expected him to march back in to take her things again while flipping her off. this entire situation seemed too good to be true… but maybe this could end with her losing nothing... no. she wouldn’t let herself hope for something that was next to impossible in a situation like this.

but something even more unlikely happened.

the robber spoke again.

“do you like dennys?”

“w…what?” yui turned her head towards him.

“dennys. the best restaurant in the world. do you like it?” his face stayed neutral, but somehow the question felt like a threat.

yui feared the honest answer, ‘ive never been’ would end in her getting decapitated. so, she said, “i do.”

“do you want to go get some pancakes?”

it was yuis turn to gawk at him. he looked bored, and slid his hands in his pockets. now, maybe a normal person would say ‘fuck no, its 10pm and you just broke into my home somehow and then tried to steal my beloved tv and lovely toaster then pointed a fucking sword at me… also, i don’t even know your name you creep.’

but yui wasn’t a normal person experiencing normal things right now.

“pancakes sound nice.”

aka, the alternative universe in which two cold hearts find warmth within each other.

[triplegoths]

untagged

i cant fucking take living like this anymore

i cant do it i have to end it soon theres literally nothing for me here anymore. its too much to do. im never gonna fucking have another close in real life relationship.

i want to just like order some food at work so im not more miserable being here but i dont have the strength or stomach to eat something. ill eventually try maybe. i dont know. the drugs make me not eat like a fucking sick dog already and everything rn just says i dont deserve it

i have no motive or energy to do anything but work or somethimes playing a game but even that were usually unable bc were too tired.

whats the fucking issue with me!!!! i just dont give a shit anymore i dont want to do anything nothing makes me happy everythinf eventually juat makes me feel scared and sick and weird. every time i try to make fun or have plans it goes horrible and it just feels worse so i wont anymore ill just fucking rot alone like life wants me to

nobody here can help me and if i could i couldnt afford it so who fucking cares its cheaper to kill myself and lose the body so they dont need funeral costs. theyd misgender and shave me anyway probably

im just so fucking over it all im never gonna be happy like this. i got nothing. theres no good its just working til i fucking kill myself and putting myself through fuxking agony constantly for a life that continues to just KICK AND KICK AND KICK AND KICK me when im fucking down. i cant handle anything else happening. im trying so hard to get things done and theres just fuxking nothing. i will never ever be enough and ill never feel enough.

doesnt matter what or when or the circumstance its so depressing that its not just romantic relations too im so fuckinf scared in groups i automatically feel unwelcome and hated and like i should just go off by myself because im literally so unlikeable and everything has proved it forever. like genuinely as soon as i realized there were more than 2 people i got terrified and started questioning everythinf i did and wanted to run away bc i felt like i wasnt meant to be there and it was ovipus and i was being annoying like fucking ALWAYS GOD IM SO SICK OF BEING LIKE THIS can i just shut up forever? dirk please come back to front im tired of annoying all the people who so graciously allow me to exist around them so i dont have to be in such crushing loneliness all the time i feel like such a fucking baby and everybody probably thinks im such an annoying drug addict too can i just quit it and fucking feel and then kill myself already when i realize its worse

like im never gonna be able to afford any of the shit i need to heal and i dont even wanna try bc ill get 3 appointments in and will run out of money and continue doing that and then ill die bc i cant afford anything else. like why would i do that to myself ill just suffer like this and just do my best forever til i can only rot. id rather get it fuckinf over with and just die now. this isnt a life

i go frm one box go another. rotting. i rot at home alone or i go to work alone. i dont really go out. i dont really talk to anybody. i dont really see anybody. i have 1 irl friend who talks to me and lives in town. the other i dont see her often and honestly feel so embarassed of myself around her because of how i am that i can barely convince myself to see her sometimes even if she is in town. the other person is one of my exs and he doesnt give a shit about me he just wants sex bc thats the only thing im good for. i feel like i just annoy and make everybody uncomfortable conwtantly i dont wanna do it anymore i want to shut up

i always do it i always just talk endlessly frm the second i fucking could before most kids could talk even and i just never shut up did i? my parents were always annoyed by me talking about things that brought me joy (and they never believed me for things that were upsettinf and it was just fake and i needed to be quiet about it bc theyre not taking me to the doctor. so i stopped talking about it to my family and everybody else in my life in that era did the same. the bullies. my friends who ignored me. no matter the form it was always like that i just need to learn to keep quiet and go away and not need anything ever again. i couldnt fucking learn it every time i got a red or yellow card for talking (usually trying to ask questions bc i didnt understand or couldnt see or couldnt hear in elementary school. or to make conversation bc i was friendly and had no friends and my parent didnt play with me so i was lonely. nobody ever liked me bc i was weird. i feel like such a bitter dickhead but i get so jealous when i see that people talk to others every day. especially in person. im so fucking alone i literally get so excited when people want to call with me even if it makes me really scared (and sometimes if im not comfortable enough or feeling sad i will run a away from that too because im so scared to fuckinf annoy people and say something stupid or be boring or trying too hard or just fucking being a total downer because theres nothing good ever going on for me. i got so depressed goin on bsky today and seeing everyone playing webfishing when i cant. but even so lik.e maybe im glad i djdnt join bc one of them was in a big group with new mut and then all strangers so like. its better i wasnt able to bc i would probably jusg feel worse and run away frm everyone bc i feel inadequate snd guilty for taking up space. i always feel like im bothering everyone no matter what. fuck my exhusband in general but he also made me so much more insecure than i was already. he made me feel so annoying and he broke my communication. i was alone with him and JUST him for so long. i could only communicate in nonsense phrases sometimes (literal jibberish not memes) because thats all he would respond to or wouldnt talk to me until i did. he changed my whole pattern of speech and i still almost lapse into it sometimes. it was never any kind of real conversation about anything i felt like it withered my brain. nothing ever in depth just stupid sensless bullshit and jokes (that were often insulting me and made me feel like shit) and i was doing it for fucking nothing because everything else sucked too!!!! the only time there was ever a conversation was when i was BEGGING HIM to stop sometbing or do something for the millionth time. or him defending himself or trying to force my support and trigger my ocd (i genuinely think he was trying to make it worse he never respected it ever he mever respected a single part of me) or him fighting with me on something again (usually the thing was due to him and i just was not being forgiving and quiet and turning off my emotions enough about it. learned numb happiness)

my existence is like a plague and theres nothing here for me. theres even less left of me after he got done with me. he stripped my personality all the way down and forcef me to mirror him. everythinf will always be rotted and ill feel like a horrid shell of a person any time im near anyone. the only option is being alone. maybe this time i will learn and just fuxking stop all of this so we can stop being a curse on everybody. even if i could afford mental help theres nobody that can help me here so its all a waste. i feel like everybody will just hurt me again. doesnt even have to be a partner i feel like every single person is gnna realize sooner or later that im not worth it or they dont like me (ir even hate me) and that im just too fucking annoying to be around

i dont want to be annoying anymore. i wish it was like right after he went to prison again when i didnt have anything and was an empty shell and had nothing to say or talk about that wasnt venting. i wish i never got back some of my "sparkle" or whatever the fuck people call it. mines not a sparkle. its a noxious cloud of toxic annoyance fumes and everybody just has to keep their masks up til i vacate the area. why would i ever fucking want this to come back. i need to shut the fuck up i really do. just take our personality and every crumb of joy again im so sick of it. make it so i dont have any of those thoughts to even post. thus sparing everyone from having to be like "UGH this motherfucker AGAIN. does he ever shut the fuck up? is he ever quiet? can he just log off already? this guy definitely has no life. why does he always have to butt into everything"

that way i can just post like. the shortest most boring updates ever like "back to work! only 3 days this week for the 39 hours. more time off is always good" and then shut up for days and then "got paid nice. going to the bank and then grabbing a few groceries" like thats do much better. nobody needs to fucking know man its sad and depressing and all the same OR you are the most obnoxious prick on any site youre ever and you ruin everybodys day when theyre forced to see you in their notifs or on their timeline

ive probably already muted me bc it didnt even take a week for me to just talk way too muxh when none of of it is important and nobody wants to hear it

even if im not allowed to talk frm my body. its already annoying enough in text and then psyically i just stutter and trip over myself or cant think or forget what i was saying

i wanna delete everything i have and crawl into the earth. i hate being alive. the one time i find something that makes me happy even the littlest bit i cant do it anymore. disallowed by the universe and painfully reminded of the fact im supposed to alone and theres actually nothing for me. it doesnt get better for me it only gets worse. and it makes me feel stupid for believing it could even though thats few and far between. theres nothing left for me i need to just get whatever drugs i decide on and have one last hoorah and take enough to kill me. which hopefully wont even be that hard because im mixing downers and uppers constantly so like its only a matter of time right. my nose hurts and i feel like crying and my body is killing me again so im taking both things again. one for pain. one for maybe like. a little bit of energy but mainly so i dont feel so absolute shit. i just want it all to stop i dont wanna get better anymore im sick of it every time i try i get fucking worse or am crushed by something else even harder than before im DONE WITH IT IM FUCKING OVER IT i just wanna end it theres nothing fucking here for me im never making it. im sick of trying. im sick of always helping even while going through the wordt shit imaginable. im not sick of it. i want to help and i love helping. but it makes me fucking SICK to think about how ive spent my whole life caring for others. have been let down or ignored or told i was lying or had them hurt me instead so many times over i just fucking wish i was important enough to have gotten help when i needed it. to be listened to enough for somebody to even acknowledge or believe there is an issue (or simply convince me im overreacting)

it was fucking stupid of me to think my last ditch effort of doing art school because every other thing i failed miserably at because im too stupid and cant do enough and dont have the support. it doesnt even fucking matter bc my body is slowly and slowly getting closer to just saying "no fuck you" to the art i NEVER HAD TIME TO MAKE TO MY FULL ABILITY IN THE FIRST PLACE. and then ill never be able to do it ever again because i cant get help

i am going to die knowing i never finished a single thing in my life and nobody will ever know what i was capable of.

i want to die in the most painful and uncomfortable way possible because its what i deserve. its the only thing i truly deserve. i need to endanger myself more than i already do obviously its not killing me fast enough if im still kicking and dragging myself across the pavement. i should be dragged along the pavement by a semitruck instead.

i wanna kill myself so bad tonight man. im gonna try not to bc my friend really needs me rn. but i really might relapse. im so fucking tired i want to just go and sleep but ill stay up just for that. i should just cut a vein already why do i care about beinf careful. there was a thing i wanted to do... cut myself with a razor right after i use it to chop **** because maybe itll make me feel good when im not or just fuck my heart enough to make me faint or do smth stupider

ive been writing this for so long im fucking done. i got 2.5 more hours here. i hope i find my mouse when i go home so i change my mind but i honestly really just want to end it right now. im at the end of the line really. im gonna work til i die and never get a break

"everyday it feels like noone sees and noone knows. every day i kinda wanna cancel the show." /lyr

please for the love of god like this if you read all of it i just spilled my whole guts and not even well

[historia-vitae-magistras]

butt?

I had to substitute it for arse, sorry. Exploratory fic I began to explore some character dynamics and what the lifestyle of 4 growing nations and their mother in their last real time together would be like in a slightly Post-Roman Iron Age estate as the Migration period picks up and Germanic peoples cross the North Sea to make a home. I believe of these earlier themes have their origin with @balladofthewhitehorse.

5th Century AD, Cumbria

"Rhys," Alasdair appeared at the fence line, his face gloomy. Rhys had stopped here for his mid-day meal halfway between where the shepherds had herded the sheep in the northernmost glen and their home behind on the hill. It'd been a long two days in the hills. He offered the cider flask to his brother as Alasdair approached, his frown deepening. It wasn't raining, and the day's work wouldn't have been hard. Bad news, then. It was always bad news.

"What is it this time?"

"Rot in the south store."

"Oats, rye or wheat?" Rhys asked. The rye they might go without, but the rain hadn't come so early that anything else should rot.

"Oats,"

"Fuck." Rhys sat on the low wall of flagstones and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck,"

He glanced up. His brother looked even more dour. "Gods, what else?"

"Seven horses," Alasdair said, sitting beside Rhys, boneless and upset.

Rhys gaped at him. "Seven? That's three more than were sick yesterday!"

"It's spreading." Alasdair shrugged helplessly. "I took the healthy ones into the third stables, and it didn't help."

"Is it distemper?"

"I didn't think so," Alasdair said. "They weren't so feverish, and there wasn't pus, but now I don't know.

"So, no horses to sell this year. At least half the oats are gone."

"Rhys." Alasdair's ingot grey gaze fell heavily, and Rhys glanced at his brother.

"I know," He said, and Alasdair didn't look convinced. He looked at his elder brother with a firm look. "I know."

"If we can't pay the tributes…"

He thought of the mustached helmets of the German kings and exhaled. "We don't know that we can't pay. There's plenty to sell."

"It's not just a lack of goods I'm worried about. It's been a bad year for everyone. There might not be anyone to sell to."

"There must be," Rhys said, pulling his cloak tighter over his shoulders. "There will be. We'll figure it out."

"I suppose all we can do is pray," Alasdair said.

Rhys frowned. Alasdair was the one with a mind for numbers, but he always worried, and they always managed before. So what if the horses would not fetch the total price if they were ill come market day? There was still the wool, the fine worked saddles he and Alasdair had made the year before, and plenty of cattle, sheep, honey and mead to sell. There were options. They had options.

"I'll see to the horses; if none of them die, we'll be fine," Alasdair said. "We have ore too. I might get a good price for my boar spears."

"Maybe," Rhys said. His hope was teetering precariously on the assumption that his brother was overly worried.

There was an unspoken sense of doom between them, both praying their worries were unfounded. Rhys grimaced after they parted ways at the outer gate, Alasdair marching off to the stables and Rhys to the poultry yard and the hives. One of the women in his mother's service alerted him to the fact that another of the hives had gone dark with rot. Honey was expensive, and now there wouldn't be enough to sell and use themselves over the long winter. Rhys waved her off with a pinched-off smile.

He stood in the poultry yard for a long moment, leaning against the half gate that kept the hens, quail, and ducks safe in their enclosure and away from the hounds. He watched Arthur tumble after a goose, laughing as it squawked and ducked him. Their dinner pail of scraps and grain was sitting neglected as he played, but Rhys looked on, letting him play. They'd have to keep more honey than what he'd wanted to sell, if only for Arthur's sake. Honey cakes with stored apples and cheese or on bread were one of those precious things that would cheer him when the worst of the winter gloom gripped him worse than any of them. Arthur rolled to a halt, cackling as the goose bobbed angrily and finally noticed him.

"Rhys!" He grinned, leaping to his feet and making a beeline for him. He exhaled a loud "oomph" as Arthur knocked into him, throwing his arms around him. "You're back!"

"I was only gone a night," He laughed. "How is Mother? And where is your cloak? Have you lost it again?"

"The same," Arthur said. "Maybe a little better. She laughed this morning when I fell right on my arse out of bed. Bridgie pushed me."

"Good! And you probably deserved it. You kick in your sleep." He replied, and his smile was genuine. Mother had at least made an effort to shake her recent gloom then. She'd been thinner, paler, and sadder than he'd ever seen her in the last few years, and it hadn't gotten any better as the days became shorter. "And your cloak?"

"I forgot it!"

"You'll catch your death." Rhys ruffled his hair. "Hurry and feed the birds and come in for dinner."

[nowoyas]

Boiling Point 3: ...Will Still Boil Over Eventually - Miguel O'Hara/Reader (NSFW)

First - Prev - Next - M.list - Ao3

A/N: well folks and strokes I have no self control. this was originally supposed to be the finale, but lol. lmao, even. you didn't really expect me to finish a storyline in only three parts?

Summary: You reach your boiling point.

Notes: sub drop, a frankly ill-advised length of time to be edging oneself

Word count: 3317 words!

It is day…

uh…

(What fucking day is it again?)

You’re tired. You’re bored. You’re horny. And that handsome motherfucker sent you a carousel of Spiders to explicitly make sure that you were actually resting in the time he so generously gave you.

Your package delivery was delayed by a combination of bad luck and worse luck, apparently, because it should have been here by now. You stopped bothering keeping up with your journaling partway through this, namely because you were starting to become hyper-aware of all your negative traits when you wrote them down (teenage boy levels of horniness and anger, mostly) and also because you’re starting to feel… low. Low low. Low low low low low.

The part of you that’s desperate for sex with a man you’ll never have or even just a fucking release at this point is losing out to your deep-seated need to be right. And in your contract, you said until the new vibe arrives. So, you are stuck waiting, lest you prove yourself completely slutty and undisciplined. And you are not slutty or undisciplined.

The worst part, you think, is the understimulation. Sure, you’ve got hobbies, but you don’t want to do any of them right now. You want to get someone’s hand on your tits and teeth on your neck, or else you want to hook yourself up to a vibrator until you discover new frontiers of consciousness and burn out the motor on that one, too, or else you want to lay here and rot. And fuck it, you can’t do any of that, because you still have your shitty office work to attend to, which doesn’t even distract you from the real problems in the world: dimensional anomalies, stopping criminals, and the criminal lack of dimensionally anomalous dick in your mouth.

Honestly, at first, it was sexy. You liked the little thrill of rolling over in bed and seeing your contract and knowing that you’re being so good even without a dom to make it so. You liked the idea of the denial, the promise of a new toy coming as a reward for all the longing in the meantime. Part of you still does, but that part has been glazed over with a level of self-loathing that usually being a Spider wipes away.

If you were worth anything, you wouldn’t have to enforce this yourself.

If you were worth anything, someone would be telling you what a good girl you’ve been, that you’ve worked so hard for this, that you’ve earned the right to cum.

Admit it.

You’re not doing this alone to prove a point.

You’re doing this alone because no one is ever going to do it for you. Not for long, at least.

You know two ways to fill time and void—searching for good views from too-tall buildings and masturbation. The too-tall buildings frustrate you even more, because occasionally one of your coverage Spider-Men will swing in and remind you that you’re under strict orders to rest, or worse, you’ll see them at work and know that Miguel has probably instructed them to web you to a wall if you try to help with YOUR job, and then you just feel even more useless and angry and empty.

Okay, so skyscraper sightseeing is out. What about masturbation?

Yeah, that’ll work. Add more sexual frustration to your sexual frustration. You like sexual frustration, right? Clearly, since you’re still doing this bullshit. Go ahead, we put some sexual frustration on your sexual frustration so you can get sexually frustrated while you experience some light sexual frustration. This can only serve to alleviate your problems. Clearly. Dumbass.

…you make sure to leave your wristband in the other room before you take your pants off.

And you know what? Maybe it’s the demon on your shoulder egging you on when you slip two fingers inside yourself and fantasize in scraps of images—sharp teeth, big muscles, webs holding down your wrists—and chase release, but you no longer care about the stupid fucking contract or your stupid fucking delayed package or your stupid fucking—

There is a noise in the other room.

A noise that sounds suspiciously like an incoming call on your wristband.

You can’t help it. Fuck your neighbors. You actually scream.

Okay. You’re overreacting. Walk it back. This is good. You didn’t break the contract, because you didn’t cum, and that call probably means you’re back in business and able to be a fucking Spider again.

So really, you're glad you got a call. You wash your hands, you scrub extra hard. You make sure your Spider suit is on, you make sure you're wearing casual clothes with the zippers all pulled and hiding your suit. When you're calm and collected and ready, the dread and self-hatred is still there, as is the frustration, but you didn't spend years in customer service without learning how to wear a smile even when the only desire you have left in your little heart is that lingering drive to take up serial killing.

You find the wristband on the coffee table. Slip it on. Hit the button to call back.

And there he is: man of the hour, loathe of your life, Miguel O'Hara. You've been trying not to think of him by his full name only, but it isn't working, mostly because you've also been halfway trying to not think of him at all.

You don't really process most of the conversation, too busy floating in the space between "horny" and "dead inside", but you do hear the words "we need you back on to help with an anomaly" pretty fucking clear, and you know damn well you wouldn't say no to that.

"Give me two minutes to get changed," you manage, already pulling at the shorts you so carefully hid your Spider suit under.

"You get one and a half.”

Aw, he's cute. Miguel's holo is looking away from you, and it blinks out of existence in the time it takes you to get your free hand hooked under your waistband. He's not flustered; you're not sure that's possible, but his unnecessary display of respect is endearing.

You're ready to go in one. You take the thirty seconds remaining to fix your hair and play it cool, even if you're now stuck between excited, horny, and dead. I heard, if you add a fourth emotion to the mix, you can build a house out of your weird bullshit and finally put a ceiling on it. Give it a try sometime!

You slip into spidery actions the same way you do swimming pools—the initial drop of your stomach, water too cold on your toes, New York City but Wrong, then the adjusting. You always adjust. Anomalies blur together for you by now, amalgamate into a series of fun diversions that lower your stress and put the pieces of you back together in the process.

They’re supposed to put you back together.

They’re supposed to put you back together.

The anomaly is dealt with. You’re spidering again. You got your rush from the heights and the wind against your mask, your adrenaline from a fight gone well. You returned to HQ with your partners from this little adventure no worse for the wear, and even Miguel has afforded you an approving nod at the work you’ve done.

You’ve done a good job. A great job. Something has pushed out the rage in you and taken its place, but you know better. This fight against this anomaly did not, in fact, put you back together.

You need to go home. You have to report in, first. It’s redundant. You need to leave. You’re doing good. You need to smile and do it anyways.

Your smile is heavy, so heavy, nearly impossible to drag out of you. You wish you could leave it where it sits in the pits of you, go home and find a cave to live in where civilization is not and no one can ever make you smile again because—

You need to stop everything there is danger there is danger you need to MOVE—

You jolt away, violent, exaggerated, but it’s just Peter, frozen with his elbow raised awkwardly, halfway to nudging your side for your attention.

“[name]?”

“Sorry,” you mumble, as though that does anything, for anyone, ever, at all. It does nothing, in fact, and you’re hyper-aware of that. An explanation might help. “My head’s not back in this dimension yet.” Great explanation. You’re winning at this. I’m so proud of you.

“Right,” Miguel says. “Your report?”

“Oh. Right.” You rattle off the details. They’re hardly anything worth reporting, really. When you’re done, there’s a heavy silence in the room. Everything’s heavy right now, kind of. Like that week away turned the multiverse into molasses.

You glance up through the silence to see that Miguel is staring you down. Okay, more like looking at you, but it all feels the same right now, your skin crawling at being perceived at all.

“Are we done?” The words come out too aggressive. You’re not angry; you’re not anything. The words are just too heavy to drag out without a little bit of bluntness. You hope he won’t take it as a challenge.

“You did good.”

Fucking hell.

You didn’t brace yourself for that one.

There’s motions between you hearing the words and you being on the floor. There must be, because you were on your feet, and now you are not. The heels of your palms press against your eyes, you’re gasping for air, and—

Oh. You’re crying your eyes out.

Are you sure you’re not overreacting a bit?

Heightened spider senses inform you someone is reaching for you, begs you to move, screams at you to throw them away and make sure no one ever touches you again, but you’re too caught up in the tears to do a thing about it, too caught up in the waves finally crashing down on you and shredding your skin in the sand of all the resentments you’ve been building, too caught up too caught up too caught up—

Woah, hey, let’s take a deep breath—

Out.

I’m not just going to leave them crying on the floor—

Out!

—someone is touching you someone is holding you leave me alone leave me ALONE—

LYLA. Portal back to their home dimension. Now, please.

Already on it. I’ll send for Jess.

Good thinking. I’ll be back.

~

Miguel is careful not to jostle you too much as he sets you on your couch. You dissolved into tears and are still dissolving now, wordless. He shakes his head at the sight.

When he realized what was going on and placed you on leave, he had sort of been trying to avoid a situation that looked a lot like this. He tells himself there was only so much he could do and not a single right answer to keep you from steering yourself straight off an emotional cliff.

Well, that’s not right. There had been a right answer; it just wasn’t the one he chose. The least he can do is stay with you until you’re stable. The least he can do is see you through this drop.

You’re not talking yet, so he tears away from you to search for anything you might want for aftercare and tries to run the autopsy report of his latest failure.

Admittedly, he misjudged what a compliment would do to you, so close to the edge. The goal really had had been to uplift you. He could have done worse. It’s not like he broke out the ‘good girl’. And yeah, maybe it was too jarring coming from his mouth after the last time you spoke in person.

Maybe he was just too late. By the time he got to you, you were already locked in. Even before that, you were acting more reckless than usual. Really, he was the one who should have seen it coming and put a stop to it day one. He should know better by now, when it comes to you.

He’s on autopilot, so he grabs the fluffiest-looking blanket from the pile on your bed, the most hug-worthy pillow, and returns to wrap you up.

You accept the pillow wordlessly, don’t even bother resisting when he wraps the blanket around you. You’ve gone from sobbing to sniffles, but he’s got work to do yet.

“Better?” he asks, voice low. His voice comes out gentle, even gentler than he was shooting for, and he curses the effect you have on him like he does every time.

You eye him warily, nod silently. You’re all verb-adverb right now, it seems, but at least you are a little better.

“What do you usually do for this?” he asks, and okay, maybe that’s a little up front, given the way you jolt and shift your expression to a glare.

“What makes you think I do anything?”

He lets out a little huff, settles in on the couch next to you. “You haven’t figured out by now how to handle yourself?”

“I can handle myself just fine, and if you even begin to act otherwise I swear to god—“

“Have I ever said you can’t?”

“You put me on leave. For a week. Not just from interdimensional stuff, but from protecting my own city. What the hell else is that supposed to say?”

Oh. You completely misinterpreted him, didn’t you?

“It means that I thought you needed the rest and correctly gauged that you wouldn’t take it willingly. If I was wrong, then you wouldn’t be crying on your couch right now, would you?” He cringes internally. That came out wrong.

“It’s not like it prevented it,” you mutter.

He sighs. You’re not being very receptive, and he needs to get the right words in his head in the right order with the right tone before he makes things even worse. So he stands and begins walking to your door.

“Where are you going?” you call after him, and your voice is small enough that he nearly stops.

No, Miguel. Control yourself.

“Checking your mail.”

“You’re going to walk all the way down the stairs to the mailboxes on the first floor? You’re going to unlock my mailbox with a mail key you don’t have, and—“

By your front door, there’s three hooks with keys. One is labeled “mail”. He picks it up, then glances back to where you’re craning your neck over the back of your couch. His hand is already on the door, and he’s firmly unbothered by your attempts to protest with logic.

“You’re in your Spider suit, stupid. Do you want people to see you walking out of my apartment? Trying to give away my secret identity? It’s not like people aren’t gonna notice one of the Spider’s caked-up new friends walking around the apartment building—“

…Caked-up?

He shakes his head and opens the door anyway. You make a good point about him being in his suit, but it’s not like he can’t handle himself for one trip to the first floor and—

Oh. There’s a package on the floor in front of your door.

That’s good enough. He’ll bring that inside.

~

“Your neighbor got your mail by accident,” Miguel says, already walking back from the door. “Let’s see, he says…” In one hand, he reads from what looks to be a hand-written note, and in the other…

You catch sight of the logo emblazoned on the side of the envelope he carries and have to kill the screech in your throat. Whatever pathetic tears you were crying for stupid reasons before mean nothing now.

You’re so fucking glad you bought from a new sex shop this time. You’re so fucking glad this one doesn’t have some super obvious name that makes it very clear that the Sex Toy Destroyer Himself was carrying your replacement for all the toys he personally destroyed. Hell no, you’re not taking credit for those. You’re not the insanely hot one here.

Of course. Of course you would have a completely unprecedented breakdown in HQ directly in front of Miguel. Of course he’d stick around to make sure you weren’t completely useless. Of course your new toy would show up whenever Miguel decides to be weirdly nice and bring in your mail for you. How else would things go? You’re the one with all the luck here.

Miguel is mid-sentence saying something you’ve been completely not listening to, and you do feel guilty for that, but come on. It’s taking everything in you not to freak out. You’re giving yourself whiplash just trying to calm down. Like, it’s normal. People receive mail sometimes, idiot, and sometimes that mail gets delivered to the wrong place, and that’s good and normal, and sometimes your neighbor is kind enough to leave it on your doorstep with a note, and sometimes—

“He’s asking you on a date.”

“What?” In less than a second, your web is on the back of the page, and Miguel lets it sail from his hand and into yours. “Let me see that.”

Holy shit. Your neighbor returned your sex toy he mistakenly got in the mail and asked you out to coffee sometime. You check the unit number he listed—motherfucker. He’s the one that shares a wall with your bedroom. He’s probably heard more than he hasn’t. You sure fucking have.

You let out a low groan. Eyes flick to Miguel. It’s not like that particular bad idea is going anywhere, and you’re basically the ruler of Definitely Healthy Coping Mechanisms anyway, so maybe—

“That was nice of him. Is he actually worth your time, though?”

The sentences are so weird coming from his mouth that a little jolt of laughter bubbles out of you. “Why are you being so weird? That was almost nice. You’re supposed to be all, tough love and everyone thinks you’re mad even when you’re being nice.”

He blinks. Stares at you a moment. “You just had a complete breakdown.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me.” You’re doing a tremendous job at ignoring that fact, thank you very much. “…Thanks for the consideration, though. And probably not. He’s like, not unattractive, I guess, but, you know. Can’t shake the feeling that he’s only asking me out because he shares a wall with my bedroom.”

Miguel arches a brow.

Oh, fuck. That’s sexual connotations. I mean, sexual meaning, too, but come the fuck on. You’ve got to be more restrained than that. What were those two weeks of training for?

“…right. Anything good?” He gives the package a little shake, and you remember how fucking precarious your situation is in this moment.

Another web snatches the envelope from him. He seems nearly amused by your reaction, based on vibes. Deadpan as always, but if you’re not mistaken, there’s a slight spark in his eyes. “What could you possibly have ordered?”

“Nothing.”

“Given that you just snatched it out of my hands…”

“Nothing,” you repeat. It’s meant to be emphatic, but you just sound whiny. You blame the post-cry snottiness.

He sits directly across from you. “No, open it. You don’t have to wait for me to leave if you’re that excited for it.”

“I’m good.” Your voice pitches high. “Really. Thanks for all your help today. You can go.”

He stares. You begin to sweat.

“Look. I was really hoping you’d figure discipline out on your own with all that time I gave you, but I guess not.”

“If… if you wanted me to be doing something specific with the past boring-as-shit week, why didn’t you tell me what it was?”

He sighs. “If you think two weeks of edging yourself without aftercare is discipline, then I guess I have to be the one to teach you.”

…oh.

Huh.

Fuck.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory @roxannarichie @vegas-writing-den @cooch1ecruncher @bluepeanutharmony @instanttragedyfire @yohoe-hoe @ambientcryptidsounds

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