#monsoon fever

[vaidyaslaboratory]

Dengue Hemorrhagic Fever: Causes, Symptoms & Treatment | Dr. Vaidya’s Laboratory

Learn about Dengue Hemorrhagic Fever (DHF), including its causes, symptoms, and treatment options. Protect your health with early diagnosis and personalized care at Dr. Vaidya’s Laboratory. Benefit from convenient home blood collection services and accurate results to ensure prompt and effective treatment.

[damnwegotlifetomorrow]

⋆｡°·☁︎

[nancykhemchandani]

Comprehensive Health Management with JAANCH Monsoon Fever Panel Advanced

Stay healthy this monsoon with the JAANCH Monsoon Fever Panel Advanced. Early detection of dengue, malaria, typhoid, and more ensures prompt treatment.

[facts1590]

Comprehensive Health Management with JAANCH Monsoon Fever Panel

Stay healthy this monsoon with the JAANCH Monsoon Fever Panel Advanced. Early detection of dengue, malaria, typhoid, and more ensures prompt treatment

[townpostin]

Dengue Cases Surge In Jamshedpur As Monsoon Intensifies

Ten Confirmed Cases At MGM Medical College Vector Test Lab District administration launches large-scale prevention measures across urban areas. JAMSHEDPUR – The city is facing a growing threat of dengue and viral fever as monsoon season progresses, with hospitals reporting an influx of suspected cases. "Ten dengue cases have been confirmed at MGM Medical College’s vector test lab," a health…

[newsmint]

What Dieases Come With Intermittent Rain? How To Prevent Intermittent Rain's Illness

Hey, folks! As you all know that the monsoon is here and this is high time when several new diseases will be introduced. However, there is not such a big deal because this is what all human beings are habitual of. But somewhere or other intermittent rain can cause some new viruses that can weaken your body and you probably meet with illness. So, if you are also one of those who are searching for…

[satoruswifeyyyy]

taking care of sick toji (drabbles)

masterlist

requested by @totallygyomeiswife

toji fushiguro swaggered into the house like he hadn’t just been caught in the middle of a monsoon. his black shirt clung to his skin, droplets of rain sliding off his ridiculously muscular frame, and his hair was a dripping mess.

he looked like a drowned cat—if the cat was six feet tall, stupidly attractive, and had the ego the size of japan.

you, meanwhile, took one look at him from where you sat on the couch and sighed dramatically.

“oh, wonderful. the storm dragged in an idiot.”

toji scoffed, kicking off his boots with a wet squelch. “relax, mama. i’m fine.”

“no, you’re soaked. go take a warm bath before you get sick.”

he smirked, running a hand through his wet hair. “cold’s got nothing on me, babe.”

megumi, all of five years old and already sporting a permanent scowl, deadpanned, “you’re literally shivering.”

“am not,” toji shot back immediately, despite the visible tremor in his hands.

tsumiki, the true voice of reason, crossed her arms and frowned. “papa, listen to mama.”

“pfft, what’s the worst that can happen?” toji waved them off and flopped onto the couch like a wet rag. “i’m built different.”

you stared at him for a long second before shaking your head. “alright. don’t come crying to me when you—”

the next morning.

toji fushiguro, walking muscle and self-proclaimed immune-to-sickness warrior, lay sprawled in bed with a raging fever. his face was flushed, his usually sharp green eyes were bleary, and his entire existence radiated pure, unfiltered misery.

you stood over him, arms crossed, smug as hell.

“good morning, ‘built different.’”

toji groaned. “don’t.”

“oh, no, no, please, let me say it.” you cleared your throat. “i told you so.”

he let out a suffering sigh, turning his head into the pillow like a dramatic teenager. “leave me alone.”

megumi climbed onto the bed, looking down at his father with an expression that was far too judgmental for a five-year-old. “so. turns out you can get sick.”

“shut up, brat.”

tsumiki giggled from where she sat beside you, holding a cool towel. “papa, mama says you need to drink something warm.”

“i don’t need—”

you pressed a spoonful of soup against his lips, cutting off his protest. “open up, big guy.”

he scowled. “i can feed myself.”

“oh? can you?” you raised a brow. “because you look like you’re five seconds from passing out.”

megumi nodded sagely. “he does.”

“traitors,” toji muttered, but he begrudgingly let you feed him.

“wow,” you teased. “toji fushiguro, feared bounty hunter, being spoon-fed by his loving wife. how adorable.”

his face, already red from the fever, somehow managed to darken. “y/n.”

“shh. say ‘ahh.’”

“this is humiliating.”

“this is necessary.”

tsumiki, ever the responsible one, patted his forehead gently. “mama’s just taking care of you, papa.”

toji sighed, accepting his fate. “…you guys suck.”

megumi poked his arm. “we’re the only reason you’re still alive.”

“…fair.”

you chuckled, pressing a kiss to his burning forehead. “next time, listen to me.”

“yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, eyes already slipping shut as exhaustion took over.

megumi pulled the blanket up to his chin, and tsumiki tucked in the edges. you smoothed back his messy hair, smiling softly.

yeah, he was an idiot. but he was your idiot.

a/n: honestly i am kind of disappointed with this one :( this didn't slay as much as i wanted it to. and i know I AM SORRY 😭🙏 for not posting.

[reiderwriter]

Well, Are You Mine?

Final Chapter of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Spencer adjusts to fatherhood alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After thirty minutes, he made a call.

“Emily? Can I… can we get a ride?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No! No, sweetie, you're-”

“My daughter doesn't have a name!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had to name his daughter.

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

“Spencer?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your family.

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

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

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

[vaidyaslaboratory]

Aarogya Vaidya Monsoon Fever Advance Package - Dr. Vaidya's Laboratory

The Aarogya Vaidya Monsoon Fever Advance Health Package (₹1975) offers 76 tests like CBC, ESR, Dengue, Malaria, Typhi, and more. With home sample collection and NABL accredited labs, it ensures precise analysis, perfect for Thane residents.

[kiame-sama]

the yarn baby honestly sounds like a really healthy coping mechanism for some of the dudes parental urges. like yes its not living but it WAS made with love (or mildly restrained frustration to keep the monster boys off the humans back for five seconds but nah nah, totally love)

I love these two very different thoughts so much.

Warnings; yandere fellas, the fellas have baby fever, giving the yanderes something to be affectionate over, handmade crochet critters for the guys to treat as babies,

HAE!Riddle: *has his Unicorn yarn-baby secured in the front of his jacket* And more importantly, the unpainted Roses are making Petal upset!

HAE!Trey: ... Petal?

HAE!Riddle: *patting the yarn head of his Unicorn yarn-baby* yes! She gets fussy if the roses aren't painted properly!

HAE!Trey: *irritated, muttering* he needs this... It will help him calm down. He needs this...

~•§•~

HAE!Leona: *Very carefully grooming his yarn-baby*

HAE!Ruggie: Leona, you need to-

HAE!Leona: I'm not doing anything until King is clean.

HAE!Ruggie: ... King?

HAE!Leona: Yes, King. *Gestures to his yarn-baby* My cub with Mousey.

HAE!Ruggie: ... I think you're getting too attached to that thing.

~•§•~

HAE!Azul: *holding his yarn-baby octopus up to 'read' his contracts over for him* I do believe this is my best work yet!

HAE!Floyd: Ne... Jade? I think Azul's loosing it.

HAE!Azul: Shh! Monsoon is busy reading contracts, Floyd! Give him room to read!

HAE!Jade: Oh my, I fear you may be right.

~•§•~

HAE!Kalim: *Covering his Yarn-baby (just a mini genie Kalim) in gold bangles and jewelry*

HAE!Jamil: Kalim! Stop covering it in gold! You don't need to decorate it this much.

HAE!Kalim: Look, Jamil! Malik looks so good in gold! I'm thinking of getting him his own personalized wardrobe!

HAE!Jamil: there's no reason to try and talk sense into you, Kalim.

~•§•~

HAE!Vil: And make sure he gets frequent naps. But it is also important he doesn't sleep too much. And keep him out of direct sunlight!

HAE!Rook: *wearing a baby sling with Vil's yarn-baby peachick in it* Of course, Roi du Poison! Sweet little Prince Schoenheit will have scheduled naps and proper protection from the sun!

HAE!Epel: Wot in tarnation..?

~•§•~

HAE!Idia: *Making a mini tablet for his yarn-baby* and if you touch the screen here it will register your yarn-print-

HAE!Ortho: Nii-san, I don't know if this is needed...

HAE!Idia: How dare? Ortho, you dare say Charon here doesn't need a tablet? How will he do his dailies? You don't get to baby-sit anymore!

HAE!Ortho: No, wait! I didn't mean it! I want to babysit-!

~•§•~

HAE!Malleus: *Reading a Briar Valley Bedtime story to his yarn-baby*

HAE!Lilia: How precious! Little Mallechite is sure to nod off quickly to that one. Malleus makes such a good father to his little hatchling.

HAE!Sebek: What a beautiful bonding moment with Father and child!

HAE!Silver: *Fell asleep the second Malleus started reading*

[the-sum-of-many-poets]

daisy killer

clockwise it is a hindu sun

a long tailed pheasant star

four celestial horses

pulling the cosmos in circles

counter clockwise

elements of kali

the seventh of twenty four teachers & saviours

arriving on a jainistic night

from the sanskrit root

swasti

a symbol scribed with mammoth ivory

perhaps a paleolithic stork in flight

fertility

soaring over a hisarlik mound

from the vedas

may we meet with one who gives in return

who does not harm

depicted in the book of silk

it hovered above the world

until the world knew its name

still it sleeps in the indus valley

bronzed & pure

every monsoon river coursing through it

like thoughts

some fevered & sick

empyrean

seraphic

beguiling

a symbol of divinity

sometimes

informally

you’ll overhear it on restaurant tables

before the dreaded shutter click

divine

but of all its synonyms

godlike

waits in the wings

waits in the onion grease of odious footsteps

to corrupt

©️david sichler

[oobbbear]

Ah yes, now my animated music vid playlist will be handy!

Fan animated section but great

Charlie's inferno by Urser

Vampire series by Daria Cohen

OR3O Clover series

DKC m: Return to Krocodile Isle by alex Henderson

Run, Rabbit, Run by LiteralHat

Now for some official ones i love!

Caracan Palace with Mirrors, Miracle,Rock it for Me, Lone Digger, Moonshine and MAD

Stromae with Carmen

Delta Heavy with Get By, Ghost, White Flag, Hold Me, Take Me Home, Punish my love

C2C with Delta

McBaise with She's a Big Boy, Water Slide, Wood

Fever the Ghost with SOURCE (Felix colgrave animation)

Stuck in the sound with Let's Go

The Shins with The Rifle's Spiral, Pink Bullets

SIAMES (ofc) with My Way, The Wolf, No Lullaby, Mr. Fear, Summer Nights, All the Best

Skip the Use with Nameless World

June with A Little Messed Up

Flobots with Handlebars

Freak Kitchen with Freak of the Week

Goldfish with We Come Together, One Million views, Get Busy Living, Washing over me, Fort Knox, Talk To me, Forever Free

Jinkx Monsoon with Cartoons and Vodka

Blockhead with The Music Scene

Twiztid with Dead & Gone

Pearl Jam with Do the Evolution

John Hickman with Cascade

Jay-Z with The story of O.J.

Mystery Skulls witj Endlessly

Britney Spears with Break The Ice

Daft Punk with their classic Interstella series

GRADES with King

Coldplay with Something Just Like This, Adventure Of a Lifetime, Hurts Like Heaven, Daddy

One T + Cool T with The Magic Key

Ryan Woodward with Thoughts of You

Expect a part 2 in a bit

HOHOHOHO I’m shaking this like a kid found a jar of cookie thank you thank you thank you

[nancykhemchandani]

Staying Healthy During the Rainy Season: Essential Precautions and measures

Discover essential health precautions and measures to stay safe during the rainy season. Learn how to protect yourself from waterborne and mosquito-borne diseases.

[facts1590]

Staying Healthy During the Rainy Season: Essential Precautions

Discover essential health precautions and measures to stay safe during the rainy season. Learn how to protect yourself from waterborne and mosquito-borne diseases

[puppyguppy]

You’re coherent – for the moment.

At least, you think you are. Which, you suppose, confirms the suspicion. The theory. Since you’re thinking in general. Lucidly so, and about something other than – emptyheatdeepneedfilledtouchtouchtouch –

You’re still warm, you still ache, and your head and insides still throb with the same pulse of your heart. Your head feels heavy. You’re sweating, and shaking still, but it feels like the crash of a fever. Something you’re familiar with, at least, at last. Your fingers and toes hurt from flexing and curling so much, into the sheets and into themselves. And you’re still so - so wet. In places you shouldn’t be, at least not naturally; not that any of this is natural, technically. Just some fucked up side effects from a quirk. Despite how saliva pools thick and copious between your tongue and teeth, your throat feels dry. Parched. Unsatisfied. Denied, like a desert is sometimes denied the promise of a monsoon. Not that you’d been promised anything.

Nothing more than your safety and security, anyway.

Which was actually pretty amazing. More than what most people would end up with in the same situation as you. More than what you could’ve ever expected. After all, it’s not like you’re dying, even if you feel like you are. Like you will. Not like, right now, not in this sudden, blissful second of reprieve, but. Soon. Soon. Especially if you don’t get something more than some easily eaten food and fitful sleep and sponge baths. They’d told you that the quirk could wear off anywhere between three to seven days. That that was the average, though some sweat it out quicker than others. You’re not sure what day it is. Or if it’s even been a day. Of course, there was an ‘antidote’. A so-called ‘cure’ for the quirk. A ‘remedy’. A quick fix. But, not for you. Because you are single. Single, and currently under the constant, careful watch of a Pro-Hero that’d been dubbed as one with the strongest self-control. And damn-near nonexistent sex-drive. Which was, you know. Fine. Great, even. For him. And really none of your business under any other circumstances. But. You’d been hit by a quirk that more or less sends you spiralling into a horny, hazy heat like some stray street cat. Basically, you just really want some dick. Need some dick. And, supposedly, said dick would fix you right up – if you could just get it. Alas.

They considered you too dangerous to be left on your own. Since you’re single and all. They figured that if they just dropped your ass back at your apartment that you might do something you’d later regret. Which was fair. You couldn’t consent, not confidently, not completely. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, this stupid quirk also, apparently, changes your biology. So, no matter what bits someone may or may not be rockin’, they could still end up…pregnant. And you definitely didn’t want to get pregnant. Don’t. Don’t want to get pregnant. So, you are grateful. For now. For the food and the water (when you can get it down), and the sponge baths and safe place to sleep. Since that’d also been a worry, what with how hard the quirk hit you; they’d been worried you wouldn’t be able to take care of yourself while rolling through the waves. They’d been right. You’d probably be dead by now, were it not for them. Were it not for him. The Pro-Hero taking care of you. The one with unshakable self-restraint and a below zero libido. Supposedly. And long, dark, fluffy looking hair. Dark eyes, darker circles under those eyes, the shadow of stubble across his jaw…broad shoulders but lean muscles, more hair on his forearms and dusting down his knuckles, long thick fingers that only ever touch you through the filter of damp, cool fabric. Or, well, you think – maybe, maybe you remember him holding you up by the back of your head, or tilting your chin up, while you ate and drank, but it’s hard to say. You could’ve made that up. It could’ve been just one of many, many fantasies muddling your brain. Even now, they linger just on the outskirts of your thoughts, lapping at them like white noise but red. Like the Indian Ocean’s lowtide, just waiting for the right moment to swell again and drown you.

It’s crazy to think about, while you can. There are so many heroes, and yet, only one has been deemed safe enough to take care of you. As if any other wouldn’t, or couldn’t. As if it might be too much; the sight of you, the sound of you, the scent of you – whining and moaning, and writhing and crying, begging. Like they might take advantage of you, how much you think you want it, how much you think you need it, how you just might forget it. You don’t think you’re that irresistible, even under an influence such as this. Are heroes just that desperate? That greedy? Some of them, obviously. Yeah. Of course. But not this guy. Not Aizawa, who feeds you jelly pouches and bone broth, and wipes you down between fits and naps. Not Shouta, who stays an appropriate, responsible distance away from you unless absolutely necessary, and murmurs soothing nothings to you through the worst of your haze, your hunger. 

The ceiling above you is some shade of grey. As are the walls, and the bedset you’ve almost melted your way through. None of them are the same shade of grey, but the lack of color is oddly relaxing. It reminds you of overcast, of rain. Of a thunder outside of your head. You crave the cold drizzle of raindrops down your spine, the chilly whisper of words along your neck, the prickle of gooseflesh beneath a blooming bruise sucked spit-soaked into your skin and left to cool. Your stomach muscles quiver, and your next inhale is a bit of a soft choke, airways slightly suffocated by spit. It’s your body warning you; you’ve waded too close to the riptide again, and you’ve got no other choice but to get dragged under. You know you won’t actually drown. You know you won’t die, even if you don’t get dicked down. And yet, something akin to fear still spikes through your chest. You’re alone, and you don’t want to be alone, you’re empty, and it hurts, you want, you need, please, please – “Please - !” “Hey,” you’re not alone. Fingers skim through the perspiration over your forehead, four of them, like sturdy logs that create a liferaft out of the back of a hand. You’re floating again, breathing again, even if all the hero’s done is prolong the inevitable. “How’re you feeling?” He asks, and while he pulls his hand away, you catch the glint of your sweat on his skin, like dewy branches in the morning. Fleetingly, filthily, you wonder what would make them snap. What would make him snap. If anything at all, could it possibly be something like you? Someone like you? How’re you feeling? “I thought heroes were supposed to help people.” 

You’re pouting. You’re pissy, though that’d been unbeknownst to you until this very moment. You’d been – well. Better. Ish. Before Aizawa had started asking dumb questions. Like, how are you feeling? Like, how are you supposed to answer that? 

Aizawa heaves a sigh from where he stands at the bedside, arms crossed and shoulders slouched. He looked tired. More tired than when you'd met him. He’s not always in the room with you, but is he sleeping when he's not? 

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He tries again, with the patience and forgiveness of a saint. 

Yes? No? Maybe?

You're not sure.

So instead, you ask, “How long has it been?”

He blinks at you, as if startled by the question, and maybe that’s a reasonable reaction if this is the sanest you've sounded in –

“Four days, just about.” 

Fuck. 

So, this shit could wear off any time now. Hopefully sooner rather than later. Maybe it already is. Maybe that's why you can just barely keep up a decent conversation with the man. You hadn’t been lucky enough for three days, but maybe you won't have to make it through five. Hell, it’d probably be over now, if Aizawa just – your stomach clenches again, and this time, so do your fingers and toes. It's pleasure-pain, it's hot but hollow, and you have to force the sound from your throat into words through gritted teeth. 

“I’m close,” you warn him, like you might warn a partner that you're close to cumming. But you're not. Instead, it's coming, coming towards you with all the heat and weight of a steam engine. The blare of the horn is loud between your ears, harmonising with the desperation of your own scream. You pant in time with the rhythm of wheels over the tracks; the same tracks you're tied to, squirming against iron and rope. Of course, the train isn't real, but you are tied up. Bound to the bed by something between a ribbon and a rope. It squeezes you tight, just on the wrong side of right, just like your insides could be squeezing –

“Enough.”

He growls loud and low, and it rumbles through to your core like the color of the ceiling had cracked, while white streaks across your vision, blinding like lightning. You try to look at him, but it's hard to focus through the growing storm. Through the confusion and desire howling through your head, opposing winds of hot and cold – you need to get under. Under something, someone, safe – you need the tornado chased out from inside of you, forced out, you need the eye of your storm calmed with cock – it's ridiculous, humiliating, and the last shred of your sanity rips away with the sound of tearing fabric. 

Aizawa is no longer standing by the bed, but sitting on it. He’s looming over you, shoulders visibly rising and falling with the exertion of his breaths. Like it's suddenly hard for him to breathe, too. His hair obscures his eyes, the way it falls into his face, but his lips are parted. One hand is braced beside you, caving in the mattress, and the other is -

is wrapped around the handle of a knife. 

The blade of that knife, however, is plunged deep into the layers of the mattress, sheets creased right up against the hilt. His grip is white-knucked, and you should be scared. You should wonder where that knife came from, worry about what it is doing here, but. The only thing you feel is jealousy; the bed getting filled instead of you. And you’d settle for that blade right about now, because it'd be better than nothing. Better than your own fingers, and you wouldn't even care where it goes. Your throat, your chest, your stomach – between your eyes, between your ribs, between your legs. Your blood is just as wet as the rest of you. If you can't sweat this damn quirk out, and he won't fuck it out, maybe at least you can bleed it out. The quirk made you horny like a cat. It didn't grant you the nine lives of one. 

You tip your head back and moan like the neglected animal you are(n’t). Your eyes sting with the salt of sweat and tears. Wordlessly, you beg for that blade. Plead for him to plunge it inside of you, something surely much more satisfying than a mattress. When he starts to untie you, you think yes, yes, finally. His hands shake, his limbs like branches bending against the strength of your storm, and you realise – 

He’s affected. 

It shoots through you like a wildfire, and your heart stops, stomach drops, before you roll. Right onto your side, then your stomach, ass up. You're naked, have been since day one, but you haven't really considered that until now. And by considering it, you appreciate it, in pleased passing because it makes for easier access, and your brain purrs over the natural, animal state of it. In this position, fill me turns into breed me, and he’s…he’s off the bed and across the room again. You're alone again, all alone and empty, sharing the bed with a stupid knife. You’re crying, frustrated and damn near delirious, nuzzling your face into a pillow as if you can rub the quirk out that way. You can’t. And he won’t. But…you lift your head and peek at that blade through a bleary eye. Your body then moves on its own, guided by each silent syllable of thought in your brain, and before you're even fully aware of it, not that you're really aware of anything right now, you’re poised above that blade. Up on your knees, thighs spread and shaking, you’re dripping; and again, before you slowly sink yourself down onto the handle, you wonder if this will make him snap. It settles inside you lukewarm and stiff, but easy, and you clench around it like a cat’s teeth in a canary's neck. It's yours now. Your knife. And you have every intent to ride it for all it's worth, until you collapse and pass out, but before you get the chance, everything stills.

It leaves you reeling.

You almost topple over, but brace yourself with a hand against the bed. The abrupt silence within yourself leaves your ears ringing. You can't believe it – you don't believe it. That it's all over, just like that. You're still shaking, still panting. Still sore, and still seated on the handle of a knife, but you feel…fine? You blink, and then you sniffle a little, before finally looking around you, and –

“You with me?” 

Aizawa's hair is standing up on end, and his eyes are glowing. Red, red, just like the color you've been feeling. It's like he's looking through you, inside of you, and it makes you shiver. You're not sure what's happening, or how his hair is doing that – moving, but you nod.

“Good. This is my quirk. I haven't used it on you yet because it only works as long as I don't blink, and I didn't want to tease you with it. I can't completely erase the quirk’s side effects, but I can momentarily ease them. Do you understand?”

You nod again, but your gut twists with a little bit of anger. You understand, but you wish he would've done this sooner. Like, maybe before you decided a knife made a decent enough dildo.

“Okay. I'm going to have to blink soon, but before I do – would you like to ride something better than my knife?”

Your eyes widen as, for the first time in days, you finally feel shame again. A blush burns all the way down to your toes.

“With the quirk’s effects currently paused, I’ll consider whatever answer you give me to be coherent. And consensual, depending.”

You should just say yes. You don't need to say yes, you know you don't. But, you want to say yes, even now, with a mostly clear head. But, you don’t say yes.

You say, “Do you want me to ride something better than your knife?”

His voice doesn't crack, it snaps. Like a twig beneath a hunter’s boot, eyes glued to his prey. His hair flutters back down around his face, leaves returning to a tree. 

You hold still, hold your breath.

And wait to be shot.

“Please.”