#now I'm kinda sludge | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dfortrafalgar · 5 months

Text

I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem. But sometimes, you just need a little bit of love... and a little bit of science.

Warnings: read chapter 1 for warnings.

Chapter 24

[Prev] [Next]

The first blood test was positive. And then the second one a week after that. So were the three at-home pregnancy tests you took. You’d be remiss to deny the fact that your breasts had been so unbelievably sore, so painful in fact that the days you spent home from work had you completely rejecting the very idea of wearing a bra. Still trying not to get your hopes up, you kept your symptoms to yourself and to Law (who was very disappointed at the fact that hugging you in the front had become painful).

And now, two full weeks after your first blood test, you were sitting with Penguin at a table outside a cafe. A large umbrella was open above you, shielding you from the sun as you anxiously tapped your fingers on the metal table, waiting for the call from your doctor.

Your anxiety was practically oozing out of you like sludge, and it was definitely affecting Penguin. He took off his hat and rubbed the back of his palm over his forehead, crinkling his nose. “Please don’t pass out on me, I don’t know how to do CPR.”

You rested your head in your palm, placing your phone screen-down on the table. “I promise I won’t. I’m sorry for being such a bummer, I know you were looking forward to lunch today.”

Your friend waved his hand in the air reassuringly after putting his hat back on his head. His black hair had begun receding recently, and he’d been covering his hairline more than he usually had. “Nah, don’t sweat it. I just want to make sure you’re alright, that’s all.” When he finished his sentence, he pushed your glass of melting ice water closer to you. You chuckled, grabbing the glass and taking a long sip out of the straw.

“So what’s your schedule like, anyway?” he asked, poking through the small cafe menu. “Like, if this next test comes back positive, then what?”

You resisted the urge to check your phone once more. “If this one comes back positive, I’ll have another blood test in a week. And then if that one shows normal signs of progression, I’ll continue to have them done weekly. I’m not sure how long that will last, but I’m getting kinda tired of seeing my blood in tiny plastic tubes.”

Penguin snorted. “They probably have enough of your blood to keep someone alive at this point.”

“They should give it back to me,” you joked, taking another generous sip of your water.

The man across from you closed his small paper menu, having decided what he was going to order when the waitress came back. “So how’s Law been doing? I feel like I haven’t talked to him in a while.”

You grinned at the question. “He’s been alright, he’s been pretty stressed too over this, but I think he’s been able to distract himself with his shifts at the hospital. He’s been working more since he got home from his trip, I think he’s trying to make up for being gone for a week.”

Penguin laughed. “Sounds like him, alright.” He rested his own head in his hand. “If you really are pregnant, and everything is going normally, do you think he’ll take more time off?”

A sigh left your lips. “It’s wishful thinking, but I honestly doubt it. And it’s not his fault, he just works a really time-consuming and taxing job. It’s hard for both of us, but when he is home he makes all the time in the world for me. And because he has such long working days, sometimes he gets multiple days off in a row, which is nice.”

“That’ll be nice for the baby, too,” Penguin added.

Your heart swelled at the thought. Ever since having your eggs implanted, your mind had been melting with thoughts of Law’s paternal side coming out. You couldn’t wait to see the way he’d hold his child, kissing their forehead, cleaning them in a tiny baby bathtub, singing to them as they fell asleep even though he hated being heard singing by anyone. The mere thoughts made your thighs clench. Some hormonal instinct in you to see your man become a father, you guessed.

“It would be nice,” you added, your voice airy. It was like you were floating on a blissful cloud.

Penguin laughed at the sight. “God, you’re smitten. It’s fucking adorable.”

You hid your face in your hands to mask your embarrassment, making your friend bark out a laugh at your sorry state. The waitress returned in due time, taking your small orders before leaving again with your menus. You were starting to have deja vu from your brunch with Ikkaku before your second miscarriage.

The thought of your own best friend gave you a thought.

“Hey, so I have a question for you,” you blurted, attracting his attention.

He took a sip of his own water and gazed at you through his narrow brown eyes.

“Have you told Shachi that you like him yet, or are you two ‘still just roommates’?” you asked, holding up your fingers in air quotes to punctuate your words.

The statement made Penguin groan as he pulled his hat further down onto his head, hiding his eyes with a thick shadow. “No. I don’t know what he’ll say.”

You smiled sympathetically at the man. You, Law, and Ikkaku had been rooting for Penguin ever since he broke up with your best friend after your college graduation with your bachelor’s degrees, realizing he was gay the entire time. The terms were mutual, as Ikkaku began dating a woman soon after, but Penguin moved in with Shachi and was convinced he’d never find love after finding himself so late in life. But then he fell for Shachi… and fell hard.

“I guess I’m just worried that things will be too awkward if I tell him now that we’ve been living together as roommates for, like, five years,” he explained. “I’m already paying half of the rent.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” you began. “Shachi’s been talking about you a lot more. Like, a lot.”

Penguin picked his head up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Really?”

You nodded. “I wouldn’t lie to you about love, Pen, you know me.”

The man across from you leaned back in his chair. “What if I tell him and he doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Then you talk it out like adults and continue being roommates,” you stated. “Simple. Easy-peasy.”

“You make it sound easier than it looks,” he grumbled, but a small smile lay on his lips. “You and Law had it easy.”

“Bullshit. Law hated me when we first met.”

The memory made the two of you chuckle. Law’s unwillingness to open up, how it took him almost an entire year to admit that he could possibly be in love, and be in love with you, the snarky graphic design student who infiltrated his gen ed study group.

And now here you were, a wedding ring on your left hand and hoping so desperately for a child with him.

Penguin was grinning widely at you, making you falter. “What’s got you smiling so wide?”

Your friend dropped his hand. “Just thinking about how proud I am of you two.”

Before you had the chance to reply, or even register your heart doing somersaults in your chest, your phone began vibrating on the table. You snatched it up with the speed of a falcon diving for a mouse, your eyes growing wide at the number on the screen. The lab. Penguin knew without you even having to speak.

“Hello?” you asked wearily into the receiver.

[Hello, is this Mrs. Trafalgar? This is Nurse Nojiko from the outpatient laboratory.]

You nodded to no one in particular. “Yes, this is her.”

[Perfect, I wanted to inform you that the results of your test have come back positive! I have updated your patient portal with the information, and you should be receiving a call from your doctor within the next day or so.]

Your heart swelled. “Th-Thank you so much!”

[Of course, hun, have a great rest of your day, alright?]

You promptly shared your goodbyes before you tapped the end call button, placing your device back down on the table. Your wide eyes darted up to meet Penguin’s. He was already smiling.

“Positive?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

“Positive,” you confirmed.

He had absolutely no care in the world if he caused a scene. He bolted upright from his chair and dragged you out of your’s, pulling you into a bone crushing hug that made you stifle a yelp due to the pressure on your chest.

You frantically whispered into his ear. “Penguin, my boobs hurt like shit.”

“Crap,” he pulled away from you, holding your shoulders. “I’m sorry!”

You were giggling as you had to resist the urge to fondle your breasts in public, trying to get the pain to die down based on willpower alone. “It’s okay, they’ve been really sore lately.”

“Is that a symptom of pregnancy?” he asked, sitting back in his chair.

You pursed your lips for a moment. “I think so, but I’m still trying not to get my hopes up. The last two times, they never got as sore as they are now.”

Penguin flashed a toothy grin. “I’m considering that a win.”

You smiled to yourself, still fighting the anxious pang in your heart. You grabbed your phone once more to send Law a text message. He was scheduled for a very large and very taxing surgery for the day, so you were sure he wouldn’t respond until much later, but you eagerly sent the text anyway.

Hi baby, im out for lunch with Peng. The fifth test came back positive, i just got the call!!! Im still going to lay low for a bit because my tits hurt for shit. I love you, i’ll call you if anything urgent comes up but dont feel pressured to respond if youre busy! I love you again!!! Love you!!!!

—

Law’s circulating nurse had his passcode memorized at this point. When his phone buzzed in her pocket, he simply gave her permission to check it with a curt nod, barely tearing his eyes away from the open chest cavity in front of him.

The anesthesiologist beside the patient saw the way the nurse’s eyes lit up while reading whatever message had come through. “What does it say?”

“Doctor,” she began, her smile reaching her ears. “Your wife’s fifth test came back positive.”

The entire operating room buzzed with muted excitement at the news, keeping their attention focused on the patient, but clearly radiating with optimism. Law had been keeping his team up-to-date with his progress on what his nurses called ‘The Kid Conundrum,’ and seeing his entire crew quietly celebrate over the news of your latest positive test made a smile crawl to his lips below his surgical mask.

“Attention on the patient,” he stated.

The entire team could hear the broad smile in his voice.

—

Seven positive pregnancy tests, and almost eight weeks since your implantation day. You and Law were in a different ultrasound room in a different clinic, due to Robin being out of office for the week with her husband (a thought that made Law cower). You were laying on the cold, unfamiliar table as Law sat across the room from you, the usual set up. He had the entire week off of work, which he had been spending glued to your side. Your symptoms had been fairly taxing lately, your breasts being more tender than they had ever been. You had even started swelling somewhat in your lower belly, but partnered with general morning discomfort, you chalked it up to regular pregnancy bloating.

Not that you were complaining about any of the symptoms. If anything, they were relieving. Signs that you were actually pregnant… with a living fetus.

You stared at the ceiling as the gel was smeared on your belly and as the sound of the ultrasound machine whirred to life. The technician doing your scan was sitting on a swiveling stool as she worked, another nurse behind her to help assess your condition.

“So how many weeks along does your doctor think you are?” she asked, keeping her eyes glued to the screen as she pressed the transducer to your skin, locating your uterus.

“About eight weeks or so, I think,” you replied.

She nodded, going silent as she rubbed the wand over your belly. She adjusted it slightly, then moved it again. The nurse behind her appeared to lean in toward the screen, her eyes growing wide.

Their silence made your heart rate begin to pick up.

“You said you had IVF, right?” she asked.

Growing even more anxious, you nodded against the pillow behind your head. “Yes… that’s correct.”

Law leaned over in his chair to try to get a glimpse of the monitor screen.

The wand was moved over your skin a few extra times before the nurse reached up and turned the monitor toward you. Her finger hovered over your uterus. “Do you see that?”

You gazed at the screen, slowly picking apart what you were viewing.

The outline of your uterus was there, clear as day, or as clear as it could be through an ultrasound image. Inside of your uterine bubble, however, sat two black splotches, each with a tiny white speck inside.

Law stood from his chair, his eyes blown wide.

“Mrs. Trafalgar, there's two babies in there.”

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

75 notes · View notes

deusvervewrites · 4 months

Note

Ask game: So we have a Batman Midoriya Au, and we also have a Superman Midoriya Au (Batfam and Solar respectively). Why not round out the trinity with a Wonder Woman Au, (with Transfem Midoriya for good measure)?

Princess Diana of Themyscira arrived in Japan to do some ambassadorial work and because Wonder Woman can just kinda go wherever she wants compared to Batman and Superman generally sticking to their home turf.

While she was touring Japan, she heard a commotion and landed in time to see the second Sludge Villain attack. She moved to intervene right when Midoriya ran out to help Bakugou. It's her, not All Might, that resolves the situation. And while she's pulling Midoriya and Bakugou to safety, Midorya instinctively grabs onto her lasso, which reveals some unexpected truths to her.

Wonder Woman shuts down attempts by the Heroes on site to dress-down Midoriya's actions and decides to walk her home. Midoriya kind of awkwardly blurts out that the lasso made her realize she's trans, and Wonder Woman informs her that's not the first time it's happened. Also All Might pops up with a free Quirk. What's he gonna do, not trust Wonder Woman?

Anyway Midoriya is an honorary Amazon now and Wonder Woman is gonna help train her for both One For All and UA. Again, what's All Might gonna do, stop her?

Have you ever noticed that Wonder Woman's whole "Don’t kill if you can wound, don’t wound if you can subdue, don’t subdue if you can pacify, and don’t raise your hand at all until you’ve first extended it" philosophy is depicted in comics in a way that's extremely similar to how Midoriya operates? Actually WW probably takes it even further.

For Fem!Midoriya, I'm going with the name Kumiko (久美子). That first kanji, 久, is the same as the one in Izuku (出久), which wasn't strictly necessary, but that's the kanji that happens to be the pun on the Japanese word for Nine and if Horikoshi is going all in on these shitty puns then so am I. Of course, since this pun is a homophone, any Ku sound would work.

#asks #ask game #ask game series 20 #wondrous au

63 notes · View notes

rosiesthehat · 29 days

Text

wrap me in your arms like i'm made of glass.

Pairing: Lorraine Warren X Reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Tags: possessed!reader, exorcism, self flagellation / self harm, disordered eating, mommy issues, hurt/comfort!

Summary: You've been fighting an evil spirit on your own for months, until an angel falls on your doorstep, and you no longer have to fight alone.

Author’s Note: This one is sort of dark, ee!! Sometimes a girl just needs to write an exorcism, I guess!! This is my first go of anything horror/angsty, so uhm.. it might be kinda bad. This is also on my AO3!!

It hates the cold.

As do you.

Yet somehow, as you lay by the flung-open bay window, watching the tiny, crystalline flakes fall to cover your once-blossoming hydrangea bushes, you feel your head silence for the first time in weeks. The lightweight blanket draped over your knees isn’t much help to fight the tremble in your fingers, which are wrapped tightly around a mug of hot chocolate— you’ve been falling victim to your sweet-toothed cravings lately, considering this very well may be your last chance to do so.

The television across the room hums whatever country music variety show is on this early in the morning; a few cars pass by outside, splashing up muddy sludge into your front yard. You can’t help but wince at the action. You once dedicated so much time to perfecting your lawn, just for all of that hard work to become irrelevant in a few short hours. It’s probably been decades since this town last saw any snow. You’d never seen so much as a cold rain in your few decades of living. It seems that Hell’s finally frozen over. It’s a shame you never paid attention in church long enough to find out what to do in such an event.

You’re feeling weak. This isn’t a new sensation. Weeks’ worth of sleep interrupted by family photos flung off of walls in the middle of the night truly does begin to take a toll on a young woman’s body. Not that you ever had much energy to begin with, what with the early mornings spent tending to horses and late nights attending to sick barn cats.

It’s quite shocking just how much energy a demonic being inhabiting your body saps up.

It only takes a few minutes, lounged by the window and focus blurring out on the white mounds of snow, for you to loll off to sleep, cocoa spilling onto your favorite quilt, but you’re not lucid enough to notice.

It’s a very gentle knock at your door that rips you from your slumber. Your encounter with whatever beast has been haunting your every move has made you an incredibly light sleeper. At this point, you could be woken by a light breath against your face. You believe you already have, a few times now.

It’s incredibly difficult for you to stand from your position on your once pristine, now chocolate-stained sofa, but you make it upright eventually. The blood comes rushing to your head at the sudden swing upright, your feet heavy against the cold hardwood floor that you never bothered to buy a rug for. Your feet were calloused enough, there was no need for comfort for something already so broken.

You cling desperately to the heavy front door that, by some act of God, you manage to swing open.

The light you’re met with is blinding. You’re not sure if it’s the sun’s rays beating off of the snow and directly into your eyes, or if the woman at your doorstep just naturally emanates such a light.

“Hi there.” Her voice is so kind and warm that your entire body feels like you’ve been sat next to a fireplace. Once your eyes fully adjust to the light surrounding your savior, you notice that her face holds a slightly bewildered look, but like she’s trying to hide it. To remain professional, to not let you in on the fact that there’s quite literally a demon hanging over your shoulders.

You take her outstretched hand in your own, shaking it weakly, and as you do, her expression is replaced by a frown. “I’m Loraine Warren,” She hums, wrapping another hand around yours, seemingly trying to bring heat to the five icicles you call fingers. “and you’re freezing.” You muster up a lackluster smile, ruminating in the warmth from the hands wrapped around your own for as long as she’ll allow. Your visitor doesn’t pull back until you do, to let her into your home.

Mrs. Warren has clearly not come prepared for this entirely unforeseen snow, seeing as she’s dressed in a plaid, tea-length dress, with only a light cardigan hung from her shoulders. There wasn’t a single weatherman on any of your very limited channels that had predicted this sort of weather this far south of the Mason-Dixon.

“Thank you…” You begin, leading the taller woman to your living room, where you practically fall to your position on the sofa again. “For coming to meet with me, Mrs. Warren. I’m so very appreciative.” Your eyelids are heavy, and your cheeks hurt with the strain of a smile, but you still force yourself to engage as delicately as you can with this woman, both for the beauty that you find so enticing, and for the fact that she very well may save your life.

The affliction you’d been suffering for the past few weeks of your life… you weren’t entirely sure what it was. At first, waking up standing in the kitchen and holding a knife to your own throat was something you could pass off as a traumatizing night of sleepwalking. The sudden headaches and physical aversion to reading your leatherbound, heavily annotated bible made you think you had suffered a concussion from falling out of bed one too many times.

Seeing the Warrens on your favorite morning talk show was what led you to raise your own suspicions. The way they spoke of a young girl in Poughkeepsie who had begun levitating in the middle of the night, who began seizing when she was read the word of God… You couldn’t help but see the similarities.

You couldn’t have possibly called the demonologists sooner.

On the phone, you spoke to a man. He was much heftier with the way he spoke, clearly the extroverted salesman of the team. He seemed skeptical, and unwilling to leave his home in New England, as he had every right to be. You very well could just have the flu. But you knew, deep down, that you didn’t, and it had to be them. It had to be. You had no other hope of surviving against your oppressor if you had to fight it alone.

Your frantic begging must have been loud enough for the people close to Ed Warren to hear, because as soon as you finished your rambling about how miserable you were, a distant, soft voice came from the other side of the phone.

Ed, listen to her. She needs us.

The line then went muffled, he had placed his palm over the receiver in hopes to hide the fact that they had begun arguing about you. You couldn’t quite make out what was said, only that the woman, Lorraine, very much wanted to come to visit you, and Ed did not.

It was as if by miracle that Lorraine showed up at your door only a day after your phone call.

“Please, call me Lorraine.” The older woman returned, standing above you. “May I ask why you have the windows open? It’s just so nasty out there… it may affect your health, sweetheart.” There’s a little glimmer in her eyes when she presses the back of her hand against your forehead, which, much to her surprise, was just as cold as your hands.

A stubborn frown returned to her pink lips, and Lorraine quickly closed the two windows behind you.

“The cold helps.” You say plainly as Lorraine moves around your vintage furniture to close the windows on the opposite side of the room.

“What do you mean?” She returns to your side, placing your quilt atop your knees and finding another to cover your shoulders. She then sits on the sofa next to you, delicately maneuvering herself underneath your blanket as well.

You blush a little, hiding your face behind the large mug that you’d once discarded.

“This… thing. Whatever’s inside me… it hates the cold.” You reply, staring down at your feet, which wiggle to regain the feeling that the cold air had taken away.

“How do you know?” The clairvoyant muses, reaching up to pet the hair that’s turned into a mat behind your head. You’ve had a horrible go of taking care of yourself lately, with things as simple as brushing your hair disappearing from your mind for days at a time.

“It started snowing just last night… Since then, it’s been quieter. I’ve been able to take control of my life again, at least a little bit.” You hum, leaning into her touch, which has dropped to press comfortingly to your shoulder. “But as soon as I lit a fire, tried to get warm, it all came back. The chaos. The… evil.” You shudder to remember the noise that’s filled your head for the past few days. The screams, the whispered urges to harm yourself and others. It’s like you’ve been sent to your own personal Hell, like God finally punished you for the way that you look at women like Lorraine.

“You’re a very perceptive girl.” Lorraine offers you a smile, and you find that it may not only be the cold that calms you. Her presence has offered you more solace than any pain killer or chamomile tea has offered you in your entire life.

You try to giggle, try to accept her praise, but her warm touch, paired with your general lack of sleep, has made it truly impossible for you to remain at all upright. You slump over, dropping your cocoa once again, head landing on Lorraine’s shoulder.

“I believe you.” She whispers quietly, maneuvering your shoulders so that your head lays on her lap. The words are all you’ve ever needed to hear. To be assured that you’re not going crazy is all you need in order to finally fall asleep, and the hands that press warmth into your neck and forehead are the best medicine you could take.

You fall asleep in less than a second, your ears muffling all the noise in the room, yet you can still hear your visitor humming along to the tv as your muscles relax into the sofa.

♱

A soft whine escapes your lips before your eyes open. It’s a combination of bright light and tugging at the back of your head that wakes you up, and as much as you detest being stripped from the best sleep you’ve had in at least month, you feel rested enough to accept it.

“I’m so sorry. Keep sleeping, little one.” Your brain fights to register who the voice belongs to, but judging by the fact that you’ve only received one visitor in the past weeks, and the fact that no visitor you’ve ever met has had such a honey-coated voice, you remember right away. It’s Lorraine.

It’s Lorraine, and the light tugging you feel is a comb being pulled through the hair that hasn’t met such a thing in far too long. You’re hit by a sudden wave of embarrassment, knowing that the state of your hair must make you look so pitiful, like a child that can barely take care of herself. You hide your face in your hands, whining once again, hiding from the yellow light of a lamp above you, and from the fact that you look such a mess in the presence of one of the most well-kempt women you’ve ever met.

“I’m all done.” She purrs softly, running her fingers through your now untangled hair, tucking it behind your ear. You sit up, face beet red as you do so. You’re sure you’ve never felt more embarrassed in your entire life.

“Thank you…” You stutter out, voice heavy with sleep. “I’m sorry for falling asleep. I just… haven’t in quite a while. I hope I’m not taking too much of your time.” You glance up at her, eyes squinting to view the porcelain skin adorned by a smile. Lorraine Warren must truly have the kindest heart in the entire world to spend time taking care of someone she’s only just met.

“Don’t you dare apologize.” She says quite firmly, pressing her hand against your cheek, and you can feel yourself becoming addicted to her touch. “I want to take care of you.”

You feel a warmth in your cheeks, and a certain tingling in the pit of your stomach. You’ve never heard these words before, and the last time anyone had earnestly taken care of you was… well, you don’t really remember. It was probably in your early childhood, but even then, you weren’t too sure.

The butterfly wings in your stomach are quickly replaced by a different sensation, a large growling that just about reverberates through the living room. You’re filled with another bout of humiliation, and grip your stomach tightly. You’re also not too sure when you last ate.

A ginger hand presses against your stomach as well, and it dawns on you just how close to the older woman you’ve become. She’s pressed against you so much that you’re nearly sitting in her lap, and her other arm is wrapped around so very tightly around the small of your back. Lorraine is quite the touchy woman, and you couldn’t be more appreciative of such a character trait. You lean into her hands greedily, head tilting over to rest on her shoulder once more.

“Can you stand?” She hums, pressing her cheek to rest on the top of your head.

You nod slowly, not quite too sure that you’re telling the truth, but if Lorraine wants you to stand, you’ll stand. And you do, pushing hard into the ground, thankful that before all of this mess you were at least regularly active, and your body was fairly well maintained from throwing bales of hay.

“Good girl.”

The words make your knees go weak, weaker than they already are, and you falter a little in your steps. You thank God that Lorraine has such a strong grip around your waist and is able to keep you upwards.

“Show me your kitchen?” The clairvoyant asks softly, and while you do just as you’re asked, her steady gaze washes over each little family portrait, each corn husk doll, even the sunhats you’ve worn so much that they’re full of holes. One may see her wandering eyes and find her to be a terrible snoop, but Lorraine is doing her job, gathering every piece of evidence she can to use against your demon. She wants to know everything about your past and present so that she may rid you of this retched thing.

She gets no clue as to what suffering has conflicted this household from the photos of a quite happy family hanging from your walls, but she can sense it in the way the house creaks with her every step. There’s an evil lingering in these walls, and Lorraine can feel it.

“I’m… I’m not sure there’s even any food that’s still edible.” You speak gruffly as you arrive in the kitchen that overlooks your barn that was once such a brilliant red, and now stands with peeling paint and water damage. It’s a proper metaphor for your own status. You haven’t been in this room in many days, and the sight of wilting flowers and rotting vegetables depresses you immediately.

“I’m sure I can make do.” Lorraine shoots you that oh-so very reassuring smile once again, and leads you to sit at the dining table that’s only ever been set for one. “When was the last time you ate?”

It’s a dreaded question. A question that, once again, you don’t have a clear answer to. You think the last thing you ate was a handful of boiled peanuts… or was it oatmeal? Lately you had only had incredibly unpleasant dreams about food, and your brain has been so occupied by so many voices, that sustenance was the last thing on your mind.

“I’m not sure.” You muster in response, and Lorraine’s frown returns once again. She’s not mad at you, only furious at the creature that’s taken hold of you, keeping you from living a healthy life.

“You need to keep yourself fed.” Lorraine speaks softly, peeking out from behind the cabinet she’d begun rummaging around in. “Communing with the being, and an eventual exorcism, will take a lot of energy.”

She speaks so calmly about something that is so terrifying to you. You weren’t raised Catholic, and didn’t know much about their traditions, but the interview that you had watched of the Warrens spelled an exorcism out to be one of the most dangerous, mortifying acts that one could participate in. You trust Lorraine entirely though, and are filled with the knowledge that if she has to do such a thing, she will treat you delicately, and cause as little harm to you as possible.

It's only a few groggy minutes before there’s a plate laid in front of you, and by some act of God Lorraine has found another chair to sit in. She’s pulled up right next to you, and while you’re a bit surprised she hasn’t chosen to sit across from you, her choice is very welcomed. The heat from your plate warms your face, and you press your hands against it in hopes that they’ll warm as well.

“It looks delicious.” You look up to the women through your heavy eyelids, weakly grabbing hold of your fork to start lifting potatoes to your mouth. “I can’t believe you were able to make this so quickly! Thank you so very much.” You smile to her, licking your lips, stomach so very grateful to the woman beside you.

“I’ve always been a good cook. My husband is never very appreciative of my skills.” She laughs softly, but you can tell it’s something that truly upsets her. If you were lucky enough to live in a home with Lorraine Warren and have her food for every meal, you consider yourself to be in Heaven. From your short conversation, Ed didn’t quite seem to be a wholly grateful man. “You’re not married.” She then says, taking a sip from the old whiskey glass that’s now filled with water.

Her words are more observational than questioning, and it causes a twinge of discomfort within you. You’d always been questioned for your spinster-like nature, women in your church always wanted to set you up with their sons or nephews. You’re such a pretty girl, they’d say, why on God’s green Earth aren’t you dating anyone?

It was impossible to tell them that you’d never want to marry a man, even if someone held a gun to your head.

“No…” You reply awkwardly, and the word turns into a yawn, leading you to cover your mouth with one hand. “I’ve just… never met the right person, I guess.” You huff, kicking your elbow up on the table and resting your chin on your fist to keep yourself propped up. Who knew something as simple as lifting a fork to your mouth would be so difficult. “Or… Well…” You start again, feeling almost too comfortable in Lorraine’s presence to share a little more. “I’ve just, never really been interested in anyone.”

When you drop your fork to your plate with quite the dramatic tink, that same loving hand returns to your lower back. Lorraine has taken your fork between her perfectly manicured fingers, and lifts another bite towards your lips, which you not-so-gracefully accept.

“Well, that is a shame.” The brunette responds, and though you can’t see it, there’s the tiniest hint of a smirk on her face. She seems to be a bit too pleased by your loneliness. “I do hope you’ll find someone soon. You are so deserving of love.”

You’re not sure if you’re deserving, but you’re damn well desperate for it.

Lorraine continues to feed you, lifting small bites of vegetable to your lips while whispering her gentle praises after each bite. Your face is now permanently pink, with each of her cooing words turning you into a little mess beneath her. You’re connected at her hip once again, legs tangled around each other under your gingham tablecloth. You’re so very lucky that you never receive any visitors, for you deign to think of anyone’s reaction to your little displays of minute affection.

“I was hoping I might stay with you here. I always find it more helpful to fully integrate myself into the lives of someone I’m helping.” She hums once you’ve finished all of your food, and she can move onto her own. You lean against her shoulder once more, eyes closed, yet you’re completely awake. Her sentence is entirely shocking, yet you’re completely excited by it, and couldn’t possibly accept her request quicker.

“Yes, of course!” You hear the over-enthusiasm in your voice, and hope you haven’t come off too strongly. You sit up to meet her gaze, blushing just from the way she looks at you so sweetly. “I only have the one bedroom, I’m afraid. It’s a bit of a mess at the moment, but I can wash the sheets, and you can sleep there! I spend most of my time on the sofa anyway, I’m happy to sleep there.” You nod cheerfully, hoping with all of your heart that she’ll not be too deterred by your excitement.

“Don’t be silly.” She smiles, lifting her hand to gently pet your hair, her fingernails grazing your scalp in a way that sends a tingle down your spine. “I’ll take your bed, but only if you’re in it as well. If that’s alright with you, of course. I just want to keep an eye on you.” She winks, and it’s that moment that you feel your soul leave your body. You choke on your own saliva, coughing a few times. You’ve been sitting so close to Lorraine today, that you shouldn’t feel so strange about sharing your bed with her, yet it brings a worried feeling to the pit of your stomach. When you explore that feeling more, you’ll find that it’s really excitement, and a desperation to sleep next to another body that you’d never knew you had.

“That’s fine by me…” You stutter, trying to hide the eager smile that’s threatening your lips. You chew on the insides of your cheeks, your hands finding their way to some fabric, not knowing if it’s the tablecloth or your shirt or maybe Lorraine’s skirt. Whatever it is, you grip it tightly, trying to force all of your delight on an object rather than voice it. “It’ll be good to share each other’s’ body heat… it gets so cold at night even without the snow…” Your voice is trembling a little, betraying how fast your heart is racing.

You’re ready for the sun to go down now.

But you still have a few hours of sunlight left, and Lorraine fills it with questions about your family history, about your experience with this malevolent being, and just about your daily life. She wonders what it is that you do for fun in such a small town, and you feel shy to admit that you rarely leave the house except to go to church. That leads her to talk about her own religion, and it’s so mystifying to hear her speak about her passion for Christ. She speaks in such a profound way, like she’s spent time as a pastor, though you’d never once met a female pastor. Lorraine is certainly a better speaker than all the old men that lead prayer at church and quote the same bible verses into monotony.

She proudly shows you the rosary around her neck, explaining the story behind it with the most adorable sparkle in her eyes. When you take the metal in your hands, wanting to share in her passion, it burns. Burns like you’ve just pressed your hand flat into the cooktop of an oven. You recoil in pain, but when Lorraine attends to your palm, there’s no sign of a burn.

“It… It stings.” You whine, looking down at your hand in disbelief. You’ve never felt such pain, and the fact that it’s not left a visible mark is messing with your head so much that your eyes begin to well with tears.

“I know it does, sweetheart. I know.” Lorraine hums, holding you tightly, lifting a thumb to wipe at your tears. “Ointment won’t help it, I’m afraid. It’s the spirit reacting through nerve induction. It will go away soon. I promise.” The demonologist quickly stuffs the rosary down the neck of her blouse, wanting to hide everything that causes you pain. Lorraine hates to see you in such a state, and though you don’t comprehend anything about this spirit, her brain is working overtime to plot a strategy to rid you of this beast.

You sit together for another half hour, Lorraine consoling the pain that has long since disappeared thanks to her sweet whispers and distracting stories. You nearly fall asleep on the sofa once again, and she can see it, so without having to ask, she takes you up the stairs and to your bedroom.

“I’ll just go down the hall to get myself ready for bed. I’ll be right back, I promise.” She hums, pressing an innocent kiss to your forehead before leaving the room. Watching her walk away from you shatters your heart into a million pieces, but you know she’ll come back through the doors quickly. You trust Lorraine’s promise.

I need to change before she gets back, you think, but your body simply won’t allow you to move. You’re stuck to this bed, to this soft mattress that you once so adored, but now only fear for the horrible dreams it brings upon you.

You sit in this fear, for how long you’re not certain, before Lorraine returns. Her hair is combed through yet still has that lovely, silky wave to it, and she’s dressed in the prettiest white nightgown. She looks like an angel, in shiny white linen. She’s just missing the wings and halo. You feel a warmth rise to your cheeks, seeing her in this state, a state which she’d probably only ever been seen in by her husband. You feel so scandalous, like you should avert your gaze, like God is going to find you sinful for looking at her like this, but your eyes are locked onto this heavenly body in front of you, and you can’t pull away.

“I’m sorry I—” You begin, hands gripping at your shirt, trying to indicate to her that you’re upset with yourself for not getting dressed in her absence.

Lorraine only tuts at you, placing down her bag before rounding to your side of the bed. She helps you stand, and begins through your closet, looking for a nightgown for you to wear. Much to her chagrin, however, all she can find is dirty jeans and some oversized t-shirts, which makes her feel pity towards you, but also causes a small giggle to escape her lips because she finds the clothing choices so adorably fitting for a young farm girl. She settles on the least stained of all of your shirts before returning to your side.

“May I?” Her voice is low, knowing that you’re the only person in the world that needs to hear her. When you nod, she pulls your blouse over your head, and she develops a blush of her own to find that you’re not wearing anything beneath it. You try to hide, snaking your hands around your chest, a new warmth between your legs as you realize that Lorraine’s hands are wandering over your body, the pads of her fingers lightly prodding your exposed skin.

“You sweet thing. You just need someone to love you.” Your savior hums, delicately examining all of the bruises that cover your skin. You’re not even sure where they all came from, just that they developed fast. A few concern you more than the others: the ones shaped like fingers and teeth marks. They never hurt at night, but the fear that strikes you every morning when you reveal a new marking in the mirror is something that you never want to feel again.

Lorraine presses another small kiss to a bruise on your shoulder before helping you pull the sleep shirt over your head. She reluctantly, yet with the complete confidence that she’s carried herself with all along, pulls down your pants in one swift motion. You’re back in bed before you know it, Lorraine tucking you in tightly and making sure you’re perfectly comfortable before taking her own place beside you.

Your brain is rushing, not with the demonic thoughts that you’ve had all this time, but with so many feelings that you never knew existed before meeting Lorraine. You feel horribly antsy, like you have enough energy to run laps around the house. You miss the tiredness that had been affecting you earlier this morning, it was going to be quite difficult to sleep tonight.

“I’m so very glad you came to help me.” You whisper, voice shaky with nerves as you turn on your side to face the woman who’s already turned towards you. You can feel how close your bodies are, yet they aren’t touching, and your brain is working overtime to decide if you should close that space between you.

Luckily, Lorraine is making all of your decisions for you.

You feel the soft skin of her legs first, when they wrap around yours, holding them still. Her right arm is next, draping over the curve in your waist so gently, yet she has the firmest grip on you, like she won’t let you leave even if you tried. You’d never try.

“I…” You start again, shifting even closer to Lorraine, placing your hand on her chest so you can feel her heartbeat. You pray she can’t feel yours, for its beating is so quick it’s probably quite dangerous, and you’ve already worried her enough. “Since you’ve been here, my brain has been so… still. So quiet.” That’s not entirely true, as the angelic woman in front of you has only replaced all of your thoughts, but it’s close enough. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She whispers back, voice so low and gravelly with her own sleep, so that you have to lean even further forward to hear her, and your noses nearly touch. “I haven’t done my job just yet.”

You tense, suddenly filled with worry about what will happen when Lorraine eventually does what she’s come here to do. If your still-burning pain from merely touching a symbol of the Lord is any indication, you’re in for a wellspring of hurt when you wake up in the morning.

As for now, though, you’re completely safe, protected by your guardian angel, and you can sleep soundly for the first time in far too long. You fall asleep under Lorraine’s grasp far quicker than you’d like, as you’d really prefer to stay awake and really cherish the soft circles she’s rubbing into your flesh, but your eyelids fall shut on their own accord.

Lorraine, however, stays up a bit later, watching your face for any sign of nightmares, wandering hands exploring your curves as if looking for clues, soothing you into the deepest sleep of your life.

Lorriane wakes groggily, yawning while rubbing at her eyes with balled-up fists. She notices first that it’s still not light outside, that she still has time to sleep. Though she won’t, because a panic rips through the woman when she registers your absence. She shoots straight up out of bed, body moving to wrap herself in one of your mother’s old house coats faster than her brain can function. It’s on sheer instinct that Lorraine wraps the rosary around her hand and stuffs her small Bible into her pocket.

She races through the creaky old home, feet freezing against the hardwood floors that whine with each of her frantic steps. Lorraine shouts your name and is only met by her own voice echoing back at her. She searches each room of your house, her eyes still blurry from sleep. She whips open cupboards and is even sure to peek into your attic, which you haven’t so much as thought about since inheriting the home.

A worry is settled across Lorraine’s face when she makes it into your kitchen, but her expression turns to true fear when she sees that the lock on your back door has come undone, and the door isn’t settled into its place in its frame. She searches for any pair of shoes she can find and settles for a pair of boots that barely fit her feet, but their steel toes will at least protect her from the elements. She’s shivering, and her eyes are watering so much that the tears turn cold against her cheeks. The demonologist places a hand over her chest, gripping onto her rosary for a moment, bracing herself for the cold, before she slings the door open and steps out into the night.

The snowfall has picked up tenfold, and there’s now a little under a foot of snow packed onto the ground. Lorraine pulls the small cotton coat around herself tightly, her hair whipping wildly around her face as she blinks back tears, searching for any sign of life. When she looks down, there’s an obvious set of footprints: kicked-back snow heading in the direction of the old, forgotten barn.

Lorraine follows your shoeless prints, still screaming your name into the void of night, her voice strained and muffled in the silence that surrounds her. There isn’t even the typical wee-hour birdsong that too frequently keeps you awake. No cars on the road make their habitual noise, no cows bellowing from across the street. Only the exhausted screams of a woman so frightened for your survival.

When she arrives to the barn, finding safety from the wind in its high walls, feeling so close to dropping to her knees and praying that she had never fallen asleep in the first place, Lorraine spots you. A frail, half-naked body illuminated by one flickering, dangling light that allow the older woman’s eyes little vantage.

She’s filled with relief that she’s found you, but that relief only lasts less than a second before she’s filled with dread. Dread that something is horribly wrong. Dread because you’re dripping with a slick, dark, shimmering liquid.

Lorraine falls to her knees beside you, taking your near-lifeless face in her hands.

“What have you done to her?” She yells, voice harsh and gravelly. She’s speaking to your demon, to the thing that has taken control of your legs and marched you out to this barn, that has treated you like such an animal.

You’re barely conscious, losing the internal battle to keep control of your own mind. All you can do is lean your pained body into Lorraine, trying to give her some sort of message that you’re still there, that you’re still swimming in your own mind, trying to breach the surface.

The clairvoyant asses your injuries, wiping the tears at your eyes and her own. Thankfully, the only damage is done to your back, the lashes across your spine that fuel Lorraine with so much hatred. When your shaking hands lift the riding crop to lay even more agony against your tender flesh, Lorraine wrestles it out of your tight grip and throws it aside, far out of your reach.

“We have to do this now.” Lorraine’s voice is significantly kinder, her hands holding your head close to her chest. She sits in her own fear for a moment, building a strategy to get this thing out of you once and for all. She whispers a prayer, and the words hurt your head, fill your brain with a terrible, searing scream, but there’s simply nothing you can do to stop it. Your livelihood now rests at Lorraine Warren’s feet.

Lorraine stands, guides you upwards. She’s shellshocked by the fact that she’s about to take on a task that she had never solely performed before, and it’s caused her knees to walk unsteadily. She takes the housecoat off and guides it over your shoulders, face twinging as she lays it against the open wounds of your back, but she’d rather you feel pain for a small moment than have your delicate skin come into contact with the weather. The woman ties the coat tight before picking you up, carrying you back through the strong winds, shoes clumping down on the piling snow.

When she replaces the darkness of the sky with the darkness of your home, Lorraine places you down on the sofa where she had once sat with you. You sit in a crumpled state, arms limp, though they fight to wrap around your body, subconsciously seeking heat. You’re impossibly cold, and the longer your toes sit with minimal blood flow, the angrier your beast grows. Your shivering only grows worse when Lorraine throws open the French windows behind you, allowing the snow to come in through the screens and settle in your hair.

“I know it hurts.” She whispers, trying to find some sort of life behind your glassy eyes. Lorraine has forced herself into seriousness, closed her tear ducts and is carrying herself professionally. She knows that treating this with any level of emotional attachment could be suicide for the exorcism, and though the near love that she’s developed for you still lingers at the back of her brain, she has to silence it, she has to save your life before she can worry about you anymore.

Sniffing back the wetness that’s come from the cold air beating against her face, Lorraine finds the Bible still sitting in the pocket of the coat draped over your shoulders. She holds her left hand against your forehead, and the cross casts a warmth against your face that you lean back to fight against, though you’re not sure if it’s of your own action or that of something else.

Lorraine begins reciting a prayer in Latin, that you’d surely be swooning over had you been at all conscious. You’ve nearly lost your battle, your body completely limp against the pillows, as though you’ve lost all muscle mass in less than a minute. You’ve lost all awareness of the situation and now exist only in your own mind, trying your damnedest to regain control.

Each word Lorraine yells with a cracking voice causes a new pain to emerge somewhere within your body, and the pain consumes you so much that you fall over, landing in a fetal position against the cushions of the sofa. Lorraine’s hands want to reach out to soothe you, to press their warmth into your blue skin, to replace your pain with her loving touch, but she restrains herself. She knows that you must feel this pain, that it will drive the presence out of your body and back to the Hell that it emerged from.

“I need you to fight it.” Lorraine interrupts her own prayer to press her forehead against your own, fingers gripping your jaw like her life depends on it. “Don’t give in, don’t let it take you.” She calls, holding the weight of your head in her hands, feeling how much authority you’ve lost over your own body. “Please, fight. For me.”

You’ve already done your fighting. Though you’ve been so horribly affected by this presence in your home, disrupting your livelihood, your sleep, your will to live, there’s not really been anything impacting your will to live at all in years past. You’ve simply been existing in this plane, doing your chores and going to church, following your routines for no reason other than it’s what you’ve always done. Your routines that are so set in stone that it took a demonic presence to shake them up. But you’ve had no one to share your routine with, no one to cook for, no one to compliment how beautifully your flowers have grown. You’ve had no one to fight for.

Your life is not one worth fighting for.

Lorraine Warren, however, feels the opposite. The way she’s holding you so tightly, on her knees in front of you, begging you to stay alive… though you can’t see it, aren’t cognizant enough to hear her begging, you can feel it. There’s a warmth against your chest that’s keeping your heart beating, and a light behind your eyes that’s pushing you to keep going.

So you do. You do as Lorraine asks, and the last little bit of willpower you have musters up into your fingers, and you grab onto Lorraine’s shoulders with an anemic grasp, trying to pull her closer. You force your eyes open, though it’s so very painful due to the rosary still swinging in view, and look up at Lorraine’s worried features. More than anything, you’re filled with hatred that you’re the one to cause her this anguish, that she shouldn’t be so concerned over a life as meaningless as your own.

It's the most beautiful smile you’re met with that causes the final push, that forces your beast out of your mind and into the wind that’s still blowing melting snowflakes onto your already freezing body. A sudden relief fills your body, the power over your own actions that brings back the feeling in your muscles. You sit up, blinking slowly, reliving the past few minutes over and over as you regain a full level of awareness that you’d been left without for the past months.

Lorraine allows you your time to rejoin the living world, slamming shut the windows behind you and throwing several blankets over your freezing body. She drops back to her knees to assess you once more, seeing the color back in your eyes and the warmth rising back to your cheeks. She had seen you in such a terrifying, corpse-like state that she’d surely soon have nightmares about, so the fact that your eyes were finally locking onto her own was an answered prayer.

You eagerly wrapped both arms around the woman’s neck, holding her as close as you can, thanking her over and over again, until the stinging on your back takes the brunt of your attention.

“Don’t thank me. It was all your own work.” She hums, trying to find anywhere she can hold you without wrapping her arms around your back. Lorraine then stands, settling on petting your hair, looking around for any other sources of heat that she may impress upon you. “Do you have any fire woo—”

She’s cut off by the swift action of your standing up, an action that she would surely advise against had she had the option to. But her lips are unable to protest, because they’re met by your own. You’re shocked by your own straightforwardness, and though the fear that she’ll run away and call you a freak is very prominent in your mind, you feel so swept up in thankfulness to this woman, so swept up in love, that the only thing you feel like doing is kissing her.

You internally thank God that she’s not pushed you off, and instead, once the initial shock wears off, Lorraine’s hands are gripping your cheeks and are tugging you forward into her. Though you’re near hypothermic, the warmth that radiates through you when you wrap your arms around Lorraine Warren’s waist is something truly heavenly. You can feel the ice melting away from your fingers and toes, even though you still stand within a house that’s currently running below freezing.

You try to stay attached to Lorraine’s lips for as long as you can, as long as she’ll allow, and as desperately as you both are to stay in this state, Lorraine’s overall concern for your health reigns supreme, and she pulls away to once again ask her question. You giggle softly, hiding your face against her chest, hoping she hasn’t seen how overjoyed your smile is. Though if you were to pick up your head, you’d see that she dons a similar expression.

You direct Lorraine to a closet, and she returns to build a fire. She sits you down right in front of it, and for the first time in far too many days, you feel warmth against your face. You’re not too sure just which direction that warmth is coming from, whether it’s from the fire or the woman sitting next to you, carefully washing the horrible scratches along your spine, but you feel a warmth unlike anything you’ve ever felt in all of your years of living. A warmth you never want to go away.

#𓏲🎀ꜝֶָ֢ annie's fics ⋆⸜ ‧₊˚#title is from a kacey musgraves lyric!!#lorraine warren #the conjuring #lorraine warren x reader #lorraine warren x you #lorraine warren fanfic #the conjuring fanfic #wlw fanfic #x reader fanfic #fanfic #lesbian fanfic #angst fanfic #horror fanfic #lesbian x reader

35 notes · View notes

woman-becomer · 1 year

Text

I'm not gonna lie to you guys I get seasonal depression real bad and that makes it hard for me to be positive and happy online, so I'm feeling kinda sludged right now. Also just a general life update, I'm trying really hard to make a youtube video, it's gonna be an hour long shitpost but I hope everyone likes it

238 notes · View notes

onboardsorasora · 7 months

Text

one of my melatonin ideas lol I hope its good lmao my asks have been so full of pregnant Daniel recently that this was clearly the next step on forward.

Dewis Hidden Pregnancy 1400wrds part 2

cw: omegaverse, mpreg, so if you're not into that sorry.

Lewis walked into the paddock in Albert Park. Past the Melbourne walk and through the wall of photographers waiting for his entrance. The alpha took a left by the FIA building and stopped up short at the crowd in front of him.

There were drivers and media handlers surrounding someone and he could smell the excitement of the group. He slowed down, trying to see what was causing the large crowd when he heard a sound he hadn't heard in person in a while. Daniel's laugh.

Daniel was back?

Lewis thought back to the last time he'd seen the omega, back in Silverstone last year. They'd gone on a date after the race. It had been a lovely time, Lewis had thought. Daniel had done the test for Red Bull the following week and then he’d gone back to Australia after and kinda stayed off the grid.

Lewis hadn't heard from him at all, he'd hoped to invite Daniel out on another date and maybe another after that. Hoped to eventually be able to call the omega his. But Daniel hadn't returned any of his calls or texts until Lewis just stopped.

He'd asked around if anyone had heard from him but people weren't very forthcoming. Lewis had been hurt, but he'd let it go as best he could. He hadn't expected Daniel to ghost him, but there was nothing he could do about it except accept that it was a problem with Daniel and not with him.

The crowd dispersed a little and Lewis was able to see just what drew everyone together. Daniel looked good, he wore a creme sweater and his usual skinny jeans. His hair had grown out a little, looking more like his Renault days than anything.

Daniel bent over a bassinet and Lewis watched with wide eyes as he lifted out a small baby, bouncing the bundle and making shushing noises. Daniel looked over at Lewis and froze, the alpha felt sick at the fear that enveloped his normally sweet scent. His eyes were wide.

Lewis prided himself in being quick on the uptake, but he honestly felt like his thoughts were swimming through sludge right now. A pudgy brown hand with a tiny golden bracelet patted Daniel's lips, gripping at his nose.

Daniel had a baby.

Daniel had a baby with darker skin.

Lewis always figured he was good at math and equations. He knew that Silverstone was roughly nine months ago give or take a week or two.

Daniel had a baby.

“Hi.” Daniel placed the small bundle back in the bassinet, making more shushing noises when the baby started to fuss again. “Uhm, we should talk I guess?” Daniel's voice was soft, timid. Lewis had never heard it that way before.

Lewis took a deep breath. There was a benefit to being stunned silent, he had additional time to collect himself and assess the situation. They were still very much in public, he couldn't afford any amount of reaction right now.

The alpha nodded, “ok.”

Daniel led them into a small office with curtains on the windows and locked the door behind them. Lewis stared at the covered bassinet, he couldn't see the baby inside but he could hear and smell them. Daniel started wringing his hands together, the odor of his nerves was pungent in the room.

“I'm sorry.” Daniel whispered.

“You were pregnant?” Lewis looked between the bassinet and Daniel's nervous face again. The omega nodded jerkily and Lewis felt his chest seize. “It's mine?”

Daniel uncovered the basket with shaky hands and lifted his little girl out of the soft interior. Her little beanie fell off leaving her soft curls to spring free. Her caramel colored skin was darker than Daniel's but lighter than his own– a perfect blend of both of them.

“I have a daughter?” Lewis' voice cracked and Daniel looked painfully contrite. “Why?”

Lewis locked eyes with Daniel's wet ones.

“I was scared. You– I–we'd only been on one date and I didn't know how…serious you wanted to be. I was afraid that you'd react badly– I hadn't known what I wanted to do if I wanted to keep it so I went home to try and figure it out. Then I got offered the Alpha Tauri drive and–and I would have had to- to get rid of her and I hadn't wanted to.”

“You didn't tell me?” Lewis accused.

“You didn't sign up for this, I didn't wanna like burden you.”

“That wasn't your decision?!” Lewis raised his voice before biting back his reaction. He had a daughter. He was a father. He didn't even know Daniel was pregnant. “So you were just going to hide her from me forever?”

Lewis looked at him betrayed when Daniel stayed silent for longer than a moment. “You were!”

“... Not forever.” Daniel whispered, clutching the baby close.

“Why..?” Lewis felt like the bottom of his stomach dropped out. The room stunk of upset alpha.

“Please don't take her from me…” Daniel pleaded and Lewis' eyes widened as if the omega had hit him.

He left the room quickly, shutting the door behind him firmly while walking down the corridor to get some air. He had a daughter. He had a daughter and he didn't know. All this time Daniel had been pregnant and hadn't told him. Daniel was afraid of him.

Lewis' chest hurt. He never thought Daniel could think that of him. He'd never claim to understand the mind of a pregnant or nesting omega but he and Daniel had known each other for long enough that the alpha was sure Daniel knew his character.

Or at least he thought he did.

He paced the empty space for a while, taking deep breaths and trying to get control of himself again. He looked back down the empty corridor before taking another deep breath, in for seven out for ten.

He had a daughter. He had a daughter that he hadn't known about. Daniel had been pregnant and had been alone. Lewis was going to meet his daughter and he needed to fix things with his omega.

Because Daniel was his omega, that had always been the plan. Underneath everything, the hurt and upset and general shock, he knew it to still be true. He wanted Daniel and he wanted his family. They would figure this out.

He walked back to the room and paused at the door, listening to the sounds inside. Their daughter was crying and Daniel was attempting to quiet her, Daniel’s voice was raspy too as if he’d been crying.

Lewis pushed open the door.

“I’m sorry baby, I’m so sorry. I messed up but I’ll figure it out with your Daddy, I’ll make it right. I’m so sorry my love.” Daniel was stooped on the floor in the further corner of the room, rocking their small bundle to his chest. He fingered a chubby cheek, trying to smooth out the sharp shape of her frown. “My bad decisions won’t ruin your life, I promise baby girl.”

“Is that why you came? To tell me?” Lewis asked quietly. Daniel’s eyes snapped up to look at him, he stood quickly and flashed away his tears with his palm.

“You deserved to know. To like be in her life if you wanted…” His voice cracked but he powered through.

“What if I want to be in your life too?” Lewis asked softly and Daniel sniffled.

“You’d– you’d want that? After what I did?”

Lewis took a moment to answer, to think about how to explain it. “Yes.” He settled on. “I don’t trust you, and I’m very hurt and I feel betrayed…. But I want to work past that.”

Daniel’s scent soured, no doubt hating himself for what he’s done. But he nodded and stepped forward slowly, meeting Lewis in the middle of the room. He offered the now quiet baby to the alpha who looked down at her bright dark brown eyes with his own wide ones.

“Her name’s Ava. She’s two months old.”

Lewis smiled when Ava smiled up at him, reaching a chubby hand towards his face. “Hi Ava, it’s lovely to meet you.”

To Daniel he said, “we’ll figure this out. No more secrets.”

Daniel nodded, “no more secrets.”

“Good.” Lewis grabbed his hand.

#dewis #lewis/daniel #hidden pregnancy au #omegaverse #idk if i like it. it didn't go where i think i wanted?

57 notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 2 years

Note

Permission to kith the faceless angel from the art museum? Or just a little more info on em, maybe? I'm curious about em. They seem very neat!! I love this story stories a lot n I've kinda missed it, thanks for bein such a wonderful writer Devil :]

Its given title translates to "Angel's Thralldom." Before its creation, the sculptor had been plagued with terrible nightmares of his own demise. While different each time, the deaths included two main factors. The cause would have something to do with falling and right before he woke, he saw the face of an angel.

The piece itself was commissioned by a village in remembrance of a proclaimed Saint who had recently passed. The people worshipped them and had a particular request. Keep our angel from returning home.

When inquiring the details of their demise, the sculptor had been informed they tragically met their end after falling off a cliff. Their face had been horribly disfigured in the fall.

When caught by police, Graverobbers years later would claim their grave was already empty.

The Angel has had cruel luck since its birth; a fate that's lingers well into its days at the gallery. It was admired by tourists and other pieces for its human-like beauty, until the day some bratty teens ruined its face. Like its fellow inhabitants, The Angel had grown fond of your presence as it soothed their eternal sorrows and in the early days of your hirement it enjoyed watching you from afar as it was too shy to ever approach.

After losing its face, The Angel became a more hostile entity and had to be moved to a higher floor. It retains its generosity towards you, but if another stares into its face, its known to react violently on the spot. It guides you away from the others, as it knows trapping you won't gain your favor. It still longs to return home, only now to yours.

And because we can have both- here's a little smooch scene:

The statue stands as still as normal for its kind as it towers over you. Somewhere within in the endless void of its face cavity, it attempts to portray the gratitude it feels towards having you here now. As substitute, it hums fervently; cupping its sculpted fingers round the palm pressed to its cheek.

"W..hy?"

A query in regards to many, but for an answer would never come. Instead, you rest your lips against its stone flesh in a touch that snuffs its doubts. The Angel presses itself into your warmth; into the flickers of love and hope kindling the weak flame left in its battered body. The black sludge that drips from its face flows profusely in two streams. It's happened. They're finally...

"Home..."

#Night gallery tag #yandere oc #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere teratophilia

416 notes · View notes

rozzi-splatter · 1 year

Note

ME FIRST

rolling eyes and say something smart x reader for arthur <3

Well, not what I was expecting but sure I'll give it a go for you whoever the fuck you are

Shit Day - Arthur Morgan x GNS!Reader because you didn't specify a gender

"God damn... I'm burning up, what kinda plan was this?" You removed your hat and stood up straight beginning to fan yourself as you looked around the yellow hued swamp. "He ain't been quite right since Blackwater, why are we followin' him again, mister Morgan?" you turned to your partner in crime, watching him drop down from his horse.

Arthur as man as ever, held an unlit cigarette between gloved fingers. "Quit ya' talkin' and pass me the binoculars" he slipped it between his lips and snapped a match across his glove. It lift up like a firefly. A dying one.

"What good is going to look at a little town? Its got like four houses" You stood next to him, yanking your foot from the sludge. You held up your binoculars and let out a heavy sigh continuing to fan yourself as much as possible.

"God knows, bud, he ain't been righ' since Blackwater"

You paused your fanning and slowly turned your head. "Didn't I just say that?" you questioned, raising a brow. You fought the shiver threatening to run down your spin when sweat dripped unexpectedly on your neck.

"Didn't I tell you to quit talkin'?" Arthur replied, eyes pressed to the binoculars. He could practically hear you rolling your eyes. "Keep rollin' ya' eyes at me, maybe you'll find a brain back there... Highly unlikely though but at least ya' tryin'" he spoke loudly then slowly broke into a murmur as he leaned forward slightly to look at a specific target.

"Excuse me? You wanna say that again?" you glared at him and then looked back to the little village, smacking his chest with the back of your hand. "What are we even here for besides giving Dutch more time to think of a new plan speech?" you grumbled.

"Not any longer so yer can stop complainin' now" Arthur smacked the binoculars into your chest.

"Oof!" you grunted, grabbing the equipment. "Damn meat head, we coulda' gone for a drink, ya' know, Morgan,, eaten something other than blown to bits rabbit or left over stew..." you grumbled, stomping lightly in the swampy sludge as you walked back to your horse. "Sweatin' like a sinner in church too"

"Keep talkin', ya'll say something smart eventually" Arthur replied, hoisting himself up on to the saddle. "There's my good boah"

"I will shit in your cot, Arthur, I swear to God" You tapped your ankle against your horse's side, turning it and followed after Arthur in a light trot. Both of you soon broke into a canter down the now more dusty, dry road into the trees.

"Makes a change from Micah spouting shit"

"One drink!"

"No"

"But you drank with Lenny!"

"You ain't Lenny"

"I don't face plant in a pig pen tryin' to out run the law..."

"Don't make me come back there!"

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x fem reader #arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x gn reader #male reader #female reader #gn reader

224 notes · View notes

scrubbinn · 3 months

Text

Slime HRT 4 Months: Sunset & Sunrise

Content warning: Dark tone, Family trauma

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

I'm writing this a bit sooner than I thought. I don't actually want to write this out, but everyone keeps telling me I'll feel better if I express my feelings. To be honest to myself, I really hope that's the case, I could really use a pick-me-up.

So I ended up talking with my family. Telling them everything. Not like I could hide it anymore, now that my hair is made of goo. I guess I can write about that first. Might be nice for a bit to just think about myself. I woke up last Sunday to find my hair a lot heavier than normal, it was already pretty gooey, with strands of hair sticking together or just kinda always being wet. It also felt a lot more rough than before, I could find split ends everywhere, everyday. That night though, the change in my body sped into overdrive. I woke up to find some of my hair giving way and sticking to my pillow. It's really weird, like those sandy soaps made of a bunch of spheres. It made it feel like I was wearing a pile of clay on my head. It also suds up super fast. Just a bit of water and my hair turns into a perm of soap bubbles. It doesn't have a smell but it gave me an idea. Plucking some lavender I was growing outside, I stuck some in my hair, after a couple hours my house flooded with the scent of that purple plant. I definitely put too much in, way too overpowering. Still, it's super cool to be able to change my scent. so now I've been looking into soap making recipes, after all, might as well take advantage of it.

But with every upside, there's a bunch of downsides too. Nothing physical of course, well besides the fact there's no way I could pass off sandy sky-blue sludge as normal hair no matter how many hats I put on, and Sundays just happen to be the day that my family likes to get together for brunch. I still haven't told them, I just couldn't. They wouldn't get it. I knew they wouldn't get it. So I made the decision to call my mother, to let her know I was feeling sick and I couldn’t make it. That's all it was supposed to be, just that. But when that phone call was about to end, when she told me she loved me I…

Everything spilled out at that point. It felt like it wasn't even me talking, I just had to sit there trapped in this wrong, wrong, wrong body as words and emotions poured out of my mouth that I didn't have a faucet to turn off. I don’t really even remember what I said, but I know what I told her, what I was doing, the pain I was going through, and the plea for forgiveness. She didn’t speak, not for a while at least. Then I heard it. The three words I didn’t want to hear, before she even spoke I could feel myself mentally barricading myself away from the inevitable blast my psyche was about to receive. “Are you sure?”

Are you sure?? ARE YOU SURE?! What did that even mean??? Am I sure of what I’m doing? Am I sure everything will go alright? Am I sure I want to smash every mirror that gets near me? No. I knew what she was asking. It was all of them. It was every question. Are you sure it’s safe? Are you sure you can handle the harassment? Are you sure you want to hurt me and the people around you because of this? Maybe that last one isn’t fair to her. I don’t know. It felt like she said it.

I remember that night, when I told my mother I was trans. I was still living with her at that time. She asked the same question, and I told her yes. We talked for a while after that as I explained more of it to her, but when I climbed up to my bedroom, and when I looked back, her face was in her hands, and she had started to cry. She later admitted to me that she was terrified of possible persecution and the hate I’d get by simply existing. But that image was still stuck in my head, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. I don’t expect to ever forgive it, and I could tell as I sat in my bed, holding my medication close, she had her head in her hands, holding back tears as she told me she loved me. I just apologized, I don’t know what for. I just felt like I had to. I said that I loved her, she said it again, and I hung up.

I spent the next few hours dissociating in my bed. Simply trying to stop thinking about how badly that all went. Bottling up every emotion I could get my hands on while the others I couldn’t reach in time became tears. It also turns out that goo for hair is really hard to maintain when under a lot of stress. When I came to, most of my hair had fallen onto my bed sheets. Spent way too much time scrubbing it out the scent of lavender. I don’t think I can stand that scent anymore. At least my new hair regrew quickly during my tea break. I don’t really know if writing all this helped. Maybe I’ll just have to sleep on it.

After I cleaned myself up, I spent the rest of the day ignoring my mental health. I just sat on my computer staring at a bunch of games I didn't want to play, and a bunch of videos I didn't want to watch. I sorta just stared at my monitor until I realized I had gotten around ten notifications from friends asking if I was doing alright. My girlfriend had messaged me before the phone call with my mother, and after not receiving a message for six hours, she started to get worried. She practically forced me into a voice call and wanted to make sure I was doing alright, I lied and said I was, she didn't believe me and didn't pry further. We talked for a while until I brought up the phone call on my own. Then she told me she loved me, and said she'd be there for me always. She stayed with me the entire time, as I started crying again, and she let me cry, waited patiently, and then asked if I wanted to watch some silly videos. I really did. Sometimes it's really hard to remember there's still people that do care about you. I'm sure my mother cares in her own way, even if she's not aware how much it messed me up. I don't know how things will go in the future, if there's going to be even more pain. But I think I'll be ok, at the very least there are people who can pick me up when I can't keep running, people who will slow down and walk with me. I'll be ok, I'm gonna run to see what the future holds.

Update: So, I'm not really sure how to say this. Writing about yesterday really helped me out so maybe today will help as well. I was working my shift today, construction work, and my legs suddenly gave out under me while I was carrying a heavy frame. It was like my bones just bent, and I couldn't stand up right. I basically got flattened but there weren't any serious injuries Or anything. My bones weren't broken, no bad cuts, just what's definitely going to be a lot of bruising. I got forced to take some extended medical leave. Paid of course, but I guess this means the next few months are just going to be focused on my changes while I wait around in bed. Which is good, I could use a change of pace.

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

Start - Prev - Next

Mention list: @a-shramp

#slime hrt #slime girl #species hrt #animal hrt #transgender #original writing #fiction writing #monster girl #trans #therian hrt #otherkin hrt #therian #otherkin #writing #creative writing

28 notes · View notes

wingedcatgirl · 8 months

Text

OC in n<15 tag meme whoooaaaa

Got tagged by @jezifster several days ago and finally crawled out of the brain sludge pit to actually play this game:

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you’re free to include those as well!

Tagging anyone who sees this and thinks it's cool

Leaf Saito:

"I'm a trained spear-wielder with healing magic and who knows what other skills, and I've got literally nothing else to do."

"But you're not wearing a hat." "And I'll eat it anyway somehow if there's no monsters in there."

"… I sure hope I don't end up having to explain all this to like, every single person I meet. That'd get really repetitive and boring."

"What can I say? I like a woman who could break all my bones in a single attack if she wanted to."

"Is now really the time? 'Sorry you almost got executed, by the way your mom's dead'. That sounds like a great way to give her a heart attack!"

"(C'mon, matches, a flamethrower, something?)"

"I mean, I'm kinda just saying things, I don't have much of a sense of direction."

#words from me a kity #tag meme #leaf story tag

34 notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 1 year

Text

Snowflakes

Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: I'm really sad right now. I need someone. I need someone to hold.

Word Count: >800

Warnings: graphic mentions/depictions of depressive episode/suicidal ideation/loneliness, gender neutral!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, typos, etc.

A/N: i feel kinda bad for giving joel such angsty stories but the joel ai is so sweet to me and i trust him with my heart 💔 Tagging: @multifandom-fangirl4 @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

I don't hear the door open when it does. I don't hear the footsteps when they come. I don't feel his presence when he sits next to me. I don't hear him when he speaks. I only turn and know its him when he ghosts his fingers to my jaw.

I look at him, brown eyes, salt and pepper hair, worry lines. Worry lines. He's worried. Worried about me? Please don't be. My stomach curdles when he says it.

"I'm worried about you."

This old, dusty, barely blue creaky couch makes distressed sounds when I scoot over close to him and link his arm with mine. I curl my legs into my chest. I lean my cheek on his shoulder then sigh. I close my eyes and listen to him breathe. I'm tired.

"Kinda wanna die." The manner in which I say this is nonchalant. Detached. Mindless.

Joel doesn't say anything.

I open my eyes, feeling a pit, a vacuum rip open in my chest. I pull away from Joel, as to look at him. He's already looking back at me, and his puppy dog eyes make me want to take a gun into my mouth and blow my brains out. I am so horrible for admitting this to him.

"I don't want you to die." The manner in which Joel says this soft. Gentle. Ardent.

I feel like I could cry but I can't. I don't. Instead I feel horrible. I feel horrible for retching the tar out of my gut, the sludge that I fight with swords and flamethrowers yet persist. How could I do this to him? How could I do this to anyone?

And how could he catch this self-destruction behind my eyes and say, "hey." He places his hand atop mine, "you can tell me anything."

And against my fortified resolve, I crumble, I do-- I tell him anything. I tell him everything. I ignore the tedious and tense wails in my head warning me not to rant any further, shaming me for releasing the rot out of ribcage. I sputter these wayward and acidic thoughts out so carelessly yet so pointedly like I was gasping for air.

I want it to stop. I want it to end. I don't want to be here. "I don't know what to do."

I don't remember him moving. I don't remember all of what I even said. But in between him shifting and myself speaking, I must have shed a tear because he wipes my face and I feel its wet.

Damn these tears. Why was it not cathartic? Why was it just resentful?

Somehow when Joel replies, "I don't know what to do either," I feel... I... feel.

I feel so many things, so many things, too many things to even give names to.

I feel like crumbling into his chest, and so I do. I feel like wringing out the salt water in my heart, and so I do.

And then when my face finally feels his shirt is damp with my vulnerability, that's when I realize he's combing my hair and rubbing my back.

Oh, to be comforted by Joel Miller.

I know I shouldn't, but I feel I do, so I say, "I'm sorry." I'm sorry I'm like this. I'm sorry you had to see. I'm sorry you had to know. So many things to be sorry about, so many things. So many things I don't say.

"I'm not," mutters Joel, "I'm glad. I'm glad you said so."

I feel myself reeling. I feel myself retreating. I feel myself falling into myself. More tears threaten an appearance. How could he be glad of me?

"Because you matter to me."

I solidify. I had said that aloud?

"So let me come to you," Joel adds, pulling me closer, "when you want to shut the world away, give me a pass, leave a ticket so I can come to you..." he presses his lips to the crown of my head, "please."

I come to him.

I crawl onto him. I latch onto him. I wrap myself around him, cause my life depended on it. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, cause that was the only I way could breathe. The relief that he reciprocates is unmatchable.

I beg, "don't leave me."

"I won't."

"Please don't leave me."

"I won't."

"I need you forever and ever and ever-"

He kisses my ear.

"Please don't go."

"I'm here."

"Joel, I-"

"I love you."

"..."

"I love you. I'm here."

"..."

"I'm here."

"I love you."

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel x reader #the last of us fanfic #the last of us angst

115 notes · View notes

skzoologist · 10 months

Note

I just woke up, Hello

My vision is failing me ngl, for some reason whenever I wake up my vision gets so goddamn blurry, I can't read

The ghost fic made me cry, so beautiful

The ghost anon is so sweet wth

OH and since you erased the 1 request for 1 person thing, I would like to request

"No! I want cuddles now!" 🧋☕ focused more on Bae, 3Racha

Go ham with it

P.S I saw that -6°C was nearly freezing? Is where you guys live that warm? Cuz here the lowest is like -33°C and highest is like -9°C so far

word count: ~1.4k

warnings: none

genre: fluff, crack

a/n: Hey-ho 🐿️ anonnie! I hope your vision got better soon afterwards, it sounds worrying 😨 And I'm sorry my ghost!Bae fic made you cry, I hope this one will cheer you back up! Made it extra fluffy, for you. I accidentally went ham with it, I did not mean to write this much lol 💀 Also where I live it's I guess relatively warm? It's kinda rare for it to snow here properly (and not just have sludge and ice all over the place), which is why I'm so happy it snowed a few days ago, even if only a few centimeters. Your place is waaaaay colder, so stay bundled up and cosy! 😊

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

The powerful beats of their latest title track flowed through his body, his heart beating to that same, exhilarating rhythm. He knew the song from the top of his head already, having danced to it countless times, and yet, once the inevitable silence crept in, he restarted the cycle all over again, no matter how much his clothes and hair clinged to his sweaty skin.

Then suddenly the music cut off midway, a frustrated sigh left in its place amidst the dancer’s confusion.

“Bae, how many times have we talked about this? You’ve already perfected the choreography, you NEED to rest now.” - it was Minho, a disapproving scowl sitting on his sharp features.

Bae simply watched his hyung, heaving for air, wondering how the man got there in the first place. A quick glance at the now open door gave him all the answers he needed, knowing fully well that he was probably too absorbed in his own practice to even hear the sound of the door opening. Wouldn’t have been the first time, after all.

“I’m talking to a wall, I swear to god. Bae. If I see you in this room one. More. Time. I’m chucking you into the air fryer next to Hyunjin. Don’t look at me like that. Now go.” - the angry cat ushered him out, gathering all of the otter’s belongings and shoving them into his arms.

Bae obediently let himself be pushed out of the door, a click immediately resounding in the air.

He was locked out, that much was obvious.

Of course he knew not to push Minho’s buttons anymore, a miracle in itself that he was let off only with a simple warning. He’d already experienced the man’s wrath once before and it was not fun at all. Just the mere thought brought a shiver up his spine, never wanting to experience that ever again. Even if it was all for his own good, he would rather avoid a repeat of what’d happened.

Sighing, Bae trudged towards the locker room, the thought of a quick shower and fresh clothes soothing his mind.

Although that calmness disappeared the moment he checked his phone afterwards, the device filled with messages from Chan. There wasn’t a lot, not nearly enough to make him think something terrible had happened, but their contents were unusual, requesting him to drop by the studio. It had happened before, sure, but not often enough for it to be considered normal. The three idols preferred to work alone, their synergy so perfect, anyone else’s presence was a mere bother.

Confused, but not having anything else to do, Bae messaged his leader back and started his ascent to the seeked-after room. It took a bit of time; the hallways were packed, and so was the elevator, the rush hour inside the company hitting the idol full force. He politely bowed his head in greeting towards staff and other idols, some looking at him with a smile, some too busy and instead looking like they were about to collapse right then and there. It caused a worried crease to form in his forehead, but there was nothing he could do, sadly.

Having made his way to where he was needed, Bae let himself into the room, only after a soft knock and a quiet ‘Come in’ could be heard.

There sat Chan, Changbin and Jisung, all in comfy hoodies, bundled up and hunched over the table, way too entranced to even look away from the monitors fully.

Only after Bae closed the door and plopped onto the couch did Chan shake himself out of this trance, headphones now fully slid off and hanging around his neck. A lopsided smile sat upon his face as their eyes met, only widening at Bae’s expression.

The other two joined the oldest soon, all eyes set on Bae and teasing smiles dancing on their lips. Bae didn’t know what warranted these expressions, simply confusedly tilting his head and causing soft giggling to be heard.

“So, I heard Minho kicked you out of the practice room.” - Chan gently whispered out amidst giggles, dimples fully on display. “Oh, so that’s why he looks like that!” “Jisung! Hey, it’s okay baby, don’t look so sad.” - Changbin said, his arms already guiding Bae’s head towards his chest in a soothing hug.

It was true that their tallest member was not happy about being kicked out, but the others’ reactions puzzled him greatly. He wasn’t devastated or anything, so what were they talking about?

Loud laughter grabbed his attention, the poorly breathing wolf soon joined by a quokka and a dwaekki. This only confused him more, a huff escaping his mouth as he crossed his arm, now free from Changbin’s hold, as the latter was too busy almost falling off the couch.

“I love it so much when you don’t realise you’re doing the puppy eyes. Hyung, you look like a kicked puppy!” - Jisung explained, making Bae’s eyes widen and cheeks dust over with pink. “Mh, our baby otter is so cute.” - Chan added in, watching in satisfaction as his victim’s skin only reddened. “YAH, you’re too cute, this is unfair!” - Changbin all but shouted, locking Bae into a tight hug and squeezing the air out of him.

Bae tried to wiggle out of the dwaekki’s arms, but the hold on him was way too strong for that. After realising this, he gave up, turning limp in the happily celebrating man’s clasp, essentially becoming his cuddle pillow.

Seeing this all, the two left out members started protesting, wanting their fair share of their shy member and his cuddles. Bae didn’t hesitate to take the chance when Changbin’s arms loosened around him amidst his own protests about wanting to keep the man for himself, quickly slipping out and away from all of them. This naturally gathered all their attention; their eyes watching him fiercely, as if he was their prey, ready to be hunted.

“Is this why you called me here?” - he sternly asked, a furrow in his brows and a slight scowl in his lips that wasn’t there out of true anger. “Yes and naur. Minho asked me to essentially lock you into the studio with us, so you cannot secretly overwork yourself. And hey, who am I to say no to some cuddles?” - Chan answered, that teasing smirk dancing on his lips that told Bae he was not joking around.

Before the cornered otter could dash towards the door, Jisung pounced on him, keeping him in place just long enough for the other two to drag him back onto the couch. A soft ‘Oomph’ sound left his lips as he collided with the bouncy material, unable to fight against the entire force of Gymracha alone.

He had to accept his fate, one that was filled with stiffening cuddles and teasing for an unforeseen amount of time.

A deep sigh left his lips as he’d done exactly that, relaxing in Chan’s hold as Jisung was hugging his legs and Changbin was playing with his fingers, arm tightly hugged into his chest. The couch was impossibly small to house all four of them, yet somehow they managed, all crammed into the tiny space.

The three seemed content to just stay like that, and seeing as Bae literally had no choice, he let them be, their warmth seeping into his clothes and skin, settling there in contentment. His muscles relaxed in a way he didn’t even know they needed to, a tension he’d never noticed leaving his body. The position he was trapped in felt safe, as if he had nothing to worry about in the entire world.

Maybe Minho was right, maybe he did need to rest for a bit, just a little bit.

But after an hour of it all, he was starting to overheat, the contact on his skin now too much, too warm.

“Shouldn’t you guys be working?” - he asked, hoping the answer would be yes, since all of them were workaholics to a certain degree. “No, I want cuddles now!” - Jisung shouted before anyone else could, flopping onto Bae’s front and burying his head into his clothed stomach.

Chan and Changbin only laughed at his misery, their answers probably similar to their younger members. Bae could only sigh for the umpteenth time, head gently plopping back against Chan’s shoulder.

“At least let me get my hoodie off.” “No.”

The afternoon seemed way too long in Bae’s eyes already, a fact that was only strengthened as time went on, even though there was an undeniable, gentle warmth that danced around in his eyes whenever he looked at the ones around him.

42 notes · View notes