#playing up his injury for sympathy and hugs

[alipeeps]

Even if you want to die, don't die in Wen Xiao's arms

[scudslut]

Sins and Honey Flavored Sweetness

daryl x fem!reader

wordcount: 4.7k

warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut under the cut, perv!daryl (not really, he just has a lil crush), male masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, oral f!receiving, mutual pining

a/n: i have never written something so descriptive ohmygod. do be warned lol, hugs and kisses byeee <33

Daryl knew there were unspoken boundaries when it came to you.

A thin line of loose salt, that whispered to him. Beckoned him huskily to dust his fingers through and have a taste, but daunting enough for him to keep his soles rooted in the dirt, salivating from a distance.

It wasn’t because you were already spoken for in any way; if anything, you kept your romantic interests simmering farther on the back burner than he did, which spoke volumes in itself. Or because you were younger than him, a couple of years wasn’t anything to turn a nose up over, especially nowadays.

It was, however, the place you held amongst your people. You were like bright, shiny gold within the group, dared not to be corrupted or led astray. The heart that kept everyone’s beating, even in the darkest of times, soothing hope into the atmosphere with your infectious smile.

Oh, and you were Rick's younger sister... which he hated to admit, only tempted him more. And he wasn’t quite sure as to why.

He’d mulled it over too many times to count, noting everything about you that allured him so intensely.

He liked the contrast between you two; like sun rays peeking through the clouds after a mid-summer storm. You were soft, fresh as clean linen and he was dark, brooding. He often fantasized about taking that sweet innocent nature of yours and painting it with his essence. He knew it was wrong and constantly shamed himself for having such perverted thoughts about his best friend's sister. But, god, how could he not?

Not when you pranced around him daily, teasing him with your velvety, feminine voice and kind touches. Touches that sent brisk shivers down his spine, sure to leave him breathless and bothered — another thing he secretly liked. You were addictive in that sense, he’d distance himself the minute he felt the familiar rush coursing through his veins and then crave it immediately once it was gone. A drug he couldn’t help but relapse from.

And it didn’t help that you were always so keen to assist him, doting on his every injury or problem with such gentle attentiveness and sincerity. That might be what he liked the most. It was fascinating how pure you remained in a world so plagued, always ready to nurture. It soothed a deep, restless, and scarred part of him, finding solace in it.

He'd come to learn you were like that with everyone though. So, he found himself grappling with things to deter your attention his way, playing dumb and clumsy just to have your sweet scent fill the nearby air. He felt like a horny teenager with a hopeless crush. It was absolutely ridiculous and yet, here he was once again, feet dangling off your kitchen counter as you searched the cabinets for some aspirin to aid in his 'headache'. 

It wasn't a complete lie per se - his sensitivity to light gave him troubles quite often but, whether it was enough to complain about or not, could be debated.

Nonetheless, he sat for you patiently, listening to your quiet humming as you searched about. He loved when you did that, singing your soft melodies under your breath mindlessly. It was such a girly thing to do, but it was comforting in a way, an airy blanket warming the silence.

"Ah, here it is!" drew him out of his thoughts, and he cast a glance at your bright smile of accomplishment. You popped the cap open swiftly, shaking out 2 little white pills, and handed them over with a glass of water.

“Let me know if you need any more. They should kick in soon, but I know how tough migraines can be,” you soothed, your sympathy never faltering. He bowed his head quickly, not wanting you to see the flash of guilt that surely crossed it. "Thanks," he mumbled as he tossed his head back, swallowing them both with a shivered grimace.

Wiping the water droplets from his chapped lips, his eyes found yours again and noticed a small smirk hidden in your features. “What?”  

You let out a chuckle, reaching for the glass he held to wash, “Oh nothin’... just don’t think I’ve seen you cringe like that before, is all.” 

His brows furrowed at your statement, “So?” he questioned further.

“Walkers, blood, rotting flesh… never. But an itty bitty pill?” Your laugh grew louder, finding the situation even more amusing as you explained it to him. “Whatever,” he scoffed, hopping off the counter with a smirk. He knew you would be expecting him to leave after that, you had helped him with his ‘issue of the day’ and there was no reason to linger any further. But he did.

Daryl scanned your frame as you washed the few dishes that were in the sink, chewing on his thumb habitually. You wore a white, long-sleeve shirt with a faded band logo printed on the front and some beaten-up blue jeans that seemed to cup your ass perfectly.

His mind wandered before he could stop it, imagining how soft and warm your skin must be underneath all those clothes. How soft and warm your hands would be wrapped around him, or better yet, your pretty lips taking him deep with a moan. He felt his own jeans tighten slightly and quickly diverted his gaze to the floor, clearing his throat as if it would erase those thoughts from his brain.

“Something else you need, Daryl?” You glanced over your shoulder, wrists deep in soapy water. 

“Nah, uh, thanks. I’ll see ya later,” he said and beelined for the door praying to god you didn’t see his flushed face and half-hard cock poking through his pants. He was so fucked. Couldn’t even look at you anymore without sprouting boners and picturing you on them, milking him greedily. 

He rushed down the porch and across the lawn, bursting into his shared house with Carol just next door. He didn’t even glance toward the kitchen to see if his friend was home, desperate for a cold shower to level him out. The house was dead quiet anyway, leading him to assume Carol was out for the day.

"Such a fuckin idiot," he cursed himself under his breath as he made his way down the stairs to his room. You probably knew honestly. Could tell how pathetically bothered you got him, and just put on a friendly face to keep from embarrassing him.

He left the bathroom door open in his distress and hastily shed his clothing, stepping into the tepid water. Immediate relief flooded his senses, feeling the cool stream wash away the sweat and grime the day had caked on. Pouring some homemade soap he was given into his hand, he scrubbed at his skin, determined to rid himself of your previous interaction along with the dirty thoughts that plagued his mind. He shouldn’t be thinking about you that way, it just wasn’t in the cards.

For starters, you would have to want him too, (which he knew would never happen), and even if you did, how the ever living fuck would he explain that to Rick?

‘Oh hey Rick, I have a massive hard-on for yer sister, you okay with that?’ Fuck no. Just thinking about that conversation had him cringing in awkwardness and he shut the idea down instantly. 

But there you were still, invading his thoughts with your dreamy laugh and perky attitude. Why did you have to be such a goddamn tease?

He leaned forward, resting his hands on the wall trying to regain some composure. He gulped down deep breaths of moist air, willing his body to calm itself down, but it was fruitless. The image of your body, pushed up against the wall under his hands, wet and flushed, bubbled to the surface. He groaned. Daryl knew what he had to do. It wasn’t the first time he had gotten off thinking about you, and he damn well knew it wasn’t gonna be the last, but it still felt wrong each time, pumping his cock when you were just next door. His body craved the relief though, relief only indulgence could satisfy. 

He hissed as he dragged his fingers along his shaft, gripping at the base and beginning to pump slowly. He was painfully hard at this point, each squeeze raking shivers over his damp skin while he choked out quiet moans. With his opposite hand, he flicked the water to a warmer setting, pitifully hoping the heat and steam would resemble something close to your body against his. God, if only you were here.

He sped up, swiping his thumb over his sensitive tip with each pass, sending jolts throughout his body. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned deep and husky, not a care for the noise filling the empty house.

You were there, clear as day in his mind, moaning along with him as he pounded into you, cunt gripping him like a vice. Your breath was hot and pitchy against his ear as you begged him to fuck you harder, to go faster, to cum deep inside you. His cock twitched at that, he was already so close.

“Fuck, y/n, baby,” he whined, humping erratically into his long-forgotten hand. The muscles in his stomach quivered in bliss as he stroked himself, lost in his detailed imagination. You were cumming, trembling around him in languid spasms with his seed spilling out of you, and Daryl was over the edge, tossing his head back moaning your name as he unloaded, letting the steamy water wash it away. 

It took him a few minutes to recover, catching his breath slowly and trying to avoid the guilt that would soon be settling in. What would you think of him if you knew what he did behind muffled walls? How he thought of you in such dirty ways, when you’d only ever see him as a dear friend. He wondered what you might be doing now. Traipsing around your cozy home, oblivious to his rapid, lustful heart meters away.

The water was beginning to run frigid and he let out a defeated sigh. Absentmindedly, he reached past the curtain for a towel and stepped out, drying his hair off roughly and then wrapping the towel around his waist, turning to the bedroom for fresh clothes and much-needed sleep. His mind ached to be thoughtless, consumed by the abyss of unconsciousness.

He should have known the world stopped playing fair long ago.

In a single moment, his heart stopped and his stomach dropped to the fucking depths of hell.

There you stood, feet frozen to the floor with his crossbow in hand, like he willed you into existence. He stuttered, his mouth opening and closing like a blubbering fish. He was sure his eyes were the size of saucers, he could feel them ready to pop out of his skull and run away. There was no fucking way this was happening.

Several beats passed. The silence deafening between you both and for a moment, he honestly debated stepping back into the shower. Pretend you were a figment of his tortured imagination and just hope you’d go away. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen ghosts.

“You uh- you forgot your crossbow when you rushed out today,” you finally broke the silence, solidifying your genuine presence. He glanced down to the bow and then back at you, lost for words. Did you hear him? He moaned your goddamn name, quite a few minutes ago though… had you been standing there long? Were you angry?

His racing thoughts were interrupted when you stepped towards him, leaning the bow against the doorframe and moving closer. Instinctively, he took a step back, “Thanks,” he replied shakily, but you kept moving closer. He noticed your gaze then. It wasn’t on his face, but on his abdomen, at the hem of the damp towel hanging off of him. Your eyes had a gleam to them. Something dark and lustful.

No. Surely, he was reading you wrong. 

“Daryl,” you spoke, and he audibly gulped, nervousness and absolute embarrassment flooding his system, “is there something you need to tell me?” 

He didn’t answer you, instead deciding to burn a hole into the floor with his shame. He couldn’t look at you. You knew. You had heard him and were teasing him about it and here he was, a coward who couldn’t even admit to it. And you had every single right. He crossed that salty line years ago, with his first sinful thought about you. Feasted on it, deluding himself into thinking all was okay as long as his actions didn’t physically involve you.

He barely registered your advances when he finally raised his head. You were so close he could feel the heat of your breath against his burning skin, the luscious scent of vanilla and pine filling the air.

“Can I see?” you asked quietly.

He nearly choked on his own spit. Your hand was skimming along his stomach lightly, suggestively toying with the towel that covered him up. “Huh?” His mind was blank. 

“Can I see you?” you repeated, and all he could do was give you a curt little nod, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to just yet, but rendered acquiesced. Your hand pulled at the fabric softly, letting it drop to the floor revealing his manhood to your hungry eyes. Nothing was making any sense. Surely, you did not feel this way too. Surely.

There were those whispers again. He shouldn't have let you do that. He should be recoiling, shielding himself from your gaze but he was statuesque, like you had drank the life out of him with one simple look.

"Were you thinking about me touching you?" Like you had to even ask. The answer was written in plain sight, right there on his forehead and in his bashful eyes.

"M'sorry, I-" he had no clue how to even begin this kind of apology, remorse coursing through his veins rapidly. The dots weren’t connecting, not yet. "I know it's wrong, I shouldn't have-,”

And then he felt you, pressing your lips against his softly — timidly as gentle hands feathered across his waist, coaxing him into you. Your kiss was buttery, lips so smooth and sweet he wanted to drown in them. You tasted like fresh honey and vanilla ice cream, hints of minty toothpaste caught on your tongue. It was intoxicating to say the least, swarming his brain with a muted buzz and he whimpered, much to his surprise, melting into your touch quicker than he would like to admit.

“Y/n, y/n, nah we can’t,” he heard himself say as he came to his senses slowly, but he wasn’t pushing you away. Why wasn’t he pushing you away? You couldn’t, right?

“Please,” you whispered against him, low and sultry. Who was he to deny you? God Daryl, get a grip.

“Y/n, no,” he repeated, allowing his tone to take some authority even if that was the last thing he truly wanted. You stepped back from him then, a hurt expression painting your features and he felt his heart squeeze. “Why?”

His brain was scattered. This felt like a nightmare; another cruel joke sent his way to haunt him for the rest of his life. There just always had to be a price, didn't there?

"He doesn't mind, you know?" you whispered and his eyes were on yours instantly. You traced soft shapes across his stomach, sending those shivers down his spine and effectively turning him into putty.

"What’re ya talkin' about?" He needed to regain his composure, he could barely breathe with you this close, eyes raking his naked frame with desire.

"Rick... you and me. He doesn't care," you stated, "thinks it's cute actually... my crush on you."

Your crush on him?

"He trusts you, Daryl, with everything. You're pretty much the only person he would want me to be with." He hadn't thought of it that way, only ever assumed voicing his attraction to you would result in his head on a platter, or his dick… or both.

You began peppering his neck with small kisses, trailing them down his chest and over his puffy nipples. He hissed when you nipped at one, licking over it after, soothing the burn. "Ya sure?"

You nodded.

"Ya sure ya want me?" he asked dubiously. His question was answered when you grabbed his hand gently, guiding it inside your cotton underwear, letting his calloused fingers trace your soaked folds. He could have cum then and there, spreading your slick up and down between his fingers like it was liquid gold. Fuck me.

"This all fer me?" he panted, succumbed to a state of disbelief at your evident arousal. You were so wet around his fingers, pulsing and bucking slightly with each feathered stroke. "Were ya listenin' ta me?"

Hair fell over your face as you nodded sheepishly, gazing down to watch his fingers massaging you. You bit your swollen, cherry-red lip, “Couldn’t help it, you sounded so- so good.”

Now that... that got him going. Imagining your pretty cunt dripping in your panties, listening to his gasps while he fucked himself to the thought of you. Who knew the golden girl would be so naughty?

Daryl felt his confidence build, watching you fall apart for him from such simple touches. The last wire holding him back snapped and he needed more. He had waited for this moment for so fucking long.

You whine as he retracts his hand, only to be completely shut up when he places the thick digit on his tongue, sucking greedily and sloppily. It was better than he ever could have imagined, similar to the honey of your lips but so much more sweet. He went back for seconds. And thirds. Until he was dropping to his knees, deciding to lick the goddamn plate clean.

You enveloped him in the best way possible, lifting one of your thighs over his shoulder as he tugged on your tight jeans, pulling them down enough to fit his head. His tongue pressed flat against your clothed pussy, and he sucked, tasting a mixture of your sweetness and residual laundry detergent on his tongue. His moans burned the back of his throat, desperately trying to hide them but you weren’t having it, tugging on his chocolate locks for more. “Don’t do that. I wanna hear you, honey.” Good lord. He silently thanked each lucky star of his that the house was empty before emitting a guttural groan between your thighs. If this was all he got from you, a little taste of the sugar you were made of, he would die a very happy man.

He took your clit between his lips, rolling it with his tongue. Your underwear was so wet with your arousal and his spit that it was practically see-through, just calling for him to pull aside. “Please,” you gasped.

“Hm? Wha’s that?”

He’d heard you just fine. He wanted to hear you again, and again. He was greedy and you were so damn sinful, “Please, need them off, need you.”

So, he complied, as any sane man would, shimmying them down your hips as he sucked and nibbled each inch of newly exposed skin. You watched him intently with half-lidded eyes, rocking slowly to let plush skin engulf his senses like a cloud. He felt you playing with his messy hair, taking small strands between your fingertips and moving them behind his ears to see him better. The gesture struck something deep within him. You were so kind, so focused on this moment and him, he’d be damned if he let it continue on the hard damp floor of his bathroom. No fucking way.

He stood abruptly, catching you off guard. “Bed,” he muttered, capturing your lips again in a haste. He couldn’t get enough. He didn’t want a minute to pass where he wasn’t tasting some part of you. Any part of you. Sweet, sweet honey.

You led your bodies backward till your knees hit the mattress, wasting no time as you crawled up to his pillows, taking him with you.

This moment right here, this feeling… he wanted to bottle it up. Freeze time and just stare, immerse himself into every tiny detail. It felt almost criminal to continue. You were a vision, panting and squirming beneath him; so much electricity and anticipation bouncing between your yearning bodies. Could you really want this just as much as he did? Was he truly that oblivious, all these years? Whatever that answer may be, he wasn’t gonna fuck this up. Not with you.

Your hands on his face coaxed him back to reality, molding into your touch like clay. Eager lips chased his as he pulled your shirt off and as much as he wanted to freeze time and memorize each freckle of you, the more skin each other touched the more obscene the kiss became. An unartistic jumble of spit and hands and moans and thrusts.

In all the time spent pining silently for the other, you both could care less about grace.

No, he needed to hear you. Listen to every octave of moan you had in you, all at once. He needed to know each and every spot that had you whimpering and begging, this second. If time did decide to stop at any given moment he needed to have you, be you, feel everything you had to offer, and soak in it till his skin pruned.

His lips sucked and bruised their way down to your navel, and then past, kissing up your folds with lustful intent. The sounds you made above him had him seeing stars and he wanted more. His tongue slipped past your lips, finally diving into the hive of your sweetness, rolling his tongue languidly over your clit. Your hands were everywhere around him, fisting at the sheets, the pillows, and then his hair as you desperately tried to push him closer. He didn’t mind. He’d gladly suffocate between your thighs, a death he’d welcome compared to the ones he fought from outside every day.

He dove lower, smoothing his tongue over your entrance but not delving past quite yet.

“Daryl,” you gasped above him.

Looking up between your legs, he caught a glimpse of your face tossed back in pleasure and he groaned, having to ground his hips into the mattress below to relieve some pressure. “What d’ya need, sweetheart?”

He’d give you anything. The moon if you asked for it — anything to keep those pretty sounds coming from your lips. “You, you, please you.”

“How so?”

He knew he was teasing you. He’d drawn back from your glistening slit, pressing little pecks everywhere that he could reach. Your hips, your pelvis, the little crease between your thighs and your cunt. That spot drew a deep moan from you, so he focused on it, sucking and licking till it was bright red and your hips were rolling so violently he wasn’t sure how he kept his lips on you.

“In, please,” you choked out, tugging him by his shoulders to move back up. He wasn’t done yet.

“What? Ma fingers?” he toyed further, continuing his kisses everywhere but where you wanted him. “Hm?”

He brought his thumb up to your clit, pressing lightly at first, rubbing lazy, torturous circles. His lips were on the inside of your thigh, so close to your entrance but seemingly so far. He knew you wouldn’t take much more of this, you were practically sobbing above him blubbering nonsensical curses about how much you ached.

“This pretty cunt wanna be filled, that it?”

His thumb pressed firmer.

“Uh huh,” you nodded, begging him. Oh, that sound would surely be the death of him.

He finally brought his lips to your supposedly aching entrance, delving deep with his tongue. The noises he made as he lapped on your honey were flat-out pornographic, and you writhed below him, drinking everything he was giving to you. Honestly, he didn’t know how much more he could take. He wanted to draw this out for hours, make up for every bit of lost time but seeing you like this, so needy for him had his resolve shattering by the second.

With a final peck to your weeping folds, he crawled his way up back to your face. You latched on to him instantly, sensing his give and taking absolute advantage of your moment. His hips rolled into yours slowly as your tongues danced and he hardly had to guide himself with how wet you were, his tip finding your entrance easily and slipping past. You moaned rolling your hips again and he nearly bottomed out, a long deep groan ripping out of him. If he thought your lips were buttery, lord save him.

Perching himself on his forearms, he held still, watching for any signs of discomfort. He assumed you hadn’t been with anyone in a while and he certainly knew he wasn’t small, if he’d grace himself with any sort of compliment.

Sensing nothing but pleasure as your walls pulsed around him, sucking him in further, he gave, snapping his hips harshly into you. Your moans were lewd on his lips, traveling down his throat and feeding the fire that burned in the pit of his stomach.

“Fuck, y/n, baby,” he groaned again, spiraling from the fact he was actually inside you this time. Not in his hand, pretending you were fucking shower water.

No, you were beneath him, latching onto his muscles like your life depended on it. He drove deeper, hitting a spot that had you gasping for air. He hit it again, and again, needing to feel you explode around him. He watched as your face contorted in pleasure as he pounded into you. God, you looked so pretty like this. All cock-drunk and needy.

He brought his thumb back to that spot on your clit. He needed you to cum soon, he wasn’t gonna last much longer seeing you like this and there was no way in hell he was going to finish before you. Your hips stuttered beneath him, walls squeezing around him and he knew you were close.

“Come on, pretty girl, you got it,” he whispered in your ear, sucking the lobe gently between his teeth. That must’ve broken you, because then you were cursing, spasming for him which triggered his own orgasm. Your cunt milked him, his seed spilling down your thighs exactly how he had pictured earlier and it was a fucking sight. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he had imagined this whole thing.

He fucked out both through the waves of release, and a bit past, dropping his head into your neck to muffle the obscene groans coming from his lips. He didn’t want it to stop, but your overstimulated senses ached for reprieve.

“Dar?” you whispered once you'd both caught your breath, guiding his stubbled cheek from its hiding spot. When his eyes met yours, they were filled with so much adoration and happiness he had to hold himself back from whimpering. Never in a million years would he thought he’d get you, and here you were, looking at him like the sun shone out of his ass. The same way he looked at you for years, it was jarring to see it reciprocated. How had he missed it?

You leaned forward, tenderly capturing his lips with your own, soothing him as you always did. He knew there was so much you wanted to say, that he wanted to say, but you didn’t need to talk about it tonight. Tonight you would simply soak in each other, a gift you both thought you’d never get and one you would never let go.

He felt you giggle against his lips, and he pulled back with a lazy, fucked-out smile, "What?" he mumbled curiously.

"How's the headache now, big guy?" you teased playfully and he realized then, you'd known he was fibbing today. Saw right through his measly excuse to spend time with you.

He blushed to the tips of his ears, bowing his head to hide it, "Oh, shuddup," he mumbled, attacking your neck in kisses and nips.

Your cheeky ass was gonna pay for that tonight.

[kipobipo]

I would like to take a moment to discuss Benson and his trauma for a moment

The first and most obvious is the fact that he lost his original family (wether that was bio parents, siblings, or just members of his group who were raising him is unclear) and was left to fend for himself on the surface as a young child. Now this is not a new situation for the characters in kataow. The whole show literally revolves around Kipo ending up along on their surface and separated from her family. Additionally Wolf and Hugo both also experience being separated from family and made to fend for themselves on the surface. However out of all these characters Benson seems to receive the least sympathy and concern from the rest of the team.

Of course one key difference in his backstory that separates him from characters like Wolf and Hugo is that unlike them he made an ally and friend pretty early into his time alone. He couldn’t have been more than 10 when he met dave which is pretty young to be in your own especially is you are (as I assume benson was) used to having an adult around to care for you. While dave was able to in some capacity take care of benson like a parental figure (as old dave, buff dave, and dave dave) he is also regularly not able to do that (as teen dave, toddler dave, and baby dave). This would have essentially made Benson, a very young child who until recent did have an adult to watch him, be forced into the role of a part time parent. I know dave isn’t exactly the same as a human baby but as we see in the show he would still have cried (potentially altering dangerous mutes to their location) needed to be fed, wandered off the way a toddler does and most importantly be rendered unable to protect or care for child Benson. Half of the time Benson would have been a child alone on the surface having to survive while also raising and taking care of the equivalent to a baby/small child. Even at age 16 we see him acting as the main caretaker of Dave in his younger forms.

I’m fact benson does a lot of being a caretaker throughout the show. He shows kipo ratland to cheer her up, he keeps her secret about being part mute, he runs after Wolf when she gets upset about kipo being part mute. When kipo transforms into the mega jaguar for the forest time and accidentally dislocates his shoulder he plays off his pain and injury as not a big deal so she won’t feel bad or guilty about it. When his backpack gets knocked into the gold along with kipo’s anchor he starts crying and later when kipo transformed and gets stuck he blames himself for the situation never once taking the time to mourn the loss of his personal items that were also lost.

So we have a young boy who has been placed in a caretaking role from a very young age in dangerous and hostile world. One where he has to avoid being eaten, starving to death, freezing to death, dehydration, and being kidnapped and sold to scarelemage all while being a part time parent from the ages of 10-16. AND THEN to top it all off Kipo (and the fandom) doesn’t ever seem to fully include him in the found family. Kipo calls wolf her sister within the first day of knowing her but never refers to benson as family I’m that way. When song gets transformed back kipo calls wolf to join in the family group hug but not benson. This kid takes care of everyone around him but is rarely shown that same care and it just makes me so sad. He may be the oldest in the group but he’s still just a teenager.

[gunilslaugh]

I was inspired by the sick reaction/injury reaction. What would their reactions be when you are the one taking care of their injury or taking care of them when their sick??

THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR WORK

Here's your request I hope that you enjoy it!

All members -^-^-

Summary: When you take care of Xdinary Heroes.

WC:~1.8k

Warning:grammar

photo not mine credit to owner.

Gunil

Gunil had caught a cold. He tried to play it off like it wasn’t that bad, but his members knew better and told (forced) him to stay home and rest. Jungsu is the one who sent you a text informing you about Gunil’s condition. After receiving the text you hurried over to their dorm, so you could look after Gunil. 

Once you arrived at their dorm you put in the passcode to the door and made a beeline for Gunil’s room after entering. Gunil pipped up at the noise of you entering.

“What are you doing here?” He questioned you after seeing you enter his room.

“Jungsu, told me that you were sick with a cold,” you explained, your voice laced with sympathy. Gunil murmurs something that you can’t understand.

“It’s really not that bad, they’re overreacting,” he tries to persuade you.

“That’s why you're still curled up under your covers?” You pointed, not buying his act. “Have you eaten anything?” You followed up. Gunil shakes his head as an answer. “I’ll go make you some food,” you stated, leaving the room to head to the kitchen. You returned with a bowl of soup and medicine. Helping Gunil sit up before handing the bowl carefully to him. He ate the soup then took the medicine. 

“Thank you,” Gunil appreciated. “You didn’t have to come take care of me,” he added.

“How could I just go about my day knowing that you are sick?” You asked rhetorically. Moving over to give him a hug only to be shoved away. You gave Gunil an offended look.

“I don’t want you to catch my cold,” he explained. You let out a sigh.

“You owe me cuddles once you're better,” you stuck out a finger at him.

“Gladly,” he responded. 

Jungsu

Poor Jungsu sprained his ankle. It was nothing too serious, but he was suggested to wear an ankle brace in the meantime while his ankle recovered.

Currently, Jungsu was over at your place sitting on the couch with his injured leg elevated on the coffee table with a pillow. You grabbed an ice pack from your freezer and went over to where Jungsu sat, carefully placing the ice on his ankle.

“It will help with the swelling,” you told him. 

“Thanks,” he says, offering a smile, yet you notice some sadness lurking in his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked concerned, coming to sit next to him on the couch.

“I just feel bad for my members. You know one of us not being there makes things harder for the rest. They have more weight to carry now and I feel bad for our fans,” Jungsu admits.

“It’s not your fault Jungsu, accidents happen. Everyone just wants you to recover,” you tried to comfort him. Jungsu nodded his head.

“I know. It just…I don’t know..sucks,” he stated.

“I know it does, but don’t worry. I’ll make sure you have a speedy recovery,” you spoke promptly. A genuine smile appeared on Jungsu’s face now. He feels so lucky to have someone like you to be by his side and take care of him. Jungsu leans his head onto your shoulder. He’s been a bit more clingy since spraining his ankle, not that you mind. You lovingly pat his head before wrapping your arm around his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he repeats again.

“You already told me that earlier,” you laughed.

“That was for the ice,” he informed. “Now I’m thanking you for always taking care of me,” he elucidated.

“You’re welcome, I like being able to take care of you,” you stated, holding him a little tighter.

Gaon/Jiseok

Getting a text from Jiseok that was a pic of him wearing a wrist brace while holding a thumbs up definitely wasn’t on the list of things you expected today.

“What happened?!” you texted instantly texted him back. You knew nothing was seriously wrong, but you still felt anxious while you waited for him to respond.

“Tripped on the curb and fell on my wrist wrong :\” His response finally lit up your phone. Not too long after Jiseok arrived at your apartment.

“How long do you have to wear the brace?” You questioned him as you examined his injury.

“Not too long, only two weeks,” Jiseok answered. 

“Does it hurt?” You asked concerned. Now holding his wrist delicately in your hands.

“Only a little,” he told you. 

Dinner time rolled around and you cooked something simple for both you and Jiseok to eat. You set the bowls of food down on the kitchen table and began to dig in. That was until you heard some frustrated grumbling coming from Jiseok. You drew your attention towards him and saw him struggling to pick up the food due to his arm being in the brace.

“Looks like you should have fallen on your other hand,” you teased him. Only to earn a glare in response. You moved your chair closer to his and picked up some food from his plate.

“Open,” you instructed him, raising the food towards his mouth. Jiseok listened and opened his mouth for you to feed him. 

“I feel like a mom,” you joked, wiping the little remnants of food from his mouth.

“Couples feed each other too,” Jiseok pointed out.

“Yeah, but it can be very cringey sometimes when they do it,” you replied. “Plus I’m taking care of you, so it’s more mom like anyway,” you noted.

“True, thank you mom,” he said playfully, earning him a smack on the shoulder.

O.de/Seungmin

Seungmin texted you in the morning informing you that he wasn’t feeling well. Obviously you couldn’t just do nothing knowing that he was sick, so you texted him back telling him that you were on your way. Your heart slightly sunk once you arrived and saw the Seungmin laying in bed. It was clear that he didn’t feel well. 

“Hi,” you greeted him gently, fingers stroking his hair away from his face. A frown taking over your face, noticing how warm he felt Seungmin relished in your touch. His tired eyes opened and he gave you a smile. “You have a fever, let me go get you some medicine” you stated. Leaving the room you dug the medicine you bought out of the bag and returned to Seungmin. You helped him sit up before handing him the medicine and a glass of water. “Do you feel like eating anything?” You asked him. Seungmin shook his head.

“Later,” he said. You nodded then helped him lay back down. Once more you left the room and returned with a wet rag. You carefully placed it over his forehead hoping that it would help take down his fever. After that you climbed into bed next to him, sitting up against the headboard.

“What if you get sick?” Seungmin asked you, concerned.

“I won’t get sick,” you told him. If he wasn’t so sick he would argue with you saying that you wouldn't know that, but he was too tired. “Take a nap. You need to rest,” you told him as your fingers returned to gently stroking his hair like you did when you first arrived. It didn’t take long for Seungmin to drift off into sleep. Once he awoke you were still there sitting by his side. 

“Feeling better?” You checked, placing your hand on his forehead, letting out a sigh of relief that his fever was gone.

“Much, thank you,” he thanked you sincerely.

Junhan/Hyeongjun

Hyeongjun and you were out shopping to pick up ingredients for a new baking recipe the two of you wanted to try. After you double checked that you had everything you needed you paid for the groceries and headed back home to your apartment. Placing the bags on the counter once you arrived back the two of you were quick to get to work. You were busy preparing the crust for the desert while Hyeongjun was preparing the filling. Everything was going smoothly until you heard Hyeongjun hiss in pain.

“Are you ok?” You frantically asked him, abandoning what you were doing. Quickly going to his side.

“I’m fine, I just cut my finger a little bit,” he said, holding his finger.

“Let me see,” you told him, grabbing his injured hand. Inspecting you see the small cut. “Hold on, I'll be back,” you stated. You went to your bathroom where you keep your first aid kit. Returning to the kitchen with the first aid kit in hand. You opened it, taking out the disinfectant and a bandaid. “Give me your hand,” you ordered him. Hyeongjun held out his hand to you. First you applied the disinfectant, apologizing when you jerked back due to the sting. Next you carefully wrapped the bandaid around the injured finger. Finally you placed a peck onto his finger. Hyeongjun could fight off the smile from his lips at your caring actions. “There, all better,” you say.

“Thank you,” he tells you, turning his hand from front to back to examine your work.

“Don’t cut yourself again,” you half scolded him before returning to your baking. Hyeongjun went back to preparing the filling. His mind kept replaying you pecking his injured finger everytime he stared at the bandaid. 

Jooyeon

Jooyeon and you were supposed to go out on a date today, but plans had to change since Jooyeon woke up not feeling well. 

“I really wanted to go on our date,” Jooyeon sulked from under the covers. His voice sounded slightly hoarse. 

“I know, but we’ll go another time. You need to rest today,” you told him. Briefly you left the room to go make him some tea with honey to help with his sore throat. You returned with the mug in your hands and set in on the nightstand. “It’s still hot, it needs to cool down for a bit,”. After the tea cooled down enough you propped Jooyeon up with some pillows and handed him the mug. He blew on it first before he took a sip.

“It’s good,” he stated before taking another sip.

“I’m glad. I’ll go get you something to eat now then,” you informed him. Jooyeon nodded, carefully placing the mug back onto the nightstand. You re-entered the room with porridge, carrying it on a tray. You sat the try across Joooyeon’s blanket covered lap. After eating you told Jooyeon that it was time for him to take some medicine, to which he wasn’t being very cooperative about.

“But it tastes bad,” he whined in refusal. 

“I know it tastes bad, but you still have to take it,” you told him. Jooyeon shook his head. “Don’t you want to go on our date? We can go on it faster if you take it,” you tried to convince him. Reluctantly Jooyeon stuck out his hand for you to give him the medicine. Once he took the medicine he layed back down to rest. You soothingly ran your fingers through his hair and in no time Jooyeon was out like a light. Once he was feeling better he was even more excited for your date.

[kay-elle-cee]

James and Lily are auditioning for a the musical Wicked, well to be more precise it’s Lily that is auditioning with Sev, and James had to help with the set up because he was caught by the Dean of the university, McGonagall doing something mischievous and in order to get out from suspension his punishment is helping the theater students for the musical. (Cliche but it’s so fun)

Like an annoyance to friends to lovers trope (I don’t think they were ever enemies in the books).

Naturally, Sev doesn’t get the role and surprise it’s James. And Lily is annoyed because he doesn’t know anything about Musicals, let alone take things seriously because he’s always playing football with his friends and causing mischief.

But she’s in for a surprise because in reality James’ father Fleamont is the biggest broadway star to exist (once he heard his son was going to be in the play he cancelled his plans and flew over in order to see the musical) and he so happens to be Lily’s ideal, she thought it was a joke because Fleamont uses a different name and is very private about his family.

Then one day James had invited Lily over to his home to rehearse (slow burn, but also moment where Lily wants to kiss James) and the door burst open and it’s Fleamont and Euphemia.

Talk about first impressions!

Lily is shocked that Fleamont is in the same room as her and is unable to speak until the tension is broken by James. But it only cause his father to think that James is dating Lily, so it goes to the fake dating trope because James doesn’t want to disappoint his father and also because Fleamont isn’t in the best of health (heart problems). He doesn’t tell Lily this because he hates being pitied and absolutely doesn’t want sympathy, the only one who knows this is Sirius his best mate.

Weeks pass by, and James and Lily have formed a bond, even when they bicker they still enjoy each other’s presence. Lily has even went to James’ football games and out to dinner “not a date” but the vibes were there!

Everything is fine until, Sev begins drama and fakes an injury and blames it on James. The manipulation is so strong that Lily doesn’t know who to believe, also add into the fray how the boys feel like James has been ignoring them. Mostly it’s Peter that thinks this way and makes it his business to address this non-issues.

Tension is rising and it’s rocky between the lovebirds, but even through all the obstacles they are working together because of hat they feel for each other is simple wicked (yes, I had to).

A few days before l the play, is James isn’t going to rehearsal or even spending time with Lily, and she thinks he wants to break up but in reality it’s because his father’s health has been declining (possible he had a heart attack).

Lily wants to know the truth so she calls Sirius and he tells her what happens and then she rushes to the hospital and is there for James. She sees him under the stairs, in the most vulnerable state m, his face is stained with tears and his hair is messy than normal and his glasses are broken in his hands. A total mess but once he hears “James” from Lily’s mouth, he looks up at her and shakes his head and that’s when she hugs him and tells him that everything is going to be fine and and everything will be good, and that his father is a fighter.

And it is. The doctors say that his father is stable and will just need to stay for some time in the hospital, even though Fleamont was arguing about not missing the play, and regardless of doctors orders he will see his son on stage with the love of his life because it reminds him when he and Euphemia had meet all those years ago.

Fin.

I loved this! Happy endings all around! (I fear that seeing Lily and James perform "As Long As Your Mine" would give Fleamont another heart attack, though— those two would have trouble keeping it PG). I love the idea that Fleamont and Euphemia also met through similar circumstances in this.

[kingluffy5]

Playing Detectives Pt 5 (Wednesday x Male Reader)

When Wednesday went to the school dance with Tyler, Y/N realized how he truly felt about his partner, meanwhile he and Eugene staked out the cave and caught someone burning and evidence there was something inside, and Eugene got attacked by the monster.

I had been spending the last couple of nights hanging around Eugene’s hospital bed, he’s going to make it, but he’s still really badly hurt. I usually stay until the nurses kick me out, I’m on a first name basis with most of the hospital staff at this point. Me and Wends talked for a little bit, she offered me her deepest sympathies over Eugene since we are roommates which is her way of hugging me and telling me everything will be all right.

However this weekend I wouldn’t be able to hang out in Eugene’s room because I have to deal with another one of this school’s annoying functions, Parent’s Weekend, don’t get me wrong I love my family, it’s just that some of them are a bit on the weirder side, plus my cousin Gojo will just flirt with all the girls and my cousin Oliver will just flirt with all the guys.

The run down on the family tree is that there is my grandfather Tim Barron, he had my dad Oscar, my uncle Austin, my uncle Eddie, my uncle Francis, my uncle Richard, my uncle Joseph, my aunt Jane, and my uncle Toji. Tim’s brother is Issac Barron. My dad married my mom Maxine, they had my oldest brother Arthur, the dead one, my oldest sister Ruby, my sister Elizabeth, then there’s my brothers Jason and Jack and my sister Amelia. My uncle Francis had my cousins Skyler, Oliver and Gwen. Then my uncle Toji had my cousins Maki and Gojo.

Other than my parents none of my uncles or my aunt really had successful marriages but aunt Jane is dating someone she thinks is nice right now.

Now even though it is called Parent’s Weekend all of them are coming. So this weekend I have to deal with the stress of my entire family being in one school, Eugene’s injuries, my emerging feelings for Wednesday, her family being in the same school, and solving a murder investigation that also involves our destiny to determine the fate of the school involving a clash with a murderous four hundred year old pilgrim. There is also something I’ve been wondering about, the night Rowan died when Wednesday touched my hand she had a vision, then the night of the Rave’N she was worried about me going out and running the risk of dealing with the monster, so now I just want to know what she saw in her vision of me.

— — —

Me, Jack, Jason, Ameila are all standing out by the gates waiting for our various family members to arrive. Most of them arrive in various limos but uncle Francis, Skyler, and Oliver all pull up on motorcycles doing their best to make in entrance. We greet our various family members and before I know it I’m face to face with my parents.

“Son.” My dad says deadpan.

“Father, Mother.” I return.

We stand there a few seconds before breaking out into laughter and hugging.

“How have you been?” My mom asks me.

“Fantastic, solving a murder investigation that involves a monster and Jericho’s founder Joseph Crackstone.” I reply.

“That’s my boy.” Dad says proudly wrapping and arm around my shoulder before turning to my siblings.

“Hey, assface.” I hear and as I turn I’m met with my sister Ruby.

“Shit brains.” I greet before once again laughing and hugging my relatives.

“Hey Y/N.” My sister Elizabeth greets.

“Hi.” Hi say hugging her.

We all start to head into the quad to hear Weems’ speech. Nevermore’s a haven blah blah blah. Stuff like that. The only part I paid attention to was when she said that Eugene is on the mend.

“That’s your roommate right?” My cousin Maki asked me.

“Yeah.” I say before walking off the second the speech is done.

I head over to Wednesday and Enid, I know Enid’s got it rough with her mother since she isn’t able to wolf out like the rest of her family so I try to be there for her when I can, but the fact that my family has contributed this much to overpopulation means I don’t have a lot of free time during Parent’s Weekend to comfort her about her situation.

“That is not your fault okay, the monster hasn’t attacked anyone in the past week, maybe you finally scared it off.” Enid said to Wends.

“Yeah it’s not your fault Wends, it’s mine.” I say trying to comfort her.

“Maybe the monster went into hiding to avoid this weekend.”

“Y/N, are you really choosing to talk up a couple of girls rather than be with your own family, I know you’ve always been popular with them but still.” My uncle Francis asks me walking over with my grandpa.

“Where are my manners, Wednesday and Enid, this is my uncle Francis Barron and my grandfather Tim Barron, grandpa, uncle, this is Wednesday Addams and Enid Sinclair.” I introduce

“Addams, are you Gomez’s kid?” Francis asks her.

“Yes, speaking of which I knew I should’ve worn my plague mask.”

“Well look at my family talk about toxic pack mentality, I give my mom thirty seconds before judgey claws come out, let’s get this over with.”

We all walk over to each of our respective families.

— — —

What is one of the arguably weirdest moments of the weekend so far is when my dad and Wednesday’s dad reunited.

“Oscar!”

“Gomez!”

The two ran up to each other, hugged, then did a secret handshake that only belongs in bad teen movies from the 80s. I talked with my family about the case and Eugene, leaving out anything about my feelings for Wednesday, but of course leave it up to Jack and Jason to ruin a good thing.

“Did he tell you guys about his hot goth girlfriend yet?”

“You know he’s got a girlfriend now right?”

“It can’t have been just me who thought he was aroace right?”

That kind of stuff.

Some of my family is talking with Wednesday’s, my brothers are talking with her’s, my dad and some of my uncles are talking with her dad, and my mom and aunt are talking with her mom.

“Would you look at that, our families is getting along so well” I point out.

“I know, it’s awful.” She replies.

— — —

Wednesday’s family went to go to family therapy while I continued to hang out with mine, some of us went into Jericho to hang out, we went into the Weathervane to grab some coffee and I noticed the Sheriff sitting down. He looks up and notices all of us, he had particular trouble dealing with my cousins Gojo and Oliver, they were the ones who most often broke the law.

“No, no, you two can not be back again, not again.”

“Well hello Sheriff Galpin, what can we do for you?” Gojo greeted him.

“Hey, it’s alright I’m helping him with the murder investigation, he’s cool, Sheriff you don’t have to worry my family is only in town for the weekend.” I defuse.

“That’s still one weekend longer than I have the patience for.”

“So do you have the DNA test back yet?” I ask.

“No, hold on this might be it, hello, you got the test?” He says answering a phone call. “Ah shit.” He says before walking out.

“Woah, dad what happened?” Tyler asked him.

“You know the local coroner? He just blew his brains out.”

Later we see Wednesday and her family storming out of Kinbott’s office and Bianca and her mom come in and start talking, I feel like they both want their privacy so I stay with my family while we hang out.

— — —

I manage to get some alone time when I head to the bee hives. It’s there that me and Wednesday run into each other.

“So, how was family therapy?”

“Awful, my mother still refuses to tell me the truth about Garret Gates, the man my father is accused of murdering.” She vents.

“That sucks, I sorry you have to deal with that.”

“Are we going to beat around the bush forever or are we going to finally talk about what happened last weekend?” She asked me.

“Which part, a lot happened?” I asked for clarification.

She then pulled me into the shed for some reason.

“You know even if someone was watching they probably only started getting suspicious now.”

“How could you not tell me you’re having panic attacks?”

“I didn’t know my mental health is any of your concern, what does it matter anyway?”

“If you have a panic attack in the middle of us dealing with the monster then it could put you at risk, and I don’t want to lose one of the only bearable people in this place.”

“As touching as that was, you don’t need to worry I’ll be fine.” I say before leaving the shed.

We gather some honey and head over to Eugene’s room to talk to him, this is Wends’ first time seeing him after the attack. Turns out she had Thing keep an eye on him.

“He didn’t deserve this, I should be in that bed.”

“Don’t say that Wends, it’s not your fault.” I say trying to comfort her.

We then feel hands on our shoulders and we turn around quickly to be met by Eugene’s parents, Sue and Janet, turns out he was talking about us all the time. We decided to leave as they deserved to have time with their son.

— — —

We’re now at lunch in Nevermore sitting with our families. Apparently Wednesday saw her mom visit Garret Gates’ grave earlier. My family and Wednesday’s are still joking around with each other. Enid and Ajax have seemed to patch things up since the Rave’N, Enid is still dealing with her mom’s disappointment in her lack of wolfness.

Suddenly the Sheriff is bursting in avoiding principal Weems’ questions and heading straight for Mr. Addams.

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Garret Gates, you have the right to remain silent anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law, you have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney one will appointed for you.”

Everyone sits there shocked at the scene unfolding before us.

— — —

Enid vented to me about how her mom wants to send her to lycanthropy camps to help her wolf out which is beyond messed up, Wednesday visited her father and is now convinced of his innocence, of course I believe her, she’s usually right about these sorts of things.

Later that night I’m woken up by the sound of my phone ringing. “Hello.”

“Y/N.” I hear the familiar deadpan voice on the other end.

“Wends, what’s up, I thought you didn’t have a phone.”

“I don’t, I need you to come down to the police station.”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here.”

I sneak out and head to the station where I find Wednesday, and her parents in a couple of cells, she explains the story of how they got arrested to me and to say I was shocked and disturbed would be an understatement.

“To prove your fathers innocence you dug up a grave and stole the corpse’s finger to prove they had died before your father killed him?” I ask just to check.

“That is correct.” Wednesday confirms.

“And you didn’t invite me!” I shout, this could’ve been a very fun night of digging up graves and foiling conspiracies.

We end up going over our plan and the next morning Me and Wednesday’s brother Pugsley, bailed them out, it was then that me Wednesday, and Mrs. Addams go to Mayor Walkers office to talk to him about our theory.

He confirms that Garrett died of nightshade poisoning after his father gave him some to spike the punch at the Rave’N 30 years ago but he accidentally got some in his system. I swear that dance is cursed.

We manage to blackmail him into dropping all charges against Wednesday’s father. While we were at it I wanted to ask for a pet camel provided by the town but Wednesday said that was stupid.

— — —

Wednesday finally managed to start opening up to her mother about her powers and Mrs. Addams explains some of the aspects of their powers and their ancestors. Mr. Addams and the Sheriff managed to work things out as well. Enid finally stood up to her mom and her dad praised her, I always liked that guy. I have no idea what was going on with Bianca and her mom. My family congratulated me on freeing Mr. Addams and all of our families left, after they left Wednesday realized something shocking. Which is why we are barging into Weems’ office right now.

“You’re a shape shifter.”

“That’s a fascinating theory.”

“I curious to find out how Sheriff Galpin feels when I tell him.”

This causes Weems to admit to impersonating Rowan after he died and lying to the Sheriff, and that she had Rowan’s family support, that Rowan was driven insane and that his death managed to allow them to stop him or the school from being in hot water.

“I’m doing what I did to protect the school and shield the students from harm.”

“Tell that to Eugene, how are you protecting him?” I ask her.

We then hear shouting outside and look out the window to see fire burning on the lawn saying fire will rain.

— — —

I asked Wednesday to meet me in my dorm before we head to bed.

“Nice pets.” she compliments.

“Thanks, so there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” I tell her.

“Go on.”

“With everything going on, the chances of either of us getting hurt or dying is only getting higher so there’s something I should probably tell you.”

Wednesday looks a little nervous when I say that but manages to speak up. “Spit it out then, what is it?”

“I like you Wednesday, as in more than friends or partners.” I say, a look of shock spreads across her face. “I know you probably don’t feel the same way and that you’d probably think of this as a distraction from the case but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you never knew and I-” Before I can ramble on any more Wednesday closes the distance between us by kissing me.

We stay that way for a few seconds before she pulls back.

“I can’t deny my own personal feelings for you, we seem to be compatible in many different ways, we understand each other and are able to be around each other without vomiting, which can’t be said for most of the school.” She says, I laugh at the last part. “As annoying as your brothers are, I … care about you enough to look past them.”

We then kiss again for a few more seconds before Wednesday leaves and I spend the entire night wondering what just happened.

[scratchandplaster]

I love how Chris dressed up for Elliot when he wanted to meet with him again. What did he expect, that as Elliot was playing the piano he would look at the crowd and lock eyes with Chris? I also love how affectionate Chris is with Elliot! The hug that he gave Elliot before he let him go was soooo cute. I wonder if Chris would ever ask Elliot to play the piano for him, even though his hand is messed up?.

Thank you for this wonderful story, I am not a fan of gore and most whump stories do have that. I also enjoy regretful and affectionate whumpers, that really care for whumpees. Which is why this is one of my favourite whump stories!

The part where Chris thinks “My Elliot” was chefs kiss. 👌 It was one of my most favourite parts!! I love cute possessive regretful affectionate Chris with Elliot who is trying to run away lol

Your story was so fun to read and whenever you are ready to update your fans will be waiting to cheer you on!

Thank you so much 🥺 regretful Whumpers are also a favorite of mine so let's goooo

When Morris tried to meet him again at the concert, he wanted to start all over again and make a good first impression (didn't work out obviously). He thought the injury wouldn't be that serious, so he did expect to hear some of Elliot's talent!

Morris really didn't want any forgiveness, he's not that delusional, but when he recognized they both got screwed over by the same person, his jealousy turned into sympathy. Thus triggering his possessive side...

[delimeful]

the shapes in the silence 14

warnings: injury, medical drugs, suicidal thoughts/suicidal intent, emotional distress, arguing, belief of unreality, terrible mental health hours all around

-

The teamwork element of facing this new challenge came into play immediately, as it took Patton and Logan’s combined efforts to get Anxiety anywhere near the first aid kit.

Patton had thought at first that it was lingering traces of his apprehension from before, that horrible fear that had overtaken him upon waking up and realizing where he was and who he was with, but it wasn’t them he shied away from.

In fact, Anxiety seemed bizarrely cuddly with them. He pressed his head against Logan’s hand when his fever was being checked, and swayed into Patton’s side when he wrapped an arm carefully around his shoulders, like he was a flower turning to follow the sun’s light. It was a far cry from the Anxiety who stood as far away from others as possible during videos, who slid out of range of casual touch with a dark glare.

… Puff had loved to be held, though. There’d hardly been a moment where he wasn’t draped on or held by or curled up next to one of them.

Maybe it wasn’t actually that bizarre.

Still, affectionate or not, Anxiety was shuffling in place with his tail swishing behind him in a manner that seemed more agitated than happy, refusing to inch any closer. Patton was sitting on the couch with the little white box set on the nearby table, patting the cushion next to him in an attempt to coax him over, and Logan was gesturing in a manner that was just barely more encouraging than impatient.

“Anxiety, kiddo, you’re sick! You need to be resting and recovering, or else you’ll never get any better,” Patton tried, reaching out a hand.

Anxiety’s feet remained planted, but a low whine was escaping him, as though disobeying was genuinely distressing him. Patton chanced a look over to Logan, who peered at Anxiety’s back and nodded grimly. The thought of that horrible wound growing even more made Patton’s breath hitch, and he took a deep breath.

He couldn’t afford to magic hug Anxiety again, not with the risk of overloading him even more. He’d underestimated how heavily positive emotions would affect another primarily emotion-based side, leading to Anxiety’s current near-dazed state.

No, Patton would have to do this the old-fashioned way.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” he asked in the calm, coaxing voice Thomas’s dad would use on a seven-year-old Thomas when he’d scraped up his knees and panicked at the sight of blood.

Anxiety’s gaze flickered between the two of them for a long moment, before something in his posture eased. Trust or resignation? Either way, the slight raise of Logan’s eyebrows meant that the curse growth had slowed once more.

“... Hurts,” Anxiety managed, voice surprisingly croaky, and he reached up to gesture to his back before stopping short and letting out a tiny hiss of pain, probably from the motion pulling at the injury.

Patton felt his face crumpling in sympathy, and Anxiety startled him by stuttering a step closer, staring at him with ears pinned back in an almost guilty manner. “Sorry.”

“Oh, kiddo, it’s not your fault,” he said, trying to keep from visibly tearing up and absolutely failing, going by the way Anxiety’s eyes widened with worry. “I’m just worried about you. You don't need to apologize for that, okay?”

Anxiety didn’t look convinced, but Logan stepped forward before he could find the words to respond.

“If you think it will be too painful to sit at the moment, we won’t force you. You can remain standing while we get you on some anesthetics, and then once the pain has eased, we’ll try again.” He set a hand on Anxiety's shoulder, clearing his throat before continuing in a tone that had dipped into something gentler than his usual cadence. “We’ll just have to be careful, because they might make you a little unsteady or sleepy, alright?”

It didn't seem like Anxiety had really registered most of that, but he dipped his head slightly in a muted nod and didn’t protest as Logan carefully narrated each step of the process of applying anesthesia. Apparently, the one he'd chosen was fairly strong, and would probably affect Anxiety's coherence as badly as the earlier hug.

Sure enough, once the painkillers had taken effect, he started swaying like a sapling in a storm. Logan guided him a few staggering steps over to the couch, and he all but collapsed next to Patton, his new cat-like pupils expanding once he realized the motion hadn’t hurt.

From there, they just had to actually tend to the wound itself. All it took was Patton opening his arms in offering, and Anxiety spent the entire process wrapped up in a non-magical hug, seeming more-or-less oblivious to Logan cleaning out and bandaging up his back.

They didn’t cover up the creeping violet tendrils that curved over his shoulders, needing to see at least part of the curse to make sure it wasn’t spreading, but Patton felt much better with that horrible gash all covered up regardless.

Logan cited something about needing to leave and seek out potential information on the curse, but was halted by Anxiety reaching out and grabbing at his shirt, fingers clumsy but sharp claws always carefully turned away. “Anxiety?”

“Hurt,” he said again, and it took them both a few moments to realize that he was talking about Logan. That was right, he’d taken a blow back in the Imagination. Amidst everything, Patton had nearly forgotten the soreness of his own bruised body, let alone the others’.

“It’s only a sprain, and barely that,” Logan reassured, hands hovering awkwardly over where his polo was slowly growing more wrinkled. “I won’t exacerbate it while researching.”

Anxiety’s grip didn’t falter, his expression baleful. “Resting and… recovering.”

Patton muffled a chuckle at his own words being echoed, but Logan seemed more bemused than irritated. “I… wasn’t aware that Anxiety’s, well, anxieties focused on things like this.”

“I mean…,” Patton swallowed a bit thickly. “Puff was always overprotective whenever we were vulnerable.”

“Hoard,” Anxiety muttered, and refused to elaborate.

It was enough to spark Logan’s interest, and he eventually conceded to settling into the nearby armchair, elevating his ankle, and summoning his research– now including several tomes about dragons that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Roman’s shelf– to the small table at one arm. Only once he’d followed through on this arrangement did Anxiety turn to burrow back against the couch, a fair bit of him leaning on Patton like a weighted blanket.

The exhaustion was mutual, and Patton dozed off before long.

–

He woke up to the sound of quiet conversation, and a low rumble vibrating against him.

“... never intended him to wear it, but even if he did, it shouldn’t have done— caused that.” Roman’s whisper was harsh, something self-recriminating along the edges of each word.

“Puff’s behaviors have always been markedly different from what we know of Anxiety,” Logan replied in a low voice. “It’s possible there was more at play.”

Patton slowly cracked his eyes open, keeping himself lax so he didn’t disturb Anxiety, and saw that Logan was holding up a frayed mess of string that looked vaguely familiar. Those colors… wasn’t that the friendship bracelet that Roman had bestowed upon Puff?

The one that was meant to ward off Anxiety.

Patton couldn't help his little jolt as the realization ran through him, and the rumbling grew more audible as Anxiety shifted a bit, like a toppled domino effect of waking. The others had quickly gone quiet in a manner that would have normally made Anxiety extremely suspicious.

Now, he didn’t even seem to notice the stilted silence, only pushing himself up slightly to inspect Patton with those bright glowing eyes. The rumble was coming from deep in his chest, a familiar Puff noise that sounded much deeper coming from Anxiety.

“I’m alright,” Patton reassured, clearing his throat a few times to sound less wrought-out. “I’m okay, kiddo.”

“Y’sure?” Anxiety managed, and the three of them looked at him with surprise. That sounded… still off, but somewhat more coherent than he’d been before. After a stilted beat of silence, Patton remembered to nod.

It seemed to be enough for Anxiety, who settled back against the corner formed by Patton’s side & the couch cushion, eyes sliding closed again.

“Sorry, Padre,” Roman said quietly. “Didn’t mean to wake you or Sleeping Beastly… um. Anxiety, I mean.”

Patton shook his head, his gaze still locked on the broken bracelet clenched in Logan’s hand. “No, it’s fine. Do you really think…”

Roman looked away, his jaw tightening, leaving Logan as the one to answer. “Puff’s more distant behavior didn’t start until after he began wearing it, and with what we now know… It is the most likely explanation.” He didn’t sound happy about the fact.

“But he– he brought it to us,” Patton said, voice upping in pitch. “He wanted Roman to put it on him, didn’t he?”

It had certainly seemed that way, at least. He remembered the way Puff had ducked his head and patiently waited for Roman to adjust it to settle comfortably against his neck. That bracelet might be the reason Puff had behaved so strangely over the past few weeks, but in that singular moment, there hadn’t been any hesitation at all.

“He couldn’t have– have known. It must have been an accident,” Patton continued, hating the way his conviction grew weaker the longer he spoke. “Right?”

Logan didn’t answer. Roman visibly grit his teeth for a moment, before stiffening up into a firm-shouldered posture and holding his hand out for the bracelet remains.

“Roman, what exactly are you–?” Logan asked as he handed them over, but Roman didn’t say a word as he turned to the couch where Patton and Anxiety sat.

He reached out, hesitating for only a moment, and patted at Anxiety’s shoulder gingerly, as though a harsher touch would shatter him. “Anxiety.”

Anxiety made a questioning hum, slowly prying his eyes back open as though it took great effort. At the sight of Roman leaning over him, his ears swiveled forward and his gaze brightened.

“Roman.” He didn’t quite smile, but there was no mistaking the fondness in his tone, as though he was pleasantly surprised to see him there. After a second, his brow furrowed slightly, and he reached up to hover his hand next to Roman’s forehead. “Y’re still hurt?”

Sure enough, half-hidden beneath his bangs, the gash from before was no longer bleeding, but nowhere near treated, either. Looking closer, Patton could even make out some smudges at his hairline, like he’d cleared away the worst of the bleeding and decided that was good enough.

Roman looked up from Anxiety to shoot them both a wild-eyed look, apparently unable to parse why Anxiety would be asking this, or how he should reply. Patton shrugged with his non-Anxiety-occupied shoulder, and Logan gestured helplessly to his ankle as though to indicate that he, too, had fallen prey to this phenomenon.

“I was… preoccupied,” Roman finally answered, and blinked at the displeased growl Anxiety made, once again an uncanny echo of Puff. “I’ll tend to it in a moment, you cantankerous creature! First, you need to tell me something.”

Anxiety rolled his eyes, almost looking like his normal self– apart from the fact that he moved his head with the gesture as though forgetting the details of his finer motor functions. “Spit… it out.”

Bolstered slightly by this familiar display of irritation, Roman’s voice was stronger and edged into slightly accusatory territory as he lifted up the frayed threads into Anxiety’s line of sight. “Explain this to me.”

Patton couldn't make out all of Anxiety’s expression in the low light, but the way he pressed back like a cornered animal, slotting himself further against Patton’s side, was unmistakable. The scarlines pulsed once, but before anyone could intervene, he let out a long breath and forced himself lax once more.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his breathing still a hair too quick for Patton’s liking. “Didn’t mean to shred it.”

The three of them traded glances, trying to absorb the fact that Anxiety’s response was to apologize for damaging it, of all things. Maybe it really hadn’t affected him the way they’d guessed, maybe he was just remorseful about destroying something Roman had made?

“I‘ll put it back on,” he continued, each word carefully enunciated like he was concentrating– or like they were a struggle to get out. “I get it.”

“Get what exactly?” Roman replied, trying and failing to cover up dawning horror with a thunderous expression.

Despite his intensity, Roman couldn’t seem to hold Anxiety’s gaze, his eyes continually skittering back up to catch on something else. He was looking at Anxiety’s ears, Patton realized. More specifically, they way they’d gone nearly flat against his skull, just like Puff’s did whenever he was nervous or afraid.

Anxiety didn’t look afraid, though. Just… resigned.

“Better for Thomas,” he said succinctly, and then frowned and corrected himself, “For everyone. When I’m gone.”

Cold horror snaked up Patton’s spine like cracks in a half-frozen lake. There was a sharp inhale from nearby, but he couldn’t pry his eyes from Anxiety, suddenly feeling as though the exhausted Side might vanish if Patton looked away.

“Gone?” the word came out choked, his throat closing up.

“Almost,” Anxiety agreed. “A little longer… and it’ll take.”

“Anxiety,” Logan tried, a waver in his voice that Patton had never heard before. “Does wearing the bracelet hurt you?”

Anxiety’s head was drooping, now, his blinks longer and longer. He shook his head stiltedly, the slightest wrinkle appearing in his brow as though he didn’t really understand why Logan was even asking. He elaborated anyways, each word more mumbled than the last.

“Just… quiet. Calm. … Empty.”

Roman made an awful, choked noise, and Anxiety immediately shed some of his sleepiness, staring at the three of them with blatant concern. Patton couldn’t even see how the others looked; his vision was blurred by the horrified tears building up, his hands pressed over his mouth in shock, as though to keep any sounds he might have made locked away.

“Anxiety, you…,” Logan couldn’t continue, his sentence choked off like his throat had abruptly closed up.

Anxiety’s body was rigid against Patton’s side, his head turning back and forth just slightly as he frantically glanced between them, his face the picture of alarmed confusion.

“It’s okay,” he tried dubiously, voice rough and low, “it’s okay. I– I said I’d– I’ll do it now, okay?”

Then, he reached for the threads still clutched in Roman’s white-knuckled hand.

The three of them had never moved so quickly toward a single purpose before.

“NO,” Logan shouted, as loud as any ‘falsehood’, as he sprung to his feet, ankle forgotten.

Roman was already moving, jerking back sharply and then stumbling back several steps and holding the bracelet remains tucked close to his chest like he thought Anxiety was going to pursue them.

In the same moment, Patton reached forward and wrapped his arms around Anxiety, catching the wrist of the extended hand and drawing it back to rest against Anxiety’s chest, holding him close and making extra sure that none of the tumultuous emotions inside of him leaked into the hug.

Anxiety blinked slowly, seemingly stunned into silence, but didn’t resist beyond a delayed jolt.

“You…,” Logan started breathlessly, having promptly put himself between Roman and Anxiety like an additional wall of security. “I don’t– We don’t want you to wear it. The– the bracelet. None of us do. Please don’t,” the slightest voice crack, “erase yourself on our behalf.”

Patton buried his face against Anxiety’s shoulder, feeling his heart seize at the thought. What would it have looked like, if Anxiety had put the bracelet on in a weakened state like this, with no Puff to filter the effect through? Maybe it wouldn’t have done anything. Or maybe his eyes would have gone distant and dull, his body limp, his mind empty. A self-induced shell, utterly unresponsive.

“Um,” Anxiety hedged awkwardly, eyes flickering hazily between Patton and Roman as though waiting for one of them to jump in with a correction.

Waiting for them to say that they did want him gone, erased, wiped from existence, actually. Patton felt like he was going to be sick.

“The bracelet was supposed to protect Puff,” Roman said, abruptly. “Not hurt Anxiety. It… it was supposed to protect you.” He sounded shattered, dismay audible in every broken-glass syllable.

Anxiety’s hand twitched in Patton’s grip, as though he wanted to reach out. “Puff was there,” he told them in that rough, unpracticed reassuring voice. “Puff would‘ve stayed. I prom’se.”

“That’s– That’s not the problem here!” Roman half-shrieked, and then turned away sharply, hands flying to tug at his hair. Anxiety stared after him, lost.

“Anxiety, you– you are Puff,” Logan tried, and the truth of it seemed to roll through him like a slow-moving storm, or a revelation. He swallowed and forced himself to keep speaking. “When you… repressed yourself like that, we noticed. You– Puff– the friend we knew lost his spark, lost interest, lost complexity. It was like watching someone turn into a particularly developed construct instead of a person.”

“We were worried,” Patton mumbled, the words muffled through the hug. Logan nodded in agreement.

“We would have missed you, if you’d– if you’d succeeded. Thomas would have missed you.” Anxiety shook his head, face scrunching up in some sad denial, but Logan persisted. “Granted, we didn’t understand the cause until now, but– he’s been struggling without you. He needs you.”

Anxiety made a small, wounded noise, and his expression was such a far cry from the abrasive, standoffish persona Anxiety usually assumed that Patton wondered how they’d all been fooled for so long.

Sure, Anxiety had lied, and they’d hurt him, however unintentionally. They’d have to talk about it for real, once they figured out his curse and he wasn’t on heavy painkillers and a magic hug buzz. But to know that he valued himself so little, to know that he’d assumed an entirely different identity– one that restricted him, made him inhuman and vulnerable– just to spend time with them unpersecuted and unfeared? It… it showed that something was truly wrong with the way things were.

Something needed to change. They needed to change. And Patton could take that first step, here and now.

“It’s not just need, Anxiety.” Patton pulled back from the hug, loosening his grip enough that Anxiety could look at him and see the sincerity in his eyes. “We– we want you. We want you to stay. We don’t want to lose you.”

There was a long pause as Anxiety’s gaze drifted from person to person, once again waiting for a contradiction that never came. Neither of them seemed to know what to say at the moment, but Roman and Logan wanted to fix this as badly as he did, only nodding when Anxiety’s eyes skated over them.

“Oh,” Anxiety said as though something had finally connected, a bittersweet twist of his lips crossing his face before it settled into that content almost-smile again. “My bad, I didn’t… realize.”

Patton frowned, because that didn't sound like Anxiety had actually grasped what Patton was getting at, but Logan was the one to ask. “Didn’t realize what?”

“Dreamin’,” he replied, letting his body go loose and lax against Patton as though his worries had completely eased. “‘S nice. Unrealistic, but nice.”

They exchanged stricken looks. Anxiety's eyes drifted closed.

“Anxiety–,” Logan started, but Roman stepped forward and set a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head solemnly.

“Let him rest,” he spoke softly, low enough to not cause a single twitch in Anxiety’s smooth expression. “I haven’t found a countercurse, and the more time he spends asleep, the less opportunities there are for fear to consume him.”

Patton struggled not to shift under the near-unconscious Side sprawled on him, feeling his frown deepen. “But he thinks–,”

“He thinks he’s dreaming. The world must seem very dreamlike, right now, with everything in his system muddling his mind.” Roman suddenly looked very tired, his hair mussed and posture weary. “It was my mistake, trying to have a serious conversation when he’s inhibited.”

“Our mistake,” Logan corrected quietly. “You’re right. We need to focus on helping his physical ailments for now. After that… Then, we can start addressing his mental state.”

Despite his claim, Patton didn’t miss the way that there was a new pile of books at his feet, looking suspiciously psychology-related. One of them seemed to be about anxiety symptoms specifically.

Well, if Logan could double dip, so could he. Patton carefully unfolded a leg from beneath himself and stretched his foot out to catch on a book and drag it closer to him. Logan shot him a displeased look but didn’t object.

Roman, on the other hand, was attempting to quietly sidle back towards the hall leading to the Imagination. Patton pinned him in place with a look.

“I believe you have a date with the first aid kit and then your bed, mister.”

“Patton, I can’t just sit around while–,”

“While we do our share of the work? You can, and you will,” Patton instructed. “You won’t do anything for Anxiety but upset him by looking so darn exhausted.”

“Worrywart,” Roman grumbled under his breath, but he seemed to sag and concede, rubbing at his eyes. “Wake me if there are any changes?”

Patton gave him a stalwart double thumbs up, and only after Roman had left the room and Logan was immersed in a book as thick as his head did Patton let his grin fade. He turned his attention back to Anxiety, smoothing part of his fringe out of his face with a shaking hand.

They would fix this. They had to.

[samstree]

Just a Little Pretense

Jaskier and Geralt stage a fake breakup. Someone’s feelings get hurt for real.

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

AO3

“… It would be to take you off my hands!”

Geralt’s voice echoes in the ballroom, between the tall walls and the high ceiling. Everyone on the dance floor has fallen into silence. Even the band has stopped playing, their lead singer gaping with round eyes.

Jaskier blinks, impressed.

All the eyes are on the two of them. Jaskier’s back prickles with the gazes. As the fight escalated, more and more guests have stopped dancing just to eavesdrop on the witcher and the bard, the most peculiar couple in the room.

Which is just perfect. The more people witnessing their breakup, the more awkward it will be afterward, and the easier it will be to get out of this tedious party. And here Jaskier is, regretting ever having doubted his dear witcher’s ability to perform.

Who would have thought Geralt is a method actor? Drawing inspiration from a past argument is ingenious.

His old acting professor back in Oxenfurt would approve of this. The show is going swimmingly and he is pumped with adrenaline—maybe he should go back on stage one day, do a play or two.

But alas, he can muse the idea later. The show must go on.

“Really? Just like that?” Jaskier croaks, seemingly on the verge of crying. He’s not so bad himself, classically trained and everything. “Thirty years, Geralt. I followed you for thirty years, and just like that, you will kick me out of your life? Did I ever—” he breaks off with a whimper. “Did I ever mean anything to you? Or were you ready to cast me aside this whole time?”

A tear rolls down. His lips wobble. The crowd erupts in hushed murmurs and sympathetic sighs. The set-up, the build, everything has been perfect. Now the only thing left is for Geralt to break things off, and the two of them can ride into the metaphorical sunset and never see this court again.

Jaskier waits in anticipation, but his witcher opens his mouth.

And closes it.

Geralt looks as upset as he should, angry and torn and equally shocked, his golden eyes wide and his jaw clenched tight. It’s a nice picture to paint for the audience. They are supposedly having the biggest fight in their lives and his body language is very convincing.

More than convincing.

Except, it just might be … too convincing.

Wait—

Jaskier focuses on Geralt, who looks as if he wants to shrink into himself, his shoulders slumped and arms drawn in. He looks as if he’s waiting to be struck. Wait, something’s not right.

“I can’t do this.” A whisper leaves Geralt’s lips, small and achingly sad.

It’s not the line he’s supposed to say.

Geralt’s eyebrows droop ever so slightly, and there’s a flash of distress behind the molten gold. It’s gone in a second, hidden behind a fa��ade of indifference.

The tells are subtle, near imperceivable to the untrained eye, but to Jaskier, they are clear as day—Geralt is hurt. For real.

Oh.

Fuck.

“Geralt,” Jaskier tries, instantly snapped out of his character.

And yet, there’s no reply. Geralt lowers his head, turns around, and flees the scene within one heartbeat and the next. The crowd is too eager to make way for him.

“Shit,” Jaskier curses, ready to chase after Geralt, but the Countess de Stael appears out of nowhere with a flock of maids and positively blocks him in all directions. She’s eager to lament the loss of love and companionship, and to offer Jaskier a place at her court once again. Oh, shit.

Jaskier brushes her off, all the while painfully remembering he and Geralt’s goal from the beginning—to use the breakup as an excuse to get out of this place.

Well, the plan is shit. Is it too late to notice?

Weaving through dozens of nobles is a lot more difficult when they all want to extend sympathy, and Jaskier is only placating them absent-mindedly, faking regret and heartbreak. His mind is full of his witcher, who is either brooding or spiraling over the venom he spewed earlier.

The truth is, Jaskier has long forgotten about the mountain—not because it didn’t hurt. To be shunned by Geralt, blamed for everything, and denied friendship, was the worst thing to have happened to him at the time. It’s just that Jaskier has forgiven it, so long ago and so completely.

Jaskier cannot get to their room fast enough, and when he pushes open the door, the sight of Geralt’s dejected face is a stab through the chest. The witcher is perched on the bed, somehow looking a lot smaller than he is.

Jaskier never should have come up with the stupid fake breakup thing, never should have inadvertently reopened the old wound. They healed, together. They shouldn’t be hurting anymore.

“I explained. We can leave now,” Jaskier tires, but in fairness, he doesn’t remember what he said to the Countess. “Geralt?”

The witcher himself crosses his arms, hugging his midriff and avoiding Jaskier’s gaze. “Good,” he answers curtly, shoulders still tense.

He looks angry, and when Geralt is angry, it’s most likely with himself. Oh, whatever heartbreak Jaskier acted out earlier, it’s not a match to a fraction of what he’s feeling now. It must be the one millionth time Geralt’s self-loathing has broken Jaskier’s heart, and it never gets easier, not when Jaskier caused it himself.

“Hey.” Jaskier desperately wants to wrap his arms around Geralt. So he does. He sits down on the bed and pulls his witcher into the biggest bear hug, which is returned immediately and so very tightly. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I fucked up, Geralt. I’m—”

“Don’t be.” Geralt buries his nose into Jaskier’s neck and shakes his head. “I never should have said those things, Jask. I should be the one apologizing. It was wrong and untrue and I would never abandon you. You are my best friend. How can I ever? Please, believe me…”

Geralt trails off, his hands rubbing circles into Jaskier’s back. Although it’s unclear who he’s trying to soothe.

“I know. It’s okay. I know,” Jaskier murmurs, over and over again, sealing each reassurance with a kiss pressed into silver hair.

“I never meant it, Jask.”

“I know. It was fake. We were pretending.”

Geralt pulls away, golden eyes dead serious, pausing between every word. “I never meant it.”

Jaskier meets his gaze unwaveringly, with not an ounce of doubt. “I know.”

They stay there for a while, just holding each other. Geralt keeps sniffing Jaskier’s scent the same way he always does to check for injury or distress. He thinks he’s subtle, the sweet man, so Jaskier never mentions it.

Despite what an outsider might assume, Geralt is the sensitive one between the two. He’s so careful when it comes to their relationship, especially after the mountain and sometimes to his own detriment.

He’s so scared of hurting Jaskier again.

“I was an idiot for suggesting it,” Jaskier breaks the silence, nudging Geralt in the knee.

Geralt hums, lips pursed.

“Fake breakup is a terrible idea. Next time we’ll just grit our teeth and sit through the month-long party.”

Still, no smile.

“Alright, you win. Next time I won’t take you to a month-long party to start with.” Jaskier gently pats Geralt on the cheek. “For your delicate sensibilities, darling.”

Finally, finally, Geralt’s lips turn upwards, just a smidge.

“You are an idiot,” Geralt says, the crease between his brows fading. “Just…don’t make me make you cry again.”

Melting into the warmth welling up between his ribcage, Jaskier leans forward and presses a tiny kiss at his witcher’s forehead, so softly as if he’d break with any more force.

“Yes, dear.”

Being careless with Geralt’s heart is a mistake that Jaskier never wants to repeat. As he put a hand over his witcher’s languid heartbeat, Jaskier feels the soft thrumming against his palm, and realizes just how terribly he needs to guard it with the same care too. Against his frivolous self, and against the past that never seems to stop haunting them.

Because Jaskier needs this thing between them to work. If a faked breakup already seems unbearable, he shudders to imagine a real one.

A witcher’s life is already riddled with pain and sadness and could-have-beens. A poet would hate it if he added himself to the list.

---

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[thepinkproof]

The Operator

Synopsis: there is nothing normal about Greenwood University. however, the school is your only option. it is even more fearful when the person everyone told you to stay away from, Jungkook , is the one who won’t leave you alone.

parings: yandere! inhuman jungkook x reader/ overprotective sibling taehyung x reader

chapter warnings: yandere behavior, very violent torture, inhuman behavior,

word count: 2.5k

series masterlist

chapter 07: successful plans

When Ford was running to his car he ran into Rosé who was there to give Storm her phone. Seeing her lifeless body, she informed Ford to get in her car as they road her to the hospital.

Her palms were sweaty as she could hear Storm's heartbeat slow down. She was driving at the max speed.

She was rushed into the ER. They performed surgery on her head and did stitches on her cuts.

When Ford was informed Storm was stable, he texted Jungkook and left the ER. He hated doing favors for Jungkook. He also hated himself for not letting Andre leave the room. But he also knew Jungkook was going to kill the guy anyways. He looked at Storm as an innocent life, if dark souls have to die to save one then so be it.

Rosé slept at the hospital that night waiting for Storm to wake up.

She glanced up as she saw Jimin in the room with flowers.

"Poor girl." He murmured. 

Rosé got up to give Jimin a hug.

"It's unbelievable what they did to her, they carved all over her back! She's going to be scarred for life. They even banged her head." Rosé stressed.

"Her head looks fine to me." Jimin spoke puzzled. Rosé gave him an annoyed look at his lack of sympathy. She then looked at Storm's head to prove her point.

"What the fuck." Storm's head was completely healed. It was no evidence of any trauma.

"Jimin, I swear! Yesterday her head was full of blood and glass!" Rosé took a deep breath as she quietly walked over to Storm. She gently opened the back of her hospital gown. The cuts was now completely gone.

"No way, Jimin I told you I was right about her! How else could this happen?” Rosé questioned.

Jimin rolled his eyes. "You're so overdramatic, she probably wasn't that seriously hurt like you said!"

"Then why else would she have surgery and stay over night!" Rosé spat. She then handed him the hospital records.

Jimin examined them. "If you're right, like you never are, then we need to get her out this hospital before the doctors come." 

Rosé stood next to Storm's bed before leaning down to her ear. "STORM!" She screamed.

"GOSH." She complained waking up. She took a look around her. "Why am I in the hospital?"

"Some evil kids beat you up." Rose answered.

"Really, because i feel fine. I feel great actually."

"Do you remember anything?" Jimin asked.

"Nope, the last thing I remember was playing uno." Storm looked at the two of them. "Are you guys pranking me?"

"No, i'm just as confuse as you are. Some kids beat you up and that football kid Ford and I took you the hospital, you were almost dead Storm." Rosé spoke. Storm looked around the room puzzled. How come she don't remember all this?

"We can talk about this later, look we have to leave. Put these clothes on we will wait for you outside."

For some reason Storm felt very energetic as she quickly put the clothes on. She looked at the small mirror on the wall. Her skin was practically glowing now.

"I'm ready guys." She spoke as she grabbed Jimin's flowers.

The trio started to walk down the hallway. Storm saw a familar face out of the corner of her eye.

"Guys, i'll meet you in the car just give me a few minutes." They strangely looked at her but obeyed.

Storm entered the hospital room.

"Taehyung, what are you doing here!" She cried looking at him searching for injuries. "Oh my gosh are you okay!"

"I'm glad you still care." He mumbled.

"I'll always care." She said before molding him in a hug.

"Ow!" He groaned. "Although I'm happy to see you, you're hurting me."

She let out a quick apology. "Is that why you're here? Your stomach?! Why didn't you call me? How long you been here?" She ranted.!

"Yeah Storm, I broke my ribs." He chuckled.

"How?"

"Don't worry about it." He warned.  "Why are you even here, I didn't tell anyone I was here."

"Don't worry about it Tae." She mocked.

"Oh so we're back to being cold to each other? Great." He sarcastically complained.

"I don't want to be that way towards you. I must admit Tae, I've heard some things around school about you and none was good. I just want to know what's up with you?"

Taehyung took a deep breath choosing his words carefully. "I won't lie i've done bad things. I can't really explain it right now but just know the person that you grew up with, that is me. And everyday i'm trying to get that person back."

Storm held his hand. "Thank you for being honest." She smiled.

"Storm I really don't want to loose you. I just have the darkest thoughts sometimes. But everything can go back to normal. You can move back in, we can talk like we use to and if you want to be with Jungkook, then I guess you can."

"What! Why would I want to be with Jungkook? I barely know him." She proclaimed.

Taehyung was confused. Jungkook talked like he was seeing her. "You're not?!"

"Um no. I have to go now but I'll talk to you later. Please stay well." Storm said giving Taehyung a kiss on his head before leaving.

Taehyung's mind was filled of curiosity. If his sister barely knew Jungkook why did he make it clear that he wanted her?

Taehyung was scared of the explanation. But he also knew it was no way to stop it.

———————

Storm nervously stood in front of the tall door that belonged to the mansion. She hesitantly clicked the doorbell and patiently waiting.

"Kim Storm, is a pleasure to have you here. How may I help you?" Jin, the butler, answered the door.

She gave him a quick bow. "Hi i'm here to talk to Ford, is he around?" She questioned.

Avoiding her question he joyfully invited her in, which she accepted.

"I must ask, why are you here for Ford? Are you aware your brother is ill?" Jin asked.

"Yeah, I just visited him. Hey, um do you know how he got hurt?" She awkwardly asked.

"I'm just the butler, I don't discuss what goes around in this house Storm."

"So, it happened in the house then?" She smartly retorted.

"You're a clever one. I must tell you Ford isn't here, he's at football practice. But its lunchtime how about I make you something?" Jin offered.

"Oh no that's ok!" Storm declined.

"No, I insist it would be rude to decline."

————-

"Oh my! Sweet mother of Jesus!" Lance screamed.

Hs looked at a girl tied up with thousands of needles poking out her body. None around the neck, heart or head. Her eyes was open in fear. Her skin was littered in red dots from the pressure of the needles.

"Don't you knock Lance?" Jungkook asked. Jungkook was attentively painting a picture of her.

"Help me!" She gulped.

"Is that Sana?" Lance asked.

"I'm surprised you recognized her?" Jungkook observed.

"Lord, I can't watch this I feel sick." He complained holding back the bile in his throat.

"Don't worry, I'll remove all the needles one at a time to kill her as soon as I'm done with this painting if I feel like it. But we all know I'm a slow painter. I like to get every detail." He explained.

"But what brings you here?" Jungkook asked putting down his paint brush.

"I just wanted to let you know Storm is here." Lance informed.

"How? Wasn't she in the hospital. It's no way she's out now. My baby should be resting." He scolded.

"I overheard her looking for Ford, perhaps to thank him?" Lance suggested.

Jungkook sighed. "Of course she thinks Ford saved her last night. She don't know it was me."

Lance got onto his knees. "Sir, since Taehyung is gone I think it should be up to me to kill Ford. I think him and Storm may be having an affair. It's not fair to you sir. Say the word and I'll get the job done."

Jungkook scoffed. "Get up you look ridiculous! Ford is loyal to his girlfriend. He wouldn't dare come after my girl. Besides, you have the body mass of a starving 8 year old boy. You couldn't kill an insect let alone a person."

"I apologize sir, just know whatever you want I will do."

"Really, is that so? I gave you orders to follow Storm, and yet yesterday she was attacked. You think you will go unpunished?" He threatened.

"Sir! But I did follow her around school I just didn't know she was going to that event! I had homework last night!" Lance panicked.

"Oh, so your homework is more important then my love?!" Jungkook yelled his eyes started to turn purple in anger before he took a deep breath to calm himself.

"I-I'm sorry sir! You can count on me. I-I can hack into her phone to track her every move. I promise I'll make it up to you. I'm better than Taehyung!" He profusely apologized.

"Whatever. Make sure she stays here I have to wash this paint off my hands." He said.

Sana let out a shriek at the possibility of suffering more. "K-kill me please."

"Oh Sandra, can you please shut up porcupine. I said you will get a slow and painful death and its only been 12 hours."

——————

" This is Taehyung's favorite food japchae, i'm sure you will like it." Jin said handing her a plate.

Storm used her chopsticks to try the food despite it being hot.

"Mmm this is good." She complimented with her mouth full making Jin chuckle.

"Have you tried alot of korean cuisine?" He asked.

"Not really since we live in the states, plus my foster parents weren't Korean. But Tae and I always tried to be involved in our culture, but my bio mom did make me Chimaek once." She explained.

"You're welcome to try any of my cooking any time! Taehyung would love it if you come over more, Jungkook too."

"Is Taehyung nice to you?" Storm hesitantly asked.

"Of course, he has his moments but he is a respectable young man." Jin answered.

"Well if you ask me Taehyung is a jackass!" A voice suddenly appeared. Storm turned around and saw it was one of their roommates Lance.

"What do you mean?!" Storm questioned.

"Just ignore him." Jin lectured.

"Oh the perfect Taehyung everyone just loves? Bull! He's so arrogant and stupid. Who even majors in fashion? He will never make it." Lance ranted.

Storm glared at him. "You sound bitter and jealous."

Lance looked at her and laugh. "Of course, you're just like Taehyung. Pretty face, the attitude , everyone thinks you two are perfect, when you're both brainless and a waste of space.” Lance shot making Jin gasp.

"What was that Lance?" A familar voice snapped. Jungkook entered the room hair wet from a shower with clean clothes on as his expensive body wash and authoritative voice filled the room.

"Sir! Fuck! I-I'm sorry." He panicked.

"Oh don't apologize to me, apologize to our beautiful guest you disrespected."

Lance dropped down to his knees mumbling apologies. Storm gave him a weird look.

How come everytime Jungkook around everyone looses their self dignity?

"I-It's okay Lance." Storm informed him.

"No, he should have never disrespected you. Lance leave right now." He demanded.

"Hi Stormi." Jungkook greeted in a now calm voice. He glared at Jin resulting in him taking the hint of leaving.

"Hi Kookie." Storm simpered rolling her eyes.

Jungkook smirked at her playfulness. "How are you so well after last night, it's not even a scratch on you." Jungkook observed gently touching her forehead.

He saw her last night, she was definitely near death. Jungkook has never seen a human heal this fast. Is it possible she wasn't as hurt as she looked?

"I don't know, honestly I don't even remember what happened last night. I just know Ford was there for me, I just wanted to thank him in person."

"Ford and I both saved you butterfly, so I guess you owe us both a thanks." Jungkook retorted.

Storm stared at his eyes looking for any signs of him lying. "Well, thank you Jungkook. I really appreciate it."

"Do you know who attacked me though?" She continued.

Jungkook gave her a smile. "Nobody that can hurt you anymore." Storm gave him a puzzled look before she continued eating ignoring his presence.

"So have you been thinking of moving back in love? Then you could eat Jin's food everyday. Do you know we have a theater room, a pool, a gym, and a game room? We also have a library I know how much you l-"

"Um that's ok Jungkook. I appreciate the offer but I don't think we should be talking." She interrupted.

Why would she not want to talk to him? He didn't like that at all.

"Why not?" He questioned.

"No offense, but I heard some things around campus about you and I'm sure not sure I want to be around that type of person."

Jungkook scoffed. "Who said that?" He will kill them for filling up his baby's head with lies.

"It doesn't matter, I've heard it from too many people." She explained.

Jungkook paused before taking the chopsticks out her hands stopping her from eating.

"Don't you think it's hypocritical as someone whose a psychology major to believe rumors about people? This is college sweetheart, not high school. We're believing rumors now? I've been nothing but nice to you and it hurts for you to believe all this." He testified giving her a disappointed look.

Jungkook could hear her heart beat rise in shame. She felt terrible for dismissing him like that. Especially when he offered her a room and saved her.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry Jungkook. I feel horrible." She confessed.

Jungkook hid his head in his arms making her feel even more guilty.

"I'm so sorry!" She said giving him a hug. Jungkook smirked. For a psychology major she really couldn't pick up on manipulation.

Jungkook faked a sniffle. "It's ok, I forgive you."

"You know if you really want to get to know me, and not meaningless rumors, we can go out together so you can know the real me." He suggested. Hopefully his plan will work.

"I mean I'm trying to focus on school and it sounds like you're asking me on a date. So no thank you.” She objected.

Jungkook pulled out his phone before dialing a number.

Storm rolled her eyes before answering the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, yes, I will like to make a therapy session at the carnival next weekend with you?" Jungkook grinned.

"What time?" Storm smiled playing along.

"Hmm, 8:00 wear something nice." He grinned.

"If you insist." She said before hanging up.

"Oh, look at that. It looks like I'll be seeing you next weekend."

"The real question is how do you remember my phone number off your head like that?"

Oh how could he forget anything about you?

Yesterday their efforts to take his love away from him not only failed but let you fall right in his trap.

Jungkook knew she was better than all the other humans, but she was still human. She still could be manipulated. How perfect his plans went when she accepted his proposal?

Oh she was in too deep now and there is no escape.

chapter 08

[that-blue-vault-dweller]

Kinda hate myself for coming up with this one, but: A young teenage (Maybe 13 or 14 year old) SS who was raised in an abusive family and as a result, is very jumpy and easily scared, and can't stand up for herself very well.

Dang, y’all are gluttons for punishment with all this angst.... 😔 But I do like writing it 😂🤣

Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy! 💙💛

Cait - Immediately feels deep sympathy for the kid, and she resolves to take her under her wing. If anyone dares mess with the girl, Cait can and will become volatilely and aggressively violent as she defends her little buddy. No one will ever put their hands on the girl again. Not on Cait's watch.

Piper - Feels her stomach flop as soon as she realizes that the kid instinctively flinches when Piper reaches up to try to touch her face or to put a hand on her shoulder. Piper quickly makes it her mission to introduce the kid to as many kind touches as Piper can spring on her. She also will jump all over someone else if they try to hurt the kid regardless if physical or emotional injury is intended.

Curie - Feels absolutely horrible for the girl, and she is offering her hugs as often as she can. She always wants to make the girl feel comfortable, happy, and safe as she can possibly be. If anyone tries to insult or hurt the girl, Curie does the best she can to defend her, explaining to the offender that they are being quite rude and awfully inappropriate. They usually end up laughing at Curie, so she just leads F!Sole away from the situation.

MacCready - Feels pretty sorry for the kid and tries to watch over her in as non-hovering of a manner as he can. If someone tries to mess with her, he is quickly there to back her up and he threatens them quickly. They usually do not take him seriously. That is, until he pulls out his gun and tells them that they better leave her alone or they'll figure out just how serious he is.

Deacon - Before he even knows her personally, he sees how jumpy she is, so he makes a mental note to keep an eye out for her. During his times undercover watching her, if someone messes with her, he will actually interfere, utilizing his undercover identity as a drifter or a scavver and staying in character the entire time he defends her. When she actually knows who he is, he keeps up this trend of protecting her except now he will do it regardless of whether he's undercover or not.

Codsworth - Feels frustrated and upset that he could never do anything about it. He was programmed to serve her parents first and foremost, and while he could offer her comfort after they hurt her, he could not stop them. He blames himself for her condition, but he tries to make it up to her by defending her to the best of his abilities and standing by her loyally always.

Hancock - Immediately feels terrible for the kid, and resolves to do everything in his power to make sure that she is completely untouchable. By the time he's through, absolutely no one in Goodneighbor lays a hand on her and most of them are either very respectful or completely avoid her. Out in the wasteland, if someone even tries to hurt her, he is already gutting them with a knife before guiding her away carefully.

Danse - Feels very sorry for her and decides that he will keep her as safe as he can. Of course, absolutely everyone around is extremely discouraged from hurting her physically or emotionally when she has a giant, power-armor-clad paladin behind her that looks like he could kill them with just a flex of his pinky toe. He keeps her very safe and he always offers a sympathetic ear if she needs to talk about things.

Preston - Cannot believe that someone from such a perfect world knows intimately about abuse. He feels terrible for her, and he does the best he can to make her feel as safe as possible. He often pats her on the shoulder when she does a good job with something, and he tries to praise her a lot for things so maybe she can build her confidence back up. He also will lead her away from a situation if someone is being confrontational.

Valentine - Feels as if he's been hit in the gut when he realizes it. He from then on keeps an even closer eye on her and he makes sure that no one messes with her. He also offers to talk to her about stuff, and offers advice whenever he can. He just tries to play the role of a wise grandfatherly figure for her.

X6-88 - Feels that the situation is terribly unfortunate. He does not act much different, but he does more proactively take part in defending her and keeping her safe. If anyone even says anything less than kind or respectful to her, he withdraws his gun and tells them to step away from the situation quickly.

Dogmeat - Smells the fear on her when she is near large people or when people seem angry or upset about anything. Therefore, he just stands closer to her, pressing his nose against her hand until she pets him. If anyone tries to get in her face, he is immediately growling and if anyone dares raise their hand as if they might hit her, he is jumping to attack. No one will hurt her ever on his watch.

Strong - Tells her that she needs to be stronger. He tells her that she has to be mean and loud to show other tiny humans that she is boss and the best fighter. He is somehow really encouraging in his strange way and if anyone tries to mess with her when he is around, he is all but ripping them apart as he starts attacking in a pure rage.

Maxson - Feels quite bad for the child and resolves to keep her doing things on the Prydwen in order to keep her away from anyone who might be toxic toward her. He starts out giving her relatively easy things to do so she can succeed and feel good about herself. If anyone criticizes her work while she is in earshot, he will make sure that there is adequate punishment.

Sturges - Feels terrible for the girl, and he does the best he can to watch over her. He gives her plenty of work to do with him, and they talk about all sorts of things while they're working on different projects. He just tries to make her feel comfortable around him. However, if anyone messes with her, he will stand up for her quite sufficiently, telling the people to back off. People usually do not question him since he has such muscles and he looks so threatening when he scowls. Even if he truly would not hurt a fly.

Glory - Feels awful for the kid, and asks Desdemona if she can mentor the girl. Desdemona agrees, and Glory immediately starts trying to show her how to stand up for herself. Of course, Glory stands up for her regardless of whether the kid is trying to stand up for herself or not. When Carrington starts talking down to her and treating her less than nicely, Glory is already in his space, practically snarling in his face as she tells him to leave the kid alone.

[jessicaowo1]

Unrequited Before and Unrequited After

Title: Unrequited Before and Unrequited After

Warning: Angst, Unrequited love, Fanon Iwaizumi??, Fluff

Pairing: Iwaizumi x Reader, Sugawara x Reader

Word Count: 540

Your crush on Iwaizumi started when you were five at the playground when he captured a butterfly for you. You fell in love with Iwaizumi when he comforted you after an injury not allowing you to play volleyball for the rest of your high school career. This love, however, was never returned. He always saw you as a friend at most a sibling. You found this out when you were walking to the gym to return your uniform.

“So, Iwaizumi, how long have you and L/N been in a relationship?”

“Huh..”

“Iwa-Chan, don’t play dumb with us. We all see how you guys are inseparable.”

“Cut out Oikawa, we aren’t together. We are just friends. In full honesty, it’s nauseating that they are always by my side. Like get a life, I know your injury gets them sympathy points but, grow up. At least they can play in university or something.”

Not wanting to hear the conversation anymore you went to the alternative exit for the gym. It broke your heart knowing that Iwaizumi thought of you as a headache and, how he thought your injury was a small thing. You gave up on both things you loved.

You stopped waiting for Iwaizumi at the gym, practicing matches, class, and you weren’t his partner anymore. You didn’t want to be a burden anymore and hated being one in general. You never stayed after school and cried silently in your room. You couldn’t play anymore, all your aspirations were thrown down the drain.

That’s when you met him, Sugawara Koshi. He came to you at the park when he saw your sad eyes. You opened up to a stranger about everything and he listened. He became a friend. You guys would always hang out and he would take you to his practices just to keep some basics down. When you guys were becoming third years he asked you out and, you happily replied yes.

Iwaizumi on the other hand noticed your absence. He felt an odd emotion when you partnered up with someone else. After a few months of not speaking or seeing you, he realized he developed feelings for you. That feeling of nausea when you guys were together was because of the butterflies in his stomach. Sadly, he found this out in the summer and he couldn’t seem to run into you anywhere alone. When the third year began, he had no excuse to talk to you since both of you were in separate classes.

It was at a practice match against Karasuno when he saw you again. You were radiating, maturer than the person he remembered crying when they found out they couldn’t play volleyball. His mind was racking every possible excuse on why you were here, to chant for Oikawa, to see your other friends play. He didn’t expect you to go on the opposing team’s side to hug another player. Iwaizumi tried to reassure himself that it was just a friend or a family friend. Then he saw #2 kiss you on the forehead and you blush. He realized he lost his chance.

[gabrielultrakill-bigboobs]

the word choice probably sucks ASS since it’s 1 am and this is only a small little part of the wip draft for chapter 3 but i’m proud of it important: chapter 3 is going to be long af and since i have so many plans for it, it’s going to be split in two

Everything played on and on in his head like a broken record. Almost every waking second of every miserable day in his miserable life, he could taste the nasty, burnt sensation of gunpowder on the tip of his tongue. He could feel the insufferable agony of his body being mutilated and torn apart again and again as the Patriots forced him to become inhuman. He could hear Solidus in his mind, giving orders to him and the rest of the Small Boy Unit, sounding ever-so-trustworthy thanks to the toluene making him susceptible to each of the commands given to him. Not even closing his eyes and shutting his mind would let him escape from the ghosts of his past; even in the darkness, he could still hear their screams as he sadistically slaughtered each and every one of them. He could still feel blood on his hands, even if his organic body was long gone. Raiden wished so badly that he could scream, but all that came from his mouth was silence. Guilt and blame continued building up, weighing him down with such might that his every step felt like climbing up a mountain. 

Suddenly, something pulled him out of this; the closing of a door behind him as Little John and Jetstream Sam welcomed him back into the room and helped him sit down. He could see their lips move, but he couldn’t hear them over the screams and the everlasting ringing of explosions in his ears… He could make out some of what was being discussed, though; they were concerned and worried about him. He didn’t deserve them. He didn’t deserve love and affection from anyone. It was his fault Rose died and John was left with injuries and an experience that might soon haunt him like the war haunted Raiden. A murderer who believed his existence wouldn’t bring terrible luck didn’t deserve sympathy, he thought to himself. He put his hands over his eyes and began to cry softy, soon panicking as the two tried to hug him and immediately flinched back when Raiden tried to reach for where his sword normally would be. When he realized who he’d tried to attack, he crumpled over and hugged his knees. Sam carefully approached him from his front and lifted him slightly, then put the cyborg’s head over his shoulder, lightly massaging Raiden’s back to try and help relieve tension. 

[just-a-really-tall-girl-tbh]

Waiting Room

Summary: Stiles is badly hurt, with only y/n to save him

Pairing: None in particular but sort of reader X Derek?

Warnings: Mentions of blood and fighting, also talk of hospital

Word count: 2188

Original piece please don’t copy :)

----------

Sitting in the hospital chair with your head in your hands you focused on your breathing.

In

Out

Flashes of claws plagued your vision, swiping before you.

In

Out

You scrunched your eyes hearing the piercing sound of your own scream, the eerie sound playing back in your mind, filling your head.

In

Out

You sat up leaning back against the plastic chair, rubbing your face up and down trying to regain some perspective. You stood up, unable to sit in those horrid chairs any longer and also wanting to be moving, anything to distract yourself.

Pacing back and forth in the hallway you consistently looked up at the closed doors in front of you.

‘SURGERY – Authorised personal only beyond this point’

The door stood still, you begged for it to open, for someone to come and tell you, they were okay, that they would survive. You needed something, anything to hold on to. Even false hope was still hope right?

Shaking your head, you sat back once again on the hospital chair.

***

“Y/N RUN” Stiles screamed.

You barely had a chance to face the boy before you were knocked to the ground, the cold floor welcoming your body. Whatever it was that knocked you was now headed towards stiles. You blinked a few times, trying to stop the world from spinning around you. You pulled yourself up against the lockers that lined the boys changing room. Wincing as you touched your forehead, your fingers instantly becoming coated in blood. You looked up and saw Stiles slowly backing away from a large figure, his arms up in defence. You could see his mouth moving, but the ringing in your ears prevented you from hearing Stiles’ pleas.

Eventually Stiles had retreated as far as the room would allow, feeling his back against the wall, his hands searched either side of him, a failed attempt at finding something to defend himself with.

The assailant’s hand was raised, his claws gleaming in the poorly lit locker room, and in one swift motion he had sliced Stiles’ stomach.

You screamed as his body slumped against the wall, the attacker simply left the room, disinterested in continuing the fight he thought was futile. Stiles’ torso began turning ruby red, the blood coating his middle in moments.

Scrambling to your feet you ran to him.

“Stiles? Hey, it’s okay I’m here I’m here” the words came out weaker than you intended. He looked up at you, his hands covering his stomach, a useless attempt at stopping the bleeding. You looked around the room, you needed to stop the bleeding. Grabbing a towel from a nearby bench you wrapped it and placed it on his abdomen, he grimaces at the sudden pressure.

“I’m sorry okay, I gotta stop the bleeding, just stay with me okay? Don’t you dare leave.” His slight head nod was all you needed to know he heard you.

“You gotta keep talking to me okay? I need another towel, and I’ll call an ambulance, or I’ll call Scott and we will get out of here okay?” You pleaded, trying to convince yourself it was going to be okay. You had seen injuries like this before and they always put pressure on the wound trying to stop the bleeding so that’s a good place to start. Your mind suddenly racing, scrambling to remember information they taught you in that stupid first aid course the school made everyone take. Logical and rational thinking was the only thing that would give Stiles a fighting chance. Placing Stiles’ hands over the now blood-soaked towel, you stood taking a deep breath, and began looking for more supplies.

“Talk to me Stiles, I need to hear you.”

“I don’t want to die at school.” He whispered.

“You’re not going to die; I won’t let you okay? Who else is going to tell me when I’m being dramatic or bring Scott and I into the woods at 1AM looking for a body? Who else is going to defend me even when I’m not there to defend myself? Who else is going to make me laugh when all I want to do is cry?” You finished your sentence as you kneeled next to Stiles, your arms filled with towels. Removing one you replaced it with two more, trying to stop the bleeding.

“You gotta tell my Dad, y/n”

“What? Tell your Dad what?” You were focused on his stomach, placing towel after towel anywhere you saw red.

“Tell him I love him okay?” Your breathing hitched in your throat and you looked up at the boy. His face was pale, more so than usual. His eyes lacked the spark that normally filled them.

“He knows Stiles. He knows.” Tears brimmed your eyes.

“You gotta tell him though okay? Promise me?”

“I promise, but you have to promise me something too.” He looked at you, unable to continue talking, allowing you to proceed. “You have to ask Lydia to the winter formal.”

His eyes widened, and mouth opened to object, no sound passed his lips.

“Come on Stiles, if- No- WHEN we get out of this, you have to do it.”

Stiles nodded as his eyes began to droop closed.

“No no no, you can’t Stiles come on.” You reached up to his face, your blood-soaked hands covering his cheeks with the liquid unintentionally. You shook his head and begged him to come back to you.

His breathing shallowed, only a whisper of air exchanging in his lungs.

The next few minutes were a blur. You had called an ambulance and then called Scott. Rode in the ambulance to the hospital and were told to wait outside while they wheeled Stiles into surgery. You stood at the entrance of the doors just staring, unable to move from your spot. Maybe if you didn’t move you would wake up from this horrible dream. Maybe if you didn’t move Stiles would walk out of there telling you it was all a mean joke. And so, you stood. Until a nurse came and asked about your head. You didn’t hear her the first few times she spoke to you, until she placed a hand on your shoulder, and you snapped out of your trance. Your face was wet from the tears you had no idea were even falling, too numb to feel anything other than helplessness.

The nurse walked you to a vacant bed, holding your arms and leading you away from the door you so desperately wanted to stand before. She cleaned your hands, the red painted sink yet another reminder of the events. She cleaned your wounds and stitched your forehead together before placing a bandage on your forehead. Her question didn’t register with you the first time, your eyes fixated on the wall ahead, the imagine of Stiles’ body permanently engraved in your mind.

“Sweetie?” You looked at the nurse. “Is there anyone I can call for you?” The sympathy evident in her eyes and tone of voice. Taking a few moments to answer you searched your mind for who you might want to call. Your parents were out of town on business, too busy with their jobs to worry about raising a child. Scott was already on his way, bringing Derek with him. The face of the sheriff came to the forefront of your mind. Feeling the guilt of having to tell him that his only son, his only child, was in a critical condition all because you wanted to sneak a copy of the test answers from Coaches desk, a fresh batch of tears lined your eyes.

“McCall.” You whispered. “Mellissa McCall.”

The nurse simply nodded and left the cubicle.

‘Mellissa McCall can you please report to emergency bay 3 please, Mellissa McCall to emergency bay 3’ the intercom speaker sounded through the hospital.

Moments later the privacy cloth dividing your bed from the emergency room was whipped open. Mellissa’s distraught face appeared behind it, she ran towards the bed, wrapping her arms around you and tightly holding as your body collapsed into hers.

“I tried Melissa, I tried but there was so much blood and it was everywhere-” you began

“Shhh it’s okay you did great okay?” she comforted.

“I can’t tell him. I can’t tell his Dad, I can’t.” You begged.

“Hey, we will do it together okay? I’m right here.” Melissa always had a way of soothing anyone. Maybe it was her motherly touch or the way her voice had a calming tone to it, but it always helped. Always. After a few minutes she pulled away, told you she was going to call the sheriff and ask him to come down, then she was going to go into the theatre to check on Stiles’ progress.

Leaving your cubicle, you sat on the chairs in front of the surgery. Your head hurt but it didn’t faze you. Losing your best friend was at the forefront of your mind and the thought of not having your cheeky sidekick beside you was too much to handle.

Quick footsteps sounded the halls and your heart raced. You weren’t ready to tell Sheriff Stilinski about his son. Looking up you were somewhat relieved to see Scott and Derek.

“Hey.” Scott said softly as you raised to your feet and were pulled into a tight hug. “Have you heard anything?” Shaking your head, you pulled away, not wanting to make eye contact with the werewolf Infront of you, too ashamed to see the distress on his face knowing you caused it.

Scott stepped back allowing Derek to hug you next. He didn’t let go when you tried to pull away after a few moments, knowing you needed to be held just a little longer. Sniffling, you pulled back, Derek allowing you to this time. His arms stayed wrapped around your waist, his hand comfortably placed on you hip.

Collectively everyone looked up at the sound of another person running towards you all. A worried sheriff Stilinski appeared at the end of the hall, sprinting towards you. Before he could ask where his boy was and what had happened, the surgery doors swung open, a gowned-up Melissa exiting the room. She removed her protective gear and took a deep breath. Derek pulled you closer, preparing for the news.

“He lost a lot of blood. Almost too much.” She looked towards the sheriff. “But that boy in there is as stubborn as anything. The doctors believe he will make it.” Everyone sighed in relief and Derek pulled you into his chest, closing his eyes in relief. You felt your knees go weak and let out a soft cry.

“Y/n, you saved him.” Melissa approached you. “If you weren’t with him, he wouldn’t be here.” You nodded into Derek’s chest, unwilling to separate knowing you would have to face your best friends Dad. Mellissa hugged Scott and then the sheriff, both thanking her for her help.

You felt a hand on your upper back, slowly pulling away from the safety of Derek’s chest you turned to face Noah. His eyes were soft, tears falling from them freely, he softly smiled before pulling you into his chest.

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered.

“Hey it’s okay, he’s okay, we’re okay.” He replied.

“I didn’t mean it I swear we didn’t know we weren’t alone.”

“Y/n stop” He paused, separating the two of you, holding you at arms distance and tilting his head down. “We just need him to recover okay? That’s what you need to focus on.”

Simply nodding you were pulled back into the arms of the sheriff. Looking over his shoulder your eyes connected with Scott’s, his worried expression was replaced with one of anger. Eventually the Sheriff needed to sign some paperwork at the front desk, or maybe Melissa just sensed you guys needed a minute. Either way you were grateful for the opportunity to be able to explain the events to the boys.

“Well?” Scott looked at you expectantly. You sighed and looked at your feet.

“We wanted the answers to Tuesday’s test, neither of us had time to study so we figured we would find the answer key in coaches’ desk and borrow it.” Scott rolled his eyes and breathed out heavily, his mannerisms dripping with disapproval. Derek could only watch on as you continued to explain yourself. “When we got there, Stiles said he thought we weren’t alone, I thought he was just trying to scare me. We got to the boy’s locker room and were about to head into coaches’ office when Stiles yelled at me to run. Everything else is just a blur.” Finally looking up and meeting Scott’s eyeline you saw him deep in thought, the stress of the night’s events, evident in every inch of his face. “Scott?”

“I’m thinking.” He was short.

“There’s one more thing.” He looked towards you, ready to be annoyed with whatever you were about to say next. “Whatever attacked stiles, it had claws.” His eyes widened and looked towards Derek who looked like he had just made the same connection as Scott.

“There’s another werewolf in Beacon hills.”

[jackrrabbit]

it will come back [pt. 2] /// Yandere Shigaraki x f!Reader

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 1] [Part 3]

A/N: Title from the Hozier song—“don’t let it in with no intention to keep it / jesus christ, don’t be kind to it / oh honey don’t feed it / it will come back.”

Tags/warnings: yandere, violence (not directed toward reader), crying, Shiggy REALLY likes you, reader needs a friend and a good night’s sleep, non-explicit sexual content. [In later parts: 18+, sex, other stuff]

He—Tomura—keeps visiting.

At first you think it’s because of the free medical care, and you wish you had the spine to tell him to suck it up and go see a professional. After a couple weeks turn into a couple months and his wounds fade into ragged purple scars, though, you start to think differently.

Within a short time Tomura has figured out your work schedule, and he does a decent job of not showing up after your long shifts. The unavoidable consequence of this is that he ends up monopolizing your precious days off, but you come to the realization about a month and a half in that you don’t actually mind. You like it. It’s like spending time with a friend.

Mostly you guys talk. It doesn’t seem like Tomura really has anyone to talk to the way the two of you do, but that’s probably just you projecting. It’s usually shallow stuff—TV shows you like, video games he plays, funny stories from patients you treated. Sometimes when you’re cooking for yourself, you make extra for him. (It happens a lot, actually, and at one point you bring up how much his appetite is costing you and the next time you see him he brings a bag of rice and makes you a porridge that crunches between your teeth when you try to eat it. You can’t finish yours, but he eats an entire bowl and insists that you’re being picky.)

Sometimes he sleeps over on the couch, but he’s always gone when you wake up.

The two of you skirt around the heavier stuff, and you know it’s intentional on his part. You have to resist the urge to ask him about being a villain—he’s all but confirmed it for you, and it’s human nature to be curious, isn’t it? In the same way you can’t help looking at a car crash, you want to poke and prod and find out what it is, exactly, that Tomura does for a living. That part of his life is suspiciously absent from your discussions—if you didn’t know better, you’d think he spends all of his time sleeping and playing games and breaking into your place.

On the other hand, you don’t want to know. Plausible deniability. You can accept criminality in the abstract, but you’ve treated too many victims of the bullshit hero–villain battle to be comfortable really knowing why Tomura avoids public places.

So you don’t ask about it, and Tomura doesn’t tell, and you don’t look up his name. And it’s easy. It’s nice. You’d forgotten what it’s like to come back to a home that isn’t empty.

And then one day when you get off a few hours early from your shift, you stop by a convenience store to pick up some snacks for yourself (hey, you’ve been working hard, you’re entitled to binge a little on foods that you’re afraid to look at the fat content for), and you think, Hm, I wonder if Tomura wants some.

[You: 7:49 PM] > Are you coming over today? [T: 7:49 PM] > Yeah why [You: 7:51 PM] > Getting snacks > Want some? [T: 7:51 PM] > No

[T: 8:12 PM] > When r u coming back to ur place

[T: 8:58 PM] > Hey where are you

[T: 9:39 PM] > (Y/N)?

There’s a man with a gun in the convenience store.

It takes you a second to process at first. You’re standing in the snack food aisle seeking out Oreos and debating the merits of Double Stuf vs. Mega when you catch the mumbled demand and the metallic clicking noise you’ve only ever heard in movies before. It’s a gun—you know that, but your mind dismisses it because it’s ridiculous. Guns are rare in hero society. People don’t go around robbing bodegas at gunpoint anymore.

(You should know better. You work in a goddamn ER. But you compartmentalize, and the crimes you see written across your patients’ bodies stay out of the realm of your personal life because you need them to.)

It’s only when you see the muzzle of a hunting rifle pushed up to the cashier’s sweaty neck that you really understand what’s happening.

You drop to the ground immediately, looking toward the exit but it’s shut and there’s some kind of metal…thing holding the door closed. The cashier mumbles a denial and you can hear him fumble around with the cash drawer for what feels like ages.

It’s real. This is real. You’re in the middle of a robbery. Where are the heroes? Why isn’t anyone doing anything?

God, you’re a hypocrite, cowering behind the aisle divider and waiting for someone to step up while the robber’s demands get increasingly louder and more frantic. He wants money, and the cashier (who, you remember, is a man in his sixties with hands that shake with Parkinson’s when he holds out your receipt) isn’t being fast enough.

“That’s it? There’s no more? Are you fucking kidding me, there’s gotta be a safe or something—“

“No! No, p-please, I’m sorry, this is all I have!”

You cringe, crushing your eyes closed as if that will make it go away. You’re surprised you can hear at all over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

“Don’t fuck with me old man, I know there’s more! Show me the safe or I’ll blow your goddamn brains out!”

No! You have to do something. You can’t just sit here. You’ve heard plenty of death threats from your patients (not to mention that one from Tomura), and you know the difference between a bluff and a serious warning. Maybe you can catch the robber off guard, try to pull the gun away? You stand up quickly, hoping against hope that you won’t regret this, but in a split second you see that the cashier has the same idea and he’s trying to pull the rifle out of the robber’s hand and—

BANG.

Something warm and wet splatters across your face.

///

Tomura is angry when you get back to the apartment. As soon as he hears your key in the lock he rises from your couch so he can grab your collar with three fingers, jerking your head up to force you to look at him. “Where have you been? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting—“

But he cuts short in the middle of his sentence. Maybe because he sees the look on your face. Or maybe he just notices the traces of blood you haven’t been able to wipe off.

“What happened,” Tomura says. It’s not a question. He adjusts his grip slightly so it’s not quite as punishing, but you hold still anyway.

You have to force your mouth open in order to speak, but when your voice comes out it’s more steady than you thought it would be. “It’s not my blood. There was a robbery at the store. The cashier got shot.”

“Oh.” He releases you and frowns. “That’s it?”

“Fuck you.” You push past him into the kitchen to get yourself a drink with trembling hands. Pantry’s out of shōchū, whiskey will just make you sicker—ahh, there it is. Baijiu. The glug glug glug of the liquor into the glass does nothing to put your nerves at ease, but you pour yourself a double anyway.

“Wait—wait.” Tomura’s hands twitch and rub over his arms like he’s trying to stop himself from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you. “Calm down. Why are you so upset? Don’t you see this stuff every day?”

You do. You’re an ER nurse. There’s no injury you haven’t seen. But it’s not about the blood. “I...I knew him. The cashier. He was nice. He had a grandkid on the way. I—“ You bite your lip and down the baijiu in one gulp. It burns.

Tomura clearly doesn’t know how to comfort you; probably doesn’t even really know why you need to be comforted. What does it mean that death is so meaningless to him? you wonder. But you need someone to listen to you, clueless or not, and Tomura will have to do.

The baijiu is still bitter and hot down your throat when you speak again. “You know something? Know what they asked me when the heroes finally showed up and pulled us out of there, me and the corpse?”

“…What?” Tomura asks warily.

“They stuck a camera in my face and asked me if there was anything I wanted to say to the hero who saved me. Any words of gratitude I wanted to share,” you spit. Now it’s your turn to feel your hands making fists at your sides. Your fingernails scratch into your palms like the pain can be an outlet for the sudden overwhelming fury spilling over you. “They didn’t save him. They were too late.”

Tomura’s eyes widen, and through your curtain of anger you can tell he’s looking at you in a way he’s never looked at you before. It’s unlike him to even look directly at you, and when he does it’s usually in disinterest or half-sincere irritation. This, though…this is different. He’s watching you like a believer watches a prophet. You can tell—or at least some deep, ugly part of you that you hope is wrong can tell—that he’s trying not to smile.

“I hate this,” you say, and the first tear drips out of your eye and runs down your cheek. It’s awful. You don’t want to cry in front of Tomura. You don’t want to show him how weak you are. But before you can wipe it away, Tomura’s hand comes up and does it for you, smearing the tear over your cheek in a gesture that—for him—is oddly tender.

Then he hugs you.

It’s stiff and awkward, like he’s forgotten how to do it, but the intention is clear. His arms fold around your back, pulling you into his chest while his chin makes its way to rest on your shoulder. He’s leaning into you so deeply that your spine is arched back, and you stagger away from him only for him to step closer again to make up the distance.

“It’s not fair, hm,” he murmurs into your hair. His tone is the closest thing to sympathy you’ve ever heard from him, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement you can’t ignore. “They’re always too late, aren’t they? The heroes… And everyone will watch that video of you thanking the heroes, and they’ll think they’re safe too. They’ll keep going about their lives and think that nothing bad can happen to them because a hero will always be around to save them…but you and I know that’s a lie.”

It takes you a second to recognize the emotion that’s raising goosebumps over your arms while Tomura rubs circles into your back, but when it clicks you shiver because it’s fear. You’ve never really been afraid of Tomura before, even when you should’ve been. Does he realize he’s backing you up with how forcefully he’s pushing himself into you? The backs of your knees hit the arm of your couch and you topple onto it with Tomura following.

He holds himself above you on his hands, legs tangled with yours. His eyes are wild and he’s not even trying to suppress his grin now. You’re trapped lying on your back under him—pinned like a butterfly under glass.

“Get off of me,” you say as calmly as you can.

“It’s all a lie, all of it…” A hand comes up and strokes your cheek, rubbing with two fingers at a stray fleck of blood on your neck. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, but I’m so glad you understand…”

“Let me up now, Tomura.”

He holds still for a long moment—waiting, thinking, considering—and then sits up, still straddling you but loosely enough that you can scramble back away from him on the couch. Your heart is racing, but you try to slow your breaths so he doesn’t pick up on how scared you are.

“Don’t freak out. You’re no fun,” Tomura says, and you exhale a sigh of relief at how normal he sounds. You never thought you’d be so happy about him looking at you like you’re nothing.

“I think you should go,” you say carefully.

He rocks back on his heels and runs a hand through his hair. “Are you mad? I thought I could stay here tonight, like usual. Since I waited for so long.”

“I’m not mad. I just…want to be alone.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone tonight. Not after what you’ve been through.”

Oh, now you care. “Fine. Okay? Fine. You can sleep on the couch.” You’re too tired to argue any more, and you’ve never really been good at convincing Tomura to do anything he doesn’t want to. It’s a miracle he listened to you when you told him to get off you. Considering how often he breaks into your apartment, it’s not like you could keep him out anyway.

So he stays the night. He doesn’t bother you when you take a shower and go to bed, he just lies on the couch in his street clothes. When you wake up in the morning he’s disappeared like he always does, and for the first time since you met him you’re truly relieved that he’s gone.

///

You always thought it would take some level of courage you don’t possess to actually bite the bullet and look Tomura up. To do so would mean saying goodbye to whatever strange relationship the two of you have built over the months, and you’re just not brave enough to risk it.

Turns out it’s not courage that makes you type his name into the search bar. It’s cowardice. You’re lying in bed under the covers when you do it, and the blue-white screen of your laptop is the only light in the room. Your comforter is pulled up almost over your head like it’s a wall that can block out reality.

“tomura”, you enter into the search bar, but you don’t hit return. Instead, you look at the search suggestions.

> tomura shigaraki > tomura shigaraki league of villains > tomura shigaraki decay

Something about it sounds familiar. But you’re not ready. Still, after everything, you’d rather keep your eyes closed. You backspace and snap your laptop shut, and when you do your room is so dark that you think the emptiness might swallow you up.

///

[T: 5:52 PM] > Are u going to be at home tn

[T: 6:14 PM] > Hey check ur phone

[T: 6:42 PM] > Stop ignoring me > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N)

[T: 6:46 PM] 3 MISSED CALLS [You: 6:50 PM] > I’m at work [T: 6:50 PM] > Don’t lie > you finished an hour ago

[T: 7:13 PM] 1 MISSED CALL [T: 7:14 PM] > You said you werent mad [You: 7:15 PM] > I’m not [T: 7:15 PM] > Then stop being a brat > im coming over > ill bring takeout

You’re nervous about seeing him, but in the two weeks since he pushed you down on the couch you’ve found yourself…missing him. Like it or not, he’s made himself a fixture in your life. So when you get home you’re brimming with anticipation, wondering who you’ll get when you open the door—the normal Tomura you’ve come to like over the past few months, or the one from that night. The villain.

But it’s just him. Good old Tomura, laden with plastic bags and containers of greasy fast food for the two of you to gorge yourselves on. You tease him for being cheap and he argues that you’re just a snob and everything seems so normal that you can almost forget the look in his red eyes when he told you that you understood.

Almost.

///

You probably have no idea how good you look when you’re crying.

Of the couple thousand views on the news channel video of your “rescue” from the convenience store robber, at least a tenth are from Tomura. Eventually he just downloads the video onto his computer so he doesn’t have to read the inane comments that the other viewers leave on the webpage. It seems like everyone but him thinks you should feel lucky that you were saved by a hero before the robber could get to you, too.

As always, the public are a bunch of shit-soaked morons. Reading the comments makes him angry, so angry he’s tempted to look into a few of these brainless sheep and see how lucky they feel when they’ve caught the attention of a violent criminal. But that wouldn’t be productive, so he saves the video externally and leaves the news website alone. It’s for the best. Besides, seeing the “views” counter on the website tick up and up by the dozen every time he refreshes is just another reminder that other people are watching this; other people are seeing how delicate and vulnerable and pretty you are with tears spilling out of your eyes and the cashier’s blood sprayed over your clothing.

Thousands of useless fucking NPCs are looking at you just like Tomura is. They’re probably thinking about how sweet you look, just like he is. And they’re probably imagining all the ways they can take advantage of your fragile emotional state, just like him.

You’re too trusting for your own good. Tomura used to think it was a virtue, and it is, but only when it comes to him. Whenever he thinks about how your face is slapped over a dozen different news websites for the whole world to see, he has to dig his fingernails into his neck to keep calm. It’s better when he can just watch the video and pretend he’s the only one seeing it.

And it’s not like not watching the video is an option. Tomura can’t resist your crying face. There’s a point around the three minute mark where your voice breaks in the middle of your statement, and sometimes Tomura skips there in the video just so he can hear that pathetic little sob and replay it over and over and over. Maybe it’s sappy, but Tomura really does feel his heart skip a beat at the way your eyes and nose are rubbed red from your misery.

How fucked up is it that he gets off watching you cry?

Would you be angry if you knew? You probably would, but you put up with so much from him already. Maybe you’d be okay with it if he told you he really and truly tried to hold out. The first dozen times Tomura watched the video, he refused to touch himself no matter how tight his pants got while you choked out your stilted answers to the reporters’ questions, but at this point he barely has to click “play” on the video before he gets hard and takes matters into his own hands.

At the end of the day, it’s your fault. Everything about you is so erotic, from your shaky voice to your pouty, bitten-red lips. Isn’t it completely normal to be aroused while looking at the person you like? And Tomura likes you, he really likes you. He doesn’t have any pictures of you, and with the high definition of the news channel’s video he can see every perfect contour of your cheekbones, every pore in your skin, every glistening wet eyelash.

It’s not that Tomura doesn’t feel sympathy for how upset you are in the video. He does! Not even just sympathy, even—he’s empathetic. He knows exactly how it feels to be let down by the heroes. How dare they tell you you need to be grateful while you’re still trying to wipe brain matter off your shirt? Always too little, too late. It’s not fair.

But if he’s being honest? As miserable as you are, Tomura is happy that you were in the store when that robber came in and that you had to watch a man you knew get his brains blown out in front of you. You need a wake-up call to lose faith in hero society. If you have to suffer some emotional trauma in the process, that seems like a fair price to pay.

And the fact that Tomura gets to jerk off to it? It’s almost like destiny.

➠ [Part 3]

[siriusmydeer]

For the Thank You Next can you do Imagine with James Potter?

thank you, next.

james potter x slytherin!fem!reader

summary: you go through the stages of love till you find your person.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: mutual pinning, over use of sarcasm it’s so bad, SWEARING, kissing, mentions of kissing, mentions of an arm falling off, mentions of injury

—0:00

‘Thought I'd end up with Sean

But he wasn't a match

Wrote some songs about Ricky

Now I listen and laugh

Even almost got married

And for Pete, I'm so thankful

Wish I could say "thank you" to Malcolm

'Cause he was an angel’

one day, when you’re young, your mother tells you, ‘there’s lots of fish in the sea, but you have to wait for the right catch’ or maybe that was just your deranged mother. normally, you thought all of that was bullshit. a slytherin princess should never be mistreated, someone whomst you honour and adore with all in your beating heart; turns out slytherin boys didn’t get the fucking memo.

the only person who did understand was the one and only, regulus arcturus black. but you unfortunately lacked sexual attraction to him so therefore you couldn’t date him, so that was a feigning issue. evan rosier was fit, top of his classes and a quite nice mop of blonde on his head, he was a quidditch player and a pureblood slytherin; so etiquette is to be clearly expected. too other schoolmates, especially the fawning girls of almost every house, he was probably the full package, one of the alpha males that roamed the hallways at hogwarts; oh were those girls the biggest knob heads to exist.

turns out he was just the biggest fucking dick to ever walk the planes of the earth, he ran around with idiots like lucius malfoy— another mistake of the century, and little severus snape; thank merlin, and salazar slytherin themselves you never resorted to him.

‘One taught me love

One taught me patience

And one taught me pain

Now, I'm so amazing

Say I've loved and I've lost

But that's not what I see

So, look what I got

Look at what you taught me

And for that, I say’

normally your first couple of boyfriends should teach you something out of the relationship, maybe what you needed to strengthen for the next time you were in an intimate relationship, like trust, communication, maybe even sexual intimacy.

all these absolute dunces taught you was to pick your boyfriends better, and to stay away from every slytherin male that had ever entered hogwarts. evan— oh, he only taught you that everyone and everything was a priority over you, always the ‘talk to you later.’ and the casual, ‘blowjob?’ comments; absolutely fucking arse. lucius, couldn’t forget his moto in your mind even if you jammed it in your strongly-witted brain that money was power and money over any atom to every exist.

regulus understood, strict pureblood parents but he still understood how to treat a partner. i guess it was nice not picking up every habit of walburger and onion— sorry, walburga and orion, noble heirs of the house of black. yeah, did i mention they were second cousins?

‘Thank you, next (next)

Thank you, next (next)

Thank you, next

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next (next)

Thank you, next (next)

Thank you, next (next)’

“you could always hang out with my brothers mates, i see them not casually oogling you.” oh regulus, sometimes you did lack the slytherin wit and ambition. he was sprawled on the malachite coloured couch, a pearly white quill fumbled between his slender digits as he started aimlessly into oblivion at the dying out fire in the midst of the frigid common room.

“yeah, let me go hang out with my best friends brothers friends, slytherin haters! such a good idea, reg. maybe they should’ve put you in ravenclaw from that amazing idea!” if you were sarcastic before, there aren’t a non-vulgar amount of words in the universe to describe the tremendous mockery in your tone; as you intensely stared into the crevices of the ceiling while laying on the opposite viridescent sofa.

“merlin, tone down the sarcasm a bit? i was just offering, it’s not like your a pureblood, or a prat.” regulus offered, looking at your form, your elbow now covering your eyes and making recurring heavy sighs every few minutes. “being a half-blood is enough for hatred, regulus, m’dear.” you sighed again, in defeat. hopeless romantic and hated by many, fantastic, am i right?

‘Spend more time with my friends

I ain't worried 'bout nothin'

Plus, I met someone else

We're havin' better discussions

I know they say I move on too fast

But this one gon' last

'Cause her name is Ari

And I'm so good with that (so good with that)’

don’t think, breath and just do what your heart tells you to. fuck that— panic, cry, scream, whatever, be scared. you were gaping at the red mass and overdue of shades, it wasn’t ugly but definitely not the prettiest colour to exist; mixed with mustard yellow. gryffindor students absolutely covered in both. well students, no, james potter, yes.

he happen to be your victim, well friend of sirius; regulus did say after all they oogled you, whatever that meant. you both played quidditch, pretty decent grades, both had good humour, your more so, i mean c’mon you couldn’t find that wit just anywhere, and well you could be best friends. well friends, acquaintances, maybe one, possibly. if only you had the confidence of a leo male, all you needed was to strut over to the damn quidditch field and say something, literally anything.

so that’s exactly what you did, your shoes crunching against the no-longer damp grass, dry after morning dew showers. your bag hanging off of your left arm, your head preoccupied with ways on how to greet someone because slytherin etiquette right now was not the way to go; it would only cause assumptions and stereotypes. i mean who the actual fuck says, ‘how do you do?’ anymore.

‘She taught me love (love)

She taught me patience (patience)

She handles pain (pain)

That amazing (yeah, she's amazing)

I've loved and I've lost (yeah, yeah)

But that's not what I see (yeah, yeah)

'Cause look what I've found (yeah, yeah)

Ain't no need for searching

And for that, I say’

enemies, nope. acquaintances, don’t think so. friends, getting there. close friends, i would say. if someone ever said they saw james fleamont potter hanging around a slytherin they would’ve assumed that someone was knocked upside the head with the biggest beaters bar you could find, but the green and red weren’t that bad of a mix after all.

henceforth, here you were giggling like school girls with james fucking potter right by the black lake. “james, respectfully, stop carrying that stupid snitch everywhere. doesn’t it weigh down your pockets?” you queried the boy who was fumbling with the golden snitch for the past three minutes, flipping his hair so he could knock the brunette tendrils from his eyes while he gaped at you.

you were glowing— the sun at its highest peek, he could’ve been on his knees thanking albus dumbledore in his office for free period; knowing james we would’ve offered to comb his beard and maybe even a shampoo and condition it while he was at it.

your eyes glittered as you chortled at him for dropping that stupid ball for the third time, your hair dancing in the wind like it was a routine, a perfect routine, your teeth glinting at the suns ethereal rays that hit you just right. imagine if james’ foolish cocky mask instead would’ve rejected your offer of friendship that one humid day on the quidditch pitch— he would’ve been the biggest git to ever stride the planet.

‘Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (thank you)

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (said thank you, next)

Thank you, next (next)

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next

Thank you, next

Thank you, next’

friends, that’s what it was suppose to be. pals, mates, schoolmates, whatever the fuck you called it. it wasn’t suppose to be frenemies, to friends to lovers! you weren’t suppose to notice the navy blue flecks of colour in his cerulean eyes, the way his lips curled in a smile after he caught that silly snitch that blazed the thick sure after a hefty match, the way he brushed the tresses of hair behind your ears when the wind was assaulting your face and you were basically swallowing your hair.

now sitting with him in the library you were mentally stabbing your stygian heart, why men. why do they do things, why do men sometimes have the decency to show sympathy, and partiality with their friends. he hugged you, he kissed your forehead when you felt dejected, james potter went through the slytherin common room to bring you chocolates on your period. which fucking gryffindor would do that, huh? definitely not frank longbottom or fabian prewett.

his hand scathed yours as he pointed at how to make a draught of peace potion, his hand was warm and smooth but only from what you touched— you could see slight callouses forming on the pads of pads palm from broom handling, and the small cracks in his knuckles from the lacking use of lotion. you felt the rapid rate of your heart merely increasing at the minute from the slight touch, a rush of rose clouded your cheeks. this was so embarrassing.

‘One day I'll walk down the aisle

Holding hands with my mama

I'll be thanking my dad

'Cause she grew from the drama

Only wanna do it once, real bad

Gon' make that last

God forbid something happens

Least this song is a smash (song is a smash)’

you were mid flight, smashing a bludger in the direction of the vermillion colours. even when you were immensely sweaty, intensely panting, abundantly tired, and your arm looked like it wanted to fall off he wanted to kiss the energy back into you. james loved winning against slytherin, it might’ve been his favourite thing at hogwarts; but he would murder a pack of death eaters if it meant he got to see your smile when your emerald-clad seeker clutched that small golden ball.

both teams landed, a handshake due for the game to be over after almost two continuous hours of playing and that stubborn ball blazing the air. he meant to walk over there, a hug overdue in his prideful way of saying congratulations but he did not think that he would’ve strided over to your panting figure and clasped your soft cushion lips with his own parched ones from the continuous heaving in his breath.

your lips tasted of peach, hints of mango. your lips dried of chapstick but still smooth— feeling the grooves in your lips, they were puffy and swollen probably from the tremendous amount of times you had bitten your lips in anxiety. your lips disconnected for a moment, suddenly realizing that you had an audience of your fellow slytherins, your enemy gryffindors and not one but two shocked crowds of hufflepuffs and ravenclaws suddenly watching the private scene unfold.

james cleared his throat, looking at your grinning face that was encased between his palms, your face was significantly flushed, your chest moving every millisecond at the loss of breath in your lungs. “good, uh, good game james.”

‘I've got so much love (love)

Got so much patience (patience)

I've learned from the pain (pain)

I turned out amazing (turned out amazing)

I've loved and I've lost (yeah, yeah)

But that's not what I see (yeah, yeah)

'Cause look what I've found (yeah, yeah)

Ain't no need for searching

And for that, I'll say’

cocky, quidditch captain, school prankster, pureblood gryffindor, and head boy. that to the peering eyes of hogwarts was james potter, but he was so much more than that. he was like an onion, gross comparison but for the sake of it you’ll use it, he had layers but everyday it’s like you cried a little less and you peeled just a bit more.

he was benevolent, he guided first years to common rooms and sometimes he studied with fourth year hufflepuffs. he was sensible, sometimes, he helped out madame pomfrey in the healers wing when remus had been injured from a full moon along with any remaining students in the ward from previous incidents, not to mention, you did uncover remus’ ‘furry secret’ and swore to secrecy. and most of all, james was cherishing, he actually did give a fuck when you had a bad day, he stroked your back and hummed you stupid baby lullabies.

i mean could you imagine lucius malfoy and evan rosier humming a girl lullabies when they were upset? celebratory kisses after quidditch, bringing you snacks while you were overwhelmed in school work and actually made an effort in the relationship? they would’ve bought you a pair of red bottoms and called it a day.

‘Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next (thank you, next)

Thank you, next (said thank you, next)

Thank you, next (next)

I'm so grateful for my ex

Thank you, next

Thank you, next

Thank you, next

Yeah’

there was infact one thing that your past relationships taught you;

never date a man to ever be put in the slytherin house ever again.

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