#what did you expect from a coma patient

[itoof137]

Yoooohooo! I have cooked some kaishin food again! This time is for

Kaishin One Prompt Challenge 2023!

In this AU, soulmates can hear each others heartbeat:

Since waking up from a 12 years long coma, Kuroba Kaito found himself trying to cope with a lot of things: how all his family and friends have moved on; the name phantom thief Kid who destroyed Pandora have been long forgotten; and worst of all, his soulmate's mysterious death 10 years ago.

Oh, and what is with this young detective who is a split image of Shinichi?

Hoohoo, I wonder where will this go? <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>

Thank you Mac for this awesome event! I have a lot of fun working on this! (⁠っ⁠˘⁠з⁠(⁠˘⁠⌣⁠˘⁠ ⁠)

Also this art got inspired heavily by this beautiful little comic ゆらゆら | 🐟 #pixiv. Check it out!

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future. If there's no interest, unfortunately, I will be abandoning the idea.

AO3 LINK ONE

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

PREVIEW

Strange noises surround you, and the brightness stings your eyes, but you want to wake up. In the distance, you hear a woman shouting for a nurse to come help. Is she a relative? A friend? You wish you knew. You feel connected to machines, surrounded by tubes, which nearly makes you gag. “Don’t pull on any of the wires attached to you. A nurse will be here to help you. My name is Lois Tryon. Detective Lois Tryon.” The woman speaks, trying to sound gentle but coming off as forced. She smells of cigarettes and alcohol. You remain silent, motionless. You don’t want to die—even though you don’t even know who you are.

"How long have I been here, Detective Tryon?" you murmur with some difficulty. There might be other important questions, but right now, this is the only one you need answered.

"About two years," she says, sounding almost excited about your recovery. A medical team enters your hospital room, adjusting and checking your body as if you were a doll—a sensation that’s starting to make you feel nauseous. The detective vanishes amidst the medical team as they check your reflexes, vital signs, temperature, and run several other clinical tests that will apparently tell them how you’ve woken up and if you’re truly all right.

Everything felt so secretive, with nurses whispering as if you couldn’t hear them. Two doctors were even debating whether they should tell you something or not. They decided to wait for Dr. Mayhew, whoever he might be. After a while, you drifted off to sleep, still waiting for them to explain what was going on. You had the same dream as before—a strikingly attractive man dressed as a priest making you kneel, asking for forgiveness for some unnamed sin. What stood out was how he always touched your face gently, saying that if you truly sought forgiveness for what you had done, you would have to accept your punishment. Then you would start taking off your clothes for him. The man dressed as a priest would then put you between his legs and spank you. He used to ask if you would be a good girl for him, and when you answered; he would whisper to you to take responsibility for what you did. And then you found yourself surrounded by blood and corpses, like a nightmare.

This time, you opened your eyes, letting out an almost desperate cry. There are fewer tubes attached to you, fewer wires surrounding you. There’s also a doctor—a different one from those who tended to you before. He’s lying back, asleep in a chair that doesn’t look at all comfortable. You wonder if it’s common for doctors to fall asleep beside their patients or if you’re getting special treatment due to the time you’ve been unconscious. The doctor is strikingly handsome. He looks exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and his breathing deep and steady. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t wake at your cry.

You try to get up, nearly falling back at the sudden motion, but on the second attempt, you manage with some difficulty. Unsteady, you grab one of the spare blankets at the foot of your hospital bed and gently drape it over him. But there’s something peculiar—you feel as if you’ve seen him before. You move closer, laying your fingers lightly on the warm skin of his hand. His hair falls messily over his face, obscuring your view. Then you recognize him: the slightly wicked priest from your dreams, too alluring to be a saint, who meted out your penance. Yet something within you stirs, as if he holds a deeper meaning, something that seduces and captivates you. You touch the scar on his forehead, feeling a surge of electricity ripple through your body.

Then he grasps your hand, pulling you down onto his lap, where you land anyway. You’re silent for a moment, staring at him. “You used to brush my hair away from my face whenever you wanted to tell me something embarrassing,” he says, his voice close to yours, a sly smile playing on his lips as he settles you in his lap. “You’d say that if you focused on my scar, you wouldn’t feel so shy talking to me.” You’re surprised, but you don’t move. Something about being close to him feels familiar, leaving your body unresponsive in his presence.

“I imagine you don’t speak like that to all your patients, Doctor…” you say, trying to keep a serious tone as you study the face of the man whose lap you’re seated on. He chuckles, clearly amused. “Dr. Mayhew to some, Charlie to others. But to you, I’m husband.”

The words startle you, and you jump off his lap, steadying yourself on the hospital bed. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” you ask, bewildered. You’re married?

“I know this might be difficult to understand, but we are married. Don’t feel pressured to remember—it’s all right…” he murmurs, rising from the chair and moving toward you. His calm tone, almost as if he’s trying to make you feel safe, is surprisingly comforting. Your gaze falls to his hands as they reach out to you, but you instinctively move to the opposite side of the bed.

“I’m sorry, but there must be some mistake. You can’t be married to me. Your face looks like it stepped right out of a magazine. I can barely believe you’re a doctor, let alone my husband. If this is a joke, know that it’s unfair to mock someone who doesn’t even know her own name,” you say, sounding slightly indignant. But honestly, what are the odds he’s really your husband?

Dr. Mayhew laughs, a sound both frustrated and enchanted. He runs a hand through his hair as if searching for patience. “It’s funny you’d say that. When we first met, you called me a ‘Ken wannabe.’ Later, you swore you hadn’t fallen for me because of my looks. When you remember that, I’ll be sure to remind you of it,” he says, his gaze deep and searching, as if his eyes are speaking more than his words.

“If you’re my husband, then tell me something only you would know about me!” you exclaim before he can come any closer. Your hands are trembling—whether from the intensity of his stare or some other reason, you’re not sure.

"You like to fuck when you're stressed, usually you prefer me to fuck you from behind but when you're pissed off, you bounce on me like there's no tomorrow. You don't like to feel pressure so I personally think you married me not because I'm handsome but because I let you be in charge. When I asked you to marry me, you broke up with me. You thought I was rushing things, and you couldn't stand the idea of not being able to give me children. You had two cats when you were younger and you named them 'Beelzebub' and 'Crowley' because your mother was very religious and you never liked her." He seems sincere, even if he's embarrassing you on purpose. It's obvious from the way he talks about your sex life, which you can't even confirm.

“Hold on, Doctor. We both know the sexual details were unnecessary. If I can’t remember other parts of my life, am I really going to remember what our… sex life was like?” you say, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your hands are beginning to sweat, but you don’t break eye contact with Dr. Mayhew.

“Actually, of all the details I’ve shared, those are the only ones we can test right now,” he says, closing in on you with surprising speed. His gaze is fixed on you, predatory and intent, as though you’re his prey. Strangely, you feel no embarrassment—just a stirring curiosity to uncover this for yourself.

“Do you often suggest casually sleeping with your patients? We are in your workplace, after all,” you say, feigning reprimand, though part of you wonders if he’s ever done this here before.

“I only suggest it to those who are married to me. And honestly,” he says, drawing closer to you, his voice dropping to a whisper, “we’ve done far worse in both our workplaces.” He nods between himself and you, hinting at shared memories. There’s a tension in the air, something almost tangible. You swallow hard, unsure why his closeness doesn’t make you uncomfortable—but rather feels strangely familiar.

“You sound extremely dangerous saying things like that,” you murmur, holding Dr. Mayhew’s gaze as if daring him. For a moment, you think he might close the distance and kiss you—a thought that leaves you unsettled. How should you respond? You’re not even sure if you believe he’s really your husband.

“You were always one to take risks; has amnesia made you forget your true nature?” His fingers trace lightly along your arm, his gaze heavy with desire. He clearly wants you, yet that alone proves nothing. Whoever you once were, in this moment, you feel as though you’re standing bare before him.

"I hope I’m not interrupting the happy couple, but I heard Mrs. Mayhew was awake. I thought I’d finally come to speak with my most anticipated witness. I’ve waited two years for this conversation,” Detective Lois Tryon stands in the doorway of your hospital room, a victorious smile on her face. Dr. Mayhew doesn’t look pleased to see her there. They exchange a tense look, while you remain close to him, caught between their silent standoff.

“I don’t believe it’s appropriate to question my wife mere hours after she’s woken from a two-year coma,” Dr. Mayhew says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “I’m sure you’re aware of her memory issues, Detective Tryon. It would be courteous of you to give her a moment to adjust.” You’re taken aback but stay pressed against his well-defined frame, momentarily wondering if he’s a doctor or a bodybuilder.

“It’s no surprise you don’t think it’s appropriate for me to question your wife,” Detective Tryon replies, her tone laced with sharpness. “I would have to reveal to her that her husband is a primary suspect in a series of murders. That he’s so determined to evade justice he might’ve orchestrated the accident that left her comatose. And that he’s been having an affair with the lead investigator of this case—while she’s been unconscious.” Mayhew tenses, a flicker of fury crossing his face as he grips your waist tighter. You watch as his features contort slightly, weighing the situation. You can’t help but wonder if you’re witnessing an innocent man being falsely accused or a guilty man feeling the noose tighten. For some reason, this only heightens your intrigue in him.

[revelboo]

begging on my hands and knees for the coma kid part 4 i love it sm i want more. so long as ur okay with it, plsplspls continue the coma kid

One lovesick puppy coming up

The Coma Kid Pt 4

TFO B-127 x Reader

• “Oh, oh. Wait. Here,” he says, banging against the side of the entry to his quarters and you look guiltily up from where you’re trying to figure out how to get down from his berth. “Soft things. I thought you might like soft things. Because you’re soft?” And he walks over with what you suspect might be every single rag the aliens have and dumps them on the berth with you, beaming like he expects you to be excited. Play along, you remind yourself. Especially since he just gave you a possible way to climb down as soon as you’re unsupervised. You can tie these together and climb down. Maybe. You just need something to secure them to.

• “Aren’t you thoughtful,” you say and you smile at him. A real smile. Spark warming, he drops to his knees and leans against the berth, servos dragging you to him. Hears your startled noise as he presses his face against you, drinking in your warmth and that humming feeling of rightness and home. Soaking in the praise even though you’ve got a hand planted against his face trying to push him away. It’s okay. You’re just not used to being handled yet, but you’re getting there. You didn’t smack him this time. That’s progress. He can be patient.

• “I want you to be happy. Are you? Happy?” Giving up as he nuzzles his face against you, you awkwardly pat him on the helm. Because he really is just a giant, extremely obnoxious puppy. At your half hearted ‘sure,’ he just grins. Servos curling around you, he picks you up so he can sprawl on his back, placing you on his chassis. Planting your hands on him, you bite into the inside of your cheek. Reminding yourself to not smack his big, grabby hands. “Were you lonely when I left?” He asks even though he was gone, what, an hour tops?

• You’re silent, expression serious again. Making him think that you did miss him. Something that pleases him and makes him unhappy at the same time. Because he understands being lonely, knows that pain very well. And you’re never going to be lonely again, because he’s going to make sure you know you’re wanted. That you’re not going to be abandoned like he was.

• If you just say sure again, will he get even clingier? Because you can’t try to escape if he thinks he can’t leave you alone. Most likely you’ll only get one chance. One chance to get out of giant robot hell and as far from that uncanny feeling of belonging that you get swamped with whenever he touches you. Some weird alien thing he’s doing to you to trick your brain into thinking everything is good when it’s definitely not. “Were you lonely?” You counter.

• Smile faltering slightly as he runs his servos over your hips and up your sides, his thoughts turn almost against his will to sublevel fifty. To being alone for so long time had lost all meaning. Venting unsteadily, he tries to shake it off. Forces a smile. It’s fine. It’s over. And now that he has you, he’ll never be lonely again. Never have to remember staring at the furnace at the end of the conveyer belt and the moment he’d realized if he jumped in no one would ever know. No one would mourn him or look for him. Gone like he never even existed. Shaking himself, he taps you gently on the nose. “Food. You need food, right? I’ll get you some. Um, what do you eat?”

Previous

Next

[sidekick-hero]

On top of the world

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, prompt 'graduation' | 616 words | tags: fix it, Steve is a sweetheart and takes care of Eddie, first kiss

Before March 21st, Eddie would have said not graduating again was the worst thing that could happen to him. Now, Eddie knows better.

Nothing like almost dying to put things into perspective, right?

He misses the days when his biggest worry was convincing old witch O'Donnell to give him a "D" and let him leave Hawkins High. Now that he knows what a real hellhole looks like, he thinks he could survive another year under Higgins' thumb.

Still, he doesn't exactly mind when Nancy comes over to his and Wayne's new house—part of the government deal the kids cut for him while he was in a coma—to tell him that he's going to graduate with his class.

He doesn't question it either, just whoops enthusiastically enough to almost pull his stitches, which hurts but has the added bonus of Steve putting his big hands all over him to check his numerous healing wounds.

A week on the run and fighting interdimensional monsters with the guy has changed Eddie's perspective on what’s the best thing that could happen to him as well.

On graduation day, he walks across the stage with a cane for support, something he hadn’t thought possible. It was Steve who had made that happen, even if he refused to accept Eddie's praise. The moment Eddie had muttered under his breath after Nancy had left, ‘But how am I supposed to walk the fucking stage if I can't even go to the bathroom without taking a break?' Steve was a man on a mission.

They practiced every day, before or after Steve's work helping out at the hospital. They needed every helping hand they could get after the damage Vecna and the Upside Down monsters had caused. Eddie could attest to how wonderful Steve's hands were at helping. In fact, he could write songs about it once his hands stopped shaking whenever he held a pencil (or anything, really) for too long.

Eddie wondered if every one of Steve's patients was as in love with him as he was.

As Eddie snags his diploma from Higgins, who looks like he bit into a particularly bitter lemon, Eddie marvels that flipping him the bird isn’t as exhilarating as expected.

Maybe that’s because of last night and the way Steve’s lips felt on his. Every moment since then simply pales in comparison.

Steve had come over after another shift at the hospital, probably sore and exhausted, but giving Eddie one of his dazzling smiles that always made him weak in the knees. Which was kind of counterproductive, considering what they were trying to accomplish here.

They were both trying so hard but Eddie’s legs just wouldn’t cooperate. No matter what Steve tried, they buckled after a few steps, forcing Eddie to sit down or fall down. He had made progress, the muscles in his legs slowly coming back, but three weeks had been too short.

Or so he thought.

Eddie doesn’t know how or why, but this time, Steve had simply positioned himself as far away from Eddie as possible and spread his arms as wide as his smile. “I got you, Eds. I’ll never let you fall. If you can’t trust in yourself just yet, trust in me.”

He had, believing that those strong arms would wrap around him if he stumbled.

He didn’t stumble, didn’t fall, but wrap around him they did anyway. Steve had picked him up and twirled him around, and then he’d kissed him, grinning mouth to grinning mouth.

Eddie might not have graduated top of his class, but he sure feels like he’s on top of the world when he catches Steve’s eye among the cheering group of his friends.

[muletia]

PLS PLS PLS PLS

I'M ON MY KNEES

PLEASE MAKE A STORY WHERE Y/N COMES BACK TO THEIR HOUSE, TIRED FROM WORK AND SUDDENLY SEES OPTIMUS AND MEGATRON OILED UP UNDER THEIR CHRISTMAS TREE 🙏🙏🙏

damn, i wish they would spawn under my christmas tree 😔

𝐦��𝐠𝐨𝐩 𝐱 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

cw: shitpost, crack, cliffhanger (this is never getting a part 2 btw)

word count: 425

You already knew they had invited themselves into your house. The open garage and the doors ripped off their hinges told you everything. Just like the two voices, perfectly familiar to you, coming from the living room—voices you’re still happy to hear. Despite your exhaustion, despite the overwhelming need to collapse onto your bed and fall into a week-long coma, though knowing your guests, that likely won’t be an option.

You’re expecting a classic greeting: sharp dentae on your neck, gentle servos stroking your hand, apologies for their partner’s lack of tact and directness. But what you find in the living room exceeds all your expectations.

"Greetings, dearest."

"You’re later than usual."

You don’t even register their greetings, your attention entirely focused on the two revered leaders kneeling before your Christmas tree. That in itself wasn’t unusual—you’d seen them in less dignified positions. What struck you the most was the meters of tape adorned with a kitschy Christmas pattern wrapped around them. From their necks to their thighs, it clung haphazardly, betraying their lack of skill in handling the task. They had no clue how to make it look seductive rather than tacky. And maybe you could have bought into it—if not for the red and purple bows affixed to their thighs, dangerously close to their pelvises, on their armor, just under their necks, and smack in the middle of their chassis. To make things even more intriguing: Megatron wore red bows, and Optimus purple.

"How did you… where did you…" you start, but when the silver mech smiles, you abandon the question. "You know what, I don’t even want to know..."

You rub your temples as your brain struggles to catch up, while your eyes continue scanning. Especially their armor, which gleamed exceptionally today, looking pristine. As if it were coated with something…

"Did you two oil yourselves up with something?"

"Merry Christmas, [Name]," Optimus smiles gently. The mech beside him wasn’t nearly as angelically patient.

"Are you going to unwrap your gifts already, or are we going to keep wasting time?"

"You know what, I think I’ll wait until tomorrow," you decide to tease them a bit. Now it’s your turn to smile as you see their confused expressions.

"You wouldn’t dare…" Megatron growls.

He starts to squirm, threatening to snap the cute ribbon.

"Alright, alright, calm down…" you sigh. You’d already said goodbye to the dream of your long-awaited nap.

You walk over to them and begin toying with the bows on their chassis.

"I couldn’t have wished for better Christmas gifts."

[elizzsush]

I love you?| Tim Drake X Reader

Tim Drake X Reader

— How can you mourn someone you never truly knew?

AU: None Rating: SFW

Note: Check out this post for context! Tim is a bit of a stalker, but he always has been so its in character. ________________________________

The first thing Tim ever did after meeting you was run a background check.

It had become second nature at that point. A habit he picked up when he was younger that just stuck. Tim had an obsessive personality, so it was a natural habit- or maybe he forced this habit on himself. He's always been one to bite off more than he can chew and then force himself too sallow.

You checked all the boxes. Funny, beautiful, nice to be around, easy to get along with, clean background, you could handle yourself in a fight. You told him you took self defense classes which made sense in Gotham- and had a promising future. Everything a Wayne would be expected to look for in a partner.

It was a bonus that you had a crush on him. It made it easy.

Tim Drake, the smart and handsome boy in your class. It was natural that when he asked you to go out with him, you'd say yes.

Tim was a pretty calculated person, because of his... nighttime activities he had also gotten into the habit of never allowing much room for error. He planned ahead to even minor details.

It was because of all these things you and Tim began your relationship.

“We had a date… We’re are you?” Another reason you and Tim stayed together. You were unbelievably patient. He saw it when he came rushing into the nice restaurant he booked for the two of you- regular clothes and a hastily bought slightly ruined bouquet. All while you sat in a nice dress, a half eaten meal in front of you. You weren’t the type to blow up and get upset, you kept your feelings inside and that worked for him.

Funnily- err, no… horribly enough, Tim never told you why he was late for every other date. Instead he choose a simpler much easier route. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t find my keys.”

It worked because no matter how shallow or hard to believe the lies were… you took them. Took them and smiled while you tried to forget about it and enjoy the rest of the night with your boyfriend.

Often it felt like going through the motions with you. You’d smile and enjoy the time you spent with the boy and then wave him goodbye. Being with Tim… it felt so surface level. It felt lonely… Gifts were used as an excuse to not spend real… physical time with you. So, you’d just smile at the flowers you got at your door and the teddy bear, even if they were stereotypical nonpersonal things to give a partner.

While you didn’t know If you loved your own boyfriend, you knew you admired him. You admired how he kept himself in shape despite how busy he was, how he managed all his work with the side projects he kept up with- how he juggled his family. All of it. You admired how he seemed to work for what he had.

You admired how he always seemed so tired. Too tired to properly hide the aspects he didn't want you to see. But you chose to not see them. Not let him know you saw through it. Not giving anything away he didn't want.

Still, all those things kept him so… distant. Like a wall being put up in front of you, hiding him away.

Would it be clingy to tell him to call more?

He was already so busy; how did he juggle you with his life? It seemed hard. At times you thought he was cheating on you but with how public he and you were… it was a fleeting thought. Did Tim even enjoy the time you two did have together?

You’d often question your relationship with the Wayne boy.

You questioned a lot of things. Some you’d question only later. Later when you awoke from the coma that… that monster put you in.

But before that... before any of that. “Catwomen got your tongue?” You’d giggle and poke the boy's shoulder. He was definitely upset today; you'd blame the lack of sleep- he blames your curiosity. “Hey, talk to me..?”

“I’m sorry, I’m kind of busy right now.” He frowned slapping your hand your touch away and you could only pout to hide the hurt in your chest.

.

.

The first time Tim held you hand your cheeks hurt from smiling.

.

.

The worst part of everything to Tim. He didn't even know if he did love you.

There was exactly ten times Tim wished he told you it. Once he did, mostly to get you off his back. Did that make him a horrible person?

He liked you. He liked how easy you were. He liked how you trusted him. He liked how you let him lie to you. He liked how your felt against him, how you would get up to get him another energy drink instead of nagging him about his health. Not that you weren't concerned about the amount of caffeine he consumed you had been clear you were...

He liked when he was a little more careless, having you against him while he typed away on his computer. You holding his drink for him, head on his shoulder, just tired enough to not see what he was really working on. he thought at least... He liked having you against him when he got back... When he saw you again he liked having you around. He enjoyed feeling you against him, your skin on his... Hold you close and just... feel. Feel your body heat against his when he'd get back from patrolling those cold Gotham nights. Rip that same old suit off and climb into bed, embrace that skin to skin contact he so easily grew addicted too.

It was a funny joke with Gothamites that Tim Drake, the son of Bruce Wayne was a coffee addict. Tim had an obsessive personality, so it wasn't out of character. Every post with him in it had a mug, which never helped with the so-called rumors.

As he scrolled on his phone, he didn't even notice the mugs slowly disappearing. Instead, you were on his arm in every photo... Huh...

He didn't know if he loved you. He probably never would anymore... He probably didn't. I mean, what kind of man scrolls on his phone while holding the hand of their supposed lover? Especially when you were hooked up to wires...

But, it hurt too look at you. See you in that state. Not knowing if you'd wake up. The ache in his chest... It lessened when he adverted his eyes and stared at his phone.

If his touch was the sun, you were the earth. If he was your sun, that meant he failed you. When the sun combusts, the earth will die, and the sun combusted, broke under the pleasure.

He should've been a better boyfriend...

If he was, he would have at least known what kind of flowers to bring you...

Roses... felt too basic. To... impersonal.

___________________________________________

A/N: I hate hate hate hate my writing! Bleh. This all felt tooooo flat.

[muiitoloko]

I looooved the daddy severus fanfic aaaaghhhh ❤️ but now can we have what he needed to do to have the baby lol

Breeding kink severus PLEASE!!! Xx

Title: A Second Chance

Summary: Surviving the war was only the beginning for Severus Snape. With your love, he learns to embrace life, finding comfort in the thought of a future that includes a family of his own.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: I'm so glad you loved the Daddy Severus fanfic! ❤️ And I couldn't resist your request, so I went ahead with the breeding kink idea—but decided to keep it light and wrote a completely new one-shot instead. Don't worry, it's more on the sweet side, nothing too kinky 😅. Hope you enjoy this one just as much! xx

Also read on Ao3

Severus Snape never imagined he would survive the war, let alone find himself married years after the defeat of Lord Voldemort. In truth, he hadn't even expected to live past the moment Nagini's fangs had torn into his throat. The pain had been excruciating, but it was fleeting—quickly overtaken by the cold, creeping numbness of death. He had welcomed it, that final escape from a life filled with darkness and deceit. Everything had gone black, and he thought that was the end.

But death had not come for Severus Snape that day. Instead, he had awoken to the sterile smell of potions and the clinical brightness of the Hogwarts infirmary, with Madam Pomfrey's stern face hovering above him, muttering incantations and administering salves to his ravaged neck. She had told him that the war was over, that Voldemort was defeated, and in those first few moments of lucidity, Snape had wanted nothing more than to slip back into unconsciousness. He had nothing left to live for, after all. But fate, as it often did, had other plans.

Snape had been in a coma for two long years—two years during which the wizarding world had moved on without him, during which he had been declared a hero by none other than Harry Potter, the boy he had once loathed. Potter, in his infinite idiocy, had come forward with memories—his memories—evidence that Snape had been working as a double agent, risking everything to protect the son of the woman he had loved more than life itself. It was Potter’s testimony that had spared Snape from Azkaban, and it was Potter who had ensured that he was awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, and hailed as a hero in the aftermath of the war.

Snape thought bitterly of that fool of a boy now, sitting in the grand sitting room of one of the Prince family’s old mansions. The house had been passed down to him as the last living heir of the Prince family, a lineage he had long since stopped caring about. His mother’s bloodline had never brought him anything but misery, and yet here he was, a reluctant beneficiary of the wealth and status he had once despised. He rubbed the large scar on his neck, the mark left by Nagini’s fangs a constant reminder of how close he had come to death. It barely allowed him to speak without pain, a daily torment that was only mitigated by the potions and treatments he had to endure.

And that was where you came in.

You had been sent by St. Mungo’s on behalf of the Ministry of Magic, assigned to take care of Snape’s throat, which often swelled and caused him intense pain at random times. The venom of Nagini had remained in his bloodstream, a sinister reminder of the Dark Lord’s most loyal servant. Snape hadn’t wanted you there. In those first few days, he had made every effort to drive you away, using every tactic at his disposal—scathing remarks, icy glares, and, when words failed him, the sheer force of his silent, menacing presence. But you hadn’t been intimidated. You had insisted on staying, refusing to leave despite his best efforts to scare you off. You were patient, determined, and unfailingly kind—qualities that Snape found both infuriating and, inexplicably, disarming.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when things began to change between the two of you. Perhaps it was the day he had tried to intimidate you with a particularly venomous glare, only to find that you met his gaze with calm resolve, refusing to back down. He had pressed you against the wall in a fit of frustration, intending to finally break through that maddening composure, but instead, he had found himself kissing you—fiercely, desperately, as if you were the only thing tethering him to this world. That kiss had quickly turned into something more—something that left you both breathless and shaken, your bodies entwined in a feverish, almost primal need.

Months had passed since that first heated encounter, and somehow, through a series of events that still seemed surreal to him, Snape had found himself married to you. He looked down at the simple, yet elegant ring on his finger, a symbol of a life he had never imagined for himself. The ring was one he had chosen himself, purchased with the money he had saved over the years as a professor—years of putting up with those insufferable, brainless children. The irony of it all was not lost on him. Severus Snape, the cold, unyielding Potions Master, now had a wife, a home, and a life that was, in many ways, far more normal than he had ever thought possible.

He had thought he would hate it—the domesticity, the mundanity of it all. But as he sat in the quiet of the old manor, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, he realized that he didn’t hate it. Not at all. In fact, he found a strange sort of peace in it—a peace he hadn’t known in decades, if ever. It was a peace that came from knowing that, despite everything, he had somehow found a place in this world—a place with you.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching, and he looked up to see you entering the room, a soft smile on your face as you made your way over to him. You were dressed simply, yet elegantly, your presence filling the room with a warmth that he still wasn’t quite used to, but which he had come to cherish nonetheless.

“Severus,” you greeted him, your voice soft and soothing as you approached. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugged slightly, the familiar discomfort in his throat a dull throb that he had long since learned to ignore. “As well as can be expected,” he replied, his voice low and rough, a result of the lingering effects of the venom.

You nodded, your expression one of understanding and quiet concern as you reached out to gently touch his hand, your fingers brushing against the cool metal of his wedding ring. “I’m glad,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his with a warmth that made his chest tighten. “You know, you don’t have to bear this burden alone. I’m here, Severus. I’ll always be here.”

He looked at you for a long moment, the weight of your words sinking in, filling the empty spaces in his heart that he had long thought would remain void. He had spent so many years alone, so many years building walls around himself to keep others out, that it still felt strange—unnatural, even—to have someone who cared about him, who wanted to share in his burdens.

But you were here, in his life, in his home, and he had somehow, against all odds, found himself falling for you in a way he hadn’t believed was possible. You had been a light in the darkness, a beacon that had guided him back to the land of the living when all he had wanted was to fade into oblivion.

“I know,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion as he looked down at your hand in his, the warmth of your touch grounding him in a way that nothing else could. “And I’m… grateful.”

You smiled at that, a soft, genuine smile that lit up your entire face, and for a moment, Snape felt something stir within him—something that had been dormant for far too long. It was a warmth, a flicker of hope, of love, that he had thought he would never feel again.

Without another word, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, a kiss that was soft and sweet, filled with all the affection and tenderness that you had brought into his life. Snape closed his eyes, allowing himself to get lost in the sensation, to savor the moment, the connection between you.

When you finally pulled back, you looked at him with a quiet intensity, your eyes searching his as if you were trying to understand the depth of what he was feeling. And in that moment, Snape realized that you did understand—that you knew him better than anyone ever had, perhaps even better than he knew himself.

“I love you, Sev,” you whispered, your voice filled with a quiet conviction that left no room for doubt. “I always will.”

But Severus Snape had never been one for grand declarations, especially when it came to matters of the heart. The words I love you felt foreign on his tongue, weighed down by the years of pain and loss that had shaped him into the man he was today. Instead, he preferred to convey his feelings through subtle gestures, through actions that spoke louder than words ever could.

And tonight, he intended to show you just how much you meant to him.

Without a word, Snape leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss, one that was slow and deliberate, full of a restrained passion that he had kept buried for far too long. His lips moved against yours with a careful intensity, as if he was savoring every moment, every sensation. His hand slid up to cup the back of your head, his long, slender fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer to him.

You responded eagerly, your body leaning into his as the kiss grew more heated, more urgent. Snape’s other hand found its way to your waist, his grip firm but gentle as he guided you onto his lap, your dress rustling softly as you straddled him. The fabric of his dark robes brushed against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that radiated from his body.

When he finally broke the kiss, his breathing was slightly uneven, his dark eyes filled with a hunger that you had rarely seen before. He looked at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat, his gaze piercing through you as if he was trying to convey all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say.

Without breaking eye contact, Snape’s hands moved to the hem of your dress, his fingers grazing the soft fabric as he slowly pushed it up, revealing the smooth skin of your thighs. He let out a low, almost inaudible groan as he felt the warmth of your body against his, the sight of you on his lap stirring something primal within him.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper as he traced the outline of your hips with his hands, his touch possessive yet reverent. It wasn’t quite I love you, but it carried the same weight, the same depth of emotion. It was his way of claiming you, of letting you know that you belonged to him in every sense of the word.

You shivered at his touch, your own hands moving to his shoulders, your fingers brushing against the cool, smooth fabric of his robes. His grip on you tightened slightly as he pulled you even closer, pressing your body against his as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you, a clear indication of just how much he wanted you.

“Severus…” you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of anticipation and desire as you felt his lips ghosting over your throat, leaving a trail of soft, heated kisses in their wake.

Snape didn’t respond with words. Instead, he let his actions speak for him, his hands slipping beneath your dress, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine before moving lower, cupping your ass and giving it a possessive squeeze. His lips found their way back to yours, capturing them in another deep, fervent kiss as he shifted beneath you, positioning himself so that his cock was perfectly aligned with your entrance, the heat of your arousal palpable through the thin fabric of your underwear.

Snape’s gaze was intense, his dark eyes boring into yours as he uttered a single, hoarse word: “Bedroom.” The command was rough, almost strangled, a reminder of the ever-present pain that laced his throat. You could see the discomfort etched into the lines of his face, a sharp pang of concern shooting through you. Was he okay? Was the pain too much for him? But before you could voice your worries, Snape dismissed them with a hard, determined look. He wasn’t going to let anything interrupt this moment.

In a swift, fluid motion, he lifted you into his arms, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as you clung to him. His strength surprised you, the lean muscles beneath his robes belying the quiet power he possessed. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you, straining through the fabric of his impeccably tailored trousers. The sensation sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine, igniting a fire in your belly.

He moved with purpose, carrying you down the dimly lit hallway of the old manor, his long robes billowing around him like shadows. The silence between you was thick, charged with the unspoken desires that had been building between you for months. Snape’s grip on you was firm, possessive, his hands settling on the curve of your ass as he held you close. The tension in the air was palpable, the only sounds were the soft rustle of fabric and the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his boots.

When he finally reached the bedroom, Snape pushed the door open with a gentle nudge of his foot, striding inside without hesitation. The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. The bed—a grand, four-poster affair draped in rich, dark fabrics—stood at the center of the room, an inviting haven amidst the darkness.

Without breaking his stride, Snape crossed the room and laid you down on the bed, his movements careful but deliberate. The mattress dipped under your weight as you looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat as you took in the sight of him. He stood at the edge of the bed, his tall, lean figure imposing and commanding, his dark robes making him look every bit the cold, enigmatic man you had first met. But now, there was something more in his eyes—a burning need, a primal desire that he could no longer suppress.

Snape’s hands moved to the clasp of his robes, his fingers deftly undoing it before he shrugged off the heavy fabric, letting it pool on the floor at his feet. He remained silent, his gaze never leaving yours as he began to unbutton his shirt, each movement slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment. The pale, angular planes of his chest were revealed inch by inch, the faint scars and the dark trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his trousers only adding to his rugged appeal.

Your mouth went dry as you watched him, your pulse quickening with each piece of clothing he shed. By the time he reached the waistband of his trousers, you were practically trembling with anticipation, your body aching with the need to feel him against you.

Snape didn’t rush. Instead, he paused, his fingers lingering on the waistband of his trousers as he looked down at you, his gaze dark and hungry. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, roughened by both his desire and the ever-present pain in his throat.

“I’m going to fill you,” he rasped, the words sending a jolt of arousal straight to your core. His expression was one of pure, unbridled lust, his eyes locked on yours as he added, “I’m going to put a baby inside you.”

The raw, primal promise in his words left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as heat pooled between your thighs. You could feel the wetness gathering there, your body responding to his words in a way that was utterly instinctive. Snape’s eyes flickered with satisfaction as he noticed your reaction, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grasp your ankle, pulling you toward the edge of the bed with a firm, steady grip. You let out a soft gasp as your back arched, your dress riding up higher, exposing more of your skin to his hungry gaze. Snape’s hand slid up your calf, his touch sending sparks of electricity coursing through you as he pushed your dress up, revealing the lacy fabric of your underwear.

“Take it off,” he ordered, his voice hoarse but commanding, a dark edge to his tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

You obeyed without hesitation, your hands trembling slightly as you reached down to slip the dress over your head. The fabric pooled on the floor beside the bed, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. Snape’s gaze raked over your body, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the sight of you.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, the word almost lost in the roughness of his voice. His hand moved to your hip, his fingers tracing the delicate lace of your underwear before slipping beneath the fabric. The feel of his hand against your bare skin sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your breath hitching as he caressed you with slow, deliberate strokes.

You moaned softly as his fingers found your wetness, your body arching into his touch. Snape’s gaze was fixed on yours, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart race. He moved his fingers with a practiced precision, teasing you with light, feathering touches that left you gasping for more.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation as you looked up at him. “Yes, Severus, please.”

Snape’s smirk widened at your desperate plea, his hand leaving your core to grip your thigh, spreading your legs wider. He moved between them, his trousers slipping down to reveal his throbbing erection, the sight of it making your mouth water with desire.

He positioned himself at your entrance, his tip brushing against your wet folds as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. The sensation was electric, his lips moving against yours with a fierce, possessive hunger that left you dizzy. You could feel the tension coiling within him, the barely restrained need that pulsed through every inch of his body.

With a low growl, Snape pushed inside you, the thick length of him stretching you to the brink as he buried himself to the hilt. The sensation was overwhelming, your body trembling with the sheer intensity of it as he filled you completely. You could feel every inch of him, the heat of his skin against yours, the raw power in the way he moved.

He set a slow, deliberate pace, his thrusts deep and measured, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. Snape’s gaze never wavered, his eyes locked on yours as he claimed you with every thrust, his hands gripping your hips with a possessive strength that left you breathless.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and strained as he drove into you with a primal, almost savage need. “Mine to fuck, mine to fill…mine to breed.”

The words sent a shiver of pleasure through you, your body tightening around him as you let out a low, breathy moan. Snape’s hands gripped your hips harder, pulling you against him with each thrust, his pace quickening as he lost himself in the intensity of the moment.

You could feel the heat building within you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust. Snape’s name spilled from your lips in a breathless chant, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he drove you closer to the edge.

Snape's breath was ragged as he buried himself inside you, his trousers bunched up around his ankles, trapped by the boots he hadn't bothered to remove. It didn’t matter to him—nothing mattered now except the primal, driving need to fill you, to claim you in the most profound and intimate way. His dark, greasy hair clung to his forehead as he hovered above you, his pale, angular face set in a mask of intense concentration and desire.

His thrusts were deep, deliberate, each movement calculated to drive you closer to the edge, to ensure that every inch of him was felt within you. His normally stoic expression was marred only slightly by the flicker of pain that crossed his features when he dared to speak. The venomous scars on his neck, the constant reminder of his near brush with death, flared in protest with every word. But his voice—deep, roughened by the damage to his throat—slipped out when he could no longer contain the twisted fantasies that had consumed him.

“Mine,” he rasped, the single word filled with a possessiveness that made your breath hitch. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours as his hand gripped your hip tightly, holding you in place as he thrust into you again, harder this time, his need taking over. “You’re mine.”

The room was filled with the sound of your bodies colliding, the soft crackling of the fire the only other noise breaking the silence. His boots scraped against the floor as he shifted, driving into you with a relentless pace that left no room for doubt about his intentions. The weight of his body pinned you beneath him, the full force of his need pressing down on you.

His mind was filled with images—visions of you swollen with his child, your body heavy with the life he’d put inside you. The thought only spurred him on, fueling the dark hunger that had taken root within him. He could see it so clearly in his mind’s eye—a little girl, with your beauty and his cunning, a powerful witch who would carry on the legacy he had never thought he would pass on.

“You’ll give me a daughter,” he whispered hoarsely, the words a struggle, each one tinged with the pain it caused him to speak. But he had to say it, had to let you know the depths of his desire. His fingers dug into your skin as he pounded into you, the force of his thrusts sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “You’ll carry her, and she’ll be perfect…just like you.”

The idea of breeding you, of seeing you swollen with his child, made him almost desperate in his movements. His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with a brutal precision that left you gasping, your hands clutching at his shoulders, desperate to hold onto something as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

His breathing was labored, the strain of holding back the pain of speaking clear in the way his chest heaved, but he couldn’t stop now. His fingers moved to your clit, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles as he watched the effect it had on you, the way your body responded to him, the way you trembled beneath him. It was intoxicating, knowing that he had this power over you, that he could bring you to the brink of ecstasy with just a few well-placed touches.

“You’re going to be so beautiful,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, thick with emotion. “Round and full…carrying my child. My daughter.” His eyes were locked on yours, his gaze intense and unwavering as he thrust into you with a newfound urgency. “I’ll protect you…both of you…no one will ever hurt you.”

His words were rough, almost growled out between clenched teeth as the fire within him built to a fever pitch. He was close, so close, and he could feel you tightening around him, the telltale signs of your impending climax pushing him even further.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice low and commanding despite the strain. “I want to feel you…want to feel you fall apart around me.”

You were helpless to resist him, your body obeying his every command as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. Your climax hit you hard, your entire body tensing as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Snape watched you, his gaze dark and intense, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove into you with a final, powerful thrust.

He could feel you convulsing around him, the tight, wet heat of your climax pulling him over the edge with you. He let out a low, guttural groan as he buried himself deep inside you, his release flooding you with a heat that seemed to burn through him.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing, the crackling of the fire, and the faint rustle of the sheets as Snape remained still above you, his chest rising and falling with the effort of catching his breath. His dark hair fell forward, obscuring his face as he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips rough and warm against your skin.

“You’re mine,” he whispered one final time, his voice barely more than a breath. “And you’ll give me everything.”

His words hung in the air, a promise, a vow, as he slowly pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness almost jarring after the intensity of what had just passed between you. He laid down beside you, pulling you close to his chest, his long fingers tangling in your hair as he held you tightly, as if afraid to let you go.

In the silence that followed, Snape closed his eyes, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. But even as sleep began to take him, the thought of you carrying his child—his daughter—brought a small, almost imperceptible smile to his lips.

For the first time in years, Severus Snape allowed himself to hope for the future.

After the intensity of your shared moment had begun to settle, you found yourself recovering faster than Severus, whose chest still heaved as he fought to catch his breath. His dark eyes were closed, his pale face flushed with the remnants of passion, and his hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat. For a brief moment, you simply watched him, your heart swelling with a deep, unspoken affection. It was in these quiet moments, after the storm of his desire had passed, that you felt closest to him—that you saw the man behind the formidable exterior, vulnerable and human.

You moved gently, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to the scarred skin of his neck, your lips lingering just above the spot where Nagini's fangs had once pierced him. His eyes fluttered open at the sensation, and he looked down at you with a mixture of exhaustion and something that might have been tenderness, though he would never admit it aloud. The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he might protest your ministrations, but you silenced him with a look, your eyes conveying a wordless command.

“Don’t move,” you whispered, your voice soft yet firm as you began to reach down, your hands deftly unfastening the boots that had remained stubbornly on his feet. Snape tried to protest, his brows knitting together in irritation at the thought of you taking care of him, but the protest died on his lips when you fixed him with a pointed stare.

“Be quiet, Severus,” you instructed gently, though there was no mistaking the steel behind your words. “Let me do this.”

For once, he complied, his lips pressing into a thin line as he allowed you to help him. It was an act of trust, a rare thing for him, and you didn’t take it lightly. You removed his boots with care, followed by the trousers that had bunched awkwardly around his ankles, your fingers brushing against his skin as you worked. Despite the lingering heat between you, your touch was tender, almost reverent, as you undressed him, revealing the lean, angular planes of his body that were usually hidden beneath his dark, forbidding robes.

When you were finished, you summoned your wand with a simple flick of your wrist, casting a quiet cleaning charm over the two of you. The warm, tingling sensation of the magic swept away the remnants of your passion, leaving you both feeling refreshed, though the intimate connection between you remained unbroken.

You returned to his side, snuggling against him with a contented sigh, your head resting on his chest as you traced lazy patterns on his skin with your fingertips. Snape’s arm wrapped around you almost instinctively, his long fingers threading through your hair as he held you close. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek, a soothing rhythm that calmed your own.

Lifting your head slightly, you rested your chin on his chest, your eyes meeting his with a mischievous glint. “At this rate, we’ll have a baby soon,” you remarked with a teasing smile, your tone light despite the weight of your words. “You’ve practically made love to me every day since I mentioned you’d be a great father.”

A faint flush colored Snape’s cheeks, though whether from embarrassment or something else, you couldn’t be sure. His gaze flickered with a mix of emotions—desire, uncertainty, and something deeper, something almost fragile. You knew that the idea of fatherhood had taken root in his mind, had sparked a longing that he hadn’t fully realized until you had voiced it aloud.

“It… seems to have stuck in my head,” he admitted gruffly, his voice low and rough as he avoided your gaze, his fingers still gently tangled in your hair. “The idea of… breeding you, of putting babies inside you… it… it turns me on to no end.”

There was a vulnerability in his admission, a raw honesty that was rare for him, and it made your heart ache with affection for the man who had always kept his true self hidden beneath layers of cold detachment. You reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing lightly over the scar on his neck as you leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I love you, Severus,” you whispered against his mouth, your voice filled with a quiet conviction that left no room for doubt. “And I’d be honored to carry your child… our child.”

Snape’s breath hitched at your words, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to find the truth in them. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost reverent. “You… would?”

You nodded, your smile widening as you rested your forehead against his, your heart swelling with love for the man who had once believed himself incapable of it. “Of course. There’s no one else I’d want to share this with… no one else I’d trust with this.”

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of Snape’s lips, and he let out a shaky breath as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a possessive tenderness that spoke volumes. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to hope—not just for the future, but for a future with you, a future where he could be the man, the husband, and the father he had never believed he could be.

As you lay together in the quiet of the old manor, the fire in the hearth casting a warm glow over your entwined bodies, you felt a sense of peace settle over you—a peace that came from knowing that, despite everything, you had found each other. And as Snape’s hand drifted to rest on your abdomen, his fingers splayed over your skin in a gesture that was both protective and tender, you knew that the love you shared would be enough to carry you through whatever came next.

[aayakashii]

32 🔪 and 25🔪 for Jiro? I can't really see him calling someone pet names but I can see him mistaking obsessive feelings for scholar curiosity and maybe borderline stalking.

25🔪 “I know everything about you.”

32 🔪 “I’ve always been watching you, beloved”

Warning: yandere behavior, nsfw, masturbation

Jiro could see you with his eyes closed. Much like when you ask someone to picture an apple, in order to diagnose their level of aphantasia, if anyone asked him to close his eyes and picture anything to a level of near-perfection, he would picture you.

He knew every single detail of you. He kept notes on it, in fact. Notebooks upon notebooks of information about you. A stack of paper way thicker than your official patient file, because he included information that definitely did not need to be used when going through an anamnesis.

Sure, he duly noted the usual data. He knew about your health history, your family’s health history, your past medical records, your personal information and every symptom you may have ever had during his care. But hey, that’s to be expected - he was making daily check-ups on you after all.

However, he also knew which drinks you’d buy on a daily basis, your favorite little snacks and how often you’d bite your nails.

He knew how much caffeine you ingested everyday, the way you sighed loudly when you were tired and how you flipped your hair when you were annoyed.

He knew you hummed when you showered, he knew you mumbled when you slept and he knew the placement of every little mole and scar on your body.

Jiro knew everything about you. And a forgotten, mostly silent part of himself felt a bubbling pride over being the only one who could claim that.

He didn’t know who he was before his coma. He lost most memories and unlearned how to feel. Others would call him a mere husk of a human being, something incomplete, and Yuri seemed to find this greatly insulting; Jiro, however, would only blink. He didn’t know what it was to be or not to be human. What made anyone more human than the others, after all? Philosophy became much more of a hassle to understand after he woke up after all those months being half-dead.

But he knew that, amidst the muddled haze of emotions and thoughts, he had one purpose in that new life of his, besides being a doctor’s assistant - and that was to watch you. Something deep in his gut pushed him towards you.

His eyes would follow you everywhere and his feet would take him to your room. He rummaged through your things, analyzed your habits, and read your notes and diaries. He knew he should feel shame over invading your privacy, but there was none (or so he murmured to himself as he rubbed his own face, wiping off a smirk from his lips).

Jiro read all about your fear of mutating into something unknown and that, actually, he could understand. He wouldn’t be able to observe you if you became an anomaly, after all. He needed to find a way to keep you as you are.

He would also go through that one hidden basket, filled with your dirty clothes. He’d always grab one of your shorts and smell it like an addict and something inside him would stir. It was very interesting, he thought, how a rush of blood could feel so pleasant. His hurried hands would push his pants down until his cock was freed, and he would smell you again, wrapping his hand around his length, throwing his head back until breathy moans slipped from his lips. It was good, it felt so good to thrust against his own hand as he suffocated himself with the scent of you. It felt so good, so so good to drench your floorboards with his cum, to mark his presence in your room with stains you’d never see. It felt so good to know you’d sleep with him, in a way.

Gasping for breath, he would watch through the window as you walked in the distance, tired and crestfallen, towards your dorm.

It was always the same thing, everyday. Everyday at 5PM, he’d put everything back in place and slip away, unnoticed, with more of you in his mind - more to write down on his notes.

And the next day, it would be the same thing, all over again. And the next, and the next, and the next.

Yuri and him needed to work harder, he mused. He needed to keep up with his routine.

He has been and would always be watching you, after all, in spite of death.

Full masterlist

[itsgrimeytime]

my series masterlist \\

oneshots, blurbs

PROCESS TAGS:

⏹️ - discontinued

⏸️ - on a break

▶️ - in progress

⏪️ - being rewritten

✅️ - complete

CONTENT TAGS:

😳 - smut

🫣 - suggestive

💞 - fluff

⛈️ - angst

Home is Where the Heart is || ▶️ (💞, ⛈️)

'Your life was spinning out of control, you knew that. After a string of particularly shattering events, you decided it was time to start anew. With a little help from one of your Grandma's rentals, you found yourself in the small town of Alexandria. The last thing you expected was your neighbor, Rick Grimes.'

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10... [[IN PROGRESS]]

Available on Ao3

i found a home in you || ▶️ (💞, ⛈️)

[SPN + TWD Crossover]

'At the start of the apocalypse (one of many you'd been a part of), you and your brothers got separated. So, you roamed the new world on your own, searching for them. You just knew they were alive, so you kept yourself alive too. That and looking for them were your main priorities. Well, until you run into a group and meet a man you can't quite get out of your head.'

Part 1... [[IN PROGRESS]]

Available on Ao3

Magnolia in May || ▶️ (💞, ⛈️)

'Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.'

Part 1-20, 21-30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35... [[IN PROGRESS]]

Available on Ao3

The Lover || ▶️ (💞, ⛈️)

'A long time ago, you were Rick Grimes's nurse. Now, you loved him, and he loved you. Or at least that's where you left it off. With Judith safe in your arms and Rick distinctly not by your side, you could only hope his feelings stayed the same because they sure as hell did for you.' (SEQUEL to The Nurse)

Part 1, 2...

Available on Ao3

COMPLETED:

drunk on you || ✅️ (💞, ⛈️)

'You'd known Rick forever, as far back as freshman year. He was a guy you (if you were honest) had a crush on; there was just something in his stance and the low drawl of his voice. You'd say that feeling only got worse from there. Before you could blink, he was married and had a kid; and suddenly, despite your best efforts, you felt very out of place. You faded out of his life, and he yours. So when Rick shows up at your door (drunk out of his mind) about 5 years after the last time you spoke to him, you have a lot of questions.'

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, epilogue

Available on Ao3

Maneater || ✅️ (⛈️,💞)

'You and Rick Grimes had a backstory, one no one knew except you and him. It's one you refused to share, you never really wanted to get into it. All anyone needed to know was you hated the man. When you're in a rough spot, and you could use the shelter the question is... does he hate you?'

Part 1, 2, 3, epilogue

Available on Ao3

The Nurse || ✅️ (💞,⛈️)

'Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You'd always wondered where he'd ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.'

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

Available on Ao3

All reblogs and comments are appreciated!! Feel free to send an ask or comment to get on any taglist :)

[fairyniceyeah]

You made my dawn - Big brother 🍒🦖

Titel from 1 to 13 (SEVENTEEN)

Previous story: Food coma

Summary: They didn’t need her anymore.

CW: /

Main characters: S.Coups/Seungcheol + Dino/Chan

Eunji hadn’t thought that one simple sentence could cause so many diverse emotions.

“I don’t need your help today, noona. Cheollie-hyung helped me with my homework already!”

Chan had been positively beaming at her when he told her, proudly showing his finished worksheets with some notes unmistakingly in Seungcheol’s writing.

Of course Eunji hadn’t really enjoyed doing homework of all things with the trainees - another thing she had not expected she would do when she became a manager - but it sort of had become a ritual for her and Chan to sit down every evening they could and look over his schoolwork. She had patiently answered questions and at points spent her breaks - or schedules she had accompanied the trainees to but wasn’t really needed at - to research some answers on the internet. 

It had been even more work on top of her workload so she found herself surprised that the first emotion she felt was sadness. She had liked those evenings. With being responsible for so many kids it was sometimes hard to keep track of them all and she had enjoyed doing it with him, spending one on one time with the maknae.

Of course she didn’t show it. She just ruffled his hair and told him she was glad he had found help in his responsible mat-hyung. 

But when the scene repeated each evening, she couldn’t help but feel nostalgia. Together Seungcheol and Chan sat down at the kitchen table, pouring over the latter’s homework. They would work diligently most of the time but there were so many moments of laughter too. Whenever Chan had a question Seungcheol would do his best to answer it, finding creative ways to explain concepts Chan didn’t quite grasp. 

“Remember when we cooked for Chuseok? When Jun and Mingyu helped each other out with cutting the vegetables - that’s a symbiotic relationship. They profited from each other’s strengths, Junnie is better with the carrots and Mingyu-yah did all of the kimchi when Jun started to struggle. Jeonghannie, on the other hand, made me cut all the onions until I was crying while he sat and snacked on what we had already prepared - that’s a parasitic relationship. He used me for his gain but I didn’t gain anything from working with that idiot.”

Chan would always end up hugging Seungcheol after each session, eyes sparkling and thanking his hyung profusely. It was cute really, the way he even clung to Seungcheol when he explained something, the older one rubbing Chan’s back while he talked. 

And then, maybe a week after Chan had first rejected her help, she was hit with a new realization. Chan was sitting curled up on Seungcheol’s lap while they did some math homework, the maknae drained and exhausted and Seungcheol doing more of the work than just helping. 

The painful sensation in her chest was jealousy.  

She wanted to be the one helping Chan, spend time with the maknae. But Seungcheol, the natural older brother, had taken over that role for her. Years ago that hadn’t been thinkable - Seungcheol was not a fan of any extra work but seeing Chan struggle with it must have triggered something in him. 

So when Chan needed him, no matter how little he matter was, he was there.

And then she remembered all those little things. All the little ways the trainees had grown to become one team, one family. 

How the trainees noticed when Seungcheol got nervous and overwhelmed with his newly announced role of leader, all of them rallying together to remind him that they loved and trusted him, that he was the right person.

How whenever Jeonghan struggled with his long hair, one of the members already had a hair tie ready and helped him get it out of his face - emphasizing that the long hair the company insisted he keep did not make him look like he was a woman.

How they all instinctively knew when Jisoo was homesick and needed a hug, the same going for Jun.

How they all went to Soonyoung if they needed help with choreography and always praised what he created, knowing he sometimes doubted himself.

How they knew to give Wonwoo space, sometimes even before Wonwoo himself realised he was getting overwhelmed and would take him to a quiet corner so he could recharge some energy.

How none of them teased Jihoon for his height but rather helped him and even anticipated when he needed help reaching something and giving it to him before he even had to ask for help.

How they all patiently waited for Minghao to speak, never rushing him or talking over him, just gently encouraging his Korean and praising him for his massively improving skills.

How Seokmin’s favorite playlist would ring through the whole dorm if he was upset, the other trainees turning it on so he would smile again and sing along enthusiastically.

How they always checked in with Mingyu when they teased him if it was okay and if they went too far, and how they would sometimes even reach for him before he could predictably spill something or trip.

How they knew that Seungkwan thrived on physical contact and they would make sure to hug and kiss him whenever they could.

How they never teased Hansol for his quirks, just made sure the second youngest felt heard and doting on him when they could.

How apparently they were now even helping Chan with unpleasant tasks like homework. 

Once upon a time, all of that had been Eunji’s job, something she was proud of and loved to do for her charges. She had been the one they went to with problems. The one they trusted more than anyone. 

But now watching Seungcheol just sweeping in and taking over her role, guiding the kids like she had done … she couldn’t help but feel obsolete and superfluous. 

They didn’t need her anymore.

Eunji was torn out of her thoughts by a loud gasp and then a worried voice calling: “Noona? Are you … are you crying?”

The manager looked up from her position on the sofa to where Seungcheol and Chan looked at her, both with equally confused and worried expressions on their faces. She reached up and indeed, her face was wet with tears. She hadn’t even noticed she had started to cry.

She hadn’t expected what happened next. Seungcheol and Chan abandoned the homework on the table and rushed over to her. Chan threw himself onto her lap, wrapping her in his arms while Seungcheol knelt down by the couch, taking one of her hands in his bigger ones. Eunji could have sworn they had been so much smaller.

“I’m fine, don’t worry. Noona’s fine”, she said, her trembling voice betraying her. “I’m just being silly.”

Chan looked at her, eyes wide and honest. “Noona, you’re never silly.”

“What’s going on?”, Seungcheol asked gently, squeezing her hand. “We wanna help you for once too. You do so much for us. Let us be there for you too.”

Eunji sniffed, a shaky laugh escaping her. It was so Seungcheol.

“It’s just … I guess, watching you work together on Channie’s homework like that, it made me realize how far you have come. Where are the little trainees I just started working with, the ones who wanted bedtime stories and hugs and held my hand all the time? You’ve all grown up so much and you’ve grown so close, like a real family. You are exactly what I hoped for you to be: The best of friends and a great team. Just … I guess, with how much you have grown… you don’t really need your old noona anymore, do you? You’ve got each other now.”

As she finished speaking Chan leaned forwards, wrapping her in the tightest hug ever. “We’ll always need you, noona”, he sniffed, “don’t say that. We need you. You’ve always been there for you. Without you we wouldn’t be here like this. You make sure we feel seen and are happy and … noona, I think I’ll need you even when I’m eighty.”

Eunji couldn’t help the small sob escaping her and she pressed a kiss to the maknae’s hair. “You are too sweet, Channie.”

“He’s right though, noona”, Seungcheol agreed, sitting on the couch and wrapping his arms around both of them. “You were there when we started. You made us who we are today. Without you there would be no SEVENTEEN. You made our dawn.”

Next story: Hug

[yournaothings]

Living the Dream

Chapter Two

(Hee~ @cactobutt made this~ From Right to Left! Felix, Kai, Atara(hasn't appeared in the story yet), and Lily. <3)

Hello! Hi! Welcome to Chapter two! Listen! I need to share a few things with you guys!

@runaway-dream-au (I love this so much, and it was part of my inspiration for "Living the Dream"! Check out their blog!)

@emeraldhazeidentity (You guys love a good Dream x reader story? Their story, "Solace" is amazing! Another amazing author who gave me inspiration to write a Dream x reader story!)

Also, @bored-animator here is Chapter two! :)

This is a little longer than the first chapter; I will have a shorter version of what was talked about in this chapter. I wouldn't be surprised if it gets boring.

This is a long chapter. We see a little bit of Dream's depression, they talk about the young lady who is stuck in a coma. Also! Blue and Ink find out that Dream is missing!

As for Nightmare? Nothing out of the ordinary. He's not worried.

Or is he?

Characters and their Creators: Killer Sans: Rahafwabas Dust Sans: Ask-Dusttale Horror Sans: Sour-Apple-Studios Nightmare Sans: Jokublog XTale Sans(Cross): Jael Peñaloza/Jakei

Ink Sans: Comyet Underswap Sans (Blue): popcornpr1nce Dream Sans: Jokublog Fresh Sans : Crayon Queen Core!Frisk: DokuDoki (Did I miss anyone??)

((I stayed up till 5am finishing this chapter, so if there are mistakes, please forgive me. D: ))

!! Another thing! Down in the End Notes, I'll have a short description of most of the chapter there. In case it's boring, which... I hope it's not. <.<

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

Celestial Market didn’t see many customers today. The heavy rain poured down on the city, the sound of thunder and flashes of lightning kept people away for most of the morning and early noon. There wasn’t a lot to do, Dream and Kai had already stocked most of the shelves after the latest shipment. Maria was finishing up her paperwork in her office. Lily and Kai had already left for their other jobs, leaving Dream and Maria to tend the shop. The radio played softly in the background, set on a station that played a mixture of oldies and today’s favorites. Dream didn’t recognize them, but that didn’t stop Dream from enjoying most of the songs. 

Maria stepped out of her office and glanced around the small shop and found there to be no customers. She glanced down at her wrist watch and sighed softly; there was no point in staying open much longer. She knew the rain alone would keep anyone from stopping by, so she called it. “I think we’ll close up early today, Dream.” She called out to him while walking towards the door to lock it and flipped the open sign around so it read ‘closed’.  She wandered back in to begin shutting everything down and counting the money. While she tended to the register, Dream began working on cleaning up the place, sweeping and mopping and taking out the trash. 

He finished up his chores before grabbing his jacket and slipping it over his shoulders, his hood coming up to cover his head. He waited patiently for Maria to finish her chores, she switched off the lights and grabbed her keys; her own jacket was pulled on over herself as she met Dream by the exit. She made sure the door was locked after they stepped out, Dream waiting to make sure she would be safe, before he would leave for home. 

Maria sighed gently, relieved the work day ended a bit earlier than usual. She turned and smiled at Dream. “Would you like to join me for some coffee?” Dream looked at her in surprise, he wasn’t expecting this, but he wouldn’t mind.  “I would love to. I don’t have anything better to do.” He told her truthfully. “Wonderful!” She led him to her car, parked on the other side of the street. Dream felt bad for climbing into the vehicle while soaking wet, but it couldn’t be helped. Maria started the car and quickly turned the heat on so they wouldn’t start to freeze. “It’s not too far, and I can drop you off at your apartment after, if you’d like.” She told him as she pulled out onto the street and started for the coffee shop. “That…” He trailed off, not wanting to be a bother, but knew she wouldn’t have offered if it was a bother. 

He knew this because it’s already happened. She had offered to drive him home after a rather exhausting day at work and she had noticed how tired he was. He had declined at first, but she insisted. 

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother, I know you’re just as tired-” 

“Dream, I wouldn’t have offered it to you if it was a problem.” She told him with a smile. “Between the two of us, you live further away from the shop than I do.” 

Dream knew he wasn’t going to win and accepted her offer with a smile. 

“That would be nice, actually.” He replied honestly.  “Thank you.” Maria smiled victoriously, glad that Dream was accepting her help without arguing. The drive was silent, aside from the soft music that played on Maria’s car radio. Much like the music in the shop, but it was mostly oldies. Dream smiled, as he peered out his side of the window, watching monsters, humans, and hybrids scatter into shops, or into their vehicles (or the buses) to escape the rain. Many were already leaving work to head home, or to meet up at a popular restaurant for an early dinner. 

A peaceful smile stretched over his mouth as he silently watched the world pass by, happily watching the citizens go about their late afternoon. Once again, Dream wished he had found this AU sooner, the idea of sharing such a lovely experience with his friends warmed his soul. That smile fell just a bit and his soul began to ache from missing his friends. Blue would have loved meeting everyone, and Ink would have loved to paint the beauty this city has to offer. He thought to himself. Nightmare would have appreciated the kindness these folks shared. Nightmare. If Dream had succeeded in saving his brother, this AU would have been a perfect place for him as well. They could finally relax and not worry about any more trouble. 

He could imagine his brother, sweet little Nighty, sitting under one of the many trees in the park; a book in his lap with his circlet tipped askew as he napped. No one would come up to mess with him, only to wake him up to offer their company. Maybe request to grab a meal with them. 

Yes, Nighty would have liked it here. As much as I wish to find Nightmare, it would only lead to the downfall of this AU. I’m sure of it. Dream thought sadly, his smile finally falling as he fought the tears that wanted to escape his sockets. He believed Nightmare was still there, underneath all of that corruption. But, he didn’t believe in himself to pull him out. Not anymore. As much as Dream wished he could share this experience with his brother, with his friends, he decided that for once… For once, he’ll be selfish and keep this AU to himself. 

Immediately after thinking that, Dream deflated in guilt; this wasn’t like him. Being greedy and keeping something so wonderful secretive from his friends. But, he chose to leave his old life behind, which in turn, he had to let go of those he called his friends. It was the right thing to do. 

Wasn’t it?

“We’re here.” Maria’s soft voice shook Dream from his gloomy thoughts. He raised his watery gaze to look before them; it was a cozy looking cafe filled with customers who seeked shelter from the rain. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed this cafe before; he always wandered the city when he had the time. There was just so much that caught his attention, this shop was easily missed, he determined. He blinked away the unshed tears before turning his gaze to his driver who smiled sympathetically. Her eyes softened and her smile widened just a little when she saw his attention was on her. He wondered if she caught his saddened expression or maybe it was the tears? 

“Ready to go inside?” Her voice was soft, filled with kindness. He knew she would let him sit out here just a bit longer if it meant to gather himself from his heavy thoughts. Dream felt a warmth spread through him, the care and kindness that exuded from her soul filled him with the strength to get past his little bout of depression. 

“I am ready.” Dream said just as softly, his smile perked as he was filled with the positive energy that she unknowingly fed him. He made the first move, flipping his hood over his head and opening the car door before stepping out into the rain. Maria followed after, once their doors were shut, she pressed the lock button on her key fob as they hurried to the cafe’s entrance. 

The coffee shop was busy. It was here where Dream had a taste of bitter negativity. A few customers were waiting for their order a little longer than they would have liked, and had cut in front of a customer who was in the middle of ordering. They asked where their order was; “We’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes!” The staff apologized to them and explained that they were short staffed today. “We will have your order out to you in a few minutes. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” 

Dream had expected the customers to raise more of a fuss. Maybe it was because their orders had come almost immediately after the employee explained their hindrance. Or maybe the customers were willing to be more patient. Dream wouldn’t know, as he felt their stress ease slowly and thanked the employees before leaving. 

Dream watched them leave, hurrying to their vehicle and climbing inside before they were soaked to the bone. They must have been running late for something, Dream decided. He was relieved that the negativity didn’t last long, it had tasted bitter and stung his soul. He didn’t miss that feeling. 

“It’s no surprise that they’re busy this evening. The storm is supposed to continue on for at least another hour or so.” Maria said; she had also witnessed the small disruption, watching the customers leave before turning her attention to her friend. She studied his creased expression of concern fade into a more peaceful look. She watched his shoulders slack and heard his soft exhale of relief.  Once he was relaxed, he turned his attention to her.  “I imagine everyone will want to find comfort in a warm beverage during the storm. The staff looks exhausted.” Dream noted, having stolen another glance towards the cashier as they priced the orders, accepted the payments and sent the order to the baristas. Maria nodded, agreeing with Dream. “That they do.” She let the silence between them linger for a moment before asking, “Have you found anything you’d like to try?” 

Oh, Dream hadn’t thought to look at the menu yet. He was busy feeling the different emotions that charged the shop. He was busy soaking in the positivity, especially after the small fuss from earlier. His eye lights caught sight of the chalkboard above the counter and squinted to read some of the small writing. Nothing snagged his attention, until he found a favorable sounding beverage. It wasn’t coffee, Dream wasn’t in the mood for that. Instead he resolved on a fruity tea; he voiced his choice to Maria who nodded.  Once it was their turn, Maria placed their order, paid (with a tip) for the drinks before guiding Dream to an empty booth.

“So,” Maria started once they sat down across from each other. Dream’s wandering gaze shifted to look at her curious one. “May I be a little bold?” Dream smiled and nodded; “Of course.” He wondered what she had on her mind this time. After starting his job at her shop, they have been getting to know each other fairly quickly-  “Are you an empath, Dream?” 

His smile fell first before his eyes widened in surprise. Many thoughts filtered through his mind and he started to panic a little- did she figure out he wasn’t a monster at all? Did she have an inkling that he was more of a god?  He didn’t realize he was stumbling over his words to reply to her question, “H..How?” 

Maria offered a patient smile;  “You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable. But, I just notice how you react to certain situations involving strong emotions. You deflate when someone isn’t feeling well, or is sad or upset. But, when someone is happy, you glow. Your smile is brilliant and very contagious. I had just wondered…” 

Oh. He… He didn’t know he had reacted in such ways. In the back of his mind, he remembered someone had mentioned the same thing. Was it Blue? Ah, he couldn’t remember, it had been so long ago. 

He hadn’t realized he was quietly staring at Maria in surprise when an employee walked over to deliver their drinks; they had come quicker than Dream had expected due to how busy it was. He blinked a few times as his warm disposable cup was placed in front of him, before he glanced up and offered a smile and a soft “thank you”.  

The beverage was still hot, but that didn’t stop Dream from taking a sip. It was delicious, the fruit was potent on his magic as it soaked into it. He visibly relaxed, letting his stress flow from his bones. Maria remained quiet, patient as she too enjoyed her warm coffee. She had ordered a caramel, macchiato mocha; he could smell it from where he sat.  He smiled as he felt the delight from Maria as she enjoyed her drink, warming her body and soul.  It helped him relax further before he finally felt ready to answer her question from a moment ago. 

“You are correct; I am an empath.” 

Maria hummed as she took another sip from her drink before placing it on the table, her hands wrapped around the still hot cup.  “It must be very exhausting.” She responded. “I know someone who is an empath as well, but she is very sick right now. I think…” Maria trailed off as her eyes shifted away from Dream’s and became unfocused; her smile falling as she lost herself in her thoughts. 

Her emotions were everywhere, from worry, to fear, then to reassurance. They flitted through her soul so fast, Dream felt as if received whiplash, but in a more emotional way. He blinked and leaned forward to gently touch Maria’s hand, sending a wave of positive support through her being. He felt bad for using his power on her, but this was the first time he has seen her so upset and it didn’t feel right. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” He offered her relief; clearly this was a touchy subject, he could tell, but he wasn’t about to let her suffer alone. Maria glanced down to where his fingers gently touched hers and smiled. She raised her gaze, and a gentle wave of relief hit his soul. “You are so kind, Dream.” She commented before continuing.  

“Norah is a mage with empathetic qualities. She could light up the room, just like you can. Her aura was bright and soothing. Everyone felt at ease with her, even when they were having a bad day. Being around her helped rid them of their daily stress.” Maria explained with a wide smile, but it weakened as she recalled the day her friend had become ill.  “We’re really unsure what had caused her to fall ill. Her brother, Felix, had called Lily in a panic. He said that Norah had fallen unconscious. The poor young man, I had to call for help, he was in such a state of distress. We met them at the hospital and after hours of labs and testing, they couldn’t find the cause of her state of health. It was so strange.” 

“The hospital continued to do what they could for her to keep her comfortable while they tried to figure out her illness. It was only a week into her being at the hospital when this young doctor showed up. He said he lived outside of the city, but had heard about Norah’s condition and offered to help. His sudden appearance and willingness to help brought on a wave of unease, especially for Felix, but this doctor seemed to know what to do. He had checked her over and mentioned that it looked as if she were “falling down”, and that set Felix off.” Maria chuckled humorlessly. “He was so angry; said that there was no reason for her to fall down. Typically, monsters or hybrids will do that, but mages? Their souls are strong!” 

“Even if that were the case… What could have suffered Norah so much for her to fall into herself?” Dream asked gently, his brows creased with concern. “How long has she been in a coma?” Maria took a moment to drink her now cooled coffee before she answered. “A few months now. The doctor still visits her, but usually when he’s there, she stirs but never opens her eyes. It’s a promising sign, I think. Whatever the doctor is doing, it seems to be the right thing.” 

“What-” Dream begins, but falters as he gathers his thoughts, clearly uneasy. “What is the doctor doing to help Norah?” Maria shrugged gently, unable to answer that question. “He doesn’t tell us what he’s doing, performing labs and testing. I know part of the testing has to do with her soul.” 

Dream hums as he thinks about it. He’s no doctor, but it doesn’t sound right.  “I suppose,” Dream begins slowly. “If it’s aiding Norah in the end, the doctor’s methods should be trusted?” He didn’t sound sure, because he wasn’t sure- He’s never heard of this before and it really makes him feel so much more useless. His deep frown has the smile returning to Maria; “Don’t worry, Dream.” She tries to ease his worries. “I’m sure you’re right. This is new to all of us, after all. We should trust the doctor.” 

“Yes,” Dream returned her smile, even though his worries still gripped his soul. “All will be well in the end, Maria. I’m positive.” His smile widened a little and he chuckled softly at his own unintentional pun. 

After such a heavy topic, Maria and Dream switched to a lighter conversation, the rain had stopped by the time they left the shop. They hadn’t meant to stay so long; seeing as the sun was setting, Maria asked Dream over for dinner. He politely declined, explaining that he was quite exhausted. “I understand.” She told him and drove him home. However, they planned for dinner the following night. The shop would be closed, giving them a much needed day off to prepare for the small dinner party. Dream thanked Maria for the ride (and the beverage) and bid her a good night before heading inside his cozy apartment. 

-

“He’s full of shit!” Felix’s irritated voice boomed in his apartment; he wanted to throw something, but knew it wouldn’t help matters. (And it would frighten Lily, she hates loud noises-) “Felix,” Lily calmly called after him as she slipped off her sneakers and followed Felix into the living room. “Felix, please calm down. I know you’re upset, but there’s not much we can do.” She tried again, but she knew it just fueled her fiancé's anger. He gripped at his white hair and tugged at it, his huffed before pausing and inhaled deeply. His eyes closed tightly and he counted backwards, 10, 9, 8- 

Lily watched him with concern as he tried to calm himself. 7, 6, 5- His shoulders started to fall and his fingers slipped from his hair as his hands fell to his sides. 4, 3, 2- He slouched forward and exhaled, held himself there before inhaling; he caught his breath before turning around to face Lily with a distressed frown. Fresh tears lingered in his blue eyes, but he refused to let them fall. His wet, saddened gaze met Lily’s, his body deflated as if defeated by the stress that had built up once again during their visit at the hospital. 

The shorter, young woman’s steps were silent as she moved to stand in front of him and wrap her arms around Felix’s middle. She only came up to his shoulders, her head resting against his chest as she tried to comfort him. His long arms encased her within his embrace and he laid his head on top of hers. In the apartment, he was safe to cry. To release his emotions of despair. “She doesn’t deserve this.” 

“She doesn’t.” Lily agrees with him. 

“It’s not fair.” He cries softly. 

“It’s not.” She rubs his back, her heart breaking as she hears the sadness in his voice. 

“That doctor is fucking around with us!” He snapped with a bout of anger. 

“He’s been the only one who was able to get her so close to waking up, though.” She tried to defend the doctor; Felix shook his head, disagreeing. “Something isn’t right about him, Lil’s. I know you can feel it, too.” She felt speechless, because he was right. Everyone knew he was right. But, what could they do? 

“She’ll come back to us, Felix. Have faith, okay? She’s strong, she’ll wake up.” 

Felix remained silent as he held Lily close and cried in the safety of his home. 

-

There was no note explaining where he had gone. All that Core!Frisk found in the home was Dream's belongings placed neatly, safely on his bed. Now, Core knew Dream would never leave without his crown; and his weapon was left behind as well. Something he summoned and would always have with him. He didn’t dust or anything- would he turn to dust if he died? Dream wasn’t a monster, but a celestial being. If he didn’t dust, how would they know Dream was gone from the living?

Core shook their head, before deciding to send out a search party. Dream had to be somewhere- he could be hurt! That last battle with his brother had sent him home with a fractured leg; Dream was too determined to save the Multiverse, to spread positivity and save those in need. So, maybe that’s what he was doing? 

But without his gear?

“Fresh,” The parasite wore his easy grin as he lifted a bone brow, waiting for Core to continue. “Will you help me look for Dream? He isn’t home.” 

“Hah! You betcha, my funk friend!” Still so energetic, Fresh flicked his hands up and pointed his finger guns at Core, moving them in a back and forth motion as he always does. “Thank you, Fresh. I’m going to check in with Swap first, would you mind checking Ink?” With another excitable laugh, Fresh snapped his fingers, a doorway poofing into place that would lead him to Ink’s Doodlesphere. “Sure thang!” The door popped open and the goofy possessed skeleton skated on through. With a dramatic slam, the door disappeared in the same silly way it appeared. 

With a soft sigh, Core prepared to check in with Blue, hoping that Dream was there, safe and sound. 

Underswap’s AU was doing fantastic! The monsters were on the surface and both the humans and monsters were getting along well enough. There was no sight of any negativity (more so than usual), but there also wasn’t any feeling of positivity that seemed to follow Dream wherever he went. This only made Core uneasy as they knocked on the skeletons door; they only waited for- well, a few seconds really! Blue threw the door open and with his usual excitable grin welcomed Core into his home. 

“What brings you here, Core?” Blue asked as he led them further into his home. He offered them a beverage which Core declined politely.  “I’m looking for Dream. Have you seen him?” They asked with a tone of concern. This had Blue alert, but it did nothing to deflate his grin.  “I haven’t, friend. Not since we were last together when we fought Nightmare and his gang! Is he okay? Is he off on his own again?” Blue’s question ended with an exasperated huff of annoyance. It was always like Dream to get up and do things that could hurt his wounds before they had a chance to heal! 

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I think he is alone, but I don’t know where he could be. I can’t seem to find him.” Core paused, watching as Blue worked on sewing up his cape that got torn from his last battle.  “He left his belongings at his house.” 

This had Blue pausing, now fully alert and worried, filling his soul. He raised his eye lights to study Core for a moment. “Oh. That’s…” Blue began. “That is an odd thing for Dream to do. You can’t sense him anywhere?” Core shook their head. “I can’t. It worries me; he left his crown behind.” This only raised Blue’s concern and he jumped up. “Well! We should go looking for him! Who knows what kind of silly things he’s getting into!” 

Dream could be stubborn, especially when he’s been hit with a large amount of negativity. Sure, he is the Guardian of Positivity! But, just like everyone else, he can have blue days too. 

“We should go grab Ink-!” 

Just as Blue suggested gathering Ink for their search party, the silly artistic skeleton appeared in the living room where he began to panic. Behind him, a relaxed Fresh stood, watching with an easy grin. 

“Blue! Blue! Dream is missing!” Ink shouted and he grabbed Blue by his shoulders, shaking him back and forth. Blue tried to get him to stop, but had to push him away and grab him. “Ink!” He raised his voice, snapping Ink out of his panic. “Freaking out won’t help anything! We’re going to search for our friend. Do you have any idea where he could have ran off to? Without his stuff?” 

Ink paused as he thought about it, but with his disappearing memories, he had nothing to offer- he even checked his scarf! “I don’t have a clue, sorry Blue. Hey!” Ink grinned, his eye lights changing colors and shapes from his amusement. “That rhymed!” He laughed; it was no surprise to the others, Ink always got distracted so easily. Even with the alarming development of a missing Guardian, Ink’s silliness still got the others to grin. 

“Alright!” Blue started and threw his fist into the palm of his other hand, his expression pulled into a determined look. “We should start searching the positive AU’s, I’m sure he’s close by! We’ll find him and bring him home! Our friend needs support! I’m sure Nightmare had said something awful to him that got him feeling down. A movie night/slumber party is in order to help brighten him back up!” Blue declared, the others agreeing with his plan. Each one picked where to check first, Ink having to write his choices down on his scarf and Blue leaving a note for Papy when he came home. (So he didn’t get scared that Blue wasn’t home- or in the AU.) Then, they split up, making their way across the Multiverse, searching for their very dear friend. 

-

Something wasn’t right and he wasn’t sure what it was. The castle was quiet, that was strange indeed; but not what was bothering him. There seemed to be a steady increase in negativity, but he was sure his foolish brother would hurry to change that. 

Nightmare paused as he laid his feather quill pen down onto the desk, pausing his report so he could feel out for his brother’s annoying presence. Soon, he would step into whichever AU that had dropped a little into a more negative side, and help those who were not doing well, emotionally. Nightmare could tell these AU’s were more neutral, they usually teetered to one side until either brother showed up to fix it. 

Of course, Nightmare didn’t think it would be necessary to send his boys out to cause chaos. He was plenty full; besides, it was too soon to be going out to end up fighting with the Stars once more. His boys were still injured, and it didn’t help that Killer kept pissing off Dust to the point of them fighting. Nightmare was growing tired of their bullshit, and would have to send them to the far ends of his castle. 

… Hm. 

He hummed softly in wonder, before ignoring that strange feeling of something isn’t right, and picked his pen back up to finish his report. He will just enjoy the negativity, never one to turn it down. 

The sound of crashing and a Gaster Blaster going off had Nightmare’s anger rise up. He dropped his pen and slipped through his corruption and appeared in the lobby where Killer and Dust were fighting. Cross and Horror were on the sidelines, trying to stop the fight, (trying my ass, he thought). 

“That is enough!” Nightmare’s booming voice echoed throughout the castle halls, and caused the two fighting skeletons to freeze in place. They really pissed off their boss this time. “I fucking can’t believe I have to put you both in timeout!” He growled as he sent his tentacles over to snatch up the two and bring them close so they could see just how angry he was this time. His tentacles squeezed them, threateningly, daring them to try his patience. He summoned two portals, one behind each skeleton. “If you like acting like children, then I will send you both to timeout!” He shouted and threw each skeleton into their own portal, locking them away in a different part of the castle until they calmed the fuck down. 

“Whoa,” He could feel Cross’s fear and Horror’s uneasiness. “Boss, are you alright? You seem more angry than usual.” Cross dared to ask. Nightmare sent a dark glare at the monochrome skeleton, his tentacles wiggling in furious behind him. “Those two idiots have pushed my patience! I am simply fed up with their foolishness!” He saw Horror shift uncomfortably, Nightmare sighed roughly; “They are in the same rooms as before, Horror. You may only retrieve them when dinner is ready.” 

Horror visibly relaxed at that, and nodded; “Yes.. sir.” He drawled before he and Cross turned away to leave their angry boss. Nightmare turned away, allowing himself to be swallowed up by his portal and stepped into his office. He just wanted to get his report finished (a report for his records and no one else), then he could relax with a new book to read. Then, and only then, would he be able to ignore this annoying feeling that just seemed to pester him in the back of his mind. 

It irritated him to no end that this feeling had to do with his brother. He probably has a new idiotic plan to “save” me. Nightmare thought bitterly with a roll of his eye. He sat back at his desk and picked back up where he left off.

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

*There's a thunderstorm, Maria closes the shop early and invites Dream to have a coffee.

*As they enjoy their beverage, Maria speaks about Norah, our young lady who is in the hospital.

*She's a mage with Empathetic powers. No one know why she fell ill; but there is a strange doctor who is "trying" to "help" Norah.

*Everyone tries to be strong and supportive, especially for Felix (Norah is his adopted sister, the adopted part wasn't mentioned in the chapter, whoops. D; ) Felix is the only one who is vocal about not trusting the doctor.

*Core!Frisk, Fresh, Blue, and Ink find out that Dream is missing (in that order, lol) and go searching for him.

*Nightmare feels something is amiss, but ignores it?

*Killer and Dust are at each other's throats, and it pisses off Nightmare, lol.

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I know it was long, and probably boring... Just kind of wanted to show that even though it's a positive AU, there is negativity popping up; the usual stuff. For most citizens, anyway. I'm interested to see what you guys think of Norah and what's causing her to stay asleep for so long! As well as who this doc is and what he's doing. (Super nervous about the reaction to that reveal.)

Let me know what you think? :)

[pixydustworld]

When Hermione had received her Order of Merlin First Class, it hadn’t been for her sacrifice like Harry’s had been, nor bravery, like Ron’s.

Hermione had gotten hers for being clever.

For keeping them alive, for all those years. For being able to see what was coming — but entering an unbreakable vow with Draco Malfoy?

She hadn’t seen that coming.

Two days before, Hermione had awoken in a St. Mungo’s hospital room, with a very concerned looking Harry Potter hovering above her face. “Hi.” He’d said, as if this was a normal way to wake someone up, “You’ve been in a coma.”

Hermione had yelped and punched Harry in the nose.

After explaining to several concerned healers that Harry’s bloody nose was a casualty of hovering an inch above someone's face, and not, in fact, a sign of another impending Wizarding War, Harry had flopped in the chair beside her bed.

A chair that he’d apparently been sleeping in. His Auror robes had been crumpled, like he’d been wearing the same pair for a few days — a stack of files balanced almost dangerously on the edge of the bedside table.

“I was worried about you.” Harry had said thickly, nose still bleeding, dripping down his face without anything to stop it. “It’s been a month.”

All Hermione had been able to think about was her twelve year old self, waking from another magical sleep, to find that Harry had taken to sitting by her bedside back then, too.

“What happened?” She’d asked softly.

Harry had sighed, finally leaning back to stop the flow of blood. It was always the muggle way with him, Star Wars themed band aids and sloppy stitches he did himself. “You were poisoned.” He'd said, “They didn't know when you’d wake up.”

Hermione had blinked at him. “It could've been years.” Years of sleeping in a chair, neglecting his life for her own, eating terrible hospital food and watching her chest steadily rise and fall.

Years of waiting for something that might never come.

“Ron’s been sleeping here, too.” Harry had continued. “The staff isn’t happy, but I just have to whip out the: i am harry potter, i battled death so that you could eat scones by the seaside and live a peaceful life’ it’s a whole spiel. I’ve actually gotten quite good at it.”

The feeling in Hermione’s chest had tightened. The thought of Ron and Harry, waiting for her to wake up, patient in a way she hadn’t expected. Always together. Inescapable, like the tangled roots of an overgrown tree.

“Thank you.” Hermione had said, “For waiting for me.”

She had given him a tentative smile, before it was very quickly replaced with a look of horror. “Harry.” She’d said, beginning to the harrowing task of untangling her legs from the blankets, “I’ve been out from work for a month.”

“Someone tried to kill you.” Harry had said in a lazy voice, still bleeding, “No.”

“Harry — ”

“You can’t possibly think I’d let you go straight back to work. Death is my specialty, you can’t have it.”

“Let me go?” Hermione had laughed sharply, “I don’t have to ask your permission for anything.”

She had finally freed her legs from the torture trap of hospital linnens, “I need to get back in front of the Wizengamot, ask for an extension of my Werewolf Act — ”

“I can’t protect you all the time.” Harry had said tightly. “Just — give me a few days to figure all this out. Please.”

And perhaps that’s what this was all about — he felt helpless and out of control; felt like everyone else had his entire life. This helplessness wasn’t foreign, not to her, but to Harry? It was new and overpowering.

“Harry,” Hermione had said gently, taking his hand in her own, “I’m alright.”

“I thought I was going to have to watch you die — ” fingers white from how hard he had squeezed them, “I felt so helpless, I couldn’t do anything.”

“And I’m alright.” Hermione repeated. “But you can’t stop me from going back to work. It’s my life.”

Harry had frowned. “If you’re going back to work, you need a bodyguard.”

“Fine.” Hermione had said after a minute of well deserved sulking, “You can do it.”

“I can’t.” He’d said, looking miserable and tired and covered in blood; looking like the version of Harry that Hermione was most familiar with, “I missed so much work being here that I promised Kingsley I’d do as many public appearances as he wanted for three months.”

He’d checked his watch and somehow had gained the ability to look even more miserable. “I need to get back. But don’t worry, I'll find someone. I’ll make them take a vow to protect you.”

Hermione had rolled her eyes. “Don’t be stupid.”

Harry, however, had planned on being very stupid.

The twist of fire around her skin brought Hermione back to the present, where she stood across from Draco Malfoy, their hands clasped together. The scrape of his calluses against the flesh of her palm was the only thing that grounded her. Caught like prey in his path.

“Do you swear to watch over her?” Harry asked, “Until this threat is eliminated?”

Malfoy held her gaze. “I do. I’ll eliminate the threat myself.”

Hermione, to her credit, only winced a little when the fire licked across their skin, engulfing their arms completely.

“Trust me?” Malfoy asked softly, voice barely heard over the roar of the flames that bound them together.

“Do I have a choice?”

Malfoy smiled, slow and syrupy, “No,” He said, “I don’t think you do.”

The flames flickered and went out. Malfoy didn't let go of her hand.

After Harry left to smile blandly at a ribbon cutting, the room was quiet. It felt smaller than before, Harry always seeming to take up more space than he ever intended.

“Did you pick me?” Malfoy asked. Hermione glanced up at him from her desk to find that he was not being casual, and was instead, standing directly in front of the door; like a suit of armor someone dragged into her office as a joke, guarding her, she realized.

Through a lifetime of painful situations, Hermione had learned that the best way out was through; face the dragon now, if only to be free from its fire later. “Yes,” she said with a sigh, “I picked you.”

Malfoy nodded. “I visited you.”

Hermione’s eye twitched. “Did you?” She asked, still focused firmly on sounding like a normal person, with a normal voice, “can’t imagine how you explained that to Harry and Ron.”

“It was always while your faithful pets were sleeping, curled up by your side.”

“Don’t call them that.”

“Isn’t that what they are?” His voice light, cautious to proceed, but like always, his willingness to tease won out, “You made the mistake of feeding them, they’ll always come back.”

“Harry saved the world, don’t compare him to a barn cat — ”

“You saved the world.” Malfoy scoffed. “Potter would’ve been dead at eleven, if you hadn’t decided your favorite hobby was keeping him alive.”

A sharp laugh left her chest, but at least this was familiar. In a world that had continued to turn while she slept, this was the first moment that felt real; the arguing, the sharpness, this was something they’d always have, regardless of time.

“I saved nothing.” Hermione said, “I’m just clever. Lots of people are clever.”

“Not as clever as you. They all talked about you.” Malfoy said softly, “Voldemort.” No flinch now, no fear in death, “Aunty Bella. Couldn’t understand how someone like me was second to you. She’s just better, I’d say, she just is. Like glass in my mouth to admit back then, but it was the truth.”

“Well, to be fair, I was top of the class.” Hermione said, “You weren’t lying about that. You just lied about everything else.”

At his raised brow, Hermione rolled her eyes. “I think it might be them, yeah, yeah, it could be.” She said in a low, mocking voice. “It was a good lie, very clever, but a lie just the same.”

“Hm.” He said, still guarding the door, Auror robes looking stupidly good on him — were they supposed to be that form fitting? “Upset that I saved you?”

“I would’ve gotten us out eventually.”

A trap she hadn’t seen coming until too late, tumbling head over feet into the darkness. “Yes,” Malfoy practically crooned, “you would have found a way out.”

“Piss off.”

“Have I struck a nerve? How strange, you’re usually so unruffable.”

“And you usually know when to stop talking.”

The silence that followed was blissful, almost like sinking into a hot bath. Hermione had just started a thorough redraft of her Werewolf rights bill, when Malfoy started talking again.

“I thought you’d be safe.” He said, “With me gone, I thought the threats would stop. I thought, if I watched you from afar, you’d be free.”

“And the second I take my eyes off you, someone tries to kill you.” He was mad, anger so apparent Hermione had no idea how he’d managed to hide it in the first place. So heavy and present, begging to be freed.

“We broke up.” Hermione snapped, “I wasn’t yours to protect, you have no need to feel guilty about any of this.”

“You will always be mine to protect.”

And there it was, out in the open, for both of them to see.

“What if I marry someone else?”

“They’ll grow used to me standing watch in the garden.”

“You’re impossible.” Her desk didn’t feel like a big enough barrier between them, she’d need to flee the country soon. “Absolutely insane.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “When it comes to you? I am.”

Despite all her cleverness, Hermione hadn’t been able to see Malfoy coming, and hadn't been able to prepare herself for the loss of control his presence provided. How much, despite her best efforts, she still loved him.

He was an unstoppable force, and now, thanks to Harry Potter and his fondness of unbreakable vows, they were stuck together.

“I almost went mad.” Malfoy breathed, “After — after you left, I survived knowing you were out there. That your light was a warmth I could bask in, even from afar. But watching you in that bed at night, it was as if you’d died.”

He shuddered. “Like the sun fell out of the sky.”

“I’ll be alright.” Malfoy said, “When you move on. But I meant what I said earlier. I’ll kill whoever did this to you, and then I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure nothing like this ever happens again.”

“From my garden.” Hermione said softly.

Malfoy grinned sadly. “Yeah,” he said.

Hermione had been asleep for an entire month, and all she could remember, was dreaming about Draco Malfoy.

She dreamt of the curve of his lips when he smiled, the weight of his fingers on his flesh — she dreamt of everything and nothing and all that was between.

She dreamt of subtle moments of peace over morning tea, the air between them soft and sweet — happiness real and all around her, something she could touch and see and taste.

She dreamt of their arguments, wild and all encompassing, bitter and bright; no one had ever challenged her the way he did, understood her need to fight for space in the world.

She dreamt of his humor, so far tucked beneath the surface it still surprised her; even now — she dreamt how dramatic he was, like a house of cards trembling in the wind.

She dreamt of how he fucked her, the weight of his body against her own, the scrape of his teeth against her flesh — how it felt to be stretched and filled, the warmth of his cum inside her, against her thighs. How her pleasure always seemed to be a tangible goal for him to reach.

She dreamt of the sound of his voice, the way he moaned against her throat, the names he called her, how he sighed her name on an exhale; the sound of his voice was burrowed so far into her being, she felt it, ingrained in her bones.

“I dreamed of you.” She finally said.

He looked at, eyes serious. “Don’t tease.”

“You’re being very dramatic for someone who broke up with me.”

“I thought I was protecting you.” Malfoy grumbled, “Obviously, that didn’t go as planned.”

Hermione, to her credit, only rolled her eyes a bit. “Well.” She said, “good thing I’m clever enough to fix this.”

By the time she’d left the sanctuary of her desk, Malfoy looked ready to crumble to the ground.

“My bright girl,” He said, “You can fix any problem. Fix me — ”

He finally stopped talking when she kissed him. The silence was grand, but his touch? That was a gift.

[sofasoap]

Losing you

Pairing: König x  f!Reader ( OC aka “Mini” MacTavish )  Summary: Nothing shakes him, even facing enemies on the battlefield. Until he gets the call. Part of König's route in Mini MacTavish verse.

A/N : Part of @saltofmercury ’s ““The Favorite MacTavish” , where the reader/OC is Soap’s little sister. Thanks to her kindness leading me her character :D

“masterlist” for more stories to this Mini MacTavish expanded verse.

König couldn’t stop the shake in his hands when dialling the number to his brother in law. “I heard. We are on our way.” Soap picked up and answered in one ring. Short and yet to the point. König can hear the noises and banging sound in the background and he rushes towards the transporter himself. 

“PA.” König was shocked when he heard his son’s voice and not yours when he picked up the call on his burner phone. During the time you two are together and married, never once you rang or message him on the burner phone. No news is good news.

“Alex?”

“Pa…Ma.. Ma….. she..” “Deep breath son, What is going on?” König tries his best to calm his son down, or trying to calm himself down as well?? Why is his son ringing him instead of you? What is going on?

The news of you being in an accident sent König reeling. His Liebling. His love. When he got to the hospital, Soap and Ghost were already there, standing outside the entrance of the ICU, doing their best to comfort their nephew. “PA!” Alex ran towards his dad, not able to contain emotion anymore. Bending down to scoop his boy into his embrace, doing his best not to cry together with him. 

“I’m sorry Pa I’m so sorry.. I couldn’t protect Ma like I promised..” Alex burst out crying in his father’s hold, apologising again and again. König closed his eyes, the amount of expectation he had put on his young boy to look after his mother while he was away, and now the guilt eating him up. He felt bad putting the pressure onto him. “Shh.. Sh.. It's ok, You did well. You have done well boy..” patting his back, kissing him lightly on the head, trying to let his son know he isn’t the one to blame. “What’s her condition? Can I go in and see her?” König holds his son, rocking him gently, anxious to know the update as Soap comes up to him.

“Critical but stable.” He lowered his head and pressed his lip tight together before letting out a sigh and ruffling his own mohawk, “They had to revive her twice. Not quite sure how much damage that has done to her.” 

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Ghost talking to his wife, still in her PPE gear,discussing something in hush and low voice, with him nodding his head, brows furrowed. She noticed Konig out of the corner of her eyes, and called out to him.

“König,” Rachel jerked her head, indicating him to come up towards her. He stood up, adjusting his hold of his son while he walked towards her. 

“We have to put her in an induced coma,” eyeing the boy, and looking at the two men she paused. König whispered to his son, Alex nodded his head before giving his dad a tight hug and a kiss, before being passed over to Ghost. Giving him a pat on the back, Ghost took the boy towards the cafeteria. Leaving the three adults to talk alone.

“Johnny probably told you, we had to resuscitate her twice already.” Staying as professional as she could, not letting her emotions get involved, “I am sorry to be the bearer of the bad news König, we are doing the best we can. But for the moment, only time will tell.”

Leading both of them into the ICU, passing by few of the other patients and towards your bedside. It took every ounce of König’s determination not to kneel and breakdown as he finally saw you, batter and bruised, a deep gash on the side of your head, the shallow rising and falling of your chest and constant beeping of machine, is his only reassurance that you are still alive, on this world.

“We’ll take Alex home, König. You stay here with her tonight.” Soap fatigue and stress evident in his eyes

Not trusting his own voice, König grabbed Soap’s arm firmly, as a sign of gratitude, Soap took one last look at his sister and left the ICU. König sat there with you for days, and nights. Watching you silently fighting for your life. Family and team mates taking turns to come and check on König and your recovery progress. This is the moment he is grateful that his family and brother in arms are there to help him out. 

“It was hard. Not knowing when you were going to wake up or not.”“ I thought I had lost my big teddy bear… the only man I love…” He thought back to your words, when he recovered from his battle injury. Now he understand that uncertainty, the despair, The fear. The fear of losing you forever. 

[omniblades-and-stars]

WIP WHENEVER

Tagged by @commander-krios

and I'll tag @stormikins, @sparatus, @thetrashbagswasteland and @teamdilf

I keep hoping posting more pieces of this will make my brain do writing good and finish a chapter. Here's a bit of Holding On To Hell:

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“Massani, not that I’m not glad you survived, but how did you find my number?” Curt, he should have expected as much. Not as though he enjoyed getting surprise calls from people he barely tolerated either.

“Yeah, don't weep for joy just yet. No time for manners or explaining. How fast can you get to the coordinates I just sent you?” Zaeed worried at his omni-tool display, checking and rechecking that his message went through. Communications were still spotty, and he didn't have the luxury of a connection to EDI to clean things up for him.

An eternity passed in the span of a couple of seconds before Miranda Lawson responded, “If I pull some strings, I can make it in a few hours.”

“Well, pull 'em.”

Miranda sighed, “What's this about, Massani?”

His patience was wearing thin, there were too many machines making too many noises and too many people panicking about things he cared very little to not at all about all around him. “We found her, Lawson. She's alive, for now.”

“Condition?"

“Bad doesn’t do it justice. Burns, cuts all over, broken bones, looked like a bomb went off on top of her. Found her under enough building to crush a krogan.”

“Is she conscious, speaking?”

“She was. Tried to talk when we pulled her out of the rubble. She blacked out and it's been touch and go since. Any time she's tried to talk, it's just noise.” Zaeed took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. “They're inducing a goddamn coma.”

“Do they have any neural-implant specialists there?” Miranda's voice had taken on a far more urgent tone.

“It's a fucking field hospital, Lawson. There's combat medics, and a trauma surgeon who looks like he might blow his brains out any second,“ he emphasized while looking at the harried doctor who jumped from patient to patient like he was being pulled around on a wire. “Alliance is spread real goddamn thin.”

Miranda nearly cut him off with, “I'm already on my way. Two hours.”

“What happened to “a few hours”?”

“I pulled the whole spool.”

[mania-sama]

rule #13 - waterfall

Rule #13 - Waterfall - Fish in a Birdcage

➼ information ❧ Jujutsu Kaisen ❧ Pairing: Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji ❧ Tags: coma, japanese literature, character study, references to depression, survivor guilt, angst, post-culling games, gross overuse of italics ❧ Summary: Sukuna is successfully exorcised without killing his vessel, but Fushiguro Megumi is left in a comatose state. His soul has a decision to make. ❧ Word Count: 2,022 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 27 December 2023

➼ whumptober 2023 ❧ Day 30: Coma ❧ Previous Day ❧ Next Day ❧ Masterlist

"The boy has not a suggestion of a smile. No human can smile with his fists doubled like that,” Itadori reads, his index finger carefully underlining the words on the page. “It is a monkey. A grinning monkey-face. The smile is nothing more than a puckering of ugly wrinkles.”

Megumi listens intently and waits patiently for Itadori to arrive at the end of the paragraph, where he is sure to take a pause and regather his breath and thoughts. He’ll steal a glance at Megumi, then continue on.

Except this time Itadori does not continue when his finger falls off the page after reading: “ I have never seen a child with such an unaccountable expression.” The blue bookmark, tasseled with intertwining crimson and gold, slides into the crook between the pages, bumping into the inner spine. The light pink and coral book gently collapses to hold the bookmark in place, saving Yuuji’s spot for when he would like to return to it next.

It’s not like him to stop reading so abruptly unless there’s an emergency of some kind. Megumi thinks it's unlikely considering his phone hadn’t gone off, nor had a staff member or fellow sorcerer barged in to alert him of an impending situation.

Itadori rests the book on his lap and methodically runs his thumbs on the edge of the paperback cover. Without looking up at Megumi, he says, “I really hate this author.”

This doesn’t surprise Megumi. Dazai Osamu isn’t known for theatrical and fun yet thought-provoking books like many other authors are famous for. His works are depressive and nihilistic, showcasing the cruel underbelly of human nature. In the months Megumi has gotten to know Itadori, he has always been one to keep his nose facing the sun.

“I don’t want to read this,” Itadori continues. “Just that one paragraph, and I—” He breaks off, his thumb pausing at the base of a flower bud on the cover. “Did you expect to find yourself in these pages?”

Megumi startles, and Itadori swallows thickly.

Did you expect to find yourself in these pages?

It has something to do with the way Megumi never smiled right, always full of anger and resentment and apathy for the man who raised him and the man who didn’t. He rarely attempted to express happiness, and when he did, it looked unnatural and foreign. 

“I… I don’t know,” he admits. His voice echoes as a snowflake falling in a powdered tundra.

Finally, Itadori tears his gaze from No Longer Human. He settles on Megumi, whose chest rises and falls in line with the beeping monitor tracking his heart. Megumi watches the exchange from the edge of the bed. Close to Yuuji, where if he shifted an inch or two over, he would contact Itadori’s knee with his own. Far enough from Yuuji, where they would never accidentally meet in the middle.

“Some of these books are hard to read. Not just because I don’t like them, but I have this feeling that… if you’re listening, and you’re hearing what some of these guys have to say, you won’t want to wake up.” His brown eyes are sincere and solemn, a combination that only he could earnestly achieve. Most people attempt to conceal a part of themselves; it’s a natural part of the human equation. Yet somehow, Itadori bypasses it entirely as if he was made using a different formula altogether.

Sometimes, it feels like Megumi will never fully understand Itadori. Their compositions are too fundamentally opposed.

On his left, his body breathes silently. Occasionally he can hear it as the state of his nostril and throat changes, like mucus build-up or tonsil irritation. Today he suffers from no ailment to cause sound. If he could somehow turn off the heart monitor, he could pretend that the only people in the room are Itadori Yuuji with the light pink and coral book and himself sitting on the edge of a normal bed in a normal room. Yuuji reads to him, tracking the words with his index finger and occasionally stealing warm glances at Megumi. He smiles despite the depressing contents of the book, like being in the same vicinity as Megumi is enough to bring him holistic happiness.

The heart monitor breaks his wistful daydream by beeping at a minimally quicker pace. Itadori turns his head to look at it, tracking the spiking red line like it’s worth anything more than the shitty, noisy machine that it is. His hand had jumped close to the red ‘CALL’ button on the side of the hospital bed. His finger hovers over it uselessly as the monitor slows down to his regular BPM.

Itadori uses the same hand to reach for Megumi, holding his pale, gauntly thin hand that resembles the rest of his atrophying body. Megumi can faintly feel the fingers intertwining with his own, and it simultaneously burns and freezes his skin in a frigid hellfire. When there’s nothing he can do but sit and experience it, he finds himself stuck between enjoying and cursing the sensation.

However, this is the better option for obtaining touch. The incorporeal form he possesses simply passes through living people. Contact dissembles his skin in a flurry of dust and scattered light while sending the other person deep, bone-chilling shivers.

“Wake up,” Itadori says. Their hands are lying together on the bedsheet, one sickly white from lack of a severe lack of natural Vitamin D and the other bone-white from how tightly he’s holding on. “Wake up so I don’t have to read this to you. I’ll read you something else if you like. Anything. But you have to be awake. I want to see you listening to me.”

Megumi wants to do that; listen to Itadori read any book of his choosing — not Dazai Osamu, certainly not his most depressing suicide note of a book — all day long. By itself, it would have been enough to wake him with the first sentence Itadori read of Norwegian Wood. 

The book itself, as Itadori explained when he sat down to explain his plans to Megumi, was chosen because of its inspirational message. The exact opposite of Dazai, really; it’s clear that Itadori was hoping to avoid this point.

“I did research,” Itadori had said, opening to the first page of what will become a stack of read books piled on the other side of Megumi’s hospital bed. “By that, I mean I read a Wikipedia page. Its message is to keep on living, which I think is better than some of the other ones you have on your list. I really hope this works.”

Then it began: “I was thirty-seven then, strapped in my seat as the huge seven-four-seven plunged through dense cloud cover on approach to Hamburg airport.”

If it were so simple, it would have worked.

Megumi doesn’t want to wake up.

It started from the moment he killed his sister. He gave up fighting Sukuna, knowing it would be useless. His power to manipulate the Ten Shadows technique alongside his given techniques and domain overshadowed any restraint he applied to his body’s cursed energy. Nineteen fingers eventually accumulated in his body. Mahoraga gave way to the world-shattering cleave. Tsumiki and Gojo died because of his abilities.

“It wasn’t you who killed them,” Itadori had explained early on, “it was Sukuna.” But Itadori didn’t understand that his words were null from the amount of hypocrisy poisoning them.

If waking up meant he could sit in one place for the rest of his life with Itadori’s voice reading him his favorite books, he’d do it. But being awake means facing the world again. It means confronting the shikigami that took his sister’s and Gojo’s life, as well as the countless others that Sukuna killed along the way. He’d have to return to Jujutsu society and continue this thankless, worthless life of exorcism, or abandon it all and live with the guilt of negligence.

But dying — dying meant losing this. Itadori would be alone, and Megumi would never hear the end of No Longer Human or The Setting Sun. He would never get to The Boy of the Winds which Megumi assumes Itadori is saving for last. He won’t get updates on Itadori’s trials and tribulations with schoolwork and exorcism. Maki comes to visit; he likes to hear her talk and interact with his comatose body. If he dies, there will be no family members left for her to relate to.

That’s the problem, the dichotomy of his situation where he is seemingly stuck between life and whatever comes after. If he could figure out how to die or wake up, he wouldn’t be here, stuck in his hospital room and watching one of only two people alive he cares about come to his room day after day to read him a book from Megumi’s to-be-read list. 

What Megumi does want, and it goes entirely unattested as embarrassing as it is, is to talk to Gojo.

He doesn’t know what Gojo would do in this situation, because he is certain that Gojo would never be in the same position. That man has always been one extreme to the next — to imagine his soul wandering the planes of the living is to ignore him altogether. If he were allowed just one conversation, he knows that Gojo would have him alive or dead before Itadori can finish one more paragraph of No Longer Human.

Then there is the quieter part of him that just wants to see him again. To see Gojo in whatever form he’s taken after death. And he recognizes that Gojo, the person he has modeled his every decision after when Tsumiki could no longer guide him, is the only person he will listen to. Anyone can tell him to live or to die, but Gojo is the only one Megumi knows he won’t fight.

It’s not that Gojo has made every correct decision in his life, but he is the closest thing Megumi has ever gotten to a father.

There is a saying: like father, like son. For the longest time, he had been unable to comprehend that phrase. He and Gojo aren’t blood-related. During his living days, Megumi didn’t have the time or motivation to reflect on the man who raised him. He understood that Gojo was the one around, his benefactor, and his teacher. His emotional capacity was unable to handle much more than that.

One year and three months and a stack of books have given Megumi plenty of time to reflect, and he is now intimately familiar with what it means when someone says like father, like son.

Not one person knows him better than Gojo Satoru.

“Okay,” Itadori relinquishes, letting go of Megumi’s hand. “Okay. Another day. I’ll let you have another day.”

Megumi doesn’t know how many more days either of them have left in them. It’s been a year and three months, and so far, Gojo Satoru has not come to visit to guide his soul as he once guided his life. It could be retribution for killing his only father-like figure, but he has this feeling that Gojo doesn’t blame him for it, no matter how much Megumi holds it against himself.

Like father, like son. Yet, the father raises the son to be better than himself.

Leaning back in his chair, Itadori reopens the light pink and coral book. In the fold of space between life and death, there are books and there is Itadori Yuuji. He cannot have these individually, nor can he hold them close. It’s a form of torment, a reminder that he is not meant to stay.

He listens from his seat at the edge of the bed as Itadori takes a deep, aching breath. He reads to the end of the prologue. When he’s finished, he looks at Megumi for a long time. His finger traces the inner spine between the thin pages.

Itadori continues with the first chapter: “Mine has been a life of such shame. I can’t even guess myself what it must be to live the life of a human being.”

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

ok.. bagginshield: bodyguard au, bilbo is a paramedic, and has amnesia. PLease i'm BEGGING

Sandy. My dude. I told you I had an idea for this but it became SUCH A BIG THING!! 😮‍💨😍 So I hope you can forgive the late due date with almost 3K of Bagginshield...where I couldn't use Thorin's name! 🤣 So without further ado...

Pairing: Bagginshield

Warning: Blood/Gore-ish

Words: 2638

“Back again, Mr. Baggins?”

Bilbo whirled around to see the nurse at the desk smiling sympathetically at him. It honestly only made Bilbo feel more pathetic as he played with the stems of the flowers he carried. Three days ago, he had done everything he could to help keep a John Doe alive in the back of his ambulance, and still he couldn’t get the comatose patient out of his mind. His cousin, Siggy, was right. He needed help. Or at the very least a vacation.

“You caught me.” He laughed nervously. “No one’s claimed him yet, have they?”

She shook her head sadly. “No, but he did wake up last night briefly! Dr. Greyham is very optimistic about his recovery.”

That was great news. Bilbo certainly hadn’t held much hope when they found him. Bloodied and beaten in an alleyway, responding to a good samaritan call hours after what they presumed to be a mugging. His pulse had been too low, and with the severity of the head wound, Bilbo had been afraid they wouldn’t find much brain activity. If he was in fact waking up though, it did make Bilbo’s visits a bit more awkward. 

“Go on in.” The nurse encouraged. “He may appreciate having someone to talk things out with.”

Bilbo nodded and thanked her as he worked up the courage to enter. His relief was palpable when he saw that the man was still asleep. Just as he had been, Bilbo set his flowers in the vase next to his bed before taking a seat in the visitor’s chair. The man had gorgeous dark hair that was starting to get oily at this point. Bilbo knew he had been subjected to sponge baths for sterilization, but Bilbo mourned the lack of bathing for him. Luckily, they hadn’t had to cut much of his locks when they were stitching his head back together, but there would be a noticeable balding on the right side underneath all of the bandages. Bilbo hoped the man wasn’t too vain about his appearances to pitch a fit at that. Certainly Bilbo has treated plenty who were. The ‘saving their lives’ part falling secondary almost immediately.

Bilbo finally heaved a sigh and pulled his bag of knitting equipment off his shoulder as he settled in for his usual monologue. The first time he had done this, he had felt quite silly and was afraid that the man would wake up at any time to tell him off. However, he has come to find it almost therapeutic, talking to someone who can only listen. 

“Well, Mr. Oakenshield. Not much to add on today. I finally got the last of those stubborn weeds out of my vegetable planter. Only I fear they will just return in a few days. With the rain we’ve been having lately, I wouldn’t expect anything less. You might be pleased to know that Detective Inspector Bard is looking into your case, but has yet to come up with any definite answers to who hurt you. Well, maybe he has. It’s not like I’m privy to police investigations after all. And well, let’s just look at your chart here…oh this is promising! 

Dr. Greyham says that you are showing massive improvement. If you can ever finally pull away from this nasty coma, you shouldn’t expect any lasting damage. That’s quite lucky. Just last week my partner and I responded to a man who had gotten himself crushed under an air conditioning unit and…well I’ll spare you the gory details. Let’s just say that he won’t quite have the motor functions he used to.

I can imagine this is very good news to you. I’m mean, I’d hate to assume, but I’d imagine you enjoy spending time at the gym. After all, nobody your age looks like…that is to say you’re very…oh what the hell, you’re probably about the fittest person I know Mr. Oakenshield. Of course, even though Theo and Hamfast and Siggy all think that’s why I keep coming to visit you, it’s not. You see I’d quite hate for anyone to wake up alone after an ordeal like yours. I’d do it for…any John Doe you see, but I must admit there is something about you that I’m quite…AHH!”

Bilbo jumped out of his chair, dropping his knitting on the bed, as he backed up with a hand over his heart. The man blinked his drowsy, but confused bright blue eyes at Bilbo as if trying to make sense of him.

“I’m so…so terribly sorry.” Bilbo explained breathlessly. “This must all be rather confusing. Let me introduce myself. I’m Bilbo Baggins, I’m the paramedic who worked on you after we found you in that alley.”

“Alley?” The man repeated roughly as if the word were foreign to him.

“Um, yes. Let me just call your doctor real quick.”

Bilbo moved to press the ‘assistance’ button above the man’s head, when his hand snaked out to grab Bilbo’s arm. He felt himself gasp, both at the speed of the reflex and the tightness of his grip. No loss of motor skills, that was for certain. The man mumbled something to him, but it was in a completely different language. Bilbo felt his heart sink. He hadn’t accounted for this. The man was a tourist? That might explain why no one had come for him yet. The only problem was Bilbo was quite sure he didn’t speak whatever language the man was muttering in as it wasn’t Westron and certainly not Sindrian.

“I don’t…understand.” He breathed slowly. “Can you…understand me?”

The man furrowed his brows together before he slowly nodded his head. That was good! He was bilingual at least. Bilbo thought it was best to start with the basics.

“Can you tell me your name?”

The man opened his mouth only to close it and open it once more. After that, a look of horror crossed his face, and Bilbo’s attention was grabbed by the spiking heart monitor.

“No, no! It’s okay.” Bilbo rushed. “This is totally common for an injury like yours.”

Instincts took over, and Bilbo grabbed his hand in comfort as he slowly tilted his chin towards him looking for signs of a concussion. His pupils were certainly dilated and when Bilbo asked him to follow his finger around, it definitely seemed conclusive. Concussions and short term amnesia would be common with this type of injury.

“We’re going to start slow. You don’t remember your name right now, and that’s okay. What do you remember?”

The man took a deep breath as his eyes turned towards the ceiling. Before he could say a word though, there was a knock at the door. It didn’t seem unusual until Bilbo’s gaze fell upon the dry erase board next to the door. The John Doe wasn’t due for check-up for another hour, and Bilbo’s finger never made it to the assist button. Bilbo got up cautiously when his arm was grabbed again, but this time the man’s eyes were wide with panic.

“I remember someone was trying to kill me.”

Cold seeped into Bilbo’s chest as his heart thumped along to the adrenaline surging through him. Bilbo barely had a chance to say anything when the door was forced open. After that, it was like a scene from an action movie. Bilbo was thrown over to the other side of the bed as gunshots rang through the room. Cutting through the mattress that had previously been occupied. Bilbo instinctively covered his head, screaming over the noise, managing to wrench his eyes open just enough to check on the other man. What he saw, stunned him to silence. 

The man was calculated, calm, and seemed to be running off pure muscle memory as his eyes remained wild and afraid. When the gunfire stopped for a moment, the man leapt into action. Taking one of Bilbo’s knitting needles, he shoved it through the throat of the assailant reloading his pistol, using him as a human shield against the second one as he barreled into him. Using his own gun to shoot him in the head. In seconds, Bilbo had gone from thinking he was certainly going to die, to staring at two gruesomely murdered bodies. The man certainly wasn’t done there. He poked his head out into the hallway only to curse and close and lock the door. He looked through the pockets of the dead men on the floor for another clip that he loaded into the gun in his hand with an ease that made Bilbo realize he was dealing with some sort of professional.

“Clothes.” He barked.

Bilbo raised his hands above his head slowly. “C-Clothes?” He repeated.

The man growled before pulling at his hospital gown with impatience.

“My clothes?”

Bilbo pointed at the cabinet behind him. As soon as the man spun around, Bilbo made a mad dash for the door. Before he could reach it, he was pushed up against the wall and held there by the deranged man.

“There are three more out in the hallway ready to kill the first thing that comes through that door. Do you want that to be you?”

Bilbo shook his head rapidly.

“Then help me get out of here.”

“Who are you?” Bilbo gasped after he was released.

The man had his back turned to him as he stripped down to nothing pulling on his bloodied and torn clothing from days ago.

“I don’t remember.” He grumbled. 

“So how do I know I can trust you?”

“Considering the ease I just killed those guys, if I wanted you dead, I would have already done it.”

That was a rather grim, but valid point. 

“Let me ask you something. Earlier, when you thought I was still asleep, you called me ‘Oakenshield’. Why?”

Bilbo could feel his mouth go dry at the question before pointing to the pin on the man’s chest. It seemed to be a coat of arms; only one of the symbols on the shield was an acorn. The man looked down at it as well, his face betraying some amusement. However, he didn’t deign commenting on it as he moved towards the pocket door that was shared between rooms. 

“Don’t you think they’ll be waiting for you?” Bilbo asked.

“Only one way to find out.” The man explained before opening the door, pushing the heart monitor through it, and immediately closing it. 

There was a shout, the sound of feet running towards the room, and more gunshots. The man quickly closed the door again before he or Bilbo could get hit before moving towards the outer door. 

“Go! I’ll cover you.”

Bilbo didn’t have to be told twice as he raced for the stairwell hoping to find safety from this nightmare. He felt the bullets whizzing by before he heard them, and was definitely aware of the man returning fire as he followed after him.

“Only three!?” Bilbo complained throwing himself down the stairs.

“So maybe four!”

They went down a floor, but rather than keep going, the man shoved them into the door for the ER. It was utter chaos as doctors and nurses were trying to secure and placate patients and guests alike. 

“This way.” The man urged, pushing Bilbo through the throng of people trying to get out. 

They found a break room and shoved their way inside. 

“Are we just going to wait here until the police get here?” Bilbo asked hopefully.

He could tell from the stern look he received that was not going to be the case. So what Bilbo was learning was this man had assassin level skills and didn’t trust the police. The situation he found himself in was looking bleaker by the second.

“Paramedic? Right?” The man questioned holding out a jacket with the hospital’s logo on it. 

Bilbo had a sneaking suspicion the plan the man had was going to get him in a heap of trouble. Sure enough, seconds later found him pushing a gurney through ER to the doors on the other side.

“Sir! Just where do you think you’re going?” Bilbo was stopped by a frantic nurse.

Bilbo flashed his ID. 

“Ma’am, this is a comatose patient of Dr. Greyham that can’t be off life support for more than twenty minutes. I’m supposed to get him in a bus and to Tuckborough Medical ASAP. Doctor’s orders.”

She hesitated before nodding, going as far as to call in the ambulance for him. Bilbo was going to have to remember how much he owed the staff at Hobbiton General another time. As soon as Bilbo had the man loaded up, he pulled away the sheet and climbed into the passenger seat next to Bilbo.

“Okay, you gun wielding, knitting needle stabbing manic! I have done everything you asked. I’m most likely going to lose my job for this if they don’t see fit to throw me behind bars. So you better have something you can give me or I’m pulling over at the next police precinct.”

The man grimaced. “I told you. I. Don’t. Remember. I just know they are the bad guys. And they want me dead.”

Bilbo gave a little sarcastic laugh and head tilt. “Oh, great.”

“There is one more thing.”

Bilbo slowly looked over at the man as much as he could without crashing the ambulance.

“It only started to kick in when you called me ‘Oakenshield’, but I was…protecting something…or someone.”

“That’s…vague.” Bilbo complained.

“But this…” The man sighed with impatience before pointing towards the pin on his chest. “Is the clue. It’s the coat of arms for the royal family of Erebor.”

“Erebor?! Like halfway across the world Erebor?”

“Really? Halfway across the world? Where exactly am I?”

Bilbo drew in a shaky breath starting to finally hit the point of ‘too much’. It’s funny. One would think that moment was…oh, about fifteen minutes ago with all the shooting. The other man seemed to realize it as well.

“Look, I’m sorry. You’ve been very kind to me and if you want me to…walk away, I wouldn’t blame you. I just feel like if I’m able to retrace my steps, I’ll find out what was so important it was literally worth dying over.”

“This isn’t a spy movie. You could just be patient and let the healing naturally take over.” Bilbo suggested with a huff.

“Judging by our friends back there, I don’t think I have that kind of time.”

Bilbo looked over at the man one more time. That lost look that has been in his eyes since the moment he woke up was still there. And despite everything he’s seen, everything he’s experienced that should have him running for the hills, Bilbo really wanted to believe him. And help him if he could.

“Alright.” He sighed. “I’ll show you the alley where I picked you up. But after that, I’m done. And if I get picked up and questioned by the cops, I’m telling them the truth!”

“Fair enough.” The man shrugged. “But could you do me one more favor?”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow.

“Could you stitch this bullet wound in my side?”

Bilbo cursed at the red staining the man’s dark shirt as he pulled over to the side of the road. 

“I expect to be billed for all the times I have to play ‘personal physician’ because I can’t imagine this being the last time.” He complained.

The man let out a roaring laugh that had Bilbo’s cheeks warming all the way to the tips of his ears. This was very not good. It was bad enough when he had a crush on his comatose patient. He had no idea how to handle falling for this bodyguard/assassin/psychopath. Jury was certainly still out on which one he may turn out to be.