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writingwithacupoftea · 4 years

Text

Poison

Summary: When Y/N Shelby arrives back from a meeting with some potential business partners, her brothers, Tommy, notices that something isn’t quite right with her. Hours later, the family are crowded around her bedside, while she lies on the brink of death.

Word Count: 3350 (ooh, that’s satisfying)

Trigger Warnings: vomiting and just generally being ill

A/N: My stubborn arse finally managed to finish this fic (even though I edited as little as possible so it’s quite long)!! Hope you like it 💜💜

The Shelby and Gray families were not ones for quiet - they brought chaos and noise with them wherever they went. But now, not a single member of the family could bring themselves to speak, the doctor's parting words circling around in their heads:

"It's not looking good, I'm afraid. If she wakes in the morning, then I think we can say that things are looking up. But I can't promise you that she will."

Tommy couldn't decide if the silence was a blessing or curse. He was beyond grateful not to have his younger sister's screams of agony echoing down the halls of Arrow House any more, but it seemed so unnatural: Y/N wasn't the loudest of the Shelby clan, but she was always there with a sarcastic quip, witty comeback, or words of comfort that none of her other siblings could ever quite get right.

Her brothers often said that she was the future of Shelby Company Limited - Y/N had a vision and was determined to see it through with Tommy's help, for even though they disagreed frequently, he couldn't deny that her ideas could be the making of the business in the modern world. Tommy was beyond proud of the woman that he raised after their bastard of a father left them. Yes, Arthur, John and Ada had helped him and Polly with raising their sister – but no one could deny that Tommy loved Y/N in a way that none of the others ever could.

Now, he and his brother were crowded around her bedside, helpless, wondering how they could have let this happen.

The doctor suspected poison, and although he couldn't be sure which poison it was, Tommy knew exactly who had given it to his sister and let the guilt consume him.

***

Earlier that day...

"Tommy, do I seriously have to meet them by myself?" Y/N asked as she marched into her brother's office (without knocking, of course).

"I've told you, Y/N/N, I've got a meeting of my own to go to and I don't trust Arthur and John not to fuck things up even if you are there."

She was meant to be having lunch with some potential business partners from America, but despite Tommy's reassurances that this deal would be of benefit for their future plans for the company, Y/N had a feeling that something wasn't right about them. When she'd mentioned her suspicions that the associates may not be as friendly as they appear, Tommy brushed her concerns aside as Polly raged on at him ("Thomas you're a fool if you don't listen to your sister now – it's her gypsy instinct and it's never wrong.")

But still, Tommy insisted on going through with it. He wasn't backing down now.

~ ~ ~

When Y/N returned later that afternoon, Tommy watched in silence as she slumped down at her desk and put her head in her hands.

"That bad was it, eh?" Tommy questioned, jokingly.

"My head's pounding, Tom, don't fucking wind me up."

Arthur, who had heard the exchange, walked up to her, slamming a pile of work onto her desk. "Is our little Y/N becoming a lightweight?"

"Oh, piss off Arthur," the firmness in her voice surprising him, considering that she didn't lift her head up.

Luckily, Arthur took that as his cue to leave, but not before sending an amused look at Tommy, one that was not reciprocated. Instead, the second eldest brother furrowed his brows, all of his attention focused on his little sister, concern beginning to bubble inside of him. Not wanting to start any arguments, however, he simply settled with saying "We'll leave at about five o'clock if you're still feeling like shit, yeah? I just need to finish this first."

Y/N laughed, humourlessly, and gestured towards her newly acquired work. "I've got plenty to keep me busy, Tommy, don't worry."

"You know if you're really feeling -"

"No, Thomas." His sister cut him off abruptly. "I'm fine to work, it's just a headache. It'll go before I know it."

With that, she began reading the first document that Arthur had given to her, actively avoiding Tommy's eye.

~ ~ ~

A couple of hours later and Tommy, having been so consumed with his work, realised that he hadn't heard a peep from Y/N since she started working.

Looking up, he immediately became aware that Y/N still wasn't back to her usual self. To anyone else, she simply looked hard at work, furiously making notes as she waded through her paperwork; but Tommy could see her discomfort from a mile off. The hand subconsciously rubbing her stomach, the occasional wince in pain, the fingers on her other hand massaging her temples.

Y/N didn't seem to notice anything as Tommy made his way past her desk to speak to John and Arthur. "Has she said anything to either of you?"

"Nah," Arthur replied, casually. "I didn't think I pissed her off that badly earlier though, so I don't know why. She just keeps ignoring everyone and won't fucking sit still."

This did absolutely nothing to qualm Tommy's worries.

John piped up, tentatively: "You don't think it's...you know?"

"No, I don't, John. So spit it out."

John lowered his voice to a whisper, glancing slightly over his shoulder to make sure that Y/N wasn't listening. "You don't think it's that time of the month, do you? She always get a bit cranky, doesn't she."

Tommy cleared his throat as Arthur looked at the ground awkwardly. "Yeah, he's got a point, Tom. Best not to ask any questions."

"Right." Tommy paused, before making his way back to his office.

He mulled over his brothers' words. It was a reasonable explanation for her behaviour, but something just didn't sit right with it for Tommy. Y/N had always lived with him and over time he had developed an instinct for when that time of the month was meant to be, and this didn't fit the usual pattern.

Lost in his thoughts as he packed up his things, Tommy was taken by surprise when Y/N appeared in the doorway, a smile plastered on her face. "You ready to go, Tom?"

If Tommy had looked a bit closer, he would've seen that the smile was just a bit too bright to be genuine. He would've seen that it didn't quite reach her eyes, which looked tired and pained in themselves. But, in an unusual move for Thomas Shelby, his shock at seeing such a drastic change in his sister overtook everything else.

As they drove back to Arrow House, the sun beginning to set in the distance, Tommy thought to himself 'Maybe John and Arthur were right, for once. I'm just worrying too much.'

Upon their arrival home, the siblings' usual routine began: Y/N made her way up to her room, whilst Tommy headed straight for his study to carry on working after greeting Grace and Charlie.

And so, the evening began as a fairly typical one...but Tommy would never forget that night for the rest of his life.

~ ~ ~

At 7 o'clock each night, either Y/N or Grace would barge into Tommy's study to drag him to dinner (otherwise they thought that he'd never eat). In actual fact, Tommy always knew when dinner was going to be, but he enjoyed their visits to come and fetch him – for once, Thomas Shelby enjoyed being looked after.

Grace had left for the weekend to spend some time with friends, and so when 7 o'clock came and went without Tommy being disturbed by his sister, he began to worry. Remembering her headaches and discomfort in the office, he came to the quick conclusion that she must have fallen asleep and made his way upstairs to go and wake her.

Call it his instinct as her older brother, but Tommy just knew that something was off as he stood outside Y/N's bedroom. Opening the door and peering around it, he froze at the sight before him: his sister, collapsed on her bed, sweating profusely and mumbling incoherently to herself. Tommy rushed over, panic eclipsing him, "Y/N?"

As he brushed the loose strands of hair away from her face, Tommy felt the heat radiating from her. Having nursed his sister through many an illness during her lifetime, and therefore knowing exactly what to do (or so he hoped, for Tommy had never seen her quite this bad before), he jogged down the hallway to fetch a bowl of lukewarm water and a cloth from the bathroom.

But Tommy's plans to nurse his sister through the night himself were put to an abrupt end upon his return. Y/N was curled up in a tight ball, arms wrapped around her stomach as she groaned and grunted in pain, vomiting violently over the side of her bed.

"Mary, call the doctor NOW!" Tommy yelled over his shoulder before dashing to sit next to his sister on the bed, dampening the cloth and dabbing it to her forehead. "Y/N? Y/N, speak to me, love, what's wrong?"

Still he got no response. Y/N didn't even give any indication that she knew that he was there. Her moans of pain simply got louder and more agitated and Tommy couldn't bear it. He had always done everything that he could (and more) to keep any pain far, far away from his sister, and when it couldn't be prevented Tommy would stop at nothing to make things better for her. Even when she was a baby, and their mother was still alive, no one could separate Tommy from Y/N's side when she was sick or injured – he didn't trust that others wouldn't cause her to suffer further, and so Y/N remained under his watchful eye until she was back to full strength (and even then he was wary for a week or so afterwards).

So, for Tommy, seeing his beloved sister writhing in pain, not knowing what was wrong or how he could help, was complete and utter torture for him.

~ ~ ~

When Mary arrived upstairs to inform her employer that the doctor would arrive within ten minutes, she barely recognised him: hair messy, hands shaking and muttering tender words of comfort, the Thomas Shelby in front of her was far from the controlled man that she had become accustomed to dealing with. But the thing that shocked her the most came when the man looked up at her. Whilst the blue of his eyes had become less icy since his marriage and the birth of his son, these eyes were wild, frantic and displayed a boyish vulnerability that Mary had never even imagined. They were glazed with unshed tears, and yet this barrier did nothing to hide the whirlwind of emotions that were communicated through them. The overarching message that they conveyed was as clear as day: Thomas Shelby was frightened.

The man's voice, thick with emotion despite his attempts to compose himself, snapped her away from her thoughts. "Call the rest of the family. Explain what's happening. Tell them that they need get here as quickly as possible. Then see to it that Charlie's looked after for the night. I'll be staying here."

"Yes, Mr Shelby. Shall I send everyone straight up here?"

Tommy simply nodded, his attention already devoted to his sister once more.

~ ~ ~

The minutes that followed this interaction would forever haunt Tommy's memory.

Whilst Y/N appeared to have stopped being sick, her cries of pain continued to escalate, both in frequency and in volume. Each one pierced through Tommy like a dagger straight to his heart. He knew that nothing he was doing was helping her, and that the situation was completely out of his control, and Tommy hated it. His brain became like a cage, trapping him in his tormenting thoughts: 'You should have done something sooner...you've failed her...how can you ever claim to be a good brother again when you can't even ease her pain...this is your punishment...it's your fault...it's all your fault.'

Tommy clutched onto Y/N's hand like a lifeline, mopping her brow as sweat continued to spill from every pore and her groans became screams tearing from her throat.

Just when he thought that things couldn't get any worse, the convulsions began

Sheer terror consumed Tommy as he watched Y/N's body jerk violently on the bed. Silent tears cascaded down his face as he sat there, completely helpless, trying not to breakdown himself. That was the last thing that Y/N needed. He knew that he should call Mary or one of the maids, but he couldn't bear to leave Y/N's side to do so. He felt almost paralysed with fear, the only movement he made being the kisses that he placed repeatedly to her knuckles in between his pleas of "You're going to be alright, sweetheart...I'm here...I love you..."

The doctor came rushing in just as the convulsions were dying down, and immediately shooed Tommy away. Had the circumstances been any different, Tommy would have questioned the tone that the doctor took with Tommy – no one dismissed Tommy Shelby like that (except for Aunt Polly). But the Shelby man didn't even register it in his desperation for his sister to be looked at, so that he knew what to do to help her. He just needed to do something to make things better for her.

Standing outside Y/N's bedroom door, he heard the low rumble of his family's voices. Going against every one of his instincts to stay in position outside of Y/N's room, he ran down the stairs to see his family.

John, Arthur, Ada, Finn, Michael and Polly, like Mary, were shocked by the version of Tommy that appeared before them. From this alone, they knew that things were bad. Despite Tommy's explanations, the sight of Y/N lying weakly in her bed took them by surprise. Y/N always seemed so strong and full of life, the light of the family, and the realisation struck everyone that they may be plunged into darkness in the next few hours.

***

"It's not looking good, I'm afraid. If she wakes in the morning, then I think we can say that things are looking up. But I can't promise you that she will."

The silence left behind in the room after the doctor's departure was deafening. He had given Y/N some injections of fuck knows what to stop the convulsions and ease her pain, but he didn't know what else to do. He'd never dealt with anything like this before.

All the family could do was wait.

After some time to process the doctor's warning, each member slowly began to unfreeze, or so it seemed. Polly disappeared to the kitchen to make tea and sort out some food, although no one felt like eating. John called Esme, and afterwards Arthur rang Linda, informing their wives that they wouldn't be back at home until at least tomorrow – they couldn't leave their sister. Michael ventured down the corridor to fetch some more chairs. Ada went to tend to Charlie, and Finn went with her, sent with the task of updating Mary and telling her to go to bed.

That left Tommy. Tommy, who couldn't believe what was happening. Tommy, who knew that, despite his new family with Grace, he couldn't cope without Y/N.

Tiredly, the second eldest of the Shelby clan moved to reposition himself next to Y/N on her bed, holding her small hand in his and observing the baby hairs which fell delicately in front of her face. She would always be his little girl, no matter how old and grey and feisty she became, and nothing would change that. He refused to let anything take her away from him before they reached that point, not even poison.

As he mulled this all over in his head, remarking to himself how much she'd grown up yet how little she'd changed, Finn came back into the room. Breaking the silence, the youngest brother tentatively asked "Will she be alright?"

When Tommy looked up at his younger brother, he realised that he wasn't the only one who was scared. Truthfully, Tommy hated not being able to give a straight answer, and simply replied "She's a fighter, Finn."

God knows, they all hoped that she wouldn't stop fighting now.

***

Hours dragged on like days. The slow rising of the early morning sun taunted Tommy. The brighter it became in that room, the more the chance of Y/N waking up again slipped through his fingers.

He was the only one who stayed awake for the entire night, despite Ada's pleas for him to rest and Polly's snaps of "You're going to be no use to her if you're dead on your feet." Even the occasional drooping of his eyelids couldn't persuade him to relent. Because he knew that the minute he gave into that temptation, something would happen and Tommy couldn't risk missing anything.

Part of him had stayed awake in case Y/N needed anything or got worse; part of him stayed awake in case she herself woke up (he didn't want her being alone); and the final part of him, the part of Tommy that was shit scared of what was going to happen, wanted to spend every single moment with his little sister. Because he didn't know if one of them was going to be her last on this Earth.

Arthur and John woke up in the chairs next to Y/N's bed, and gradually the rest of the family came to join them.

Polly was the first to speak. "Has there been any change?"

Tommy didn't trust himself to say the words out loud, so responded by shaking his head and placing a kiss to the back of Y/N's hand, which he hadn't relinquished his hold on.

Whilst her skin was clammy to the touch, she was no longer sweating like before. Her breathing had evened out and the expression of discomfort that had marred her face had melted away: Y/N looked peaceful. To Polly and the rest of the family, this was a good sign, an indication that she was getting better. However, the thought lingered that this would make it easier for her to slip away undetected.

This was the most terrifying idea.

The morning continued to pass by: 9 o'clock, 10 o'clock, 11 o'clock...still nothing.

Everyone was becoming more and more agitated, the ticking of the clock doing nothing to ease the tension. Tommy had finally moved, deciding to pace up and down the limited space left in the room instead. Occasionally, someone would walk over to the window or run downstairs to get a new book. But still they waited, each member of the family united in their hope that Y/N would wake soon.

When the clock struck midday, that hope began to fade, even though no one would say it out loud; it could just be felt in the atmosphere.

However, when no one was looking, Y/N's eyes slowly crept open, squinting as the bright sunlight beamed through the window. Once her eyes had adjusted, she observed her family positioned around her room and noted the peace and quiet, even if Y/N could tell that it was tense. Internally, she sighed to herself 'No fucking fighting, at last.'

Her voice was croaky as she said quietly "How long are you guys gonna hover round my bed like a bunch of creepers, eh?"

The relief was immediate. As Arthur and John roared in excitement, shouting "SHE'S ONLY GONE AND FUCKING DONE IT," Tommy raced over and rested a hand on her cheek tenderly, their tired eyes meeting for the first time in hours. His eyes spoke of admiration and disbelief, whilst hers held only adoration for her big brother. Tommy placed a kiss to her forehead, and let a couple more tears fall.

"I love you, sweetheart."

"Love you, Tom." Y/N smiled softly. "Thank you for staying with me, I knew you were there the entire time."

"As if I could ever leave you, eh."

"Or I you, Tom."

And that was the simple and honest truth.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x sister!reader #shelby sister #peaky blinders imagine #shelby sis #shelby!sister #shelby!reader #peaky blinders sister #peaky blinders x sister!reader #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby x sister reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Text

the worst case scenario 2

i did decide to make this a little parter thing, but really want to be as sensitive as poss (honestly using this as a sort of therapy for what I see myself ah). So please do not read if anything in the warnings may trigger. I very much am not trying to ‘romanticise’ these sorts of situations in any way but also be aware medically this is NOT accurate.This part is short but I think there will be more.

warnings: hospital - ICU, respirators / mention of death , maternal mortality / talk of family dynamics and abandonment of a child

[previous part]

The sight Nikki walked into is something that as a parent you never want to see. Walking into this cold and otherwise empty ‘relatives room’ to see her son collapsed in a world of pain onto his best mates chest. Tom was too busy sobbing to even notice her entrance but her and Harrison instantly locked eyes . Not even able to muster up a greeting smile, Harrison just nodded her in, admitting her entrance to the most horrific situation.

It was about half an hour since she had been texting Haz, arranging when they’d be able to come and visit the newborn in hospital or whether it would be better to just wait till the new family got settled back at home, when Nikki had got a call from Tom’s number. With an excited grin she had instantly whipped her phone off the kitchen counter within one ring- a facial expression that didn’t last long at all.

Met with the distant sound of crying first, Harrison’s deeper voice then emitted itself from her phones speaker, alerting her to the fact everything was very not right. He’d asked her to come to the hospital, said it was Y/n, that the baby was fine and then hung up. Dom immediately agreed to come with her but right now he was still parking the car, having dropped Nikki off right at the front. It had sounded that bad.

Now, she knelt down infront of Haz and Tom, the latter who still was leaning over the arm rest and currently silently crying into his friends chest. Haz didn’t miss Nikki’s hands shaking as she reached out and rubbed up and down her sons back, the action prompting him to suddenly lean up to face her. He was broken. Totally and completely broken. Wordlessly, Nikki looked up for a second, communicating with Harrison so as if rehearsed he stood up and Nikki took his place in the chair - giving him a break from being Tom’s support. Beyond appreciative of how well Nikki could read a situation, Haz quietly but still in a hurried fashion made his way to the door.

Because he was about to crack too - Tom couldn’t see him like that, not right now at least. And so his legs, completely of their own volition, carried him down the hallways. He had absolutely no idea what time it was, all sense of time passing had completely been thrown off earlier in the morning. He was oblivious to a lot, very much in his own thoughts and only realised where he had ended up when a nurse he vaguely recognised managed to garner his attention.

“You’re here for baby Holland? She’s just round here.”

“I-“ He couldn’t respond but the nurse just nodded and then started off down the hallway, practically forcing the blonde to follow a couple of meters till they got to a perspex viewing window.

“She’s the little cutie in the far corner over there.” The brunette middle aged lady softly spoke as she pointed through the glass to the incubator in the corner. “ Don’t worry about all the equipment, the doctors already come round and cleared her. She’s good to go home when you guys are…are ready.” Her words had trailed off, Harrison guessed she didn’t know how to phrase the current ‘situation’ Tom and Y/n were in either. After a couple of moments, the nurse placed a gentle hand on Harrison’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You want to have a cuddle? I know your not dad but…”

“Yeh-yeh…please.”

Harrison just felt awful. The little girl was barely hours into life and yet she wasn’t receiving nearly as much as love as she should be. Instead unnamed and alone in a cold and clinical setting. So he silently nodded away, taking in all the instructions the nurse gave as she sat him down in the arm chair next to the incubator.

Once she placed the little blanket wrapped bundle in his arms the nurse smiled gently up at Haz “You want to feed her? I’m sure she’d prefer it from you than me love?” Ah. Now Haz really was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She’d never been given a feed before - except presumably the midwifes.

“I-uh Y/n hasn’t even so I probably shouldn’t…”

“I can promise you Miss Y/l/n would probably want her baby to be cared for by someone that loves her and that Miss Y/l/n trusts herself.” Ooof. How were nurses so intuitive? She literally read his mind and broken down all the ill-founded ideas Harrison had built up.

“I’m not her Dad.”

“But you care.” Looking down once and briefly at the squished little face that wormed herself into Harrisons broad chest a little more, he then immediately nodded in agreement. Looking almost relieved, the nurse handed him a bottle and directed him as to how to hold it. After mere moments she gasped happily, leaning back whilst the blonde boy waited for her input.

“She’s latched on easy peasy. You’re doing great, I can leave you to it if you want - I’ll only be round the corner.”

“Can you check if there’s any news on Y/n?” The kind lady nodded, before promptly exiting the room - leaving the two actually alone for the first time ever.

He didn’t even think about it, whilst Haz cradled her in one arm and held the bottle up at the angle shown by the nurse, he quietly spoke to the little bundle.

“I’m sorry you were lonely… your mum and dad love you lots and lots… we all do.” Not realising he was crying, Harrison almost scared himself when a single strangled and repressed sob escaped from his chest. “ You’re mum…. She’s a pain in the arse right?” Haz laughed a little wetly “ She’s sarky as hell and she always has an answer… you’d probably think she’s a badass… she is. And-and…. Your dad is just scared… He loves you I promise, he just… he’s worried about you mum.” Now there was actual tears welling up and overflowing his lower lash line, not matter how much he tried to blink them away. “But whatever… whatever happens. You got all of us kiddo… you got me.”

Jolted out of his thoughts by the ladies knuckles rapping twice on the door, Harrison immediately shook himself out of it, wiping his face on his arm to hopefully remove all the evidence of the slight emotional breakdown.

“Mr Osterfield… the doctor wanted me to let you know he’s on his way to talk to Mr Holland.”

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Harrison managed to get back to Tom, Nikki and now Dom before Dr Webber returned, so with a greeting nod to Dom he too took a seat opposite Nikki and Tom. His best mate wasn’t crying anymore, which could be considered a positive were it not for the sinisterly empty look in his eye. He looked almost robotic, staring almost straight ahead at the light grey wall, sat straight and rigidly except for his one hand clasped in Nikki’s.

“You went to see the baby?” Nikki broke the silence, making Harrison smile sadly over at her with a nod. It didn’t even look as though Tpm heard his mum speak, even if he was sat right next to her. “She’s okay?”

“Yeh…I gave her a bottle. She-she’s very cute.” Harrison could see Nikki’s face morph into one of kindness before she looked left toward her son. Nikki was still yet to see to unnamed girl but just thinking about her made her heart flutter. And then stop when she thought about what that little girl was already going through, barely hours into existence.

“You hear that Tom? Maybe you could go down and see her soon? After we’ve spoken to the doctor?” Nikki was only trying to do the best thing, Harrison knew it and deep down Tom did know it too. But now really really wasn’t the time for some gently encouragement from his mother, it wasn’t just Tom being a little stubborn. This was his whole entire world falling apart around him. He didnt have the energy or focus to even shoot down his mother, instead Tom chose to stay completely still - engrossed in his own thoughts.

From the outset, when you take that leap and say to a person ‘I think we should try for kids now’ you are completely putting yourself at the mercy of the other. But when they agree? Then it’s a commitment. Not it the same way marriage is - because that’s a completely selfish gesture, you get married because YOU want to be married to each other. Rather, agreeing to have a kid is a promise, a promise of something more. Promising that you are bringing this life into the world - and half of that life is yours. You create it together and it becomes a joint responsibility. You can never, no matter what people think, ever stop being a parent. At the end of it all there will be another person that knows, scientifically, it is half you. Even if they never met you - they still ‘knew’ you. They would know you had to exist, they would see things in themselves that cannot be explained rather than the influence of their creator.

And sure, it didn’t always work out that way. A parent would up and leave, a child always with questions and a sense of betrayal. But that child… they know you. Because there is half of you in them.

So it was Y/n and Tom together that was slumbering blissfully on a ward downstairs. That was the scary thing. Tom was so sure he didn’t have it in him. He wouldn’t do this without her. He couldn’t be a dad to a baby without a mum. He couldn’t be a parent without Y/n.

Almost thankfully for the atmosphere in the room, a soft know had them all snatching their heads up the very same grey slightly potato like doctor waddled in, this time followed by 2 others; a tall, dark haired woman with a soft and empathetic smile; then another man but this one tall and slender, unlike the other two who were wearing professional clothes, he was donned in scrubs (with the scrub hate too).

“Mr Holland and uh… family” Dr Webber awkwardly greeted the new arrivals of Nikki and Dom, somehow apparently sensing they were Tom’s and not Y/n’s parents who were hours away. Oh fuck, Tom hadn’t even phoned them yet.

“This is Dr Alison Goodwell and then Dr Rohan Avinash, he is Y/n’s surgeon.” They filed in and took seats surrounding them, Dom and Harrison standing up to stand off to the side, not wanting to get in the way of the doctors. All Tom could do though was overanalyse everything. Why was the surgeon here? What was this other lady doing here? A pathologist? — no, he wasn’t going to think like that. Then the taller and most scary looking of the three inched forward, commanding the attention of the whole room.

“Mr Holland, I just wanted to go over what happened. Ms Y/l/n developed plactental accreta, which was the cause of the what we call here a post partum haemorrhage. When you raised the alarm she had already lost, at best guess, 3 pints of blood which is a lot, there’s no denying. Dr Webber and his team quickly brought her up to my team in surgery. We transfused her with blood but we couldn’t stabilise her and the bleeding didn’t show any signs of stopping so we had to perform emergency surgery….” Dr Avinash slowed down as he took in how close Tom looked to bursting out in tears once again, offering him the chance to have a moment to collect himself. Vehemently shaking his head in refusal, Tom crung his hands together furiously. He just needed to know. “Okay… Now the nature of the surgery, because we had to be so quick…it is quite invasive and is a lot of stress to put on anyones body. That and the amount of blood she had already lost makes the situation very dangerous. Sometimes when this happens a persons heart-“ Tom’s breath halted in his throat at the mention of her heart, Harrison sharing the bleak trigger which made him shift uncomfortable between his two feet. “-notices this, it goes into what we call hypovoloemic shock, this just basically means its not getting enough volume of blood to pump properly. So we have had to stimulate Ms Y/l/n’s heart with electricity to keep it pumping-“

“You shocked her?” He felt so numb and now adrenalin was coursing through his own veins, images like you see on TV shows of her body arching up not he table from the volts of electricity.

“I’m afraid we did have to but it meant we could keep her stable enough to fix the bleed. I am sorry to say this but we’ve had to remove her whole womb because it was so damaged.”

“But Y/n?” Again Harrison lost all willpower of control, though to be fair he wasn’t sure if he was being impatient or not - this doctor appeared to be delivering this news painfully slowly, as if to torture everyone as much as possible.

“Your fiancé lost a lot of blood and her body went through a lot” The towering doctor kept his focus on Tom the whole time, Harrison’s interjection seemingly falling on selectively deaf ears. “We’ve had to use a machine to control her breathing and for the moment she is still in a very dangerous place. Right now she is stable but I don’t want to make any promises to you. We are nowhere close to out of the woods yet.” Seemingly, feeling compelled to add in, the brunette doctor spoke for the first time since entering.

“But it’s still one hurdle she has got through… Now that the surgeons are finished with Ms Y/l/n me and the other intensive care doctors will be keeping a very close eye on her okay? We are all going to be working with you and your family 24/7, to keep Y/n as comfortable as possible.” Her soft smile managed to somehow break through to Tom, who jerkily nodded while Nikki squeezed his hand tight. There had been a lot of that going on today and even if Tom would say he wished nothing more that it was Y/n rather than his mums grip - he still appreciated it. The doctor continued, leaning forward so her elbows were resting on the tops of her thighs. “Right now she’s asleep and probably will be for quite a while. We first want to be sure she’s not in any pain, so she is sedated. Now assuming everything goes okay tonight and she stays stable we might want to think about possibly reducing that sedation, however for right now I hope you are all in agreement that we just want to make sure she’s comfortable?” The whole room nodded steadily in response which the doctor acknowledged with a satisfied smile.

“And we are all aware this is a lot to take in so if you have any questions or think of any please just let us know - it’s important that you guys are all fully in the know… How is your daughter?” Dr Webber started off so well, Tom was almost going to smile thankfully at him, until he mentioned it. Instantly, the cold and empty look reappeared behind Tom’s eyes as the room was held in silence for long enough to be uncomfortable. To be fair, the doctor wasn’t to know that recently Tom had taken to refusing to acknowledge he even had a child.

“I-she’s really good… the nurse there said she’s ready to leave whenever” Harrison had to show that at least someone was looking out for her, he couldn’t not.

“Okay” sharing a knowing look with Harrison, Dr Webber pitifully clasped his hands together, before looking back to Tom. “Would you like Dr Alison take you up to see her, sir?”

again pls let me know if anyone is very not okay with this, i can take it down and not write any more!

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #dad!tom #Tom Holland angst #angst

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 10.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, sub!jungkook, dom!reader, pegging, anal play, rimming, multiple orgasms, crying during sex, jk being a good good boy, dom!namjoon, sub!reader, bath sex, ageplay/DDlg, fingering, unprotected sex, pet names, spanking, creampie, aftercare in both cases

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and jk’s ass

DAY EIGHTEEN

All things considered; you were rather lucky to be sharing a room with Yoongi when you wake up that morning.

The second consciousness returns to you, it brings a feeling of nausea so abrupt that you’re careening off the bed and rushing to bed over the toilet without a second’s thought, body running on survival mode.

You’re not sure what wakes Yoongi - the sudden absence of pressure and heat against him, or the sound of you throwing up all the food and alcohol you’d consumed last night – but it takes mere moments before you feel him gently caressing your trembling body, lifting your tangled hair back off your face.

“Just let it out,” he coos softly as you bend over miserably, the sour taste on your tongue making your stomach turn again, “you’ll feel better after, I promise. That’s it.”

The moment you finally have nothing left to empty out, you collapse sideways onto the cool bathroom tile, hand curling over your stomach. Yoongi gets up to flush the toilet and gets out a spare toothbrush from under his sink, pressing it into your hand already prepped with toothpaste. “I’m sorry,” you mumble lowly, nose running slightly as you sniffle. “I think I drank too much. That green apple soju fucking sucks, too.”

The doctor has the good graces to smile at your attempt of lightening the mood, but it’s strained, waiting for you to begin brushing the acrid leftovers from your mouth before speaking. “You’d better have a light breakfast, okay? Some toast and maybe a cup of herbal tea to settle your stomach. Can you stand? I’ll get you some fresh clothes from your room while you take a shower here.”

Your heart warms at his endearing bedside manner. “I’ll be fine, Yoongi.”

“It’s non-negotiable, I’m afraid,” Yoongi says with a mock sigh. “Come on; you can wash your hair, too. Feeling nice and clean will help.”

Sniffing one last time, you give him an agreeing nod and hunker up on your knees, before standing. God, but why do you still feel so nauseous? That fucking soju. Yoongi must see the discomfort on your face, because he gives your shoulder a squeeze. “Not to worry, I’m sure I have something here you can take which will make you feel better. You aren’t the first person to not handle their liquor in the villa.”

You give him a questioning frown, your throat feeling raw as you clear it lightly. “What do you mean? Everyone seemed okay yesterday.”

“Hoseok texted me,” Yoongi answers with a shrug. “I didn’t see it ‘til after you fell asleep, but apparently poor Tae was curled up with a hot water bottle last night feeling rather sorry for himself. I think he got a little trigger-happy on his Sprite and soju mixers.”

Your brows furrow in concern, your own condition forgotten. “Is he alright?” You mentally kick yourself for not being more attentive to him. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel excluded now that he was voted out.

“He’s fine, I’m sure. Hoseokie and Jimin apparently actually spent the night in the bunk room with him, because both refused to leave. Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”

“Holy shit,” you muse. “If you weren’t so busy filling me like a cream puff maybe we could’ve witnessed that.”

Yoongi’s mouth gapes at your jibe, and you let out a hiccupping giggle when he rushes you, jabbing at your sides. “You little shit! That’s how you repay me after yesterday?”

You chuckle, feeling significantly more cheerful than when you woke up. “I gotta keep you humble, Doctor Min.”

His shoulders jump with a fond huff. “You’re impossible,” he gives in with a begrudging smile. “Now go; shower! I’ll be back.”

By the time you’re downstairs, enjoying some lightly buttered toast and an aromatic peachy-tasting tea - laughing with Taehyung who has slunk downstairs like a viscous goop, slumped on the table sucking on a vitamin table - any concerns or worries about your brief vomiting spell have entirely left your mind.

Jungkook is antsy.

He cycles madly between intense eye-contact and complete avoidance of your existence, looking for all intents and purposes like a deer in headlights. You imagine it’s because he wants to do his prompt today, and you certainly could dispel the awkward tension by just asking him if he wants to go upstairs or texting him to dig a little, but where would the fun in that be? You much prefer cuddling with Taehyung and a chunky blanket, pretending to watch The Voice of Korea while you really watch Jungkook squirm instead.

Taehyung sighs wistfully as a contestant finishes with a belted high note, all four judges slamming down their buttons and giving the cameras big reactions once they turn and catch a glimpse of the singer. “I wish I could be on the show,” the masseuse says with another slow sigh.

You grin, poking him in the cheek with a single finger. “Is our puppy a good singer, huh? Do you reckon you’d win?”

“What?” Taehyung asks distractedly, his eyes locked to the screen. “No, I wanna sit in those big chairs and spin around. It’d be so fun.”

Your surprised laugh makes Jungkook jump in his seat, even as he sits on the opposite couch to the two of you and glares intensely at the pages of a comic book he’d stolen from someone, spending far too long on one page to actually be reading it.

Hoseok, who sits completely silently next to Jungkook - extremely strange for the normally bubbly man - is even more suspicious. Every few seconds, he shoves his phone under Jungkook’s nose, before pulling it away and typing furiously.

You had no doubt in your mind that he was giving the youngest contestant salacious tips, instructions, or both, judging by the way Jungkook’s cheeks get hotter with every message.

A lazy day after the drunken entertainment from the day before, the four of you had chosen to collapse onto the couch and stay there, flicking between channels as you idly enjoyed each other’s company. Namjoon had texted the groupchat and put a note on his door warning people that he was studying for an exam for a summer course he’d signed up for. This was the first you’d heard of said course, but his messages had contained several exclamation points, so you knew it was serious.

Jimin was also making the most of his privacy. The only glimpse you’d seen of him at all today was while you and Taehyung were cleaning your dishes. He’d rushed down in a fluffy white bathrobe, covering his face with his sleeve, bemoaning the drinking that had done serious damage to his clear skin. When he dropped his sleeve to bundle some ice into a paper towel, it looked fine to you, albeit pinker in the cheeks and forehead than his bare face had been before, but he swore the two of you to silence and determined he was going to lock himself into his room until he no longer looked like “an evil stepmother.”

Jin and Yoongi were nowhere to be found, though most of the house were almost certain they’d become something akin to fuckbuddies considering how often they disappeared together, and how rampant and shameless their sexual tension was whenever they cooked together for the rest of you.

It had taken a while for Taehyung to bounce back from his hangover, Hoseok fussing over him like a child as Tae clung to you for some tactile comfort. Spending a day by yourself hadn’t really been an option when you’d been cuddling with him for hours, but you were far happier spending some quality time with the masseuse.

It takes no more than three new contestants on the TV show to have their moment in front of the judges for Jungkook to break. Hoseok’s given up on the phone messages, instead whispering directly Jungkook’s ear as the boy clutches the open comic book in front of his lap so hard his knuckles go white.

Laughing at the flustered camboy, Hoseok loses all tact and stops damping his voice, his natural level loud enough that you can make it out over the garishly aggressive appliance store advertisement on the TV. “Come on, Kookie, it’ll be great!” he insists, Jungkook cringing at the volume. “Switching things up will help your chances for fan favourite too, and surely you’ve done-”

Jungkook stands up abruptly, comic book still propped up in front of his crotch as his cheeks and neck go bright red. “If you like pegging so much, why don’t you do it, then?” he blurts with a cry, before the realisation of what he said aloud hits him. Choking on air, he just about trips back onto the couch in his haste to leave, stomping upstairs like a wronged teenager.

Everyone goes silent, a cheery female voice announcing that Subway’s quality is higher than ever being the only sound in the room. Mouth open, you blink over to Hoseok. “Should I… go check on him?”

“Uh- Yeah, maybe,” he admits, a slight pained look of guilt flickering across his face before he brightens up. “But it’s dangerous; you should take a strap with you.”

You pause halfway through standing up, Taehyung letting go of you and curling deeper into the pile of blankets. “Have you no shame, Hoseok? You humiliated the poor kid!”

Hoseok grins broadly. “He only reacted that much because he liked the idea,” he protests, before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “And what about you, princess? Do you like the idea?”

You swallow, straightening up fully. “I haven’t really thought about it until now, I guess,” you offer up slowly. “I’m not- I’m not opposed.” But even as you say that, you begin to picture it. Jungkook on all fours in front of you, or perhaps spread out on his back, brows furrowed in pleasure, clingy and whiny. Though it was certainly new ground to you, most things were these days, and you’ve started craving fresh experiences, feeling more alive and excited about sex than you’ve ever really felt before.

A lightly huffed laugh leaves Hoseok’s lips. “I’d say you’re a little more than ambivalent, judging by that look on your face. Go upstairs now, princess; Jungkook’s ass needs you.”

You scoff, patting Taehyung’s cheek goodbye before leaving the way the maknae left earlier. Upstairs, Jungkook’s door is open the slightest sliver. A shy invitation.

You knock anyway, calling out his name. When his sullen voice invites you in, you slip inside and shut the door behind you. With his head hanging, shoulders slumped, poor Jungkook looks miserable. “Oh, Gukkie, baby, you’re okay,” you soothe, rushing to his side.

Folding his hands cutely over his crotch, he keeps his head down, but nuzzles against your stomach when you pull him into an embrace, running your hands through the long, heavy black locks of his hair. “‘M sorry,” he murmurs, lifting a single hand to ball his fist in the fabric of your shirt.

Your heart warms at the little action even as it aches for his sadness. “What are you sorry for? You don’t have to be sorry.”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you can just about hear the pout. “Embarrassed,” he explains shortly. “You probably think it’s gross.”

“Of course I don’t,” you deny in a soft yet firm voice, still stroking his hair. “Baby, if you want me to do it for you, I will.”

He looks up suddenly, chin propped up on your stomach. “Really?” he asks in hope, eyes glittering like entire galaxies.

You shrug. “I mean, I haven’t used a strap-on before, so it probably won’t be very good, but I wanna try if it’s something that would make you happy, you know?”

Jungkook’s mouth parts sweetly, before he lets out a dejected breath. “I don’t know,” he says with a sigh, letting his head drop off you again. “I still feel really embarrassed. Hobi-hyung was te-teasing me so much.”

You wince at the way his voice hitches and wobbles, like he’s on the verge of tears. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” you coo. “I think he was just trying to encourage you. But if he made you uncomfortable, I can go down there right now and-”

As you start to shift away, a hand shoots out and latches onto your wrist, snagging you in place. “No,” Jungkook interrupts quickly, before turning sullen again, lifting up his head so that you can just barely see his eyes, gleaming with unshed tears. “Can you just stay with me?”

Reaching forward to cup his cheek and bring his gaze up, you send him your warmest smile. “I’ll stay,” you promise, “want me to help cheer you up? I don’t like seeing my Gukkie so sad.”

His bottom lip quivers as he nods, fingers tightening around your wrist, tugging you back to his side. “Yes, please,” he asks politely, voice still so hesitant as his gaze drops like he’s too shy to meet yours, face pressing into your palm. “Want you to make me feel better.”

Your breath hitches when his eyes dart up, just for a second, and reveal a glimmer that isn’t tears so much as mischief. You realise quickly that perhaps Jungkook is pulling on your heartstrings intentionally, luring you in just like he did the day after the fight, when everyone in the house bent over backwards to give him what he wanted. But you aren’t mad; truth be told, every second that passes, you grow more excited about what’s to come. “Of course I will,” you reply warmly. “Can I give you a kiss, baby?”

One thing you aren’t prepared for as you carefully straddle his lap and press your lips against his is just how differently he kisses when he’s in this submissive frame of mind. You’d associated Jungkook with hunger, fierce passion and need. This Jungkook was needy, but in a very different way. Lips parted, he tilts his chin and lets you take over, his fingers curling tightly in the fabric of your shirt, his long hair tickling against your cheeks.

And unlike the more dominant Jungkook that would kiss you until you couldn’t breathe, the camboy now seems impatient, hips shifting under you and whines leaving his throat as he breaks apart, lips swollen. “Will you fuck me, Y/n? I need you.”

Sucking in a breath, you’re nodding before you’ve even really processed his words. “How do I, uh, what should I-”

“The stuff’s in my nightstand drawer,” Jungkook offers up in explanation. The young man bites his lip, looking positively delectable. In a starch-white t-shirt that simultaneously swamps his figure but exposes his delicate collarbones with the v-neck, and his long locks tucked behind his ears, no imagination is required to see how easily he fits into this subby persona. Even as he’s physically much larger than you, and there’s no hiding his thick thighs and broad shoulders, his expression and posture alone convey plenty. “But, um… Could you- could you help prepare me first? I can if you’re uncomfortable, you know. No pressure.”

“I can,” you assure quickly, standing up when he wriggles meaningfully beneath you. “I mean, I want to. Is it, you know…?” You trail off, watching Jungkook scoot himself back so that his feet don’t quite touch the floor. He tilts his head in confusion. “Clean?” you hiss softly, cheeks flaming.

Jungkook freezes, eyes wide and mouth parted in a small o. “I- Yeah, it’s, uh, clean, I-”

“Sorry,” you grimace, “that totally ruined the mood, didn’t it? I’m new to this.”

“You don’t have to, honestly,” Jungkook says with a small voice, fiddling with the loose threads in the rips of his jeans. “I can do it.”

You’re really fucking this up, huh? “No, no, I want to, it’s fine!”

“I swear, I won’t be offended if it weirds you out-”

Without a pause to think, your lips are moving. “Pants off, Gukkie, I’m going to finger you,” you announce in a firm voice, chin jutting forward in your determination.

You hadn’t even intended to use it as power play, more so just insisting what you were okay with, but his reaction is undeniable. Jungkook visibly melts at your command, eyelids fluttering for a moment and shoulders going lax. Even his socked feet turn inwards, the complete posture of submission. The image of it sends heat through you, and you feel alive with it.

“Th-thank you,” Jungkook stutters, chest hitching. “How do you want me?”

Even though you don’t know the least about fingering or prepping, you’re quickly growing addicted to the way he responds to your authority, so you make a split second decision. “All fours, baby. And clothes off for me.”

Jungkook bites down a whine - how you wish he wouldn’t muffle himself - but obeys quickly, stripping all the way down to his socks, toeing them off hastily before getting on his knees. Clearly a position he’s used to, the camboy wastes no time in presenting himself, upper torso flat against the bed and back arched up to expose himself. With a cheek pressed against the mattress to look back at you, his hair slips over and covers his face.

Before he has the chance to huff, you reach forward and tuck it back behind his ear, tapping your finger once on his nose to make him scrunch it, a toothy grin on his face. “Y/n!” he protests with a hiccupy giggle.

“What?” you ask innocently. “I’m just trying to help out, baby. Can I ask you a favour?”

Jungkook’s grinning so widely that his eyes crinkle. “You’re the dom, Y/n, you don’t need to ask favours, you know?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right,” you muse. It’s so easy to forget that the control is yours, especially when you’re a bit out of your depth. Resolving yourself to be more authoritative, you clear your throat and school your expression. “Mouth open, Gukkie.”

Following your command so quickly that there’s an audible sound, Jungkook braces himself up a little with his forearms so that he can face you better with his jaw wide open and tongue lolled out on his bottom lip.

When you place your first two fingers of your dominant hand on that pretty pink tongue, you don’t even have to command him to suck before he’s wrapping his lips around them and hollowing his cheeks, blinking up at you for approval.

You try and use the past couple weeks of dirty talk from the guys to inspire you when talking to Jungkook, using your other hand to comb the hair back from his face again. “That’s it, baby,” you croon, “nice and wet; soak them for me. What a good boy.”

Keening under your praise, still bent over on his knees, Jungkook swirls his tongue and salivates over your digits diligently. It feels strange; the hot wet cavern, the muscle covering every inch of your skin. Your stomach flips in arousal when you begin to tug your fingers out and he pulls off them with a pop, drool on his chin and pupils blown wide.

“Alright, Gukkie, stay there,” you indicate, holding your spit-slicked fingers aloft as you get on the bed behind him. Cock dangling hard between his legs, he’s hunkered down, heels pressed against his upper thighs. You could easily reach him from here, but there’s something rising within you, an urge to play with him a little rougher.

He jumps and lets out a surprised cry when you rain down your other palm on his asscheek in a swift spank, head falling back to the mattress.

“Did I say you could lie down? Ass up, Gukkie,” you spit sharply, satisfaction curling around your ribs as he lifts his hips without delay, back arching beautifully to present himself once again. A roughly hand-shaped pink flush on his otherwise unblemished skin makes you bite your lip. “Colour?”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, fingers fisting the sheets. You fear the worst for a second, but it seems like it just took him a second to comprehend you, because just as soon as the worry rises, he lets out a cute gasp of realisation and spreads his knees further. “Green, so green.”

“Good boy,” you praise, relief clear in your voice. “A single hair out of position without my permission and there’ll be more where that came from.” Though you secretly admit spanking the responsive boy feels good in some odd way, you’d feel a lot better knowing when he’d intentionally stepped out of line, and so giving him a specific avenue assuages some of your potential guilt over the impact play. He seems to understand too, nodding his head sweetly and visibly flexing this thighs to keep steady.

This isn’t usually an angle you’re used to seeing on a guy, but as you gently circle the tight muscle of his rim, you marvel at how Jungkook still makes it look good. Entirely free of hair, ass, thighs and back thick and sculpted, it’s clear the visual is an important thing, especially in his line of work.

You can feel his body go slightly stiff when he holds his breath, but the slightest pressure makes him tremble, his eyes loosely shut as he focuses on pure sensation. Wary of the spit drying off your fingers too soon, you swiftly but smoothly slide your first finger all the way inside of him. There’s resistance up until the first knuckle as he clenches, but once you reach a certain point it’s like his body is letting you in. So tight that you can feel his walls flex, it’s an odd sensation to get used to, but you know from experience that the first intrusion feels odd to receive, too, and that only building up stimulation helps get past it.

For that reason, you don’t pause much before you begin fucking your one finger into him, using your other hand to grasp the flesh of his ass and part him. “Doing so well, baby,” you compliment when Jungkook lets out a guttural, drawn-out whine. Minutely, you feel his hips rock, seeking stimulation in the right place. You know he’s probably aching for his prostate to be touched, but you haven’t the slightest clue on where to find it.

Instead, your next best option is external. Once you draw your first finger out and start to stretch his rim on two, you reach around and under him, hand wrapping around his cock.

Startled, Jungkook goes iron-tight around your two fingers and cries out. You freeze, worried you’ve done something wrong, but he rocks himself back, burying your fingers deeper inside him.

Even in your uncertainty on how to proceed, you know one thing: he’s actively chosen to move out of place.

This time when you drop his length and come back up to spank him, he moans, face going lax and dopey. “Fu-fuck, please,” he breathes, “I’m sorry, I need more.”

“You need more?” you ask, soothing a palm over the reddened skin. “I didn’t realise you were in any position to be making demands, baby.”

Jungkook swallows heavily. “Please give me more, I can take it, please.”

“That’s more like it,” you state proudly, before cringing at how cheesy the words sound to your own ears. Although taking control is fun, you don’t feel as at ease with a filthy tongue like you were used to the others being. Jungkook however, unable to see your reaction, just makes a needy noise in his throat, hotly anticipating your next move.

As you start to move your fingers again, however, they don’t glide like they did before. Unlike a proper lubricant, his saliva has evaporated away, and the dry friction certainly can’t be pleasant.

He’d said the supplies were in his nightstand, but that’s well out of your arm span, so, thinking quickly and not wanting Jungkook to feel uncomfortable, you pull your fingers out gingerly, bend down and spit directly onto his winking hole, some of it disappearing inside as the rest runs down to his balls.

Since he insisted he could take it, you hook three fingers inside him, his hole stretching around you as he groans. There’s so much pressure on your fingers as you plunge inside, the friction aided by your saliva, and you can feel the way he tries to relax himself, clenching periodically.

As much as the spit helped, you become paranoid that it’ll dry out again as you stretch him on your fingers. Still too far from the lube, the thought occurs to you that you could keep him wetter if you just used your mouth.

The thought isn’t entirely unappealing to you. Sure, he doesn’t have the same nerves that make you feel so good when someone goes down on you, but you’re sure he’d enjoy it, and you’re reassured that he’d cleaned himself.

The second your tongue traces his rim, pressing between the tight ring and your knuckles, Jungkook gasps, before letting out a moan so high and keening that you practically salivate.

With your free hand inching around to grip his thigh and steady yourself, you press your chin between his ass cheeks and lap at him, fingers speeding up now that they’re better lubricated.

His hips won’t stay still, but you can’t blame him. From the constant trail of cries and whimpers, there’s no doubt Jungkook is extremely sensitive. Slowly, the thought of stretching him out for a purpose leaves your mind, and you begin to take your time with him, enjoying the feeling and sound of him falling apart from your touch.

You could get used to this; the meaty thighs trembling, the heaving breaths, the moans of your name on his tongue. At one point, your middle finger grazes a slightly protruding spot inside him, a different texture to the rest of his walls. The second it does, he jumps like he’s been electrocuted. Aha.

“Oh, fuck, feels s-so good, please do that again, fuck,” Jungkook babbles hopelessly. Your grip on his thigh quickly morphs from steadying yourself to holding him steady, as he jerks with every repeated stroke of your finger against his prostate.

Unable to respond verbally, you stiffen your tongue and push it deeper inside him as your fingers speed up, all corkscrewing directly towards that sensitive spot.

So noisy that he buries his own face in the blankets, rocking back desperately onto your face and fingers, Jungkook’s pleading and praises are garbled, one long stream of need until he finally lets out one loud, sharp cry and paints the mattress white.

Lifting yourself up to watch him cum, you speed up your fingers to ride him through it, devouring the sight of his red, untouched cock twitching and shooting ropes of cum as his whole body shudders with it.

There’s the undeniable warmth of pride in your chest at watching him cum so beautifully, at hearing and seeing the pleasure you’ve given him. You’d give anything to make him cum at your hands over and over, and in the back of your mind you marvel at how so many things the guys did to you when they dommed you make sense now.

Slowly, he comes back down from his high, chest heaving rhythmically as he catches his breath, going slack. You guide him to roll over onto his back, avoiding the puddle of quickly-cooling cum, and sit beside him brushing back the hair that clings to his sweaty face.

A dopey smile puffing up his cheeks, and eyes hazy, he blinks up at you. “That was so good,” he breathes.

Keeping your voice sweet, you raise a brow. “Do you think we’re done just because you came, Gukkie? I don’t think so.”

His smile falters, eyes regaining some of their clarity. “I- Oh, you didn’t- Do you want me to...?” he trails off, eyes falling down to between your legs, still fully clothed.

Though you’d love for him to make you cum - truth be told, your nerves feel like they’re working doubletime right now, and you know it wouldn’t take much - you shake your head, standing up off the bed. Jungkook whines and sits up slightly as you pull away, but freezes once you begin to undress in front of him.

Unbuttoning your shirt, you feel his eyes follow your movements hungrily. “I never even gave you permission to cum, baby,” you point out. “I also didn’t ask you not to, so I won’t punish you. But you did ask for me to fuck you and make you feel better.” The fabric of your shirt falling to the floor, you leave your bra on and slip off your pants instead. “So I don’t care how sensitive you are or how many times you cum, I’m going to fuck you until you feel so good you cry. Is that understood?”

Where such vulgarity came from you don’t know, but it triggers the right reaction, Jungkook going limp against the bed, grabby hands flexing at the sheets as he nods as quick as he can, one drifting dangerously close to his still half-hard cock. “Please, I wan’ it. Yes.”

“Wait patiently, then,” you command in a cutting tone, discarding your underwear without ceremony, “and no touching.”

He lets out a quiet huff, leg kicking out and hand slipping under his back to stop temptation. You would laugh at the bratty display - or perhaps even punish him for the attitude - but you’re too focused on stepping into the black harness of the strap-on you got from Jungkook’s nightstand, working out how to tighten the straps and sit it right.

It takes you a moment to get right, but it’s surprisingly comfortable once you get it into place - which probably is the point. Though it’s odd feeling weight extending from your pelvis, the dildo is supported by a leather belt-like strap that runs around your waist. Right on the outer line of each hip, adjacent straps run down, under the curve of your ass and connect to the central one that sits between your legs like panties, albeit narrow and stiffer than fabric.

You’d seen ones with a second dildo facing inwards to go inside the wearer as they fucked someone else, but this didn’t have one, so instead your only stimulation was the slight heat when the leather would drag against your swollen clit. Happy to forgo your own pleasure for the sake of pleasuring Jungkook, you reach in the nightstand drawer again to pull out the lube.

Unlike Hoseok’s travel-sized bottle, the base of the drawer is littered with sample size packets of multiple brands. Mixed in with foil condom packets, you spy oil-based lubes, water-based ones, some scented, self-heating, even one that claims to be strawberry flavoured. Reaching for a basic water-based one, you rip it open and use it to slick up the dildo.

Jungkook watches you raptly, hips wiggling against the bed either in impatience or the effort it takes not to touch himself. Hyper-aware of the appendage that dangles in front of you, and how slippery your hands currently are, you imagine hunkering on the bed without using your hands probably isn’t a very sexy look, so instead you stand to the side of the mattress and instruct him to come to you.

He does so with obvious enthusiasm and anticipation. The earlier haze of his orgasm dissipating, his eyes are alert and his lips are stretched in an unconscious grin. Splayed out on his back, legs dangling on either side of your hips, Jungkook looks so content to hand over his dominance to you that your heart swells slightly at the sentiment of it.

Clearly Jungkook isn’t feeling as soft as you. On the contrary, his cock looks so hard it must be physically hurting him, the tip weeping precum onto his belly as he arches his back to entice you. “Please, Y/n,” he whines, hitching a foot up onto the edge of the mattress to bare himself more fully. “Gukkie needs it.”

Though it’s more your own hesitation rather than any desire to make him beg for it, you can’t deny that the sweet entreating voice is music to your ears and core, and pushing aside all worries you find yourself guiding his opposite leg up with a slippery hand, before lining your synthetic cock against Jungkook’s rim.

Immediately, before you even enter him, he keens, and although you can’t literally feel him rocking back towards it, you watch it catch on the muscle and begin to slip inside, and the resistance can be felt as a pressure against your pelvis where the base of the dildo is fastened.

“De-deeper,” Jungkook makes out with a gasp, his fingers reaching up to clutch at your wrist, and you push past the resistance to drive the dildo inside him, slowly but smoothly. His breath hitches, back lifting off the bed as his body tries to process the intrusion, and instinctively - a word you wouldn’t typically associate with domming - you grip onto his waist to hold him still.

Though your palms and fingers are still slick with lube, you manage to keep them steady on his skin by slightly digging your nails in. Jungkook’s mouth parts in a gulped moan, and you feel the pressure in front of your crotch suddenly increase as he stiffens.

“Green?” you check in quickly, so quick to fear the worst.

Jungkook is even quicker to dispel your worries. “Green, fuck, harder, please,” he babbles, shifting as much as he can under you to spread his legs wider in invitation.

You let out a breath of relief but pair it with a snapped thrust to mask it as exertion. Jungkook lets out a cry of pleasure that sounds more like a hiccup, his body rocking on the bed with the force of it.

It’s hard to tell how intense or rough your thrusts are when all you have is his response and the feeling of the leather base pressing against you to go off, so once you start to fuck him in earnest, you’re sure to pay close attention to him.

Not that you’d otherwise be apathetic by any means. Whether his beautiful reactions are a skill learnt from camming or he began camming because of his reactions, you don’t know, but you think watching him like this could never get old.

His hair’s splayed back on the pale grey duvet like a dark halo, red hot streaks highlighting just how long the strands have gotten. His eyes, when he manages to open them, glitter like constellations and plead like puppy eyes. Though he has the bone definition of a god, gravity works against the strong lines and puffs up his cheeks instead, making him look small and sweet.

With lips so pretty and swollen, he pouts and whines and pleads, teeth poking out to nibble at the pinked flesh when the dildo hits his prostate and he muffles a whine.

It takes a surprisingly little amount of time to find a rhythm. Though you’re certainly inexperienced in the art of fucking someone else, it’s really a very natural motion to make your hips rock up against him. Albeit tiring, you find yourself able to pick up the pace until he’s writhing under your hands, his own nails scratching at the meat of his thighs with the restraint it takes not to touch himself.

Taking mercy on the poor thing, you lift one knee up on the bed to give yourself sufficient momentum to drop one of your hands from pinning him down and wrap it instead around his cock, doing your best to time your strokes together.

Jungkook lets out a low keen and goes stiff, back in a violent arch. “Fu-uck,” he cries, and his face would almost look scrunched up in pain if you didn’t know better, the poor camboy overwhelmed by finally being touched there.

“Does that feel good, Gukkie? Am I fucking you good?”

He nods hastily, bottom lip trembling as your thrusts don’t let up for a second. “Suh-so good to Gukkie,” he confirms in a wobbly voice, “please fuck Gukkie harder!”

Quickly tiring, you don’t know if you even can, but you engage your core like it’s a workout and speed up your hips, the insistent rub of the leather over your pussy lips and clit actually beginning to tighten a coil of pleasure low in your belly.

“Yes,” Jungkook wails when he feels the dildo spearing him quicker and quicker. You use your thumb to press at his slit, dripping precum in obscene amounts as he sobs and bucks between your hand and your fake cock.

Once his thighs start to tremble violently and he can’t seem to take in a full breath, you know he’s close. Steeling yourself for the final lap, you ignore the rub of the leather and the pressure of the dildo base against your pelvis, and focus fully on Jungkook and bringing him to a second powerful orgasm.

“Are you close, baby? I wanna see you cum again,” you request, punctuating it with a squeeze of his cock to make him cry out.

Such a polite boy, he composes himself enough to answer. “Baby’s so close,” he whines. “Gukkie can cum?”

You smile fondly even with gritted teeth from exertion, glad his eyes are scrunched shut with pleasure so he can’t see you melt for him. “Gukkie can cum, baby.”

You make good on your promise for him to feel so good he cries when he reaches that high shortly after receiving permission. Tears spilling over his cheeks, his moan comes out strangled but stuttered and airy at the same time, almost like he’s giggling at the feeling that overcomes him. Barely anything comes out of his cock, already milked from the first orgasm, but his body is wracked with sensation and his lips are stretched in a dopey grin, struggling to catch his breath.

If you were a meaner - or fitter - dom perhaps you’d fuck him past the point of oversensitivity, but as it is, you quite happily come to a stop buried deep inside him, lazily stroking his cock as it softens until he hisses at the contact.

Using the duvet to wipe away the last of the lube and cum off your hands, you lean forward and cup this cheeks to brush the tears away and press a kiss to the button of his nose.

He shivers happily, lashes fluttering, and lets out a hum. “Thank you for taking care of Gukkie,” he whispers, before wincing slightly and correcting- “taking care of me. Sorry, I tend to do that when I’m-”

“You don’t have to explain,” you reply easily, kissing each of his cheeks in turn, tasting the salt of his tears as he giggles again at the tickling feeling. “Did you enjoy it, baby?”

Jungkook lets out a breathless chuckle, chest still heaving. “Fuck, like you wouldn’t believe,” he jibes, throwing a hand over his eyes and heated cheeks when you pull away. “But really; thank you.”

You slip the dildo out of him carefully, hearing him make a low noise in his throat as his hole flutters, empty. Rubbing his thigh comfortingly with one hand - if you knew one thing from being on the show, it was that you needed to shower Jungkook in aftercare now - you unfasten the strap-on carefully with your other. “You don’t have to thank me. I had fun too.”

The crook of his elbow lifts just slightly to expose the glint of his eyes, disbelieving. “You did?”

You beam warmly. “Definitely. You’re so fun to play with, Gukkie,” you praise, “plus, I feel like getting a new perspective has been really enlightening, you know?”

“Ah,” he muses, “entertaining and educational. I’m glad my ass served you well.”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of your throat; the quip a clear sign that Jungkook is returning from that hazy, contented plane of subspace you’ve grown used to. “Better put that on your CV.”

Jungkook sits up, affronted. Two fat drops of cum run down his stomach, quickly drying out once they spread over his skin. “My ass has been listed on my CV as a skill for years, Y/n, I’m not an amateur.”

“Oh, a professional ass man,” you tease, sighing at the release of pressure once the strap-on harness falls off your hips and to the ground, leaving your lower half bare. “Is that why you got on the show, huh?”

The camboy pouts. “I got on for many reasons,” he insists, “I’m very qualified, you know.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” you return immediately, and pause. “Fuck. We were meant to be bantering but I’ve just been complimenting you, haven’t I?”

He nods like it was intentional. “Yet another one of my skills.”

“You’re impossible,” you sigh, but even when he convinces you to join him in the shower, the conversation between you flows without a hitch, and your fondness for the boy only grows.

In retrospect, you probably could’ve worked out Namjoon’s prompt based on how he treats you that dinner.

Subtlety isn’t his strong suit, but you’re so hungry from earlier that you barely notice the signs. It’s not uncommon for the guys to pile food on your plate, but Namjoon’s repeated insistence of feeding you directly perhaps should’ve been the first flag.

The way he fills your glass of water for you, ruffles your hair, continuously calls you little… Yeah, you blame Yoongi’s delicious fish cutlet and rice meal for not paying enough attention.

Luckily for you - or perhaps for him - an opening appears when you’re cleaning up the table with Taehyung and accidentally fumble a small dish of dipping sauce all over your hands and front.

Immediately, Namjoon as at your side, taking the ceramics out of your hand and tsking gently. “Oh, love, that’s no good,” he coos in a low timbre, “you’ve gotten yourself all dirty.”

You could just offer to go rinse your hands off in the sink and change shirts, but you’re wired up from fucking Jungkook without your own release - the camboy was so chipper at dinner that everyone had surely cottoned on - and so a better idea comes to mind. “It’s running down my sleeve,” you offer with a faux pout, “I’ll probably need a shower to get it all off. Care to join me?”

Namjoon’s brows lift as he surreptitiously ensures no one else is in earshot. With a hand on the small of your back, he leans in and presses his lips against your ear. “How about Daddy gives you a bath, baby girl?”

You suck in a breath, nerves alighting. Oh. You can work with this. Straightening up, you latch onto his shirt sleeve near the cuff and soften your eyes. “Only if you take one with me,” you bargain, “I’m only little, Daddy.”

He pulls back quickly, and were it not for the hot flares of lust in his eyes, it would almost seem like he’d been shocked. “Go to your bedroom then, love,” he instructs, “and no running on the stairs.”

Of course you aren’t really an impulsive child but, as it is, his command is actually difficult to follow. The urge to clamber up them as fast as you can, knowing you’re finally going to get fucked good, is hard to suppress.

You manage, however, and soon enough Namjoon’s in the bathroom with you, filling the tub. As you wait, toes wiggling against the cool tile in excitement, he unbuttons his cuff and rolls up the sleeve.

“Okay, clothes off, kitten,” he instructs, hunkering over the edge of the tub to dip a hand in up to the forearm, checking the temperature and stirring up the water, “it’s just about ready.”

You obey, tossing your clothes in a growing pile in the corner. Though it’s no bubble bath, he has drizzled some body wash in to give it a comforting scent, floral and sleepy like ylang ylang. When he pulls his arm out, there’s a ring of suds, and spots of water have already gotten onto his shirt. “You’ve gotta hop in too, Daddy,” you point out, smirking when Namjoon visibly falters at the title.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he confirms, shucking off his shirt and pants, “get in first, kitten, it’s all ready.”

The water is divine, a blooming heat that seeps down to your bones, warming you to the core. You immediately see your skin start to pinken, but the water isn’t unbearably hot, and it’s a pleasant flush.

The heat below contrasts with the cool air on your upper back and shoulders, causing you to shiver, but before you can complain you feel the water level rise, Namjoon’s arms wrapping around you from behind.

As you let him lean you back against his chest, you feel his hardness, but neither of you feel the need to comment on it. This is a porn show, and you’re going to fuck soon, sure, but for now there’s nothing better than a hot bath.

“Give me your hand, let’s clean this sticky sauce up, huh?” It isn’t until Namjoon begins to soap up a loofah and delicately scrub away at the black trails of dipping sauce that have run down your arms that you realise just how fantastic this prompt is. If you played your cards right, Namjoon would take care of you and pamper you all evening, fuck you silly, and then presumably put you to bed like a good Daddy. Holding your hands out obediently, you’re quite content to oblige.

“Sit up, kitten,” the academic commands softly with a press to your shoulder. Once the skin of your arms is unmarred again, Namjoon dips the loofah in the chest-level water, pulls it out dripping suds and water, and laves it over your back, making you sigh at the warmth. “Feels nice, hm?”

Your lips stretch in a lazy smile as you recall asking that very question yourself just earlier today. As much as you had fun domming Jungkook, and wouldn’t be averse to switching things up - quite literally - again, there’s no denying that your soul really sings when you’re the one being taken care of, played with, and pleasured. “Really nice, Daddy.”

The loofah gets dipped again, this time sliding over your chest and stomach. Letting your eyes slip shut at the relaxing treatment, Namjoon’s low timbre washes over you just like the aromatic suds of body wash. “I’m glad,” he coos, “I like taking care of you. You’re too little to do it all yourself, aren’t you? Need Daddy’s help?”

“Too little,” you parrot sleepily, “need Daddy.” With every word, with every touch of his large hands on you, you truly begin to feel little. Curling your toes against the base of the tub, you make a low noise in your throat and lean back against his chest again, head lolling back over his shoulder. “Will you give me a kiss, Daddy?”

He smiles at your entreating plea and wide eyes, eyes like crescent moons as he dips his head and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “All better now?” he checks as he sits the sopping loofah on the side of the bath.

You bite your lip and shake your head. “I’m not all clean yet, Daddy.”

“You aren’t?” he asks with mock surprise, dimple deepening and brows lifting. “Well, that’s no good, is my kitten still dirty somewhere?”

With a single decisive nod, you grab his hand and lead it down until the tips of his fingers brush your folds. “Daddy didn’t clean here, ‘s still dirty.”

You let out a blissful sigh when he cups you, middle finger curling up to barely dip inside you. Namjoon grins. “In here?” Rather than wait for your answer, he smoothly pushes it deeper, massaging at your inner walls. “Alright, kitten, just close your eyes and let Daddy finish cleaning you up.”

A smile graces your lips as your eyes flutter shut again, head comfy in the crook of his neck and shoulder. You could get used to this.

He doesn’t tease you, but nor does he fingerfuck you with intensity or vigor. It’s methodical and diligent, like he really is cleaning you out. One finger quickly becomes two, and his other arm winds around your waist on the other side to roll your sensitive clit, making you moan softly.

Raring to go from unfulfilled pleasure that morning, your nerves go into overdrive, a building wave growing quickly in your belly. When Namjoon adds a third finger, crooking them inside you thoroughly to stroke your g-spot, it takes less than a minute for you to fall apart, thighs clenching tight around his hands.

He works you through it, only stopping when you whimper from oversensitivity, but that doesn’t stop you from whimpering unhappily again when he pulls his fingers out and you’re left empty.

“You’re all clean now, kitten,” Namjoon states, running his palms over your inner thighs to relax them. “Time to get out.”

You sit up suddenly with a pout. “But Daddy!”

Narrowing his brows, you don’t miss the slight twitch of Namjoon’s lips at your sudden outburst. “No buts,” he reproaches, “I don’t want you pruning up.”

You huff, scowling when he deftly tugs out the plug and the water level steadily sinks. “You haven’t even fucked me yet, Da-mmf!”

Namjoon sends you a cutting glare, his strong hand cupped over your mouth. “I should wash your mouth out with soap for using that language, little one,” he warns, “now out of the bath.”

You whine behind his hand, but once he drops it you obey and scramble out of the quickly-draining tub. Your body feels heavier without the buoyancy of water, and you’re dripping onto the bathmat like a drowned rat, but Namjoon pays it no mind, getting out himself with powerful thighs and a heavy cock dangling between them, passing you a towel wordlessly.

You dry yourself off, pout never leaving your face. He’s really just gonna stay hard like that and not fuck you? “Daddy…”

“One more protest and I’m taking you over my knee,” Namjoon says with a sharp tone. “I thought my kitten was better behaved than this.”

You open and close your mouth, unsure how you can get what you want without using vulgar words. Then again, perhaps making him punish you would rile him up enough to fuck you, and you certainly weren’t against some spanking. Sucking a breath in to establish some resolve, you stomp your foot on the bathmat. “You’re so mean, Daddy!”

Namjoon gapes at you, the way you’re bundled in a towel from your chin to your knees, scowling at him. “You want it, don’t you?” he mutters quietly, receiving a small nod in return. Relaxing for a moment, he slips easily back into that position of authority. “That’s it,” he spits, taking you firmly by the wrist and leading you - still naked himself - into your bedroom, “I gave you plenty of warnings but you still won’t listen.”

You squeak as he rips the towel from you and tugs you onto his lap on the edge of the bed. Adjusting you so that your crotch is right above his aching erection, his legs are so long that your toes barely brush on the carpet, all your balance resting on him. This had been the roughest he’d ever been with you, or at least the most domineering, and your mind whirls with how much he’s coming into his element with this prompt.

He gives you no warning before he’s laying his hands on your ass, small pats to warm up the skin before a sudden, stinging strike laces your nerves. You cry out, wriggling in his grip, but he uses one broad hand to link your wrists together in the small of your back, your face pressed onto the mattress as you’re held up fully by him.

He’s carefully merciless, spanking you hard enough that it burns, tears pricking your eyes and lip swollen from when you bite it, but whenever your cries of pain and pleasure turn too much to genuine discomfort, you notice he gives you an extra second of reprieve and swaps out to lighter hits.

“Apologise to Daddy,” he commands gruffly as you sob beneath him, swatting you without pause.

You sniff and swallow before you can compose yourself enough to reply in a wobbly cry, knees buckling and trembling. “Suh-sorry, Daddy, I’m so sorry, I learnt my lesson, ple-ease!”

You could cry when you feel his hand land on you one last time, soft and soothing the stinging flesh. Namjoon shifts, and then you feel light kisses being pressed all the way from your reddened ass up your spine, making you shiver. “Thank you, kitten,” he murmurs in your ear, and gently sits you up, lying you on the mattress.

You hiss when you feel the fabric scratch at your skin, but it’s cool and soothing if you stay still, so you take deep breaths and feel your heart slowly return to normal, Namjoon running his fingers over your now-dry body.

Blinking up at him with what you hope are sweet puppy-dog eyes, you call his name softly to bring his attention to your face. “Are you really not gonna, you know…?”

He grins fondly at your attempt to evade the word fuck, silver hair flopping over his brow as he leans over you. “You took your punishment so well kitten, I think you deserve a reward, hm? Some special time with Daddy?”

You light up, sucking on your lower lip as you spread your legs to bare yourself shamelessly, hooking one foot around his waist so he’s between them. “Extra special time with Daddy,” you insist in a small voice, lip curling now that you’re finally going to get what you want.

With a light laugh, Namjoon centres himself so that he’s facing you head-on, your legs comfortably resting aside his hips. Stroking himself a few times, he taps his hard length against your already-swollen pussy lips. “Relax for me, kitten,” he guides, and you keen as you feel him begin to push inside you.

You try to stop yourself from clenching around him, but it’s been a while since you’ve fucked him, and as usual the biggest cock in the house takes getting used to. “So big, Daddy,” you breathe with a groan, brows pinched together at the stretch.

“You can take it, kitten, you’re doing so well for me,” Namjoon promises, holding you steady and open with a hand hooking your knee up high by his chest.

By the time he’s bottomed out, hips flush against your still-stinging ass, you feel so deliciously full that you can’t breathe. You lay back, eyes scrunched, and focus entirely on the feeling of his girth stretching you open.

“Feels good?” Namjoon checks in, and you nod, wriggling your hips against him to indicate he can move. “Hold on tight, then.”

Even though it’s barely been a day since you were last fucked, it feels like so much longer, and having Namjoon fill you up over and over is so satisfying on a deep level, that you don’t bother muffling your moans, letting yourself clutch at his arms and enjoy the ride.

While Namjoon certainly isn’t the most lithe or experienced member, his cock is a force of nature in and of itself, and this time, with the heat of desperation and the excitement of your altered dynamic getting to him, he fucks you without holding back.

If he’s like this on his third time, you think, he’ll be a beast before the show ends, but then the head of his cock strikes right against your g-spot, and the thought shatters as a cry is ripped from your throat.

“Oh! Daddy, yes, right there!”

He obliges you by adjusting his hips so that every stroke rubs against you just right, and your mind melts, colours and sounds and sensation blurring together in one full note of all-encompassing pleasure.

You cum without warning, not expecting it yourself, and Namjoon curses lowly in his throat as you clench around him. The orgasm is powerful enough to leave you shuddering hopelessly on the bed before going fully slack, drained.

Warm, fuzzy tingles settle in your fingers and toes and chest in the aftermath as Namjoon fucks you through it, not taking long himself to spill inside you. He drops your leg to the side and leans in, pressing slightly ticklish kisses to your neck and collarbone, hands on either side of your chest to keep his weight off you.

“So good to me,” he breathes out lowly, nuzzling your chin up to give him a better angle to sweetly kiss you on the lips, languid and unhurried as he slowly comes down from his own high.

This time when he pulls out of you and you’re left empty again, you don’t complain, too thoroughly fucked to do anything but let out a contented sigh. Namjoon cleans you up, apologising when oversensitivity makes you twitch at the slightest contact, and then washes up himself.

Just as you feel your mind lifting out of that mental space of feeling little, sitting up a bit on his bed and trying to work out if you’d be able to make it to your dresser to put on some pyjamas, Namjoon returns and does it for you, helping you slip into a baggy t-shirt that you like to use as a nightie.

“Are you going to stay?” you ask softly as he lowers the hem over your head, arms slotting through the holes.

“Do you want me to?” Namjoon counters with an edge of hesitation, scratching lightly at his opposite arm, still naked.

You nod, patting the bed beside you. “If you don’t mind.”

Namjoon gathers his clothes and slips them on, not really appropriate for sleeping. Once he sees your look of confusion, he tilts his head towards your bedroom door. “I’m just going to duck out for some comfier clothes for sleeping, are you going to be alright for a moment?”

By the time he’s come back, you’ve already quickly brushed your teeth - hobbling to and from your bathroom like a newborn deer - and slipped under the covers, getting comfortable. Namjoon returns in grey striped pyjama pants and a white shirt, but he has something in his hands.

“You might think it’s silly,” he offers by way of explanation, the mattress springs squeaking as he gets on beside you, “but I like reading before bed, and I thought maybe you’d find it calming.”

With a dubious smile, you look at the book in his hands. It has the clean edges of a cared-for book, with the creases in the spine of a well-read one. On the cover, golden embossed stars and swooping font read The Little Prince. “You want me to read it?”

Namjoon returns your smile, warm and dimpled. “I want to read to you.”

The two of you cuddle together without words, one of his arms wrapped around your back as you lean on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Propping the small novel up on his stomach, he peers over your head to read.

“Once when I was six years old,” he begins, “I saw a magnificent picture in a book called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing.” He pauses, tapping you twice on the crown of your head to indicate you should look. “In the book it said…”

As he recites the novel aloud, you feel more than hear his voice, a low rumble in your ear like a rushing river or a slow-moving thunderstorm. It’s soothing, lulling you into sleep. His voice wraps around every word like a hug, enunciating each syllable with such care and colour and love, and always pausing when there were photos, even when your eyes slip shut and you begin to drift off.

Slowly, everything fades away. All sound is reduced to that regular heartbeat and warm rumble; all sensations are narrowed down to just the heat of his skin where it meets yours, his fingers lazily swirling patterns on your scalp. All thoughts simplify, the last six words in your brain, I could get used to this, before they wink out to nothing at all, and you sleep.

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ketamineharry · 3 years

Text

Together ~ Harry Lewis

Trigger Warning: Depression

Requested: Yes ~ Can you please post a long Harry or Simon fic about depression or something thank you xx

Authors Note: This imagine will get deep, please if you are suffering reach out! Having suffered with depression for years, I hope I do this request justice. I hope you’re all staying safe and well x

You had, had enough of waking up everyday and not feeling anything. Feeling drained. Feeling like you couldn’t function or do things the way that you wanted to. You had, had enough of closing yourself off and not putting effort into friendships and your relationship. You had, had enough of feeling so low and not knowing what to do about it because you didn’t even have the energy to Google solutions.

You sat cross-legged on your bed, tears streaming down your face. Just listening to your sad Spotify playlist, hoping beyond hope that listening to something sad will make you feel just the slightest bit better, but nothing did. How could you ever find the solution to something when you didn’t know the route to the problem?

You had days where you just felt an overwhelming state of sadness, but you couldn’t express this to anyone. No-one had died, no-one had made you feel this way and by all accounts your life was good. So how could you talk to anyone when people had it so much worse? The latter thought spiralling you further onto a bad path, because you felt like you weren’t allowed to feel this way. You were just being consumed by your own negative thoughts and you didn’t know what to do or how to stop it.

You were so lost in thought and the best of the music that you didn’t hear the creak of you bedroom door, and see your boyfriend Harry enter. The first indication that he was there, was when you felt the dip in your mattress as he sat down cross legged in front of you. Worry and concern written all over his face. You were by no means used to this, usually this man was happy & the life of the party.

He carefully takes the earbuds out of your ears.

“We need to talk,” he says softly, taking one of your hands in his and placing his other hand on top of yours. For some reason, this always comforted you, as it made you feel protected.

You nod your head to let him know that you acknowledge what he said.

“What’s going on Y/N?” He asks, getting straight to the point. There was no punches held back with this boy. “I’m not going to accept the bullshit of ‘I’m fine’, because it’s fucking clear your not. So I want you to think really carefully before you answer this.”

You think for a moment before swallowing hard and taking a deep breath. The truth is you didn’t know what was going on. You just didn’t. How could you articulate that without sounding stupid?

“I can’t tell you what’s wrong because I don’t know myself,” you admitted. “I just either feel empty or sad all of the time. There’s no particular reason, it’s just how I feel. Or sometimes, when I’m with you or my friends, a sudden pang of sadness and I have no right to feel like that because that’s when I should feel the happiest.”

He sits there in contemplation for a moment. No doubt wondering why you hadn’t mentioned anything or the fact that this was the strangest thing he had heard.

“You shouldn’t feel like you have to suffer alone,” he finally says. “I understand that you may not want to speak to a doctor about anything, perhaps not even me. But I think that you should at least talk to someone.” He continues.

“I’m far too scared of judgement,” you whisper, hating how vulnerable you felt despite talking to the person that you loved most in the world.

“No-one will judge you, you do realise that one in four people suffer from depression. Which means a lot more people can relate to this than you realise. It’s so much more common.” He states. “Plus, even if they do judge you I’ll just have to get Brian on them” he continues, making you laugh.

“No matter what though, we’re in this together.” You nod. “Together.” You confirm. Although you didn’t feel completely over it, you felt comfort in knowing that not only was Harry supportive of you, he was there holding your hand every step of the way. You were facing this together.

#sidemen #w2s #w2s imagine #wroetoshaw imagine #wroetoshaw #kinda proud of how this turned out #sidemen imagine #fluff

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hotchley · 3 years

Text

lauren: aaron and emily

Yeah so for something that is meant to be a conversation, there’s a surprising lack of her speaking but honestly, this was so much fun to write. I forgot how angsty Hotchniss could be like DAMN

This is my take on what happened at her bedside before they moved her, and is dedicated to everyone who said they would read it because without you guys, I probably wouldn’t have actually written it so thank you so much!

Trigger Warnings: serious medical injuries, references to abortion, implied/referenced child abuse, religious themes

read on ao3!

“You could’ve told me,” he tells her, even though she can’t hear him. Her eyes are closed. If it wasn’t for the rise and fall of her chest- so faint it almost isn’t there- he would believe she was dead.

And in some ways, she is.

To the team, Emily Prentiss is gone. Just another victim of a dangerous serial killer with a vendetta. To the children that love her- Jack, Henry, even Carrie, who she still spoke to once a week- she will be in heaven. With Haley. To Aaron and Jennifer, she will be hiding. Alone and weak but safe.

Safe. He wants to laugh at that. How can she be safe when everyone she loved is being torn from her? When Ian Doyle is still alive?

He doesn't want to be the one to tell her she was dead. He doesn't want to be the one to tell her that she had to go to Paris- the one place that had never been touched by the bloody hands of murder and pain- until they found Doyle. If they ever do find him. He doesn't want to let her go.

He wants to bury his head in her hair, inhaling the familiar smell of her shampoo that had always felt like the safety he craved but could never hold onto and pretend the sea wasn't pulling him under, cutting off his breathing as he struggled to stay afloat. He wants to hold her, hearing the steady and strong beat of her heart that reminds him of the reason for doing all of this. He wants to feel her hands- so warm and soft- against his stomach as she draws on his ribs so he can look in the mirror and see her, not George Foyet.

He wants so much. But there is a reason he is the Unit Chief. There is a reason he is in the room with her whilst JJ comforts a crying Reid. There is a reason that when the team thinks of Mom, they think of him. Not Rossi. Certainly not Gideon.

He does the difficult jobs. He does the things that need to be done but nobody else wants to. He cleans the blood off walls and stands guard at hospital beds. He pulls them away from dead bodies and witnesses their anger and sadness. He takes their insults and cradles them when they cry. He pretends he isn't human so they can believe they didn't hurt him.

He does the difficult jobs because he brought all of them into a life of loss and pain, and in his opinion, it is a small price to pay. It is less than what he deserves to do. It isn't enough to make up for everything he has caused them to see but it is a start.

When Emily leaves- and JJ will go to Paris with her, no matter how much she may say he should go instead- he will carry out their grief assessments. He will let them look at him with pain and hurt and anger and sadness and ask him what the point is. As they ask him why they are alive.

And then he will run. Because they will find Ian Doyle, and when they do, Emily Prentiss will return. They will hate him, and he will be a coward. He will take a job elsewhere and let them repair their lives, rebuild their home, without him.

But until that day comes, he will sit by Emily's bed, holding her hand, limp and cold, and pray for her to wake up. He hasn't prayed since he was a child. And even then, he didn't really believe in God. But desperate people will do anything. And although he was calm and collected before the committee that decided Emily's fate, he is desperate for her to just wake up.

So he will atone for his sins and take whatever punishment is deemed appropriate. He will let her go and never inhale her perfume again, if only so she is able to open her eyes.

"You could've told me," he repeats, thinking about the last woman he said those words too. But that had been different. JJ wasn't Emily. "I could've helped you. You could've trusted me with this. And I know it isn't about me. It's about you. But I'm selfish, Emily Prentiss. I'm selfish and I don't want to let you go but I have to."

He doesn't know how to. He doesn't know what he's meant to say when she wakes up and only sees him. JJ had looked at him when she said Emily never made it off the table. It was a single glance, but he'd understood. He had walked away from the team. Refused to let his tears fall.

And then he had looked the committee in the eye and told them he had no emotional attachment to her case. He had lied. And Emily had, in their words, been saved. He didn't believe it was saving her. He believed it was keeping her alive so one day, she could come home and live a better life.

The woman on that bed is not his Emily. It is not the Emily he loves, or the Emily that told him he wasn't alone. It's not the Emily that dances around the kitchen with Jack, or the Emily that refuses to flinch when he has nightmares. The Emily that never walked away from him until that one fateful day.

He should have known something was wrong then. And if not then, when she was late twice in the same week. But he had been so blinded by his own hurt and anger and betrayal that he refused to comment. Secretly, vindictively, he had hoped that her lateness was being caused by her own pain. That she was trying to avoid him.

Now he realises that he was right. She was trying to avoid him. Because he knew her. And if she saw him properly, she would crack. And in the same way he had been determined to find Foyet alone, without anyone else going down with him, she had been determined to find Doyle alone.

But Foyet had still killed Haley. And Doyle had technically killed her. In some ways, he had killed the team too. He didn't know how to bring up Spencer's migraines with him, but Emily had been his confidant. What was going to happen now? How is Derek supposed to move past being told to let her go?

The doctors had told him to get some rest and to go home, but he can't. Jack is still with Jessica, and his apartment is still littered with scraps of her. He hadn't moved anything after that night. He had thought it was strange when she didn't ask for any of it. Now he knows why. She had bigger things going on.

He told Clyde Easter that it would be his fault if something happened to her. Because he needed someone else to blame. He needed to believe that he was a good man that had done what he could. But he hadn't. Rational thought told him that just like with everyone else, he couldn't force her to tell him the truth or accept his help.

The part of him that was still helplessly in love with her told him that he could have. Should have. But he hadn't. So now he was sitting there, watching the heart monitor, convincing himself she was alive. Bracing himself for the moment she woke up.

He still doesn't know what he's meant to say.

"I was so angry at you then. After everything we had gone through, I didn't understand why you were just so willing to throw it all away. You had told me you would never leave, and you just left me there, in the home we had finally started to build. But I get it now. And I am sorry. I am so, so sorry that I wasn't enough and that I didn't do more and-"

"Aaron," she whispered. Her eyes had fluttered open moments after he'd started speaking, but she hadn't been ready to confront the world. He needed to get the words out. He needed a moment to be Aaron before he morphed back into Hotch.

She has no right to his name. Not now. Not after everything she has put him through. Not after she left him on his knees, a ring so different from the one Ian had tried to give her that still symbolised the exact same thing, with tears in his eyes as she pretended he was nothing in order to protect him.

But she needed him. She was cold, and her stomach hurt, and she didn't know where she was. She didn't understand why it was so dark, or why only he was there, apologising. The team should have been waiting. He should have been smiling, looking slightly disapproving. Not crying. He wouldn't risk any of the team seeing him like that.

He looks up. "Emily," he whispers, pouring every inch of his heart into that single word. But as he says it, he is looking at her hairline. Not her eyes. He knows that if he looks at her eyes, he will crumble. And now she is awake, he cannot let himself do that.

He forgets that Emily knows everything about him. She knows the optimum temperature for his baths. She knows the way he takes his coffee, the fact that he hates two-in-one shampoo and conditioner but keeps it in his go bag for ease. She knows which nightmares lead to a cold shower that chills him to the bone and reminds him of his own fragility.

She knows that his own humanity terrifies him. She knows how he shuts down and avoids everything when it gets too overwhelming, which is how she knows whatever has happened is bad. Worse than bad.

"Where is everyone?" she asks, shocked by the weakness of her voice.

He doesn't reply. He knows that he needs to. That with every moment that passes, she comes up with another scenario. But he didn't need to tell the team that she never made it off the table. Until now, he has been able to pretend that none of this is even happening. That when she opened her eyes, he would guide the others down to her room.

That when they discharged her from the hospital, he would take her to his apartment, Jack's toys strewn across the living room and the carpet, which if you looked at it from just the right angle would see had been changed in one area.

"Hotch," she whispers.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds. When he opens them, there is no warmth behind his stare. He still won't meet her eyes, and she feels herself begin to panic. His biggest tell is when he refuses to look at someone.

"They believe you're dead," he says, voice completely monotone as he fights a wave of emotion.

"Then why haven't you gone and told them that I'm not?" she asks, already terrified of the answer.

He looks down. "Emily, I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry. You don't need to forgive me, but I need you to know that there was no other way to keep you safe. I tried. I tried so hard, but there was no other way-" he inhaled, snatching his hand back the moment she tried to hold it.

It hurt, more than anything that had happened over the past weeks, to see how he did not trust her. Not anymore.

"I always said that the only person that wouldn't forgive you is yourself. And I stand by that. So tell me the truth. Please Aaron. Just tell me what happened because I can't remember and it is terrifying, and you know what it is like. Please," she whispered. She tried, once more, to take his hand, but she was too weak.

He did not know what it was like to not remember what had happened. He remembered everything Foyet had done to him, from the first time the knife had touched his skin to the moment he had lost consciousness. He had never told her that. He probably never would.

"It's to keep you safe," he said, trying to find the words to explain what had happened. But like the ability to save the people he loved, they evaded him.

"Safe," she repeated. Like she didn't know what the word meant anymore. Maybe she didn't. Maybe she never had. There had been a time where his arms were the safest place she could find herself, but the man sitting in front of her was not the one that had held her at night.

The man sitting in front of her was a coward.

He flinches at her tone. It's been so long since she's spoken to him like that- snapping her words and rolling her eyes- that he's forgotten what it felt like. He wonders how. Her words always managed to meet their mark.

"Yes Em." The Em slips out without meaning to. He doesn't get to call her Em anymore. "Safe."

"Ian Doyle has murdered every single person on that team apart from Clyde Easter. Explain to me how I'm going to be safe."

"He's going to believe you're dead," he says, too quietly for her to hear. He says it to himself because he too needs to believe she's dead. In some ways, she is because she'll never be the woman she was before, and it's all his fault.

She frowns, the words not quite processing as her head still hurts from the painkillers. All she can say to him is: "What?"

She deserves more than what he can give. So he ignores his own shattered heart, and finally, finally meets her eyes. His own pain and anguish is reflected in hers. She almost looks away because she cannot handle his humanity. Almost. Her desire to prove she is better than he believes wins out, so she carries on staring.

"Ian Doyle hurt you. Badly. So-" he pauses again. Desperately tries to find that neutrality he had always stressed the importance of. He fails, because just like with Foyet, this isn't just a victim of a heinous crime. It's the woman that holds whatever pieces of his heart that still exist this time. Even as she had walked away, leaving him on his knees, he knew he would never stop loving her.

"So what, Aaron?" she presses, sounding angry.

It scares him, her anger. Everyone's anger scares him. He hates it, hates that his father still holds that kind of grip on him and his mind, but the moment someone seems angry he feels himself shutting down and becoming smaller. Drifting away to a fictional world where nobody cries and he's safe.

He doesn't deserve to shut down now.

"Everyone thinks you're dead because that's what we've told them. And they will think you're dead until we find Ian Doyle and-" he doesn't finish his sentence. Ian Doyle needs to die before Emily can come home to him and the team. But if he tells her that, she will realise he is not the good man she believes him to be. He is just one misstep away from becoming an unsub they cannot find.

"They think I'm dead," she says, tears in her eyes as all the pain she has been repressing since the first sign of Ian's return suddenly makes itself known. She doesn't feel anything physically- the sedatives are working- but it feels like her heart is being ripped from her chest.

For a moment, she wonders if Aaron felt like this when Haley died.

"I'm sorry," he says, again. It's what his vocabulary has been reduced to. He doesn't know how to put everything he wants to say into words. He doesn't know what the point in doing that is, because it won't change anything.

JJ is taking her to Paris. She deserves that. She needs that. She needs to see something good. He doesn't deserve to see Emily smiling and healing enough to travel. He deserves the anger and hatred of the team. He already knows that when it's time for them to know, he will tell them how it was him.

"You're sorry."

"Emily, please, I am trying to keep you safe, so just let me tell you what's going to happen. When the doctor gets here, they're moving you somewhere out of state, and as soon as you're strong enough, JJ will go with you. Paris, I think. She'll be your point of contact." It comes out in all one breath because if he stops he won't be able to start again.

"Are you?"

"Am I?"

"Are you really trying to keep me safe, or is this about you? Because I told Derek to let me go. I told him to let me go because Ian won't stop coming after people until I am dead. He broke out of a prison that should've held ten of him. He murdered every single person from that operation apart from Clyde Easter."

She's hurting. She's angry and hurt numb and upset and still so in love with him, but she can't hold back. Not now. She has to let go of everything and everyone she has ever cared about, and although rationally she knows it isn't his fault- it's Doyle's- she can't shout at Doyle. She can shout at Aaron though.

"Emily," he pleads, closing his eyes.

"You should've let me die," she spits. "You should have let me die because then this whole thing would be over. Ian would've got what he wanted and nobody else would be getting hurt. He'll work out I'm not dead. He will. And then the next person he kills, their blood will be on your hands."

He knows she doesn’t mean it. He knows that. It doesn’t stop him from looking at her face, at the mouth that had always felt like a firework against his own and wondering how she manages to do this to him.

“Stop,” he begs. He can’t take much more.

“Just like Haley’s,” she says before she can stop herself.

Those three words make his heart shatter all over again.

Time seems to slow down. Her own words register in her mind and her jaw drops. She presses one trembling fist to her mouth, forcing the apology down. She can't give it to him right now. He won't accept it. The other traitorously reaches out for his hand, still resting on the blanket.

He had turned away the moment she said Haley's name. When he looks at her again, eyes read and cheeks damp, his mouth is forming the word why, but no sound is coming out. He's frozen, hands trembling and there is nothing she can do to cure his pain.

There are no words she can whisper. No medication she can count out for him. No stories of her childhood that she can distract him. There is nothing she can do because this time, it was not a serial killer scarring his stomach so every time he looked in the mirror he would see them. It was not a man that should never have had children causing him to look at her and ask what he had been thinking.

It had been her. That was the problem with profilers. They always knew where to strike. The difference was, he was too afraid to do it. She was too angry to not.

The worst part is, he doesn't reply. He doesn't say a single word, because in his head, it is what he deserves. It is what everyone has been thinking since the day of the funeral. The difference with her is that she does not hesitate to say what she thinks.

It used to make him smile. In this moment, it breaks him.

He moves from the chair. He's done his duty. And if he looks at her, he think will say something he doesn't mean. Something cruel. Something about her own issues- about how she doesn't trust him, how she is so afraid of commitment she would let the only good thing she's ever let herself have go.

She knows that he won't. He's too good. Too afraid. It's why, before she can overthink it, she whispers one word: "Stay."

He's still close enough to hear her. She watches as slight relief, then pained love, and finally a forced and cold neutrality that she has always hated because it means people don't get to see how beautiful and painful his humanity is.

Nothing he does will ever be enough for this. He will never deserve her forgiveness. The final decision was out of his hands, but if he had just fought a little bit harder, then he could have told the team and they would be able to share the burden. He will never be good enough for her. The darkness she has carried with her since that day in Italy, even though she understands now that she too was just a child faced with an impossible decision, will never compare to his.

Her darkness was part of her beauty. His got people killed. Her, laying on that bed, is just another piece of proof. He cannot give her what she deserves, but he can give her what she wants.

And so, he stays.

Nothing she says will ever make up for those words that now feel like copper in her mouth. She will never deserve the feel of his calloused hands- some from the horrors of his childhood, others from the guitar he loved to play so much- in her own. If she had just been quicker, less of a survivor then he would be able to mourn her death instead of hiding the truth. She will never be good enough for him. The darkness he has carried with him since he was a child, a darkness that should have never been created, will never compare to hers.

His darkness is part of his humanity. Hers got people hurt. Him, heart once more in tattered shreds because of her, is just another piece of proof. She cannot give him what he deserves, but she can give him what he needs.

And so, she reaches out for him.

She takes his hands that are not coated with Haley's blood, no matter what he believes and holds them tightly. He lets her, even though every part of him screams to let go. Haley's body was cold the last time he held her. He does not want to remember Emily as this cold and fragile girl.

But he will not take her to Paris. JJ had to stand there as they fought to keep her alive because he was frantically trying to convince people that cared more about politics than they did about real lives. She needs it.

He won't survive without it, but maybe that is for the best.

They sit like that, hands clasped in some pathetic recreation of the long nights and days they had spent together.

When the doctors came to take her away, somewhere where he could not follow, the full extent of what was about to happen hit her.

"Aaron, I-"

don't blame you, need you to come with me, want you to forgive yourself, regret saying no, trust you with everything I am, think you are the best man I know, didn't mean what I said-

"I love you."

"Emily, you-"

don't need to lie, are so much more than you give yourself credit for, are one of the most beautiful women I have ever met, cannot regret saying no, were right about Haley, were right about everything-

"You shouldn't have said that."

She knows that. But she needed to say it in place of all the things she could never find the words for.

"Be happy for me," she says, right before the doors close.

"I'll try," he whispers, to an empty and cold room.

He doesn't. He runs instead, like the coward she accused him of being.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #sad aaron hotchner #sad emily prentiss #hurt emily prentiss #hurt aaron hotchner #tw implied child abuse #tw religious themes #tw abortion mention #sumayyah writes cm

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hercleverboy · 4 years

Text

time

spencer reid x reader

summary ↠ spencer learns the truth about why the reader left the team so suddenly during his post-prison showdown with cat adams.

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ cancer, main character death, crying, pleading someone not to die, please do not read if these are triggering for you.

word count ↠ 3.6k

“Death is peaceful, easy. Life is harder.”

Breast cancer had a history in Y/N’s family. Her grandmother had died from it, and it seemingly skipped her mothers generation. Y/N was not so lucky.

When the doctor told her, she stared blankly she’d at the wall. He was talking at her but she only seemed to pick up on parts of what he was saying.

“Breast cancer”, “stage 4”, “has unfortunately spread to other parts of your body,” “eight months if you’re lucky”

Lucky?

If she’s lucky?

The doctor sent her on her way after discussing some treatments with her. He told her what the side effects of those treatments were going to be, and she’d shaken her head. The doctor looked shocked, but Y/N had just given him a small smile. If she was going to die, she was going to spend her time doing everything she wanted to, not being poked and prodded and given treatments that were unlikely to work anyway.

Initially, she didn’t tell anyone at the BAU. She certainly didn’t tell Spencer, who she’d been crushing on for years at that point. They were best friends, they had been since she started all those years ago, and they were always there for one another. She was always too nervous to tell him how she felt, but it’s funny how finding out your days are numbered will encourage you to do things you never thought you’d have the courage to. So one night at the end of the work day, when the bullpen was empty apart from her and the resident genius, she threw caution to the wind and walked right up to his desk.

He grinned at her as she approached. “Hey, Y/N. Did you want to grab something to eat before you head home? There’s that new Chinese place a few streets over-“ He was interrupted by her saying three words he never thought she’d say to him.

“I love you.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“You what?” He manages to get out, his mind was spinning.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’m sorry, you just have to know.”

“Y/N I don’t know what to say I-“ He stumbled over his words, trying to find the right ones. Truthfully, he was in love with her too. Though his own insecurities and stupid thoughts always got in the way. Y/N took his lack of response to mean that he didn’t feel the same, and so she took a deep breath and smiled at him reassuringly. Before he could tell her that he was very sure he loved her too, she was gone, the bullpen’s doors closing gently behind her.

Y/N felt the weight lifted off her shoulders. Despite her thinking Spencer didn’t return her affection, she still felt the sweetest relief imaginable. Because fuck it, if she was going to die she’d be damned If she did so without telling Spencer Reid how much she loved him.

And now he knew.

It brought her a sense of peace.

She told Hotch, but that’s only because she had to give him a real reason as to why she was leaving, after he heard the lie she’d fed the team.

“I’ve been offered a job in the orginised crime unit, I just can’t turn it down.”

“Y/N, can I speak with you?” He’d asked after she’d announced to the team that she was leaving. He led her to his office, closing the door behind her. “I’ll get straight to the point. There is no new job with the orginised crime unit, I would’ve been notified if you’d been offered a new position. What’s going on?”

She couldn’t lie to him, she knew that much. So she took a deep breath and spoke. “I’m terminally ill, sir. I haven’t got long left. I would like to live what is left of my life.” Hotch was understating. He didn’t show it, always very good at masking his emotions, but his heart was broken. He’d even hugged her, telling her what a pleasure it was to work alongside her, how the world would suffer greatly from the loss of her kind heart and unmatched intelligence.

On her last shift, which was a paperwork day thankfully, the team got together and threw her a little in-office going away party. Y/N felt guilty about not telling her friends, her family, the real reason she was leaving but they shouldn’t have to bear that burden, they shouldn’t have to carry around the guilt. And she didn’t want their pity or worry either. Hotch had been surprised at how soon she’d wanted to leave the BAU after telling him of her condition, but she told him it was because she wanted the team to remember her how she was. Strong and confident. She didn’t want to them to see her so weak and vulnerable, how she knew this disease would reduce her to.

JJ found out that day, unintentionally. After laughing and eating some cake with the team, Y/N felt incredibly nauseous (she found she was struggling to keep food down these days), so she excused herself to the bathroom, and was violently sick in the toilet of one of the stalls. JJ had followed her in, noticing how she’d barely touched her cake earlier and that she looked awfully pale as well.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” She asked, opening up the stall door behind Y/N, who was panting over the toilet bowl.

“I’m fine, JJ. I promise.” She smiled weakly but JJ wasn’t buying it. The two women had become best friends over their time in the bureau, almost like sisters.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” JJ joked as Y/N stood up on shaky legs.

“No, I’m not pregnant Jayje.” Y/N couldn’t look her best friend in the eye, tears filling her eyes.

“Hey, don’t cry. It’ll be okay, what’s wrong?” JJ’s motherly tone made Y/N wanted to laugh but she couldn’t force one out if she tried. Y/N’s lack of response frightened JJ.

“Y/N, you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s wrong, please.” She begged.

“I’m sick, JJ.”

It didn’t take the blonde long to figure out that she didn’t mean a common cold. Tears filled JJ’s eyes.

“I haven’t got a lot of time Jayje.” Y/N cried, and JJ began to sob, pulling Y/N into a tight hug.

“Well there are treatments right? Chemotherapy or something? Something has to work.” JJ was begging, praying that there was something. Her heart shattered all over again when Y/N shook her head.

“I won’t spend the rest of my time hooked up to countless machines receiving treatments that may or may not work. I don’t want to fight this. I’m already so tired, I just want to go peacefully when the time comes. Please?”

JJ just cried harder. She understood Y/N had already made peace with her fate.

After calming down slightly, Y/N pulled back, holding JJ by her shoulders. “You can’t tell anyone. Only you and Hotch know. I won’t burden anyone else with this, okay?”

“Y/N, this isn’t a burden. You’re sick. The team deserve to know, they deserve their turn to say goodbye.” JJ tried to convince her.

“Please. You can’t say a thing. I know they deserve that but god I can’t have them all pitying me. Garcia will buy me gift baskets to compensate, Derek won’t know what to do with himself so he’ll make jokes, and Spencer, god Spence will go into overdrive trying to fix me. I just want to live out my days peacefully, please let me have that Jayje.” She begged, and the blonde nodded.

“I understand, Y/N. But Spence.. he’s one of your best friends. He has been for years now. I know you told him you love him and he didn’t say it back but.. this- this will kill him.” She whispered the last part and Y/N looked away as she fought to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks.

“I know. And I’m sorry if it’s selfish but I’m dying, I think I’m allowed to be a little selfish.” Her attempt at a joke was met with a stern look from JJ.

5 months after Y/N left the BAU, Spencer ended up in trouble in Mexico, and before anyone could do anything he was awaiting trial in a prison cell. He had lot of time to think over the three months spent behind bars, staring at blank walls, fighting to survive long enough for the team to prove his innocence. Every night he slept in his bed he thought of Y/N.

How much he missed his best friend.

How much he loved her still.

He realised how stupid he’d been to let her get away. He regretted not going after her that day in the bullpen and promising her he felt the same way she did. He promised himself the moment he got out he would tell her how he felt, and they could make up for the time they’d lost. He yearned to see her, and If prison taught him anything, it was that time was precious. And he wanted to spend all of his time with her.

When JJ turned up to the prison one day, he’d never felt a relief quite like it.

“We’re taking you home.”

He was relieved that now he could focus on finding his mother, and once that was done he could prioritise Y/N. He would tell her how he felt, how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, no time to waste. He could tell her the words he’d thought a thousands times of the last three months.

I love you. So much.

He just had to win one final time, play Cat Adams stupid game and then everything he’d ever wanted would be his. He could live the life he’d dreamed of when he was in prison, Y/N by his side.

“Even if you are pregnant the baby’s not mine.” Spencer was mortified that she was really trying to persuade him that her baby was his, let alone that she was even pregnant in the first place.

Cat clicked her tongue. “Except for the part where it is.”

“That’s preposterous, you’ve been in prison. And besides we’ve never-“

“So have you, and I know we never...” She trailed off, that smirk on her lips. “Ask me how I did it.”

Spencer was really losing his patience. He didn’t care for, nor did he want to play Cat’s little game anymore.

“Come on, ask me.”

“How did you do it?”

“I had Lindsey dose you in Mexico. You lost time.” Cat smiled at the look of confusion on Spencer’s face. “I told her to pretend to be Maeve.”

That hurt Spencer more than it should’ve. 4 years since the tragic death of his girlfriend, and the wounds were still fresh as anything. Of course Cat knew about Maeve.

“But perhaps it would’ve worked better if I’d told her to pretend to be Y/N, the best friend that you’ve always loved but never told her. It’s a shame that you might never get the chance now.” Cat snarled.

“What do you mean I’ll never get the chance?”

“Oh my god. You don’t know, do you?” Cat teased, and Spencer gripped the edge of the table so harshly his knuckles turned white.

“Know what, Cat?”

“Dear little Y/N has terminal cancer. She was given around eight months to live, from what I know. That would mean-“ She theatrically looked at Spencer’s watch that sat on her wrist. “Any day now, if my timings right.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” Cat’s head cocked to the side. This wasn’t part of her original plan, but any opportunity to mess with Spencer even more was not to be missed.

“Yes you are, that what you do.” Spencer seethed, the words like venom on his tongue.

“I’m not. Just ask blondie in there.” Cat pointed to the double sided mirror. “She’ll tell you. It is her that Y/N chose to confide in, after all.” She teased.

Spencer shot up from table with loud bang and stalked out the room, slamming open the door to where a gobsmacked JJ stood.

“Is it true?” Spencer asked, his tone cold and unforgiving.

“Spence..”

“JJ! I asked if it was true?” He shouted, slamming his hand on the wall next to them. JJ flinched, and for the first time in their friendship JJ was afraid of the man in front of her.

“Yes.” Her voice was small.

He whipped out his phone, calling Garcia. “Garcia I need you to look up Y/N Y/L/N’s medical records.”

“Our Y/N Y/L/N? Why?” The chipper woman replied, confused.

“Just please, Garcia!” Spencer shouted desperately.

“Okay okay, I’m looking and everything seems fine- oh wait- what’s this?” Garcia murmured to herself as she clicked through the files, her eyes widening and tears forming in them as she gasped. “She’s sick? W-why didn’t she tell us? Oh my god.”

“She’s alive, right? Oh god please tell me she’s alive?” Spencer begged.

“She’s alive, but she was admitted to the hospital 2 weeks ago after she collapsed. They’re keeping her in the hospital, just trying to make her comfortable- oh god I can’t read anymore.” Garcia was sobbing down the line and JJ had a hand clasped over her mouth to keep her own sobs at bay.

Spencer sobbed too, for the first time since he went to prison. Everything seemed to hit him at once.

After a moment, JJ’s trembling voice reached his ears. “Spence, I know this is a lot to take in but if you want to find out where your mother is you’ve got to carry on.”

He’s knew she was right, but he just glared at her coldly. “How long have you known?”

“Since she left.” JJ cried. “I’m so sorry, but she begged me not to tell you, or anyone else for that matter. How could I deny her that?”

Spencer understood it wasn’t JJ’s fault but he was still so angry. The anger burned within him like a wildfire and he didn’t posses the restraint to put it out. “There was no new job in the organised crime unit, was there?”

“No.”

“Fuck!” Spencer shouted, pushing some files that sat on the table onto the floor with a loud crash as he cried.

“Spence-“ JJ attempted to comfort him but he was downright inconsolable.

“You know she told me she loved me. Before she left.” Spencer spoke quickly and fiercely, though the tears trembling down his cheeks told a different story. He finally looked JJ in the eye, and she nodded. “I didn’t get to tell her I love her but I do JJ, god I do and now I’m gonna lose her.” He let out a heartbroken cry and JJ felt so guilty.

“Spence you have to go back in there and win her little game. Save your mother, and then you can worry about Y/N. Okay?” JJ tried, and this time it seemed the words sunk into him.

Spencer hated that she was right. So with a sniffle, he wiped the tears from his eyes with the sleeves of his blazer, before taking a deep breath and returning to the room with Cat, one even more determined to win.

After winning the battle against Cat, Spencer escorted his mother back to the sanitarium. As soon as she was safe and settled, Spencer was immediately on the phone with Garcia.

“Garcia, which hospital is Y/N at?”

Once he got the address he was there in minutes.

He sped up to the front desk, panting as he spoke. “Hi, I’m here to see Y/N Y/L/N.”

The receptionist nodded, typing away on her computer. Spencer stood as he waited to hear what room she was in, tapping his foot impatiently on the white floorboards. A doctor who had been standing near the desk stepped towards him, and he looked him as she approached. “Sorry sir, Did you say you’re here to see Y/N Y/L/N?”

Spencer turned to her, his voice desperate. He prayed he wasn’t too late. “Yes, yes.”

The doctor looked at him with a small smile. She looked him up and down, coming to a conclusion. “Are you Dr Spencer Reid?”

Spencer gulped, unsure what to say. “Yes. How did you know?”

“Y/N- She talks about you, when she’s in between consciousness. She showed me pictures a few weeks ago, told me all about the man she loved who she was so sure didn’t love her back. She’ll be so glad to see you.”

He wanted to smile at the information but he felt so sick that he couldn’t force his lips up into even a grimace. “How is she?” He dared to ask.

“I’m sorry, Dr Reid. Y/N is incredibly ill. We’re just trying to make her as comfortable as we can, I’m afraid it won’t be long now. Follow me, she could use your company.”

His heart broke but he followed her, attempting not to breakdown in a fit of cries.

When he saw her his heart broke even more. Her cheeks were sullen and she was thinner than he remembered. But she was still so beautiful to him. He thanked the doctor and pulled up a chair next to her, taking one of her frail hands in his. She turned to look at him, flashing a weak smile.

“Spencer? Are you really here?”

“Yes sweetheart. And I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” He choked out, attempting to smile for her sake.

She nodded, and he brought his lips to her hand to place a gentle kiss on it.

“I’ve missed you.” She whimpered out. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve missed you too.” He felt like breaking down but he had to be strong for her. “Y/N, I have to tell you, if this is the last chance I get I- I love you. I always have done. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all those months ago. I’m here now, but I’m too late.” He sobbed.

“Hey, hey. . It’s okay. It was a privilege to love you, Spencer Reid.” She smiled, moving her frail hands up to cup his face. It made him sob harder.

“I wish we had more time.” He cried, pressing his forehead to hers.

“I know, me too.”

They talked for the whole evening, and then, when she got too exhausted to continue conversation, he pulled out her favourite book from his satchel. He read to her, listening to the sound of her shallow breathing.

The team visited, all too shocked to say much, but they came to say goodbye. Y/N was barely conscious enough to realise what was going on, but she still managed to give the team a weak smile and a whispered, “Love you guys.”

JJ and Garcia had to leave the room so they wouldn’t collapse in tears front of her.

When the heart monitor went flat in the early hours of the next morning, that loud blaring sound filling Spencer’s ears, his sobs started again as he rested his forehead on her still chest.

“Please. Please don’t go. Come back, I love you.” Spencer begged, his shoulders moving with the sobs that wracked through him. He’d never felt so utterly heartbroken. Not when he watched his father leave, not when he saw his mother’s condition worsen, not even when Maeve was killed right in front of him. None of that compared to how his chest burned and his throat was sore from the sobs that ripped from him, and the tears that relentlessly cascaded down his cheeks.

“Please, baby. Look at me. Let me see them gorgeous eyes, yeah?” He begged, he prayed to every god there ever was that she’d look at him again with those beautiful orbs that he’d fallen so In love with. Those stunning eyes that would never open again.

The doctor, with tears in her own eyes at the scene before her, moved to turn the heart monitor off, the obnoxious withstanding beep cutting off. It made Spencer’s head ache.

Spencer clutched Y/N’s hand desperately to his chest, his head resting on her chest as he cried. He squeezed her hand, and some foolish part of him almost believed that if he squeezed hard enough he’d wake up from whatever nightmare this was. He twisted his eyelids shut and dreamed. He dreamed of waking up next to Y/N, in a bed that they shared, wedding bands on their fingers and their children’s footsteps and laughter filling their home. He dreamed of a life with her, of raising a family with her. He dreamed of the life she deserved.

He wanted to scream. How was this fair? How were murderers and serial rapists walking around with no consequence but people like Y/N had their lives ripped from them?

It was unjust.

But the world was cruel, Spencer knew. It was cruel and it was cold and it was unforgiving.

He raised his head from her chest, using the hand that wasn’t holding hers to place his hand on her cheek. He pushed forward, placing a gentle kiss on her cold and lifeless lips.

it was a goodbye. one that needn’t be spoken.

“I love you, Y/N. I’ll honour you for the rest of my life, I promise.”

Spencer Reid never recovered from losing Y/N Y/L/N.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #mgg x reader #mgg #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds x reader

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soukokuwu · 4 years

Note

Hi I’m really sorry I know you’re probably busy and don’t just do urgent fics for anyone but this one’s quite urgent, um if it’s not triggering for you of course, could you please do Chuuya walking in on his S/O s*lf h*rming? It doesn’t have to be long, just something comforting please, again I completely understand if you can’t it’s just a bit urgent, either way thank you I appreciate it ❤️

in your head.

genre. angst (fluff at the end ofc) warnings. self harm, blood synopsis. all of us have breaking points, but you have a saviour in the form of love. word count. 1.4k author notes. no, dw anony <3 i’m perfectly okay with writing this, you gave me a chance to vent a little too so thank you as well, and i hope this is ok!!

some days you think you’re strong enough to take it; all the rage, all the frustration, all the pain. some days you break and let them consume you. it’s natural, you’re only human after all. what’s dangerous about the latter is the possible extent to which it breaks you. because one moment you find yourself completely fine, feeling like you have the strength to take on the entire world.

other days, before you know it, you might already be half a step into the abyss.

today is one of those days.

you can’t explain why; it just is. is it because you’ve spent too long in the light? you’ve spent too long of a time shoving the thoughts into the back of your mind so in the end it all comes spilling out anyway? what’s worse then — breaking every single day a little bit at a time, or just crumbling into ashes all at once?

not that the answer matters. because you still hurt. everything’s screwed up, and no amount of effort will change anything, will it? no amount of trying will ever get rid of the loss, the grief, the guilt you feel. and you’re caught between two lines: to keep living and torturing yourself (which you think you deserve), or to just end it all and return to the beginning of life itself in death? the latter is a form of escape, though. do you really deserve it?

you can’t really explain the turmoil that goes on in your head. but it irritates the heck out of you. it hurts, and it will keep hurting. but it’s not like you can shut off your thoughts just like that.

maybe this is why the razor cuts deeper and deeper as you go. because the more you think, the larger the amount of pain you need to translate from emotional to physical. at least with physical pain, you’re distracted enough not to think.

how long has it been since you’ve done this? way too long. you’ve had your own personal crutch — your boyfriend. and immediately you feel an overwhelming amount of guilt rush over you. it isn’t alleviated when the next moment, you can hear his footsteps rushing over to you, the thumping all you can hear. or is that the drumming of your heart in your ears?

you don’t know. you really don’t know, you barely know anything.

all you can say for sure is that there is an unsightly amount of blood on the bathroom floor. you can’t even remember how long you’ve been sitting here piling slit on top of slit on top of slit. your arm is sore, and your fingers are sore too. you don’t even realise how much you’re crying until you turn to look at your boyfriend and all you can see is his striking orange hair all blurred into one with his face and those cerulean eyes.

and you cry even more because you think he doesn’t deserve this — he’s been so good to you. he doesn’t deserve having to worry over someone so pathetic, right?

but as always, he always seems to know what to do. and no, you don’t mean the fact that he’d thrown the razor aside the minute he got to you, or the fact that he disregards the blood staining his pants as he tries to clean your wounds.

it’s how he doesn’t pile on your guilt. no mention of “what the fuck did you do” or “what happened” because he doesn’t want to make you feel more overwhelmed than you already are. all he does is let you calm down as you nestle against his chest while he wraps your arm in a bandage, slowly, carefully, gently.

“i don’t deserve you, chuuya,” you let slip. you’re a little drowsy, and he knows it. after all, you’d lost a lot of blood. he makes a mental reminder to get the mafia doctor in to see you as soon as possible, but for now he has to put your emotions first. besides, he’s confident enough in his skills that you’d be okay for now, as long as you get some water in you and rest.

he smiles at you, poking your nose with his gloved finger before hoisting you in his arms and carries you to the bed. he doesn’t even care about the stains that get on his sheets. he just wants you comfortable. it’s not chuuya’s first time dealing with difficulties. although, this is the first time he’s seen your harm yourself. don’t get him wrong, though. he’s internally panicking, but he can’t show you that. it’ll make things worse, wouldn’t it?

honestly, he finds it weird how he knows what to do in this situation. how he doesn’t let his fear take over him. not that he lets himself ponder about it. he’s more concerned with what you’re upset about. but you both know — you’re not one to share so easily. even if he is your boyfriend of a year.

you’re amazed, actually, at how patient he is with you. considering he’s not much of it in anything else. never once has he actually pressured you to share anything. he’s asked you about it, but he’s quick to assure you that you don’t have to say a thing you aren’t comfortable with saying.

“you know, i’m so scared,” chuuya confesses as he sets down the glass of water on the nightstand after you take a big gulp. he sits himself next to you, and you allow him to wrap an arm around you, getting under the sheets, making you feel all warm and cosy.

“i’m so scared of losing you,” he explains, fingers now twirling your hair. “and i don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, princess, but can i be selfish this one time and ask you to please, let me share that pain with you?”

you don’t miss the slight quiver in his tone. he’s close to cracking, but he’s trying not to — just for you. and maybe he’s not the best person to try and ‘cheer someone up’, but oh god, to you? his patience and understanding is more than enough. and he’s never once failed at it.

chuuya hugs you tighter now. you can smell the faint hint of cigarettes lingering on his skin, and while you’re normally not a fan of it, oddly enough, it smells like home. your home.

no man is an island. and it’ll probably take more than anyone can imagine to make you feel okay again, if it’s even possible at all. but sometimes people lose sight of what’s important. sometimes, some people try — and that’s already more than what you can ask for. because not everyone has the patience for it.

“i love you, baby,” he whispers as he plants a long kiss on your head, “i love you and i would do anything for you. so just — just stay with me as long as you can, okay?”

never any sign of pressure. and you can feel the slight minification of the hurt you thought would never let up. right, that’s right. because in a world where no one owes anyone else a thing, sometimes a simple show of effort is a treasure in itself.

“chuuya, i know i’m not easy to be with —“

“you’re worth it, though.”

you giggle a little at how quick he is to assure you of that. it’s only miniscule, but you do feel your mood lightening a little.

“shut up,” you chide, embarrassed, burying your head in his chest, hearing the slight quickening of his heartbeat. “i know i’m not easy to be with, and i know you never ask anything of me, so i promise, chuuya. i promise you, i’ll try.”

you don’t even have to ask him anything, but you know that even if sometimes you fail at it, if sometimes you just break again and have a similar moment, that he’ll still be there for you, to assure you that you’re never alone.

“it’s you and me against the world, princess.”

tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @animatedarchives

#bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd chuuya #bsd chuuya x reader #chuuya x reader #bsd #bsd imagines #bungo stray dogs #bsd oneshot #bsd scenarios #rachwrote #bsd nakahara chuuya #bsd chuuya imagines #nakahara chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya oneshot #bsd chuuya scenarios

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weasleytwinwheezes · 4 years

Text

little things |gw|

@thisismysecrethappyplace : I really hope you don't have covid, or if you do that you can recover quickly!! I'm not sure how you'll feel about this request, but anyway... So George and reader are in a relationship since before he left Hogwarts and it's good, maybe they move in together or something. But, he gets really occupied with the shop and his inventions and neglects her a lot, spending all his time with Fred (who's alive!) Maybe she falls pregnant and tries to tell him, but he's too distracted and doesn't listen. and this is the tricky part.. something goes wrong (maybe miscarriage, maybe part of the battle). She loses the baby and it's not good, George didn't even realise she was pregnant. How would this affect their relationship? What happens next? Up to you... Sorry if this is too specific or not good

Authors Note: being outside of my comfort zone, this was a lot emotionally to write. I know these things are hard to go through and I don’t want the way I wrote it to downplay the experiences of others at all- this is just simply how I imagine George to react to the situation at hand. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: !TRIGGER WARNING! Slight mentions of War, Mentions of Miscarriage- please read at your own risk

Word Count: 1.2k

When you think of your life with George Weasley, three distinct days stand out in the sea of thousands you’d spent together. The first being the day the two of you left Hogwarts behind, hand in hand to start your new life. The second being May 2, 1998 where the battle was finally won and you stood beside all of your loved ones in the new world. Lastly, the third being the day two little pink lines stared back at you from the pregnancy test in your hand. These days are the ones you think of often, on the nights George is stuck in the shop late or during the lonely dinners you seem to be having more of. You never complained that he spent all of his time in the shop instead of with you, it was his dream after all. He had been working so hard to repair it after the war and you knew once it was back to its original state, he’d be home more. Or at least that’s what you hoped.

Telling him you were pregnant was the scariest thing you could ever think of and it seemed that every opportunity was ruined by a phone call from Fred or an issue with the shop. You made reservations for dates he forgot about, he would zone out during conversations, he always had more pressing matters to deal with instead of listening to what you needed to tell him. Eventually you had decided to just schedule a home visit with the local Mediwizard, hoping you would be the tiniest bit intrigued as to why you needed a doctor. With the visit being two weeks away, the idea of helping the shop get ahead came to you. Anything to help him be there with you, was a good idea to you.

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

“Where do you want this box of Extendable Ears?” you called up to Fred.

“Over by the Instant Darkness Powder if you don’t mind!” responded Fred, peeking around the boxes at you, “Thanks for all the help today Y/N! With Ron having Dragon Pox, you’ve really been a lifesaver!”

Throwing a thumbs up towards him, you made your way down the stairs to the main floor. Having walked this route many times, you were certain you could do it But with the large box blocking the stairs from you, surprise hit when you tripped sending ears flying all over. Landing on the arm rail, you felt a sharp pain pierce through your stomach. Thoughts racing all over the place, you pulled yourself up and ran down Diagon Alley towards the Mediwizards clinic. Ignoring the pain spreading through you and the shouts of Fred coming from behind you.

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

“I’m sorry Ms. Y/L/N. The baby didn’t make it.”

The world seemed darker after hearing that. Those five little words, sent your heart and mind into a spiral. Blood rushed to your head and tears began freely rushing down your cheeks. How could this happen? You swore that you didn’t hit the arm rail that hard. You had been taking your vitamins and cutting out every unhealthy food. You had done everything right, yet one small stumble took it all away.

Oh Merlin, George. He didn’t know. He wouldn’t even have the happiness of knowing that you had been carrying his child. He never got the chance to kiss your belly and whisper all the pranks they would pull.

Wiping the tears from your face, you turned to the doctor, “I need to call my boyfriend. He needs to know.”

“Would he happen to be one of the tall, young men currently causing a scene in my lobby?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Possibly so. Would you let the one named George back?” you whispered.

“Of course dear, it’ll just be a moment,” she answered, giving you a soft pat on the arm.

Unable to meet her sad gaze, your eyes fell to your lap where your hands lay still. The door softly closed behind her as she left and you could faintly hear talking coming from the lobby. Knowing what was coming and what you were going to have to tell George, you ran your hands through your hair and over your face. The sound of the door opening, pulled you away from the thoughts in your head.

“Y/N? Sweetheart? What’s going on? Are you okay?” George rushed out, running his eyes all over to see what was wrong.

Looking up at your sweet boyfriend, you could see worry etched into every part of his face making him look much older than 21 years old. Staring back at you, he could see the pain and dried tears scattered across your face.

“George, sit down please. I have something to tell you,” you whispered out. You watched as you pulled a chair close and sat down, pulling your hands into his large ones.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, fear prominent on his face.

“I was--I was pregnant. I took a test a few weeks ago and it came back positive. I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to tell you, but you’ve been so busy with the shop and something always comes up,” you softly spoke.

“Y/N, what do you mean you were pregnant,” he asked, voice cracking. The grip he had on your hands tightened and you could see tears beginning to build in his eyes.

“I had a pretty nasty fall today. I got cocky and thought I could get downstairs even though I was carrying boxes, I lost my footing. I fell into the arm rail and there was a lot of pain. When I got here there was a lot of blood and I didn’t know what to do. Georgie….I lost the baby. I lost our baby,” you sobbed.

Saying the words out loud, made your heart shatter. The two of you sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, letting the reality of your words sink in. Finally gaining the courage to look up at him, you were surprised to see him already staring back at you. Silent tears had fallen down his cheeks but his face only showed love. You were expecting to see anger or sadness, not love. You suddenly felt arms around you, pulling your head into his chest.

“Baby, it’s okay. I love you, so much. Please don’t think this is your fault, not even for a minute. It’s not, I promise you. Do you need anything to make you more comfortable? Do you need a pillow? A blanket? I can get the nurse,” he spilled out, staring at you with concern.

“No love, I’m fine. Are you okay?” you questioned.

“Y/N, I’m perfect. I’m shocked at what’s happened, but I'm relieved that you’re okay. I’m going to take some time off from the shop to be home with you. Merlin, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. We’ll find out what we need to do to get you feeling better and then we can go on a trip, to clear our minds and relax,” he replied, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

Although this wasn’t how you wanted things to end up, you were amazed at the strong man wrapped around you. You couldn’t comprehend how lucky you were to have him and he never knew how he deserved someone like you. The pain of today would fade, but it would make your relationship so much stronger. Adding a fourth distinct day to the days that just made you love him even more.

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fromthedeskofelizabeththird · 3 years

Text

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Explicit, MINORS BE GONE

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter.

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 15/16 (all chapters)

UA’s press conference aired two days after the incident, a deceptively simple move in the grander scheme of things. Their status as a household name and initial hesitation to comment on the incident had captivated the country. By the time the conference began, everyone had grown morbidly curious. Reporters chomped at the bit for answers; the general public watched with bated breath.

Hizashi glowered into his beer at the izakaya, stomach churning as the other patrons watched in suspense.

Nemuri sat down in front of her TV, ready to bury her face in the pillow she held to her chest.

Shigaraki and the League of Villains watched with expressions of glee, glancing across at Bakugo every so often in the hopes of catching the exact moment he lost faith in hero society.

Jirou, Hagakure and the other students yet to recover from the forest attack watched from their hospital beds.

Midoriya, Kirishima, Yaoyorozu, Iida and Todoroki watched from Kamino ward, hands trembling at the grim reminder that they shouldn’t have been there.

Your mother watched from the couch in your childhood home, alternating between sewing and shooting disapproving glances at the television, all while your father bellowed into his cell phone, demanding to know the name of the person that had allowed Moonfish to escape. In an oddly fortuitous turn of events, UA had escaped his ire. He had been personally involved in Moonfish’s conviction and took your injuries as a slight on his honour. It had never occurred to him to blame UA.

The world watched as Aizawa, Nezu and Vlad stepped out onto center stage, a fact that was not at all lost on them. Vlad gave his tie a forceful tug before stepping out into public view. Shouta took a deep breath and followed.

He had taken a crash course in interview techniques the night before, though if anything Hizashi’s coaching methods made him even more nervous. Hizashi was used to taking interviews, a consequence of years as a public entertainer. Eraserhead was rarely seen in public, much less interviewed by the press.

As Shouta, Vlad and Nezu bowed in apology, your eyelids twitched. You opened one eye by a sliver and then the other, taking in the darkness around you. You were still woozy from surgery and multiple rounds of treatment from Recovery Girl, every inch of your body feeling like lead. You didn’t remember who you were, much less where you were, and your initial inspection of your surroundings gleaned little in the way of answers.

The last thing you saw before closing your eyes again, overwhelmed by exhaustion, was the punnet of peaches at the foot of your bed- a flash of colour in the otherwise monochromatic room.

You slept for two days after that, fingers and eyelids occasionally twitching. The doctors were hopeful that you would wake up soon, though the news of any potential recovery on your part was swiftly drowned out by the chaos in Kamino ward.

The age of All Might was over and all of hero society needed to adapt. UA needed a plan now more than ever.

You were moved to Musutafu’s city hospital three days after the incident, Recovery Girl insisting that you were well enough to make the trip and it would be more convenient to have you closer to home. You slept through most of this process, briefly opening your eyes and staring at the strip lights above your head as they wheeled you through the hospital corridors.

You woke up fully coherent the following morning, eyes burning as they opened. Your body didn’t feel as heavy as it had before, but it ached instead, as stiff and sore as if you had run a marathon at full speed.

You sat up and immediately regretted it, for your side throbbed and left you flinching. You stroked a hand over the spot, remembering the last few moments before you had lost consciousness. You remembered the blade cutting through you; remembered the tightness in your body and stench of blood. When you lifted your pyjama shirt, though, there was no wound, only a ghostly patch of raised skin.

You wondered how long you had been asleep and scanned the room for any sort of hint, heart fluttering at the realisation that you weren’t alone. Someone was sitting in the chair next to your bed, face obscured from view by a textbook and snoring softly.

From the clothes and book title, you were able to make an educated guess who lay beneath. You only knew one person who taught English grammar.

“Hizashi,” you murmured, reaching out to touch his arm. “Hizashi.”

You tapped his elbow and he shifted in place, perhaps thinking your touches were part of his dream.

“Hey...Hizashi.”

“Hmmm?”

You eased the textbook off his face and put it down on the bed, watching as he began to stir.

“You’ll get a crick in your neck if you sleep like that,” you said, poking his arm.

“Sorry, (Name),” he said sleepily, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face, only to freeze in place and realise what he’d said.

He jerked up straight and shoved on his glasses, hands trembling so much that it took several attempts to actually get them on, much less see you properly.

“You’re real, right? I’m not dreaming,” he said, sitting down on the bed next to you and throwing both arms around your shoulders, resting his chin on your head.

“If it is a dream, it’s pretty meta,” you said, reaching up to touch the arm closest to your collarbone and looking up into his face, gaining a faceful of scratchy, tearful kisses in response.

You remembered dialling Hizashi’s voicemail; the way you had cursed every time you reached his automated message.

You had resigned yourself to never seeing him again, but there he was, holding onto you and kissing your cheeks. You closed your eyes, absorbing his warm body and familiar scent, tears running down your own face before you realised what was happening.

“Hey, (Name),” he said, loosening his grip on you and stroking his fingers through your hair, “are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“I’m just so happy,” you sniffled, “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer,” he said, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

You sat in silence for a while, overwhelmed with emotion and enjoying the moment. You rested your head against Hizashi’s chest, afraid that he’d disappear into smoke if you let go.

Unfortunately, the more you relaxed and focussed on his heartbeat, the more memories of that night came flooding back. You remembered stumbling through the woods, remembered why you had dialled his number in the first place.

You couldn’t breathe, your heart raced, memories of USJ creatures and men with patchwork faces dominating your every thought.

You knew you were having a panic attack; you knew dozens of techniques to get through them. Even so, it had been such a long time since you had had one and it crept up on you with so little warning that you were powerless to do anything. All you could do was grip onto Hizashi for dear life, hands growing sweaty and chest rattling with shallow breaths.

Hizashi picked up on your struggle relatively quickly and stroked a hand over your back, gently prising you off him and slipping one of his bracelets off his wrist.

“Here we go,” he said, slipping it onto yours, “slow and steady, focus on my voice.”

You reached for the bracelet and snapped the elastic against your exposed skin, relishing the sharp shock that rippled through your body and eased you back to earth.

“Just like that,” said Hizashi, stroking your hair, “nice and easy.”

You took a deep breath and rubbed your temples, head clearing and tension slowly leaving your body.

“How long have I been out?”

“About a week.”

“A week ?”

From the heaviness of your body and severity of your wounds, you assumed it had been much, much longer.

“Did you get my message? The address? What-“

“One thing at a time, princess,” he laughed. “A lot happened while you were asleep.”

“Really?”

“Well, for a start, UA’s reputation has taken a nosedive. Almost all of the students at the camp were injured-“ he reached for your shoulders as you flinched at the news, “-they’re fine, don’t worry!”

“Ragdoll,” you whispered, remembering the way she had told you to run, “is she-“

Get out of here, (Name). Tell the others!

Hizashi’s grave expression was all you needed to know. You clapped a hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you whispered, Hizashi letting go of your shoulders and holding you to his chest. “It wasn’t…”

“I know, sweetie, I know. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

“No, I need to know,” you said, wiping your eyes. “Is she dead?”

You needed closure.

“No,” said Hizashi, “she and Bakugo were taken away by the League of Villains. Ragdoll lost her quirk, but Bakugo was rescued in time…in part because someone led us straight to their front door.”

“Poor Ragdoll,” you sniffed. “And Bakugo? Is he…”

“He’s going to be fine,” said Hizashi. “The League wanted to recruit him, but no such luck.”

You knew from conversations with Shouta exactly how volatile he could be. It was naive to think villains wouldn’t have noticed it too.

“Wait,” you said, “Shouta...”

Had he been caught up in the villain attack? Was he okay? You remembered dialling his number too.

Hizashi frowned, which only added fuel to the fire.

“Hiz...Hizashi? I-“

You willed him to tell you Shouta was fine, that he hadn’t thrown himself into danger. You knew him too well to believe that, though. You remembered how angry you had been with him after the events of USJ; how quickly he had thrown himself into the line of fire to protect his students.

Your throat tightened and you snapped the bracelet against the inside of your wrist.

“He’s fine,” said Hizashi. “Came out of it with nothin’ but bruises. Thing is, though…because of everything that’s happened in the last few months...a lot of people have lost faith in UA. We’ve grown negligent, taken peace for granted…”

“What are you saying?”

“Something happened the night they rescued Bakugo,” he said. “All Might’s power. It’s gone.”

“ Gone ?”

“I don’t know all of the details,” he said, “only that he can’t use his quirk to fight anymore. He’s going to retire soon. Without him, though…”

You shuddered, knowing exactly where this was going. All Might had maintained Japan’s low crime rate for decades. His departure from the hero ranks would almost certainly create a power vacuum on both sides.

“What does that have to do with Shouta?”

“Well, as I said, UA’s reputation has well and truly tanked,” said Hizashi. “Sho, Nezu, Vlad and All Might are going to visit the students today...try and persuade their parents to let them come back.”

You tried to absorb the news, habitually snapping the bracelet on your wrist to keep you grounded.

“Is he...okay?”

Shouta would blame himself for this. You knew that much without having to ask and Hizashi chuckled under his breath.

“As good as anyone can be when their lady’s in the ICU.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that. You remembered plotting with the Pussycats, the strategy they had put in place so the two of you could talk alone.

You’d never mentioned your feelings for Shouta to Hizashi. You’d never told him the pair of you had slept together. Before leaving for summer camp, you didn’t think you had never given him any reason to suspect you might have been Shouta’s ‘lady’.

Of course, the more you thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. You remembered calling him ‘Shouta’ in conversation without realising; remembered probing Hizashi for his address. Hizashi wasn’t an idiot and knew Shouta better than you ever would. It was naive to think he wouldn’t have noticed something was off about the two of you.

“You knew about that, huh?”

“You kiddin’? I don’t get how anyone could meet you and not fall in love with you.”

His words were so sincere that you giggled.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Did you know you have your own background music? What’s it like having cherubs sing behind you every time you take a step?”

“Stop it,” you said, face flushing red, “you’re making me blush!!”

“Good,” he said, kissing your forehead.

“Say, Hizashi.”

“Mm?”

“Don’t call me Shouta’s lady like I can’t be yours as well.”

There was no point dancing around the point now. You were well past the stage of breaking it to him gently.

For a second, you wondered if you’d made a mistake. He sat incredibly still, breath warm against your forehead. Slowly, he lowered his face, touching his forehead to yours as he caught your lips.

“Hizashi,” you murmured into his open mouth as he broke the contact.

“Sssh,” he said, cupping your face and moving in to kiss you again, “the cherubs brought out tiny violins.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“Adds to the appeal, don’t ya think?”

You looped your arms around his neck to draw him in deeper and lowered yourself down onto the bed. He crushed his lips against yours, every kiss sending ripples through your core.

It felt so good that you forgot you were in a hospital and why you were there. In that moment there was only you, Hizashi and months of lost time.

Hizashi slipped a hand under your pyjama shirt, lifting the fabric higher to expose your scar. He broke away from you and sat up a little to get a good look at it, pouting as you instantly dragged your shirt back down.

“I guess my two piece days are over,” you said, blushing bright red in an attempt to deflect your embarrassment.

You had exactly two scars on your entire body and both were from Moonfish, each as ugly as the other. Hizashi linked his fingers through yours and guided your hand away from your shirt.

“I was just thinking,” he said, exposing your scar, “it makes me kinda nostalgic.”

“Nostalgic? For w-“

You caught his meaning too late, remembering the night you’d slept together. You remembered the moment he dragged off the condom and came across your middle, covering you in spots as ghostly white as the raised skin.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” you squeaked, hiding your face in your hands.

“Am I wrong?”

He prised your hands away from your face, grinning widely. He wasn’t wrong and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“(Name), look at me.”

Against your better judgement, you looked up at him, only for him to lean over and steal a kiss.

“Am I wrong?” he murmured, face inches from yours.

You looked up into his face, slipping a hand out of his and tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

“No.”

You looked into each other’s faces for a while, enjoying the warmth and one another’s presence. You had had so much to say, but the events at the lodge had given you a new perspective. It didn’t matter to you anymore if you said it out loud. Actions spoke far louder than an awkwardly planned confession ever would.

“Let’s get out of here,” you said at last.

“You sure?” said Hizashi, nuzzling his face against your hand. “You were really badly hurt, ya know? Couldn’t hurt to rest for a little longer.”

“No,” you said, motioning for him to get up. “I have work to do.”

You had been gone for a week and the world had fallen apart. The children needed you; your colleagues needed you. They were the future of hero society and had already suffered enough. You couldn’t fix the world or undo the night at the lodge, but at the very least you could give them pats to the head and a sympathetic ear.

~~~~~~

It took a lot of coaxing for the doctors to let you discharge yourself. They insisted that you still needed rest, to which you argued you needed fresh air. You pouted your way through their examinations and tests, insisting you had rested enough. Your wounds weren’t open anymore and you hadn’t been on a ventilator since arriving in Musutafu. You were wobbly on your feet, but you weren’t in danger and you weren’t alone.

“Be careful,” your doctor sighed as you handed over your discharge papers, “your injuries were severe and it’s important you don’t push yourself too much.”

“I’ll be okay,” you said, knowing that he couldn’t stop you even if he wanted to.

“Don’t worry, doc,” said Hizashi, lifting you up into his arms like a newly wedded wife. “I’ve got Recovery Girl on speed dial.”

You giggled as he carried you out of the hospital and into the car park, holding you gently so as not to aggravate your injured side.

“Do you really have Recovery Girl on speed dial?”

“Of course I do,” he said in mock offense, “though I called her so many times this week that I’m pretty sure she blocked me.”

“Wow, should I be jealous?”

Hizashi laughed, stopping in place to kiss you on the lips.

“ Are you jealous?”

“Just surprised,” you said. “I didn’t have Recovery Girl pegged as a cougar.”

The pair of you sniggered as you crossed the car park, arriving at a flashy car that could only belong to Hizashi. He set you down on your feet as he reached for his keys and opened the doors, easing you into the passenger side front seat as if you were made of glass.

“Comfortable?” he asked as he fastened his own seatbelt. “I have some cushions in the back if you want one.”

“You sleep there often?”

“Only when I’ve got company!”

The ride home was a short one, though you made sure to absorb every detail; the soft synthwave music playing through the car radio; the city’s afternoon glow; Hizashi’s hand slipping into yours whenever you hit traffic.

Hizashi pulled up outside of your house and went on ahead to unlock your front door before helping you inside. You lingered in the doorway, Hizashi a couple of steps behind you.

“You good, little listener?”

“Yeah,” you said, taking a deep breath before crossing the threshold, “it’s just been a while, that’s all.”

Your home was exactly the same as when you’d left it, which shouldn’t have surprised you, yet did all the same. You hadn’t been there for so long that it smelled foreign. You normally didn’t smell the pot pourri or candles you had used to decorate the place, but suddenly they overpowered your senses.

You had left in a hurry, without much time to tidy up. Your breakfast dishes from that morning were still drying on the rack; your pyjamas lay abandoned in the laundry basket. You had left your laptop on the kitchen table, a pamphlet for Yamanashi next to it.

It was like a perfectly preserved time capsule and Hizashi wrapped an arm around your shoulder at your hesitation.

“We can go to my place if you’d like,” he said gently, “if it’s easier.”

“No,” you said, snapping the bracelet against your wrist and taking a few shaky steps towards the couch. “It’s fine.”

You sank down onto your couch, rummaging through your purse as Hizashi pottered around in the kitchen. At some point someone had switched off your phone and you turned it over in your hands, all too aware of how spotlessly clean it was. Someone had scrubbed away the bloody fingerprints, perhaps the same someone who had painted your nails. You spread out your fingers as you powered on your phone, taking note of how carefully it had been done.

Your phone came on at 13% battery, immediately bursting to life with messages, missed calls and voicemails.

You recalled the USJ incident, how overwhelmed you had felt back then when you had been in no danger at all and out of contact for only a few hours. This time you had a week’s worth of notifications to sort through. The groupchat you shared with your girlfriends had exploded; you had voicemails and missed calls from your brother, as well as a few from your mom. You had missed calls from Hizashi and Nemuri, though one name cropped up more than any other. Shouta seemed to have called you multiple times a day every day since the incident.

“Hey,” said Hizashi, sitting down next to you with a cup of steaming tea, “enough of that.”

He prised the phone out of your grip and set it down on the coffee table, slipping the tea into your hands instead.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, though for the tea or the intervention you weren’t quite sure.

~~~~

Several hours later, you sipped ice water at the izakaya, Hizashi peering out from your booth to the doors.

As a morale boost, he had invited the other teachers to the izakaya for drinks that evening. If the students refused to come back, they could drink away their woes. If they agreed, they could raise a toast to the new school year.

He hadn’t expected you to be awake, much less eager to join them, but you had looked so desperately lonely that he couldn’t refuse. What’s more, he didn’t want to leave you on your own. He never wanted to ever again.

You had gotten there early, long before any of the regulars, much less other teachers. Despite being the one to suggest getting wasted in the first place, Hizashi stuck to soda, not quite so desperate to let loose that he was willing to drive you home drunk.

He stole glances at you every so often, watching for any shiver or grimace of pain. It had seemed like a good idea to steal you away from the hospital at the time. Perhaps it was selfishness on his part, but he wanted to relive the moment of joy when you spoke his name. He could think of no better way to do so than by reuniting you with the other teachers, who needed the excitement now more than ever.

Now, though, he wondered if he’d done the right thing.

After you had finished up your tea, he’d sent you away for a nap. You had been reluctant to go, but he’d insisted, claiming you needed your strength for the partying that night. You’d pouted as he tucked you in, only to fall asleep again in minutes.

For the past few days, Hizashi and Nemuri had taken turns visiting your hospital bed. They both had lesson planning to do, though nothing they couldn’t do remotely. Shouta had visited a few times as well, though lesson planning and dealing with the fallout of Bakugo’s rescue took up almost all of his time.

Hizashi had continued to plot out his schedule while you slept, getting up every so often to poke his head through your bedroom door.

Even now he watched you like a hawk. He knew your movements were slower than usual, that your injured side burned with pain if you stretched too far. He had helped you bathe and dress ahead of the night at the izakaya, only too happy to rinse the smell of the hospital from your hair under the guise of being a pervert.

It was a useful facade, for whenever you caught him glancing in your direction, all he had to do was slip a hand onto your thigh and tell you you were pretty to deflect how concerned he still was and likely would be for the rest of your lives.

Nemuri was the first to arrive, massaging her shoulders as she stood at the bar. She glanced around the room to see who else had arrived and waved at Hizashi, unable to see you because of the angle of the booth.

She cursed as she arrived at the table, beers under her arm as well as a portion of garlic fries.

“Wake me up when the-” she grumbled as she arrived at the booth, freezing in place when she saw you sitting there.

“Hi,” you said, to which she let out a shriek of joy and threw herself into the seat beside you.

“It’s you!” she cried out, trapping you in a tight hug that she swiftly reconsidered. “It’s really you!”

“Yep,” you said as she pressed your head against her chest and carded her fingers through your hair, “it’s really me.”

“How did you... when did you?!”

She glanced from you to Hizashi, suspicion and joy playing out across her face. You had been fast asleep the last time she visited you, fingers occasionally twitching.

“This morning,” said Hizashi, leaning back against the walls of the booth and sipping his soda.

He’d considered texting her with the news, but you had been sleeping at the time and he knew she’d come right over. He’d considered texting Shouta too but decided against it. It would come across as incredibly unprofessional if a text came through while he was speaking to a concerned parent, after all. In the end, for better or worse, selfish or otherwise, he’d left it as a surprise.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” she said, tears rolling down her face. “Pinch me.”

You pinched her arm and she cupped your face, swiftly squishing you against her again.

“I’m coming to stay with you for the next few days,” she said, “we can watch movies, I can do the cooking-”

“Nemuri, she just got out of the hospital.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” she said, glowering at Hizashi and stroking your hair. “(Name), just ignore him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Hizashi protested the point, though you barely paid attention, catching only the occasional word here and there. Nemuri combed her fingers through your hair, defending both her honour and cooking skills.

“Honestly,” she said at last, reaching up to touch her own cheek. “I should go and fix my makeup. (Name), you come too!”

Neither you nor Hizashi commented on the fact that her makeup was fine and you weren’t wearing any.

~~~~

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

Nemuri paused, eyeliner pen in hand.

“Whatever do you mean?”

She had lifted you up onto the counter to get a better angle, silently painting away the dark circles under your eyes and returning the colour to your cheeks.

You spread out your fingers, flashing your scarlet fingernails.

“Guilty as charged,” she said. “It was the least I could do, considering…”

You remembered the last conversation you had had with her, right before you had rushed out of the door to meet Shouta and take on her duties as chaperone. She had sounded so upset over the phone; you had gone without a second thought.

“You couldn’t have known what would happen,” you said, tilting your head as she applied the eyeliner. “No one could have.”

“(Name),” she said, swallowing loudly, “the truth is...there was never anything wrong with me. I sent you there because...Hizashi and I wanted you and Aizawa to talk.”

“Huh?”

You had wanted to get Shouta alone, of course, but hadn’t thought of the trip to the lodge as anything more than a lucky break.

Not for the first time that day, you realised exactly how naive you had been. How many conflicts had passed by without your notice? How many sacrifices?

Shouta had pushed you towards Hizashi, Hizashi had pushed you towards Shouta. Both wanted the other to be happy, both wanted the best for all involved.

You laughed, you couldn’t help it. Every moment of hesitation; every second thought; it had always been part of something much bigger. You had always been part of a far more intricate sequence of events and now it was unravelling before your eyes.

You laughed so hard that your eyes blurred with tears, Nemuri joining in soon after.

“I’m such an idiot,” you said. “We’re all such idiots.”

Nemuri laughed with you, doubling over and smudging your makeup in the process.

“It’s really been that simple the whole time,” you spluttered, “ all this time .”

You laughed until your side hurt and you sucked in a deep breath, touching your hand to the spot as Nemuri ran a makeup wipe over your smudged eyeliner.

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Speak to Aizawa at the lodge.”

“Oh,” you said. “No. The attack happened before…”

Nemuri tossed aside the wipe and folded her arms with a smirk.

“Seems to me that you three have a lot to talk about,” she said, glancing from you to the makeup bag. “I need to rethink this...I need to rethink all of this .”

She reached for different eyeshadows and fresh brushes, ready to paint you in different colours.

“You listen to me, kitten,” she said, reaching for lipstick, “if they mess around with you like this again…” she ran her thumb over your bottom lip, “you come to me.”

Her thumb was warm against your lip, gentle enough to tickle but hard enough to bring heat to your cheeks.

Was she...

Surely she wasn’t...

Surely she didn't…

Your eyes darted from her slender fingers to the bright red polish coating her nails; the same shade she had used to paint your own. She smelled intoxicatingly sweet, like the fancy soap stores you often passed in Roppongi, the ones that left their doors wide open to lure in passers by with exotic fragrances.

Right then you felt just as curious; imagination wandering to paths never taken and decisions never made. A different lover in a different bathroom...maybe even this one.

“O-okay.”

~~~~~

Night had fallen by the time Shouta arrived at the izakaya, loosening off his tie with a grunt. He hadn’t bothered to hide the fact that he didn’t want to go. He could think of a dozen or more things he’d rather be doing. He had lesson planning to do, streets to patrol and that was without mention of stopping by the hospital. Your transfer to Musutafu made things a lot more convenient in theory, though his schedule had been so unforgiving that he still hadn’t been able to visit as much as he wanted to.

He walked towards the bar, ready to order something fruity and deceptively strong. For a moment at least, he wanted to distract himself from the chaos of the past few weeks.

“Sho,” said Hizashi, stepping out from a booth and draping an arm across his shoulders. “You made it!”

“Looks that way,” he said, eyes immediately darting around the room.

It had been a few days since they’d slept together and, in truth, he was still waiting for it to feel wrong. Hizashi had never been a stranger to putting an arm around his shoulders or reaching for his arm, but there was something different about his touches now. Shouta half expected everyone in the izakaya to stop what they were doing and stare in disgust, yet they carried on as if nothing had happened. Snipe and Nemuri faced off against each other on one of the arcade machines while Cementoss and Vlad played pool. Thirteen was sitting in a nearby booth with Ectoplasm, engrossed in a game of poker. All Might and Nezu discussed the day’s events, drinks long forgotten.

Shouta wasn’t used to public displays of affection. He wasn’t used to dating or letting down his guard. He had brushed off any of Hizashi’s attempts to hold hands, had been deliberately non-committal in arranging dates, and all because it felt like a betrayal. He wasn’t ashamed of being with another man, didn’t care that said man happened to be Hizashi. He did, however, care a good deal about doing either of those things without your blessing.

He didn’t want to commit to another person without hearing what it was you’d had to say that day at the lodge. He had told himself that you were better off not knowing how far you had gotten under his skin, but he didn’t believe himself anymore. He wanted the first thing you heard from him to be a prayer: a prayer that you wouldn’t leave him again; a prayer that you would forgive him for every time he had pushed you away and been upset when you didn’t follow.

Hizashi, who not only knew him better than he knew himself but had found himself in a similar predicament, didn’t push. Shouta told himself he would thank him for it when all of this was over.

“Listen,” said Hizashi, expression grave as he flagged down the bartender, “don’t freak out, okay?”

“Freak out? About what?”

“Hmmm...well…”

“You can’t just tell me not to freak out without context.”

“Uhhhh...well...the thing is…(Name) woke up earlier on today.”

Shouta’s eyes widened. He was glad he hadn’t yet ordered a drink, for he was certain it would have shattered on the floor.

“I have to go,” he said without a moment’s hesitation. “I need to-”

He moved to leave, only to look back in surprise as Hizashi took hold of his arm.

“What are you doing? Let me go.”

Before this, Hizashi had encouraged him to go and see you. Why was he stopping him now?

“She discharged herself,” he said. “You won’t find her there.”

“She what ,” said Shouta, pulling his arm away. “That idiot , what was she thinking?”

“Wait,” said Hizashi, grabbing his arm again, “where are you going now?”

“Where do you think? I’m going to her house,” he said. “What if she tries to cook something and passes out by the oven? What if she tries to take a bath and dr-”

“Sho,” said Hizashi, looking more than a little bit offended, “you won’t find her there either.”

Shouta blinked, contemplating where else you might have gone. Had you gone to your parents’ house? No, he knew for a fact that it was unlikely. He paid close attention to just about everything you said and you hadn’t exactly made a secret of how little contact you had with your immediate family.

Had Hizashi set you up at his place? Had Nemuri taken you to hers?

Where were you?

He needed to talk to you, needed to wipe the last memory of you from his imagination. He didn’t want to speak your name and immediately think of you pinned to a tree. He didn’t want to remember your voice as a croak of despair.

Hizashi chewed at his bottom lip and Shouta’s imagination ran wild.

Was this his weird way of telling him you’d died?

“She’s over there,” said Hizashi at last, nodding his head towards All Might’s booth.

Shouta’s blood ran cold.

No way.

No fucking way.

He had wanted to speak to you so badly for so long. He’d wanted to see you up and about on your feet, back at UA as if nothing had happened. Now that you were there, though, in the same room and surrounded by other teachers, he didn’t trust himself to look at you. What if he fell to pieces like he had on that night at the lodge?

“You okay?” said Hizashi, prodding at his arm.

“I’m fine,” he said with a sigh. “Just...”

He wasn’t prepared to be vulnerable in plain sight. He didn’t know how he’d react when he saw you.

“Okay,” said Hizashi. “Hear me out…”

~~~~~

The past week had passed by you in a second, yet it felt like you hadn’t seen your colleagues in years and apparently the feeling was mutual. You found yourself on the receiving end of more hugs than you could count, more pats to the head in half an hour than you had received in the past twenty years.

That was without mention of your ever expanding collection of ice water. Everyone wanted to buy you a drink and you knew for a fact you couldn’t drink them all.

You ran your fingers through the condensation on your nearest glass as All Might and Nezu discussed the home visits, eyes darting to the izakaya doors every time they opened.

You had expected Shouta to arrive with All Might and struggled to contain your disappointment when that wasn’t the case. The more time passed, the more nervous you became. Part of you hated the idea of the first years’ hard work and training going to waste, but you didn’t know what you would do in their parents’ position. If your child went through the same experiences as 1-A and B, would you allow them to go back? Would your need to protect them overpower your need to see them happy?

You were biased and you knew it.

It was almost a relief when Hizashi came back to the booth and reached out an arm.

“C’mon, Little Listener,” he said, guiding you out of the booth and onto your feet, “let’s stretch those legs and greet your adoring public!”

You linked your arm through his and used his weight to steady your own, grateful for the prospect of leaving the booth even temporarily. You had been sitting there for so long that you were pretty sure it had remolded your butt.

“This way,” said Hizashi, leading you past the arcade machine and jukebox, through a side door that led outside to the back of the izakaya.

You took a gulp of fresh air, relishing the coolness against your skin.

“You okay, sweetness?”

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s good to see everyone again.”

He laughed softly, patting his hand over the one you had linked through his.

“ Almost everyone,” he said, pointing out a shadowy figure further along the street. You followed his gaze, eyes blurring with tears.

You would have known that silhouette anywhere.

You had wanted to see Shouta for so long; had wanted to speak to him for longer. There he was, right in front of you, and none of it seemed real.

He looked good , dressed up in a suit, though plainly tired of it, for he had taken off his tie and unfastened his top two buttons, leaving his collarbones on full display. You realised this was the first time you’d seen him with his hair up since Ego and, in all honesty, you were surprised your knees didn’t buckle.

“I’ll leave you to it,” said Hizashi, clapping his hands together and stepping back into the izakaya, leaving the pair of you completely alone.

You stared at Shouta; he stared at you, neither of you quite believing this was happening.

“I,” you said at last, “the thing is…”

You never got to finish your sentence, for Shouta moved, stepping closer and resting his head on your shoulder. For a moment, you were sure your heart stopped.

“Forgive me,” he murmured into your neck, voice rumbling against your skin. You closed your eyes, tears rolling down your cheeks.

You considered asking him what it was he wanted forgiveness for, though decided against it. He’d spent the entire day apologising for events out of his control and this wasn’t the time to dwell on them even more.

You reached up to cradle his body, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, the other combing through his hair.

“Okay,” you whispered back, saying nothing of the wetness against your neck from tears that were not your own.

He lifted his head and touched his forehead to yours, catching your lips in his in a kiss that consumed every inch of you, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes; a kiss you wanted to burn you to ashes and scatter you on the evening air; a kiss you would remember with perfect clarity for the rest of your life, long after other details of that night lay forgotten.

~~~~

You stayed at the izakaya for another hour or two, Hizashi’s jacket draped over your shoulders while both he and Shouta hovered in your general vicinity like a pair of mother hens.

All Might and Nezu were the first to leave, staying only for a couple of rounds and catch up with Shouta, followed a short while later by Thirteen. Nemuri, who had had more than a little bit to drink by that point, tried to persuade everyone else to finish up the night at a club. Ordinarily, Hizashi would have said yes, but he had other responsibilities today, namely getting you home and finally hashing it out with you and Shouta.

He didn’t speak much at all on the drive to your house, glancing at you in his rear view mirror every time you hit traffic lights. He wanted to reach out for Shouta’s hand as he had yours; to congratulate him properly for his hard work that day. Once or twice, as you leaned your head against the passenger side window and drifted in and out of sleep, he reached in Shouta’s direction, only to pass it off as resting his hand against the gear stick.

Even if he did make contact, he knew Shouta wouldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t do anything without your knowledge. It was exactly the sort of honour he loved him for, but did nothing to warm his fingertips. Hizashi loved to touch and be touched; he liked being on the receiving end of attention almost as much as he liked giving it out. Not being able to touch Shouta was like being starved of oxygen and he felt himself wither with every second that passed.

It was a relief when they finally arrived at your house, Shouta lifting you up into his arms as you rifled through your purse for the key.

Hizashi followed the pair of you inside, watching as Shouta set you down on the couch and slipped off your shoes with a good deal of care- far more care than he ever afforded himself.

“We need to talk,” Shouta said as you rubbed your eyes.

“Sho,” said Hizashi, suddenly paranoid that you would be too tired for such an important conversation.

You sat up straight, though - of course you did - not quite wide awake, but coherent.

“It’s okay,” you said. “Let’s talk.”

The three of you sat in silence for a while. None of you had ever imagined getting this far.

Finally, Shouta broke it.

“I fucked Hizashi,” he said, so bluntly that Hizashi choked on his own spit.

“Hey, you...you don’t have to put it like that!”

“Why not,” shrugged Shouta. “It’s what happened.”

“Well yes, but...it sounds so dirty .”

For Hizashi, at least, it had been more than just fucking and even though he knew Shouta wasn’t an overly sentimental kind of guy, the notion that he felt otherwise prickled at his skin. He had been one too many people’s one night stand for it not to.

You glanced from Hizashi to Shouta with an unreadable expression. Finally, you nodded, crossing one leg over the other in the pose you very often took at your desk.

“Okay.”

Hizashi was sure his stomach fell through the floor. He’d expected you to be shocked, hurt or at the very least confused. He hadn’t expected your reaction to be so subdued.

“Does it bother you?” said Shouta.

“Why would it?”

“Well...uh…”

Hizashi glanced from you to Shouta, increasingly agitated by both of your poker faces. You were normally far more expressive than this and it was making him nervous.

“I fucked Hizashi too,” you shrugged and it took everything in him not to gasp.

It was one thing for Shouta to say it, but you?

“Does it bother you two?” you said. “That I’ve slept with you both.”

“Of course not,” said Hizashi, so quickly that it was a surprise even to himself.

The idea of being upset with you and Shouta for sleeping with each other was absurd. He wasn’t even completely upset that you’d kept it from him for so long. Shouta hadn’t been upset by the revelation that you had slept with him either, accepting it as easily as if he’d been told the pair of you had gone to the movies or eaten dinner.

“Then why should it bother me ?”

“We’re both men,” said Shouta almost immediately, to which you finally broke out into a smile.

“Trust me, I’ve noticed.”

“If we did it again...would it bother you?”

“Do you want to do it again?”

“Yes,” said Shouta, once again without any sort of hesitation.

“ Really ?” said Hizashi, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Sure.”

You sighed and rubbed your temples, adjusting your weight on the couch. Both Hizashi and Shouta stepped forwards to help but you waved them away.

“It’s okay with me,” you said. “It’s not like I own either of you. You don’t need my permission.”

“No, but I want it,” said Shouta, stubborn as ever.

You pushed yourself up from the couch and folded your arms, wrapping your fingers in the sleeves of Hizashi’s jacket.

“Do you remember how all of this began?”

“ Ego ,” said Shouta.

“No, before that,” you said, shaking your head. “When I got dumped...it made me question everything. Akira told me he didn’t want to settle down, he didn’t want to lock himself into a particular path...and I hated him for it. I thought I wasn’t good enough, that I was boring, that my entire life until that point had been a waste of time…”

“(Name),” said Hizashi, but you waved him off.

“I understand it now, though,” you said. “It was never really about Akira. It’s just...up until then I’d always been the one who settled. I was always the one who made sacrifices and hard choices. I was always the one who caved. Up until Ego I’d never done anything self indulgent. I’d never thrown caution to the wind and chased something I wanted. Until then I’d shaped myself to fit other people, because at some point I’d convinced myself that everything I actually wanted was silly or an imposition.”

You breathed a heavy sigh, cheeks flushing a bright pink.

“I want both of you,” you said. “I don’t want to choose or settle. Life’s too short to talk yourself out of doing things that make you happy. If you want to choose, I’ll support it, but don’t feel like you have to because of me.”

Hizashi looked across at Shouta. Shouta looked at him. Both of them turned to look at you and all of the confidence melted from your body.

“That is…” you said, shuffling on the spot, “I mean…”

“This is new territory,” said Hizashi at last, “it’ll take time to figure it out.”

“If it doesn’t work we can just reset,” shrugged Shouta, “it’s not a problem.”

“We’ll need to,” you said, trying and failing to stifle a yawn, “....go over boundaries.”

“We can have a longer conversation about it tomorrow,” said Hizashi, as you rubbed your eyes. “It’s been a long day.”

He reached into his pocket for his car keys, turning to Shouta with a knowing look.

Hizashi had had you all to himself for much of the day. It was only fair that Shouta got some time too, especially considering how much you likely still had to talk about. He doubted either of you would declare your undying love in an alley behind the izakaya.

“I’m heading home,” he said, “you two...don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

~~~~

After Hizashi left, you and Shouta fell into a comfortable silence. He helped you into your pyjamas and tucked you up in bed, planting kisses on your forehead any time you got close enough. It was so casually affectionate that you thought your heart might burst and you quite deliberately turned your face to his for more attention.

Your heart sank, though, when he actually tucked you in.

“I’ll be right next door,” he said, backing away, “call me if you need anything.”

You glanced from your bed to him, finally pulling back the sheets and motioning for him to come closer. You had wanted to hold onto him for what felt like an eternity and you weren’t going to pass up the chance now that it was right in front of you.

“Come here,” you said, patting the space next to you. “Get in.”

He considered it, the dilemma visibly playing out across his face.

“Fine,” he said, “move over that way.”

You did exactly that, wondering what his motives were. It would have been easier for him to take the side you pointed out to him. Had he picked the other side for no other reason than to be contrarian? It wasn’t outside the realms of possibility, but you had a feeling that wasn’t the case.

He unbuttoned his shirt and dragged it from his shoulders, exposing the sharp angles and scars of his body. This wasn’t the first time he’d done so in this room and heat pooled inside of you at the memory. You hadn’t been able to stop yourself staring then, either. You had seen the scar on his face from USJ, but not the mark on his elbow. You skimmed over the ripples in his skin, the same discoloration as on your own body.

Realisation sank in.

Shouta did indeed have a reason for choosing that side of the bed and it was far simpler than you might have imagined.

Anyone who broke into your house would have to pass your couch. Shouta had picked the side of the bed that was closest to the door. Anyone who came in would have to go through him to get to you.

You lifted up the covers so he could crawl in beside you, heart skipping a beat as he rested his head on the pillow. He looked at you in confusion, no doubt feeling your eyes on him.

“What is it?”

You rested your head on his chest.

“Nothing.”

In this situation, Hizashi would surely have pestered you for an answer. Shouta was almost certainly curious, but he didn’t say so, instead combing strands of hair out of your face in an attempt to see more of you.

You closed your eyes and listened to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, the warmth of his body enclosing yours. He held you close, though not so tightly that it hurt, the rise and fall of his chest lulling you to sleep.

You fell asleep safe and warm, with a peaceful expression that Shouta watched long into early morning.

~~~~~~

A week passed.

Your energy returned, albeit slowly. It took the best part of a day to get through your notifications and update your friends and family on your condition, much less make the time to have them over. It took all of your energy on that first day to make a single pot of tea, much less make conversation.

Nemuri, true to her word, stopped in every morning to make breakfast and help with laundry. Her cooking wasn’t the best and you found yourself redoing the laundry more often than not, but her heart was in the right place and you couldn’t bring yourself to turn down her offer.

Hizashi created a group chat with you, Shouta and himself as the only members. You knew exactly what it was for the moment you received an invitation, smiling at the emojis he had used as a title: 🐱 🎤 👑

If you were all going to date it made sense to have a group chat, though it made your stomach flutter nonetheless. You still couldn’t quite believe you’d signed up for this, much less that Hizashi and Shouta were just as up for it as you were.

It didn’t sink in even as the three of you ordered food and worked over the final details, which in the end took only a matter of minutes. You were all fairly laid back when it came to preferences and boundaries. You didn’t mind who slept with who or how many dates you had with each other. You were all busy for one reason or another and there was no point in keeping score.

You discussed threesomes last of all. Given your triangular relationship, it had always only been a matter of time before it cropped up in conversation. You and Shouta had never had one, while Hizashi’s experience mostly amounted to drunken fumbling with beautiful strangers. He’d never done it with anyone he wanted to date, much less anyone he actually was . It was new territory for everyone and all three of you were nervous for different reasons.

You agreed that if you were to test run something of that nature, it made sense to do so before the next school term. The teachers would become incredibly busy almost overnight and, while Nezu had gotten you a temporary replacement for the first couple of weeks, you would have just as much to catch up on when you returned.

And so it was that Hizashi sent an address to the group chat, one sent you flushing a bright pink.

👑: You do realise that’s a love hotel?

🎤: Yup! Best for it to be on neutral ground, don’t you think?

👑: I guess you’re right .

🎤: Plus, this one has alllllll kinds of facilities. They have a minibar, they sell toys at the counter, they have every kind of lube and condom you can dream of...it’s the perfect place for de p r a v i t y

👑: what do you think, Shouta?

🐱: whatever

🎤: Then it’s settled! We’re going to have so much fun! 🎉 🎉 🎉

You lowered your phone into your lap with a giggle, which prompted Nemuri to look over from the kitchen with a raised eyebrow.

She hadn’t asked too many questions about who it was you were always texting, mostly because she hadn’t needed to. Hizashi and Shouta took turns staying the night with you long after the strength returned to your legs. It never progressed any further than cuddles and they were always gone before she arrived, but you knew she wasn’t a fool and had likely already guessed what was going on. You’d agreed to tell her once the dust had settled and you’d figured things out.

“Something funny?”

“Somewhere, at this very moment, I’m pretty sure Shouta’s questioning his life choices,” you said between giggles.

“Ahhh,” she said, reaching into your cupboard for dishes, “must be Tuesday.”

~~~~

However nervous you might have been about going to the love hotel paled in comparison to how it felt when you actually arrived.

You had spent hours going through your wardrobe, wondering what on earth to wear. Hizashi was quick to remind you that whatever you wore would end up on the bedroom floor anyway, which did little to quell your nerves. You wanted tonight to be special; the kind of night you revisited over and over to better enjoy each detail. In the end, you settled on a simple dress and shoes, with the fanciest lingerie you owned underneath.

Your stomach fluttered as you caught sight of your reflection while you were getting dressed, the anticipation of the night ahead almost too much to bear. After tonight everything would be different for what you prayed would be the right reasons.

You bobbed on your heels as Hizashi booked you in, glancing around at your surroundings. It didn’t look any different to any ordinary hotel, though you weren’t sure why such a thing surprised you. You had heard stories of people spending the night in one by accident, as well as people who took advantage of the cheap rate to do so on purpose.

You glanced across at Shouta to see if he was as nervous as you, only to see him examining one of the posters on the wall. From the looks of things, the hotel offered themed rooms as well as generic ones and while some of the themes were pretty run of the mill, some were far more unusual. They had a dinosaur themed room and an aquarium, as well as a superhero room designed to look like a back alley.

They also had a cat themed one, complete with fluffy pink bed sheets and equally fluffy cat themed lingerie, which seemed to have grabbed Shouta’s attention the most. You made a mental note to do some online shopping at the next opportunity.

“Let’s go!” said Hizashi at last, dangling a key labelled 215.

You took a deep breath and followed him through the building, taking note of the luxurious interiors. You’d expected it to look seedy and the reality was quite jarring.

“Who’s excited?!” Hizashi cried out as you took the lift to the second floor. “This is going to be awesome!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, but even he fell silent when you stepped inside of your room for the night.

This...this was everything you had expected and more besides. Everything you looked at was more obscene than the last.

The room was bright red, with silk sheets and a mirror on the ceiling. There was a pole and set of couches in the right hand corner, as well as bookcases full of erotica. Across from the bed was an enormous flat screen television and a cabinet underneath it that you knew without looking contained porn.

Hizashi fiddled with the switches on the wall, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the spotlights on the floor and ceiling, all three of you taking a step back when one switch made the room rumble. The ceiling mirror shifted and a set of straps lowered through the gap.

“Is that…” you whispered.

“It’s a sex swing!” cried out Hizashi, unable to contain his excitement.

You had only ever heard of them until now and mostly as a joke. Hizashi rushed across the room to test the straps, looping his wrists into the cuffs and hoisting his weight up off the floor, laughing as he began to swing as if the three of you were in a playground and not a room full of sin.

On the leftmost side of the room was a wooden divider screen, with multiple wardrobes behind it. You approached them slowly, morbidly curious about what you might find inside.

What you actually found there made you cry out in glee.

“Oh my god,” you said, rummaging through the drawers. “Oh my god!!!”

“What is it?” said Hizashi, trying to unravel himself from the swing.

“It’s...oh my god. They have costumes.”

“Oh? You gonna be a dominatrix for us?”

“No, you don't understand,” you said, stepping out from behind the divider. “They have costumes.”

Both Hizashi and Shouta’s eyes widened when they saw what you were wearing. You’d found a familiar spiked leather jacket and gloves, as well as the shades to match the set.

“Hey, hey, hey listeners,” you called out in your best Present Mic impression. “It’s a beeeeeeutiful day to boogie!”

Hizashi was delighted; he struck a pose of his own.

“Put on your dancin’ shoes and happy smiles,” he said, “tonight we’re going Plus Ultra style!”

“I knew it was a bad idea for you two to spend time together,” sighed Shouta, rummaging through the mini bar.

“Are you saying there’s not enough room for two Present Mics?” Hizashi pouted, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“I don’t think the world is big enough for one .”

Shouta pulled out three beers and unscrewed the lids, passing one to you and another to Hizashi.

“Cheers,” you said, taking a long sip before setting the bottle down on the nearest surface.

Hizashi and Shouta did the same, the reality of what you were about to do sinking in.

“Anyone want to back out?” said Hizashi.

“Nope,” you said, Shouta shaking his head along with you.

“Okay,” said Hizashi, “in that case, let’s set the mood .”

You stripped off the leather jacket and gloves, watching as Hizashi played around with the various switches in the room. He returned the sex swing to its original position and fixed the lighting, choosing a setting that left the room in a soft light that resembled candles.

Shouta pulled the pillows from the bed and set them down on the nearest couch, fluffing them up as you slipped behind the divider screen and unfastened the zipper of your dress. You slipped it off your shoulders and down to the floor, excitement rushing through you at the knowledge that neither Hizashi nor Shouta had noticed yet.

You rearranged your hair, taking a deep breath before stepping out and perching on the end of the bed, stretching like a cat and waiting for them to turn and look at you.

It was Shouta who noticed first, turning from the couch and freezing on the spot. You flashed him a knowing smile and he reached out for Hizashi, who was searching through his phone for the perfect playlist.

“...so I’ve been putting this together for the past few days. I wanted something that was mellow but had a bit of a beat and-ow!”

Shouta poked him in the ribs and pointed in your direction, prompting Hizashi to almost drop his phone.

“I seem to have lost my dress,” you said, crossing both arms over your chest in pretend modesty. “Won’t you help me?”

“O-o-o-of course,” said Hizashi, “though for what’s worth, you seem to be doing just fine without it.”

Shouta sank down into a chair at the foot of the bed, reaching for his beer as Hizashi climbed up onto the bed behind you.

“You look,” he said. “I’ll supervise.”

Hizashi’s breath was warm against the back of your neck and you shivered as he planted kisses along your exposed back.

“Maybe it’s hiding behind your ears,” he said, lifting your hair and swirling his tongue around your earlobe. “Hmmm...nope.”

“Maybe this one,” you said, tapping your finger against the opposite ear and giggling at the tickle of his lips against your ear.

“No,” he said, sounding genuinely forlorn even as he kissed the back of your neck. “Not there. Perhaps… maybe...”

He looped his fingers through your bra’s fastening and unhooked it with ease. Your bra dropped down onto your lap and you tossed it aside, watching as Shouta leaned back in his chair and sipped his beer, an expression of satisfaction across his face as Hizash looped his hands around your middle and reached up to give your breasts a squeeze.

“Not here either,” he said, tightening his grip on your nipples and grazing his teeth against your shoulder. “Where else might it be?”

He slipped his arms under yours, maneuvering them into his line of sight and turning your hands so they were palm up.

“Not here,” he said, spreading your fingers in the same way you wanted him to spread your legs, “my my, we are in a pickle.”

He set your hands back down and moved a little further up the bed, leaning over to pull at your shoulders so that you followed. He guided you up onto your knees and tossed his own shirt to one side before resting a hand over your lower stomach. He snaked his free hand over your breasts, burying his lips in your neck as his other hand dipped into your underwear.

“Is it in here, perhaps?” he purred, slipping his fingers into your folds and earning a gasp from you in response. “Hmmm…”

He slipped a single, exploratory finger into you and you nibbled your bottom lip, remembering the last time he had gone down on you. You’d been a shivering, shuddering mess afterwards and you couldn’t wait to experience it a second time.

“What do you think, Sho?” he asked, glancing across at Shouta, who had cast aside his beer in favour of reaching into his pants.

“I think you should get a better look,” he said, resting his free elbow on the arm of the chair and resting his chin in his hand.

“Roger that,” said Hizashi, taking his hand out of your underwear. “Lay back for me, princess.”

You obeyed, rolling over onto your back so that your head rested at the foot of the bed, facing out towards Shouta.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, easing your panties down your thighs and over your ankles before tossing them over to Shouta, who held them up to the light, admiring the way the soft light shone through the pattern.

You blushed, heat pooling deep inside of your core as Hizashi planted a kiss between your breasts, hair tickling over your lower stomach as he spread your legs wide to expose your cunt.

The chill of being so thoroughly exposed lasted only a second; Hizashi ran his tongue over your clit before it could truly register. You gasped, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair and catching your reflection in the mirror on the ceiling.

You knew for a fact what was happening; you knew you were there, you knew who you were with. You saw your face, your naked breasts, the lacy stockings you had yet to remove and Hizashi’s head bobbing between your thighs. Even so, you didn’t recognise yourself.

You released Hizashi’s hair and spread your arms across the bed, watching as the girl in the mirror did the same. You watched the pleasure play out across her face, the muscles in Hizashi’s back shifting as he reached to slip in a finger. You cried out and so did the girl on the ceiling, back arching from the bed.

You could see Shouta too, jerking his cock in time to Hizashi’s movements. You watched the ceiling, watched as Hizashi took note of your silence and followed your gaze.

“Ah hah,” he said, waving at your reflections. “So Sho isn’t the only one who likes to watch!”

You blushed and turned your head to look at Shouta. You were on your back, so he was upside down, but the intensity when your eyes met was no different than usual. Before you knew it, you were reaching out to him, willing him to come over. You wanted to feel his hands against your body as well, wanted to see all three of your naked bodies on the ceiling.

You didn’t speak a single word of invitation, but you didn’t have to. He got to his feet and kicked off his pants and underwear, showing off how hard he had gotten just from watching.

Hizashi sat back, wiping your juices from his lips.

“Nice of you to join us,” he said, letting you relax your legs and roll over onto your side. Shouta approached the bed and you reached for his dick, propping yourself up on your elbow to coax him closer. He climbed up onto the bed and sat down on his knees, providing the perfect angle for you to run your tongue over his hardness.

You hadn’t tasted his cock before. Technically speaking, you hadn’t tasted Hizashi’s either. You had dipped a finger into the pool of cum he left on you while he was busy running your bath, curiosity and lust overtaking you.

It was too simplistic to say it tasted good or bad. The only way you could describe it was that it tasted of him, sweet and earthy in equal measures.

Shouta’s cock tasted far more bitter, though in a way that was more intriguing than it was unpleasant. He was broad, so broad that you couldn’t take all of him into your mouth without gagging, though you were so intoxicated by him that you were more than willing to try.

Hizashi crawled off the bed and kicked off his own pants, slipping a kiss to the side of Shouta’s mouth before leaning back down onto the sheets. He shuffled his weight until he could comfortably rest his head between your thighs, lifting one of your legs up onto his shoulders before returning to his earlier ministrations.

Maybe it was the change in angle; the moans you dragged from Shouta every time you moved your head. Maybe it was the way Shouta used his position to grip onto Hizashi’s hard cock. Whatever the case, you found yourself quaking at the prospect of everything to come. You could feel your stomach churning in anticipation; the wet sound of your lips on Shouta’s skin combined with the wet feel of Hizashi’s lips against your clit sending shudders of pleasure down your spine.

The first time you came, it was like butterflies in your belly, sending shockwaves through your middle that teased at what was to come. You moaned onto Shouta’s dick, Shouta squeezed Hizashi’s and all three of you groaned at the combined sensation.

“Do you think you’re ready for me, sweetness?” said Hizashi, sitting up from between your legs to look you in the face.

You nodded, rolling over onto your back while he got up to choose a condom from the box beside the bed.

“Hey,” he said, unable to hide his glee, “they have Present Mic ones!”

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

He laughed as he tore open the packaging and pulled it on, still overjoyed as he got back up onto the bed and aligned his hips with yours. He gave your clit a tentative stroke and you raised your hand up to get a good grip on Shouta’s dick from this new angle, jerking it gently even as Hizashi held onto your hips and slid his tip into you. You sighed at the feeling of being stretched, Hizashi slipping himself in and out a little deeper each time.

Both of you moaned the moment you took him to the hilt, as he gave one gentle thrust.

“Oooh, she feels so good, Shouta,” he said. “I’ll get her all nice and warmed up for you!”

Shouta didn’t answer, he was watching the three of you in the ceiling mirror and Hizashi reached for his shoulder.

“Sho,” he said, “earth to Sho.”

Shouta looked down at him, only to be dragged into a searing kiss, one that came with its own soundtrack of moans and flesh hitting flesh. Hizashi thrust his hips into yours with such force that it pushed you up the bed, leaving you little choice but to grip one of Shouta’s legs.

“Okay, little listener?” said Hizashi, breaking the kiss to peer down at you.

“Not going easy on me, are you?”

“What me? Never!”

He slammed his hips into yours and crushed his lips against Shouta’s, all while you moaned and held onto Shouta for dear life. Hizashi held one of your legs in place to secure you further, tangling the other in Shouta’s hair.

You wrapped your free hand around Shouta’s cock, jerking it roughly in time to Hizashi’s thrusts. You looked up, watching the pair of them kiss both above your head and on the ceiling.

Your insides grew tighter still; a spring inside of you ready to unwind.

You weren’t naive enough to believe Hizashi would let you come there and then. Sex was an artform to him and he had had enough time to plan.

“You feel so good, cupcake,” he said, breaking free of the kiss for a second, “Sho’s really missing out.”

He slowed down his thrusts to an agonisingly slow and deep pace that left you gasping into the sheets and digging your nails into the back of Shouta’s legs.

“...listen to that,” Hizashi murmured against Shouta’s lips, forcing him to listen to the wet sound of him fucking you, “it’s driving me crazy and I’m the one balls deep.”

He stopped for a moment and Shouta reached for his jaw.

“Don’t hold out on me, now,” he said. “Don’t start something you aren’t prepared to finish.”

Hizashi grinned at the command; you realised this was exactly the outcome he had been waiting for. He fucked you so hard and fast that you squealed in a mixture of surprise and delight. Shouta adjusted his weight, crossing his legs beneath him and guiding your head into his lap.

He stroked your lips as gently as if he had kissed them, reaching for the hand that had held his dick not so long ago and planting kisses on your knuckles.

“Harder,” he said, in a commanding tone completely at odds with the tender way he held your hand.

Hizashi was only too happy to comply, lifting your knees higher to get a better angle. You gripped Shouta’s hand and arched your back, trying to link your legs behind Hizashi’s back to hold him in place, only for him to tickle your feet in punishment.

Part of you couldn’t stand the growing tension between your thighs. You wanted to let go and lose yourself completely. The other, more rational part of you wanted to relish this moment, the combination of Hizashi’s rough and increasingly sloppy thrusts and Shouta’s soft touches.

“Deeper,” said Shouta at last and you screwed up your face as Hizashi obeyed, so close to shattering to pieces around his cock and yet so tortuously far. You spluttered in sheer desperation, holding Shouta so tightly that you feared you’d break the skin.

“Oh my g-don’t stop,” you pleaded, “like that, like that, like-“

You let out a whine, holding your body still as pleasure rushed through it. You bucked your hips into his as flutters of delight rushed through your core, enough to shake your legs though not enough to take over completely.

“Oh fuck,” you said as your walls clenched around Hizashi’s cock, a taste of what was to come and enough to send him over the edge.

He gave a strangled whine as his cock twitched deep inside of you, holding himself perfectly taut to ride out the wave. You knew the exact moment he finished, for the bones left his body and he flopped forwards, a goofy smile on his face.

“You tryin’ to kill me, Sho?” he murmured, head resting on Shouta’s chest and dick still buried deep inside of you. He pulled out with a sigh and rolled backwards, climbing up off the bed without any sort of grace. He reached for his beer as he pulled off the condom, making an impressed sort of noise as he held it out in front of him. “Look how much you made me cum!”

He threw a couple of fresh condoms onto the bed and Shouta picked up the closest one: a luxury branded one in simple silver packaging. He eased your head up from his lap and shifted positions, leaving you to watch as he put it on, body so close to release that it ached.

“Come here,” he said gently, helping you up onto your knees and holding his body against your back. “Just like that…”

“I’m so close,” you whined, “so close…”

“I know,” he whispered in your ear, “you’ve been very good and patient.”

You laughed at that, knowing for a fact that you’d been anything but.

Shouta reached down to take hold of your waist, holding his hand over the flat of your stomach and kissing the back of your neck. You arched your body into his every touch and ground your ass against him, relishing every time you brushed against his hard dick.

He guided you down onto your hands and knees, slipping a finger into you a couple of times before replacing it with his dick. You moaned in relief at not only being filled again, but in a different position. Every time Shouta pushed into you, he teased the sensitive spot inside of you that would turn you into a squealing mess; a spot that had gone thoroughly neglected until Akira dumped you.

Shouta went almost torturously slow and deep, gripping onto your hips to steady you. At first you gripped onto the bed sheets, before sliding one hand down to your clit. You wanted to cum so badly, but no Shouta wouldn’t go any faster no matter how much you moaned.

You never made contact with your clit, though. Hizashi got there before you.

“Let me,” he said, sitting down next to the bed and leaning over to reach his head between your thighs. You gasped at the combined sensations: Shouta’s deep thrusts and Hizashi’s masterful tongue.

“Oh my god,” you said, so overstimulated that you feared you’d explode. “Oh my god, don’t st-ahhh!”

For a moment, it was as if time stood still. You weren’t there; none of it was real. All you knew was pleasure, rippling from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, Hizashi’s tongue hot and sticky against your clit while Shouta groaned, your walls clenching around him almost unbearably tightly.

Your body shook, still twitching as both Aizawa and Hizashi eased you down onto your back.

“You okay, listener?” said Hizashi, stroking sweaty strands of hair from your face. “Are you with us?”

You blinked, staring blankly into their faces.

“I think,” you said, voice hoarse, “I think my soul left my body for a second there.”

Something cold touched your cheek and you realised Shouta was holding out a bottle of water from the minibar.

“Maybe we went too hard on you,” he said, sounding more than a little concerned.

“No,” you said, flapping a limp arm as you leaned over to sip the water. “That’s not what I meant! It left my body in a good way!”

“Hear that, Sho,” smirked Hizashi, “your dick is killer.”

“Speaking of which,” you said, “you didn’t finish.”

“You’re right,” gasped Hizashi. “Where are our manners?”

Both he and Shouta had flopped down on either side of you, cocooning you in warmth to negate how cold you had suddenly gotten. Hizashi shimmied over to the other side of the bed, leaving Shouta in the middle, all of his earlier fatigue forgotten.

“Now then,” he said, peeling the condom off Shouta’s dick, “let’s do something about this.”

At first you watched, body still heavy. Shouta rested his hand on Hizashi’s head as he trailed his tongue over the underside of his dick, looking Shouta dead in the eye as he lapped up all of his precum and took his dick into his mouth.

It was mesmerising; so different to when you were on the receiving end. You could make out every flutter of Shouta’s eyelashes; the way his body tensed whenever Hizashi hit a particularly sensitive spot or sucked that little bit harder. He looked so vulnerable there and then and you couldn’t look away.

Shouta opened his eyes and looked towards you, crushing his lips against yours before cupping your face in his hand. He pulled you further down his body, until you joined Hizashi at his waist. Hizashi leaned back to make room for you, holding the base of Shouta’s cock and guiding your lips down onto it, earning a sigh of relief.

“Like that,” said Hizashi, holding Shouta in place as you sucked at him. “Wow, you’re really good at this, check you out!”

“Maybe one day I’ll be as good as you!”

“Haha! Maybe! Now, (Name), I want you to do something real quick.”

“Oh?”

“I want you to sit tight and then, when I give you the nod, I want you to do this.”

He leaned over and wrapped his lips around the tip of Shouta’s cock, giving it a hard suck before letting go, making a loud popping noise as he let go. Shouta’s response was instantaneous; he hissed with pleasure and bucked his hips into Hizashi’s touches.

“Think you can handle that?” said Hizashi, bright eyed.

“I think so.”

He nodded and you sat up on your elbows to watch, eyes darting from Hizashi to Shouta as Hizashi began to jerk Shouta’s dick without a hint of mercy. Shouta ground his hips into the bed, arching his back just as you had and making deep, guttural noises you would never have guessed he was capable of. You could see how close he was getting, cheeks flushed and eyes darkened with need.

He gasped when Hizashi finally let go, though the torture wasn’t over. Hizashi gave you the nod you’d been waiting for and you wrapped your lips around the tip just as he had. You sucked hard, relishing the noises Shouta made almost as much as the pressure when he planted a hand on the top of your head in an attempt to hold you in place. You let go, knowing it would drive him insane.

You really were learning from the best.

Hizashi gripped Shouta’s cock and motioned for you to take the tip between your lips. He held on tight and jerked him hard, both sensations leaving him squirming into the bed.

“J-....F-...I…” he babbled, arching his back and reaching his free hand to grip the bed frame. “H-”

Hizashi tapped your chin, motioning for you to sit back. You obeyed and he jerked Shouta’s dick with even more force, only stopping as Shouta sighed in relief and cum seeped across his body.

You and Hizashi both watched him in contentment, taking in the ripple of his muscles as he gasped for air. You crawled back up to lay beside him, giving him a soft kiss to the cheek that he leaned into.

Hizashi crawled up to Shouta’s other side and flopped over onto his back, folding his arms behind his head.

All three of you stared at your reflections on the ceiling, drinking in the sight of your naked bodies and perhaps even thinking the same thing.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

‘What now?”

Art by the lovely @earthbender/ earthbender on tumblr / ArtemisRedd on AO3~

#erasermic x reader #poly!erasermic #aizawa shouta x reader #present mic x reader #hizashi yamada x reader #erasermic #habanero

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drariellevalentine · 3 years

Note

A prompt where mc is unconscious in Ethan's arms.

Oof. This one really broke my heart.

This Is Me Trying

Pairing:- Ethan Ramsey x Arielle Valentine

Warnings:- angst. Major heart wrenching angst.

Takes place during the events of OHSY’s Chapter 5.

Song inspiration:- Folklore by Taylor Swift (I was listening to it on repeat the whole time)

Arielle’s PoV:-

Just when you’re about to take a break, you get paged by Eth- Dr. Ramsey. With a sigh, you turn around and walk towards the diagnostics office.

You step inside the diagnostics office as the glass doors open with a hiss to see Dr. Ramsey pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yes?”

He looks up, anger and irritation clear in his face. “I thought you had at least a bit of maturity but I can see that I was wrong.” You stifle the urge to roll your eyes.

“What did I do?”, you ask trying to keep your voice as level as possible noticing that June and Baz are in the room.

As soon as he hears your words, he gets up and slams a stack of papers in front of you. You pick them up to see the name “Gwyneth Monroe” on the top. You wince slightly.

“I thought I had specifically told you that the diagnostics team does not seek patients and that they come to us! I come in and receive the news that Gwyneth Monroe had been approached by a ‘Dr. Valentine’. The same person I said no to as for reaching out.”

“Well excuse me for trying to keep this team afloat! I was only doing what’s best for the team! And besides, by doing this we’ll still be able to treat patients who can’t afford treatment!”

“That’s what you think! The board is thrilled about this and Naveen has told me that the board wants us to ‘move our focus towards high-profile patients’.” His eyes are filled with fury.

“Well I’m sorry but you can’t expect me to just stand there doing absolutely nothing while this team sinks to the bottom.”, you shrug.

“Guys, you should calm down for a moment. The patient’s probably waiting for us and we don’t want to keep them waiting.”, Baz says tentatively.

“Oh yes, from now on just like Dr. Valentine wanted we need to provide all our special patients with VIP treatment!” Your anger flares as he pokes accusations at you.

“I never said that! I’m sorry but the only way that we can still keep running this team just like Naveen wanted is by changing and adjusting a little!”

“And what do you know about Naveen’s vision? Just because you are his goddaughter doesn’t give you more authority then the rest of us, nor does it to make decisions without my approval.” Your mouth drops open as you gape at him. Baz’s eyes widen as June speaks up. “Ethan, that’s extremely low.” Ethan scoffs.

“Seriously?! I thought you knew how hard I worked for this position! Turns out you think that I got into this fellowship because of Naveen and not because of my own damn effort.”

“Stop twisting my words, Arielle.”, he says giving you a death stare.

“I never twisted your damn words.”, you clap back.

“Well, maybe you’re still not ready for a position like this. Seeming that you can’t follow a simple set of instructions.”

“How many times do I have to say it?! I was doing what we needed to do in order to keep our team afloat!!”

“And I told you not to do something which is exactly what you’ve done! I thought you had learned your lesson from last year, but clearly I’ve misjudged you.”

“Don’t you dare bring last year’s events into this! That has nothing to do with this!”, you shout.

“It has the utmost important and impact. Clearly representing your lack of being able to follow a set of instructions!”

“I can’t believe you!”

“We’ll get used to it then. If you pull one more stunt like this, I won’t hesitate to terminate your fellowship.” That sentence triggers something inside of you, a last straw.

“Well in that case, consider my whole damn job ’terminated’!” You slam your ID badge on his desk and rush out of that office as fast as your heels can take you, ignoring Baz and June’s shouts.

Ethan’s PoV:-

You slump back into your chair, and pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Ethan, I know you’re our boss and all that but what in the world did you do that for?! That poor girl just quit her job!” You turn to Baz.

“And she won’t be the only one if this conversation continues.”, you say. They both exit the room.

“Lord, one day she’ll be the death of me!” You decide to go to the ER to help with any patients. After attending to a few casualties, you go back to your office when you see Harper standing at the entrance, arms crossed. You raise your eyebrows.

“Was that Dr. Valentine I saw rushing out of here?”

“Yes.”

“What the hell were you thinking, Ethan?! You can’t just shout at her like that.”

“Well, I can if I need to.”

“Well maybe when she deserves it. You damn very well know that what she did didn’t make you angry. You’re angry that what she says is right, and worried that Naveen’s vision will be compromised.”

You sigh. “...maybe I was a bit too hard on her.”

“A bit?”, she looks at you incredulously.

“Fine! I was hard on her, so what?! It’s not like she’s actually going to resign her job, it was a hot-headed decision.”

“Oh really? Then what’s this?” She waves a minute stack of papers. You take it from her and read it. It’s a resignation letter, signed. Your eyes widen in disbelief.

“She came to me, with a resignation letter and said that she wanted me to sign these papers. She’s very clear-headed and informed me that it isn’t a rash decision, but one that she’s been mulling over for sometime. She’s gotten an offer to transfer her residency back to New York, offering her a part in researching preeclampsia treatments.”

“She wouldn’t…”, your mind says.

“Naveen’s signed them too.”

“What?!” You scan the papers and notice your mentor’s signature at the bottom. “Damn it… I should go talk to her.”

“You should, And do it now. She’s leaving in a few hours to New York. The young doctor’s got quite a few connections.”

“Just tell me where she is!”

She shrugs. “She’s handing over all her patients to other residents so she could be anywhere. Dr. Hirata, Dr. Delarosa and both Dr. Mirani’s have tried talking her out of it but she wouldn’t budge. So did her friends and Dr. Lahela. Naveen tried his best but couldn’t either.”

“Well why didn’t you?!”, you ask.

“You really thought I didn’t? She’s quite the woman, didn’t waver a second. And you know how intimidating I can be.”

“Well, of course she is.”, your mind reminds you as you rush out of the office.

Arielle’s PoV:-

You’re walking through the halls of Edenbrook, handing out your charts to everyone just like you did when you were suspended. Except this time, it’ll be the last. You try to ignore your friends’ voices as you hand out the last of your charts. You quickly change into a white cropped top and a pair of jeans and gather all your things from the locker, slowly loading everything into your locker. You would have asked your friends, but you don’t have the heart to face them.

You quickly check everything off, ignoring the multiple pages you receive from your friends and him. You turn off your pager and take off your white coat, Edenbrook’s logo etched on it and hand it over to Zaid.

“I thought I’d never say this but, I’m going to miss you Valentine.”

“You know what Zaid? Me too, after all who else is going to annoy me in the mornings!”

“God, I’m going to miss you so much!”, Ines wraps you up in a hug. “Have you told your friends anything?”

You shake your head. “I can’t right now. I might fly back and visit in a week or two Probably with lots of presents cause they’ll all hate me.”

She gives you a knowing look. “You know that he didn’t really mean it.”

“I know. But I can’t go on like this.” She nods. You wave one last time before you head out back to your car. You put on your sunglasses as you unlock your car. You’re about to start the engine when you realise your backpack’s still in the office.

“Crap!” You know you’ll have to get it yourself. You head back in, and take the back way to the elevator. Luckily, it’s empty. You get in and press the button for the 9th floor. The elevator slowly descends up, 3rd…...4th…...5th..”-

The elevator dings, it’s doors opening to reveal…

“Dr. Valentine.” You can see the relief in his eyes, his chest lightly heaving.

“He’s been looking for you.” The realisation dawns on you as he enters the elevator.

Suddenly, the elevator jerks slightly. You lightly stumble as there’s no bar to hold for support. You spot the bar near him and decide to stay as far as possible.

Suddenly he presses the emergency button, the elevator stops in its tracks.

“What did you do that for?!” He ignores you. You ask again.

“One argument. One argument and you quit.”

“It wasn’t one argument! You literally blamed everything on me when I was trying to help!”

“So you sign these?!” He waves your resignation papers in front of you.

“You can’t expect me to keep doing this!”

“Doing what?! I never asked you to do anything!” You take a deep breath.

“I can’t do this anymore. Seeing you every day, us acting like nothing more than colleagues, maybe friends. Acting like absolutely nothing happened between us, it hurts, Ethan. It hurts every day, every hour every minute of my damn life!.”, you blurt out. His eyes soften as he hears your words.

“Arielle, I know and I’ve told”-

“Screw my job, screw your damn ethics and morals, screw everything damn it! I’m head over heels in love with you, Ethan Jonah Ramsey, and you can’t expect me to keep quiet!” His eyes widen as he realise the extent of your words. Tears start to roll down your cheeks.

“Do you know how hard it was for me, when you left? I found out from one of the nurses, for God’s sake!”

“I couldn’t bring myself to tell you”-

“And when you came back, after two whole months you address us as something that was in the past, something that already was finished. Was it all that meant to you?”

“I- you know that’s not true”-

“I just can’t do it anymore, Ethan. I don’t know what you’ve heard but I’m leaving Boston in a few hours. I only came back for my bag, nothing else.”

“Wait, we can”-

“I can’t, Ethan, I can’t. I feel like I’m a rope in a game of tug-of-war. You acting hot then cold.You being there right beside me, but not being able to kiss you...I can’t stand it.” You can see his eyes slowly tearing up.

Not being able to look at him, you turn around and press the emergency button, the elevator descends up again. He slams the button again, the elevator stops in its tracks. “Well you can’t expect me to let you leave just like that!”

“I don’t. Which is why I’ve told everyone I’m going to New York.”, you respond as you punch the button again, the lift slowly going up.

“I don’t care where you go, Arielle Cerise Valentine. I will find you, even if it means travelling to the ends of the damn earth.”, he responds as he presses the button again, the lift halts to a stop. His sentence tugs right at your heartstrings, breaking your heart even more.

“Ethan, please don’t. I’m begging you, it hurts. Let me go, you have to let me go.”

“I can’t. How could I?”

“...then I’ll do it for you.” You press the button for the last time, the elevator finally arriving at the ninth floor. You slowly take a step towards the office.

Ethan pulls you back to his arms, his lips meeting yours in a heady kiss. You don’t have the strength to pull away, but you know you have to. You break the kiss as the elevator door starts to open.

“I’m sorry…”

Ethan’s PoV:-

You don’t know what to do, your heart beating irrationally. “Arielle, wait!” She doesn’t look back. In a last attempt, you press the button to close the doors. They close as you sigh in relief. She looks at you, this time really looks at you. Her beautiful violet irises meeting yours. You press the emergency button one last time, never taking your eyes off of her.

“You can’t leave me, I know I’m being selfish but please don’t.” She takes one last look at you, then turns away.

In crushing defeat, you take your hand off the button, the doors start to open as she slowly walks to them. You try to memorise every inch of her, who knows when he’ll see her again. She’s about to step out when suddenly the elevator jerks quite violently.

She’s thrown back into the right wall as your shoulder forcefully collides with another wall. You’re about to help her when a second later, the elevator drops. You hold on to the metal bar for dear life as the elevator rapidly descends down several feet.

Remembering you’re not alone in the midst of the chaos as you hear screams, you see Arielle’s petite body hit the top of the elevator and drop down with a terrifying thud. You watch in horror, cursing as you’re not able to do anything.

“No!!!”

The elevator finally stops after what seems like an eternity. We rush towards Arielle, trying not to focus on the bright blood stains on her white top and hair.

“Arielle? Arielle?! Can you hear me?! Please, wake up damn it!”

Her eyelashes lightly flutter. You quickly take her in your arms.

“Mmm… i-it hu-hurts E-Ethan.” Your eyes well up once again as she struggles to speak, pain completely unbearable, for you mentally and for her physically.

“Shhhh….I know. Can you tell me where it hurts?” She tries to speak but winces in pain.

“Okay, I’m going to examine you slowly and I want you to blink once if it hurts.” She nods very slowly. Suddenly, you hear a tune. You realise it’s your phone.

“Just one second, Rookie. It’s probably Naveen or Harper.” You slowly prop her up against the wall and answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Oh thank god, Ethan! We were so worried. How many people are inside? Is anyone hurt?”, Harper asks.

“No, it was just me and Ari”- You’re interrupted by a soft thud. You whip around to see Arielle lying unconscious on the floor. You drop to your knees.

“Rookie!”

“Ethan?! What happened?!” You can hear Harper yelling but you ignore it, all your attention on her.

“Rookie! Arielle, wake up!!”

This time her eyes stayed shut.

************************************************

Author’s Note:- Okay, first of all I commend you if there isn’t even a single tear rolling across your face. I know I cried while writing this which is why if you see any mistakes, ignore them cause this wasn’t even edited once. But on a bit of a more of a happier note, I’m writing/brainstorming a part 2 to this so...

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

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thebrownssociety · 3 years

Note

i noticed that in a past post you had mentioned daffy was in the front lines of world war 2. how was that like? how did toons particularly handle war?

Not particularly well. Toons are not designed for war, they're designed to make people laugh. Added to that that most of the toons were very young [under 15] when they were sent to the front and the story gets sadder.

Warnings: Mention of War and descriptions of PTSD [I have done research, but this is Toon version, so it's not going to tally exactly with humans]

Disclaimer - this is a headcanon. I have mentioned the companies here and Walt Disney [briefly] stating the obvious, it's all made-up.

All of the companies involved did there best to help/protect the toons as best they could. None of the female or children toons were allowed to go and there was a limit on how old the 'adult' toons had to be before they could go. That ended up being 5. The companies wanted 10, the Military wanted three, five was a compromise - although the companies had to fight hard to get that. In the end it boiled down to 'Either five, or they don't go at all'. The companies also re-negotiated the initial year the toons would be away down to 6 consecutive months. The companies wanted three months, so it was another compromise.

Stating the obvious, none of the toons enjoyed it much. Even the ones who thought they would thrive [Like Donald, Yosamite Sam and other 'tough' toons] found it difficult. Not to say they don't remember some bits of it fondly, mainly the comradeship they found, but for the most part it was hell on earth. After the first lot of Toons who's gone in the first month [about 30, mainly background toons, Prince Florian and Sylvester] came back from the front they looked so pale and ghostlike [visually, a shell of there former selves] that none of the others wanted to go and the companies tried to pull them out of it. [This being near the end of 1943] But they weren't allowed to, so the toons had to go.

The time the toons were fighting was 'only' Jan 1943 - end of war, Sep 1945, and the toons were only there for 6 months, but it was a long, terrifying 6 months.

The weird thing was that after the first initial couple of months while there coulor came back and they looked more life-like again, they seemed okay. Really! They could still act - and act well - they joked with each other in a normal manner and they talked to people. Sure, there were a few of them showing more difficulties adjusting - like Daffy who was acting paranoid and was constantly on the edge and Donald who's already-existing anger issues went through the roof, not to mention Elmer who was mute for a few months after coming back and Pete [Disney] who locked himself away and wouldn't come out, not to mention the at least 30 of background toons who were all showing extreme level of difficultly, but, hey, that was only a couple of toons, right? In the grand scheme of things. The rest of them were fine.

They were not fine.

It took a good couple of years [between 5-10] But eventually the cracks started showing. The Toons who had fought in the war started reacting weirdly to loud noise. Jumping onto the ceiling and refusing to come down, hiding under things and in things [like jugs and cups and cracks in the wall] whenever they thought they were under attack. They were having frequent, intense nightmares and a lot of the toon were displaying mental health issues like paranoia and splitting themselves in two [literally. It depended on the toon as to what exactly the personalities looked like, but as a general guide they'd be one 'young' one from around the time they were first created and another one that was closer to there normal age, but looked and acted completely different. Doctor Scratchesniff theorised it's what the toons worse fears about themselves are, visualised and brought to life.]

The toons were also having flashbacks to the war, which is bad enough on its own, but because they're toons the flashbacks literally engulfed them and whoever was near, drawing them into a world that they hadn't been in for about five-ten years. This, as you can probably imagine, was quite a major problem so the three major studios - Disney, Warner Bros's and Hanna-Barbera - put there heads together and came up with a solution, and that solution came in the form of Doctor Scratchensniff. [I do have a separate headcanon on him, covered in my 'Mental-Health' headcanon] The idea was that D.S. would work across all three studios and have enhanced toon powers.

While it's well known that a lot of Toons have been affected by the war, I'll go through a few of the toons that [I headcanon] have had the most noticeable difficulties after the war.

Daffy - He now goes back and forth between his 40's characterisation [screwball, Clampett version] and his greedy-jerkass characterisation in later years. The way it works is he will be the 'sensible' persona of the Greedy Daffy for most of the year [who, for all his faults, does care about his friends/family and can take care of Plucky easily], then he will suddenly switch back to his 40's persona. [Who, although he does still care for his friends/family, he can't express it as well and he has NO IDEA who Plucky is.]

After a bit of help and counselling from D.S. he has identified his major triggers [and Daffy has informed the rest of the LT's so they're aware of them]. For example, flying a plane will instantly put him back in the 40's mindset. For a time it was flying in general that put him in the mindset [which was fun when the LT's went to Australia] but now Daffy's okay with it and can manage small journeys easily. Longer journeys he struggled with, but he simply doesn't go on long plane journeys.

He also doesn't like Toons taller than himself getting in his face, [much taller, I mean. Bugs is alright.] He'll go into 'Fight' mode and try to attack them. Non-expected loud sounds like a car backfiring or fireworks can also remind him of war. Daffy's reaction when he hears something that he's not sure of what it is, it to try and find it and attack it. Either that or he would teleport away to a small space [like a jug, under a staircase or a crack in the wall] and not come out until Avery/Elmer/Porky calmed him down. [Bugs does try, but Daffy tends to get more wound up whenever Bugs tries anything, so the rabbit had to stop.]

Donald - I'm not going to spend long on Donald, mainly because his issues have [I'm fairly certain] been touched on in canon? His triggers are a lot like Daffy's except that Donald is MUCH more likely to try and attack anything he thinks is a threat rather than run away from it. He has inadvertently hurt [both physically and mentally] people he cares about by doing this, but they understand the reason why. Doesn't necessary make it easier, but they understand.

The main difference between him and Daffy though is that Donald has always wanted help. Ever since he realised he was hurting the people he loved, he wanted help. He had time off from work, Scrooge stepped in and insisted Donald and the boys move in with him so he didn't have to worry about a roof over his head and getting food and stuff. [Unfortunately this genuine well-meant, kind act only added to Donald's general feeling of uselessness]

The good news was that not only did Donald have extended family support, but he was best friends with Mickey and Goofy. Mickey was able to lean in Walts ears and convince him to treat Donald more leniently than he might have other toons, he also did his best to help Donald come to terms with what had happened to him during the war. Goofy could - in theory - do a lot less than Mickey, but he WAS more available and completely willing to take the boys off him for a couple of hours/days/weeks if needed. Goofy can cook - and cook well - so he'd bring food over for Donald so that if [as happened often] he didn't feel like cooking he'd have something ready to heat up/put in the oven.

Elmer - Some of the toons when they were put in charge of there units got on quite well, in that they had men who were willing to listen to them, and treated them kindly. Elmer's troop wasn't like that. He was very young when he was sent there [8] and was still more like Egghead. A bit silly, a bit hyper and not as hard as he needed to be. He cried the first time he went into battle and had a lot of trouble trying to gain the respect of his men. This has had a knock-on effect in that he thought everyone around him hated him and didn't like him. Even when he went back to Toontown, he just thought all his friends/family were being nice to him because they had to, not because they genuinely liked him.

Over many years Elmer has come to accept this isn't true and has been in therapy with D.S. in order to discuss it further. On a different note the main immediately noticeable difference upon coming back from war [aside from the fact he was mute for about two months] was that he started sleepwalking. His sleep had never been great at the best of times, but the war gave him such bad nightmares that he hardly ever slept. When he did eventually get to sleep, he started sleepwalking. Elmer being Elmer somehow didn't notice this at first? He thought it was completely normal [?] to start the night in your bed and wake up in Toon-World Australia having somehow swam his way across the ocean and hacked his way through the Australian outbacks to the middle off Australia, while asleep. He then had to spend several days trying to get back to Looney-Tune Street. With this in mind, it was really only a matter of time until it was noticed by the others.

They do there best to look out for him, if one of the LT's see Elmer sleepwalking, they will follow him/go with him and try to look after him. It should be noted though that despite the fact Fudd is clearly asleep, he is somehow aware of his surroundings and should someone attack him he will fight back and, most times, win.

#Looney Tunes Ask #Looney Tunes #Donald Duck #Daffy Duck #Elmer Fudd #Yosemite Sam #Headcanons #Mickey Mouse #Goofy #Disney Headcanons #Looney Tunes Headcanons #PTSD #Scrooge McDuck

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ohnothewheatisonfire · 4 years

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ok J&H Fandom, let’s talk:

“Popular” blog @thatsmyhyde is a prominent creator in the J&H Fandom. But here’s where the problem shows up:

the content they make is concerning at least, and full of red flags at worst.

DISCLAIMER: This is all information I have gathered through their tumblr blog - I am not aware of what other things they may be posting on other social medias or their written work. ANOTHER DISCLAIMER: Please be polite, I am a minor, and am just creating this post to ward off / warn other minors from following this person. If you are an adult interacting with this post and blog, be mindful of your actions and be responsible

Trigger warnings for: discussions of homophobia, discussions of p//phillia, fat-shaming, fat-phobia (?), etc. Just be on general edge for this post, we’re talking about a lot of weird stuff

I will be linking their posts as I am not going to take screenshots of their art.

This is not a comprehensive list of all the things they’ve done - these are the ones I could think of and was able to adress. If you have anything additional you want to add to this post (such as concerning things they may do on other social media), feel free to reblog and add on the things you need to say, just please don’t be dumb.

Let’s start with the premise: Henry Jekyll creates an alter ego, Edward Hyde. They begin a relationship - an emotional and physical one. Their AU features Jekyde (A popular ship in the fandom, the name stands for Jekyll x Hyde), people have various views on this ship.

So far so fine, right? Here are the problems:

1. Their Henry Jekyll is an awful person. Now, let’s start by saying that of course you can have bad people in your works, those are, after-all: villains. The problem is,Henry Jekyll is a harmful walking gay sterotype, and an outlet for Biscuit’s obvious fat fetish. But their relationship isn’t just toxic it’s romanticised in how toxic it is.

a. The harmful stereotype - Their Henry Jekyll has a “thing” for younger men, even though he is in his middle-ages, and Hyde looks like a young child. (Age gap relationships are their own thing - they come with their own burdens, and this is not the post to discuss them. This topic will lead into the Edward Hyde section of this post.) But, it was a known homophobic scare-mongering tactic of straight parents to accuse everyone who is gay that they are ‘out to prey on your youths’. This is a stereotype that stigmatized the LGBT community, and still harmfully affects them to this day.

b. The fat fetish: Jekyll is frequently seen with cake (as seen here, here, and here) or being self-loathing, to the point of suicide. (click the link here to acess a list of suicide and other crisis hotlines! you matter to me!). Now, the self-loathing could be a symptom of depression or other mental illness, so I am not going to talk about it, as a person with mental illnesses. But the self-loathing in addition to him being fat is not good. Media is drowning in the “self-loathing fat person” and as someone who isn’t thin i’m tired of seeing this.

- The fetish aspect comes in him constantly being referred to “Chonky”, a term usually used for overweight/obese cats and being drawn obsessed with cake. It fetishises his weight and dehumanises him into something people call their animals. Also, here’s more of Jekyll eating food and being embarassed by it, though this time because it’s seen as “servant’s food”.

- Biscuit admits to liking them “Big and chunky” in posts like this.

[Photo id: A string of texts that says: tantok, frankenstein, twink lore, dorian slipped through the cracks and got himself sketched by yours truly the other day because he brought lord henry along, he and the slime didn’t have to fight to the death because they’ve both got their own chonky old toxic henries to focus on, but this blog still ain’t big enough for the two of ‘em. end id]

- They also talk about how they ‘prefer’ to draw fat (chonky) people. Image attatched above. the thing that should be noticed is that they say ‘chonky old toxic henries’ . they, once again, are making fat people a fetish.

[Photo id: Anonymous asks: are you gonna make a victor design tho biscuit responds: Oh, man, anon, I hate to disappoint but.....probably not. Aside from my non-humanoids and hellspwans (slime gremlins, corpse creatures, and etcetera), I’m extremely uninterested in drawing young thin men. I really need middle-aged chonk to hold my attention. If poor Victor Frankenstein had only been 40-something and round when he made his great creation, then he’d definitely get a design from yours truly. As it is though, he’s not holding my attention enough to want to. end id]

Biscuit once again talks about how he doesn’t want to draw ‘thin men’, because he is only interested in older ‘round’ people. He, is, once again, bringing to light his fetish for fat people.

2. Edward Hyde is basically a child - Edward Hyde is drawn in boy’s school clothes, is taken in and raised like a child after Jekyll’s death, and is constantly cooed over by the creator, even earning a nickname of ‘slime’ from them. In addition, he also has ‘family photos’ taken with Utterson, has his toenails kept, is the height of a child, and teeths. This, paired with the fact that he is in a toxic, abusive, relationship with a man in his middle ages is concerning and should not be romanticised.

[Photo id: the text reads: In his first year of existence, Hyde lost teeth and regrew them in a mildly similar fashion to a kid losing baby teeth - except it wasn’t all of his teeth (Just the canines and some random molars) and they weren’t replaced with a larger set, just with teeth exactly the same as the ones that had been lost. No one knows what was up with this. the teeth are still in Jekyll’s study in a little jar. end id]

a. Hyde is treated like a child after Jekyll’s death. Hyde teething is concerning because that’s something infants do. He also clings to utterson like a child. The idea that he gets taken in by Utterson, whisked away to an estate out in the country, despite both of them having romantic feelings for Jekyll is. how do I put this: WEIRD. (seriously, imagine your father/father-figure dating ur significant other / having a crush on them before you two got together and after).

b. Hyde dresses like a child, whilst being sexually active and wearing lingerie. Now, on their own, these traits aren’t a problem - but together? They are very much a problem.

- Hyde dressing as a child is concerning because he is also treated like a child at certain points in their “lore”. After Jekyll’s death, Hyde becomes a singular entity, and is taken away by Utterson. To care for, like a child. This post sums it up well: he wears both children’s clothes and lingerie.

- Hyde has a very strange appearance - if you compare it to his early design (which was less cartoony and looked more like a man in his twenties), Hyde’s current design is concerning. Why does he have the height of a child? Why does he have eyes that take up a grand part of his face? Now, one could argue that ‘he is not human’ - but if he is treated like a human, whilst wearing children’s/youthful clothes, teeths, and his general enchanment with the world - he appears as human (and looks eerily similar to a child), which is why him being sexually active, wearing lingerie, and being friendly with prostitutes (one that gave him underwear and other articles of clothing) is concerning.

- That said, Utterson is directly talked about being ‘adopted into gremlin fatherhood’ (paraphrasing).

[Photo id: the text reads: 59. Jekyll is irresitibly attracted to everything about Hyde, but if he could somehow be forced to list hte most attractive physical attributes of Edward Hyde in his opinion, aside from Hyde’s youthful appearance in general it would be his eyes, his overbite (Jekyll perceived the way Hyde’s-) the screenshot cuts of the rest of the paragraph. end id]

- Jekyll has a ‘thing’ for younger men. This is to the point that the most attractive part about Hyde is that he is young. (or looks like it), Hyde looking very young is concerning because that would make their verison of Doctor Jekyll a p*dophille . This is something the artist has either not recognized, realised, or simply does not acknowledge.

3. The toxic relationship (and how it’s romanticised) - The relationship in this ‘AU’ is: love comes first, toxic nature comes second. If you scroll through the blog you may see some reference of ‘Henry Jekyll is such a toxic person teehee’ and a lot of them kissing, being together, smiling, or enjoying life. Now, obviously, an artist - if they do not want to - should not draw characters being toxic to each other. But it is concerning when the above points come into a factor, that the toxic nature of their relationship comes second to the highs of their relationship, at least on their blog.

Here is one of the only examples I’ve seen of Biscuit talk about the relationship in a detailed negative light.

4. The fandom - Whilst Biscuit says it’s ok for minors to interact with his blog (in that blog he says that he tags nsfw - which is true.) he does not regularly mention that his jekyde is toxic - not in a concerete way. He romanticises it (despite acknowledging it’s flaws), and the only way it may or may not be (i would not know) acknowledged is his fic: which is mature and not meant for minors. He does not tag his posts with regular triggers for things like: alcohol, drugs, mental illnesses, or abuse (any variants). They’re not even in his blog’s description! If Biscuit had acknowledged it in his blog, something along the lines of: “Hey! This blog has <content warnings> be warned when interacting! But no, he does not.

- A lot of the people who draw things, or generally interact with Biscuit are minors. Being exposed to such a thing may be harmful to my peers, and I am worried. To minors who are fans of Biscuit: if you’ve made it this far, thank you, I know you’re mature and responsible, but being exposed to content creators like Biscuit could lead you down a dangerous path of having this kind of thing normalised to you. Be careful with the content you consume, please! And thank you for making it this far, I’m sure you’re a lovely person :)!

Thank you for taking the time to read this! Stay safe, tell the people you love that you love them.

#J&H #jekyll and hyde #henry jekyll #edward hyde #i spent months thinking whether or not to write this #but #i'm worried about fellow minors on this website seeing this user's blog #and not thinking critically about this #so i snapped and made this #long post #like r e a l l y long post #i am so tired.#brb to answer the hate lmao i need to throw up #forgive me if by the end of this post i sound exhausted : i am #i spent this evening writing this post #goth lit fandom grow up challenge #aus do not remove the context of the original #listen to the minorities if they call you out #fiction REALLY AFFECTS REALITY

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 years

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BTS Reaction || Losing Weight [TW]

A/N: Before this started please remember that you are all beautiful in every way possible. Everyone comes in different shapes and sizes and you should love yourself for you!! In the wise wise words of Rupaul, Love yourself first cause if you can’t love yourself how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else! THAT BEING SAID! I love you all!!! Again no one will be tagged because I don’t want to upset anyone.

WARNINGS: Mentions of bad weight lost habits, diet pills, negative thoughts about S/O and mentions of ED please don’t read if you are triggered by any of those things

Seokjin:

Jin hadn't noticed until it was too late until you were pale and were getting sick far too often for anything to be a coincidence anymore. You were starting to get tired quicker from the smallest of things, running up the stairs resulted in you holding your knees and trying to catch your breath, a common cold was currently making you feel as though you needed to be hospitalised because your body wasn't fighting the bug off. It didn't have the energy to do so and your immune system wasn't healthy enough.

"Baby, we should take you to the doctor." He whispered as he sat beside you on the bed, he took off the wet cloth he'd applied two hours ago and replaced it with a cold wet one to try and keep your temperature down.

"I'm fine Jin, it's just a bug." He stared at you as you tried to sit up in the bed but failed to do so,

"A bug that took me three days to kick-off, you've been this way for a week." You rolled your eyes at him and shivered, he wrapped the duvet around you and shook his head at you.

"You have to see someone," You looked up at him and you could tell he was really worried but it was just your new diet plan...Or at least that's what you kept telling yourself. It was the new fasting diet plan you were trying out but no one had told you that since you weren't used to it your body would react poorly.

"You're not eating enough." He commented as he looked at the plate of half-eaten food beside the bed.

"It's not my eating time, I can't-"

"I don't want to hear that anymore, if you want to go on a diet we will go on a better and healthier one together but for now I want you to eat and get better." He didn't snap at you but you knew he meant what he was saying, he was red in the face kind of like he was whenever he yelled at one of the younger members when they did something bad or something he didn't like.

"Jin-"

"Please, it's killing me to see you like this. You're perfect in every way to me." You stared at him as he went on to list everything he loved about you,

"Your personality made me fall for you but then you, your positivity it made me fall harder. I thought you loved the skin you were in?" You looked down at your hands, you were losing the weight faster than you intended and you were only looking to tone your body.

"I do I just- I wanted to tone up and look good for you." He groaned laying his head on your shoulder and then pulling your hand to his lips, leaving a small kiss on the top of it.

"You always look good for me, you could walk into my room in a bin bag and messy hair and you would look good." You stared at him from the corner of your eye and then looked at yourself in the mirror beside the bed. He was right, you knew he was right he was Jin he was always right.

"I'm sorry, I promise I'll come off the stupid diet and eat properly," He nodded and looked up at you,

"We can start joining Jungkookie in the gym if you want." You nodded as you yawned out and closed your eyes feeling tired thanks to the painkillers the doctor had put you on for the cold.

Yoongi:

"Painkillers?" Yoongi asked when he woke up the next morning with a hangover from the night before. You'd all gone out drinking to celebrate his D-2 release and it ended up turning into an afterparty back at your apartment where you both promptly passed out in your shared apartment bed.

"Top shelf of the bathroom cabinet." You mumbled into the pillow not having the energy to go and get them for him, you felt the bed shift and then you heard the door so you knew he'd gone for himself.

"Can you get me some too?" You called out as you sat up in the bed, you stared at the mattress in front of you holding your head and trying not to fall over. The room still felt as though it was spinning and you were going to vomit at any moment.

"Sure, which bottle-" He cut himself off when he poured the contents of what said painkillers into his hand, but inside were little red pills. He knew them anywhere, he'd seen other idols taking them before.

"What did you say?" You looked up to see him standing in the doorway between the bathroom and bedroom holding a handful of the pills in front of you. You gulped and he waited for an explanation from you,

"They're just to help me lose some weight." He stared at you waiting for you to continue but you didn't,

"How long have you been taking them?" He asked taking the ones in his hand and the ones in the bottle and dumping them into the bin.

"Yoongi!" You yelled out but he wasn't bothered he stared at you,

"Well?"

"Four weeks," He stared at you and then at the bin,

"Why?"

"I just wanted to lose a little weight," He looked you up and down and he noticed how different you looked. You were losing weight but it wasn't a healthy way to do it,

"Why the pills?" You felt like you were under interrogation so you laid back down on the bed and closed your eyes wanting him to drop the subject but he wasn't going to. The bed shifted as he got in next to you, he rolled you over so your head was laying on his thigh and he rubbed your shoulder blades.

"Do you understand why I'm being like this, do you know how dangerous they can be?! You could have been hurt and I wouldn't even know what to tell the doctor because I didn't know you were-" He stopped talking once he saw you staring up at him, you weren't in the mood for the rant he was about to do and you just wanted to sleep away the hangover.

"There are healthier ways of losing weight." He whispered and you nodded in agreement with him, you knew there were better and healthier ways then what you were doing but nothing worked quite as much as they did.

"They stop me snacking." He glared at you as you tried to defend your actions,

"They also can raise your blood pressure to high levels. You knew he was doing this for your own good but you still hated how right he was about it all, he laid down with you and kissed your forehead.

"We'll start working out together if you want to lose weight, you can come with me to the gym."

"You hate me watching you work out."

"I'll make an exception." He whispered to you but you nodded in agreement with him, working out with Yoongi did seem like a good idea.

Hoseok:

It wasn't Hoseok that had noticed what was happening with you at first, it was Army. Your relationship with Hobi had been out in the open for the last year and they adored you, you would keep them updated on anything and everything you were allowed to. Always checking with Hoseok first though in case you weren't supposed to tell them something like the time you almost leaked Hope World to everyone who followed you. Army was starting to worry about you though, with every new picture you posted to Instagram you were starting to look skinner and you had stated you were trying to lose weight but this seemed too fast to everyone that was following you so they started to call you out on it. You ignored the comments but Hoseok who had a private account saw the comments and started to notice himself that you were losing too much too fast.

"Hey baby, did you enjoy lunch?" He asked one day when he came in from work, you rolled up the yoga mat you'd been using to work out on and nodded.

"It was lovely, thank you Hobi." He stared at the back of your head, you were lying and he only knew that because he hadn't made you lunch that day to try and trip you up on it.

"It's funny though, well not funny but weird..." You turned to look at him with a frown, he dropped his bag onto the floor and watched as you put your work out things away.

"I didn't make you lunch today." You felt your stomach sink as you realised he was catching on to what you were doing,

"I just skip lunch Hobi, that's all." He hummed and followed you into the kitchen,

"Did you have breakfast?" You stared at him from across the kitchen and he knew then that you didn't, you were never good at lying and especially to your boyfriend Hoseok.

"Why?" You looked down at the floor trying not to cry over something like this, it was something you dealt with a lot and so did other people but it didn't make the subject easy to talk about.

"I don't like the way I look Hobi..." He walked over to you and wrapped his arms around you, he knew there was nothing he could say in this situation to make you feel better so he did the best he could to help you.

"Losing weight this way is harmful, I know you've probably heard it all before but this is a bad way of doing it...Let me help you if you want to change." You nodded along with him and he kissed the top of your head,

"But you have to eat so your body has the nutrients it needs to help you lose weight." The rest of the night you came up with a diet plan together, something that you would feel comfortable with and then you wrote a workout plan, planning to go with him to dance practise twice a week to have a little extra workout together.

Namjoon:

The moment it became clear to Namjoon what you were doing he wanted to help you but he knew a direct approach wasn't going to work with you, you'd never been good with people coming right at you with information, you had to be shown that what was happening wasn't good. So he started by skipping meals with you just until you would notice he wasn't eating like he had with you, he stopped having breakfast like you, then lunch and that's when you picked up on it, he was sitting up in his studio at home working and you found the food you'd made him was still sitting in the fridge and he hadn't touched any of it,

"Was your food not okay?" You questioned coming into his home studio, he looked up to see the food you'd made him still in the small lunch box and he shrugged his shoulders.

"I wasn't hungry." You walked back out of the room without questioning him again and he felt bad already for doing this to you. He felt awful for not eating your food but he knew he had to make you realise this wasn't a good way to lose weight and this was the only way to get it through to you.

(X)

"You're not hungry again? Shall I call a doctor, you look pale." You panicked rushing over to Namjoon later that night, you'd offered to cook him something to eat claiming that you'd already eaten but it wasn't true and Namjoon knew that and he was upset that you'd lied to him about it.

"No, baby...Don't you see what I'm doing?" You shook your head and he groaned at you, he took your hands in his and sat you down on the chair that was in front of him.

"I know you've been skipping meals and I want to know why." You stared up at him, his eyes were tearing up and you knew he was upset over the fact that you'd been doing this to yourself,

"I was just trying to lose weight."

"Why not go onto a diet? Or work out more, you don't have to skip meals, it doesn't work." You looked at the floor, he was right and you knew that. You'd done all the research you could on losing weight and you knew what worked and what didn't but this was working for a short time,

"It'll work now but once you start eating normally again your body will retain everything and you'll build the weight back up," He'd been doing his research, he wanted to be able to talk to you about this properly he didn't want to come charging at you without any information to help you with.

"I know-"

"So why are you doing it?" You didn't have a real answer for him, you knew what you were doing wasn't going to work but it was working then and there and you wanted results fast.

"Your weight will bounce up and down while you do this...But I promise you if you want to lose weight we can do it together in a healthier way, we'll start going out on more walks? We'll-" You cut him off by kissing him on the cheek and he stared at you,

"Thanks, Namjoon, I promise I'll start looking after myself." And you meant it, you were going to take his advice and look after yourself.

Jimin:

Jimin was overjoyed when you told him you wanted to start dancing with him and it was fun at first but as time went on he began to notice something odd about you. You looked paler than usual and with every dance routine it was taking you longer and longer to recover and move onto the next one, you were out of breath and practically dying on the floor for air.

"We should take a break." He said one day looking at you panting against the mirror but you threw your hair back into a ponytail and that's when he noticed the bruises. There were small purple bruises lining your wrists and hips.

"What the fuck?!" He called out a little louder than he probably should have because Hoseok looked up from his phone on the other side of the room, you stared at him from the mirror and then noticed what he was staring at.

"You and Jimin going a little too hard at night?" Hoseok joked getting up to leave the room, he left and Jimin rushed to your side examining the bruises but they weren't from him or from the bedroom.

"I bruise easy." Which wasn't a lie, since starting the new diet you were on you had started to bruise easier than normal so he stared at you.

"What do you mean? You used to bang your legs and never have a bruise." You looked at your skin and ran your fingers along the bruises.

"I cut meat out of my diet, I'm probably just not used to it, I'll get some supplements and multivitamins." He stared at you as you went back to the stereo ready to start the next dance but he turned off the music the moment you started it and you frowned.

"Jimin what's the-" You stopped when he lifted the corners of your shirt up to reveal your stomach to him,

"What are you doing?" He sat down on the floor and pulled you into his chest, he felt awful and that he was the worst boyfriend in the world for not noticing until that point.

"What did you have for breakfast?" He asked rubbing your head,

"Nothing, I never eat breakfast." He nodded in agreement, he knew that. You hadn't eaten breakfast in the three years you'd been together so that was nothing new to him.

"What did you have fun lunch?" You pushed him away from you and stared at him,

"You were with me, what is this about?" He stared at you as he tried to remember what you'd had that day at lunch but he couldn't remember anything.

"You had coffee? A black coffee? That was your lunch?" You stared at the floor as he began to catch on to what was happening and then he forced your head up to look at him in the eyes.

"You are perfect-"

"Jimin stop," You said trying to push his hands off you but he held them steady on your head and kept your eyes trained on him.

"Listen to me, you're perfect okay? You don't need to start skipping meals or working out harder." You looked at him and he sighed he knew that you weren't going to listen to him but he wanted to be able to let you know how he felt about this.

"If you really want to lose weight, which you don't need to, I'll come up with a diet plan for us, we can do it together." You shook your head at his suggestion,

"Jimin you're hot, look at you! Your body! You're just- You're everything and I just- I want to look good enough for you." He blinked at you and then shook his head.

"You're good enough for me, fuck that, you're more than good enough for me." You began tearing up and he pulled you into his arms,

"Just promise me you'll start eating again and taking breaks, please." You promised to go back to meals and he continued to hold you on the floor while you talked about everything.

Taehyung:

You were standing in front of the mirror measuring your body and jotting them down into a notebook when Taehyung came home, you hadn't heard him come in and so he watched through the gap in the door and everything started to make sense to him. You'd stopped having breakfast and for lunch, you were having shakes that he didn't think were good for you but you continued to have anyway because they helped you. The more he thought about it the more he couldn't remember the last time you had a real meal, he snuck back down the stairs and slammed the front door.

"I'm home! Making dinner!" He yelled going straight into the kitchen and started getting things ready, you came bouncing down the staircase to him and hugged him from behind.

"I'm not hungry baby, but why don't you go and have a shower and I'll cook you something." He shook his head insisting that he would cook for the night and he wanted you to have a nice long bubble bath.

While you were in the bath and the food was cooking he snuck up to your shared bedroom to find the notebook you'd been writing in, he found it stuffed between three different books on your nightstand and he flicked through. Finding photos of you and then measurements beside it he heard the bathroom door unlock so he raced down the stairs with the notebook in his hands.

(X)

Halfway through the meal he watched you, he wanted to make sure you were at least eating something but he noticed you'd only eaten the vegetables,

"I found a book I like." He started and you looked up at him,

"What book?" He walked over to where he'd hidden your notebook and placed it in front of you tapping his fingers on the front, your eyes widened as soon as you saw the writing on the front and you swallowed hard looking back up to his face which was full of concern.

"I just want to know why." You looked back at the notebook and then back to Taehyung trying to think of something to tell him to make the situation lighter but there was nothing, you were trying to lose weight and you weren't doing in the best way.

"I wanted to-"

"I know what you wanted to do but I just want to know why this way, why not a different and healthier way?" You felt bad for the way that Taehyung was looking at you and you knew you'd hurt his feelings by doing something that could have been dangerous to you. All he wanted to do was protect you and he felt as though he was failing now, you looked at the photos in the book and then back up to Tae.

"There are better ways," He promised you taking the book and putting it into the kitchen bin beside him, you knew he was telling the truth and that there were going to be better ways to keep the weight off and still be healthier and he was going to sit and come up with a plan for you. After telling you how beautiful you were and how much he loved you and how you looked and that you only have to change if you wanted to.

Jungkook:

Everyone knew how much of a work out freak that Jungkook was, he was always at the gym and when he wasn't he was doing at home workouts and that's how it started, you started feeling insecure because of how fit your boyfriend was and you decided that you wanted to be fit with him. Jungkook hadn't noticed at first that you were losing weight dramatically, he saw you working out with him and going to the gym more but Namjoon had noticed for him and mentioned it to the maknae that it could be dangerous for you. Since then Jungkook had been keeping an eye on you, what you ate when you worked out and what you did between, he wanted to make sure you were staying healthy. You were standing in the gym together and while someone was spotting him you went onto the treadmill to go for a run, you knew how long Jungkook was on the weights because he focussed on building his body while you focused more and losing what you already had.

"Be careful," Jungkook called out to you, he'd noticed you'd skipped lunch that day and he wasn't too sure about you coming with him to the gym but he couldn't say no without making it look like he was suspecting you, he wanted to be sure that you were doing what he thought you were doing even though it was worrying him so much.

"I always am." You yelled back cranking up the speed and turning from a jog to a sprint within a couple of seconds. Jungkook kept an eye on you and noticed that you were starting to look pale and your body was swaying a little,

"I'm done." He put down the weight and rushed to your side just in time as you slipped on the belt and fell backwards off the treadmill, the machine shut down and you sat up from the floor. Jungkook cradled you in his arms and you tried to stand up,

"I'll go again." Jungkook pushed you back down into his arms and sighed at you, Namjoon was right you were going too far with it and it was starting to worry him.

"We'll go home." He helped you walk into the changing room to get you some water and to get changed,

"Kookie I'm fine I just-"

"You're not fine!" He snapped as you were alone in the changing rooms, you stared up at him he'd never been this angry with you before and it was unsettling to you.

"I've been worried sick and so has Namjoon, he noticed you were skipping meals and how much weight you were losing...Y/n, don't you see what just happened?" You looked down at the floor, you'd hoped no one had noticed that you'd skipped meals or started working out harder than you should have but someone had.

"Kookie-"

"Don't, okay? I thought that maybe Namjoon was seeing things but you just nearly passed out Y/n, don't you see how bad this is now?" You looked at him and nodded, of course you saw how bad it was.

"But I was doing well, I was losing weight." He sighed at you and took your hands into his,

"You'll only put it back on the moment you start eating again, you have to eat regularly and work out, that way your body will have the right things to burn while you're working out and you'll stay healthy...Won't pass out like you almost did in there." You nodded in agreement with him and he sighed pulling you into his arms trying to come up with some kind of diet plan for you both so you would stay healthy with him and still feel good about yourself.

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daaedoodles · 3 years

Text

Building walls (just to tear them down) | 1, Blood Sugar

A/N, TRIGGER WARNING for brief mentions and implied self harm, eating disorders, abandonment issues and emotional neglect.

One minute she’s standing in front of a patient with Dr Halstead, and the next, the world feels like it's spinning at a hundred miles an hour.

Then it all goes black.

Next thing Sarah knows, she’s coming back to consciousness, lying down with the strangely stiff sheets of the hospital bed beneath her fingertips. She winces, screwing her eyes shut, the damned white overhead lights far too bright. Reese raises a hand to pinch the top of her nose bridge as what just happened sets in.

You have got to be kidding me.

Her eyes flutter open and leaning over into her vision is Halstead, in all of his golden hair and scruffy glory. He narrows his eyes, furrowing his brows as he stares.

“Reese? You okay?”

Letting out a baited breath, her eyes flicker open, blinking in response to the sudden change in brightness. “What happened?”

“You-” Will pauses, stepping back as he grabs the blood pressure machine cuff, pressing the velcro closed around Reese’s upper arm. “Passed out.”

Sarah Reese lets out a sigh, rubbing her temple as she feels the cuff around her arm slowly begin to squeeze at her flesh, then release. Then she feels her pulse in her upper arm, beating like a drum against her skin. The sensation clouds her mind, the steady rhythm of her heart reminding her that she’s still alive- And that she passed out, again. Except this time, people saw her- and when people know they always get worried.

You should’ve been more careful.

“121 over 86, you’re all good.” Dr Halstead announces, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Mind taking off the cuff?” He gestures to the blood pressure machine as he walks purposefully to the end of the bed, hastily snatching up a clipboard with what she presumes are her files. Sarah reaches up, tearing the velcro straight off of the cuff and sliding it off of her arm roughly.

“I’m so embarrassed.” She grumbles as she places the cuff on the table atop the machine, reaching up then to touch her head briefly.

Will glances up from the papers to look at her, “Don’t be, you fainted.” His eyes return to the clipboard as he flips a page, scanning its contents before flipping once again.

“Yeah, right on top of that poor gymnastics teacher.” She turns to him, a sense of urgency and frustration in her voice before it softens, “Did he say anything?”

He tries to conceal the mischievous smirk playing at his lips as he brings the clipboard down, looking directly at Sarah. “Only that he was very impressed with your dismount.”

She narrows her eyes at him, a slight tinge of both disgust and confusion on her face. Will breaks into a cheeky grin, causing Sarah to smile and shake her head at her co-worker's rather silly attitude.

“Reese, your EKG and BP are normal, so I think what we’re looking at-”

“Is a vasovagal syncope, right?”

He nods gently, “Probably. Just gotta figure out what the trigger is.”

Sarah glances at her shoes, pushing herself up with her hands to adjust herself into an upright position, releasing a breath as she speaks. “Okay.”

“You know, maybe blood sugar.”

She snaps her head up, folding one hand over the other in her lap as she notices he’s offering her a hand to get up. “Let’s get you some orange juice.”

“Yeah.” She says in response that was barely a whisper, taking his hand and sliding herself off the bed. For a brief moment, Dr Halstead’s brows knit together - the normally charming and chirpy student doctor’s usual bubbliness having crumbled away in a split second.

Sarah’s vision is still fuzzy, her grip on Will’s hand travelling up to his shoulder as he navigates her through the busy ED towards the break room. Her knees threaten to buckle and crumble beneath her weight as the world continues to spin, she feels like she could fall at any moment, but instead Sarah shuts her eyes tightly and keeps walking. By the time she realises it, they’ve made it to the door and Will is pushing it open and guiding a dizzy Sarah through. She lets go of him, coming to a stop infront behind a chair that’s seated at a round table. Struggling to plant her feet into the ground, she tries her best to steady herself, just hoping the dizziness would pass.

Dr Halstead wanders towards the fridge, his warped figure swaying in her vision as he swings the refrigerator door open, ducking behind it. He snatches up a small can and walks towards her slowly, the can making a soft pop noise as it’s cracked open.

“Well, I’m no Doctor Charles but is everything okay with you?” he asks, offering the can to Sarah with an outstretched hand.

She takes the drink from Will, wrapping a hand firmly around the circumference of the can, knuckles turning white under her grip. “Everything’s great.” Sarah offers with a strained smile.

Reese eyes the liquid inside the can, swaying the can slightly as she watches the orange juice slosh against the sides, leaving pulp clinging to the walls. There’s that faint voice in her head that’s always there, screaming at her, begging her not to drink it; telling her she doesn’t deserve it, that she’s not good enough to eat. But she brings the can to her lips and takes a small sip, sitting down on a lounge chair opposite Will, his eyes trained on her every move.

“The uh- Oh the tuba player living above me?” She begins, pausing to check for some sort of a recognition to show in Will’s face, to which he nods. “Finally moved out.” Reese smiles, wrapping her other hand over the one holding the can briefly before she raises it again, gesturing with it as she begins to speak. “And of course I just got my pathology match-”

He’s going to get concerned, just play it off. You just have to keep talking, Sarah.

“And- oh..” She reaches into her pocket, digging out a crimson box laid in velvet. It fits perfectly in her palm, flat enough for her to press her fingers over the top. Sarah flips open the box, turning it around to show its contents. “Joey gave me the bubonic plague.”

Will blinks at the box, raising his head to meet Sarah’s eyes. “Wow.” He nods, pausing as though unsure of what else to say. “He must really like you.” He offers, pursing his lips and grinning slightly.

She beams, cheeks turning slightly rosy as she presses her lips back together, a ghost of her grin still stuck on her face. “He does.” She turns the box to face her, bringing it towards her with a sigh as she looks down at it once more. The joyful expression on her face seconds ago having been ripped away entirely, being replaced with a hint of woe that puzzles her coworker.

“And he’s very excited about me going into pathology.” Sarah reaches out with her right hand, closing the box gently as she slides it into her pocket, pausing to consider her next words. “We’re both excited.” Sarah declares with a nod as if to try and convince herself.

He tilts his head, his brows furrowed ever so slightly.

Sarah doesn’t miss a beat, recognising the look on his face and rushing to pick off where she ended. “You know, Dr Halstead, I’m sure this was nothing.” She says, a smile that seems too forced to be genuine on her lips.

“Probably.” He responds, lifting an arm to prop up on the table between them. “But just to be safe, let’s order a CBC and we’ll take it from there, all right?”

She nods back, almost too dismissively. “Okay.” Sarah sucks at her teeth, biting down on her lips that are pressed between them as she brings the can of orange juice to her mouth, tilting it to take another tiny sip.

Sarah swallows audibly. “You should get back to work Dr Halstead.” She places the can on the table, drumming the pads of her fingertips against her knuckles, fingers interlocked around the can. She gulps, desperate to remove the residual sour, slightly bitter taste of orange juice that makes her want to gag. She glances up briefly and begins again.

“There’s actual patients out there you need to see. I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He nods, taking a sharp breath and letting out a sigh as he stands, pushing his chair backwards from beneath him. “Get some rest Reese, I’ll let Goodwin know you’re off rounds for today.”

Sarah swallows, her skin sinking and gripping at her collarbones as she feels her saliva slide down her throat. “Thanks.” She looks up at him, sharing fragmented moments of eye contact while she nods at him with a smile which doesn’t quite reach her hazel eyes.

Will reciprocates, flashing a grin back as he pushes his chair back under the table, its silicone feet squeaking against the vinyl. “No problem.” He takes a few steps towards the door, the rubber soles of his shoes shuffling against the floor. Dr Halstead reaches a hand out to the door handle, wrapping a hand around the round metal bar, cool against the warmth of his skin.

She can hear the sound of the handle being pushed down, the latch of the door clicking into place when it suddenly goes silent.

“Uh- Just take care of yourself, okay?”

The corners of her lips turn upwards, practiced and perfected. It’s a false promise she’s made far too many times over the years. The same sense of guilt she experiences all too often creeps up in her chest, heavy and sinking into the pit of her stomach as she sees genuine concern - or maybe even pity - in his dark eyes.

Compassion fills his eyes, as if even though she didn’t say a word, the conflict in Sarah’s actions were more than clear to him.

“Can't have you passing out on any more patients.” Dr Halstead adds lightheartedly as he swings the door open.

And just like that, he’s gone.

Sarah pushes herself up to her feet, her vision gradually fading as it’s consumed by a blurry darkness that spreads across her view. As it fades, she finds herself pacing the small break room, far too panicked to worry about the glass walls providing little to no privacy to the anxiety that starts to consume her. The world is spinning at her feet, the walls and ceiling looming over her, twisting, deforming and melting into one another. She gulps harshly as she takes a seat again, feeling her saliva grip and rub against the roof of her mouth and down her throat that’s suddenly painfully dry. It only worsens the nauseating feeling that’s beginning to overtake her every sense.

“Just breathe..” Her voice crackles and shakes as she exhales those words in a shuddering breath, hands reaching up to her face to push her fingers through her thick curls.

Her stomach takes a sudden turn, twisting itself into knots in her abdomen and she feels a sudden sickening, sour taste hit the back of her tongue. She cups her hands over her mouth, leaning forward as it surfaces again..

Focus.

The dampened noises of phones ringing and talking, the way the silk fabric of her button down brushes against her spine as she breathes, the stark white light panels hanging from the ceiling and the feeling of the air entering her nose and filling up her lungs- The way her chest seems to collapse in on itself as her body seems to brutally squeeze out every ounce of oxygen left in her with every exhale.

She takes a sharp breath and suddenly reaches out to shove the can away from her towards the centre of the table, the slightly condensed base of the aluminium screeching across the glossy finish on the wood.

Passed out, right in front of one of her superiors, much less Dr Halstead. Not to mention on top of a patient.

It feels like she’s going to throw up, the suffocating feeling rising in her chest as she wretches, her heart jumping into her throat. Thoughts are racing through her mind, screaming and yelling insults into her head-

Desperate, she finds herself shifting to press her hands against either side of her head as firmly as possible but it only worsens. The sound of her thoughts are strangling her, crushing her lungs in it’s powerful grip with every waking moment. She’s doubled over and quivering in her own hands, eyes squeezed as tightly as possible. Sarah pries her eyes open, her vision fuzzy with tears she hadn’t even realised were forming as she stares blankly at the insides of her wrists. They’re cold as they trace down the sides of her cheeks, falling onto the white sleeves of her lab coat and leaving damp, grey patches along the cuffs.

She shakes her head, letting out a noise that almost sounds like a scoff as she shoves her face into the base of her palms. Tiny muffled sobs leave her throat as she buries her face into her arms, her body convulsing with every sound that leaves her body.

It’s just about the millionth time that she’s broken down in this way. It takes more effort with every time that it happens to keep herself together, to get out of bed in the morning, to eat or drink even a single thing, to push through a day of work, to smile at patients and coworkers, do her best with every emergency that crops up, and to deal with the people, much less the children, who inevitably die on her watch. It’s exhausting.

It takes so much effort to even be alive. It’s always been like this for as long as she can remember. She finds herself wondering, too often to be healthy, how she isn’t dead yet.

Sarah Reese spent the majority of her life telling herself to just stick it out, to pull herself together and keep moving, hold her head up high and always respond with a grin on her face. “It would all get better, once she grew up,” she told herself, “once she moved out it she would finally be okay.”

She spent her childhood all throughout primary school, those two phrases being the last slither of hope, as a 6 year old girl would watch as her father and mother began to fight so often she could hardly think back to the last time they’d just spoken without yelling. Then, when her father just packed his things one night and left; not a single call, an email, a text, a letter. And again when her mother stopped coming home and spending time with her little girl, disappearing for weeks and months on end on business trips across the globe.

Barely a teenager, Sarah was left to pick up the pieces her parents had left her in.

Time dragged on, and as the years passed it took more and more of Sarah with it- What was left of her, anyway. Birthdays spent alone with a cake meant for more than just one, gifts that consisted of lazily drawn up checks that took no more thought than a call to an accountant, Christmases and Thanksgiving spent like any other day.

The minutes and hours, then days, months and years that passed her by just wondering, what if?

If she was a better daughter, maybe her parents might come back. If she got the highest grades, maybe her mother would tell her she’s proud. If she got into medical school and became a doctor, maybe, just maybe, she would be good enough for them that they’d finally love her in the way she always wanted.

Soon those thoughts, the needs for love and care her younger self was deprived of, turned bitter with each time she was left disappointed. In her head, a constant screaming and pounding, a neverending barrage of self loathing, chipped away at her mind relentlessly.

If she hurt herself, her parents might finally care. If she stopped eating, her parents might finally care. If she died, her parents might finally care.

Sarah built walls around herself, to protect herself from ever having to face that kind of disappointment again. She’d learnt to keep everyone at an arm's length, going through highschool and college isolated to herself and her study. Her mind was plagued constantly with the same questions.

If her parents couldn’t love her enough to stay, enough to show up, enough to even care at all, then who could? If her own flesh and blood could abandon her so easily, did she really deserve to be loved? Was she good enough?

She found comfort in the anxiety, in the fear and the constant stress. In the thoughts that wouldn’t leave her alone, in the bottom of a pill bottle, in the pain she’d caused herself to be able to run her fingertips over the dozens of purposeful scars that littered her pale skin, in the way her stomach would hurt after hours of not eating, the sharp pains in her chest and the way she felt dizzy and sick all of the time.

It was the only thing that she could rely on, the only thing that stuck with her and kept her company throughout all of it. It was sick, and she knew it more than she wanted to admit.

Her heart was pounding against her chest, her body quivering with every boom, ready to burst at any given moment. The thunderous thudding is nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of her thoughts. Sarah intertwined her fingers, resting her forehead against the base of her thumbs, digging her fingertips into the dips between her defined knuckles.

In for four. Out for four. You’re okay Reese.

The beating of her heart slows as she breathes in and out, meticulously counting every inhale and exhale in perfect rhythm. She tries her hardest to focus on the sensation of her chest expanding with each intake of air, and as much as she wants to deny it, the smell of crappy disinfectant and sharp air fresheners was a comfort, soothing and cool as she takes in another deep breath.

The noise of the door swinging open suddenly breaks her out of her thoughts.

“Reese? You okay?”

Dr Halstead.

“Uh-uh.” Her exhale is hot on the bow of her lips.

She hears the shuffling of his shoes against the vinyl floor, growing louder as he seems to get nearer to her. Sarah opens her eyes, her vision fuzzy as she stares at the insides of her wrists.

“Did it happen again?”

Sarah sighs, parting her lips to answer. “Vertigo.”

“Maybe something is going on.”

Her eyes dart up and to the side, where she sees Will kneeling by her, brows creased and staring at her intently. “We should run some more tests.”

“No-” She pauses, “I know what’s going on.” Sarah shuts her eyes, opening them as she searches for the words she wants to say.

Sarah Reese has thought it through so many times, what to say, what to do, how to act and brush it off and make sure no one worries. But no matter how many times she’s wanted to do it, to just say it out loud, she finds herself again, like the thousands of times before, biting her lip and swallowing her words.

“Pathology.” She releases a heavy sigh.

It’s too hard to say out loud.

Maybe someday she’ll say it. Just not today.

#pieces!au #this au was 👌 close to being called reese’s pieces au but it was too much #reese’s pieces #sarah reese #chicago med #chicago med fanfiction #chicago one #5+1 things but it’s angst #hurt/comfort but mostly hurt #will halstead #gaffney chicago medical #my take on sarah fainting that one time #tell me if i’m wrong but reese probably has an eating disorder #trigger warning implied self harm and eating disorder #brief mentions of suicidal thoughts #proceed with caution pls #building walls (just to break them down)

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