#he is so patient and rarely gets angry for anything

[rise-deepseamonster]

I think I met Jem Carstairs irl. 

#jem carstairs #hes kind #he reads a lot #he writes a lot #hes so poetic #he talks so softly #he gets this quiet anger when people hurt his friends #he wishes me good morning in different languages #he is so patient and rarely gets angry for anything #but when he gets angry its like looking at a hurricane #he cares about people a lot #like genuinely cares and asks about their wellbeing and sits with them helps them #the only thing this man doesnt do is play the violin #and while he has a very low husky beautiful voice #hes kinda shy about it #he sang for me once #only for me #he is so beautiful #also he loves cats #he has 7 #hes extremely observant #he respects people and their personal space

[gremlingottoosilly]

Bimbo!reader witnessing just how angry König can get yelling at the recruits for the first time

You never knew he could be like this. You come to think of boyfriend as a big teddy bear with just a touch of being strangely gentle with you. A lot of guys are annoyed at someone like you - at your empty head, at your somewhat dumb demeanor and the way you act, so you come to expect this from relationships. People liked you before you opened your mouth for anything other than sucking dick...but Konig was different. Weirdly patient and quiet, always sure to give you space for your thoughts, however stupid they can be. The only time he ever raised his voice with you was positive - when he was laughing or yelling at the videogame he was playing. When he sometimes forgot that there is another human in his house and yelped in surprise with a tone so high, you were genuinely surprised. He is always making a point of being smaller with you - even though you don't like it, asking him every time to stop hunching over and forcing himself to walk on eggshells around you, it was useless with him. He wanted you to feel safe around him, to trust him - you're his perfect pretty girl and there is nothing he wants more than to make you laugh. So, cue your shock when you come to base(rare occasion of his team not being deployed immediately, spending too much time on training and preparation in the headquarters) to deliver his lunch. You got really into making bento boxes lately - more because it took up free time you had too much of since you quit your job to be a full time girlfriend, and also because Konig bought you an adorable 15 piece pink bento set with everything needed - from utensils with rabbit figures to sandwich cut-outs. You step into the base, the giant box - Konig eats a lot and you like to cook for him - in your hands. Recruits weirdly avoid you like a plague. And then you see him. You knew mercenary companies are tough. But seeing your boyfriend, your cute, adorable goofbear who never as much as raised his voice with you once, yelling at some poor guy about his future inevitable death in some abandoned trench because he is just so fucking stupid and...you stopped listening, the lengths Konig went to scream at the recruits for being stupid made you reconsider every time he called you dumb playfully. Every time he called you his little bimbo, his stupid girl who needs his guidance to do anything...you knew he liked it - but now you're not so sure. Needless to say, once Konig sees you standing in the doors of training facility, hands shaking as you grasp your silly bento box...he will have to apologise for a week. Immediately leading you out of the base, to some recreational area where he can hold your hands and push his face on your lap so you could play with his hood as you like. Making sure you're calm and relaxed before returning to the recruits - he can't promise you he won't be cruel to them, this is part of their training, but he will try his best to always be nice to you.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #bimbo!reader

[brbsoulnomming]

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 1

By the time Eddie is twelve, going to live with his uncle in a trailer in Hawkins, he only has a dozen or so words from his soulmate.

It used to make him guilty, that his soulmate was the kind of person who rarely lied, getting stuck with Eddie who spit lies out like they were the shells of sunflower seeds. Then it made him angry, that he only had a handful of shit like he did it! and I already washed my hands. A small spattering of normal kid shit, while Eddie had to say things like no, officer, I don't know where my father is and Mom's just not feeling well today, Mrs. Anderson.

Then, a year or so before his dad got caught for good, he got It's nothing, I just tripped and Yeah, Mom, I understand, I know he won't do it again and he thought - maybe his soulmate is the kind of kid who knows sometimes it's just better not to say anything.

Eddie can understand that.

Living with Uncle Wayne is - hard. It's hard because it isn't hard, not the way it should be. It makes Eddie say more things that he knows his soulmate will see on his skin, things like I never wanted to be here anyway, and I want to be alone, just leave me alone.

His uncle is endlessly patient, and it grates on his nerves because he wants it. He wants it so bad to be real, but he just - keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to be too much.

For Eddie to be too much for him.

It comes to a head one night when Eddie's mad at him over something or other, asks why he's doing all this.

"You're my kid, and that means I'm not going anywhere," his uncle says, all gruff and raw honesty, and Eddie can't bear it.

"You don't think your soulmate's going to get tired of all these lies that keep showing up?" he snaps, even though he regrets it the moment it's out of his mouth.

He regrets it even more when there's a heavy, aching silence, and he finally looks up at his uncle, eyes wide and terrified as he thinks this is it, he's finally gone too far -

"It's not a lie," Uncle Wayne says finally, holding Eddie's gaze. "You hear me? It's not a lie. I'm not going anywhere."

Eddie nods, and his uncle relaxes a little, then grimaces, like he isn't sure he wants to say anything else.

"I don't have anyone for lies to show up on, anyway."

He says it like it doesn't matter, but Eddie bursts into tears anyway.

Not everyone has a soulmate. The majority of people do, but it's not uncommon for people to never have words written on their skin. In school, they teach that it doesn't mean you can't be happy, it doesn't mean you can't find love. They teach about soulmate bonds that didn't work out - there's whole plays and novels and movies written about that kind of tragedy and misery, after all.

But sometimes there's still an undercurrent of pity, of bitterness. Outside of school - or inside it, when it isn't the teachers talking - some people say there's something wrong with people who don't have soulmates, some people say that they were meant for bigger and greater things.

Some people say that soulmates are supposed to be between a man and a woman, and every time someone who's queer gets a soulmate, it's because they stole them from someone else.

And Eddie doesn't believe that, not really, but he can't help but wonder if maybe his uncle does, and he can't stop crying.

Now his uncle is the one who looks terrified.

"Son, come here, it's all right, it really is." Uncle Wayne gathers him up in his arms, holds him close the way no one's ever done for him before, and just lets him cry and cry and cry.

Later, Eddie thinks about just letting it go, but - he has to know, he just does.

"Do you think someone stole your soulmate from you?" he asks as he's washing dishes, not looking at his uncle and hoping it doesn't sound anything like do you think someone like me stole your soulmate from you?

Uncle Wayne scowls. "That's a load of horseshit, is what I think. No one can control whether they have one soulmate or two or none, and it doesn't make someone greedy or a thief."

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it again. He's known about people with two soulmates before, of course, the same way he knows about people with none - and he's heard the comments about them being greedy same as he's heard comments about them being lucky, or a dozen other things people've theorized to explain it. It's just that it doesn't really tell him what he'd wanted to know, and he can't figure out how to ask without being more specific.

Uncle Wanye is looking at him real close, though, and there's something like a quiet acceptance that flashes over his features.

"No one can control who their soulmate is," he says softly. "Whoever yours is - they were meant for you in a way they aren't meant for anyone else. Love like that can't be stolen, kid, it can only be given."

He thinks about that for a long moment, then nods. "Okay."

"Good," his uncle says gruffly. "Now finish those up and get off to bed."

------

First part of a Steddie and platonic Stobin soulmates AU I'm working on, where any lie you tell gets written on your soulmate! No idea how long this is going to be - it was supposed to be a oneshot but it just keeps growing, so I wanted to share at least the first bit of it.

Now with Part 2

#steddie #Steddie fic #eddie munson #Wayne Munson #Steve harrington #Soulmate au

[kittyscupcakeandbunny]

CRAZY OVER YOU X MIN YOONGI

[HYBRID AU]

PART THREE I

Hungry for your love

Side Characters: Namjoon/doctor, Seokjin/doctor, Taehyung/Hybrid Tiger, Jungkook/Bunny Hybrid, Hoseok/assistant.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of blood, sharp objects, rut, beast behavior, yandere yoongi, possessive behavior.

Genre: Fantasy, hybrids au, smut.

SUMMARY》 Yoongi is a black mamba hybrid one of rarest species of hybrids, who’s about to be put down due to his lack of interest in living. But everything changes after the new medical assistance (y/n) takes a liking to him. Meeting after meeting he realise his feelings for her are not the only thing growing.

<< Previous Chapter. Next Chapter >>

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I wanted to make sure any of my theories about what he heard before confronting him, knowing Hoseok his reaction could really surprise you. He would either be angry and mad maybe worry if you’re lucky or simply not care at all. At the same time I knew Hoseok, I didn’t. He was never one thing exactly but, had so many different sides it could take a hundred years to know him completely. And still you might not know all about him.

I didn’t have time to even begin to worry about what Hoseok might have heard while I was with Yoongi, on our way back to Yoongis room the security alert for red code started.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get more complicated.

I looked at Hoseok as he seemed to read my mind. We needed to get this done quickly.

By the time we rushed back to the second floor the entire clinic was in a commotion.

People running one way to the other, trying not to bump into each other as they walked in the corridor rushing their patients back to their rooms. Me and Hoseok made our ways to the source of the commotion after being called, my mind was trying to make out what it might have happened to start all of this. It didn’t took me any longer to find out.

I froze at the sight.

It wasn’t unusual to see such case happening in our clinic but, usually we always manage to put the patient to sleep before bringing them. I never liked to see them in such distress, I just couldn’t help but notice the things no one else seemed to, the tears under his eyes as he looked everywhere around him clearly scared from being in a different environment , blood on his lips and body shaking non stop. Marks under his ribs and arms forming a pattern you cold only see in a tiger but, different from the animal his looked almost like a scar, a fading brown color.

A tiger hybrid has just been admitted to our care. Although that shouldn’t be enough to start such fuss except, he must’ve been rescued or was in a dangerous environment before being taken here as he was trying to attack the staff in a defensive reaction.

From the looks of his behavior I could tell he felt threatened and was scared.

They had put the hybrid on a bed to bring him inside, his wrists and feet tied to ensure his own safety and our staff safety while they try to move him into a room to treat him.

Usually it wasn’t like this. Only rare cases happened in our clinic where the hybrid would be in so much distress that could make him agitated like this.

It’s not his fault, I know that. It just angers me to see it, how the ones at fault for making them react like that are usually humans, the things other people do to them hurts them to a point where they can’t see anything but darkness. To the point where they lose themselves and behave like complete animals, how they must feel guilty and lonely when finally coming back to their senses when they realized what they have done.

I watched as they brought him to a room, he kept moving trying to unleash himself from the ties groaning and roaring non stop, messy hair and naked torso full of injuries. He must’ve been in a fight before they brought him here, I wonder if maybe someone just did that to him.

A long sight left my lips as they closed the door behind me, fortunate for me they said the hybrid was in my care now.

They must have overestimated me.

I felt like I was in a dream the whole time. I don’t know when I got here, everything happened so fast. I simply followed everyone else as everything around felt like a long distant memory. As if I was underwater.

We where taking Yoongi back to his room when the alert started, we had to rush Yoongi back to his room to ensure his safety and go back to our floor as we where requested to assist with the situation.

Not long after I was told the new hybrid was in my care. Now I watched as two male doctors were trying their best to hold the tiger hybrid down to sedate him, but this kind was one of the strongest and hardest to work with when in a defensive mode. It took four people to put him on the bed and tie his arms and legs.

I could see how his yellow eyes were red from rage, I don’t know where he came from but one thing I was sure, he wasn’t safe there. I quickly shake my head trying my best not think about this. I needed to work fast.

Hoseok was beside me the entire time, one hand over my shoulder supporting me. He knew I hated when we had to be this way with the hybrids but, it was difficult to treat them if they are in this state. It could be dangerous for them and us.

The tiger kept yelling and moving trying to release himself, I quickly made my way towards him to figure out how we could do this without aggravating the situation.

- we can’t put the catheter on his veins if his like this - Hoseok said.

We truly can’t. From the looks of it he won’t be calming down soon and if we tried it could hurt him.

- you two hold him properly - I tell to the staff and Hoseok - I’ll do it manually.

Hoseok gave me a nod as he and the other staff tried their best to keep the hybrid from moving, I rushed to prepare the sedative. Taking a few breathes before I fill one syringe with the sedative, once I was done I made my way to the hybrid.

Hoseok was holding the hybrids arm for me to give him the sedative while one staff held the hybrids leg and the other his right shoulder, I quickly insert the sedative with the syringe on his shoulder. Once done I could feel both males leave a sight of relief as the hybrid slowly began to fall asleep.

We watched as the tiger hybrid calmed down, both the staff and Hoseok releasing him carefully and slowly.

A sight leaving my lips as well when I made eye contact with Hoseok, he gave me a small smile which I replied with one as well. But it was a mistake.

I should’ve know that.

I shouldn’t have left my guard down.

In a second the hybrid released his arm from the tie, i pushed Hoseok out his way as he aimed at him, getting in the way unfortunately for his claws to cut through my coat scratching my skin.

A groaned in pain holding my arm, my hand shaking from it as blood dropped on the white floor. The burning pain was almost unbearable, I had to bite my lip to hold a cry.

- Y/n! - Hoseok quickly rushed to me - are you okay?! You’re bleeding too much!

I look at the hybrid who now moved a bit slower as the sedative was still working, I used a small dose. To complete put him to sleep we would need someone else to do it manually.

- shit! Call Namjoon - I tell him, - quickly! The hybrid needs double dose of sedative!

- okay!

As Hoseok called Namjoon and the two staff went back to hold the hybrid down I made my way out of the room, the sedative I gave him would be enough to slow him down till Namjoon gets here and help with the situation. With my injured arm unfortunately I have to leave quickly. The smell of blood could only make things more difficult.

The hybrid being a predator smell of blood would bring his instincts to the surface, and all of us would be in deep trouble.

Once I was out the room one I rested my back on the wall, holding my arm with pressure to stop the bleeding, I couldn’t look at it I knew it would make me dizzy. I could give a patient some stitches but when it came to myself I was a mess at taking care of me, just looking at it made my vision blurry.

One of my female coworkers that was passing by rushed to me as soon as she realized the blood on my arm, a worried expression on her features.

- oh my, y/n! - she exclaimed.

- is okay - I assure her, although my arm was hurting like hell and the smell of blood was clear in the air - is just a scratch.

- just a scratch?! - she exclaimed indignantly - come with me I’ll give some stitches.

I fallowed her keeping the pressure over my arm, trying to stop the blood from coming. Feeling the warm red liquid run through my fingers, the smell of iron filling my nose was making me sick.

Just another day of work. I sight.

Namjoon won’t let this slide. I just know it.

Why did I told Hoseok to call him out of all people?

I know I can always count on him but, he never shuts up when I make mistakes or when I don’t take care of my self properly. Even though I’m an adult Namjoon still treats me like his little sister.

I just know he’ll lecture me later.

[…]

It wasn’t a deep cut, thanks to my coat so I didn’t had to get my arm stitched up but, I did had to get it treated and now half of my arm was covered in a white bandage. My coworker who helped me, kept telling me how lucky I was that it could’ve been worst. I only nodded and thanked her later after she was done, as much as I was the one getting treated the images of the hybrid in so much distress didn’t leave my mind, I still had to check up on the tiger hybrid and make sure he was well.

As I made my way out into the corridor that was my only thought, thankfully I was able to get treated at the same floor where the tiger hybrid was.

While I was being treated she told me I should go home and rest, working would only slower the recovery of my injury. But I just couldn’t find the will to do so and besides, right now it wasn’t that bad. At least I kept telling myself that.

Stoping in front of the tiger hybrids room i preyed Namjoon wouldn’t be there, I could take another scratch but not his nagging. I took one breath before opening the door only to find Hoseok and Namjoon stading in front of the hybrids bed, the tiger was asleep now thankfully.

Hoseok was the first to notice my presence, he look at me Incredulous. I just ignored his stare as I made my way inside.

- you should’ve gone home - he said, worry on his tired features as his eyes searched for my injury.

- yeah I heard that already - I smiled at him.

At the sound of my voice Namjoon turned to my direction, if Hoseok was incredulous he was more than that. But like Hoseok I also ignored his stare, noticing the papers he had in hands. I took a peek at them seeing the word tiger hybrid I quickly stole them from Namjoon.

I was right about them being the hybrids data information.

- seriously… - Namjoon said, a puff of air leaving his lips annoyed almost - you could’ve hurt yourself pretty badly, you can’t do manual work before it heals completely.

- aham… - I murmured, I knew this was coming but my patients health came first.

I kept that in mind as my eyes fallowed through every line on the paper I stole from him, trying my best to ignore Namjoons eyes over my figure. He was judging me. I know it. But for now I’ll let my patients data keep me busy.

Specie: Tiger hybrid. Male. Name: Taehyung.

Date of birth: unknown Code: RED Predator species

Rescued from an underground fighting club. No history of previous owners, hybrid was rescued after an anonymous call to the police. Stray hybrid. No data was found on the system, blood analysis will be taken to ensure any information about his previous location.

No more information about the hybrid on our data code.

So he was rescued. That confirms my assumption but, a fighting club? Was he in a fight before being brought here?

I could only wonder. My mind was racing with thoughts and possible scenarios, stomach doing flips at the thought of each.

He must have been so mistreated. No wonder he was behaving like that, he was afraid and probably in pain too.

- y/n?

- hum? - I look up, Namjoons voice bringing me back to reality.

- are you okay? - he asked, worry never looked good on his features. Apart from that he looked more tired then ever if someone needed rest it was him.

Right now, I didn’t have the correct answer to his question although I knew he only meant my injured arm. My mind was a misture of pain and confusion, I was worried about the hybrid and at the same time I was scared of him.

I didn’t want to bring more worry for Namjoon.

- yes… you worry too much about me.. - I brushed off, trying to distract myself from his eyes with the papers in my hand.

- of course I do - Namjoon said, a long sight leaving his lips as he gently held my arm - you mean a lot to me.

- sorry for giving you gray hair - I tell him, trying to change the atmosphere with a joke smiling at him.

He sighted but smiled back.

I looked back to the hybrid in front of me, he has a few injuries on his body, probably from being in a fight before being rescued.

- I’ll start treating him then - I said, giving one last smile to Namjoon.

Making my way to the balcony with the meds and bandages, I began to prepare everything I’ll need putting on the white gloves.

- will you be okay? - Namjoon asked behind me.

- yes, Hoseok will be here - I tell him, looking at him over my shoulder.

He nods giving me one last smile before leaving since he had his own schedule to fallow, Hoseok made his way towards me also putting on a pair of gloves helping me prepare the medicine and ointments to treat the hybrid. I try my best to ignore the burning sensation on my arm as I continue.

I procede to treat the hybrids injuries, starting from his face as Hoseok did his torso. One cut on his lip, on his check a few purple and yellowish marks on his ribs probably from getting punched. My heart weighed at the sight. The fact that so many hybrids would go through all of this just didn’t sit right with me.

Once I was done cleaning the cuts on his face, i began to help Hoseok with the injuries on his torso since he had so many there, after we are done Hoseok cleans up the dirty badges and cottons with blood. I throw my cloves away and take the hybrids form papers to schedule some exams and treatments for him.

Once we’re both done me and Hoseok walked out of the room making our way through the corridor as a few coworkers passed by.

- are you sure this is okay? - he said, pointing at my arm.

- oh my god - I laugh - you’re spending too much time with Namjoon, you’re starting to act like him.

- maybe if my friend didn’t make so many reckless decisions I wouldn’t have to - he said.

- I know but, someone has to do it - I tell him, he murmured.

We just walked through the corridor for a while in a comfortable silence, i didn’t where I was going now. Feeling Hoseoks presence after everything has calmed down I began to remember how he acted strange after i treated Yoongi. Did he perhaps truly heard us?

I was so distracted by my thoughts I didn’t even notice when he suddenly stopped, I turned back to him.

Did he?

- by the way are you going back to the snake hybrid? We didn’t get to finish his treatment after we left since… you know.

At the mention of Yoongi I sighted holding my forehead, of course I had to go back.

I was supposed to apply the medicine on his skin after we take him back to his room but, the tiger hybrid came and everyone was in alert, I was called over to get him since he was under my care and I had to rushed Yoongi back to his room.

If he wasn’t in that state I would have been able to take care of Yoongis injuries by now but, since he was very defensive and irritated I didn’t had the time.

- I have some time now so I think I’ll go treat him - I tell Hoseok.

- I’ll be busy now, will you be okay there without me? - he said, although he didn’t meant to I could see the way he looked at me. How his eyes shined.

- yes I’ll be fine.

I watched as he left after giving me one last smile, knowing how sneaky Hoseok was I’m sure he was hiding something. Maybe he did heard us. Maybe he did not. I could never guess what it could be without exposing me, I’ll forget about it for now.

We left so suddenly in the morning Yoongi must be so confused.

I looked at my arm one last time before pushing my coat down to cover the bandage, making my way towards the elevators.

When did things take such turn?

How did we end up like this?

My mind was a pool of confusion and feelings I have never felt before, it felt wrong of me to be so intimate with Yoongi. He wasn’t fully human, part of him maybe didn’t even know what he was doing. Maybe is just his heat.

Never once did it ever crossed my mind to have such feelings for a hybrid, it felt wrong to desire him like that. But at the same time, I wanted him.

I don’t know what to call this, his presence sends a burning desire through me like I’ve never felt before.

Maybe I’m just selfish?

I wish I could be with him but, we are completely different from one another. Or needs and views were completely opposites.

I took a deep breathe after stepping out of the elevators making my way through the corridor stoping at his door. I sighted before I opened the door to Yoongis room, my body being meet with the familiar warm temperature of his room. The light slowly turning back on like usual as I make my way towards him who was still laying over his bed, not moving even as I stoped in front of him.

I watched as his figure lay there calmly, hands under his head eyes close and lips slightly parted. His shirt was a mess open half way down, exposing his bellybutton and V line the scales on his hips shined a bit under the light now.

His exotic beauty was something I could never get used too, every day I find a little detail I haven’t before on him.

I catched his lips moving ever so slightly. Almost unnoticeable.

- I know your not sleeping - I tell him, I see the small smile on his lips as he opened his eyes.

Dark glossy eyes staring into mine. I wonder why the change in his eyes, could it be an allergy perhaps?

- you know me well - he said, voice low and raspy he must’ve just woke up from a nap - why don’t you joy me here?

His voice is laced with second intentions, an afrodisiac misture with poison. Instantly bringing a blush to my checks.

- sorry for leaving so suddenly early - I quickly changed the topic - there was a problem…. I was requeste to assist with the situation.

- I understand - he said.

I watched as he lazily smiled, eyes opening and closing slowly he licked his bottom lip before stretching his body, coming to a sitting position.

- oh… - he looked up at me, as if he just realized something.

In a second surprising me at how fast he took my hand in his to inspect it, the arm scratched by the tiger hybrid.

Yoongis demenor changed just as quick, he looked at it for a while before looking back at me.

- who did this to you? - eyebrows furred in a angry expression as he looked up to me.

I swallowed nervously. Why the fuss when it was just a scratch?

- it’s nothing…

- who? - he asked again, almost in a growl.

- one of my patients were a bit… in distress today - I tell him honestly, looking down at my feet - his fine now, I’m sorry…

I heard a heavy sight leave his lips before he stand up, still holding my hand.

- why are you apologizing when you’re the one who got hurt? - he said, more calm now.

- you seem angry at me… - I murmured, feeling my face warm up.

- not you… - he whispered lifting my hand up to his face as he left a small kiss over my fingers.

Eyes locked with mine as he caressed my hand with his thumb, he sighted looking at my arm again.

- I don’t care about your patients… you shouldn’t see who ever did this to you again.

- I can’t do that… - I tell him, feeling my heart beat through my entire body with warmth.

- already making me worry about you… - he murmured, a small pout forming on his lower lip.

- hey… I worry about you too - I chuckled.

- you do? - he looked up at me, dark eyes shining so bright under the lights as if his eyes held the entire universe in them. I nodded.

- that’s why I’m here, and by the way I still need to treat your skin.

I take my hand from his giving him a smile before turning around to make my way towards the small table close to his bed were the medicine was prepared earlier. A small silver container with the white ointment. I put on my cloves before taking the medicine and walking back to Yoongi.

- can you take off your shirt please - I ask him.

He nodded standing in front of me before taking his shirt, I watched him as he did so. The only visible injuries he had were on his back and shoulders.

- do you have any injury on your legs also? - I ask him.

- no… - he chuckled a bit taking off his shirt completely throwing over his bed - they stop at my hips.

I looked at him with hot checks. He meant his scales, he only had them till his hips. He seemed to know what I was thinking, a small smirk forming over his pink lips.

- okay… - I clear my throat - I’ll start with your back.

He just nodded as I made my way around him, stading behind him i began to carefully apply the medicine over his back, slowly starting from his left shoulder to his right. He had more scratches over them, carefully I applied the ointment over the mark on his spine fallowing down his ribs that looked pretty hurt.

The closer I got to his hips I notice he would moved slightly.

- does it hurt? - I asked him.

- no is… quiet nice - he murmured, looking at me from over his shoulder.

- oh… that’s okay then - I said, as I continued to apply the ointment.

No one said anything for a while, silence was beginning to grow thick enough to cut with a knife.

The scales on his hips seemed to be a sensitive spot, he kept moving every time I touched there. I wondered why. That was just another thing we didn’t know about him.

Once I was done I checked his back for a while making sure I didn’t miss any spot, making sure every cut and scratch was covered in ointment.

- you wanna feel them? - he suddenly said.

- what? - I was so caught up at his words I almost didn’t get its meaning.

My mind was running the engines, he had that effect over me. Taking me completely out of my mind.

- my scales… I bet you must be curious - he then said.

- I’m a bit but, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable - I tel him, ignoring the hot feeling rising up my face - I’m done with your back.

Turning around him I searched for any injury over his torso, he had one over his left shoulder. Coming closer I carefully apply the ointment over the small cut. Close enough to feel his body heat over mine, enough to see every little detail of his beautiful body.

- you don’t make me uncomfortable… - he said, his breath hitting my face.

I turned back to look at his eyes, face hot I swallowed nervously I’ve been feeling like this a lot lately. Nervous every time I was close to him, every time he looked at me like that.

My own eyes betraying me darting down to his lips, the memories from moments ago still clear in my mind. His touch left a mark at every part of my skin.

His taste still dancing over my lips.

I blinked taking my gloves off making my way to the small table, I put them over it clearing my throat. I took a deep breath trying my best to calm my nerves, not again. This is wrong, I know it happened once but I can’t keep doing this with him. I’m his doctor.

I sight turning around only to be meet with Yoongi centimeters way from me.

I gasped as he corned me against the table, both hands on my sides as he tilted his head slightly to the side scanning my face. I swallowed hard.

- are disgusted by me? - his question catched me completely out of guard.

- what?

- you heard me - he said. Still not moving an inch, caging me against the table.

- I don’t… - I nervously supported my body over the table with both hands behind me - I’m not disgusted by you Yoongi.

- then feel me… - he whispered, taking my right hand placing over his face.

My breath got stuck in my throat, carefully I caressed his check softly, fingers tracing the lines of his features his hand over mine guiding mine slowly down his jaw, to his neck touching the scales slightly. They were soft and warm like velvet, something completely out of this world.

He held my hand against his skin to slide it down over his chest, fingers brushing over his nipple as he moved my hand on his skin lips parting and eyes closing, he looked so dreamy. Moving my hand to his sides feeling the scales over his ribs and stoping at his hip.

Eyes closed he rested his forehead against mine.

- this is me… - he whispered over my lips, almost like he was in pain.

Was he self conscious about his appearance? Him out of everyone, but why?

- you’re beautiful - I breathless said, my selfish confession.

- you like this? - he whispered against my lips, eyes staring into mine. He meant him. Him as a hybrid.

I knew my next words would be the ones to define this. But at this point, what else was there to say? I couldn’t lie to him, with only a few days Yoongi manage to steal my mind away. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, worrying about him and craving him.

- I.. I do - I breathless told him. Body burning with want.

It was wrong.

- then don’t push me away y/n…

I’m his doctor. I’m here to save him.

- i want you too… just you - he whispered before holding me by the hips pushing me up to sit over the table as he stood between my legs.

Hands sliding up and down my thighs stoping at my hips, sliding under my shirt as he caressed my belly, finger tips dancing over my skin.

- you’re perfect… I need you - he said, voice laced with desire and poison, lips brushing lightly over mine I felt lightheaded at his touch.

I could stay like this forever, just with him slightly touching me. Teasing me till I lose myself completely. But the sound of the door clicking opening woke me up completely, I pushed yoongi away as I slide down the table turning back towards the door.

I clear my throat as I watched Namjoon making his way inside the room, he had a smile on his lips.

- hey, y/n - he said - are you done with his treatmeant?

- ah… yes - I said, making my way towards Namjoon stoping in front of him.

- that’s great then…. Monday we’ll introduce him to his partner - Namjoon said.

His words had a bitter feeling over me, a reminder that time was passing. Too fast.

It was supposed to be a month at least but, we are bearly over this month and the female snake hybrid was here already. In a week they would mate and she would be barring a new black mamba hybrid, just for them to take Yoongi down.

I must work faster.

- partner? - Yoongis voice brought me back, turning to him he had a confused expression eyes locked over my figure.

- You’ll soon be put into mating process - Namjoon answer, unaware of the hybrids confusion.

Yoongi stared at me in disbelief, I just kept quiet as Namjoon proceeded to tell Yoongi of the next procedures that will be taking action this week.

Too ashamed to even look at him. I bite into my lower lip.

- since you’ve been recovering well and showing sings of heat… - Namjoon proceeded - and lucky for you we found a good match, you’ll be able to meet her once your fully recovered.

- lucky me. - Yoongi spat, turning to put back his shirt.

Namjoon stared at me then Yoongi, confusion on his features. I just made a no sing to him, he mouthed a “is he not in a good mood” to which I answered “yeah”. He shook his head a knowing sing.

I looked back to Yoongi as he bottoms up his shirt, I could feel from here that he wasn’t happy at all with this. I just didn’t understand.

Most hybrids always felt so happy to finally be able to mate, I thought he would too.

- well I just came for this - Namjoon said - y/n Jin is asking for us.

- oh, of course I’ll come with you then - I tell him, making my way to leave with him.

I didn’t bother to turn around, I just couldn’t.

I couldn’t face Yoongi right now. One look into his deep dark eyes and it would be the end of me, this is for the best. He now has a chance to meet someone like him that will complete him, a chance to live after all of this.

There is no place for me in this.

Before I could walk through the door I feel a tug at the back of my coat, a sight leaves my lips and I look up to Namjoon.

- I’ll explain the mating process to Yoongi before I leave - I tell him, he looks behind me and then nods.

- I’ll wait for you at Jin’s office then - Namjoon replays leaving.

I close the door turning slowly to Yoongi who stands in front of me, I looked everywhere except him.

- mating process? - he spat - I thought I was clear…

- is a protocol… - I interrupted him, honestly I didn’t even know what I was saying at this point.

- protocol? - he chuckled bitterly - is that why you were so nice? Is this what I’m to you? A protocol?

He shout closing the distance completely between us, locking me against the wall with both his hands over the side of my head.

My breathing instantly becoming faster, heartbeat at the tip of my throat as I stared at his eyes dark orbs filled with rage.

- no, I just…. I … - I couldn’t find any words - I don’t have a choice… i…

I really don’t.

If he doesn’t do what they said, they’re going to put him down.

I didn’t even notice the tears forming under my eyes, at this point I didn’t know what else to say. Nothing can explain what we are doing to him, although my intentions were good after all that he went through and must have endured all this years, nothing I say can change his mind. I couldn’t feel anything. My whole body was shaking.

Fear. But not from him, from what is going to happen to him.

I became so attached to him in such a small period of time. I couldn’t take it if they put him down. That thought only brought a bitter taste to my mouth.

His face centimeters away from mine staring at me with so much hatred, softening slowly.

- I’m sorry… - I spoke. Bitting into my lower lip to stop the tears from coming..

He rested his forehead against mine, a sight leaving his lips.

- please… - he whispered - please, tell me you’re not one of them.

At his words I cried even more.

- I’m not… Yoongi - I said, hands closing into fists by my sides.

Mas stayed like that for a while, just in each other’s presence. He seemed to be in deep thought while I was simply trying not to cry my eyes out, being the center of his anger was a knife to my chest.

All I wanted was to keep him safe.

- I’ll try… for you - he said, hands falling from the wall to my face softly caressing it with his thumbs. - but I can’t promise anything.

With that he turned and walked back to his bed, sitting down as he stared at the floor.

I quickly cleaned the tears on my face before making my way out of his room with a heavy heart on my chest.

[….]

I took a deep breath before entering Jin’s office.

Namjoon sat over the chair in front of Jin’s table, they seemed to be in a fun conversation, as I entered they both share a laugh before noticing my presence.

Jin gives me smile and signal for me to take a sit at the second chair beside Namjoon. I try to give him my best smile, hiding my true feelings under it as I sit.

- well, I called you both here to discuss the next appointments for the week - Jin began explaining.

- yes, you mentioned the meting process to me as we where looking the exams of the female snake hybrid - Namjoon said.

- I thought it would be better if I start to observe the next procedures, today I have scheduled a lunch meal for Yoongi - Jin said - he will now have meals everyday just like a normal hybrid should.

- that’s good to hear - I tell him.

- thanks to you y/n - Jin said, eyes over mine - you’ll be in charge of it and I’ll participate, I want to be closer from now on.

- Namjoon mentioned they’ll meet soon - I said.

- yes, I scheduled it for Monday - Jin said - since Yoongi is showing great signs of recovery I think it would be nice to slowly introduce them.

- oh…

The mating process worked in two ways, on stage one the hybrids are introduced to a previous selected partner. Potential partners are selected according to their mating stages and recovery process, once is settled a meeting is scheduled for them.

If they accept each other as mates, they will be move to stage two. Where they will be able to proceed with their mating process, here at the clinic everything is prepared before hand so anything they might need for the process of mating, is done before any procedures begins.

- I would like to be with you y/n for the next procedures scheduled for Yoongi - Jin said - I want to make sure everything is going well with him.

- of course.

- I also scheduled a bath for him tomorrow morning, I saw in the exams his skin condition is not good - Jin said - we’ll take care of that before they mate.

- of course, Jin - I said - about the meals, do have an idea of how will start?

- yes, today we’ll introduce it to him - Jin answered - I selected a valence meal of fruits to begin, I don’t want anything happening to him.

- okay then.

Jin mentioned before how the clinic stopped bringing Yoongi meals, for months we would simply not eat it or throw it on the floor. It’s been months like that and he’s been getting vitamin shots to make up for it. But the sings are clear he was not in a good shape.

It only made me more worried about him, for now I’m happy he’s making the effort to eat. We’ll start slow. Small steps first. I’m sure he’ll be so much better from now on.

- well this was all, y/n and I will take his meal to him now - Jin said looking at Namjoon.

- I’ll continue with my schedule then Jin - he said.

We all got up from our seats, making our ways out to leave the office. Jin walked beside me as Namjoon fallowed us to the corridor, waiting for the elevator.

At one point as my eyes stared at the numbers coming up over the elevators, I thought it would be better to distance myself from Yoongi. Keeping our relationship professional while, especially now that Jin would be watching us is the perfect opportunity to do so.

Still the thought of not being able to be how I used to with him weighted my heart, I didn’t even know if wanted that as well.

It just didn’t feel good to me.

[���]

Jin’s presence as we walked to the kitchen to get Yoongis lunch was a good distraction. As my mind was still a mess from my discussion with Yoongi, the revelation of the mating process not making him so happy as I thought it would, to him losing his trust over me. I just tried my best not to show how much that affected me, even though I didn’t wanted, even though I shouldn’t care.

The way to the kitchen was filled with Jin’s silly dad jokes some were actually funny, some not so much and what really made it funny was his excruciating laugh through the corridors. I wished things would go back to how they used to, but at the same time I didn’t. I began to questions my reasons and thoughts, was I trying this hard for him? Or myself?

While we rushed back to deliver the lunch, I inspected the bowl I carry on the tray filled with all sorts of freshly cut fruits.

His meal would only consist in freash fruits from the beginning, since he is not used to eating full meals like a normal hybrid would, it should start by slowly introducing food again to him. Rushing this process could easily make him sick.

We made our way through the corridor to the sixth floor, not taking long after as we soon stop in front of the door to Yoongis room. Jin opened the door for me to walk in first, he closed behind him making his way in to stand beside me, the lights of the room slowly turning back on like usual.

My heart beating faster at the sight of Yoongi, not so long he looked at me like I was one of them. Those who hurted him.

I tried not to let it affect me as much, I couldn’t now that Jin was here. Still the effect Yoongi had on me was hard to hide.

He got up lazily into a sitting position, tired eyes looking into my figure confused before he lock them at seokjin.

His once tired features quickly changing into a hard expression.

- what is he doing here? - he said, emphasizing the he.

- don’t mind me here - Jin said - I’m just here to watch y/n.

Yoongi hissed staring at the floor, hands grabbing the sheets harder.

I looked at him surprised, I never once saw him hiss before. Him being a snake hybrid it was only natural he would do that but, It was almost cute if it wasn’t for his hard expression, like he was ready to take Jin down.

Memories from earlier this mornings ghosting my mind, I didn’t wanted a repeat from that. Now that Yoongi and I wasn’t on good terms like before, i don’t know if I would be able to calm him down, still I would have to try and at least stop him from focusing on Jin so much. I don’t know about their past but, Yoongi already doesn’t seem to like him that much.

I made my way to him calmly, sitting beside him still not so close to disturb him or cross any boundaries. His eyes looking up to mine instantly. I tried my best to give him a small smile putting the tray with food over my lap, despite our argument before i have to treat him like nothing happened.

I didn’t expect for him to sit closer to me though how confusion and unexpected he behaves was still a pinch into my heart, how he slowly and carefully moved closer suddenly, just like a snake would to it’s prey. He rested one arm behind me almost protective.

I genuinely thought he wouldn’t want to be closer to me anymore, not after he found out about the mating process. I felt guilt for hiding it from him for all this time, even more knowing what they intended to do after. He didn’t mean it. I’m sure he didn’t.

For now I just brushed off that thought, looking up from the food to him only to see how his eyes were glued at Jin. If looks could kill.

I don’t know their history but since his life was on the line, one step behind in his behavior in front of Jin could change the chances he had to not be put down.

- from now on you’ll be having lunch - I said cleaning my throat to get his attention - I’ll bring you some delicious food everyday.

At the sound of my voice he turned his gaze to me quickly head tilting slightly to the side, eyes going down at the food I held then up to me curiosity clear on his features.

- you remember the tangerines right? - I asked him, a small smile showing on his lips. - here are some as well as mangos and strawberries.

- have you tried them? - he said, I nodded.

- they are delicious - I tell him, taking a mango with the garf I hold it up for him to take it.

I honestly expecting him to eat it by himself, I didn’t made the inicial to feed him. Still he brought my hand towards his face taking a bite from the piece of mango on it, the juicy fruit spilling a bit from his lip down his chin.

He purposely groaned, closing his eyes as he swallows the mango. Like he just eat the best thing in the world. Dark glossy eyes locked in mine as slowly slide his hand off of mine, licking the juice from his lips he tilted his head to the side opening his mouth.

My checks burned hot. There’s no way he wasn’t doing this without the intention of it, Jin was watching this and I just wanted to put my head inside a whole out of embarrassment. Yoongi you little… a sight left my lips.

- is this revenge for ealier? - I whispered to him, noticing seokjin was walking around the room to inspect it . - embarrassing me in front of my boss?

- no… just… making sure he knows - he whispered back taking the one strawberry from the bowl he inspects it before biting into it.

- knows what? - i asked, getting only a smirk from him as he eat the strawberry.

- are you trying to build a nest? - Jin’s voice echoed from the other side as he looked over the room eyes stoping over the bed we sat on.

- why? - Yoongi spat, features changing at the sound of Jin’s voice to a bored one.

- is just… unusual to do so before meeting a potential partner since in your specie is done to impress your partner - Jin said stopping a few feet in front of us.

Now that Jin mentioned, Yoongi has been making this weird mess on his bed, I didn’t know it was a nest. How interesting, he stared making a nest over his bed ever since we started treating him. So that means his heat stared since then.

The male would make a nest to impress their potential partner to mate, how didn’t I saw this earlier?

“Why you don’t joy me here?”

I swallowed nervously at the thought. Was he trying to impress… me?

I looked from Jin to Yoongi, noticing the slight blush over his checks.

Now that is unusual.

- are you eager to meet your potential partner? - Seokjin asked. A smile over his lips.

I don’t know why this bitter feeling creep in my chest at the mention of his partner. I should be happy for him, yet I can’t. For now, I choose to ignore it. Close this bitter feeling down somewhere in my heart so it doesn’t bother me.

- soon you’ll be able to meet her - Jin continues - I’m so glad y/n is taking such good care of you, I’m sure you’ll give us great results.

Yoongi hissed again at Jin’s words, I looked at him surprised. Still not used to seeing him hiss like that. Trying to process this new behavior of his.

- what? - yoongi said, looking at me as he took another mango from the bowl.

- you hissed, again? - I said, still amazed.

- I’m a snake? - he said, as if it wasn’t anything special.

- you’ve never done that before though? - he blinked at me, not saying anything. - I’m sorry, I’m being noisy.

- you never deserved a hiss from me - he murmured, eating another fruit from the bowl.

- oh…

He chuckled taking a bite of the fruit on his hand, I watched as the juice wet his lips. Quickly brushing the not so pure thoughts from my mind.

It was nice to see him smile like that. My mind just seemed to move to dark places.

- y/n about his skin treatments, is he recovering well? - Jin asked.

- yes, he had his first bath today…. - I had to control my thoughts as I remember this morning events.

- I’ll prepare another bath for him tomorrow before his lunch then - Jin said making his way to the door - he needs to be ready for the meeting on Monday.

- yes, I’ll prepare him for it.

Two days before he meets the female snake hybrid. I know he said he would try but, I know he won’t have to. Once they meet both will mate instantly.

Jin made a sing for me to follow him, turned back to yoongi realizing he ate all the fruits. I smile at him taking the tray with the now empty bowl.

I know I have no right to feel this way about him, I’m just his doctor. I’m here to help him. And him having a mate to share his intimacy will be the best decision.

Yet.

- good boy - I whispered to him, seeing how his checks turned red. I smiled before turning away to leave.

I can’t control my heart. I’m just as selfish.

Seokjin opened the door for me to leave first.

- are you doing anything tonight? - he asked, as I walked out the room.

- no why? - I turned to him as he exit, closing the door behind himself.

- wanna eat dinner with me? - he asked.

- sure, why not - I said - at your brothers restaurant?

- of course! is the best place to eat in the entire world.

- haha it sure is.

Jin’s brother owns a restaurant that serves the best bbq in the area. How could I refuse?

We walked quietly through the corridors till the elevators, Jin preses the bottom to go down and we wait till the elevator get over here.

- Yoongi seems very attached to you - Jin coments.

- yeah he’s been like that ever since we meet - I tell him, heat flow over my cheeks.

- that’s good to hear - he said - Yoongi… wasn’t always like this, I don’t know what happened to him but, I just hope he gets better.

- maybe he’s just tired… from being here for so long - I tell him - we all get lonely sometimes, he must feel trapped.

- I’m truly glad you’re the one helping him - he said - I know you’ll save him.

- is all I want. - tell him honestly, giving him a small smile.

All I want.

The sound of the elevator doors opening is what brings our attention back to our way, we entered quietly and leave it just as quietly.

All i want is him.

[…]

Weekends were the days we all worked half period, people who were in charge of hybrids with special needs would worked on weekends. Since Youngi’s bath was scheduled for this morning, I would work in the morning today and on Sunday in the afternoon. I honestly didn’t mind the extra work, hybrids with special needs cannot be left alone for longer then half a day.

Some needed special care and treatments as well as exams and such. No everybody worked on weekends. Depending on our schedules we would be separated into two teams, prey and predator hybrids. All the hybrids had their own unique and particular needs.

Last night was a very much needed hang out to loosen up all the tension and stress from this week events, we ate delicious food cooked by Jin’s brother and had a few drinks to end the night. I could finally relax after so much complicated situations at the clinic, it almost during seem real to me, how so many eventful days I was having at work.

From having to treat Yoongi the famous snake hybrid at the clinic for being an bitter with anyone who approached him, to treating a Bunny hybrid in heat which ended up by getting bitten by a snake hybrid. Not so short after I got scratched by a tiger hybrid, who’s now my patient. The fight with Yoongi for the mating process that the more I thought about it the more it didn’t make sense to me. Why wasn’t he happy about it? Why he kept coming to me?

Those were the only thoughts in my head as I got at the clinic earlier then usual this time, not because I had to but, I simply couldn’t go back to sleep as my mind was filled with thoughts about Yoongi. In this short period of time I also grew attached to him, I wanted to see him. I wanted to be with him one last time before I have to let him go. Before he leaves to mate with someone like him and realize I’m not the one for him.

I check myself in mirror on the staff bathroom before making my leave to check up on my schedule for this morning. I didn’t have much to do, mostly it was a few check ups on my patients and Yoongis bath and lunch today.

- y/n! You’re here - at the sound of my name being called I turned to see who it was, one of my coworkers rushed to me taking a few deep breath’s to calm down as he came running to see me.

- what is it? - I ask him worried, what could be the reason for such rush in the morning?

- yoongi… - he started, taken more breaths - he destroyed his room and he’s..

I didn’t let him finish rushing to the elevators.

Destroying his room? Just what happened last night while I was away?

I anxiously watched the number on the elevators coming up slowly, my heart beating faster I walked from side to side inside the elevator. Mind racing with thoughts, it could be anything from a small misunderstanding to him being hurt. What if he found out the truth?

One the elevator door opened at the sixth floor I rushed out of the elevators, running through the corridor to Yoongi’s room, from far away i could already hear the screams. But it wasn’t Yoongi who was screaming.

His door was completely opened and once I entered I was meet with Hoseok and two other male staff, nothing prepared me for what I was seeing certainly I didn’t expected to see Yoongi grabbing one of the male staff by the neck as Hoseok was trying to convince him to let man go.

- what happened here? - I said, loud and clear.

Hoseok finally sees me and rushed to me, worry filling his features and fear.

- I don’t know… y/n we were just following our routine this morning when we heard a loud noise - Hoseok explained - when I realized it was from Yoongis room I quickly came to check on him…. He trashed the whole room and when we tried to stop him he got one of the staff.

- oh god…. - I looked at yoongi.

His hair was a mess as well as his shirt, the entire room looked like a hurricane made a tour here. Covers ripped all over the place the bed was flipped over and the table broken on the other side of the room. He did all that but, why? Was it because our fight, did he somehow find out the truth about all of this?

I could see from here how his chest moved up and down as he breathed fast, anger clearly visible on his features and for the first time his eyes were not the pool of dark sky I was used to seeing but, a misture of grey and yellow his pupil was a thin line. Just like a snake.

He was hissing and I could see how he was ready to bite the man, fangs out to bite and insert his poison on him.

I had to do something. If he hurt this man things could turn really bad for Yoongi. I can’t let that happen not when Jin is willing to save him.

- yoongi…. Let him go - I slowly made my way towards him, stopping a few feet closer - Yoongi, listen to me.

At that he turned his attention to me, snake eyes glued on my figure now like he was hunting for a prey.

- I’m right here okay… let him go and come to me - I tell him, seeing how he seemed to slowly began to let the staff go, eyes going back to normal ever so slightly.

- y/n are you crazy? - Hoseok said beside me, holding my arm to pull me back - he’s not in his right mind he could-

- no I’ll - I interrupted him. But it was all too late.

I couldn’t finish my sentence as a scream filled the whole room, Yoongi sank his teeth on the staff shoulder. I gasped as I watched in horror, my heart sank at the sight. Seeing Yoongi like this was something I never wanted to happen. The man let an agonizing scream out, Yoongis grey eyes staring right into mine.

No.

No.

Everything became a blur, as if I was watching from a distance a story unfold. Hoseok shouting and running towards them as Yoongi let go of the man’s body a chance for Hoseok to quickly grab the man away from him.

I couldn’t hear anything.

Just stare at him. My body was frozen on the spot, how could I fix this?

What happened to him?

Yoongi only stood there, eyes looked over mine. Blood dripping down his lips.

A sight left my lips. Would I even be able to fix it this time?

- y/n! Quickly let’s leave! - Hoseok said, now closer to me he again grabbed my arm turning me away from Yoongi.

I honestly considered leaving like this.

But the hiss I heard behind me was a warning.

I can’t leave.

- you can go - I tell him, taking my arm from his hand. He looked at me incredibly.

- y/n….

- someone has to do it - I tell him - quickly your friend need s help fast.

He looked at me for a while, probably considering putting me over his shoulder and take me. Knowing Hoseok he was always over protective about me, part of me wanted to leave but I was the only one who could do something right now.

He looked at Yoongi behind me before a sight leave his lips and I watched as Hoseok left, closing the door completely this time. It took me a few moments before I turned back completely to Yoongi.

He stood there and as I took the first step to him he fell into his knees, I rushed to him lowering myself at his height. He didn’t look at me, eyes slowly turning back to is normal dark color. He brought his hand up to his mouth touching his lips, blood stain on his fingers he look at it before looking back at me.

Just like that I knew he was back. Something didn’t felt right about all of this.

- what happened? - he said, eyes shining as tears formed under his eyes.

- you don’t remember?

- I don’t… - he looked around as if completely lost - no…. Why….

- is okay… I’m here - I tell him, taking a cloth from my pocket I usually had it, to clean the blood out of his lips. - don’t worry okay, I’ll fix this.

He nodded and I continue to quietly clean the blood. If he didn’t remember what he did, the only things that came to my mind was that maybe he wasn’t even in control of his actions.

- I hurt someone again….

I sighted, I couldn’t change what happened today but if my assumption is right I can fix this.

- can you tell what you remember from last night?

- I had just taking my meds from Namjoon like usual…. Then I went back to sleep - he searched for my eyes, hand closing over mine holding the cloth.

Looking into his eyes now I was completely lost in this pool of night sky, relieved for him to finally be back to his senses. Just like the tiger hybrid yesterday Yoongi lost himself somewhere between the night, the only thing I could think of what it might possibly started all of this was the meds he was taking everyday. But i would have to make sure about them first.

- I need to make sure first…. - I said, trying to get up from the floor - I’ll have to talk with Jin first.

- please…- he said holding my hand, stoping me from moving- I’m sorry… don’t hate me y/n.

- I don’t hate you…. - I caressed his check, he rested his face on my hand eyes closing.

Deep down he was just someone who wanted to be loved and cared for, all this years he’s been locked up in here made him depressed and lonely. I know he wouldn’t do that out of nowhere, no hybrid hurts someone for no reason. I got up taking his hands in mine to help him get up as well.

- come with me, you need a bath - I tell him, small smile over my lips.

I’ll have to put his bath for earlier then it was scheduled, my mind was a mess mix it with tiredness and anger. I didn’t even bother to put the collar on Yoongi as I take him with me through the corridors, he fallowed me right behind close enough to let me know he was there holding the back of my coat. Like a child does with their parents.

No one was around at this hour so luckily no one bothered us.

Once we got there, I begin to prepare the water for him putting the medicine on the water to help treat his skin as well as some bubbles soap. It seems I won’t be able to fallow my schedule for today.

As I prepared everything, Yoongi stood there just watched. From time to time I would glance at him he seemed nervous almost, biting his lower lip and standing there. The sound of water filling the round tub was all we heard, no one daring to say anything. Once I notice the bath was ready i quickly separated a change of clothes for him a towel and a robe in case, putting everything neatly over the table beside the tub I checked if everything was fine before I turned to him.

- can I ask you a favor? - he nodded - I need you to stay here taking your bath while I talk with Jin outside, can you do that?

- yes….

- okay, I’ll be right back - I tell him, making my way out of the bathroom.

I closed the door of the bathroom resting my body on the wall, I took my phone out dialing Jin’s number. At this hour he should be coming to the clinic already, maybe it would take a while for him to pick up but luckily for me he pick up right away.

- hey y/n, what do you need? - he said cheerfully. I could hear the sound of door closing and the motor of the car staring in the back.

- I need to know what meds are you giving Yoongi? - I asked stray to the point, no more walking around the bush.

- what?

- just answer me.

Deep down I wanted to blame the meds, I just didn’t wanted to believe he would do something like that. Selfishly I hoped for it to be the reason, or else it could end badly for Yoongi.

- just the usual vitamins and some heat stimulants - he said.

Heat stimulants? We stopped giving the hybrids that for years now since it had major side effects on them, it completely ruined their natural heat and it could aggregate their instincts as well. If not managed well it could only damage the hormones structure of the hybrid.

- how much the dose? - I asked.

- we decided to start with one quarter why? - I almost wanted to punch him in the face for saying it.

That explains everything. Yoongi didn’t do it on purpose, the stimulants messed with his instincts and he probably didn’t even know.

- he’s been getting side effects from it, Jin you…. - I couldn’t even say it, i was so pissed at him. - he bite someone today!

- what but I thought…

- don’t you dare say that, I did my best and he did too you and I both know the side effects to apply such dose of stimulants on a hybrid could affect him negative.

- I’m sorry y/n… I was just fallowing orders… - he sighted - is the person okay?

- I think so, Hoseok was there at the time so he help the staff - I say, a sight leaving my lips.

- what about yoongi?

- he’s back, I’m taking care of him now - I tell him - I prepared a bath for him, we’ll clean him from the stimulants and stop with it from now on.

- yes you’re right, I’m almost there okay?

- okay, we’ll talk about it later then.

With that I turned off the call.

I was so angry at him now, how could he approved that? Knowing what it might cause, unless that’s what they intended to. Making Yoongi the bad guy just so they have a major reason to put him down, I was sick to my stomach. I won’t let that happen.

Sighting I entered the bathroom again.

Yoongi was already in the bathtub, arm resting over the edge cheek on palm of his hand as he looked ahead of him.

- hey… - I made my way back to him, getting his attention.

- this is nice - he said, playing with the bubbles on the water.

- yes it is - I tell him, taking a deep breath - I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were giving you stimulants.

- so that’s what it was? - he scoffs - as if I would need it.

He looked at me up and down as I walked towards him. I sat over the edge of the tub beside him, turning slightly to him so I could see him face to face.

- they thought you did - I say, tired smile on my lips - since is been years since you shown any signs of heat, they thought your weren’t going to get your heat.

- because they want me to mate - he chuckled bitterly - for a place that cares for hybrids you people sure know nothing about us.

- about you - I correct him, we don’t know a lot about him.

- how was your dinner? - I notice the mocking tone he said when he asked, not looking my way but the floor in front him.

- dinner? You heard that? - the conversation I had with Jin after leaving, he heard that? A blush rising up to my cheeks.

- hybrids ear - he said as if it was obvious, still not looking at me.

- why do you ask?

- that director guy… seems to like you - he murmured almost didn’t hear it.

Just what was this about?

- is that why you behaved like that when I brought your lunch with him? - I asked him.

- he… should know - he paused, playing with the bubbles over the bathtub.

- I don’t get it? You said it before but, what do you mean?

- that your mine - he said, this time turning towards me he lifted half his body over the bathtub to look at me in the eyes.

My breath got stuck in my throat. The drops of water sliding down his bare body looking like small diamonds, he smelled so good now body only a few centimeters away from mine.

- I’m… yeah I’m your doctor but-

- you’re driving me insane y/n - he sight, lifting himself up to get out of the bathtub.

I quickly turned to the side as he walked naked towards the table, taking the white robe to put on. My cheeks burned hot, I could hear the sound of cloth being shuffled and his fast breathing. I got up from the tub, standing there as I watched him back turned to me.

- sorry I just… - I didn’t even know what to say, was there anything to say at all?

- no, - he said, he waited a bit then turned making his way back to me he stopped only a few centimeters away from me.

His breath hitting my face, the wet drops of water sliding down his neck making his scales shine even brighter.

He held my white coat by the collar pushing me against him, sliding down my coat off my body, throwing on the floor.

- now you’re not my doctor… - he said, closing the distance between us completely - you’re mine…

- I can’t…. - I stop him by putting my hand over his chest - I feel like I’m taking advantage of you..

- then take it…. - he whispered, hand over mine on his chest. - take advantage of me….

I couldn’t stop myself from it, as he leaned down to kiss me so softly. One hand around my waist holding me against his hot body, the other sliding down over my side stoping at my hip scratching over my clothes sliding inside my shirt, i moaned against his lips to which he took advantage to slide his tongue against mine.

Fingers closing around his hair, giving in his touch I completely let go of any resistance I might have left. My head is pleasantly fuzzy, drunk on his lips and body begging for more. I gasp at the feeling of his hands slinging up my back under my shirt then down my ribs, he slightly scratched my skin with his short nails stoping at my hips holding me between his left leg guiding me dry hump his tight. He slide his lips agains my jaw till my ear leaving small bites and licks over my neck.

I moaned out his name grabbing the back of his hair tighter between my fingers, bringing his lips back to mine hungrily kissing him. Pushing him back as my hands carefully touched his neck sliding them against his chest, until we reach the table beside us. This time I was the one cornering him, the white robe did nothing to hide his body from my eyes, his pink nipples hard under the wet fabric. Feeling so high on the pleasurable feeling of hands on me, his wet tongue against mine.

I stoped needing to breathe, dark glossy eyes locked with mine. He looked so dreamy, all wet from the water body glued to the white robe that did nothing to hide his beautiful body and I was glad for it.

- you’re driving me crazy…. You always come see me with those innocent eyes - he whispered lowly against my lips, hands holding me tighter - smelling so good….

He slowly draws his nose against my jaw down my neck sucking harshly against it, a groan leaving my lips as he leaves a long lick over after.

- I’ve been holding myself every since I saw you for the first time… - he said breathlessly - your heat is driving me crazy y/n.

His words almost went through me, but I realized it quickly.

- my heat…?

He looked at me, eyes confused tilting his head to the side.

- you humans don’t know when you’re in heat? - he asked, genuinely confused.

- I mean…

I stoped myself as soon as I realized. He couldn’t be talking about what I thought he was, I didn’t know he could sense it too. I thought hybrids only knew when other hybrids were in heat.

Shit. He could sense when I was… ovulating?

- you can… sense it? - at that he chuckled.

- I might not have been active - he said, amusement dancing ove this dark orbs - but I can smell it from you, it’s like dripping sweat on your skin… your scent is so delicious.

- sorry I… - didn’t know what else to say. My cheeks burned hot.

- don’t apologize… I like it… - he murmured, hiding his face on my neck - I knew you were ready but I had to make sure, you’re so ready for me.

So this….

- so this is why…? - I murmured to myself.

- i don’t have heat y/n… - he held my checks with both hands - I take care of my mates heat. I can smell the arousal between your legs y/n let taste you….

With that he kissed me.

Evrything felt so overwhelming, I just couldn’t think straight anymore lost on the feeling of his lips over mine.

Our kiss was the seal to the mess we create.

Notes: here it is finally! I had some problems thanks to this app on writing this chapter so many times, I thought I was going crazy but is finally here! Sorry for any grammatical error! 😅😊💖💖

TAGLIST: @yoongiwantsme @effielumiere @glosstwn @danielle143 @confessionsofascientist @dragons-flare @shadowyjellyfishfest @savannahhsworld @crystallizedtime @fairywriter-oracle @rosquilleta @celticcountrygal @m4gg13-g @kpopmultistantrashsstuff @anaspectoflife @pandafuriosa60 @kimsonlyluv @slut-4-yourmom @itsskyvoltage @welcometomyworld13 @momnomnom @catlove83

#bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts x you #bts yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts suga #yoongi hybrid au #yoongi hybrid #min yoongi smut #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x you #yoongi series #yoongi fanfic #namjoon fanfic #jin fanfic #jung hoseok fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts hybrid fic #bts hybrid au #black mamba hybrid #bts hybrid smut #bts au

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I am politely asking for a bit more on Königs son the angst is so yummy 🥺

König loves his baby boy... Until it starts to talk.

He absolutely adores the baby when it’s born, he can’t sleep at nights because he has to go and check if the boy is still breathing in the crib. König loves to hold him close and rock him in his lap, wants to give him baths and even changes the diapers, is so invested in the little chubby nugget that it’s a bit perplexing to see him so babbly cuddly towards someone who isn’t this poor Prince’s mother.

But when the boy doesn’t need him so much anymore, when he starts to show independence and express his own will, starts to walk and run and hide and talk back to him, it makes König uncomfortable.

He’s not in control anymore, he’s not needed. He’s the one who’s always away, he’s the unfamiliar face, the stern voice, the “strange man”, the one who makes the boy look angry or afraid. He becomes the bad guy.

It’s not bullying if his own son doesn’t prefer him, König knows it. But it still hurts to feel like an alien in his own home. It feels like a personal insult to be the last choice once again.

König’s son sees his father as a judge, a tyrant, a competitor because every time he’s home, mum’s all hearts and smiles. The parent who’s supposed to represent the whole world to our Prince suddenly becomes weak and clingy and needy.

And for what? For some big foreign man who stares him down as if he’s nothing but dirt under his boot. Asks him if he’s been nice to mum and if he’s helped her with the chores. When mum’s not in hearing distance, König tells him he shouldn’t trouble her with his crying and whining... If he’s nice and behaves, König will bring him toys from his “work trips”.

He rarely brings any because “he couldn't find anything”. Mum is the one who gets foreign delicacies, perfumes and the like. König’s son soon understands it doesn't matter how well he behaves because it will never be enough.

In his dreams, he tries to kill König every now and then. The old bastard only laughs. He laughs, even in his dreams because he’s weaker than him, not a threat at all, only entertaining when he gets mad… He laughs and just won't die.

Mum comes first, always. Whatever she says is the law. Whatever she wants, she shall have. The way his father worships this woman is eerie, disturbing, and invokes so much jealousy that König’s son is not sure who he’s even supposed to be jealous of. This stupid fucker or his mum who seems to lose brain cells every time this dick returns home and disturbs their peace?

Girls are both Madonnas and whores to him after he has watched this tyrant become a babbling, spineless mess over an upset woman. The world quakes everytime his mum is unhappy because her happiness is paramount. The only time he has seen König in tears was when his mum refused to talk to him one evening: the argument was about him, of course, and how König should apologize to their son, not to her. It takes manipulation and a passive aggressive lioness to make König say he’s sorry, but it does nothing to help the situation, quite the contrary. Who would give a fuck about a forced apology?

König’s son becomes a covert people pleaser who feels lonely wherever he goes. He’s a mama’s boy whose father seemingly hates him, an angel and a demon in one man, someone who believes his worth is measured by the things he achieves in life. How well he performs, how much money he makes, how independent he becomes. With women, another one always bites the dust, with work, he never seems to find his passion. And wherever he goes, whatever he does, nothing is ever enough.

The only way for these two to find a common ground is if the poor Prince manages to settle down with some patient, loving woman who gives him a child. A grandson or a granddaughter would make König fold and become a babbling mess once more; he's so pathetic and harmless with the baby that no one can be angry at him even if they wanted to. König would kill anyone and everyone who tried to hurt his family, even a blind man can see that.

Reconciliation happens slowly but surely, even if it's another kind of hurt to see the old man give this child all the love his son would've begged his knees bloody for. But beggars can't be choosers (and apparently a king's son has no crown), luckily König becomes softer in the head as he ages so a time may come when he thinks back on what he's done and finds the balls to wholeheartedly apologize. Might demand a touching family Christmas dinner and some whiskey though.

#könig's son #könig angst #happy ending #kinda...

[cupid-styles]

can you do a blurb of ymls harry defending yn when someone judges their situation/her pregnancy pls

yes omg I love this idea!! (sorry if this isn't my best, I only have the brain capacity to write short blurbs rn but I missed these cuties)

word count: 825

content warnings: pregnant y/n

ymls masterlist | main masterlist

talk to me

. . .

Y/N can't think of a worse place to be at right now.

When she agreed to be Harry's date to his office's holiday party, it was mainly because he was borderline pouting. Ever since they kissed and confessed feelings to one another (well... attempted to, anyway — Harry's gloating kind of got in the way), she's found it increasingly more difficult to say no to the silly things he wants to do. And now that Christmas is rapidly approaching, he's far more keen on requesting her presence at things, like those drive-thru light shows that cost $70 a car, or, in this case, clutching a Diet Coke and pretending to be interested in whatever Harry's co-worker is talking her ear off about.

Thankfully, Harry can tell from across the room that she's on the cusp of falling asleep from this person's incessant droning — were they talking about... computer parts? Y/N really couldn't tell — and he quickly traipses across the room, his hand finding the small of her back.

"Hey, Jason!" he greets in mock excitement, the volume of his voice enough to make Y/N jump, "I see you met Y/N."

Jason's eyes dart between the two, confusion clear on his face. Y/N's posture straightens some and she assumes her typical defensive stance with one hand cradling her baby bump.

"I didn't know you two came here together," Jason, apparently, replies through slightly squinted eyes. "Wait... is this the girl you're having a baby with?"

It's an odd question, but one that they've become semi-used to. Harry's willing to be more patient about it, while Y/N's quicker to tell someone off for asking. In her defense, he understands; you likely wouldn't ask a couple that question, and the definition of their relationship was still a bit... blurred.

"Is there a problem with that?" Y/N snaps, her grasp tightening around the cheap plastic cup in her hand.

"Well— no, we just heard that Harry was having a baby but it wasn't with a girlfriend or anything and— well, it's kind of weird that you brought her but then she's not really your date, is she?"

In the time that they've known each other, Y/N has rarely seen Harry get angry. She can actually count it on one hand actually, and they've all been fueled by silly tequila-fueled encounters, like when Dom wouldn't let him eat chicken nuggets because he's a pescatarian and it was for his own good.

This, though... this is different, and Y/N can immediately tell. He immediately looks more defensive and shifts his body slightly so that he's standing in front of Y/N, covering her stomach. He crosses his arms over his chest, his head cocked to the side as a perplexed facial expression appears.

"I don't really think it's any of your business, Jason," Harry responds easily, a clipped tone to his voice, "Regardless of whether we're dating or not, you don't really get to have an opinion on that, hm?"

"Well— yes, I suppose you're right, it just seemed like she's single—"

"She's right here," Y/N cuts in, crossing her leg over the other. "And why the fuck would you care if I'm single? You never had a chance with me to begin with."

Jason's lips part, shock and confusion written all over his face. It seems like he's in some sort of weird man stare-off with Harry, one that she quickly grows tired of, so she reaches up to tug at the sleeve of Harry's sweater. Immediately, he peels his gaze away and looks down at her.

"'s fine," she murmurs, quietly enough so he's the only person that can hear, "Okay?"

He nods curtly. In an instant, his arm loops around Y/N's shoulders as he guides her away from that dumb fuck in the engineering department.

"You alright?" he asks softly, motioning for her to sit down at one of the high-top bar stools. She nods.

"I'm fine. You seemed pretty pissed, though."

Harry shrugs his shoulders. "He's a prick anyway."

She snickers and shakes her head, "You're kinda hot when you're mad, you know that?"

"Shush," he mumbles, waving down the bartender as he wills a flowering blush away, "Want another soda?"

"Please."

He orders them both a refill — he decided to stop drinking a few weeks into her pregnancy in solidarity — and leans back against the bar. His eyes flicker to her, realizing that she's watching him intently. He can't help that he's reflecting on the minor argument, but his eyes brighten slightly when he remembers something she said.

"So, he never had a chance?"

Y/N lets out a loud laugh. "Nah. Kind of have my eyes on someone else."

"Oh? Spill the deets, girly."

She smirks, "Hm, brown hair, tall, always reading pregnancy books... sometimes he texts me random questions or name suggestions at like 2 am. Last night he asked if he can record a podcast for the baby so they can get weekly updates."

"God, sounds like a nerd," Harry replies with a toothy grin.

"Mm, yeah. He definitely is."

#bestie asks #writing #ymls concept

[delicate-moon-princess]

Hello. Hope you are well. I don’t know if your requests are open, but I would love more Superman x reader stories. Maybe the reader is married to Clark. Clark is always very gentle, caring and soft. Always afraid of hurting the reader by accident. But maybe wants it a little rough? At least sometimes. Totally not against any dd/lg elements.

Bad Days and Bratty Ways

Trying to seduce your husband after a bad day seems to be futile. Good thing a little bit of misbehaving can tip him over the edge. -Daddy!Clark Kent x Reader

Warning: 18+ dd/lg, daddy kink, rough p in v, fingering, choking, light spanking, dumbification, squirting, creampie- Let me know if I forgot anything!

4.2k words

Any typos are my own!

A/N: This had been in my inbox for awhile, I’m sorry 😣 I hope you enjoy it!

******

Clark dealt his anger differently than most. Some people had hobbies that helped them de-stress. Or perhaps they went for a walk to clear their heads. The Kryptonians' fury morphed into something more carnal. His method to fighting any hostile thoughts was chasing them away with a good, hard fuck. 

It was a shock to learn this at first. Clark seemed like such a proper gentleman. And he was. Most of the time. Other times he ditched all gentlemanly standards, used your body for his own selfish needs. And you loved being there to help chase away his ire.

You cherished the times he was rougher with you. Your husband rarely got angry, so those moments were far and few between. His fits always left you aching in the most pleasant way. Despite being married for only a short time, you quickly learned to pick up on the signs that he was riled up.

That’s why you kept a close eye on him during dinner.

Something was bothering him. His mannerisms made it clear. The smiles he gave you were strained, as you observed how tired his eyes looked. His food was half heartedly pushed around with his fork, as if he had no appetite for the meal. He wasn’t very talkative, so you carried most of the conversation. You would get an occasional nod or quiet response.

When you asked him about his day at work, he changed the subject to something else. Typical. He always tried to ignore his emotions. He didn’t want to worry you, but more importantly, he didn’t want to hurt you if he became enraged with lust.

Maybe he just needed a little push? 

When the food was gone, he helped you clean up. No words were spoken as he loaded the dishwasher. His brows were pinched together, his jaw clenching as he pursed his lips. You saw his nostrils flare slightly.

“Daddy?” You stood behind him, your arms behind your back.

You held back a smile when you saw him freeze. There was the magic word. Now to watch him fold.

He turned halfway to look at you, brows raised. His expression softened when he took in the sight of you in front of him. You rocked on your heels as you patiently waited to be answered by him.

“Yes, sunshine?” He hummed, the sight of his precious girl gazing at him so adoringly made him want to melt.

“Did you have a bad day?” You asked, leaving him no choice but to confide in his concerned wife.

“You could say that…” He sighed, shaking his head when you frowned. “It was a long day, sweetheart. There’s nothing to worry about, though.”

Why did he always build these walls around himself? You stifled a groan when he turned back to the dishes. Just a little encouragement. If you approached this carefully, he would open up.

You made your way to him. You knew he could hear as you neared, but he did not turn to look at you. He only stopped loading dishes when your hand touched his bicep. The plate he was holding made a soft clinking sound against the counter as he set it down.

He looked at you while covering your smaller hand with his. You watched as he brought your fingers to his lips and tenderly kissed your knuckles. You lifted your other hand to his hair,  gliding your nails along his scalp. Your spouse shuddered.

“I could help you relax.” You hinted, trying to get him to submit to his urges. “I know how to make it better.”

He knew too. Clark knew what he needed to extinguish the smoldering fury he felt deep in his gut. He couldn’t push you that far. Not again. 

That’s what he always told himself.

Every time he used you in one of his primal trances, you wore bruises the next day. Along with a raw feeling between your legs. While the fact that he was the one to make you limp gave him a demented sense of pride, guilt always overcame him. How could he ever hurt you like that?

He was apologetic afterwards, but you made an effort to comfort him by stressing how much you liked it when it hurt. The tinge of pain you felt after taking on the Man of Steel in bed served as a persistent reminder of who owned you.

Still, he remained hesitant to let go of all ambitions and ravish you like you both desired.

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea, sunshine.” He shook his head, gulping at the thought of hurting you too much. It only took one time for him to forget his strength. 

One time and he could do irreversible damage to the most important person in his life.

He took your other hand away from his hair, kissing your opposite set of knuckles. Then he brought your arms back down to your sides, pressing his lips to yours. He pulled back before speaking.

“I’ll run us a bath after I finish this. Go wait for Daddy in the bedroom, okay?” He stroked your cheek, beckoning you towards the bedroom with a nod of his head.

Your pout deepening did nothing to sway him as he turned away. Letting out a huff, you crossed your arms. Obviously, more drastic measures needed  to be taken. More bratty measures.

You stomped back to your previous position a few feet away from him. Instead of continuing to the bedroom like he asked you too, you spun back around.

“So, what asshole pissed you off at work today?” You raised a brow, not surprised when his head snapped up.

“Excuse me?” He challenged, certain that his ears misheard. 

His little girl did not just utter curse words. Not his sweet, good little girl. She knows better. Clark could feel the anger that was simmering during dinner begin to boil over.

“You heard me.” You sassed.  “What prick got under your skin? Did you tell them to fuck off?”

You considered backing out of your bratty regime when the superhero growled warningly. Then you saw his lip start to curl, and you knew you were close to striking oil.

“You need to watch your mouth, little girl.” He asserted, abandoning the dishes to slowly make his way towards you.

That was your last warning. You paid no mind to it.

“Why don’t you watch it for me, Daddy?” You smirked, cocking your head back to look up at him as he got closer. Not an ounce of fear was in your voice, your teeth biting your lower lip excitedly. 

His eyes narrowed. Then before you knew what was really happening, you were spun around by a strong hand on your bicep. Gasping, you tried to gather your wits. A grin broke out onto your face, proud to have finally pushed him over the edge. You shuddered, attempting to anticipate his next move.

“I wouldn’t be so proud of myself if I were you, little girl. You won’t like what Daddy has planned for you.” He kept a stern hold on you, his front pressed firmly against your back.

“Are you gonna spank me?” You went to turn your head to look at him, still smirking. His hand was quick to grab your jaw, keeping you looking ahead towards the island in the kitchen.

“No, you’d like that too much, wouldn’t you?” He scoffed, walking you forward until you were trapped between him and the counter.

That was true. You bite your lip to quell your smile, eyes rolling back when his hand slipped down to your throat. You unknowingly let out a whine, wordlessly pleading for him to squeeze. 

Clark growled, his bulge nudging the crease of your ass. Your walls clenched, as if your pussy was instinctively trying to swallow his length. Despite the confines between your bodies. His other hand held your hip, keeping you from squirming. 

“You know how much I don’t like it when you use those words. Do you think you’re a big girl now, hm? You think you can spurt out such vulgarity and get away with it? No, I don’t think so.” He hissed close to your ear, the hand on your throat finally clenching. With your breath cut off, he effectively squeezed the last vestige of deviance out of you.

You flooded your panties, the fabric darkened with the amount of your juices. Stars flashed behind your closed eyelids before he let you go, and you greedily inhaled air. You hiccuped as your knees wobbled.

“D-Daddy, please.” You whimpered, your eyes closed as you begged for his pity.

“What’s the matter? Can’t say bad words with Daddy’s hand around your throat, can you?” He gruffed, your throat vibrating against his palm as you mewled.

“I see right through that bratty facade.” He growled. “You’ve been squirming since I got home. You like to see me in a bad mood, don’t you?”

You inhaled sharply, bashful now that he called your bluff. And maybe a bit guilty. You pouted, closing your eyes. It was wrong to push his buttons when you knew he already had a bad day.

“Yes, I know your little games. And all through dinner, I could smell that dripping cunt. I know what you really want. You just need to be fucked, don’t you? It’s all you can think about. My precious little girl has become a real cock-crazed slut.” He sighed while shaking his head scoldingly.

“D-Dadd-ah!” You were about to beg for forgiveness before he bent you over the counter, cutting off your plea with a soft yelp.

The cold marble shocked your blazing flesh. You moaned, still trying to catch your breath when you feel his fingers hook under the hem of your bottoms. He shucked them down your legs

His eyes burned into you as you quivered before him. A draft blew across the wet fabric of your panties, making your toes curl. His heavy hand trailed up the back of your bare thigh which gave you goosebumps.

“Look at the mess you’ve made of yourself, dirty girl. Does acting like a brat really get you this excited? Do you like seeing me this angry?” He chided as you whined.

It was hard for you to speak, all you could focus on was his teasing fingers tracing the seam of your underwear. You didn’t answer, not expecting him to sigh and rip your flimsy panties off like they were made of tissue paper. The brutal smack on your bare bum also came as a surprise. Your startled shriek rang through the otherwise quiet kitchen.

“Answer me, sunshine. You don’t want to test Daddy’s patience right now.” He huffed, squeezing your glowing ass cheek.

“Yes, I-I like it…” You muttered quietly, ashamed to say it out loud. He sneered in displeasure, and you grunted when he swatted you again.

“Louder, little girl. You were so brave a second ago, what happened?” He raised a brow.

You pouted, your bum stinging. He said he wouldn’t spank you. It’s only fun when you’re expecting it. The wetness growing between your folds said otherwise, however.

“I like acting like a brat, Daddy.” You whined clearly, shifting back and forth on your legs to relieve some of the pressure in your belly. “It gets me excited.” 

“And why’s that, huh?” He grunted, needing to hear you say it.

“Because…” You whispered hesitantly, glancing away from him. “Because I-I wanted to make you mad. When you get mad, you’re rough with my… princess parts. And I love it.” Your voice became close to silent, this time he didn’t correct you. 

Saying it out loud was embarrassing. This wasn’t the first time you had disobeyed to get the attention you wanted. And this surely wasn’t the first time he noticed. How humiliating. A small part of you was still relieved to finally admit it.

Clark narrowed his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t condone such behavior. Like all the times before this. But all he could think about was pounding your tight little princess hole so hard you screamed.

“Naughty girl. Instead of coming and asking Daddy nicely to fuck your desperate pussy, you decide to act out. Push me to the edge, until I have to punish you.” He chastised, the aching in his loins made his restraint weaken.

“Sorry, Daddy...” You huffed, peeking back at him with a pout. 

He seemed to be debating something in his head. You swallowed nervously, your tongue coming out to lick your dry lips. He watched your mouth intensely. A groan rumbled in his throat as he blinked slowly. Then his gaze snapped back up to yours, his expression hardening once more.

“I shouldn’t be indulging in such naughty behavior, but you’re lucky I’m pent up from my day at work.” He grunted, leaning down to whisper in your ear. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want. I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t have a single thought in that pretty little head. The only thing you’ll be able to think about is how I’m pounding that tight princess pussy.”

A quick slap to your clit shook you, crying out in surprise. You melted into a pitiful puddle of desire, your skin tingling as he rubbed your thighs and hips. His touch disappeared after giving your ass a hefty squeeze.

With your head still spinning, you looked back to see him working on unbuckling his belt. The metal clinked together. A sound that made you whimper. You unconsciously pushed your hips up, presenting to him. He wanted to chuckle at how needy his little girl was. 

When you reached for him, he backed away so your hand fell. You gave him a big pout, even trying puppy dog eyes. Why was he teasing so much?

“Quit your pouting. You don’t get to decide the pace, little miss. That’s Daddy’s job. Now be a good girl and keep your hands to yourself.” He smirked. 

He resumed pushing down his trousers. You moaned when his manhood fell out, already half hard and growing larger by the second. You wanted nothing more than to touch him. While you reached for him again, your fingers made a grabby gesture. It was paired with a frustrated whine.

He wouldn’t budge, stepping just out of your reach. He smirked before movement below his waist caught your attention. He had grabbed himself in his hand, casually squeezing from his base to his weeping tip.

Pearly white precum beaded out from the slit, making your mouth water. Your taste buds ached for a taste of him. You huffed to yourself, licking your lips to keep from drooling. He grinned.

“Is this what you want so bad, sweetheart? Is this what you’ve been fussing over, what’s got you so bratty? You’ve become addicted. Daddy’s cock has got you drooling. From here.” He grabbed your cheeks, pushing your lips together. You felt the saliva in your mouth start to drip out.

“And from here.” He let go of your jaw, reaching down to cover your mound in one large hand. 

He groaned as you leaked onto his palm, stroking his fingers back and forth to coat his hand in your wetness. You twitched as he circled your oozing entrance with one thick digit. His thumb sought out your nub, putting pressure on the aching knot of nerves. You cried out softly, pushing your hips into his hand as he toyed with your most sensitive spot. 

“Such a messy girl. Dripping all the way down to my wrist and I’ve barely touched you.” He chuckled, and you buried your head in your arms.

“Don’t get shy now, sweetheart. Daddy still has to fuck the naughtiness out of your drooly pussy. Right after I make you gush around my fingers like the nasty girl you are.”

You gasped as he sunk a finger into you. Your body seized, but it wasn’t enough. He clicked his tongue as you hiccuped and ground your hips against his one digit.

“Oh, poor girl. You’ve got yourself so worked up. My finger isn’t enough.” He cooed mockingly. “How about another? But it just won’t be enough until Daddy fucks you nice and hard, will it?” 

You hide your face with a whine. He entered with a second finger, making you hiss. Your tight hole swallowed his fingers like it was starving.  He dragged his digits in and out of you, the tips of his fingers scraping the delicate spot residing inside you. You moaned, lifting your head off the counter to tilt upwards towards the ceiling.

“That’s it, work yourself onto my fingers. You’re absolutely soaked. You’re going to make a puddle on the floor if you continue like this.” He laughed while looking down at his glistening hand and forearm.

A third finger joined the rest, stretching you as his thumb found your pleasure button. Your legs shook with the pace he set, the rubbing of your clit was in rhythm with his pummeling fingers. A groan left you, your eyes rolling back.

“Listen to that wet little pussy.” He beamed with a wild look in his eyes as your tightness squelched. “You’re going to do it, aren’t you? You’re going to make a mess all over, like the dumb little baby you are. Such a poor little thing, you can’t help it. Feels so good, doesn’t it?”

Sobbing, you nodded to everything he said. This got him to chuckle, the muscles in his bicep bulging as he fucked you with his fingers. He curled said fingers downward, knocking against the spot that made your heart stutter. 

“Go ahead a cum, sunshine. Show Daddy you can still be a good girl and gush all over my hand.” He growled, his thumb winding tight circles as you mewled like a kitten. “So close, baby, just a little bit more… Theeere we go, good girl.”

He cooed as he felt you clench around his fingers, smirking as he knew what was about to happen. The wail you let out made your own ears hurt, but you couldn’t help it as you squirted all over his arm. You heard some of it hit the floor, as he anticipated.

You humped against his hand as he shook his fingers inside you, stretching your climax out for as long as he could. Your flesh had a light sheen of sweat, which Clark licked off your neck while nuzzling your shoulder.

“There’s a good girl. I knew you could do it. Maybe you’re not so naughty after all…” He hummed.  

Your head snapped up when you felt the sensation of his hard member against your dewy petals. Instinctively, you pushed your hips up. This gave him a perfect angle to plunge into you as he teased the tip against your aching clit. You hiccuped as he groaned deeply, still hazy from your climax but you never forgot your need for him inside you.

“There she is, there’s my girl. Getting ready to take it in her little hole because she can’t seem to care about anything else. Beg for it. Go on. Daddy wants to hear you beg to get your tight pussy demolished.” He traced the head of his length up and down your slit, coating himself in the juices leaking from your core. 

He teased your entrance, but never filled you like you wanted. A deep ache was building in your gut, tight and throbbing. It was beginning to hurt, being unsatiated for so long. 

If he wanted you to beg, you would grovel at his feet. If that’s what it took for him to fuck you.

“Daddy, please.” You whined, swaying your hips back and forth. “I-I need to be fucked. ‘M all wet and achy down there… Need you to fuck me. Wreck my princess parts, Daddy, please! Demolish me-AGH!”

You interrupted yourself with a loud cry when he plunged into you in one deep thrust. It took little effort on his part, your tunnel lathered in your arousal made easy passage for his manhood. Your mouth dropped open as he claimed every inch of you from the inside. 

A strangled gasp escaped your throat. It felt like the air was stolen from your lungs, only this time his hand wasn’t around your throat. The sheer size of him rendered you breathless.

“Look at that…” He murmured with adoration in his voice. He watched your face as all thoughts escaped you, becoming a panting and pliable doll for him.

“That’s really all you needed, sweetheart. You get Daddy’s cock inside of you and all the brattiness slips away, doesn’t it? It’s like your own kind of paci…” He murmured, chuckling under his breath when your walls fluttered around him.

He gave you no time to adjust, not that you really needed it. His thrusts were brutal, as promised. Your lips separated as a resounding cry forced its way from your chest. Finally, you got what you wanted. The euphoria was so strong, it was borderline painful.

With your face twisted, you tried to match his animalistic pounding. Soon, you found it too hard to keep up, so you arched your back and let him rail you. Clark found leverage with your hips, gripping them hard enough to cause bruises. He snarled, jaw clenching as his skin smacked against yours.

Your pussy gushed around the thick intrusion invading it. You could hear it when you paused your sobbing to catch your breath. He shivered behind you, his lip curling up in a cocky snicker as you listened to the harmony between your bodies.

“Do you hear that, little girl? Your poor little princess pussy is crying, she feels so sorry. What about you, huh? Are you sorry for being a bad girl?” He gripped your face in one hand, turning your head towards him.

The look in his eyes almost made you cum. His gaze was demented, obviously amused by your dazed expression. Your mouth hung open as you panted. You mewled, your hole never escaped his harsh thrusting. 

“S-Sorry, Daddy! I’m sorry for being naughty! O-Oh, god!” You finished your sentence with a moan when he lifted one of your legs, holding it up to pound into you even deeper.

You trembled, your body feeling tight. The throbbing in your core accelerated to match your racing heart. You gasped, eyes rolling back in your skull.

He grabbed your throat and leaned forward to press his chest to your back. Your leg was forced higher, inevitability forcing him deeper. You squealed weakly, the sound was broken. He cooed at the noises you let out.

“You poor thing, Daddy sure has fucked you dumb. All you can do is whine and cry as I bust open that pretty cunt.” He hissed.

The filthiness of his words made your toes curl. Your walls involuntarily fluttered around his aching member. You gasped, the tingling in your core increasing.

“Please, please, I can’t. I can’t- M-Mm…” You whimpered frantically while pinching your eyes shut. It was becoming increasingly harder to hold on. You didn’t want to get into anymore trouble by cumming without his permission

“I know, sunshine. You’re so close, I can feel you clenching around me. Cum for me, little girl. Gush all over my fucking cock, you dirty whore.” He snarled, sending vibrations straight to your aching pussy.

You came with a loud sob, heat washing over you as his words pushed you over the edge. Your lips fell open, but you were oblivious to the sounds you were making. Your ears were ringing as you rode your orgasm.

Meanwhile, your husband chased his high with your convulsing pussy. Your sweet moans rang in his ears. His pace stuttered for only a moment before he bottomed out and painted your cervix white. You shuddered in sync with him, his seed hot inside your walls. Clark bucked his hips, making sure to give you all he had as his balls jerked upwards.

He eventually stopped his movements, resting inside you. You could hear him exhale as you stayed bent over the counter, still catching your breath. The sensation of his hands rubbing up and down your sides relaxed you, making you give a satisfied smile.

He chuckled, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek. All traces of anger were gone from his perfectly sculpted face.

“Thank you for that, sunshine. I really needed it.” He hummed as you cooed and nuzzled his palm.

“Glad to help, Daddy.” You preened.

“You still need a real punishment for saying such bad words…” He trailed off as dragged himself out of your tender core. Both of you moaned.

With your legs spread wide, he pulled your cheeks apart, giving him a perfect view of your creampie. He growled with a playful smirk.

“How about a bath for the messy girl and then an early bedtime with Daddy. I’m not done with you just yet.” He chuckled and spanked you lightly on the behind, causing you to jump, more of his cum slipping out of you. 

You giggled, bending back up to book it towards the bedroom half naked. He chased after you with a grin that told you were in for a long night of “punishment”.

******

Taglist: @sunshine-with-daisy @leigh70 @islacharlotte @lysarria @kebabgirl67 @pandaxnienke @identity2212 @rach2602

#clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x y/n #daddy!clark kent x reader #clark kent fanfic #clark kent imagine #henry cavill characters #clark kent #anon request #masterlist #clark kent smut

[house-of-slayterr]

beloved <3 what are you Halsin headcanons??

ps do you also like the polymance w Astarion? i wanna know your takes!! <3

Omg ok it’s happening!!! Ahhhh!

Halsin:

Halsin attempts to be a gentle man in his conscious actions. He wants to be soft and cause as little unnecessary harm as possible. That being said, with his size that’s a difficult thing to be. I feel he grows frustrated easy when he accidentally breaks things (or people). But on the flip side, if you unleash his rage, this hardly a way to put a lid on it. He’s a large beast, and as such, it seems so are his emotional states. He is terrifying to the enemy and it’s such a harsh contrast to him off the battle field when he’s safe and happy. It’s something I think sets him aside more than the other companions.

Halsin is also a patient man. It takes a lot of patients and self control to be someone with his gifts. The world is lucky his quicker to compassion than to draw his claws, and bear his teeth. I feel like he’s one to give several warnings.

He’s a very goofey guy. This man has a full belly laugh like good old American Santa Klaus. All of camp can hear it when you make him laugh. The best place to be in the world is with him lying on his back, and you on top of him during a sunset as you try to tell little stories to feel his chest rumble. It lulls you to sleep like a purring cat after awhile, like a sleeping agent for your heart, calming it in all the chaos. (Bear cubs can purr like cats sometimes and it’s adorable)

He’s an old romantic. I feel like this man like to try to play things by the book in his head. He knows what relationships are supposed to look like and sound like and he sounds so stiff when he starts off by using his “script” it works because by the gods does he have that shit down to pretty much a sex science at this point, knowing exactly what to say to get what he wants. But that’s not what draws you in. It’s the potential of getting the spontaneity out of him. Getting him to say things he normally wouldn’t, how he normally wouldn’t. Add people he normally wouldn’t. He’s a very flexible man, he’s happy as long as you’re happy. But his best flirting comes when he’s tried, or angry, or those rare moment he gets jealous. Lord help you if Halsin is jealous and the solution is he can’t just have both of you- good luck walking anytime soon.

He’s very in tune with his emotions. He’s a sensitive guy. I mean he loves ducks for fucks sake. This man is precious. He will treat you as if you are such too. Everyone is small and fragile compared to him. He’ll protect your body, mind, soul and feelings with his life. Defend you with his last breath, do anything just to bring a smile to your face. This man is nothing if not devoted 100% to what he does. He starts to become in touch with your emotions too. Being able to sense them from halfway across camp and always comes running ready to be your Druid in shining armour

Now Astarion is a different beast literally , literally… he is a vampire. I wouldn’t say there’s much in common between vampires and Bears. I’d say other than their insatiable appetites. This spritely little elf is more akin to a cat than a bear.

The dynamic is different apart of course, but if you’re with Halsin first, he’ll notice. He’s not an idiot, far from it actually. He pays close attention to his darling and their needs and wants. Especially when it comes to body language. He wouldn’t exactly be mad you’re attracted to Astarion, he can’t blame you. He’d be more upset the longer he observed this attraction grow and you either said or did nothing about it.

I know I said earlier Halsin is a patient man, but one thing he’s not patient for is watching you “suffer” which might be a dramatic word in this case (Astarion would find it quite fitting, you suffering without his love) he will call you out on this attraction quite quickly and ask as politely and openly as possibly what you want to do about it. It’s no secret the wood elf may also find said vampire attractive.

Astarion would agree too it, not without some fuss at first, calming theatrics of wanting you all to himself but it’s fine to share with some “oaf” as if he too is not attracted to the Druid. Honestly if you keep your sanity during this phase of the relationship, congratulations love, you’ve survived the hardest hardship in all of Baulder’s gate.

But once that awkward phase is over. RIP your legs again. RIP your everything actually. Bestie are you sure you want to do this? A bear and a vampire. In love and obsessed with you… wanting to ravage you body at your earliest convince pretty much multiple times a day when they can? Yeah yeah- you’re totally sane, totally cool, totally normal. The rest of your companions aren’t looking at you like you’re the scariest motherfucker to ever walk this earth. Between the bite marks and the claw marks, and let’s be honest now you’ve probably dislocated a hip at least once- how are you feeling? Truly. That being said, they do go easy on you sometimes and give you a break and let you watch them go at each other , and boy is that a sight. (I’m not drooling, you’re drooling)

It’s the after sex but that’s really what you carve though. The part that makes you feel safe and whole and loved. They wouldn’t dare part from you even if the entire camp was engulfed in flames in that moment. Nothing could pry them from their lovers side. They look at you like you put the moon on the sky, the your he very reason their hearts beat, like you’re the only reason they’re still fighting (probably half the reason they’re still standing, let’s be honest, you’ve saved they’re asses more than enough times and they’re so greatful for that) but it’s these moments that you crave. There simple, full of love and lust and simple honest words and looks and touches. Everything so easy, and feels right.

It would be a moment like this one of your boys would choose to make this arrangement permanent. Perhaps Astarion with an off handed comment. Something about “well maybe we should just wed eternally, I hear honeymoon sex is even better” he would grin like a vampire at a blood bank. And it would be silly, but it would be genuine. Halsin would make him try again and give you something proper later if you asked. Or on the flip side, after a hard battle, Halsin would scoop you both up in his arms kissing you each deeply and say “we ahh like join our hearts as one, so we never fear one it’s like to be apart” and even though the situations not ideal and you may be exhausted and covered and dirt and blood and whatever else, it’s the three of you and that’s what matters.

The sleeping arrangements are simple. It’s always Halsin’s tent. That man in massive. Astarion won’t admit it but he creeps into his tent about halfway through each night, never wanting to start on his arms but always craving them. And you sleep happily on top of him, squishing both your boys as close to you as possible. And they wouldn’t have it any other way. They love you and you love them, it’s plain for all the world to see.

AN: sorry if this is bad, I don’t own the game, all I have to go on is fan fics, behind the scenes, fan info, and watching my friends play the game and info dump about it. If anything is inaccurate I’m so sorry 😭 I tried based on how I view them at least.

#Halsin #baulders gate 3 #halsin x astarion #astarion x reader #halsin x reader #bg3 headcanons #polycule

[absurd-ash]

Hi there about a headshot or one shot with Macaque and his s/o get into some argument over something resulting him saying something very mean to the reader. But could their some how be a fluff and comfort at the end where the two make up please? 💖

Heated Argument

{Macaque x GnReader}

You two would almost never get into arguments, and on the rare occasion that you two did get into fights, they would always be small, petty, couple arguments

Thats why you always found it odd when at some times Macaque seemed so frustrated with you

Little did you know, he was not in fact, frustrated with you, no, never you

He was always just frustrated at things that bothered him a certain day, most of the time it was Wukong, but sometimes his frustration could even be directed at life in general

But no, he was never frustrated with you, at least to the point he would yell or get in a fight with you

Well...on purpose that is

You would most likely be trying to make him relax, to distract him from whatever was making him so upset

As much as you wanted to help, Macaque wasn't having any of it

Giving you short and stern answers, not being vocal when you talk to him, just ignoring you completely

Whether you knew it or not, Macaque did this so he didnt lash out at you, it wasn't your fault he was so upset and frustrated, so he tried his best to be silent in his own little, angry, upset, world

Although, it didn't always work

whether it be that you were being too pushy, him forgetting to do what he usually does, him being less patient then usual, there was always a chance that he would take his frustration out on you verbally

he wouldn't be thinking about his words as he lashed out at you, if anything, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time

"Macaque, tell me what's wrong! I want to help!"

"My god Y/n, can't you see that nows not the time? Jeez, sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve someone as clingy as you!"

You flinched at that, not expecting the sudden outburst

You would look to the ground as you mutter a small apology and start heading to your bedroom to give Macaque space

It wasn't until Macaque heard your bedroom door shut when he had realized what he had said to you

He immediately started to panic, bringing his hands up to the roots of his hair and pulling at them

He didnt mean what he said, he would never mean it, but you didnt know that, for all you knew, he had truly meant what he said, that he thought he deserved someone better than you

If anything, reality was the exact opposite, Macaque thought you deserved better, that he wasn't enough for you, and sometimes, those thoughts kept him up at night

He started to pace across the living room that he was currently in, still tugging at his hair, thinking about ways to apologize to you

He would then decide that just outright apologizing would be the best way and he then headed towards your bedroom door

He winced as his six ears matched up on your mutters that you were whispering to yourself about how "Stupid" you were for not giving Macaque his space....did you really think you were stupid?

He winced at the implications of that, that he was the one to make you feel stupid

He shook away those thoughts and then knocked on your bedroom door

"Plum? Can I come in?" He muttered, his voice soft

You muttered a small "sure" so quiet, that any other person wouldn't be able to hear it, but he's the six eared Macaque for a reason

He lightly swung open the door to see you on your bed, staring up at the ceiling

"Look- Plum...I'm sorry-" He began, but before he could continue, you broke him off

"You don't need to apologize, it was my fault..." You say, looking at the ground in shame

...You didn't actually think that...did you?

"What?! No! It isn't your fault, it'll never be your fault. It was mine I was-" You cut him off before he could continue

"What?! No way, it was all my fault! I should have noticed you were so tense- but I was so stupid and-"

This time, you were cut off by Macaque. But instead of speaking he only walked close to you and leaned down so his eyes could look into yours

He brought his hands up and cupped your cheeks making you look at him

"Plum, look at me. You are not stupid. It wasn't your fault. ...and if anything I dont deserve you..."

Hearing those words you start to smile until he says the last bit your smile turns into a frown

"What?! No! I dont deserve you!!" You say, grabbing his shoulders

A flabbergasted look appears on Macaques face

"What! No, no, no, no. I dont deserve you." He said slowly, as if trying to get it to stick in your head

"No!" You say, still shocked that he would ever think that

You both stared at each other for another moment before both bursting out into giggles and laughter over the whole ordeal

After you both calmed down from your laughing, you laid down and motioned for Macaque to lay next to you

After than you both laid in silence just apprecaiting each other's company

"...hey plum...i'm sorry. About earlier. I know I already apologized but o just wanted to make sure you knew..."

You couldn't help but smile at that

"yeah. I know Macaque..,"

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

I'm so sorry this took so long! I had to rewrite this like- five times :')

Anyway, I'm going on a break for a little while. There's gonna be one more head canon thats gonna come out and then I'll go on break. I'll let you all know when I get back :D

#x reader #macaque x reader #lmk macaque #lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk x reader

[cannellee]

hey, pls cant you do Mikey, Izana, hanma, kakucho and koko (manila arc) with a s/n temperamental, impulsive, umpredictable Dear who as bipolarity and 0 empathy, insensitive with mbti intj? Bean years younger than them, like a teenager. Thanks!

TOKYO REVENGERS OMEGAVERSE ★

୨୧ alpha! Tokyo revengers x omega! Reader (pairing: mikey, izana, hanma, kakucho, kokonoi)

— their reactions to an unstable s/o

(that's a lot! I'm not very familiar with any of these - forgive me if it's not really representative - and I'm not sure if I quite wrote the reader you had in mind. I hope you still like it!!🫶🏼 I just realized i forgot kokonoi, I'll probably do it later if I'mmotivated sorry)

my masterlist : ☆

KAKUCHO

he is very attentive of every single details about you and completely supports you no matter what.

he always has the right words when you're feeling down and respects your boundaries.

he often hesitates to leave you some alone time or to actually listen to his instincts and stay by your side.

he's aware you value moments of calm and peace and doesn't want to interfere and stress you out.

he's so delicate with you and always there during your episodes. he started to take note of your triggers and symptoms early in the relationship to make sure he could offer you the best support.

if you have to take treatments or medications, he has it all planned, he knows exactly when you need to take them and make sure you do. he doesn't want to risk your health!

he's so patient with you:( when you get irritable easily he gives you time and space and silently envelopes you with his calming pheromones. and when your thoughts are racing and you're not able to talk clearly, he's making you slow down, he doesn't mind if you repeat yourself and stutter over your words : he's actively listening and nodding along to whatever you say.

MIKEY

mikey tries his best to be understanding but honestly he sometimes crosses the line.

he knows you have a short temper and gets angry easily, especially when you're tired. most of the time, he'll try to appear calmer to make up for your restlessness, but there are times where he'll purposely get on your nerves.

angry, you end up saying something hurtful to him to make him shut up and go inside your nest to get some rest. he's kinda used to you cursing at him so he doesn't really take it to heart. it kinda amuses him if you ask, he just thinks you're really cute. his adorable omega getting all worked up everytime he messes up with her is truly a sight to see for him.

he's very careful with you though, and that's something people don't usually notice. you tend to do things out of the blue without a second thought and that scares mikey. it's most of the time harmless stuff, but he can't help but worry and think of the worst.

he tries his best to make sure you feel at home and comfortable with him. he doesn't judge you or anything. if you don't want to do anything at all and rest all day, that's fine with him, he'll even help you build your nest!

the only thing he wants from you is to stay loyal to him and never leave him or for you to hurt yourself. he values your health, probably more than you and accepts any of your mood swings with teasing remarks and comforting hugs.

IZANA

he's so whipped he absolutely doesn't care about anything you can do or say to him.

you can suck the money out of his wallet and not even thank him and he'll accept it. you often demand things from him, order him around when you need to do your nest but you're too tired to do so, make him buy you the finest jewelry and lash out at him if you don't get what you want. izana does it all and feels proud to be able to fulfill all of his precious omega's needs.

you often surprise him with your antics. it's not rare for you during one of your manic episodes to engage in risky behaviours and being overconfident. lucky for you izana is always keeping you under his watch and is quick to bring you somewhere safer and eliminate any danger.

he's always impressed at how long you're able to sleep. he'll leave for work early and come back at night and find you at the exact same place. it warms his heart to see his sweet omega looking so peaceful he wants to join you right here right now!

he does his best to keep up with your change in appetite. he constantly buys you a lot of food, the most diverse he can find and lets you do your little selection each day. he does worry when you eat very little though. that's why he tries to buy sweets and snacks he knows you love best. he's able to adapt himself very quickly, that's why he identifies which food you like to have during each episode or depending of your symptoms.

When you reject what he offers you with a scowl on your face, he takes it to heart and actually feel like he somehow failed as your alpha. he listens to any of your requests in hopes to make up for his mistakes.

HANMA

good luck with him tbh.

he met you when you were studying at the library of your university, although you surely were the prettiest omega he had ever seen, you seemed to drive people away from you. you didn't engage in social interactions and answered him with short and cold responses when he tried to make a conversation with you.

he actually is very fond of your extreme mood and snarky remarks : you never hold back your words and he loves it.

he doesn't reciprocate because deep down he cares a lot about you, but he does tease you when you don't seem really sensitive.

hanma absolutely lives for your choices and decisions in life, it doesn't matter how crazy and dangerous they are. he'll follow you and discreetly make sure you don't jeopardize yourself.

he has a lot of money and he'll happily let you spend it. he only asks for a few kisses and affection from you because he knows you hate that. push him away and he'll come back even more in love.

although he supports everything about you, there are things he doesn't tolerate. when you once felt like trying drugs and alcohol together, he took them away from you and looked the most angry he ever had. you would have shaken in fear if you were just any omega : his pheromones were filled with worry and anger, it was a new scent for him who was always so confident.

actually convinces you to quit school to live with him. your episodes make it hard for you to be around others for long periods of times, especially since you're an omega and you're drained easier of your energy. he doesn't understand why you just don't accept being with him 24/7.

you sometimes question why you actually listened to him because he seems to love provoking you. you do threaten him but he doesn't care.

#a/b/o tokyo revengers #alpha tokyo revengers #cannelle★ #hybrid tokyo revengers #omegaverse tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers a/b/o #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers hybrid #tokyo revengers omegaverse #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers headcanon #omega tokyo revengers #tokrev x reader #tokyo revengers omegaverse headcanons #tokyo revengers angst #yandere tokyo revengers #tokyorev x reader #hanma shuji #hanma x reader #alpha kakucho #kakucho imagines #mikey imagines #alpha mikey #alpha kokonoi #kokonoi x reader #tokyo revengers izana #izana x reader #alpha izana #anime omegaverse

[no-m4gic]

Hiya friend i saw u and knew I had to request heh

So I was thinking byakuya/nagito/shuichi characters w a reader who cries when frustrated/yelled at/someone angry at them :}

Lots of love also don't forget to eat and drink

mmm i'm here to pleasure the simps i'm here to pleasure the simps i'm here to pleasure the simps.

lmk if you ever want yandere byakuya, plasma /j

i had fun writing this lel, thanks for requesting! i relate to this a lot lmao

~ mod sitaya

BYAKUYA, NAGITO & SHUICHI W/ A GN FRAGILE S/O

BYAKUYA TOGAMI

"uugh. stop crying already, get up, the floor's dirty."

despite byakuya not being a patient guy, he isn't a loud one either. however that doesn't mean he won't get mad and snap at you.

he isn't a heartless monster though, if you'd just been scolded by perhaps kirigiri or ishimaru, he'd offer you his handkerchief, but i doubt he'll accept it back.

"i don't want anything that is stained with plebian tears."

isn't really the type who'd hug or like hugs, but if you do initiate a hug, he'll just awkwardly and silently hug back.

god forbid you stain his rich people clothes though.

don't worry about him being mad at you, you're one of the only people who doesn't piss him off to the core, so it's rare for him to be mad or upset with you, most of the time it's just him being annoyed and making snarky remarks.

if it was somebody who had made you mad, frustrated or upset, expect a handwritten apology letter from them.

when you ask togami about it, he'd act all innocent and clueless.

"i don't know what you're talking about s/o, i'd never do something like that for such a plebian."

NAGITO KOMAEDA

"oh atua- s/o- what happened? was it me? i'm sorry... i'll leave if you want..."

at first he'd think he was the problem and feel like absolute shit.

eventually tho, he'll find out that it isn't him, which was good on his part.

he'd ask you what happened and who made you upset.

after you're done rambling, you'll find yourself in his arms, him probably squeezing you tighter than you were squeezing him.

my guy doesn't want to lose you.

while hugging you and rubbing your back, he assumes that this happened because of his luck. he'd also be secretly plotting something against whoever yelled at you. it would definitely be something way less sinister than whatever was happening in his head, something like him acting all creepy around them.

if you're still upset, he'd bring you on a shopping spree, since you know like... he won the lottery.

if you run into someone like izuru or byakuya, you two would definitely have fun annoying them.

SHUICHI SAIHARA

"oh no- s/o, i'm sorry that happened... but what should i do? should i start crying too?"

if it'd make you feel better, shuichi would offer to cry with you and hold you.

he'd quickly run off to fetch you a glass of water

after that he'd listen to whatever you had to say, all the while enjoying your soothing voice.

if you like sulking in the dark, he'll lend you his emo hat and walk you back to your room, telling people who got in the way and were making the situation worse to fuck off.

if it's raining and you guys are outside, he'll walk in the rain and lend you his umbrella.

you'd probably have to care for him after he gets a bad fever

after dealing with you, the next person he'll have to deal with would be your attacker.

he wouldn't attack them komaeda or blackmail them like togami, he'd just walk up to them and be like "hey, could you be more careful around s/o next time? their ego is really weak. thanks."

or he'd get kaede to tell them if he decides to stay with you.

#danganronpa x reader #danganronpa #dr x reader #dr #byakuya togami x reader #byakuya x reader #togami x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #komaeda x reader #shuichi x reader #saihara x reader #shuichi saihara x reader

[ravenloop]

AN: Did I really just disappear for months only to return now? YESS (we won't question anything but I'm writing finals so that's why if you're wondering 😭)

Pairing: Heimdall/Reader

Request: Something cute with Heimdall and his child maybe?

This was also requested by a friend... I see you.

—Love of Mine—

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

"For someone who picked on a little boy, you're quite a softie with children."

The comment had him glaring at you, but his gaze immediately left you as your daughter tugged at his tunic, wanting his attention again. Lilac eyes softened ever so slightly.

"That little boy has an ego too big for his size. He thinks himself smarter than us all," Sounded familiar, "Yet Allfather refuses to see it."

"Oh, he sees it. And I'd guess he has a plan that he's keeping hidden for now." Pushing yourself off the wall, you walked over to the two sat. He had been braiding her hair for the past couple minutes. 'She wouldn't stop bothering me if I didn't do it' is what he told you, but you didn't need bïfrost eyes to see that lie.

The way his fingers gently wove through strands of her hair said enough. Of course your daughter—the daddy's girl she is—was ecstatic about it. She didn't move from his lap once. Her little legs swung as she patiently waited for him to finish the last braid.

"No one knows what goes through the Allfather's head." When he finished, you lifted your daughter into your arms, you could see the beautiful Asgardian braids he had given her. Similar to his own.

"Happy?" I asked. She smiled and nodded quickly.

Heimdall stood with a chuckle, his earlier irritation at the Jotun boy seemingly gone. He rarely stayed angry for long when with you and his daughter. It was hard for him to admit it out loud, but he adored his beautiful wife and daughter more than he'd ever say.

Maybe, he'd find the words to tell it to you one day.

"Why don't you ever braid my hair?"

"You're not a four year old, are you? You can braid your own hair."

"Rude," You scoffed. Your daughter giggled.

Heimdall smirked, that same smirk you went from hating to getting butterflies at seeing it. He grabbed your waist and pulled you close. "Ask me again when I feel like."

"And how do I know when you'll 'feel like'?"

"You're my wife, shouldn't you instinctively know these things?"

"Heimdall."

A low chuckle, "Joking." His arm slid further around your waist. His other hand gently placed itself on your daughter's back as you held her on your hip. His way of showing love behind closed doors as his chin rested on your forehead.

"So you'll braid my hair?"

"I'll think about it."

You smiled to yourself. He had strange ways of saying he loved you.

Maybe, he'd find the words to tell it to you one day.

Maybe, you didn't need words to know how deeply he truly cared.

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

AN: short but I thought it was cute lol. But WOO first fic after... Months. My bad lol. I'm still busy with finals so I probably won't write much (shocking) but yeah! Hope you enjoyed :)

#god of war #god of war ragnarök #reader insert #god of war x reader #gow x reader #gow #gow heimdall #gow heimdall x reader #god of war heimdall #x reader

[angelicsjn]

How yanderes would react if during an argument they made the reader cry

YOUR SIX YANDERES.

— ROMAN CORNELIUS JAMES BEAUREGARD.

Roman is a patient man and it takes a lot to hit that level of anger for him to lose this skill in communication while arguing.

But when he does, he sees red and simply doesn't care about anything he does or says.

But the moment he sees you crying, he stops.

He takes a breath and sometimes even walks out to compose himself before he returns to clear it up with a clearer mind.

He'll speak it out gently this time. Making sure to make you feel better anyway that helps you, whether that be with space, or affection.

Comforting you but still sorting out the reasoning for your argument. He's not the type to sweep something under the rug. He sorts it out then and there.

But it's rare he reaches that level of anger, so arguments don't happen much since he's the type to calmly sort it out rather than lash out and shout.

— LATEN REED.

This big boy hates . HATES . Arguments. Especially with those he loves. So most of the time he does anything he can to avoid arguing with you.

But on the occasions that you do argue, he's the type of person to get frustrated and aggraved at the fact you're both arguing rather than the reason of the argument itself.

So it'd be rare you'd ever seriously argue, or he'd argue back because he always finds a way to doubt the fire before it blows up.

Those very rare moments where he does get pushed to blow up, he tends to just splurt out words without much thought but instantly stops and says sorry. Like a thousand times.

He apologises as soon as it all slips out and pretty much drops the argument so he doesn't hurt you anymore. He hates hurting you.

If you cry, he will literally feel like the shittest human to exist. Comforting you, telling you it wasn't true. If the argument was valid, he'd speak to you about it a day later when he knows you're okay.

He'd honestly hate himself for weeks after. He'll push and pull, wanting to love you as usual, but feels like you're still upset and believe what he had said, and he's a mixture of emotions.

He'll end up coming to you with a pout, claiming he's sad but refuses to tell you why (he doesn't want to remind you of what he said) and wants to cuddle with you until he knows you're both okay.

— JAE 'NIKO' LEE.

He'd be the worst. He's argumentative, easily angered and just lowkey toxic when angry.

He'd say nasty shit right to your face and not give a single fuck. Especially when he's in an argument and mad.

Jae starts arguments over anything and everything and when he's found a reason to be mad he will be for hours on end until he naturally gets over it.

It's best to stay out of his way tbh.

If you start crying at something, he says he'd probably laugh and mock you tbh. Mimicking you and calling you stupid for crying.

He's also the type to project if he's the one at fault. 'No. I didn't do that. You did, are you dumb?' Type of behaviour.

But he is human and does have emotions. Once he sees how truly upset you are, he literally stands there watching you like 🧍‍♂️.

He doesn't know what to do because he's mad, but he hates seeing you sad. Especially when he's the reason.

He'll awkwardly hug you, reluctantly saying sorry and when he feels you against him, he caves in, he feels terrible and doesn't leave you alone for days after to make up for making you feeling shit.

— KAIDAN ALEXANDER WOLFE.

Kai is lowkey annoying during an argument.. if you cry, it's out of pure frustration.

Half the time, he ignores half of what you're saying and focuses on what he wants, doesn't see your point of view, doesn't see why you're mad and is just generally lowkey mind numbing.

He gets more angry with how you 'don't see his side' when all he's done is ignore your side.

You end up leaving them half finished because you literally can't get through to him. He's like speaking to a stupid brick wall.

So when you cry ..

He's. So. Annoyed.

'Why are you crying? The fuck.'

Like. Idk. Maybe you?

He's honestly baffled as to why you're crying. Then he's like, 'can we hug instead' bc he's just confused but sort of done with the argument because he doesn't want to see you cry.

Arguments don't happen that often, really. He's too delusional that you're both perfect and happy together.

— HAYDEN WEST.

Much like Laten, he hates arguments with a passion.

He will avoid them to the point of taking the blame and becoming a punching bag to not argue.

But those rare moments where his anger levels do somehow rise, he doesn't even expect it himself. It simply comes over him.

Which makes his words hurt even more. It's so unlike him.

The moment he even sees a flicker of sadness across your face, he's right over to you. Saying sorry, pulling you into a huge hug and telling you he never meant it and how much he loves you.

Hayden doesn't (seemingly) have a mean bone in his body, so when he does somehow make you cry he's distraught. He feels like the worst person ever.

— JOSHUA WHITE.

He simply refuses to argue.

You would speak it through, and if you raised your voice, he'd simply look at you, waiting until you stop to continue talking.

You'd most likely cry from frustration because you want to argue with him. Why is he always so calm and understanding?

Its drives you insane sometimes.

So if you do cry, he will explain it to you, that he doesn't want a fight. He just wants to speak, calmly, and sort it out.

He will hold your hands and stroke your face and kiss the tears the tears away because he just wants you to understand he will never raise his voice, never.

#darling reader #darlingcore #yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oc x you #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Word count: 2800+

Warnings: mentions of blood, nausea

I lightly edited it, but as I have headache I probably didn't notice quite a lot of mistakes. I know I could try another time, but I'm afraid this will take few days

Part XIV | Part XVI

Even days after your conversation with Feyre, your mind was often returning back to Tamlin with more worries than sadness. You somehow assumed that he didn't miss you as much as you missed him and that he most likely forgot about you and moved on, focusing on his court and its restoration. Otherwise he would stop Rhys back then or he would come to visit you or at least tried to contact you. But what if he couldn't? What if Feyre was right and Tamlin was hurt by your departure?

You wanted to ask somebody about Tamlin and his wellbeing, needed it, but who would answer you? Who could have such information?

Rhys, as High Lord, most likely knew what was happening in Spring Court. However he wouldn't tell you. You dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred to you because, well, now you knew your brother well. Although he left Tamlin alive, angry wasn't a strong enough word to describe his feelings toward him. And except of his family, Rhysand hardly forgave and definitely never forgot.

Another person who could know something, was Azriel. As a spymaster he for sure kept an eye on other courts. He was kind and nice to you, but no matter what feelings he had, his loyalty to your brother was on the first place. If you asked him, he could tell about it to Rhys and then it would be even more difficult to learn anything from anyone.

Feyre mentioned the redhead, Lucien, who claimed to be Tamlin's friend. You hadn't seen him around, but apparently he came for visit from time to time. He seemed to be the only possible choice. Only problem was how to contact him.

Tamlin wasn't the only one occupying your mind. In moments when you weren't thinking about him, your mind filled with old memories and feelings that Rhys revived. You had only one sitting with him so far and even though it was days ago, you were still confused and needed time to process it.

The memories made your life easier in certain ways. You didn't feel so out of place, so homesick anymore. This place changed, but people even though a bit older where still the same. Your current feelings kept mixing together with the old ones and you couldn't say how you felt about individual members of your family and that was main reason of the chaos in your heart.

Thankfully there was Azriel always ready to patiently listen to your rambling which helped you clarify your thoughts and slowly work through it. He never failed you and advised you wisely, guided you when you got lost.

And so it happened that you started meeting him more often, sometimes spending even all day long with him. You were afraid to leave Rhys' property because of the possibility to be again engulfed in the smell of magic. In order to get rid of the stress fresh air and mainly the contact with nature were very important for you. Therefore you were mostly outside, walking together in the garden, rarely staying inside of the house.

The garden around the house was large, kind of smaller park, full of flowers and surprisingly even herbs. It reminded you of your life in the forest and walks with Tamlin. You always picked up some herbs and Azriel made you a tea out of them. In the evening you sat together on the terrace, sipping your teas and silently watched the setting sun. However peaceful these moments were, they weren't perfect and you always missed something. It was unsettling.

Your life was changing little by little, but you weren't content with it. You knew you loved your brother and his two best friends, Mor became kind of friend, although still far from the relationship you had before memory loss, but better than last few weeks. Amren was complicated. You hardly met her at all, so it didn't matter much. You liked even Feyre. However her sisters were different case.

You didn't mind Nesta. She wasn't kind, but she wasn't bad or mean to you. She just.. was. The oldest of the sisters had enough of own problems to solve. And Elain? Before you hardly saw her, now you were meeting her wherever you went. She was like your shadow, staring and frowning at you every time you looked in her direction.

There were also small incidents. Salt in your drinks, dirt on clothes Rhys gave you, that just came back from washing, small amounts of grass, dirt or mud raining on you while you took a walk in the garden alone. At first you tried to ignore it. However the situation was escalating and it was hard to ignore now. You didn't want to point a finger to the culprit, but you knew who's doing it was.

After some time when you didn't react, culprit took it even further. Now it wasn't only following you around and angry looks. Every time you spoke with Azriel Elain appeared and totally ignoring the fact you were in the middle of conversation she started telling him about flowers or something that just happened to her.

Azriel was shocked at first, but as it repeated daily, you knew him enough to notice he was starting to be fed up by her behaviour. Still he tried to be gentleman and gently dismissed her, pointing out the fact that he was busy with something else which she paid no attention to and kept talking, flashing smiles at him.

At those awkward moments, well, you rather backed up. Giving up on your favourite time with Azriel was the best and easiest thing to do to prevent being in the center of the drama. Whatever was between the two of them, it had nothing to do with you. Or that was what you believed. You just assured Azriel that it's okay, that you could talk later and left.

One afternoon, after being again interrupted by Elain, you were wandering through the house aimlessly when you heard an angry voice coming from behind the Rhys' closed office doors. Normally you would ignore it and leave quickly to give him privacy, but when you heard Tamlin's name, you couldn't help it and came closer listening.

"I'm telling you, Rhysand, it's much worse than before. If we don't do something and very quickly, it'll be too late," the voice snarled. That voice. You had already heard it somewhere. But where?

"She is the only one who can help him. Let her at least visit him and talk with him.."

"No," you heard Rhys flatly refuse. "In this state Tamlin is too dangerous. He could hurt her."

"I'm sure he won't."

"Look at yourself. You are his closest friend, yet he would turn you into shreds if you didn't winnow away fast enough. I won't risk her life." Closest friend? Was it possible that the fox-like redhead was in Rhys' office now?

"He seems to have feelings for her and pretty deep ones. Otherwise he wouldn't be so broken after you snatched her away," Lucien snapped.

"Don't dare you!"

There was silence for a moment.

"Your sister is the only person who can help him get out of it. We both know it," Lucien said lowly, his voice still angry, but he tried to speak more calmly. With his every word your heart clenched so painfully that if you looked down at your chest, you were sure you would see a deep gaping wound there.

"You may not agree, but this isn't something you can decide. We ought to ask your sister what she wants. What she thinks. You've already decided for her that she has to come here with you, however, I heard that she doesn't like it. That she isn't happy here and wants to return to Spring Court. If that's the true you can't hold her here against her will."

"You would be surprised how much has changed since your last visit." Now Rhysand was definitely mad, his deep voice icy, dangerous. You hoped Lucien was smart enough not to annoy your brother even more. It could cost him too much.

"If you want to save Spring Court, she is the best shot we have. Think about it carefully. There's little time left."

You didn't need to stay to know what Rhysand answered him. It was too clear. With wildly beating heart you left unnoticed. You knew their conversation was over. Rhysand didn't want to even think about your return to Spring.

You didn't hear what exactly happened to Tamlin, but it wasn't necessary at the moment. You were already too worried after talking with Feyre. However now wasn't the time for that. You had to act. This was the chance you hoped for. Lucien was here and you had to take an advantage of it. He would leave soon, but you needed to talk with him before that, somewhere nobody could see you or hear you.

You hid into a dark alcove in a hall that Lucien had to pass on his way out and waited. Long time nothing happened, house was too silent and you started to worry that he left through the garden. You shut eyes, tears gathering in them, your head fell back against the wall. You missed him, your only chance to learn something about Tamlin.

A sound of angry footsteps filled the hall. Somebody was coming your way. You held your breath, peeking from your hideaway. As the person passed by the window his hair caught the light, shining brightly as a fire. You breathed a sigh of relieve. It was Lucien.

When he was only few inches from your alcove you whispered. "We need to talk."

Lucien's eyes widened, following your voice to the darkness you hid in. It took only a second. He halted and bending down he pretended to adjust his shoelaces. "Where?" he whispered. Really clever of him. You smiled.

"Meet me in the garden. Under the oak tree."

Without another word he stood up and left. You waited long enough and then stepped out from your hideaway. Walking slowly as if nothing happened, you headed to the opposite direction. You passed the terrace and stepped into the garden. Pretending to be on one of your strolls, you walked until the house disappeared behind the dense grove.

A massive oak tree grew in the farthest part of the grounds, hidden from prying eyes. It was ideal place for secret meeting. You looked around. You were all alone. You hoped Lucien would be already waiting here, but maybe he couldn't find this place even though this was the only oak tree in the garden. You sat down dejectedly between two strong roots and pulled knees to your chest, praying to the forgotten gods for a pinch of luck.

"I hoped to see you around," male's voice came from behind your back. You turned around, eyes wide. You didn't hear him come. Lucien stood there leaning against the tree trunk, hands crossed on his chest, playful smirk on his face. "And meanwhile you came to me."

He reminded you of a curious fox, his russet and gold eyes scanned you from head to toes. His smirk disappeared and jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. "I shouldn't have mentioned you in front of him," he muttered more to himself than to you.

You were curious what it was about, but you didn't ask. You were sure you already know the answer. You decided to get straight to the point.

"I heard what you and Rhys were talking about." With a thoughtful expression he scanned you one more time.

"You are really interesting being," he muttered. "I didn't know we had company. But I didn't sense you in that hallway either."

You shrugged. "What happened to Tamlin?"

His lips pressed into a thin line, he seemed to be considering whether to answer you.

"I don't care what Rhys says or wants. In this case. Tell me everything."

He ran hand through his long red hair and sighing sat down astride on one of higher roots. He leaned back against trunk and looked into the garden.

"It's bad with him," he sighed, worried.

"Is he hurt?"

"No, I guess not yet. But.. Do you remember the state he was in when you two met?"

You nodded. "He was quite wounded."

"I didn't mean his physical state," he snorted.

"I wasn't talking about his physical state. He was depressed. So much that he didn't want to eat and drink. He had also nightmares."

"Ah." Lucien stayed silent for a few heartbeats. His voice was grave. "It's even worse now. He won't change from his beast form, snarling like wild animal, lashing his claws all around. When I went to talk with him, he tried to kill me. I don't know whether you've been in his manor, but it's in catastrophic state. Like some beast's lair. He quite destroyed it.."

Your heart grew heavier with each word. Pain in your chest and behind your eyes was almost unbearable. "Why do you think I can help him? You are his friend. You could do that, too."

Lucien's brows raised and his lips slowly parted in a grin. "Tell me. Do you know the reason why he gave you that pendant you're hiding? What it symbolises?" Your brows furrowed, but before you could open your mouth he continued. "It's not that I don't want to help him. Otherwise I wouldn't be here, right? Unfortunately I can't help him. Nobody can. Except of you." His gold mechanical eye turned too you.

It didn't make sense. Why couldn't anyone else help him? You gritted teeth.

Your fingers touched the pendant through the fabric of your clothes. How could he know about this? You took it out only in your room when you were alone. The only person who saw it was Feyre. You looked up at him.

"You didn't answer me."

He rolled his eyes, slightly annoyed by your incomprehension. "You really didn't notice? I saw you two together for a short while and noticed. For Tamlin you aren't just an ordinary friend. Whether he acknowledge it or no, he seems to have quite deep feelings for you. The pendant is proof of that. Roses have a very special meaning for him."

You turned away from him, so Lucien couldn't see your face. You were shocked by his assertion and.. hurt. That was not true. He couldn't be further from the truth. Tamlin.. he didn't need you. Last time you were together he was already fully healed, ready to leave the cottage and you behind and return to his duties. The pendant was just a gift of gratitude. There wasn't anything else behind that.

You bit down on you lip so hard you drew the blood. This just added to your overall confusion and there wasn't enough time to start spiralling now. It was only a matter of minutes before someone would start looking for you. So you pushed those thoughts away, decided to think about it later.

"What can I do to help him?"

Lucien straightened, intrigued by the change of subject. He exhaled deeply. "The best would be if you went to him. I think he needs to see you, have you close enough to touch to have some effect on him."

"I don't think Rhys would allow it."

"I've already heard his opinion," Lucien grimaced. "His is as stubborn as-"

"Be careful what you say," you snarled. "He's my brother."

Lucien gaped at you. With open mouth. "Are you kidding me? Last time I was here you couldn't stand him. Nobody here. Feyre said you-"

"Stop messing around and rather tell something I could actually do for Tamlin," you interrupted him for the second time.

He seemed to want to say something to that. His eyes narrowed at you, but changing mind the fox-like male closed his mouth and instead looked around the garden, thinking. "As I said before, your visit would be the most helpful. Maybe.. maybe you could try to write him. I'm sure he'll chew it up before finding out who sent it, but who knows. Even stranger things happened."

"I'd have to go to the house. Somebody could notice." Sudden smell of magic took your breath away and a wave of nausea rose in your throat.

Lucien handed you two sheets of paper and pen. "Is it enough?"

You just nodded with clenched teeth and taking the writing tools you stood up, walking away from him. He didn't need to know what you were writing. When you were done, you put the letter into an envelope, sealed it and handed it back to redhead.

"It better work," the sighed. "I'll let you know if he reads it or replies." With that he winnowed away.

You stayed seated under the oak tree, thinking about Tamlin and things Lucien told you, until Azriel came looking for you.

Taglist:

@impossibelle @sevikas-whore @b0xerdancer @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @nocasdatsgay @yunloyal @nebarious @isabiss @st0rmyt @lilah-asteria @ubigaia

#english isnt my first language #tamlin fanfiction #tamlin x reader #tamlin acotar #tamlin #pro tamlin #rhysand #azriel #lucien #elain #acotar fanfiction #acotar #sarah j maas #fiction writing

[roosterbruiser]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟐𝟎.𝟕𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄, 𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐓. 𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝟏𝟓𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟖

The morning rarely comes. 

Now that you’re here, living in the after, it always feels like night. 

Some days, you feel like you’re in that tepid dreamless state between asleep and awake. You’re aware of the quickly-cooling coffee sitting on the table before you or the syringe in your hand and the patient below you or the phone ringing on the wall or Jake’s lips pressed to your temple, but you cannot get yourself to move. Every hinge on your body--your jaw and elbows and knees and ankles and wrists--is rusted over. You cannot bend. You cannot blink yourself awake. 

Other days, you just feel like you’re in the dark. Walking down the trail, waiting to happen upon Mickey and Reuben’s bodies, holding the shotgun in your sticky hands. Standing in the mess hall by yourself, doused in blood, staring at the figure with a noose around your throat. Lying in your cabin, trying to catch your breath after having a nightmare. Walking into the quiet bus barn on wobbling legs, knowing deep in your gut that Bob is going to die. Even if someone followed you with a spotlight, one that would bring heat to your cheeks and inspire sweat on your scalp, you would still feel like you’re in a room with no windows. 

Once in a while, when the moon is a thin piece of gold behind the wispy clouds and you cannot stop smelling irises, you feel alright. Not alright in the way that most people feel--not like things are going to be okay or like you’re moving forward. But alright like it’s okay to be stagnant for a while. You can be still and rust over and not bend and be in the dark.

By now, you’re familiar with the stages of grief. Dr. Messina goes over them with you during every hour-long session, which is every Monday and Friday, and asks you to tell her where you are. 

When you feel like you’re in a dreamless state and everything is muffled and your ears ring like the ovens have just exploded all over again, you say depression. That must be what it feels like. Always on the outside, watching through a glassy gaze. 

When you feel like you’re in the dark and there are no windows, you say anger--even though you don’t feel particularly angry. You feel scared--such a trivial and familiar feeling to have when you’re safe in your little house with Jake and all your second-hand furniture and the vases of honeysuckle you keep around. Angry is the closest to scared, you reckon. 

And days when you just feel like being still and seeping in all this, you say acceptance. It’s true--at least a little bit true. You accept what happened at Camp Arcadia. You talk about it. You think about it. You rub your fingers over your throat and your ears and the scars on your arm and knees. You watch the news. You read magazines. You call news stations and then hang up. This must be what it’s like to accept something so ugly. 

Today is an acceptance day. You know because you’re okay with where you are right now, sitting in this wooden chair at this thrifted table, watching cream swirl in the inky coffee in your still-steaming mug. Jake’s mug is sitting right beside yours, hot to the touch and with four heaping spoonfuls of sugar settling at the bottom. 

His pills are there beside the mug, too--fluoxetine, iron, and aspirin. He’s finally weaned himself off morphine, which was not without sleepless nights and deep-seated ache. You’ve already choked down your pill today--a single prenatal vitamin. You try not to take anything else for the sake of the little stranger, but you’ve already discussed a fluoxetine prescription with Dr. Messina when you’re not in your current state anymore. 

“When it’s over, you should try it on for size,” Dr. Messina had said, her eyebrows drawn together seriously and her glasses perched at the end of her nose. “I think it would significantly improve your quality of life.” 

Significantly improve your quality of life. You chewed on the words, stretching them over your tongue until you felt like you could blow a big, pink bubble from your lips. 

What life? You wanted to ask. But you hadn’t. 

What you had said, in her stuffy and strange office, was: “Okay. Yes, I will.”

“Things’ll look up,” Jake had promised, too. He was practically a spokesperson for the stuff. “It’s keeping me going. Well--that and you and them.”

He cupped your belly then--it wasn’t very big yet. Only just beginning to round out, a blimp beneath your scrubs, still something that sent a chill up your spine when you looked down in the shower. It was still something--still is something--you were grappling with.

“You don’t even know them,” you’d said back, blinking a few times before turning away from his touch. It wasn’t often that you found yourself doing that--but his touch on your belly, the one that was carrying the child that was not his, stung. “They could be…I don’t know. You should have more to live for than just us.” 

“I’ve got my happy pills,” Jake had told you. He wasn’t wounded that you turned away from him--he was sorry more than anything, apologetically holding your pinkie finger with his. “But you two help.”    

How trivial that felt in the moment. A little pill, you, and the little stranger. That was all that was keeping Jake going through it all. And by it all, you mean the rigorous physical therapy and the nightmares and the guilt and the healing and the grief.

Jake’s been good, though. As good as he can be, which is better than you.

Really, he’s handled everything strikingly well. Astoundingly. 

He didn’t cry like you did whenever Coyote came over for dinner a few months after it all--when he explained that he couldn’t see any way out, which was why he decided to enlist in the Navy. You had cried and that had made Javy cry. Jake responds to all of Javy’s letters, is a good sport about not knowing where his best friend is posted, and throws things in the cart at the grocery store for Javy’s next care package. 

When Nat called in the middle of the night, the very same night Jake was finally released from the hospital, in crisis and needing friends, he drove the both of you to her. He held Nat’s hand while you gently explained that what was best for her--for everyone--was to have her get help. He drove all through the night, running on gas station coffee, to get her to New Haven Presbyterian Psychiatric Hospital. He sends her chocolates every month now and often calls her father, who is lonely without her companionship. 

He was the one who sent flowers to everyone’s families--the Floyd’s, the Garcia’s, the Fitch’s, the Johnson’s. He attended the funerals despite his intense injuries, teeth grit and legs trembling as he stood by your side. You anchored him and he tried not to lean all his weight on you. 

He was the one that suggested a private funeral for Bradley, one that took place in your living room and was composed of your body and his. He ordered Chinese and bought wine from the good part of the liquor store. He didn’t fuss over your tears. He lit candles and sat on the floor beside you. He hung Bradley’s guitar on the wall in the bedroom, above your bed. 

Even the pregnancy, he has handled with nothing short of grace. Especially for a man that is not the father of the child you’re carrying--even if he is your partner in life now.

You were not surprised when you missed your August and September periods--which you attributed to trauma, stress. You were unable to leave the hospital without a camera bulb flashing in your face--unable to do anything without a coil of panic springing up inside of your gut and punching your chest hard. You were fielding phone calls from the families of the previous victims, from reporters, from your family, from doctors, from so-called psychics. 

It was easy for you to explain away. The stress, coupled with the intense panic, was what was halting your cycle. And what was making you puke and cry all the time. 

But then your breasts became sore and you cramped. That was when you realized that you’d been waiting for a period that was yet to come, explaining away symptoms that were synonymous with pregnancy. 

You knew before the doctor called with the results: you were pregnant. You were so confident in your knowledge that you told Jake before the doctor even called. 

“Are you sure?” He’d asked. He was speaking slowly, lowly--being careful with you like he always was. “Like, couldn’t it be something else?” 

“I’m a nurse,” you answered him, pinching the bridge of your nose and closing your eyes to shield them from the bright light above you. “And I just…know. Do you believe me? Or do you think I’ve gone off the deep end?” 

Jake grew up surrounded by women--his mama, his sisters, aunts, aunts of aunts, nieces, grandma’s, neighbors, godmother’s, friends, coworkers. He knew better than to argue intuition with you. 

“I believe just about every word that comes out of your mouth, darlin’. This isn’t any different,” Jake said softly, careful not to contort his face this way or that. His heart was sitting in his belly. “What do you wanna…do?” 

“I don’t know,” you’d said very seriously, very plainly. You couldn’t get your jaw to unclench. “I feel like this is the--like, this is the worst thing that could’ve happened to me.” 

He found it odd, really--that an unexpected pregnancy was the worst thing that had happened to you after everything. But just as soon as he realized just that, he understood. 

Yes, it was the worst thing that could’ve happened to you. 

If you said it, then it was true. You don’t bullshit. You don’t pussyfoot.

“I’m so sorry,” he’d whispered to you. He held onto your cheeks and looked down at you with something between pity and reverence in his glassy gaze. “We’ll make it through.” 

You were standing under the awning at a gas station, the scent of dirt and fuel and cigarette choking you as you squeezed the nozzle and leaned against the car. You were surprised by Jake’s touch, his hands soft from the soft care he received at the hospital, still scented with baby powder from physical therapy earlier that day. 

“Why are you sorry?” You asked, bottom lip suddenly wobbling as you gazed up at Jake. His face was still shades of yellow and purple from healing bruises. Little scabs and scruff made up his cheeks, his jaw. “You didn’t do this to me. You know that, right?” 

He knew already. Of course he did. The two of you had only had sex a few times since his hospital release. Once in the shower, very slowly and quietly and carefully. Again in the bedroom, faster and more desperate. A couple times in the living room late at night after the television signed off and the phone stopped ringing and dinner had been cleaned up. One time in the car in the hospital parking garage, when you cried your way through the last hour of your shift and asked Jake to pick you up early. 

The baby wasn’t his. But you were his. And to him, that meant that whatever was yours was his, too. He knew deep in his gut, as he watched your eyes fill with tears under the blinking fluorescents, that the baby was going to be his if you allowed it to be. 

“I know that,” Jake said to you. A beat passed. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed a big laugh. “And you know that I’m not going anywhere, right?” 

You did know that. On some level, somewhere in your foggy mind, you knew that already. But to hear him say it--to hear him utter it to you and really mean it--choked you up again. 

“You didn’t sign up for any of this,” you told him. “I wouldn’t blame you if you--!” 

“Neither did you,” he said. “I signed up for you, Gale. And that’s that.”

That’s that. 

You’re still staring down at your coffee when an open palm cups your jaw, a soft tummy pressing against your shoulders and neck. Jake leans down and kisses the top of your head, thumb softly stroking the curve of your jaw. 

“Christ,” you whisper, startled. The stranger jumps, too--mirroring your movements. Your permanent echo. “I didn’t even hear you coming.”

“I’m pretty stealthy with these things now,” Jake says softly, gesturing to his crutches. It’s silly--usually you can hear him coming from a mile away with those things, their plunking amplified off the wooden floors. “What, you lost in thought or something?” 

“Yeah,” you whisper to him, tipping your head back and resting against him. “Here--start over. I’ll be sweet.” 

Jake laughs softly, stroking your cheek with his thumb. 

“Morning,” he whispers, voice still ragged from sleep. “I’m supposed to be the one making you coffee, remember?” 

Smiling softly, you lean back against him. His body welcomes you warmly, arm falling around your neck and lips lingering on top of your head. His breath is warm as it fans out over your unkempt hair. 

“I couldn’t get back to sleep,” you explain, tapping your mug. “Figured I’d get a jump on the day.” 

“It’s hardly daytime,” he tells you. His hand falls down your chest until his palm falls over your bump. It’s warm, taut. “Something wrong? Another nightmare?” 

You know what he’s asking you--is there something wrong with the baby? If we were to ask if there was something wrong with you--your mood, your day, your thoughts, your pain--there would be a laundry list. 

And the nightmare--he always asks, he always cares. You don’t have the heart to tell him the truth most of the time. 

“No,” you answer, swallowing hard. You’re lying about the nightmare. You look down at his fingers spread over your nightgown--the thing hardly fits you anymore. The scars on his knuckles are beginning to turn pink--pink like the folds on your brain where memories are ingrained, pressed between tissue and against blood. Pink like the stretch marks on your belly where your skin is splitting to make more space. Strange how time seems to turn everything pink. “It’s…all alright.” 

“Xeno still cooking?” 

Biting something between a smile and a snarl, you shake your head. Xeno is short for Xenomorph. It’s what he’s been calling the stranger since he saw an elbow drag across your skin one night. 

It was dark in the bedroom and you were almost asleep as Jake stroked your hair, watching your belly absently. Shadows crossed your skin and your hair as you laid resting after a long shift, shirt pooled just below your breasts.

The movement was sudden and brash--emerging against your skin and drawing across it in the form of a dull point. For a moment, it stretched like it was trying to break through. And then it settled and your belly was just your belly again.

“Christ,” he’d hissed, partly amazed and partly terrified. “Did you feel that?” 

Without opening your eyes, you nodded. Of course you felt it. The movement immediately unsettled your stomach, watered your lash line. You feel every single movement--it is just below your skin, looming ahead of you, a constant threat. 

“Yes,” you’d simply responded. 

“It’s trying to get out,” Jake had said. “Spooky!”

Dread pooled in your belly--ice cold and deep.

“I know,” you said. 

 “Aren’t you a regular Ellen Ripley?” Jake laughed. “Aw. Just a little Xeno in there. Xeno. How’s that for a name? No one else would even know what it’s short for, I bet.”

You wanted to say that Ripley never had a Xenomorph rip out of her. You wanted to say that out of all the horrors she faced, in those silly movies, she didn’t have to do what you have to do. 

“You’re being a beast right now,” you whispered to him, face hot. “I’m trying to sleep.” 

“Oh, darlin’, I’m teasing you,” Jake said, cooming forward to kiss your forehead. He lingered there when he felt the heat of your face--all that emotion lying just beneath the surface, that stuff you hid so well. “I’m sorry. It’s just a movie, huh?” 

Horror movies, you thought, were only make-believe. And even if they weren’t, their horror was contained in minutes. One-hundred and sixteen. One-hundred and thirty-seven. Ninety-five. It ended for them--for you, though, you weren’t so sure it would ever end.

But you hated the tonal shift in Jake’s voice. You’d had a fine night--you were finally able to relax after a long day of different therapies. Guilt dripped down the back of your throat. 

“Xeno’s got a ring to it,” you whispered to him, blinking away the water in your eyes.

“You have such a way with words,” you whisper. There is one singular moment where you think about laughing about it--Xenomorph. If you weren’t so scared, you’d enjoy the name. It’s clever. “Really go out of your way to comfort me, don’t you?” 

“I do my best,” Jake says with a cool sigh.

A few more chaste kisses to your head and then Jake is reaching to hold onto the table. It’s sturdy, which is partly why you picked the thing out. You wait with baited breath as you slyly watch him, fingers tingling and ready if you see any sign of a tumble. 

And even though you’re trying to be sly about it, Jake sees you. He always does. You’re watching him below your lashes, trying to pretend like you’re not. You’re always looking out for him, hands ready to grab and knees ready to hit the floor. You’re always ready to take care of him. He thinks that’s probably what you’re made for--maybe it’s all you can do now. 

“Watch out now! He’s going for gold,” Jake says, a strangled laugh tumbling from his mouth as he falls into the seat beside you. He pulls his crutches beside him, too, and leans them against the kitchen table. “Did I win?” 

You nod, eyes earnest and kind. 

“First place,” you say. 

The expression on your face right now, with your eyes wide and your mouth slightly upturned, is the closest you get to smiling these days. Jake doesn’t push it. He drinks you in when you’re like this on one of your better days: features soft, face naked. 

“What’s on the docket today, captain?” Jake asks, scooping the pills into his palms. “Seeing the shrink today, right?” 

“Right,” you say. “It is Friday, after all. Time to go wild.” 

He nods, throwing the pills back and swallowing dryly. 

“Usual time?” He asks. 

“After your P.T.,” you say. “Like always.”

“Big day for us,” he says softly. He takes a drink from his coffee, ignores the burn on his tongue. You always make it the best for him, somehow always keep it hot. “We’re pretty crazy these days, aren’t we?” 

“Sure are,” you sigh, leaning back. You glance at the little square window above the sink and see that the morning light is beginning to filter in gray and white. “I think it’s gonna snow today.” 

“Snow in April…I love Maine,” Jake chews out bitterly, glancing over his shoulder at the window, too. “We could always head to Texas. It doesn’t snow where I’m from.” 

Jake’s brought this up a few times--bringing you home with him to Texas. Really, it’s something that he dreams about between doctor’s appointments.  

He likes to daydream you there. Lying beneath the golden sky, sprawled out on the wooden steps and closing your eyes as his mama shells peas behind you. Taking long walks around the property so Jake can stretch his legs and you can look at the quarry and the old mine shaft and the pastures. He dreams of getting back up on a horse, tucking his feet into the stirrups, and gallivanting before you as you watch with a grin. A grin.  

He’s thought about having the baby there, too. Having the baby at home like his mama had him and his sisters, staying up through the night and blotting your forehead with a wet washcloth as the cicadas sing. Sleeping in his old bedroom in a twin bed with you, stuffing a bassinet in the corner, covered in quilts older than the both of you. Taking the baby to the farmer’s market on Sunday’s, showing them off to questionless people, dotting a fingerful of honey on their toothless gums. 

“Doesn’t it always feel like summer there?” You ask him. 

He turns back to you, suddenly back in the dark kitchen with you and two cups of coffee. You’re looking back at him--grinless. 

“Yeah,” Jake says. “I guess it kinda does.”

And that is the difference between the two of you. 

Jake believes in solar power, always turning his face towards the sun. 

You don’t--not anymore.

A quietness fills the kitchen. Sometimes there is so much silence that you feel like you’re drowning in it--you don’t know how to cut through it all without flailing. But then Jake takes your hand, covers your knuckles with his palms. He squeezes your fingers. 

“Wanna take me to the corner store?” You ask, sighing. 

It’s your way of extending an olive branch. 

Jake, brows furrowed, gazes at you. 

“Sure I do,” he says. “What for?” 

Sighing, you lean forward and hold his hand properly. He’s warm. 

“I need a raspberry-filled doughnut in a bad, bad way,” you say, wrinkling your nose. “Or I might croak.”

He grins at you--a big thing that eats his whole face, stubble and scabs and all. It pleases him when you do something, say something, that detaches you from the tragedy of last summer. When you do something you would’ve done before it all happened to you. When he can see that behind all this skin and hair, you’re still you. 

“Can’t have that on my conscience,” he says. “I’ll grab your coat.”

 ♀ 

You were right about the snow.

The storm is brutal as it rages just outside the hospital walls. You’re watching the snow and sleet slam against the thick glass windows that stretch widely across the wall, watching the wind bend the dogwoods and take their budding white flowers. The sky is murky and gray, teetering on black. Even the snowflakes are fat and violent. Bad-tempered.  

It’s funny, though--you can’t hear it at all. You know, logically, that it is because of the way the hospital is built. Strong metal beams that are layered with thick concrete that could hardly be chipped with a jackhammer. You understand that it is because hospitals must withstand extreme conditions--they are a safe haven. They are a sanctuary. 

But this reaping of one of your senses--something as imperative and salient as your hearing--feels distinctly deliberate. It makes you feel like you are on the outside of something angry and inevitable. Something that is waiting for you to get brave enough to walk outside and feel it on your cheeks.

So, yes, you think. Sanctuary.

But it makes you feel like you’re back at Camp Arcadia--when it was burning down, when the oven burst, when your ears bled. You hadn’t been able to hear for a few days after the explosion--everything was muffled and quiet. The doctors carried a whiteboard with them so they could tell you that they needed to repair a sitch or check your heart rate again. 

Heat bursts through the dusty vents jutting out from the white concrete walls, drying the corners of your heavy eyes and brushing against your calves like a slutty cat. There is sweat gathering on your shins where they’re pressed against your leather boots. And the sweater you’re wearing, the one you’d had to buy last week when you realized you’d have nothing warm to fit you during bad weather, is beginning to make your pulse points itch. 

Fucking wool, you think, swallowing thickly and pressing the back of your hand against your cheeks. You’re warm alright--borderline feverish. 

But even if there was no blizzard in April and you weren’t wearing boots and fucking wool--you’d be hot in here. You’re hot all of the time now, which is what Dr. Johansen told you would happen towards the end. You’d believed him, but every other nurse on your floor, that had been in your condition at some point or another, reiterated it to you like you didn’t. 

“Just be happy that it’ll be over with before the summer!” 

That was the one you heard most frequently, echoed by incredulous mothers and nurses alike. But summertime to you now is not what summertime is to them or anyone else. The thought of July rolling around once a year for the rest of your life makes the hairs on your arms raise and straighten like they’re praising something in the sky.  

“Warm?” Dr. Messina asks, her glasses perched at the end of her nose as she leafs through last session’s notes. She peers at you, her eyelids painted a soft brown that matches her eyes and her hair, and smiles softly. Nodding, you smile weakly. “Sorry about the heat. I sent in a few maintenance requests, but I’m certain they ball them up and throw them out.” 

“It’s alright,” you tell her. You nod to your belly, which looms before you like a full moon beneath your sweater. “I’m getting…used to it. I’m sure I’m freezing Jake out, though. I keep the house nice and frigid.” 

“Nearing the finish line,” Dr. Messina says, raising her eyebrows. She notes the way that seems to make you squirm--the way you avert her gaze and sink further into the sofa, the way your fingers dig into the leather arm. “Shall we start there today? Or pick up where we left off last time?” 

“Where were we last time?” You ask her quietly. 

Sometimes when you need a reminder of when things are happening or where you’re supposed to go or what you’re supposed to be doing, the other nurses chide you. 

Pregnancy brain, they say.

You appreciate that Dr. Messina has never said that to you. 

“We were discussing the day of. When you attempted to resuscitate Mister Bradshaw.” 

Oh. Right. 

Pressing your sweaty palms together, you nod, blinking a few times under the fluorescents above you. Your eyes are too dry to be under these bright of lights. 

“Yes,” you whisper. “I did attempt to resuscitate Bradley.”

Dr. Messina adjusts herself in her big, leather chair. You’re sure she lugged the thing from home--it is ornate and perfectly-oiled. Far too charming for this white-washed tiled office in the mostly empty east wing of the hospital.

“Why did you feel that was necessary?” She asks, notebook perched on the knee of her starchy slacks. Her pen lays at the ready, only a centimeter away from the creamy paper. “Given his actions prior.” 

She means killing Paul, Bob, Reuben, and Mickey. And attempting to kill you and Jake.

Why did you try to save Bradley? 

“I didn’t save him,” you tell her. You can feel his blood on you now, coating your hands and the cuffs of your sweater. Your jaw is clenched. “Does it matter?” 

“Yes,” she says, nodding. “Yes, it matters. There’s always a why. Usually, I tell people that’s the point of therapy. The why. The how. The because.” 

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you take a deep breath. The stranger beneath your skin moves, maybe jostled by your sudden inhale. It is only a few kicks against the top of your belly before they settle again and you can finally release the breath you’re holding in. 

“I took an oath,” you tell Dr. Messina. Digging deeper into the arm of the couch, you avert your gaze from her glassy eyes and instead watch the storm continue to rage. “I will dedicate myself to devoted service for human welfare.” 

“Sure,” Dr. Messina says. “But don’t you find that a bit impersonal? He’s the father of your child.” 

Stomach turning, you hum. You don’t need a reminder of that. You know, very well and very thoroughly, that Bradley is the father of your child. You are reminded every time they move inside of you, every time Jake cups your belly, every time you have to listen to that staticky rapid heartbeat in a stark white office. You know that the father of your child is dead. He died at Camp Arcadia, in your grip, with his face turned away from you as if he was looking at someone else.

“Okay,” you say. You adjust on the sofa, clearing your throat. “I tried to save him after everything he did because I still…cared for him.” Dr. Messina writes something on her pad. You laugh dryly, gloomy and guilty. “What’s that make me?” 

“Human,” she states simply. 

She nods for you to continue. Your heart hammers. 

“I attempted to suture the lacerations on his wrists,” you tell her. And your toes are numb because she thinks--everyone thinks--the lacerations were self-inflicted. But you put them there. You cut him open. “I administered epinephrine that was prescribed to one of the campers. Then I began life saving measures. Compressions and mouth-to-mouth. The whole…the whole deal.”

“Right,” Dr. Messina says. “To no avail?” 

“He briefly gained consciousness,” you tell her. You don’t tell her that he said he was sorry--that he was begging you to stop trying to save him, that he knew he was dying before you did. “But he was delirious.”

Delirious. It feels like an insult. 

“Delirium was brought on by…?” 

“The blood loss,” you answer. 

She writes something down again on her pad. 

“And his blood--was it on you?” 

Blood was slathered on your body in layers, each one thicker than the last. You found bits of it everywhere--between your molars, underneath your toenails, flaking off your scalp--for weeks. 

“Some of it,” you answer. 

And you’re not lying--only some of it was his. 

You don’t know how you would even begin to articulate the grueling task of being thoroughly drenched in your friend’s and your lover’s blood. It’s something you can’t make yourself say, even all these months later.

“And what was that experience like for you?” 

Harrowing. 

“It was warm. It…itched when it dried.”

Dr. Messina pauses, pressing the block heel of her smart leather loafers into the ornate rug beneath her feet. 

“If you could pin a feeling to that time, what would it be?” 

“You’re asking the tough questions today,” you say softly. “What’s the occasion?” 

She narrows her eyes. 

“Am I?” She asks. “Asking tough questions, that is.” 

Looking down at the carpet, you chew on your bottom lip. The baby moves again, a bit jerkier than before. A few steady pop-pop-pop’s before they nestle again, still and quiet. You wish they would stop. It’s hard to focus when they’re squirming.

Xeno.

“I was…surviving,” you tell her, taking a steady breath. “I was hungry and thirsty, but I didn’t even know that I was. It was a kind of tired that…like, my whole body hurt, but I just couldn’t rest. Even if I’d had time to lay down, I don’t think I’d have been able to…sleep. And there was a sense of duty there for me, too, I guess.” 

“A sense of duty because…?” 

“Because I had to keep everyone alive,” you tell her. 

It sounds plain and simple because it is to you.

“Because you’re a nurse?” 

Because you said you would. Because you needed to. 

“Yes,” you answer. “Because I’m a nurse.” 

“And did you ever feel scared? Hopeless?” 

Terrified. Drained. Hopeless. 

“Yes,” you answer her again, uncrossing your legs and smoothing out your plaid skirt. “A majority of the time. But it was overshadowed by this…” 

You gesture, unable to come up with an accurate phrase. 

“Sense of duty?” Dr. Messina offers. 

Nodding, you sink further into the sofa. 

“Yes.”

“But ultimately, your life-saving efforts did not result in Mister Bradshaw living,” Dr. Messina says. It sounds like she’s reading from a newspaper--like she’s only reciting facts to a stranger. Like you did not live this. “So, then there were five deaths at Camp Arcadia. And one of them was the father of your unborn child. How does that make you feel now? Almost nine months later.”

Saying nothing, you blink at the floor a few times. 

“It makes me feel defeated,” you tell her. 

“Why?” She asks. “You did what you could.” 

Yes, you did what you could. But you slit Bradley’s wrists. You sent Reuben and Mickey down the trail. You didn’t hear Bob cry out. You pointed the gun at Paul until his very last moment. You heard Mable scream and didn’t come running. 

“Is it possible for both things to exist?” You ask her softly. 

“Yes,” she says, nodding. “But I feel the need to reiterate to you that you did what you could. In fact, according to Natasha T., Javy M., and Jacob S., you went above and beyond. They cite you as their reason for being alive.” 

“I know they do,” you tell her, sighing. You hate it when they say it--you always have. “But I don’t feel that I did anything…heroic.” 

“You cauterized a severed limb with a frying pan and extended Robert F.’s life by several days,” Dr. Messina says. “You administered emergency First Aid on two people that are still alive to tell the tale. Even you sustained injuries that required extensive repair, which you did not receive until days later when you were finally found. There were no camper casualties.” 

Yes, you’ve been told these things since it all ended. You lived these things. They happened in July at Camp Arcadia, which was the last time you saw all of your friends alive. 

You heard it on the radio, saw it on the news, read about it in the papers.

Really, you’ve relived it a hundred times over. 

Shoddy specials on cable television, interrupted by infomercials and high-speed chases. Local networks covered it extensively, all repeating what the previous one reported, recycling quotes and mispronouncing names. You’d heard, very recently, that Warner Bros. had acquired the rights to the story. Who gave them that right--and who took it away from you and everyone else--you weren’t sure.

They talked about it on the radio, stations cycling through callers from all over the United States who had precisely nothing to contribute to the story. Girls you went to elementary school with who wanted deeply to be a part of something as heinous as the Camp Arcadia Annihilation. Boys you went on one date with in high school who claimed to have always known your strength. The occasional caller who would defend Bradley on the grounds of absolutely not knowing anything at all besides he was handsome. 

The newspaper called you most frequently. At least three times a day in the very beginning--even waiting for you and the other survivors outside the hospital, stuffing their tape recorders in your bruised faces, shouting questions about axes and fear and God. You’ve flitted through a few different newspapers, not brave enough to read prose that begins with IT WAS A HOT AND DEADLY WEEK IN JULY… Mostly, you only looked at the pictures they printed. Grainy images, dressed in blotchy ink that turned the pads of your fingers gray, of camp. The flannel sheets covering the bodies, their ends singed and their iris flowers burned to dust. You standing with the other survivors when they finally found you, covered in black ash with blood leaking from your ears. 

Dr. Messina clears her throat, ducking into your field of vision. Sometimes you do this--go far away, keep quiet, don’t answer. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You finger the stuffing inside the sofa, swallowing with difficulty. “Yes. I did do that. But I feel…I feel like it’s what anyone would’ve done.”

“But not just anyone did it,” Dr. Messina says, eyes narrowed. She leans forward ever-so-slightly and purses her lips, paused. “You did.” 

Uncomfortably, you nod. 

Yes, you know you did. You remember well. You remember when you sleep. You remember when the stranger kicks. You remember when you size up in jeans. You remember every time Joni Mitchell comes on the radio. You remember every time someone orders a rare steak at a restaurant. You remember every time you smell iris flowers. You remember every morning when you wake up to Jake’s slumbering face, blonde hair swept over his narrowed eyes and lips in a perpetual grimace. You remember every single minute of every single hour of every single day. 

There is no forgetting. There is only depression as you stand on the outside of glass. There is only anger because it is the closest to fear. There is only acceptance because you sink further into the nothing, into the dark, into the cold. 

Dr. Messina knows you have no response. 

So, she glances back down at her pad and takes a deep breath, collecting herself. 

“You put flowers on the bodies,” Dr. Messina says softly. “Why?” 

“Not for occult reasons,” you say, unable to stop yourself. 

It’s what a few papers reported. 

“I wasn’t suggesting,” Dr. Messina says, pursing her lips. 

You nod, biting your lip. 

“Flowers are at every funeral,” you explain. “It felt like the right thing to do.” 

“But they were not having funerals,” she says. “They were lying dead in the canteen and on the rocks in the courtyard.”

“Maybe I wanted it to be their funerals,” you explain. Your palms are sweating. “Bradley didn’t even…get one.” 

Dr. Messina nods. 

“Yes,” she says. “Would you like to talk about that?” 

You shake your head. 

“No one would accept him,” you say, fingering your skirt now. “It’s as simple as that.” 

“That’s not very simple for you,” Dr. Messina says. “You were his friend before he did what he did. Does friend feel like an accurate description?” 

Wringing your hands together, you suck in a deep and warm breath. God, you wish you could take your sweater off. 

“Sure,” you say. You’re not lying. Above it all, below it all--you were friends. “Friends is adequate.”

“Your friend didn’t get a funeral because there was no funeral home that would accept him,” Dr. Messina says. Again, you squirm. “And there was no family to fight for him, right?” 

“I tried,” you say, brows knit. Something thick and round is sitting in your throat. “I mean, I called--I tried to get someone to do something…” 

“Right,” Dr. Messina says. “Do you feel like you got to say goodbye to him, then?”

Really, you did get to say goodbye. You got to hold him. You spoke to him. You were there when he slipped away. And that memory alone stays with you constantly. The exact weight of him in your arms. The warmth of his blood. The quiet rasps of his breaths. His broken words. The color drained from his face.

But you didn’t get to do with him what you did with the others. You did not wear a black dress and buy a bouquet of gardenias or chrysanthemums or bluebells for a torn family to hold beside a polished casket. You did not sit in oak pews and clasp your hands and pretend to pray. You did not hear Amazing Grace sung, you did not hear eulogies uttered, you did not throw a rose into a hole in the earth. 

“I mean…I…I guess I thought I had said my goodbyes,” you tell her, sniffling. “I remember thinking very clearly when I was covering his body that I--that I wouldn’t see him ever again. I tried to…say my own version of goodbye.”

I could drink a case of you, darling. And still I’d be on my feet. 

“But you did see him again,” Dr. Messina says slowly, earnestly. “In the morgue.” 

With no family to identify his body officially--not even an aunt in California or a third cousin in Arkansas--you volunteered to see him again in the morgue to officially identify him on record. 

And what struck you wasn’t that he still looked so much like himself or that he was given the same treatment as all the other bodies there despite his supposed wrongdoings. What struck you was how cold the room was--all that white tile, all the silver metal, all the crisp white sheets. What struck you was that he was alone--entirely, completely alone.

“Would you like a tissue?” The mortician had asked. “Or a moment alone with him?” 

Shaking your head, you sniffled hard and wiped at your swollen cheeks. Your ears were still ringing from the explosion.

“Is he gonna be all alone down here?” You’d responded. “Like, are there other bodies here? Or is he separate because of what…”

You couldn’t get yourself to say it: because of what he did. Because of what everyone thought he did, but didn’t really do. Not him, not Bradley, the one lying dead before you. 

The mortician looked at you the way he looked at all other hysterical woman that came in to identify brothers or husbands or boyfriends or fathers. He knew little of what happened at Camp Arcadia--just knew that you were brought here by the police. A special escort. 

“He’s dead,” he’d said. “He doesn’t get lonely.”

But being dead--laying on the slab, completely still, in that dark and cold room. It sounded like lonely business to you. Lonelier than you felt each night in the plastic chair beside Jake’s hospital bed, watching him breathe as hours flitted on and on. 

“I don’t want him to be alone,” you said to the mortician. You wiped your cheeks, straightened your shoulders. “He should be with the others.” 

The mortician, entirely unamused, just grunted a response. 

“Whatever you say, ma’am.”

“Maybe I don’t feel like I got to say goodbye,” you say now to Dr. Messina. “I was…I wish that the last time I saw him was at camp. When I covered him.” 

“And why’s that?” 

“Because if that had been--well, if that had been what happened, then I would’ve never known how cold the morgue is. And how…lonesome.” You feel that Dr. Messina is going to echo the mortician, just like any rational person would. So, you clear your throat and continue. “I guess I wish the last time I saw him would’ve been in any other condition. Like alive. But that’s just a…daydream.” 

Dr. Messina nods. She scribbles on her pad. 

“That’s understandable,” she says. You nod. “At camp, it would’ve been private. But not a lot has been private since then. How does that make you feel?”

“Lousy,” you say. “But I kind of always just feel…lousy.” 

“And that could also be due to your condition,” Dr. Messina says. It’s another way of her saying it’ll pass. “And on that note--how have you been coping with the media frenzy? It hasn’t seemed to die down much. Are you still struggling with the conspiracies? With the constant limelight?” 

“Like the one about occult rituals? Or the one about Bradley still being alive?” 

Sensing a certain dry humor in your tone, Dr. Messina smiles small. 

“Or that Bradley was possessed by the original killer?” She says. 

Your heart falls into the cushion of your belly. 

“Right,” you whisper weakly. “It’s all very tedious. It’s difficult to read, but…I guess it feels a bit like a new normal. I’m adapting.” 

“You’re coping is what I’m hearing,” Messina says. She crosses her legs. “And, if I may repeat myself, coping will become easier when you’re not…in your current state anymore. You can have the prescription the moment you give birth, if you’d like. If you don’t plan to breastfeed.” 

“I don’t,” you answer immediately, pennies under your tongue. The thought of giving more of your body to the thing that has stretched you to your limit makes your temple throb. “I’ll have it filled when I’m admitted.” 

“Won’t be long now,” she says. “Are you having anxiety about the birth?” 

“Doesn’t everyone?” You ask, eyes fluttering shut. “Everyone that’s young and-and stupid and unprepared, anyway.” 

“You feel unprepared?” She asks you. 

You nod, sighing. It feels like tacks on your tongue to even talk about this right now. 

“Crib’s not even set up. Car seat isn’t installed. Things are just in…boxes right now.” 

“Compartmentalized,” Dr. Messina says. “Tell me more.” 

“We haven’t even talked about a name. And all the clothing--all the…everything we have is just stuff people have given us. Nothing we asked for.” 

Dr. Messina nods, eyebrows knit. 

“No baby shower?” She asks. 

You laugh--no smiling mouth, no wrinkling of your eyes.

“I’m not exactly glowing,” you answer her, smoothing out your plaid shirt and simultaneously ridding your palms of sweat. “And besides, if people gave us more stuff it would still just stick around. In boxes, in a spare room.” 

She doesn’t say anything about that special maternal instinct that’s supposed to have happened to you by now. She doesn’t say that you’re supposed to want to prepare for the arrival. That you’ll feel the innate desire to cook and clean and prepare. You should be wanting to paint the walls a soft yellow, you should be wanting to fold a thousand bibs and burp rags, you should be wanting to sanitize bottles and stock up on diapers. 

“Tell me more about that,” she says. “Are you feeling like Jake is holding back because of the issue of paternity?” 

“No,” you answer quickly, laughing dryly. “Not at all. It isn’t…I mean, it isn’t him.” 

“Is it a matter of you being unable to be fully honest with him?” Dr. Messina asks, brows pulled together. “Like there are packed boxes in the spare room and inside of you.”

Swallowing hard, you give her a small shrug. Your tongue burns. 

“I’m not sure,” you tell her. 

She feels it when your walls go up, so she glances down at her notepad and then clears her throat. 

“You said that Jake doesn’t hold back on account of paternity at all. What is that like?”

“He tries,” you answer simply. “He’s been game from the very start. He tries. He tries--he tries very hard.” 

“Tries in what way?” 

“In every way a person can,” you breathe. 

And you’re telling the truth. When he calls his mama every week, to update her on his physical therapy and you, the conversation always turns towards the stranger. It’s when you leave the room every time, struggling to stand from your indented spot on the couch or pushing yourself out of one of the kitchen chairs. You don’t want to hear about Colic or sleep training or shaken baby syndrome. You don’t want to hear about the good stuff either--the Christening, the first words, the babbling. 

Upon occasion, he tried to talk about a few things: name, gender, school, the birth. And usually, your response is that you’re too tired to talk about any of it. It doesn’t matter if it’s noon or midnight, if it’s sunny or rainy--you’re too tired. You’re always too tired to talk about something that chokes you with fear. 

He’s even gone so far as to buy some catalogs--dog-earing the pages with cribs carved from solid oak or maple, circling indigo-colored quilted bedding, cutting out a few coupons for burp-pads or sleepers. He’ll sometimes leave them on your bedside table like some grand hint--but he always finds them neatly stacked on his bedside table when he comes back into the bedroom. It is a silent and serious gesture: no. 

Dr. Messina writes something down on her pad. 

“What are your exact anxieties about it?”

“The birth or the…?” You ask, brows furrowed. 

“Both,” she answers. 

Where to begin, you think. 

“I’m scared of…I don’t know. Everything. Like, even the little things. I’m scared of being woken up in the middle of the night. I’m scared of making school lunches every day for thirteen years,” you list, wringing your hands together. A budding magnolia flower flitters past the window like a juvenile albino butterfly. You swallow hard. “I’m scared of…I’m scared of the baby looking at me in the eyes.” 

Because if you looked into their eyes--what if you saw him? What if he saw you?

“You’re scared of the baby looking at you?” Dr. Messina asks. There is no judgment in her tone--only genuine inquiry. “Tell me more about that.” 

Truly, you don’t know what else to say given her limited amount of knowledge of what happened to you and everyone else at Camp Arcadia. 

How do you explain to her that you’re terrified of recognizing their eyes? Of seeing something in them that is void of life, of soul. Of looking into their eyes and seeing that those big, brown eyes don’t have any flecks of gold. Just monotonous darkness. 

“What if they…look like him?” You whisper. 

“Hasn’t that always been a risk?” Dr. Messina asks. 

“Of course,” you answer. “Only now, it’s getting bigger. Unavoidable.” 

She nods slowly. 

“And would it hurt Jake if he saw a resemblance to Mr. Bradshaw?” 

Humming, you swallow hard. 

“At the end of it all…they were friends, I think,” you whisper. You know that Jake is grieving Bradley, too--despite their differences, despite it all. “I think it’s fair enough to say that it would hurt me more.” 

Dr. Messina makes a sound of agreement. 

“I think all of this hurts you more,” she tells you. “You physically carry the weight of it all. And you have been since this all began. From the very start.” 

“Which is to say, I haven’t just been me,” you whisper. A beat passes and you laugh bitterly. “Christ.” 

Dr. Messina lets you simmer in your emotion for a moment. You clear your throat, look up at her. There is a wobbling about you--your lips, your lashes. She doesn’t call attention to it. 

“You just have to hang in there. As displeasing and vague as it sounds.”

Those silly cat posters come to mind when she says it: hang in there, baby!

“Easier said than done,” you tell her. Your eyes suddenly well with fat, fat tears. “I feel a bit like I can’t…I can’t even get a break at all. When I work, when I cook, when I feel even remotely happy, when I sleep, when I eat. It’s always…I’m just always coping. And I’m exhausted and I’m so preg…I’m just so tired, you know? But even sleep isn’t an option.”

Dr. Messina nods, eyebrows knit. 

“So, you’re still having the nightmares?” She asks. You nod slowly, sniffling and blinking at the light as your tears dissipate. “Is it the same still? I know you’re someone who suffers from recurring dreams.” 

“Yes, they’re all the same.” 

Leafing through her notes, Dr. Messina reads softly to herself before glancing up at you again. It’s very hot in here now. 

“So, you wake up strapped to a table and in immeasurable pain,” she reads to you. “And then you realize that you’re in labor and being prepped for a cesarean. The room is on fire and the flames are coming closer to you, but no one is responding. Everyone is going about like it’s business as usual… Do you want to continue?”

You don’t know how to tell her that you don’t want to talk about this--any of this. You don’t know how to tell her that you wish you could keep every single word, thought, feeling to yourself. Pack it deep, deep down. Compartmentalize. Have little boxes of memories lying about your head, gathering dust. 

Taking a deep, warm breath, you nod. 

“Before the operation can continue, the pain peaks and the…fetus bursts through my skin and it’s not a baby. It’s…” It’s the figure. A smaller version of it, one that was covert enough to curl up in your womb and incubate. “Something inhuman. I mean, it’s…a monster. It’s a monster. Rows of teeth and no eyelids and it’s…contorted. Not, like, deformed. But like--wrong. Just wrong.”

Dr. Messina nods along with you, watching you carefully. She can see your stunted breaths. It’s fear she sees written across your features now as you explain your nightmare--something she rarely sees you dressed in. Something people rarely see you dressed in, as she’s gathered the past nine months. 

“And then what happens?” 

Closing your eyes and chewing on your bottom lip, you press your fingers further into the couch. 

“I’m bleeding out. The fire is getting closer. The…thing crawls up my chest and comes close to my face. And I’m so scared that I can’t--I can’t breathe, I can’t move. It kisses me on the mouth.” 

Then it moves closer to you, close enough for bits of its hot drool to leak through the screen and fall onto your bare feet. 

You can’t move as it presses its face against the screen too, it’s teeth clashing against your skin. It is not a bite, no, it’s a kiss--the realization sends a shiver down your spine. It is kissing you, moving closer, its breath putrid like vomit simmering in the sun, like the inside of a corpse. You can’t move, it’s coming closer--

“I see a lot of projection in the nightmare, which is normal for someone who has gone through what you have. It’s a valid response to trauma,” Dr. Messina says. She sets her pen and pad down, leans back in her chair and appears suddenly ultra casual--like the two of you are just in a coffee shop together. “Do you see any connections to real life?”

The nightmare has become you now. A fantastic amalgamation of your trauma seeping into real life, into real sleep, into real fear.  

“The fire is obvious,” you say, sighing. “And the bleeding out…I know that it is because of Bradley. Because of what I…because of what I witnessed. Strapped down and unable to move projects…I don’t know, fear? Helplessness? It makes sense, I guess.” 

“And the fetus being a monster? Or, rather, monstrous,” Dr. Messina inquires. Your toes are numb. It’s too hot in here--you feel like flames are licking your ears. “What do you suppose that is about?” 

“I don’t know.” 

You say it because you can’t tell her that you’ve seen the figure before--always with your eyes closed and never without fear intact. You can’t tell her that it is because of your tremendous fear that it wasn’t Bradley that had sex with you--that it was Damien Gwyar, who was the figure you saw from the start of it all, coming to you in the night and eating all that delicious petrification. You cannot tell her that Bradley wasn’t really Bradley and you didn’t know that when you conceived his child and that there is no way of knowing what the offspring you’re carrying will be like. You cannot tell her that you’re afraid of being eaten from the inside out, that you’re afraid of being torn in half when giving birth, that you’re worried that the thing you’re carrying will be something you cannot love. 

Really, you cannot tell anyone this. It makes you feel hopeless. If the people that love you, the people you saved--the people who think you’re never afraid, the people who attribute you as being their sole reason for surviving--what would they have left? Already, everyone else is so fragile. Javy with his shaved head and call to orders, Phoenix with her Dixie cups full of pills and group therapy, Jake with his crutches and deep concern for you. 

It is as clear to you as springwater: you cannot tell anyone how truly hopeless you are because they would have nothing left. And nothing is more than you have now, you think. 

Dr. Messina clears her throat. 

“You’re afraid the child will be like their father, maybe?” She suggests. But you know that it is what she thinks--it is less of a suggestion to her and more of a statement. “Or that nothing beautiful can be made in the aftermath.” 

“Let’s go with that,” you say, nodding. You let your hands fall in your lap, motionless. “And the only way to get out…the only way to know…is to wait. Cope. Right?” 

“Yes. Unfortunately,” she says. “Do you still feel like you did the right thing keeping the pregnancy? Given the circumstances.” 

During one of your first sessions, you’d told her why through tears: even just the chance of having something left of Bradley was enough for you to cling onto it. 

Even now, after everything, through your pregnancy, all the fear and anger and guilt and exhaustion--you think you did the right thing. But there is that little bit of apprehension sitting at the base of your spine, paralyzing you with every minute movement. What if you didn’t do the right thing? What if you’re ushering in a monster to live on this earth? What if it tears you apart when it is born? What if you die and it lives and Jake is alone? What if--

“I don’t know,” you answer and it feels real and true. You don’t know. Maybe it was wrong. Maybe you aren’t capable of loving anything that came from your time at Camp Arcadia, save a few friends and a lover. “It’s too late for me, though. Right?” 

“Adoption is always an option,” Dr. Messina says. “I even have some pamphlets if you like. It’s never too late to change your mind.”

But the thought of it--of birthing something as evil as Damien Gwyar and unleashing them on an innocent family somewhere else in the world--makes you sick to your stomach. The sugar of your breakfast is sitting on your tongue again, mouth full of saliva. 

“I couldn’t live with myself,” you whisper. 

Then you glance at the clock and see that it is time to leave--how it has already been an hour is beyond you. 

Time is funny like that these days. It passes.

 ♀ 

“What should we do for supper?” Jake asks when the two of you walk through the front door, slamming it shut with one of his crutches before the wind can whip your cheeks any more than it already has. “Whatever you want--I’ll make it. Boss me around! Have another craving, I dare you! I’m feeling good today, baby.” 

He tosses the car keys into a ceramic bowl in the entryway and holds the small of your back as you lean against the wall, eyes half-shut. Everything about you feels heavy right now: your heart, your eyelids, your belly, your head. 

“Mmm, I dunno,” you whisper. With a slight struggle, you sit down on the carpeted steps that lead upstairs and sigh when your heavy limbs finally go slack. “Just need these boots off.”

“Need some assistance?” He asks, brow quirked. 

With a slight frown, you nod. It isn’t so easy to bend at the waist these days.

“Please,” you say.  

Jake kneels slowly, teeth grit, and you watch with bated breath--always ready to spring into action. But his knees hit the tiles and he’s still upright, which pleases the both of you. He pats his knee, grinning at you. 

“Give it to me, baby,” he says. 

You raise your feet and Jake begins to peel your boots off. He watches you as your head tips backwards, as your eyes fall shut. There are snowflakes melting in your hair still from your trek from the car to the front door. And your cheeks are bitten with cold, just like your bottom lashes and lips. There’s a crinkle between your brows where they’re knit and the arch of your throat is enough to make him ache. 

Poor bird. He knows you’re exhausted. Really, you always are. Finishing a twelve-hour shift, coming back from intense trauma therapy, carrying all the extra weight of the baby, making sure he gets to his appointments on time. 

“How was it today?” You ask him, voice quiet and sullen. Your elbows are buried in the carpet. “Anyone blow you smoke? Or try and charm you again? Or--better yet--ask for your number?”

“Just one,” he teases. “And yes, she did ask for my number. I told her to hit the road.”

“Cassanova,” you whisper. “That makes six, right?”

“I guess I’m just irresistible to the ladies,” he tells you, setting your boot beside you and carefully rubbing your naked calves. Your skin is warm--almost feverish. “Especially ones in the medical profession.” 

He folds your skirt up so it sits on your lap, your thighs bare before him. He presses a chaste kiss to your knee and then starts on your other boot. 

That expression crosses your face again--like if you were still the you from last year, you’d be smiling. It’s almost there. 

“Mmm,” you say. “And after another nurse asked for your digits, did you do any actual physical therapy? Or did you just tell ‘em you’ve got a very pregnant girl waiting for you in the car out front and watch her crumble?” 

He pulls your other boot off and kisses all the way up your shin, stopping at your knee. You used to smell like jasmine--but now you smell warmer, darker. It’s a scent that makes him think of walking into his mama’s closet, which was windowless and warm and perfumed with a sweet musk. 

“I told ‘em I’ve finally got the girl I waited all those years for and that I ain’t letting her go,” he says. “They usually run for the hills when I tell ‘em I’m gonna be a father, anyway.”

A father. 

A rock sits in your throat, obstructing your swallowing. 

“Mm,” you whisper as he rubs up your legs, pushing your skirt further up. Your head is growing foggy and heavy. “I’m tainted goods.” 

“Oh, darlin’,” Jake coos. You don’t open your eyes as he rests his chin on your knees and holds your belly in his hands. The stranger moves--always excited to feel Jake’s hands against them. Your belly turns and pennies gather beneath your tongue.  “You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” 

“You must’ve been the kid that asked for socks for Christmas,” you sigh, eyes still closed. You breathe through your nausea. “‘Cause I don’t feel like much of a prize these days.” 

Jake chews on his lip, shaking his head. 

You remain, in his opinion, the best thing on God’s green earth. 

“Seems like therapy was helpful today,” he says, only partly teasing. You open your eyes, peek at him. He’s looking at you seriously. “Was it? Helpful, I mean.” 

All you can muster for a moment is a shrug. You’re deflating by the second, ready to go to bed for the next several days. And Jake--ever-hopeful, bright-eyed Jake. 

How can you possibly infect him with your doom? 

“Sometimes I don’t see the point in re-hashing everything like that,” you tell him. He kisses your knee again, pats your belly like you’re a loyal dog. “I’m just…it just…” 

“What?” Jake prompts, earnest as ever. When you avert your gaze, attempting to look out the window at the snowstorm, he ducks into your field of vision with his brows pulled together. “You can talk to me, you know. I was there, too.” 

Really, it’s what he wants. You steeled something away from him when Camp Arcadia burned down. What you faced, what you saw, you did it alone. And he thinks--he knows, really--that you’ve been alone since then. Little parts of you, big parts of you, are stored deep beneath the surface of your skin. He wonders if that’s why you always feel so feverish; all that truth is bubbling to the surface, begging to come out, begging to breathe. 

“I know,” you tell him, eyes pouring into his. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless. “I’m fine. Just feeling tired. I think I’m gonna lie down for a while.”

Jake deflates in real time, trying not to make it obvious. But everything he does is obvious to you--even just a little quirk in his brows, even just a momentary frown, even just a baited breath sitting heavy in his chest. 

More than anything, Jake wants you to be honest with him. He wants to know the truth about what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. And it isn’t even that you’re a liar--you’re just a withholder. 

“You know, I wish you had more faith in me,” he says carefully, voice drenched in sincerity. “I love you. I always have. You couldn’t tell me anything that would change that.”

With your brows knit and your stomach in a knot, you reach out and hold his cheeks. He shaved this morning while you brushed your teeth, leaning against the wall, carefully following the grain. You watched, hypnotized by the beauty in something so mundane. And now, as you feel the smooth skin of his cheeks, you feel it again. There is such beauty in every single thing he does--even when he just leans into your palm and watches you watch him. 

Who are you to disrupt that beauty?

“I love you,” you tell him. It’s the full truth. “I’m only tired, alright? I’ll feel better after I lie down.” 

Jake sucks in a breath--his ribs ache. But he nods, eyes flittering down to your belly.

“Let’s get you to bed, then.” 

♀

Jake is mincing garlic when the telephone rings--it’s shrill and incessant. He nearly stumbles over his own feet trying to get to it before it wakes you. 

“Hello?” He says instead of your name or his name. He’s learned his lesson with the reporters. 

“Hey, man,” Javy says on the other end of the line, voice crackley and far away--but jovial. “How’s it hanging, brother?” 

Jake smiles, his shoulders falling.

“Slightly to the left. Boy, is it good to hear your voice,” Jake sighs, a grin tugging on his lips. “How goes it, my man?”

“A little sideways sometimes, but we’re on the straight and narrow now,” Javy answers. “Got some spare time to gab with me?” 

Jake glances at the stove--his roux is going to burn. But he simply tucks the phone against his ear, walks across the kitchen as the curly cord stretches, and turns the gas off. 

“Always,” Jake answers. 

“Is Gale around?” Javy asks--he always asks. 

“Nah, she’s sleeping right now,” Jake says. 

“Shit--what time is it there?” 

Jake glances at his wrist. 

“Nah, don’t worry--it’s only about a quarter ‘til five. She’s just tired today--well, she’s kinda always tired right now But especially because she had an appointment with Dr. Messina today--you know how that goes.”

“Ah, so she saw the shrinky-dink today,” Javy says. Dr. Messina was the mandated psychotherapist all the survivors had to go to in the direct aftermath--it was something they had to do to get released from the hospital. Javy remembers her well--she was kind. “She alright?” 

Jake walks to the kitchen table and eases himself into a wooden chair, the phone still tucked between his ear and shoulder as he sets his crutches beside him. The scent of butter is sitting thickly under his nose, permeating his mustache. 

“She’s the same as she ever is,” Jake says. And before Javy can ask any more about it, Jake clears his throat. “And you? How’s it going in Wherever The Hell You Are? Don’t bullshit me either.” 

Javy laughs. Jake misses that big, broad sound. He remembers the way that it fills up whatever space it occupies--like a liquid. 

“Can’t complain,” Javy says. There’s a beat--somewhere on his end of the line, there’s a distant ruckus like men yelling or a sport’s game happening. “Well, I can, but what good’d that do us, huh?” 

“Might make you feel better to get it off your chest,” Jake offers. 

He wants--desperately so--for Javy to complain to him about where he’s stationed or his sergeant or some buck wild members of his outfit. Really, Jake wants Javy to fill all that quiet so Jake can just close his eyes, smell the butter on the stove, listen, and wait for you to wake up. He doesn’t want to talk about you or the way you can’t tell him things or the heat of your skin or the way you can’t even say the word baby. 

Javy pauses. He’s sitting in an unreasonably hot warehouse-type building right now, hunkered down by the payphones with a cup full of quarters. There’s sweat dripping down his back despite the industrial-sized fans whirring above him--he’s fairly certain they’re just churning hot air. 

“Nah,” Javy says. “The distraction is…good.” 

“Enlisting was the right choice,” Jake says. “I knew it was. Right?” 

Javy hums. 

“Yeah,” he answers. “I mean…yeah. It was. I don’t know what I’d be doing if I was on the outside. Like…I couldn’t go back to being a waiter or anything. Would’ve been so depressing. At least this way, I feel like I’m…”

Jake allows Javy to think--then realizes that Javy doesn’t know what to say. 

“You feel like you’re actually contributing,” Jake finishes for him. 

Javy sucks on the back of his teeth. 

“Not that y’all aren’t.” 

“Oh, I’m not,” Jake says, laughing softly and dryly. “It’s alright, no offense felt. I mean, once I’m right and everything I plan on being a kind of functioning member of society. Like Gale. Or Nix.” 

Neither of them say it, but they’re both thinking it--you’re really the only functioning member of society. Well, maybe Javy, too. But you’re the only one that has been strong enough to go right back to what you were doing before everything.  

“Speaking of--how’s Nix? Heard anything from her lately?” 

“Yeah,” Jake answers, nodding as if Javy can see him. “We just saw her over Easter weekend. She came out to the house and we dyed some eggs and stuff. Gorged on chocolate. We wanted her to stay the night, but…” 

But Phoenix has a hard time sleeping anywhere outside of her room. Not just because her white concrete walls make her feel boxed in--which is to say safe or contained--but because of the fat sleeping pill they give her nightly. She sleeps like a log whenever she’s wrapped up in her powder-blue sheets and paper pajamas. She wouldn’t have been able to sleep a wink on your comfortable couch--it’s too cushioned. Too worn-in. Not sterile enough. 

The hardest part for her in places that feel comfortable--such as a home like yours with signs of life like dishes in the sink and crooked frames in the hallway and an empty cardboard cylinder on the toilet paper holder and a beat up rug in the living room--is that she can imagine Bob there. Bob sitting on the floor around your walnut coffee table, cheeks pink from a few glasses of wine and playing cards in his lazy grip. Bob washed in blue light in the kitchen as he poured himself a cup of coffee--only after he poured Phoenix one first, though. Bob just sitting on the couch, curled up beneath an afghan, watching The Price Is Right with a peculiar prickling interest. 

This is all to say that Phoenix prefers to stay in places where she knows Bob would never be--like New Haven Presbyterian Psychiatric Hospital. 

“Right,” Javy says. Another beat. Javy wipes his forehead with the bottom half of his white t-shirt before tucking it back into his service pants. “She called a couple days ago. She sounded good--well, she sounded better. She told me Curtis has been asking to visit with her.” 

Curtis Floyd is the only surviving Floyd child--which is to say that Curtis was Bob’s little brother. 

“Yeah,” Jake says, eyebrows raised. “I think he went up there last weekend.” 

“Oh,” Javy says. “Shit. How’d it go?” 

“Good, from what I can tell,” Jake answers. “Apparently he’s as good as Bob was at chess, which seems on brand. Right?” 

Javy laughs--the sound is more muffled now. Jake wonders if Javy has his hand cupping his chin, the lazy way he used to sit when he was bored at camp between activities. 

“I’m having a Hell of a time imagining Nix playing chess,” Javy says. “Now--Bob, I can see. Well, I could…Anyway. Not a big shock that it’s hereditary.” 

“That’s what I thought, too,” Jake says. He’s twirling the cord rapidly now. “M’hoping them spending time together does them both some good. He’s been taking it hard--Curtis.”

Javy sighs. 

“Yeah. I remember.” 

He’s talking about the funeral. Curtis Floyd was silent for the entirety of the service. He stood motionless beside his brother’s casket in a suit that was too short in the arms and too tight in the hips--probably because they didn’t have time to tailor him before the funeral. It had to be a quick turn-around. 

People walked up to him, like you’re supposed to do at funerals, and whispered their condolences. Curtis didn’t so much as blink--it was like he was standing somewhere else, somewhere far away from anyone and anything. 

The only time he reacted was when you made your way up to Curtis. You were holding Jake’s shoulder, wearing the same black dress you’d worn to Mickey and Paul’s service, green around the gills--which you’d attributed to trauma instead of the little stranger unknowingly growing in your womb. 

“God,” you whispered to Jake. Cold sweat dotted your hairline. “I mean--what can we even say to him?” 

Everyone dressed in black and navy and gray was shifting forward with a monotonous step like you were on a finely-oiled conveyor belt. Jake reached up and squeezed your hand, lips twisted in grief. 

“That we’re sorry,” Jake tried. 

“Well, I am sorry. I’m very sorry. But what good does that do him?” 

Jake wasn’t sure what to say. Pain was sitting heavy all over his body now--he wanted to go back home, even if he knew that meant a long and bumpy car ride home and you straining yourself to get him out of the car and into his wheelchair again. 

“Maybe it sounds nice to hear,” Jake said. The line moved forward--a uniform shuffle. “Better than some of the other shit I’m sure he’s hearing.” 

“Yeah,” you said softly. “True.” 

Then you were at the front of the line, pushing Jake forward and stepping down on the brakes before bringing your eyebrows together politely. 

“Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Floyd said to you, holding her arms wide open. She was clutching a yellow hanky. “I’m sure this isn’t very--very easy for the two of you.” 

“We wouldn’t miss this,” Jake said, extending his hand for Mr. Floyd to shake firmly. Mr. Floyd held onto Jake’s one hand with both of his, his bottom lip trembling. “Bob was a good man--a good friend.” 

“He hardly even got to be a man…” Mrs. Floyd said. She was hugging you close to her, weeping softly on your shoulder. You were hugging her back rigidly, blinking back tears as you stared into the light. “I mean--he was so young. I just can’t understand, I just can’t even--!” 

Mr. Floyd put his hand on his wife’s shoulder and she paused in her ranting. 

“He was…good. Gentle. He was very gentle,” you said. 

Mrs. Floyd nodded, the tip of her nose bright red. 

“Yes, he was.” 

You turned to Curtis as Jake chatted with the Floyd’s some more, his face permanently fixed in a look of anguish. He was good at this public grief thing. You weren’t. 

Curtis was already looking at you, his eyes a bit hollower than his parents and his gaze listless and despondent. 

“Was he a good brother?” You asked him because you didn’t know what else to say or do or ask. “He seems like he would’ve been.” 

Curtis blinked at you, eyebrows pinching slightly. 

“Yeah, he was,” Curtis answered. His throat felt raw. “He used to…” 

Curtis paused for a long moment. You didn’t push him. You just stood there before him, genuinely engaged with him, waiting. 

He was going to say that Bob used to build Lego sets with him--that Bob was the one that was really good at it. He was going to say that Bob would’ve been secretly thumb-wrestling Curtis behind their parents’ backs if he was here now, trying to take Curtis’ mind off the grief. He was going to say that he used to sleep in Bob’s room on Christmas Eve every year and Bob never told him that he was too old to do that. 

He couldn’t say any of it. Words evaded him, flocking towards the sea like lost gulls. He knew, though, that you didn’t need him to say it. There was something about the way you were looking at him--he knew that you already knew. You understood. He felt like it was the first time anyone had actually seen him that day--or at all since they got that phone call a few weeks ago. 

Before you could register what was happening, Curtis’ body was slamming into yours. You stuttered something incoherent, eyes blowing wide and body rippling with the sudden weight of his embrace. He was hugging you--hugging you tight like you were someone he’d been missing forever. 

“Honey!”

“Curtis!” Mr. Floyd said, stunned. “Curtis, c’mon, son--!” 

He moved to take Curtis’ arm, but you were wrapping your arms around Curtis, accepting the embrace. You shook your head at his parents, who were embarrassed and in mourning and so tired, and just held Curtis Floyd. 

The finely-oiled conveyor belt came to a halt. 

Jake watched you for a long time as the boy who lost his only brother held you. Curtis would always be categorized this way, by this grief: the boy who lost his only brother after an unspeakable act of brutality. Even Jake felt that his category was concise, clear: the man who survived a direct attack. If he lost anything, it was the ability to walk--which he was told would return with enough effort. 

He wondered how people would categorize you--you’d lost so much, gained so little. 

Jake’s tongue is dry. He begins to twirl the curly cord of the phone around his index finger, watching it coil tighter and tighter before springing loose. 

“Poor kid. Can you imagine? I mean…I know we can imagine. But like--your older brother. Man, my older brother is my hero. If he…” Javy sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what I’d do. I’d be pretty lost.” 

“I think Curtis is lost,” Jake says. “He’s visited us a couple times, too. Kid’s like a Monk.” 

“Visited you and Gale or just Gale?” 

“He mostly wanted to be around Gale, yeah,” Jake says. He twists a few of his mustache hairs and sniffles. “His ‘rents will drop him off and he just sits on the couch with Gale. Sometimes I’ll make ‘em dinner or something.” 

“Do they talk?” Javy asks. “Or is it just…like, silent?”

“I get the feeling they do when I’m not in the room,” Jake answers. He takes a breath and then shrugs. “But whenever I come in, they’re usually just watching Happy Days re-runs.” 

Javy starts to lowly sing the Happy Days theme song and Jake just laughs.

“Yeah. The irony of that isn’t entirely lost on me,” Javy sighs.

“Poor kid,” Jake says. 

Javy nods as if Jake can see him. 

“And…how about your kid?”

Jake doesn’t go cold at the mention of your child the way that you do. But he does sigh--all the air punches out of his lungs and into the space around him. 

“Still baking,” Jake answers. 

He knows he’s not gonna be let off that easily--but he doesn’t say anything else for a second.

“Gale been any more…” Javy struggles to find a word that doesn’t sound shameful. Maternal. Open. Awake. “Accepting?” 

“No,” Jake answers, sitting back in the chair. “Not really. Same as before.” 

“Just pretending like it’s not happening?” Javy asks--he asks this without malice, without judgment. Jake hums in agreement. “So, like, what’s she gonna do when she has the thing?” 

“It’s not a thing, Javy. It’s a baby,” Jake says with a heave.

“Poor word choice. Sorry! What’s she gonna do when she has the baby?” 

Jake doesn’t know what to say. He starts to pick at a hang nail. 

“I’m not sure,” he answers. 

“Do you think it’s gonna snap her out of it?” 

“Snap her out of what?” Jake asks. 

“Whatever realm she lives in now.” 

Jake doesn’t say anything for a long, hard few moments. He doesn’t know. Maybe this is what you’re going to be like forever. Maybe you shouldn’t be having this baby. Maybe he should’ve put his foot down a little bit harder. Maybe he should’ve said all this to you already.

“She’s due tomorrow,” Jake says because he doesn’t know what else to say. 

Javy sighs, shaking his head. He fans himself. 

“You could be a dad tomorrow,” Javy says. “How nuts is that? Did you ever think this would happen?” 

“In all honesty, yeah, I did,” Jake says. He’s always pictured the two of you together--playing house, having a baby. “Not like this, I guess.” 

“Life’s laughable like that these days,” Javy says. “It’s what you thought it would be except…like, it’s…” 

“Off-center?” Jake prompts. 

“Yeah,” Javy confirms. “And, I don’t know--deficient.” 

“Deficient?” Jake asks. “How many points is that? Are my tax dollars going to your Scrabble habit?” 

“Up your nose with a rubber hose, man,” Javy laughs. A quiet, pregnant pause fills the air between them. He sighs. “Gale up yet?” 

He wants to talk to you--ask how you are, try and get one strangled laugh out of you. 

“No,” Jake says, peering down the dark hallway. “She’s still out.” 

Javy has a hard time imagining you as you are right now. Stretched to your limit, ghostlike in appearance with your watery gaze and exhausted smile. He remembers you as covered in blood and holding a shotgun--so far away from sleep that it seemed like something you’d never do again.. 

“Do you think that’s a sign that it’s gonna be tomorrow?” Javy asks. “Shit, I don’t know how it all works. All I know is that when my cousin had her baby, she slept for like two days before. Like a fucking--like a hibernating bear.” 

“She doesn’t seem ready,” Jake answers, which is true. “I don’t think she wants…” 

Javy can fill in the blanks. 

“What if she doesn’t ever seem ready?”

“Bleak outlook,” Jake sighs out, rubbing his eyes. “I try not to…” 

Javy pauses, collecting his thoughts. 

“Look, you’re my main man. I love you like I love my own flesh and blood--!” Javy pauses, cringing at the imagery. Jake doesn’t say anything. “And you know that I love Gale, too--shit, I really think I would’ve been dead meat without her. But this…this is serious, man. The two of you are bringing another life into the world and you haven’t even installed the car seat.” 

“How do you know I haven’t installed the car seat?” Jake asks

“Have you?” Javy deadpans. 

“No,” Jake answers. 

There’s a pause again. Javy would laugh if he could muster the strength. 

“What are you gonna do if she…?”

Another pause. He’s hoping Jake will fill in the blanks.

“If she what?” Jake asks. The question is bitter on his tongue. 

“Stays the exact same way she is now,” Javy says. “And before you flip your lid, I know you love her. I love her, too, man. But she’s not her anymore. I mean, shit--none of us are. I know that. And I know it isn’t fair that she’s being held to this…different standard, but she’s gonna have a baby in a few days. It was her choice.” 

Jake’s stomach is in knots. He closes his eyes. 

“Either way she chose, it wouldn’t have been easy,” Jake says quietly. “Put yourself in her shoes. Think about what it would be like to…”

“I know. After all the death, the destruction--life finds a way. That irony isn’t lost on me either,” Javy says. “And I know you hate that for her. But you can’t be a caretaker and a single parent.” 

“Jesus,” Jake hisses into the receiver. He’s gripping the cord hard. “She’s not--Christ, she’s not comatose. She’s depressed. Traumatized.”

“Jake, she doesn’t know how to help herself,” Javy says. “I get it. I do. I don’t know what the fuck I’m…but look, man. Something’s gotta give. Why don’t you press her a little bit? See if she’ll finally talk about a name or a crib or--something. Anything.” 

“I don’t want to push her,” Jake says, his tone whispered. “I don’t…I don’t wanna keep staying this way either, though. She makes me--she really does make me happy. Shit, she’s the girl of my dreams. Still is. Always will be.” 

Javy hums along with Jake, remembering when times were simpler. When the sun always felt good on their shoulders. When summertime felt fleeting but also everlasting in complete and utter tandem. When he could still poke fun at Jake for having that Polaroid of the two of you in his wallet. 

“You’re not pushing her,” Javy assures Jake. “You love her the most out of anyone, right? And if you don’t push her now--if you wait until the little alien is here, she might already be too far gone.” 

“Too far gone?” Jake says, chewing the words. He suppresses a gag. 

“You know what I mean,” Javy says. “Just…stuck like that.” 

“She’s not crossing her eyes,” Jake says. “She’s not…she won’t be stuck forever. We’ll make it through.” 

“Is that enough for you?” Javy asks. “Just making it through? Always just making it through?” 

“I don’t know, Jav,” Jake sighs. He doesn’t. “But I do know that it’s rounding on suppertime and I’ve gotta feed ‘er, alright? When can you call again?” 

Javy shakes his cup of quarters--he still has a decent amount left. 

“How about Monday?” 

“Works for me,” Jake says. He’s readying himself to stand, his tongue stained from this conversation. “Keep on keepin’ on, alright, man?” 

“Likewise, clydesdale.”

There’s another pause--both of them just breathing, waiting. 

Jake sniffles. 

“Give Gale my love,” Javy says. He looks down at his hands. “You’re not…shit, you’re not alone, man. You know that, right?” 

“Says the guy who left us behind for some uniforms in an undisclosed location,” Jake says, only partly joking. “You couldn’t wait to leave us in the dust, buddy.” 

“Ha-ha,” Javy says. “I think we’d be at each other’s throats if we--!” 

Another pause. Javy is still learning that there are certain phrases, ones that used to seem so normal, that make his spine curl inward like it’s going to come hurdling out of his body in a c-shape.

“Take care, man,” Jake says because he knows Javy is chastising himself silently.

Javy is trying desperately to think of a better note to end on. 

He settles on, “Be on the look-out for a stork.”

Jake smiles, cheeks tinted pink. Javy clears his throat, uncomfortable. He wipes another bead of sweat off his forehead. 

“You know I will be,” Jake answers. The thought makes him dizzy.

Javy nods.

“You know I…love you, right?” 

“Right,” Jake answers quickly. “And you know I feel the same.” 

“Yeah, I do.”

They’re dancing around a goodbye--it is a bump in the road they’re walking down, one that is inevitable. It’s always hard for them to say goodbye to another. Javy always says it’s the Midwest’s effect on the body, Jake always says it’s his Southern hospitality. But really it’s because they’ve never been good at ending things between them, at turning their backs on each other and walking different ways. It just isn’t in their nature. 

“I’ll call you if anything happens. Baby-wise, that is,” Jake says. His fingertips almost begin to tremble just at the thought. “Fair?” 

“As fair as fair gets,” Javy says. He sighs. “Talk to you later.” 

“See ya.” 

And then Jake finally hangs up the phone. He stands alone in the quiet kitchen with his hand on the receiver for a while, just listening to the snow tap on the window above the sink and the empty dial tone ring out. The roux has congealed on the stove--he’s gonna have to start over. 

It’s almost six now. Jake reckons he better get a move on.

 ♀ 

Jake walks down the hall carefully, not bothering to flick the light on. He can see in any and all dark now--or, at least, it feels that way. His crutches dig into the runner you laid out and he’s thankful that it’s dulling the noise--he doesn’t wanna wake you up. 

It’s been a couple hours since he walked with you to the bedroom and sat at the end of the bed while you stripped naked. He watched you, still and silent, as you opened drawers and closed them, as you slipped into a cold t-shirt and a new pair of panties. He watched you take your makeup off and push your hair out of your face. 

You looked like you were at the end, skin breaking where the baby has pushed you further and further--taking and taking. He watched your heavy-lidded eyes find him in the mirror, watched your brows come together.  

“What?” You’d asked. “What’s the matter?” 

He almost said nothing, baby. But then he thought about the way you withheld from him, thought about the way you hid little pieces of yourself. He thought about the way you were still going to therapy, even if it didn’t seem to untie the knots in your shoulders. 

He was worried about what was to come, he realized.  

So he was honest. 

“You’re just…beautiful,” he said. 

“So are you,” you said seriously and without missing a beat. 

Then you looked down at your own belly in the mirror, the underside of it dipping out from beneath your t-shirt. There was always a piece of you showing since your body was made up of peaks and knolls now. And, looking at yourself, you saw it, too. You were at the end. You couldn’t take much more--well, really, you couldn’t give much more. 

“Soup sound good?” 

“Sounds stellar,” you’d whispered to him. “Perfect weather for it.”

You tore your gaze from your own reflection and then turned towards him, hands fallen to your sides. Usually, when Jake saw pregnant women, they were holding their bumps. Using it as an accessory, toting it around like this season’s bag. But you--you tried not to touch it if you could avoid doing so, which was almost always. He couldn’t imagine having a part of his body that he couldn’t--or wouldn’t--touch.

Here the two of you were, somehow still alive after it all and with a little stranger so close that you could almost see them through your skin, and you were talking about the weather, about soup. 

“I love you,” Jake said suddenly, feeling desperate. 

You tilted your head to the side the way dog’s do when they hear a familiar word. 

“Yeah, I love you, too,” you said. You shifted all your weight to your right side, hip jutting out. “Is there something you wanna talk about? Because if it’s about before, then, baby I--!” 

He watched the valley of your chest rise until it was a hill and held his hand up to stop you. You were holding your breath.

“--No, no. I just felt like telling you.” 

Blinking at him, you frowned.

“Well, now I feel like an asshole,” you said softly. You stepped forward--very nearly into his arms. “I’m sorry.” 

He swiftly put his arms around you and pulled you close. Your belly grazed his throat, his chest. He wondered if the baby could feel his heartbeat, his breaths. He knew the baby could hear your heartbeat, feel your organs working and your blood rushing. He wished he could feel your life thrumming like that all the time. It would make him feel better.

“Don’t be sorry,” he told you. 

The storm is still angrily knocking on the doors and rattling windows, hiding the yellow sun away. He’d been watching it out the kitchen window as he slowly finished supper, simmering chicken broth and rolling biscuits out. 

When he reaches the bedroom door, it’s ajar and the light inside is tinted a light blue--a very cold shade of blue. Like it’s snowing inside of the bedroom. If he lets his eyes un-adjust, if he doesn’t focus too hard on anything particular, he can see the snow falling from the ceiling and over your still form. He can imagine a glass dome surrounding you, every book and glass on the nightstand suspended in water and antifreeze and glycerol. You’re here in your own little snowglobe and Jake is watching from the outside.    

“Darlin’?” Jake whispers, pushing the door open with a crutch. 

You do not respond.

He knows why as soon as he sees inside the room. You’re fast asleep on the bed, curled up on your side with your knees pulled up underneath your belly and your head bowed as if in prayer. There’s a crinkle between your brows and from where Jake is standing, he can see the goosebumps covering your skin. 

As soon as he’s beside you, listening to your deep breaths and your silent slumber, he pulls the sheets over your body, tucking them over your shoulder. If you didn’t have a belly right now, he thinks you might disappear under there--but the belly strains against the covers, ever-visible. 

Sitting on the bed, carefully tucking his crutches beside him, he rubs your arm over the sheet. You don’t stir. It isn’t often that you’re out like this--truly at rest. He knows he can’t wake you up for anything right now, especially not chicken soup. 

So, for just a while, he sits beside you and watches you sleep. Jake thinks it might be the only time you look like the you that you were before everything happened. When you’re asleep like this, curled up and quiet, it isn’t hard for him to imagine you grinning or laughing. It isn’t hard for him to imagine you springing up with a tired smile, head lulling to the side as you stretch across the pillows. 

With an open palm, he moves down your body until it rests on the curve of your belly. 

Reality has dawned on him--really, it’s been here the whole time. From the moment you told him that you knew you were pregnant at the gas station, he was serious about this all. Yes, you are going to have a baby and so is he. He loves you--he’s loved you for a long time--and it never felt unnatural for him to love the baby you’re carrying, too. He thinks that’s what this feeling is that sits so heavy in his chest when the baby kicks his palm--it’s warm and soft. Love. 

“Be good,” he whispers to the baby. He pretends not to be choked up. “I know you will be.” 

You stir--he moves his hand away. And then he begins to stand slowly, not wanting to rip you from such a peaceful slumber. He begins to walk out of the room, content to let you rest for as long as you can. He’ll just put your dinner in the stove and leave the warmer on--

Abruptly, you sit up straight on the bed. Your hair is mussed from the pillow and your face is hot and sleep is sitting on your tongue. 

Jake turns, brows knit in apology. 

“I’m sorry, I was trying to be quiet.” 

“It’s alright,” you answer him, breath caught in your throat. Your heart is beating so hard that Jake can see your pulse throbbing on your throat. “You didn’t wake me up.”

“What did?” He asks, glancing down at your belly again. He’s paused near the end of the bed, watching you. “Everything okay?” 

“Fine,” you answer, breathing out hard. You were sleeping hard--which means that you were fully immersed in the nightmare. They always feel so real. “Do you--will you…get in bed with me?” 

Jake complies immediately, setting his crutches against the closet doors before he tucks himself beneath the sheets to feel your skin. 

“I’m freezing,” you admit as you shuffle closer to his body beneath the covers. 

“Well, c’mere then,” Jake says quietly. 

He’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you as close as he can. You’re all sorts of warm besides the gooseflesh that makes up your skin. He nuzzles his nose against your temple and sighs softly. 

He shifts, pulling the quilt over the two of you, too. 

“Not a good nap?” He asks. You shake your head. “Bad dream?” He asks again. You just nod, not saying anything as you measure your breaths. “Wanna talk about it?” 

“I don’t think so,” you tell him, an ache clustering behind your eyes at the thought of detailing your nightmare out loud again today. “Thanks a million, though.”

Jake nods--which is what he always does whenever you tell him no in a nice enough way. But then he thinks about what Javy said, how serious and sad he sounded on the telephone earlier today: After all the death, the destruction--life finds a way. That irony isn’t lost on me either.

“Why don’t you want to talk about it?” He asks--his voice is so low, so quiet, that it is very nearly a whisper. 

You hear him, though. Your head is resting against his chest right now--it would be hard not to hear him. 

“It was just a dream,” you tell him. 

“I don’t just mean this time--this dream. I mean…” Jake sucks in a deep breath, blinking at the thrifted portraits on the wall as he strokes your hair carefully, softly.  But you can’t be a caretaker and a single parent. “Everything. You don’t ever wanna talk about anything that happened.”

“Yeah,” you answer. You sniffle. “Do you?” 

“Of course I want to,” Jake answers. “How else do you get past something like that?” 

“I don’t know how,” you say. 

He nods. 

“I know you don’t,” he says. 

Frowning, you look up at him. He’s ready to meet your gaze--his brows are pulled together in sympathy and his lips are frowning and there’s pink dusting his cheeks. 

“What are you doing?” You ask him. 

“I’m holding you,” he tries. 

You sit up further, away from him. Your chest makes a hollow sounding thunk when you prop yourself up. Maybe it does--or maybe you just think it does. You don’t know. 

“Stop,” you say softly, shaking your head at him. “Why are you fighting me?” 

“This isn’t a fight,” Jake says immediately. His eyes are pleading--what they want, what they need you aren’t sure. But there is a sinking rock in your gut because you feel that whatever it is--you cannot provide it. “C’mon. I’m not trying to upset you.” 

“Well, you are,” you say. A flame of despair reaches up and licks the roof of your mouth. “Can’t you see that I’m doing my best here?” 

Jake says nothing. 

A defeated scoff falls from your mouth and punctures the air around you.

Jake thinks, with an overwhelming amount of dread, that the room looks even more blue now. Colder. Darker. 

“It isn’t that I think you’re not trying your best,” Jake says, attempting to diffuse this time bomb lying a few inches away from him. You watch him without blinking. “It’s that I…well, I just wish you would talk about it.” 

“I do,” you tell him. “Twice a week. For an hour.”

“I meant with me,” he says. He takes a breath and shrugs listlessly. “I want you to talk about it with me.” 

“Why?” You demand. 

Jake scoffs now--a smaller and less aggressive noise. One that just says really? I have to spell it out for you? 

“Well, one--because I love you. And two--because I don’t even know the full story except for what other people have told me. Like, after I got out of the cabin and between the mess hall and the nurse’s cabin…I don’t know what you went through. You’ve never told me what happened to you.” 

Spine rigid, you nod.

“Good. I’m glad you don’t know,” you tell him. You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “I don’t…why would you want to know?” 

“Refer to my first point,” Jake says, his tone a bit biting. “What--you think I can’t handle it?” 

Biting the inside of your cheek, closing your molars over a piece of metallic tissue that dangles there, you think of what to say next. Jake just watches you think, watches your eyes fall over his face like you’re trying to rearrange his features with only your gaze. 

“It’s not my job to say what you can or can’t handle,” you say. Your voice is calm, quiet. Honest.

Jake’s throat burns. 

“Gale,” Jake says because he can’t think of anything else to say when he’s stunned the way he is now. His jaw hangs open, just a crack, as he watches you. Maybe he’s waiting for you to go back on your word, to try and explain what you really meant instead of what you said. But you just stare at him. “That feels…unfair of you to say.”

“Unfair?” You ask, brows knit. “What do you--I’m not insulting you, Jake. It’s not an insult to want to keep you from knowing all the shit I…endured.” 

Jake stares at you--his green eyes are the color of treetops in the sunshine. His cheeks are darker now, redder. 

“I got axed in the back so you wouldn’t be,” Jake says. He swallows hard. “I don’t know if you remember that or not. I’d do it again--every single day of my life--to keep you on God’s green earth. But you can’t even talk with me about what you’re feeling?” 

“What are you doing?” You whisper. Your heart is beating fast again, but it’s a different kind of panic than the one you nightmare induced. This is like the rapid flaps of a hummingbird’s wings--too fast to count, too fleeting to feel. “C’mon. Let’s not.” 

“No, I feel like…you know what? Let’s. Let’s talk about it. Get it all out on the table. You don’t think I’ve been through enough to understand what you went through. Is that it?” 

“I never said that,” you say softly. 

“Yeah, but you were thinking it.” 

“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” you defend. 

He points at you, a bitter smile tugging on his mouth. 

“Exactly.”

A beat passes. 

Somewhere a few miles down the road, a train passes. The horn blows. The wheels tumble on the tracks. The bells ring and the lights flash as cars wait to pass. 

“It’s not a competition,” you say. You sound achingly like Dr. Messina. “Grief isn’t--what we went through isn’t a competition.” 

“Yeah. I know it’s not,” Jake says. He pauses and turns his head to the side. “Do you?” 

“If it’s not a competition, why do you want to know every detail? Why do you want me to…God, re-live that? I don’t ever wanna be back there ever again in my life.” 

“I want to understand you,” Jake says, brows drawn together. He chews on his bottom lip. “I want to…I want to know why you do the things that you do.”

Offended, you just stare at him. The stranger stretches, flexes--it is a feeling you wish to never feel again. You cannot speak until it is over, until they go still, until they settle deep inside of you. 

“Oh, because I’ve really been doing shit that’s out of pocket,” you say bitterly. “Like going to therapy and working a full-time job. Oh, and grocery shopping and going to the bank and doctor’s appointments.” 

Jake just stares at you hard. His jaw is flexed. 

“I feel like I don’t even…” He sucks in a deep breath and rubs his eyes tiredly. “I don’t feel like I even get you.”

“You don’t get me?” You ask, sniffling. “That stings.”

“Don’t take it that way,” Jake says, sitting up on his elbows now. “Of course I--I’ve always gotten you. I just don’t know, like, what you’re thinking now. What do you want? What do you know? What are you scared of? Do you ever feel sad? What do you enjoy? I look at you and your face and--there’s just nothing. I don’t know when you’re happy. I don’t know when you’re sad. I can just…feel that you aren’t feeling or you are feeling. I can’t ever, like, pinpoint you.” 

“Do you want me to just shout out what I feel all the time?” You ask, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Because I don’t think you’d like that any more than I would.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he tries, exasperated. 

“Here--right now I’m feeling frustrated! No, not frustrated. Pissed. Pissed is the right word! I’m pissed right now, Jake. I’m pissed at everything.” 

“Well, that’s real nice,” Jake says, eyes narrowed on you. You just look back at him defiantly, arms crossed. “Good to know.”

“You’re welcome,” you say softly. 

Your voice is lethally quiet. It pushes Jake over the edge. 

“I don’t even know if you want this baby!” Jake says finally. 

An anchor has lifted and his shoulders snap back like a buoy that’s been held underneath the choppy surface. Your eyes are wide and your lips are parted and you just look at him. 

“What?” You ask. 

“Do you want it?” Jake asks, softer now. He looks down at your belly and watches as you begin to curl into yourself--protective. “Do you want this baby or are we going to…give it up?” 

“Give it up?” You repeat, ears ringing. You sit up, still staring at him. “What are you talking about right now? We haven’t ever even talked about that. You know we aren’t doing that, Jake. I--!” 

“--Maybe I don’t know exactly what you’re feeling,” Jake starts. A pain is spreading through his body--deeper than an ache and more stinging than a cut. He stares at you hard. “But I know that you aren’t excited about the baby--not like normal mother’s are.” 

“Well, I don’t think I’ll be a normal mother. You know, all things considered,” you say, tone biting. You suck in a deep breath and then scoff again. “You wanna talk about unfair? That’s a low fucking blow.”  

He looks at you sidelong, chewing his bottom lip. Guilt is nibbling on the cuffs of his shirt, the legs of his pants. He knows. He knows it isn’t fair. 

“What’s gonna happen when they’re born? What’s gonna happen when they want you to hold them? Kiss them? Love them?” Jake watches your face contort in anguish. He wishes that it didn’t feel so good to say these things, but it does. It does feel good. He loves you and he loves them. He isn’t sure where you fall in that. “How are you gonna be a mother to them if you can’t even call them a baby?” 

If he wasn’t right, you’d feel a lot angrier. If these weren’t things you’ve already thought, but never said… 

There is still anger, but it is not permeating the air around your warm face. It is just sitting still and compliant on your tongue. 

“I’ll figure it out,” you say softly. 

“How?” He asks, shrugging in defeat. “I mean, you barely make it through any time someone says pregnancy. You don’t touch your belly, you don’t--you haven’t even let me talk about names. Nothing’s ready. Someone could walk into this house and just…not even know that we’re about to have a baby.” 

“Congratulations,” you tell him. “You got me. I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“Me neither,” he says. He looks down at the sheets between the two of you, tries to measure the distance in fallen eyelashes. “We were supposed to figure it out together. But you’ve left me totally on the outside of everything.” 

“On the outside?” You repeat. “Christ, Jake. Just because I don’t walk around with my…belly hanging out of my t-shirt doesn’t mean no one is allowed to talk about it. You can be excited about it--I never stopped you from being excited about it.”

“I’m not putting the blame on you,” Jake says. He swallows hard. “I just wonder if…we’re ready for this.” 

You shake your head. 

“We aren’t,” you tell him. “But we’re gonna do it anyway. That’s what we decided.” 

“No, you decided it. And never for a second have I second-guessed it,” Jake says. You’re watching him with big, soft eyes. “I’ve been game from day one. I…Gale, I love that baby already. I’m all in. But are you?”

You don’t know what to say. There is a lump sitting perfectly in your throat. 

“Ask me that tomorrow,�� you whisper. 

He says nothing, just nods. He hasn’t ripped his gaze away from the sheets. 

You’re looking at his lips, his cheeks, his chin. 

“I really, really love you,” he says. He blinks, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. “I want you to be okay.” 

“I am okay,” you insist. 

You don’t know why you’re lying, but it feels natural. Like second-nature. 

He’s quiet for a moment, just thinking. Thinking about it all. 

“Do you remember when you came back into the mess hall? After Bradley…When you laid down beside me and kept saying I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry?” Jake finally glances up at you and you’re staring at him with your eyes wide. Blue shadows cross your features, burrow into your hair. “You had the gun.” 

“Yes,” you say, chin trembling. “I had the gun.” 

He sniffles. 

“But Bradley was dead,” he says. “You didn’t need the gun for protection.” 

“No,” you answer. A few tears stream down your cheeks. “I didn’t.” 

“And it was loaded,” Jake says. His throat is tight. “Right?” 

“Right,” you confirm. 

Neither of you say it out loud, because if you did there would be no taking it back. There would be no moving past it. If Jake hadn’t been awake, if Jake hadn’t lived--you shudder just thinking about it. 

Instead, Jake reaches forward. He thumbs away a few of your tears, ignores his own. 

“You lived because I lived,” he says. He shakes his head. “I lived because you lived. And here’s this…thing that’s you and him and me. Right? So, we can live for each other and we can live for them.” 

Carefully, he moves to cup your belly. The stranger stretches again. Always excited when Jake touches them. They must love him more already. 

“Okay,” you say. But there’s that far-away, not-home sound in your voice. “We can do that.” 

Jake sighs, coming closer to you. The amber on your skin is burning his nostrils. 

“Talk to me,” he begs. “Please.”

It’s on the tip of your tongue. His earnesty has pushed the words up, up your belly and throat and the syllables are biting the inside of your lips. You’re going to say it to him, going to let someone else in finally. 

What if it’s a monster? What if the baby looks into your eyes and you just know?

“I’m…” you begin, voice wavering. 

You and Jake feel it at the same time, his palm flush on your skin: the tightening. It’s the kind of tightening that makes your muscles quiver, that insists upon itself so fervently that it exhausts itself in the undertaking. 

The both of you are looking down--down at his hand, at your skin, at the sheets. And no one is saying anything. You’re hardly breathing. 

Something doesn’t feel right.  

The ground you’re on is suddenly crumbling out from beneath you as a certain pressure comes to a raging boil inside of your body. 

“What…?” 

“I don’t know,” you answer and your voice is tinted with pain, with panic. “I just--!”

A knife drags across your womanhood, a searing and sharp pain. Breathing out shakily, holding onto the pillows, you stare at Jake. 

“Say something,” Jake pleads.

“I don’t know, I feel--!” 

The pressure peaks--with a small sound, something between a breath and a gasp, you release the sheets. Warmth spreads between your legs. Strikingly, it feels like blood. You remember this warm and wet and slick stuff.  

“What’s going on?” He asks, alarmed. The color is draining from your face. “Darlin’?” 

“My water,” you say--your voice sounds far away. You’re staring down at your legs, which are still covered with a sheet. “It just…I think it broke.” 

“It did?” He asks before he can help himself. 

Carefully and with shaking hands, you pull the sheet back and away from your body. And yes, there it is. A wet spot staining the sheets and seeping into the mattress. It is not blood, though--it is just your water.

“Oh,” you say quietly. 

It isn’t relief that you feel. It’s something else--bigger, heavier. It is sitting on your thighs.

“It’s…it’s alright,” Jake says decidedly despite the cold sweat suddenly prickling his spine. He looks at you, at your parted mouth and wide and watery eyes, and musters a small smile. “Hey, that’s alright. It’s fine. This was…supposed to happen. It was--well, it was bound to.” 

You feel like you’ve just been shot into space--like you’re outside of this planet’s orbit, free-floating, choking. Distantly, you hear what he says. It’s alright. It’s fine. But you’re reaching for him, desperate as ever, trying to anchor yourself to something as sturdy as him. 

He scrambles to take your hands, not breaking contact with your wide-eyed gaze. Broken breaths fall from our parted lips and Jake smooths a hand over your hair. 

“Does it hurt?” He asks. 

There is a small cramp sitting down low, spreading across the underside of your belly and through your thighs. 

You nod. 

“Just a little,” you tell him. 

He nods. 

“Just breathe,” he tells you, brows knit. “Suck one in and blow it out, darlin’. You’re just fine. We’re fine.”

Again, you nod. Sucking in a deep and quivering breath, you hold it in your lungs for a moment and try to hear anything other than ringing. Your heart is hammering against your ribcage and your stomach is in knots and you feel like this is the end of everything.

He gets the distinct sense that he’s going to have to keep a very cool head right now.

“Let it out,” he says to you. Your warm breath puffs against his cheeks and throat. “Well…let’s not waste any time then. Right? Let’s go.” 

“We aren’t--I don’t have a bag,” you say. You suck in a sharp and shuddering breath. “The baby--I--we don’t have a crib.” 

“Yeah, we do,” Jake says. He watches your wide eyes fill with tears. “It’s just not--you know, set up yet.” 

“Jake,” you cry. You’re holding tight to his arm. “Jake.”

“I know,” he says. “But we’re…we’re fine. We’ve survived worse. Like, much worse. Alright?” 

It’s not alright. You say nothing. 

 ♀ 

“The baby’s heart rate is low,” one of the nurses bellows. “We’re reading seventy-five B.P.M. over here! We’ve gotta move, we’ve gotta move!”

She’s reading the tall machines that are staked beside your hospital bed, her hair pulled back and her eyes wide with alarm. Other nurses and doctors are moving all around you in a sea of white and red--talking over each other, reading charts, breaking down your bed, slipping an oxygen mask over your mouth and nose, unlocking the wheels beneath your bed. 

“I don’t have preeclampsia,” you’re muttering, hardly audible beneath your oxygen mask. You’re saying it because you know they’re going to ask. “No history of gestational diabetes either.”

Then you’re moving, not that you mind. All you’ve wanted since you got here is to be out of that hospital room where everything is pink and blue and quiet.

It’s all happening so fast. You used to roll your eyes when people said that. It happened so fast! Camp Arcadia didn’t happen fast. It happened slow--over the course of a grueling week, seeped in flannel sheets and nightmares and gravel. 

But you understand it now. This is what people mean. 

What they mean is that nothing happened for two hours. Contractions were constant, you were dilating half a centimeter per hour and the doctor was pleased with that. Nurse’s that you work with came in and out of the room, all toothy grins and big hugs. Jake kept asking if you wanted ice chips and you kept saying no. Dallas played on the shitty television mounted in the top corner of the room.

The hospital room has housed you for only a little bit over two hours now. You’ve been lying on your side, hands tucked beneath your cheeks, watching the snow fall outside as the epidural wedged between your vertebrae numbed everything below your chest. Jake has been sitting beside you in a wooden chair, stroking your hair, watching the monitors and trying to read them.  

“How’re the drugs?” Jake asked, a grin tugging on his lips. 

He was watching you, blissed out as ever, relax against the pillows as he stroked your hair. He’d been worried--privately, of course--that things would pick up and then not stop picking up. His vision of you giving birth was cushioned with panicked tears and speeding through stop lights and bloody sheets. 

But here you were, the hint of a smile tugging on your lips as you looked back at him. It was the kind of look that reminded him yes, one day you will smile again and it will touch your eyes. He knew the drugs were helping. 

“Fantastic,” you whispered to him. 

“Gonna make a habit of this?” He asked, leaning forward to set his chin on the metal rail of your bed. 

Reaching forward, you stroked his hair and hummed. 

“Having a baby out of wedlock in the hospital where I work?” You asked. He grinned. “Or drugs?” 

“Both,” he said. 

He couldn’t get enough of the easy drawl of your voice--how this was the happiest, most relaxed he’d seen you since last July. He wanted to hear you talk forever in that little hospital room, even if it was about nothing at all. 

“Can’t say I’d like to ever have another baby,” you said. 

And both of you looked at each other with your brows slightly raised, unwilling to verbalize your mutual surprise so as not to puncture the thin membrane between right then and reality.  

Baby. 

You’d called the little stranger a baby. 

“Well, that’s just fine with me,” Jake said. “You’re more than enough.” 

“Is that a cute way of saying I’m a handful?” You asked. 

He grinned again. Your chest was warm, blithe. 

“I wish you were more of a handful,” he told you. You almost laughed--it was sitting pretty in your throat. “Maybe it’d force me to get back on my feet for good.” 

“I’ll remember that,” you said. 

“You’d better,” Jake said. 

Perhaps what had relaxed you the most was how thoroughly numb you were. All of the movements inside of you were dull and distant. No kicking, no tumbling, no stretching, no turning, no rolling, no elbows, no hands, no knees, no feet, no contractions. It was just quiet in there. It was like your body was yours again. 

Finally. 

When you spiked a fever an hour after coming to the hospital, it didn’t feel alarming. Elevated body temperature is what Dr. Titus called it. It was disarming--less frightening than the word fever, which was punctuated with violent letters and evoked images from history textbooks. Lots of women developed elevated body temperatures during labor because of exertion, exhaustion. You knew that. 

“We’ll monitor it,” Dr. Titus had said as he wrote something on your chart. “But I’m confident that it will fade as your labor progresses.” 

You’d been just fine with that answer. Besides, it didn’t feel like much of anything besides heat in your cheeks and ache in your fingers. That was all. You could handle that. You’d handled much, much worse in the past.

“Great,” you’d whispered, yawning. Jake was smiling at you from his seat. “Am I allowed any jell-o, by chance?” 

Dr. Titus, who had known you since you started at the hospital, smiled at you. 

“Strawberry or lime?” He asked. “I’ll put in a good word in the kitchen.”

But then, abruptly, heat in your cheeks and an ache in your hands wasn’t all. You were having a hard time keeping your eyes open, having a hard time taking a deep breath. Monitors cried. People rushed in. Your chest felt hollow, cold. Your body was heavy. The skin on your tired muscles suddenly felt hot--too hot. 

When had that happened? 

When had you lost control of what was going on? 

Everything was fuzzy--you weren’t sure. 

“It’s alright,” another nurse tells you as she plucks the pillow from behind your head and lays you down on the mattress. “You and your baby are gonna be just fine. Can you hear me? Can you hear the sound of my voice right now?” 

You can hear her. But you can’t seem to nod. Everything is heavy. 

Jake is watching all this from behind, outside of the frenzy. He’s standing with his crutches tucked beneath his arms, tongue dry and throat aching as you are whisked away from him and this room. 

“The doctor is going to perform a c-section. Do you know what that is? It’s a cesarean. She’s going to be put all the way under. Do you understand me?” 

His heart is settled in his gut. 

“What--?” He asks, attempting to step closer to the door. The nurse sidesteps so she’s in his way again. “Why? What’s happening?” 

“The fetal heart rate dropped--probably because of the fever,” the nurse says. “You have to stay here. You’re the father, right?” 

He looks down at her, unable to hear anything besides the ringing in his ears. 

“What?” He asks. 

“You’re the father. Correct?” 

He doesn’t hesitate. 

“Yes,” he says. “Why can’t I be in there?” 

“We’ll bring both of them back when the operation is complete,” the nurse tells Jake instead of answering him. “You can see both of them then.”

“But--!” 

But then he’s alone in the hospital room and you’re gone and all the nurse’s and doctors are gone, too. It’s just him in this quiet pink and blue room, standing with his crutches, blinking at the door they rushed you out of. 

He didn’t get to say goodbye to you. He didn’t get to kiss your forehead and blink back tears and tell you that he’d see you on the other side. If something--God forbid--happened to you, the last memory of him you would have is him telling you that you’re looking a little green. That was the last thing he said to you before an alarm pierced his ears and you closed your eyes and were gone. 

Because he doesn’t know what else to do, he falls back into the wooden chair beside the bed. His heart is racing. He picks up the phone and through his blurry vision, he’s able to dial the number. 

It rings four times. 

“Who on God’s green earth is calling me this late?” His mama answers all the way from their home in Texas. Jake can imagine her in her frilly pink robe and her hair set in curlers. “This better be an emergency and I mean emergency.”

He can’t speak for a moment, choked up, trying desperately to play catch-up with what just happened. 

Just as his mama is about to slam the phone on the receiver and take her happy ass back to bed, she hears her son’s breathing. And she knows that it is his breathing--the heavy and soft way he breathes when something’s wrong. 

“Jake?” She asks, voice soft now. She squints at the clock. “Jake, honey? Is that you? What time is it there? What’s going on? Hold on, baby, let me--!” 

She scrambles, rubbing her eyes and flicking on the kitchen lights. It’s still dark outside. She can still hear him breathing on the other end. 

“Ma,” Jake finally utters. “It’s bad.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: SURPRISE, I HAD TO PUT IT IN TWO PARTS BECAUSE THERE ARE SO MANY WORDS :-) NEXT PART IS FINISHED, BUT I WILL BE POSTING IT LATER THIS WEEK!!!!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐒

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[merakiui]

Your first baby with Riddle is a girl who looks just like him, and, to your horror, she's a total daddy's girl. No matter how you try to keep him away from her and yourself, she loves her daddy, she looks at him like he hung the stars, she wants to be "just like him" when she grows up... When mid-afternoon rolls around, you hear her feet pitter-pattering, accompanied by an excited fit of giggles; Riddle is home early, and your baby is willing tossing herself into the arms of the man that is holding you against your will.

Your second baby is a boy. He looks just like you, save for Riddle's eyes (and eventual short stature lol.) Riddle loves his son just as much, and relishes in the fact that when he looks at his son, he can see you. Although, sometimes he wonders if this boy was sent from the depths of hell to make his life miserable...

Your son is a total mama's boy, and by the Seven, does he hate Riddle. He gets so, *so* angry anytime he catches Riddle touching you and will throw the biggest fit known to man, demanding that Riddle leave his mommy alone. He destroys anything belonging to Riddle that he can get his hands on; he breaks his mug, chews his documents, anything to see Riddle flustered and barely holding in his frustration, anything to see his father's eerily patient demeanour falter.

Afternoons are loud because while your daughter is laughing her little heart out in Riddle's arms, your son is punching at his knees, screaming for him to "put my big sister down! Don't touch her!"

When all of the noise dies down, Riddle wrangles both kids under his arms (one still kicking) and goes over to where you're standing in the corner. He kisses your forehead before softly saying, "You know you should be staying off your feet, my rose. Sit down and relax. I'll make you something to eat that will be good for the baby." That's right, you're pregnant again.

Omg the third pregnancy…… orz he’s so terrible. So scummy. >:( it’s been so many years since you’ve known freedom and you’re pregnant yet again, so by this point you’ve lost hope of escape. You have children to take care of now; you couldn’t leave them behind. Not even your daughter even if it does hurt to see her revere her father as if he’s the most special person in her world. She refuses to believe her father could do any bad, and so she grows up thinking her mother is just always gloomy and sad, blissfully ignorant to the fact that you’re being held captive.

You sit quietly most days, reading to or drawing with your son just to give yourself something to do—something to take your mind away from the present predicament, if only for a few minutes, and enjoy peaceful activities with your precious son. Riddle loves to see you doing these things with the children. It’s so soft and domestic. He’s so happy he has the life he’s always wanted, and with a third baby on the way things only seem so much more perfect.

Although with a busy house, it makes finding alone time with you quite the challenge. Your son is always guarding the bedroom, insisting that Riddle’s not allowed to come in—that only his sister and Mama are allowed in. And most nights his daughter wants to sleep with him, complaining that her little brother is being too clingy with Mama and that she can’t get any cuddle time in with you. :( Riddle, in spite of his upbringing, is a surprisingly good father. He’s awkward for the first baby, as most parents often are, but by the second he’s learned all manner of tricks and tips that make both his life and yours easier. He has so much love to give because it’s all of the love he never received when he was a child, so naturally he’s going to let you and the children know just how deeply he cares for you.

You may not think the same and that’s okay. He can change your mind. Sometimes you give in to his affections, letting him hold your hand or embrace you from behind when you’re cooking. Sometimes he gets away with a kiss on the cheek. Sometimes, though it’s very rare, the two of you kiss in the bath when he insists on bathing with you, and you let his hands wander. You’re complacent most days, all of the fight stamped out of you over the years. If the kids are sleeping in their bedroom and there aren’t any interruptions or nightmares that leave them crying and clinging, Riddle makes love to you. It’s soft and sweet; he loves these nights the most because they’re so comforting, but mostly because you might even return some of his affections. He whispers the sweetest things to you as well, and you know they’re all true. Of course he loves you. Of course he thinks you’re pretty. Of course he can’t wait for the third baby. Of course he’s excited to help you through another pregnancy.

He’s so happy with his life; it’s the first time he’s ever felt so fulfilled. And for the price of your sanity, happiness, and freedom, he’s able to continue living a dream (though for you it’s more of a nightmare).

#twisted chit chat #yandere twst #tw: pregnancy #meraki faves