#pouring my heart out in here because ill never be able to tell her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

giggly-squiggily · 7 months

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Here's another Demon Slayer fic I wrote for @mystwrites, I hope you like it! It's a little angsty and includes psychic!Tanjiro because I had been watching The Shining and Doctor Sleep, and it made me think how he was able to see Urokodaki's dead students.

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AHHHHH! I loved this so much oh my GOD! The whole concept of Tanjiro being a psychic is something I've never thought about but utterly love??? And Rengoku being such a good big brother figure made my heart swell! Thank you for sharing this @nutzgunray-lvt- it was utterly lovely!

It was nothing more than a bad dream… or so Tanjiro tried and failed to convince himself as flashes of lightning lit up the room he was sleeping in for the night.

The unexpected torrential downpour would have normally been welcomed by the burgundy haired boy, as he had always loved rain. The smell and sound had always brought him comfort, even if it was practically coming down sideways and severely impairing their vision and hearing. The sensation of the droplets on his hair and skin felt grounding to him, even if the cold, autumn air made them feel like flecks of ice - especially since he and Mr. Rengoku were traveling up north to Aomori.

Though he normally loved the rain, the Wisteria House they came across as the sun set was a gift from the gods, and after some nabeyaki udon and a hot bath, he was quickly ushered to bed.

"There's no telling when the storm will end, so we'll need to stay here for the time being," the tempura haired man patiently explained, giving his Tsuguko's wet hair a ruffle. "You're about to keel over from exhaustion, and we'll be of no use if we wind up falling ill from being out in the elements, wouldn't you say?"

Though he was more than willing to push through the unfavorable weather - it wouldn't be the first time he had done so - the raised eyebrow from Mr. Rengoku had him silently nodding instead, letting himself be gently pushed into the bedroom next door to his. As was often the case, Mr. Rengoku was quickly proven to be right, because thanks to the warm food and relaxing bath, Tanjiro's eyes closed almost as soon as his head hit the pillow… something that quickly proved to be both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, a deep sleep quickly found him. On the other hand, nightmares accompanied it.

It was a hodgepodge of things both from his past and yet to come, things that seemed so out of left field yet set in stone. His family's corpses blaming him for their deaths accompanied Mr. Rengoku's near demise at the hands of the Upper Third. Mr. Uzui's narrow survival against the Upper Sixth segwayed behind dead children littering temple grounds. Sabito and Makomo's dead bodies in the forest clearing sprung at the forefront. Nezuko at the mercy of Lower Fifth preceded moving corridors, slamming doors, perpendicular hallways, and upside down stairs. A woman in a black kimono sat with a biwa in her hands, and when she strummed -

A loud crackle of lightning had woken the burgundy haired boy with a yelp. Tangled in his blankets, he scrambled upright and tried to calm his thudding heart.

Please be asleep, Mr. Rengoku, he pleaded to himself as a loud rumble of thunder made him flinch. Please be asleep, please -

"Young Kamado?"

Of course the Hashira with the best extrasensory perception had to choose me as their Tsuguko.

He could hear the older man's footsteps approaching him, and as he knelt before him, Tanjiro bit his lip and looked out the window, the pouring rain obstructing the view of the outside. He trembled violently from both the cold air in the room and a fear that his guest wouldn't take kindly to being woken up in the middle of the night over something as childish as a nightmare. Mr. Rengoku had to have been just as exhausted as Tanjiro himself was, so he had every right to be angry -

"What's this?" he softly asked, pulling the burgundy haired boy into a tight hug. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Tanjiro didn't answer, burying his head in Mr. Rengoku's chest as tears welled up in his eyes, his trembling worsening as he started crying in earnest. As always, the Flame Hashira was incredibly patient with him, never once reprimanding him for his less than stoic attitude. Instead, he securely held his Tsuguko in his arms, absent-mindedly resting his chin on top of his head as he rubbed his back and whispered, "It's okay, my boy. It's okay."

These dreams always left the burgundy haired boy's mind a mess, and not wanting to worry those around him, he shouldered the burden on his own. It was his job to take care of his loved ones, not the other way around. And besides, how in the world was he supposed to explain these dreams to anyone? "Well, I've been having nightmares about a weird building with never ending moving stairs and hallways, and I also sometimes see the dead children of Mr. Urokodaki as well as my dead family."

He couldn't possibly tell that to anyone. Not only were nightmares incredibly common amongst Demon Slayers, but who would believe him about his weirder ones?

Fortunately, Mr. Rengoku's steady heartbeat and protective embrace had Tanjiro slowly but surely calming down. His sobs had quieted down to soft sniffles, and after a few more minutes of quiet crying, his tears finally stopped. Taking a deep, shaky breath, he closed his eyes and painted this moment in his mind. Though the Flame Hashira was never afraid of being physically affectionate with him - what with the head pats, shoulder squeezes, and tickle attacks he doled out - he hadn't been hugged so tightly since he had said goodbye to Mr. Urokodaki all of those months ago.

It felt… nice.

"Young Kamado, should ever want to hug me, all you have to do is ask," the older man said evenly, cupping his head with the hand not rubbing his back. "I won't refuse you."

Tanjiro felt his face flush, and he tried to burrow deeper into the embrace, drawing out a fond laugh from the man.

"It's… you're really warm, that's all," he said clumsily, his voice muffled by Mr. Rengoku's shoulder. "It's comfy."

"Senjuro would agree with you," the tempura haired man acknowledged, carding his fingers through Tanjiro's hair, making his eyes practically roll to the back of his head. "It sometimes shocks me how similar the two of you are to each other."

The burgundy haired boy nodded absent-mindedly. "You remind me so much of Senjuro, my boy!" had been something he had heard more than once from his senior, particularly when they would visit his family's estate. Whenever Tanjiro wasn't working with Mr. Shinjuro to research Sun Breathing, he was spending time with Senjuro. The two got along great with one another, and more than once, he'd seen Mr. Rengoku watching over the two of them with a warm, approving smile.

"I always tell him that there's no shame in having nightmares, and I want to make sure that you know this as well, my boy," the older man continued. "We may be Demon Slayers, but we're human at the end of the day."

"But I woke you up," Tanjiro tried saying, lifting his head off of Mr. Rengoku's shoulder, only to have it gently pushed back down. "You were tired -"

"You're my Tsuguko," he gently but firmly said. "Not only am I in charge of your progression as a Demon Slayer, but it's also my duty to take care of you both physically and mentally. It would have been cruel of me to leave you to cry alone with how frightened you sounded."

He couldn't really argue with that… not that Mr. Rengoku would have let him. Instead, he nodded his head and let his hair be brushed out of his face. It was an almost hypnotic comfort to him, and though he wasn't sleepy anymore, he could feel his eyelids fluttering shut…

Only for a loud crack of lightning to wake him up with a gasp.

"There's no need to be frightened, Young Kamado!" Mr. Rengoku warmly said, gently prying Tanjiro from his embrace to get a better look at him. "It's only a thunderstorm!"

"I wasn't scared," the burgundy haired boy insisted, his face flushing under his senior's intense gaze. "It's just, with the nightmares…" He trailed off, not wanting to outright admit to how badly shaken he was. He felt his crying fit said plenty, and when he dared a peek at his mentor, he saw that he had the same line of thinking.

"I see… that is quite understandable," the Flame Hashira mused, frowning slightly as he listened to the howling wind and pounding rain. "I didn't expect for the storm to stay this strong up to now. We'll most likely need to hold off on traveling tomorrow as well."

Tanjiro nodded. As much as he hated to leave the potential demon lurking around Aomori, they really would be of no use if they tried traveling through the storm. The extra day would not only replenish their energy, but it would be the perfect time to plan out their reconnaissance and battle strategies.

His frustration must have been apparent to Mr. Rengoku, because his loud laughter shook him out of his feedback loop. "Don't give me that look, Young Kamado! What is it that I've always told you?"

"A watched pot never boils," the burgundy haired boy echoed, a pout still on his face. It had been a motto that was pounded into his mind ever since becoming Mr. Rengoku's Tsuguko, one that he constantly stressed due to the notoriously rigorous training he put his mentees through. He applied it to everything from overtraining to even literal boiling water, and it looked like he was going to apply it to traveling.

"Well, you don't need to sound so forlorn about it! Come on, smile for me!" Mr. Rengoku encouraged, ruffling Tanjiro's hair harder than he usually would.

"Hey!" he cried out, trying to dodge the tempura haired man's ministrations and unsuccessfully fighting the smile appearing on his face. "What're you doing?!"

"Did you not hear me? I said to smile!" he repeated, abruptly releasing Tanjiro's head to poke up and down his sides.

"Ah! Mr. Rengoku! No!" he shrieked, dissolving into giggles as he fell onto his back, trying in vain to curl in on himself as the poking turned into slow, up and down spidering.

"What's that, my boy?" Mr. Rengoku asked, playfully frowning and tilting his head to the side. "I'm afraid I can't hear what you're trying to say over the sound of you not smiling."

"Th-That-That dohohohoesn't make any sehehehense!" Tanjiro whined through his giggles, kicking his legs out as the older man took a seat on his thighs.

"Of course it makes sense!" The Flame Hashira retorted with a proud smile, pinching at the younger boy's lower ribs and laughing at the shrieks that accompanied it. "Now all you need to do is set your heart ablaze and endure this torture like the capable Slayer you are!"

"I cahahan't! It-It's so bahahahad!" Tanjiro begged, uselessly grabbing onto his senior's wrists in an effort to stop him. The evil grin that appeared on Mr. Rengoku's face at this told him he said the wrong thing, and his begging and pleading went ignored as those awful fingers walked up over his sides and bypassed his ribs.

"Oh dear," he playfully mused, pinching each of Tanjiro's ribs and laughing at how the boy flailed and kicked underneath him. "It appears that my normal methods of torture have gone stale! Don't worry, my boy! I still have a few tricks up my sleeve!"

Mr. Rengoku lingered at Tanjiro's topmost ribs, ever so lightly pinching them and clearly deriving great amusement at how he slapped his hands over his mouth in an attempt to muffle the shrill squeals he was producing. What else am I supposed to do, wake up the owners of the inn?! The burgundy haired boy screamed to himself, squeezing his eyes shut as the pinching finally came to an end. As he gasped for some much needed air, those torturous hands left his body, and he kept his eyes shut in order to not quell the sense of hope bubbling up inside of him.

Was that it?

Had Mr. Rengoku been bluffing?

In hindsight, he really should have known better than to think such things. This was Mr. Rengoku that he was talking about - the man was practically the personification of the Tickle Monster. Looking back, Tanjiro would thank the gods that a loud crack of lightning masked the shrill scream that escaped him when two hands clawed into his stomach, completely bypassing his underarms and throwing him for a loop.

"Oho, what's this?" Mr. Rengoku teased over Tanjiro's frantic belly laughter. "Is this tummy of yours a bad spot?"

The burgundy haired boy couldn't even hope to answer verbally, so he just let his hands release the Flame Hashira's wrists and drop uselessly to the futon as he nodded, his mind and muscles being turned into a goofy mess. Tears once again filled his eyes, slowly pouring down his cheeks as his mind was further scrambled due to his senior's taunting words. Two thumbs drilling into his hips had the younger boy screaming into his pillow, an action that made the tempura haired man laugh as well.

"Why are you hiding from me, my boy?" he asked, pulling the pillow away and setting it aside. "Happiness is something that should be shared with those around you!"

Tanjiro tried answering that they couldn't be as loud as they wanted, but fingers gently scribbling along his lower abdomen had him giggling like a five year old instead. His throat and stomach hurt from laughing so much, and when he looked up at Mr. Rengoku, the soft smile on his face told him that his torture had come to an end for the night.

"There we go, Young Kamado," he fondly said, giving his hair a gentle ruffle once the tickling came to a stop. "Are you feeling better?"

Tanjiro nodded, the happy smile still on his face as he gasped for air, curling in on himself as Mr. Rengoku got off of him. The mushy goofiness was leaving in his brain, leaving him in an elated state of pure bliss and sleepiness as all of the energy he expended caught up to him. He let his eyes droop shut as he yawned, blindly reaching around for his pillow as a rumble of thunder shook the windows.

"Go to sleep, my boy," the Flame Hashira said, getting to his feet. "Let me get my pillow and blanket - "

"You don't have to!" Tanjiro tiredly insisted as he curled up under his own blanket. "'M not scared anymore -"

"Nonsense!" the older man retorted with a firm shake of the head. "I used to share a futon with Senjuro back in the day, and it always helped him with his own nightmares!"

He left the room before the burgundy haired boy could object any further, and as he listened to sounds of movement next door, he couldn't help but feel relieved that the older man insisted on staying with him. Was it childish? Maybe, but it was something that he was always allowed to indulge in around the tempura haired man. Part of him felt guilty - after all, he had his friends and Nezuko to tend to - but Mr. Rengoku thought nothing of assuming a big brother role in his mentorship of him.

"You're my Tsuguko. Not only am I in charge of your progression as a Demon Slayer, but it's also my duty to take care of you both physically and mentally."

And as the man in question returned and settled in next to Tanjiro, the younger boy thanked his lucky stars that he survived against the Upper Third. After all, who else could take on such an essential role that Tanjiro had no clue that he needed in life? (Well, there was Mr. Uzui, but he'd never say it out loud to the man's face.)

#submission #demon slayer #tanjiro kamado #rengoku kyojuro #hurt/comfort #tickle #tickle fic #I am so SOFT right now oh my!#This was gorgeous thank you so much for sharing!

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ladyescapism · 2 years

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return home - eris - part 2

warnings: female masturbation with sex toy, oral sex female reviving receiving, penetrating male to female sex

wc: 3,000

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You hadn’t slept this good in ages.

Eris was finally home and had his arms wrapped around you snugly. His face was tangled in your hair, and you could feel him breathing.

Sunlight was coming into the room, even with the curtains drawn and the clock on your bedside table read that it was 10:23 in the morning. You hadn’t slept this late since you were ill, and you knew that Eris never slept in this late.

After spending a few moments of soaking in the feeling of being in your husband’s arms, you tried to make your escape. Not because you ever wanted the moment to end, but because you had to pee.

As you tried to get up, Eris tightened his grip to be like a vice and pulled you impossible closer to his chest.

“No,” he murmured, still mostly asleep. “Stay.”

You heart broke a little, but you had to insist, “Eris, I have to use the powder room.”

He made a disgruntled noise but let you up.

“Come right back.”

By the time you came back, Eris had opened both eyes and was watching you.

“Do you want me to call for some coffee and breakfast in here,” you asked, not wanting to leave the room yet.

“Yes, please.”

You nodded and made rang for a servant to come take your order.

She arrived very quickly, probably waiting and wondering what was taking you so long to wake up.

“Yes, Lady,” she asked.

“Bring coffee and a pastry breakfast for myself and the High Lord, please, Violet,” you asked.

“It will be up soon, Lady.”

You nearly ran to rejoin your still sleepy husband.

Instead of snuggling in next to him as you had last night, you opted to crawl right over top of him, situating yourself between his legs with your head on your chest.

He brought his hand to rest on the back of your head as he sighed.

“I missed this. I missed you,” he said.

“And I you. More than I thought I would. I thought I would be able to distract myself with books, walks, and court matters but everything felt empty without you.”

“Empty,” he asked, sounding confused.

“Well, when I would read, I would want to find you to tell you about the book or recommend it. When I went on walks, I wanted your hand in mine. And there was no one to tell all the court gossip to that I knew wouldn’t spread it like wildfire.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, really. I know you have to travel as part of your duties and none of the delays were by your own doing, I just missed you.”

“Well, I glad to be back, so you don’t have to miss me anymore.”

You lightly smacked his chest at his cocky words.

The bell on your door rang letting you know that breakfast had arrived. You got up and opened the door to let Violet in with the tray.

“Just set it here, Violet. On the coffee table.”

“Yes, Lady,” she said as she placed the tray on the table. “Is there anything else you require, Lord or Lady?”

“No, Violet. Thank you.”

“Good day, Lady.”

“You as well.”

She made her way out of the room.

Eris came over and sat on the couch with you.

“Did I ever tell you how much I admire you learning all the servant’s names? I have lived here my whole life and couldn’t tell you more than three people’s names.”

“I hardly know all of their names,” pouring the coffee for you and Eris. “I like to know the people who I interact with on a daily basis. So, the maids that come into my rooms, the page girls, the doormen, the butlers, and so on. I try to be polite to them. People, even people working for you, deserve at minimum basic politeness.”

Eris nodded in agreement and began eating his breakfast. You grabbed a strawberry cream cheese tart, your favorite that the palace pastry chef makes, and began eating.

After eating and telling Eris about the latest court drama, he asked you a question.

“Did you use the gift I sent you yet?”

How he said that so casually was beyond her. She was blushing so much she was sure so looked like a tomato.

He was giving you that grin again, knowing just how much of an effect he had on you.

“Yes,” you said shyly.

“Did you do what I told you?”

This time all you should do was nod.

“Show me.”

You felt your eyes widen in shock, but after a moment you got up from your seat and made your way over to your bedside table and pulled out the small, discrete box Eris had sent you from the Day Court.

“I can’t believe you would send such a thing with a carrier,” she huffed. “I could have died from embarrassment when I realized what it was, and that the carrier boy probably knew.”

“He didn’t know,” Eris reassured her, getting up from his seat as well. “No one knew except me and the shop keeper the contents of this particular package.”

“Great. Now a shop keeper in the Day Court knows that my husband sends me sex toys in the mail when he’s been gone too long.”

“Vibrating sex toys, specifically,” he whispered in her ear, coming up behind her and wrapping is arms around her middle. “And I hate to inform you that people assume we have sex due to the fact that we are married. Now, show me how to use it.”

You didn’t have time to dwell on what Eris said. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. You had never touched yourself in front of Eris before. Played with your clit while he was fucking you, sure, but never gotten yourself from start to finish with him watching.

Without saying anything, you opened the box to reveal the toy. It was small, and silver in color. It was a skinny oval shape that came to a dull point on both ends. The instructions it came with said to tap it twice on either end to turn it on, and then one tap to change the vibration setting.

“I didn’t use it straight away,” you said, placing the toy on the table and situating yourself on the pillows. “I got myself wet first.”

“How?”

“I thought of you,” you said, pulling your nightgown off to expose yourself. “I thought of you biting and pinching my nipples in the way that always makes me moan. I thought of you kissing down my body, all the way to my pussy. I thought of you fucking me, hard. Bent over the edge of the bed and me moaning into the mattress. And then I was wet enough to use it.”

Eris had moved from standing at the side of the bed to sitting on the edge, angled to look over at you.

“Show me how to use the toy,” he commanded, swallowing hard.

You reached over and picked up the toy. You tapped twice on the end and the little thing buzzed to life. The first setting wasn’t that strong, but you didn’t need it strong yet. You parted your legs to bare your pussy to the cool air and to Eris’ hungry eyes.

First, you circled one end around and over your clit, the sensation making your back arch off the bed a little. Finding just the right angle on your clit the first time with the toy made you cum in just a few moments.

But that’s not what Eris had told you to do.

You moved the toy down a little further and found the entrance to your pussy and gently pushed the toy in most of the way. Just before getting it all the way in, you tapped the end a few times to get to the setting you enjoyed most.

“I like the pulsing sensation best. It reminds me of you thrusting into me.”

Eris just nodded, mesmerized at the sight of you.

The toy was working you. The toy had only been inside of you for a few moments till you started breathing faster.

A moan passed your lips. As you made the noise, the restraint Eris had snapped.

He lunged for you, capturing your lips and reaching down to get to toy from you. His long fingers reached into you and pulled out the toy.

He turned it off quickly and tossed it on the bed.

Pulling away and looking into your eyes he said, “I’m glad the toy works well, but while I’m here, I make you cum.”

Eris bent down and pulled one of your nipples in his mouth, teasing it and pulling it taught with his teeth, eliciting that moan from you that you mentioned to him earlier.

One hand was preventing you from crushing you while the other moved to your now soaking pussy. He quickly found your clit and began working it in tandem with his mouth moving on your nipple.

The combination had your eyes rolling back in your head and left you with nothing but moans to encourage him. Eris didn’t seem to mind.

Eris detached his lips from your nipple and slowed his fingers.

“Let me show you how much I missed you.”

All you could do was lean back a wait.

Eris planted kisses all the way down your naked body. He finally reached you pussy after what seemed like forever and-

Three sharp knocks came at the door.

Eris snapped his head up and shouted, “Go away!”

“High Lord,” a muffled voice said. “The lords are waiting for you in the throne room, eager to hear of you travels.”

“The lords can wait!”

“What shall I tell them, High Lord?”

“That’s he’s busy with his wife and his well-being depends greatly on her satisfaction at the moment,” you shouted, surprising both you and Eris.

“Yes, Lady,” the page rushed. “Apologies, Lady. Good day.”

Eris was looking up at you, amused and impressed.

“My well-being,” he questioned.

“I will make your life hell, husband dearest, if you do not make up for lost time. And orgasms.”

Eris laughed at your threats.

“Well, I best do all I can here. For my well-being.”

“Continue,” you said pointedly.

He just chuckled as he went back to eating you out.

Picking up where he left off, Eris sucked your throbbing clit into his mouth, making you back arch off the bed.

He brought his fingers to you and began running his fingers through your soaked folds, making you whimper, desperate for more contact. You began moving your hips, trying to get more friction from his fingers but he denied you.

Bringing his free hand up, he pinned your hips to the bed. You let out a frustrated groan.

“Greedy, greedy. Let me take my time savoring you.”

“Savor later,” you gritted out. “Make me cum.”

Eris responded by pushing two fingers into you and curling and unleashing a torrent of licks and soft bites to your clit.

All you could do was moan.

Eris worked you in a way that no toy could provide. He knew your body like the back of his hand.

Your breaths got faster, and you could feel the delicious tension building in your core. Your hands found his hair, pushing his face into your pussy to keep him there. There was only two words you could remember, Eris and yes.

And you began chanting those words like a prayer as you felt the long-awaited orgasm wash over you. Your back arched, your toes curled, your hands began pulling his hair, and you could feel your inner muscles clenching and spasming around his fingers.

And Eris just kept up what he was doing, elongating your orgasm and when you were finally done, he pulled his fingers from you. He moved back so that he was sitting on his legs, and he brought his fingers into the light.

You could see your cum glistening off his fingers from where you were, and you didn’t have the sense to be embarrassed.

He brought the soaked fingers to his lips and licked off your juices, while maintaining eye contact with you.

The sight was enough to get you throbbing again. And the sight of his erection straining in his trousers didn’t help calm you down either.

“The taste of you is sweeter than any wine, any honey. I craved it every hour of every day,” he said with earnest.

You decided that you were going to fuck this males’ brains out if it was the last thing you did.

With a new sense of determination, you pushed yourself up and sat so that your knees touched his. You grabbed the back of his head and pulling him in for a kiss. You tried to put every emotion you had into the kiss. Happiness that he was home, anger at him for being gone so long, and the passion and desire you had for him that was boiling over.

Without breaking the kiss, you pushed Eris flat on his back and crawled over him, straddling him in the process.

“Why are you still wearing so much clothing,” you whispered into his mouth. He never put on a shirt last night, but he still had on sleeping trousers.

You pulled on the waist of the trousers, getting them down as far as you could. Eris managed to get them down his legs the rest of the way.

You didn’t really care if he was fully undressed.

“My turn to show you just how much I missed you,” you said, straitening up and looking down at him.

For a moment you just looked at him, your beautiful husband.

His fiery red hair was a mess, tangled in part by you. His eyes were dilated and filled with lust as he looked at your naked form on top of him. His face was flushed, and his sculpted chest was heaving.

You ran your nails sown his chest, leaving faint red streaks in his pale skin. He had a little strip of red hair starting near his belly button that went down below his waistband that you found adorable, for some reason.

“What are you-“

Eris was cut off by you reaching down and grabbing his cock. That always seemed to shut him up.

You quickly lined up the tip of his engorged cock with your entrance and his eyes widened with realization. The look was soon replaced with a smirk of male pride, as he brought on hand to rest on you hip, and the other behind his head.

Without saying a word but maintaining eye contact, you slowly sank down in him, taking him to the hilt.

Eris let out a deep groan, “Feels so good.”

You stretched to accommodate him and gave yourself a moment to find the best angle for yourself.

When you were ready you began to move. First, a gentle rocking motion to get your pussy reacquainted with the length and girth of him. Soon, however you were grinding down as Eris thrust up into you, creating the most delicious sensation.

“You’re doing amazing, princess,” Eris managed out. “Keep going. Just like that.”

The praise urged you on, you were desperate for him to fill you, to feel his cum inside of you, eventually leaking out of you.

You felt that familiar sensation in your core. This time it was more intense. You loved the orgasms that Eris gave you with his tongue and fingers, but nothing compared to the orgasms that you had with him inside you.

Soon, you felt it come over you. Just like the first time, just better in every way. Even as you slowed, overwhelmed by the pleasure rolling through you, Eris kept thrusting up into you, trying to let to wring your last bit of pleasure from him before he came.

You vaguely heard, “That’s it. Good girl. Take your pleasure from me.”

As you felt the last spasms of your climax, Eris came with incredible force. You finally regained enough sense to move your hips to help his climax along, but he didn’t need much help.

Eris grunted, then moaned and he was coming. You felt the hot liquid shoot up into you. Eris finished after a few moments, and you were both panting as you looked at each other.

You made your way off of Eris. As you gently lifted yourself off of his cock, a rush of cum came out of you and spilled onto his cock. You chuckled a little at the sight and feeling.

“What,” Eris asked breathless.

“The feeling of your cum spilling out of me is odd.”

He just nodded.

You collapsed off to the side, completely and utterly sated.

“Well, my dear. I have to say, your best look is freshly and thoroughly fucked.”

“I’d have to say that I did the fucking this time.”

Eris smiled a wicked grin, “I don’t know where this new-found confidence about our sex life is coming from, but I like it.”

“Neither do I.”

Suddenly you remembered what you said to the poor page boy and felt your face flush.

“Oh, Gods. I probably traumatized that poor page boy. I can never look him in the eye again.”

“I’m sure you will,” he said, coming to lay beside you. “Besides, he probably thought it was funny.”

“The boy sounded terrified.”

“Embarrassed, sure. Sacred, maybe. But I doubt terror was involved.”

“If you insist,” you relented, too tired to bicker anymore.

You just laid there, looking into your beautiful husband’s eyes.

After a few minutes you looked over at the clock and it was almost noon.

“What do you say we get cleaned up and dressed to take out lunch outside today? See the grounds in daylight,” you asked, hoping to get more time with him before court duties got in the way.

“Sounds lovely,” he agreed. “You call for the lunch to be prepared and I’ll draw us a bath.”

You did just that.

#eris x oc #eris smut #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar

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a-cupof-jo · 2 years

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[10:24 am]

#8 hospital au + #63 everybody knows/mistaken couple + Pediatrician!Johnny

warnings: implied chronic illness, language

As the words resonated around the room, you watched the woman in front of you. The sob that came from her was like a knife to the chest. Her husband wrapped his arms around her, trying to give her comfort while his own heart was breaking. They were lucky to have each other to lean on.

It never got easier to share the news with families. With only a few words from you, their entire world changed, shifted in ways that you couldn’t understand.

You clasped your hands together, trying to hide the tremor that was working its way to the surface, “I’ll let you guys have some time. The nurse will follow up with you in a few minutes, please let him know if you need anything from me.” Turning from the couple, you bit your lip to keep the tears that were brimming in your eyes. “Hey, Mark,” you greeted the young nurse who had been hired just a few months prior. “Give the couple in there 10.”

Mark knew more than anyone that diagnosis like those were hard on families. They hoped for the best but lived with the reality of the worst.

“Is it?”

You shook your head. The rates were unspeakable. To say those little words again would have you sitting over a bathroom toilet your entire lunch break.

“Just make sure that they have all of the information they need. If you need anything from me, let me know.”

His eyebrows pinched together slightly as he nodded, “Sure, but- um-” you watched as he shifted nervously on his feet, “Are you-”

“I’m fine,” you tried a smile. “Just a headache. Nothing some Tylenol”-and a long nap- “won't fix.” Departing with a pat on the shoulder and a tight grimace, you made your way to your office. If you got there and locked the door before anyone saw you then you could have your cry.

The door of your office didn’t budge as you jiggled the handle. “Please,” you attempted to open it again. “I just need you to work with me.” Locked. “Stupid piece of shit,” you gave the door a hard kick.

“Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but maybe don’t take it out on yourself,” Johnny Suh leaned against the wall next to you. “I mean. I don’t think you would like me to have to take a look at you, would you, Doctor L/n? I, of course, have no qualms.”

“Leave me alone, Doctor Suh,” your turned your face away. He couldn’t see you cry. If he saw just how vulnerable this part of your job made you, he would just use it against you.

His heat and warm scent enveloped you as he moved in closer, “Come now, Doctor. There’s nothing wrong with admitting that maybe your first judgment of me was wrong.”

You shook your head refusing to answer him. Just opening your mouth you knew that the frustration and anguish you were feeling would come pouring out. The door knob jerked again and you slammed a palm against the door.

“Y/n,” oh no, he was using your first name. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just,” you sniff. “This stupid door locked me out of my office again.” A tear fell down your cheek and you tried to wipe it away before he saw.

Johnny’s hand came up to rest on your arm, “Come on,” the light pressure of his hand guided you away from you door, “Don’t cry.”

Just like a man to not want you to show any emotion because it made him uncomfortable. Johnny is a doctor; he should be able to handle an array of strong emotions. So should you. You shouldn’t feel that much pain anymore. You should be able to disconnect from those emotions while you are at work.

“I don’t know what’s running through that beautiful head of you, but whatever it is, you’re wrong,” the door to a separate office swung open and Johnny quickly led you inside. “Here you go, sit.” His hands slid down your arms, guiding you to a plush couch. “Now you want to tell me what’s actually going on?”

You lip quivered as you tried to suppress a sob. Dark eyes caught yours as Johnny’s finger caught your chin, tipping it up so he could take in your face. A deep furrow pressed in between his eyebrows. His concern finally broke through your barrier. It didn’t matter that he may use it against you, you had to get it off your chest, “He’s one Johnny.” You raised a hand to cover your gasping breaths. “One. And I had to tell his parents that.”

“Shh, shh. It’s okay,” his arms reached for you and pulled you into his chest. “I understand.”

He would, wouldn’t he.

“I know that it hurts to give them that news.”

You shook your head, “I shouldn’t still be feeling this way. I have done this long enough that there should be a disconnect.” His shirt crinkled under the grip of your hands on his back. How was it that the one guy you were always trying to avoid was the one to comfort you then?

“I disagree,” his breath covered the top of your head. “Being able to empathize and sympathize with our patients makes us more humane. It makes the hard time seem less daunting and the good times even better. If we disconnect our patients don’t feel like they are being taken care of or like we just look at them like another lab experiment.” You sank further into him as he rubbed a hand up and down your back. His fingers made small circles across your spine every time your breath hitched and you had to wonder why he did that. “Every single one of your patients love you because you connect with them beyond just a diagnosis. You work yourself to the bone and then you put in more work to check up on families and kids that came in here months ago. Parents appreciate that and kids know that you are one of the safe adults. In this field there is nothing more important.”

“Thank you,” it was a soft whisper into the crook of his neck, but you knew he heard.

He hummed lightly, “They don’t understand how much it takes out of you. But I do. So today, I am your doctor.” Pulling away from you he brushed away the hair and tears that stuck to your cheeks. “As your doctor, I am prescribing you one nap and two Tylenol.”

“How much medical school did it take you to figure out how to make that diagnosis?” you blinked up at him as he pushed you to lay down on the couch.

Grabbing a small pill bottle from his counter he shook it lightly and grabbed a bottle of water, “I think it was my third year.” He smiled down at you, and though you would never admit it out loud, it was kind of nice. Johnny was a nice person to have as a friend.

“Really,” you tucked your hands under your head. “I think it was my second year.”

“I knew you were the smarter one,” he set down the bottles and stepped toward the door, “Though I think that was always obvious. I mean I can’t be the pretty and smart one, can I?” You laughed a long with him. Even through the ache in your head, it did make you feel better. Johnny really was a miracle doctor. “Get some rest, find me later.”

“Thanks, Johnny.”

“Anytime.” The door clicked shut behind him and with a smile on your face you drifted to sleep.

The sly smirk Mark gave you when you wander back to the nurses station an hour later dropped when Johnny wandered up and squeezed you shoulder, “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, thanks,” it wasn’t hard to give him a smile then. "I may have to invade your office more often."

He shrugged, “Feel free to use my couch anytime.” And he walked away from you. No, you didn’t look at his butt, you were looking at the piece of paper he had tucked into his back pocket.

Mark screeched in your ear and you turned to find him quickly typing in his phone, “What are you doing?”

He hid his phone behind his back, “Nothing.” Red colored his cheeks as you continued to stare at him. “Glad you're feeling better.”

He may have avoided your scrutiny then, but if the looks that nurses started throwing your way meant anything, he would be hearing from you again later.

#Johnny fluff #johnny angst #johnny fics #johnny timestamps #johnny x reader #nct fics #nct fluff #nct angst #nct timestamps #nct 127 fic #nct 127 timestamps #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst

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chrysathelia · 1 year

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Atlantis Boy - story

This is the story of Cascade Lan'vive and a dragon called Aeginarra.

Watch the Atlantis Boy MV here!

With the appearance of the Dragon Queen, dragons appeared throughout the lands of Chrysathelia, shattering the peace that the mortal and divine worked so hard to preserve and nurture. The City-State of Lunaer, of course, would be ravaged by war itself. It was said two military commanders went missing as a fearsome dragon of flame wreaked havoc, declaring himself “the king.”

The military of Lunaer fought back with all their might, but this dragon possessed a fearsome strength, being able to summon and control corrupted beasts to fight at his side. For weeks on end, the people of Lunaer lived in fear for their lives as the battle raged on.

Cascade Lan’vive was a young and sickly boy, around the age of 13 or 14. In his childhood, he fell with a deep, deep illness, with no way to be cured. Although he was rejected and pitied for his illness, he found peace by the shore. The sight of the glittering waves every day was his comfort. He would swim every day; the ocean was his friend.

However, as the dragon came to cause destruction upon Lunaer, so did the waters nearby stir with destructive storms. It was no longer safe for Cascade to live by the ocean, but as the oceanside dwellers were evacuating, he was engulfed by the storm, left behind to drown in the ocean.

Within the depths of the sea was another dragon – there she resided in her own pitiful resentment, swirling around in her raging storm of emotions. It seemed Cascade’s fate was to die within her rampage, but she took notice of the boy who had ended up in her domain. His very presence snapped her out of her mire of distress. His body, weak – a flicker about to die out. But in that flicker was a spark of light, as his heart called out to her. His energy resonated throughout the dark waters, calling to her.

She realized this boy was much like herself. That feeling of rejection; being cast aside – it was the resonance between the two.

She realized she wanted to save the boy, but she didn’t know how. Only having become a dragon recently, alone in the deep sea, she felt like she was only capable of destruction. But in that resonance of their hearts, she poured all her power and being into his soul; an instinctual reaction to try to save him.

…

There, light engulfed the deep sea as she found herself in his mind space. A vision of the inside of his being; he stood in the distance amidst a white haze. Then, he collapsed one knee onto the ground, and then two; holding onto his chest. She ran towards him, kneeling down to hold him.

“Are you… okay?”

“Guess this is where I die.” A forlorn look to the ground. “At the hands of a… dragon…”

The white haze had seemed to glow, and it flickered; becoming darker.

“I am… Aeginarra. What’s your name?”

“...Why does it matter to you?” He looked up at the dragon, and sighed. “Cascade.”

He examined her appearance more; a body covered in blue scales; black horns protruding from her head– he had never seen anything like her before.

“You’re one of those… dragons. What do you want? Just kill me already.”

Aeginarra flinched.

“I’m already done with this life. This is where it ends, anyways.”

“I didn’t… No, that’s not…” She trailed off.

Those words cut at her heart. She remembered “that person” telling her how powerful she could be, conquering over others. “That person” who was always at her side, who rejected her. But, she never wanted to hurt anyone at all.

“I wanted to help you.”

“What are you even saying? I’m as good as dead anyways.”

The surrounding whiteness flickered, dimmer; yet dimmer. She felt hopelessness in this boy’s soul; the light dying out in these last moments.

“...I wanted to give you my power. So you could live.”

“Huh?”

He looked up at her. She met his eyes, pleading; hopeful there was a chance.

“I don’t know if I can help you… I don’t know if this will even work.”

“Then why are you bothering with me?”

“Because I believe there’s a chance!”

Aeginarra’s words echoed around him, reaching his core. It was in that moment, he realized that their hearts had resonated. This woman, though she looked unhuman; like a beast – she had such a heart of compassion not even Cascade had felt from other humans. This woman had hope in him. For what, he wasn’t sure, but it was something important to her, that he felt she had to do.

“This power… Great as it may be, if you could accept it, you could live.”

The lights flickered back to life, as dimming fog around them shone once more.

If there was just one chance, for a new life beyond the shore…

Cascade opened his eyes.

…

Drowning in the sea, the raging storm came to a close. However, the young and sickly boy was already deep in the water, almost dead – all alone in the darkness.

Though, just as the raging storm dies, so do calm waters return. As he came to, he realized that he was alive. Breathing; surviving underwater.

He was alive.

“I’m so glad you were able to live, Cascade,” a voice from within his mind said.

“Huh?”

Realizing what had just happened – who that voice was, why she wasn’t in front of him anymore – he looked around instinctually.

“Oh… Aegi… narra, was it?” He asked again.

“Yes. Now, there’s something I want us to do. Shall we return to the shore?”

Cascade nodded, and swam towards the surface.

#story #chrysathelia chronos #cascade lan'vive #aeginarra

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randomcactaceae · 2 years

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When I started learning about what being a wlw felt like, I remember there was this part that I didn't understand. It was the concept of yearning. Yearning for their company, their touch, their smile. I never thought it was possible for me to experience that.

Somehow someone came into my life, and even though she lives quite far from where I am, we've never met in person, and she has no idea, I finally understood what yearning meant. And no, not in a sexual way. It feels like you wanna hold them tight at night, and trace their features with your fingertips, and make them feel loved. It feels like an urge to protect them and bringing them joy and hugging them from behind. It feels like wanting to give them forehead kisses and holding them as they sleep.

And even though this is just in my daydreams, I just think that's something beautiful about loving a woman.

#wlw #sapphic #yearning #crush #loving women #pouring my heart out in here because ill never be able to tell her

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maria-akira · 3 years

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good girls don't get used: michael langdon x fem! reader

—♡—

READ PART 2 HERE

summary: michael langdon, your ex, falls into a bet wherein he has to (fake) date you. if he falls in love again, he loses and doesn't get the prize.

warnings: private school au, fuckboy!michael, slight mention of sexual topics + i didnt proofread this mwahaha

this fic is inspired by the song 'good girls (don't get used)' by beach bunny.

i don't know if other private schools have bells, because mine doesn't :(

italicized bold words are direct lyrics from the song. but in this chapter, there are none since this is like an intro :)

—♡—

"Dude, shut the fuck up."

"Are you kidding? She really said that?"

"You really think that's gonna happen?"

"Who's class do you have first?"

Voices of different students flooded the white and grey hallways of the school. Different friend groups and teachers can be seen roaming the halls, getting stuff from their respective lockers as they waited for the bell to ring.

"Y/N! Do you mind if I borrow your calculator? I forgot mine at home and Math is my next class." She said while panting.

"Sure, here it is. If you lose it, I'd probably drop kick your ass." Y/N let out a small laugh and grabbed the calculator from her locker, giving it to her friend.

"Gosh, Y/N. I'll never lose it! I'll give it back during recess. Thanks again!" She flashed Y/N a smile and waved bye, before returning to her locker.

Y/N looked at herself in the mirror she had on her locker, fixing the tie that always seemed to be out of place whenever she checked. Her hair was neat, complete with a white headband that complimented the color of her school's uniform.

A few seconds later, the bell rang and everybody started rushing. Different couples were seen kissing before they parted ways for the mean time.

Cringe. Y/N thought. She shrugged it off and held her books tightly to her chest, walking to her next class.

Walking straight into the classroom, she noticed a group of guys dart their eyes to her direction as she entered. They gave her weird smirks. In return, she stared back at them while she made her way to her seat and never broke eye contact. Eventually, she noticed a familiar face among the group.

Michael, her ex.

How the fuck is he in my English class? She thought, along with a whole hundred thoughts roaming around her head. Michael stared back at her, giving her a wink.

Y/N's face gave a hint of disgust, "The fuck do you want, Langdon?" She stood up from her seat and walked over to Michael, pushing his other friends. She heard his friends coo and tease Michael for his act towards her.

Michael put up his hands in defense, "Chill, is it bad to wink at a pretty girl like you?" He said with a smug look, while he grazed his hand over her arm.

"Shut the fuck up, Langdon. Don't you ever touch me." Y/N slapped his hand away, his friends taken aback from her actions. As she walked back to her seat, the teacher entered as well.

Y/N put her face in her hands. By now, a million thoughts were in her head. It's been 2 years since Michael and her broke up, and since then, she made a promise to herself that she would never fall in love with men like him. She was so tired of all the tears and sleepless nights that Michael gave her.

She let out a sigh and lifted her head from her hands. The soft light from the windows filled her eyes after the darkness formed by her hands, causing her to rub her eyes to adjust from the light.

The rest of the hour went smoothly for Y/N, after English class was recess, her most favorite time of the day— aside from going home, of course.

She glanced at her watch, 10:28 AM.

2 more minutes, and English will be over. She thought.

She averted her gaze back on the white board full of scribbles about some writing lesson she clearly did not listen to. She looked over to her classmates and friends, Well they aren't listening either. She laughed at the thought.

As soon at the bell rang, everyone started packing up their notebooks, textbooks, and whatever they had on their table. Every student was seen rushing out of every classroom in hopes of being the first ones in line for the cafeteria.

On the way there, Y/N bumped into her friend group. "Hey Y/N! We heard about happened in English class. Michael is really in your class?" A friend of hers mentioned, "Yea, and apparently that son of a bitch winked at me, such a disgusting ass motherfucker. he should keep his fuck boy ass to himself." Y/N spat out, earning a chorus of 'oh's' from her friends.

When they arrived at the cafeteria, the line was painfully long, all of them groaned in frustration and they had no choice but to wait for the line to move. But once it did, it was faster than usual. After Y/N and her friends received their food, they left the cafeteria to eat at their usual place.

The school rooftop.

A few students know that staying in the school rooftop is permitted, which was why Y/N and her friends loved eating there.

When they arrived at the rooftop, they saw the usual people that they always encounter while staying there. The view was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. The small garden in the rooftop gave a beautiful and elegant touch.

Though there were a few chairs and tables, Y/N and her friends always preferred to eat on the floor. So, they laid the linen cloth on the ground and sat on it. Y/N was wearing the skirt uniform, thus she removed her tux and placed it on her legs to prevent her skirt from lifting.

They shared a few giggles while they ate their meals, laughing about some life experiences, or whatever they wanted to talk about.

Y/N loved this. She loved how she and her friends would have little moments like these, it was like an escape from reality.

The rest of the day went smoothly for Y/N. She didn't fall asleep in any of her classes, which in this case was a very big accomplishment for her.

As soon as she arrived home, her little brother, Aaron, rushed towards her. "Y/N!! I missed you!" He chimed, Y/N kneeled down onto his level and gave him the tightest hug. "I missed you too, Aaron!" Her mom came into the room and smiled. Y/N stood up and gave her mom a hug as well.

"How was school?" Her mom asked, Y/N placed her tux on the coat hanger by the door. "It was fine, Mom. Where's Dad?" Y/N walked over to the fridge and poured herself a glass of milk, "He'll be home soon, he still has a meeting right now." She took a sip of her milk, "Oh, okay. I'll be upstairs doing school work." The glass of milk that was once full, now empty.

She took her things upstairs and plopped herself on the bed. Out of nowhere she felt a vibrating noise from her bag, she rummaged through her bag to find her phone and once she did, a message was see on her lockscreen.

Unknown Sender has sent you a message.

She unlocked her phone and went to her messages.

Unknown Sender: hey ;)

Her eyebrows furrowed. What the fuck?

(Y/N): hi? whos this?

read 2:29 pm

Unknown Sender: oh shit you deleted my number? damn.

"Huh? I don't recall deleting anyone's number..." She went to her recently deleted contacts and it showed nothing.

(Y/N): im sorry, i haven't deleted anyone's number recently, maybe you have the wrong number?

read 2:32 pm

Unknown Sender: im pretty sure you know me, Y/N.

They know my name. And her heart started pounding.

(Y/N): and im pretty sure i dont, so just reveal yourself before i report this number

read 2:35pm

Unknown Sender: ayo chill 😬 its me michael.

"Michael fucking Langdon? You've got to be fucking me right now." She felt rage fill her, slamming her keyboard.

(Y/N): langdon what the fuck do you want? i made it very clear that i dont want you talking to me.

read 2:40 pm

Before Michael could reply, she changed his contact name to 'Motherfucker'

You have changed Unknown Sender's contact name as 'Motherfucker'

Motherfucker: damn you still mad at me after 2 years? gosh (Y/N). whats with the nickname?

(Y/N): of course im still mad, asshole. ill never forget what you fucking did.

read 2:43 pm

Motherfucker: i thought you forgave me 🥺

(Y/N): FORGIVE YOU???? god langdon you're so fucking stupid, i will never forgive you. you didnt even say sorry in the first place!

Pissed off, Y/N blocked his number. "That fucking asshole." She mumbled to herself.

—

"Hey! Y/N!" A familar voice called out from the crowd. Y/N removed one earbud and turned around to find the voice that called her.

Once she saw the shiny blonde locks from that stood out in the crowd, she immediately ran in the opposite direction in hopes of avoiding him.

It was Michael, again.

"Y/N wait!" Michael called out again, chasing her

For some reason, Michael was able to catch her. He pulled Y/N into an empty science laboratory and they were both panting.

"What the fuck do you want this time, Langdon?" Y/N was catching her breath, fanning herself with her hand.

"Okay. First off, sorry for the sudden message. I know I pissed you off and that wasn't my intention at a—"

"What was your intention then?" She cut him off.

Michael panicked.

"Uh, you know? I just wanna talk to you again. Clear the bad air between us.."

Y/N let out a laugh, "Clear the bad air?? Oh gooood Langdon, you are really so stupid! You know what? You just made it worse." She pushed him off and walked out of the room,

"Whatever it is your planning, Langdon, I'm telling to stop it. I don't wanna talk to you or even go near you."

Michael was dumbfounded. She changed so much. He thought to himself.

2 years ago, Y/N was the sweetest, most innocent girl he knew. Playing with her feelings was Michael's biggest regret, and he's starting to feel it again.

Michael was about to leave the room until he felt a buzzing from his pocket, He pulls out his phone to see who was calling him.

Duncan, one of his bestfriends.

Michael answered the call, "Hello?"

"What's the update on your little girl?"

"She still doesn't trust me."

"That's sad man."

"I know. She changed alot. "

"What do you mean by 'changed'?" Duncan emphasized,

"I can't point it out, Dunc."

"Whatever you do, don't chicken out. I promise this bet is worth it."

"Fine, I trust you."

Call Ended.

Michael ran his fingers through his hair in frustration and left the room before the bell rang.

—

It was the last subject of the day. Most students were falling asleep or on their phones.

Y/N was scribbling weird things on the back of her notebook, when suddenly the bell rang. She packed up her stuff and stood up from her seat. Before she could leave the room, she saw a familiar face again.

Michael stood by the doorway of her classroom, the strap of his bag over one shoulder while he looked for Y/N among the other students.

Y/N ignored Michael and walked past him, but he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards him.

"Langdon! What the fuck do you want?!" She screamed, all of the students averting their attention to her.

Michael put a finger on his lips, shushing her. "Let's go somewhere private, yea?"

"But—"

Before she could object, Michael dragged her outside towards the parking lot.

"Okay this is actually something serious—"

"CUT THE SHIT LANGDON! IM TIRED OF YOU."

"Woah‐woah! Easy now. I actually need your help, with school..."

Michael rubbed her shoulders, looking straight into her eyes. For once, Y/N believed him. His eyes were speaking the truth.

"Okay, fine. Shoot."

"I can't believe I'm saying this.."

"Don't waste my time, Langdon."

"Fine! I'm failing."

Y/N's mouth hung open. Michael was one of the top students in their batch and this was obviously a huge surprise for her.

"Oh, really? What am I gonna do about that?" She crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side.

"Can you please help me? Like, tutor me?" At this point, Michael was desperate.

"Um, no thanks. Just fuck some other girl's pussy for your grades." Y/N pushed him away, but Michael stopped her again.

"I'm serious, Y/N. I really need your help."

"Why me?"

Now that made Michael nervous.

"Because you happen to be the top of our batch right now?"

"Fine! Under one condition."

Michael was curious, "What?"

"If I do this tutor shit, we're doing it at my place. I can't tutor you in your messy ass room." Y/N said. She always remembered how messy Michael's room was when they were together. He would only clean when he was scolded by Y/N.

"That's fine by me."

"Okay then. 5pm, sharp."

She walked away, but Michael pulled her again.

"Let me go! What do you want now?" Y/N said, clearly annoyed.

"Unblock my number, silly." Michael chuckled,

"No."

"How are you supposed to know if I already arrived?"

"Theres a doorbell, dimwit. I'll be downstairs waiting for you."

"Bu—"

"Bye, Michael. I'll see you later." Y/N flashed him a small smile and continued to walk away.

Once he saw Y/N reach the bus stop, he started walking to his car, until someone tapped him on his shoulder.

"Hey Michael, whats the update? I saw you talking to her." It was Duncan. His brown hair was lightly gelled back and the first two buttons of his white dress shirt were undone.

"I'm still trying to win her back, I lied to her that I was failing so she could tutor me. That way, it'll be easier."

Duncan smirked, "That's my boy! When will this tutor thing start?"

"Later, 5pm."

"Hmm, that's good. Remember, if you fall in love again, bet's over."

"I won't."

—♡—

tags mwah: @kitwalker02 @sojournmichael @angelicmichael @deademobitch @iheartfrogs101 @tatestripedsweater @mrs-march-ahs

i hope you guys enjoyed this. i wrote this while doing schoolwork </3

#michael langdon imagines #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #ahs x reader #american horror story #ahs #ahs 8 #ahs 9 #ahs smut #cody fern imagines #cody fern x reader #duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd x reader #michael langdon smut #duncan shepherd smut #american horror story 9 #xavier plympton imagines #ahs apocalypse #ahs imagines

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rodr1cks · 3 years

Text

Sick Day | 2.1k

fluff!! you’re sick and rodrick comes to the rescue.

warnings: vomit, being sick in general

All day you had been feeling extremely ill. The nurse at school was being impossible and refused to send you home, despite your pleas.

“Please Mrs. Williams, I feel terrible you have to believe me!”

She was extremely skeptical, “Child, do you know how many times I hear that in a day? You don’t have a fever, back to class.”

And just like that, you were dismissed. Sent to endure the rest of your classes in misery.

The day went by painfully slow after your trip to the nurse. The fluorescent lights berated your pupils making it impossible to concentrate and worsening your headache.

It was sixth period, the last class of the day. Also your least favorite class of the day. You couldn’t stand the teacher. Mr. Wright. He was your classic asshole history teacher.

You were completely zoned out, trying to focus on not vomiting. Your name being called pulled you out of your haze.

“Miss y/l/n? Do you care to answer me? Unless you’re busy of course.”

Condescending bastard.

You held your tongue, swallowing any smart-ass comments that threatened to spill past your lips. You cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry, what was the question.”

He went through the whole “this is a learning environment” lecture after that. Again, you didn’t listen. You couldn’t have even if you wanted to. Thankfully, he left you alone after that.

Finally, the last bell of the day sounded through the school. You lept from your seat and ran to the bathroom. You practically body slammed the door open. Luckily, the bathroom was empty, most kids having already filed out of the main doors, eager to begin their weekend festivities.

You were hunched over one of the white porcelain bowl, tears filling your eyes.

Today could not get any worse.

After taking a few deep breaths, you were able to compose yourself enough to exit the bathroom.

You crossed your fingers, hoping that the halls had been completely evacuated.

You crept through the empty corridors and out into the parking lot. You were especially dreading the walk home today.

You were walking through the parking lot, enjoying the fresh air when you saw him. Rodrick Heffley.

The two of you were best friends in elementary school but you drifted apart after a while. You honestly developed a certain distaste for him, as he had you.

Please don’t notice me, please don’t-

“Y/n!”

Shit.

“Rodrick!” you feigned enthusiasm.

His brow furrowed, “You look… paler than usual?” You rolled your eyes, classic Rodrick. You wanted this interaction to end, immediately. “Yup. Not feeling well.” You deadpanned, providing little detail.

Rodrick hesitated for a moment, “Well, let me drive you home, kid.”

Kid. Who did he think he was?

“I think I’ll pass, weather is nice today.” The weather was far from nice.

“Oh really, the weather is nice, y/n? Where are you right now? Because it’s raining where I am.”

He sighed, “and I also saw that little performance Mr. Wright gave you...”

Oh so he pities me.

“Rodrick, If I get in your van will you stop talking?”

He motioned, pretending to zip his lips up and throw away the key. A small smile spread across your face but you didn’t let him see that.

A few minutes into the drive, you decided you were glad you let him take you home. The sky had opened up and it was storming.

Oh God.

“Rodrick, pull over, now.”

He looked over at you and could tell what was about to happen. He pulled over quickly and you opened the door. You leaned over and vomited right onto the grass patch parallel to the road, in the pouring rain.

Coyly, you returned to your seat in the van. You were unsure if you should apologize, so you stayed silent.

“Y/n, are your parents home?”

He knew they never were. Ever since you were a kid, your parents had been anywhere but home. Business trips, vacations, retreats, you name it.

You looked down at your shoes, water dripping from your hair, and shook your head.

“Alrighty then, change of plans.”

You protested, “Rodrick that’s really not necessary I’ll be fine.” Part of you knew there was no point in arguing. If he was one thing, it was stubborn.

He reached out, placing the back of his hand on your forehead to prove a point, “Y/n, you’re burning up. You’re coming with me.”

You were closer to his house anyways. That’s how you justified it, at least.

His van pulled into The Heffley’s driveway. Rodrick got out and rushed around the vehicle to open your door.

“Come along, y/n. I know somebody who will be very happy to see you,” he grinned.

The front door swung open and you were hit with a wave of nostalgia. The Heffley’s house was always warm and always smelled spectacular. Somehow, Mrs. Heffley was always baking or cooking something.

“Y/n? What a nice surprise this is!” Mrs. Heffley beamed. She had always loved you. “How I’ve missed seeing your face around here!” She said, placing her hands on your checks.

“You’re soaking wet!” You nodded awkwardly in response. “And goodness, you’re burning up! Are you feeling alright?” She felt your forehead and cheeks, then squeezed your shoulders gently.

From a young age, Mrs. Heffley had looked after you as one of her own. Nothing had changed it seemed.

“No, actually,” you smiled half-heartedly. Mrs. Heffley frowned at you. “Rodrick, get her some dry clothes, would you?.” Rodrick nodded, leading you up the stairs.

You stood in his room, obviously uncomfortable. He was knelt in front of his dresser, digging around for something.

“Ah! Here it is.”

Rodrick whipped out a t-shirt for you to change into. He grabbed a pair of black sweats from another drawer as well.

“Here you are, mademoiselle.” He stuck out the wad of clothing in your direction. You couldn’t lie, you were happy to have some dry clothes to change into.

You stepped into his bathroom, taking a moment to examine your appearance. You looked rough. Intense bags hung low under your eyes and you truly did look more pale than usual. Fantastic.

You emerged from the bathroom, Rodrick’s clothing drooping slightly from your frame. Rodrick was sitting on the end of his bed and he patted the surface.

You joined him on his twin mattress, only because you were exhausted.

“Rodrick, why are you being nice to me?”

He looked guilty. “You’ve had a rough day, y/n…”

He sucked in a breath, “...and y’know I’ll always care about you.”

How could he still care for you? You completely wrote him off when high school began.

“Listen, y/n, the past is in the past, okay?”

A genuine smile appeared on your face. Before the moment could become too sentimental, Rodrick interjected.

“Oh! Be right back,” he chirped.

He ran downstairs and came back with an orange soda and some cold & flu medicine.

Rodrick explained himself, “Orange! Like, vitamin C, right?” He looked too happy with himself, you couldn’t bring him down. At least his heart was in the right place.

Concealing your laughter to the best of your ability, you accepted the beverage and medicine from his hand.

You hated this kind of medicine with your whole heart. The orange soda could be useful honestly, just not for its nutritional value like Rodrick intended.

Rodrick measured out the appropriate amount of the medicine for you as you cracked open the can. He handed you the small cup full of the thick, red liquid.

You threw back the grotesque cherry flavored solution, grimacing as it coated your throat. You chased the medicine with the orange soda. See, it did come in handy.

You leaned back into Rodrick’s pillows, trying to relax.

About fifteen minutes later you felt extremely drowsy. “Rodrick, can I see that bottle?”

“Uh, sure,” he said, confused.

You read the bottle and instantly threw your head back in annoyance. “Rodrick this is the drowsy kind!” You continued inspecting the bottle, “and it’s extra strength!”

With each second passing, it got increasingly difficult to keep your eyes open.

Everything was blurry and you were teetering between consciousness and sleep.

“Rodrick,” you slurred. “I’m so sorry I stopped talking to you… stopped being your friend. Felt like I wasn’t cool or pretty enough… didn’t deserve you.”

Rodrick was extremely confused. You thought you were too good for him? He had to hold back a laugh.

He couldn’t conceal his smile, “Excuse me? Y/n, that must be the nyquil talking.” He rolled his eyes and brushed off your comment, contemplating the sentiment for a mere moment.

You eventually drifted off, unable to ward off sleep any longer.

When you woke up, you first noticed rodrick. He was sitting on his beaten up couch with his headphones covering his ears. You could hear the muffled baseline from your spot across the room.

How are his eardrums still intact?

Rodrick had a shoebox on his lap and he was shuffling through the contents, smiling to himself.

You cleared your throat, obtaining his attention.

“Oh, y/n! You’re up!” He smiled at you, ripping off his headphones.

You nodded slowly, knuckling your eyes sleepily.

“What time is it?”

Rodrick glanced at his watch, “It’s only 8:30.” You nodded again, continuing to rub the sleep from your eyes.

Rodrick stood, picking up the box and walking over to you. “Look,” he said softly. You peered down into the small shoebox and numerous photos and letters.

“This one here is my favorite,” he said quietly. It was a picture of you and Rodrick at the roller rink. You recognized the photo immediately.

“Seventh grade kick off,” you smiled. You took the box from his lap and began looking through each photo, braided friendship bracelet, concert ticket.

You laughed as each item brought back memories you had long forgotten.

You stopped at a photo of the two of you dressed up in ridiculous outfits. You wore a sequined hat and Rodrick held his drumsticks in hand.

“Was this when we saw Good Charlotte?” You asked.

He giggled, “It sure was. I remember thinking I looked so hot that night. Guess not huh.”

“What are you talking about, you looked incredible Rodrick. Seventh grade me was dying to jump you right then and there.”

His face lit up, “Really?”

“No,” you flashed him an expressionless look before breaking out into side-splitting laughter. He joined you.

You missed this feeling of pure, unadulterated joy. Rodrick was the only person who you had truly experienced that with.

You sighed to yourself. Come tomorrow, you’d be back to strangers. Tears welled up in your eyes and your lip quivered. Rodrick was oblivious until a single tear drop fell onto the photograph below you.

He immediately tried to comfort you. He placed an arm around your shoulder, dragging you into his larger frame. It caught you off guard but you allowed yourself to melt into his touch.

Rodrick distracted you from your sorrow. “Look at this one right here.” It was a photo of you and the Heffley Family in their backyard. You and Rodrick were around fifteen, if you remembered correctly.

“This was the day that I realized I had a big, fat crush on you.”

He followed up, “S’lame I know…”

Heat flooded your cheeks, this time the heat was not a result of your illness. Was it anxiety? Happiness? Both? You couldn’t decide.

“You never really explained why you stopped talking to me and coming by my house.”

You shrugged at him, feeling like your explanation would make him mad. “Well, Rodrick, you started getting new friends. Friends that were better than me or cooler than me.”

“Y/n that is probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I could never replace you. To this day, nobody’s ever come close.”

He gave you a playful smack over the head.

“...anyways, to be honest that crush never really went away?”

Before you had time to process the sentence he was gently grabbing your chin, turning your head.

You were facing him now, your lips only inches away from his.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Y-yeah, yes, I think so, yeah.”

He laughed at you and leaned in slowly. Rodrick used one finger to gently move your hair out of your face.

The kiss was gentle and filled with emotion.

You felt like you hadn’t known what you were missing out on until that moment. You felt completed.

“Oh shit, I better not get sick!”

#rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley #rodrick fanfiction #diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick

417 notes · View notes

urcuteharrington · 3 years

Note

hi, I just saw your post asking for some requests. Maybe if you can do a Steve angst but with a little bit of fluff? 💛💛

forgotten?☁️🕊

summary-steve seemed to have forgotten you when nancy came into the picture

word count-1.8k

warnings-fighting and cursing

a/n-i really hope you guys enjoyed this because it took me so long to write but i appreciate you all and i’m so glad to be back 🤍

masterlist

huge thanks to @angsty-plots for giving me ideas for new angst plots<3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

steve and i were good friends that was until he started dating nancy wheeler. it use to be steve and i doing everything together hanging out at each others houses, long car rides , going to tommy’s parties , and now he forgot all about me. i knew steve had a crush on ever since the beginning... i saw the way he looked at her when she would walk past him , i saw the sparkle in his eyes when he talked about her or whenever she was around. it use to be steve, tommy, carol, and i hanging out at lunch everyday but i was soon replaced when steve asked nancy to go to his house for a hangout with carol and tommy since his parents were out of town. that night he only invited me out of pity and i saw the subtitle flirting between the two and it made me sick. i walked barb that night to the bathroom after she sliced her thumb trying to open a beer can.” i know steve has gauze and bandages somewhere here ill look just keep your hand under the water” i tell her. that night i saw nancy and steve go into his room and i knew what was going to happen and i couldn’t bare being their for it. I said my goodbye to barb wishing her a safe ride home and went on my way. remembering that night i cried my heart out wondering why steve never expressed interest in me.

That was months ago now it’s around october and it was tommy’s halloween bash. i wasn’t going to go but i decided that it was better than sitting at home doing nothing. i knew i was going to see steve their with nancy but i still went even if it was going to hurt seeing my best friend who forgot i even existed. I go dressed up as (whatever you want) and grab my keys getting ready to head off to the party. pulling up to the house i already see drunk teens walking around with their heels in hand or wobbling around. i walk in and head over to the kitchen and try to grab a drink of spiked punch. while pouring i look over and see them... steve and nancy dancing to the beat of the music. a sudden wave of sadness hit and i decided to take a sip of the punch feeling the alcohol run down my throat.

minutes pass and i decided to stay in the kitchen since i felt like it was my best bet to not run into them while on the dance floor. watching the drunken teens flirting and stumbling their words amused on how quickly the punch could get someone drunk.then i saw her , the girl who stole my best friend from me and the boy i loved. nancy walked into the kitchen and grabbed more cups of the spiked punch , one after another i was able to see her get completely shitfaced in the ,mater of only a few minutes. steve came looking for nancy and they got into a fight and i watched intensely. watching as the punch spilled all over her while sweater my mouth opened a jar shocked at how messy everything was getting. watching her and steve storm over to the bathroom. moments later i move to the living room near the front door and suddenly get shouldered by steve who seemed furious and watching jonathan rush to the bathroom. i decided to stay a little longer since the party was still going strong.

a few days later i noticed that steve and nancy were slowly falling out since he wasn’t visiting her at school anymore and her and jonathan seemed to have gotten closer. they seemed to be done and whatever was said in that bathroom must have been bad. i decided to go to steve’s house and check up on him, even if we weren’t friends anymore i didnt want to see him go through something like a breakup alone. knocking on his front door i waited anxiously wondering if i was making the wrong choice. “ hey how can i- oh hi y/n. i didnt uh expect you to be here?” steve says opening the door confused. “ i know steve but i wanted to talk to you” i say as he walks me to his room to talk.” hey i was actually gonna go out and apologize to nancy so if you can come and help me pick something out for her” my heart sank i haven’t talked to him in months and he already brought her up. not a hey how are you or a i miss you nothing its always about her i think to myself. “ oh i actually came to talk to you about something “ “ shoot” he says.” why did you stop talking to me” silence filled the room 1...2...3 minutes passed waiting for him to say something anything” steve you left me for nancy and i dont get what i did for you to sto talking to me. i understand shes your girlfriend but shit i didnt think you’d completely forget about me” i say standing up from his bed looking at him with sadness in my eyes.” i-i thought you didn’t want to hang out with us anymore y/n i didnt notice at first i i’m so sorry” he says guilt in his voice.” i feel like i lost the only person i truly cared about and and you were my friend and now you don’t even look my way steve how could you not notice me not being their... how did you not notice me not their at your basketball games cheering you on or the long car rides we would have just blasting music or going to tommy’s parties and taking turns getting shit faced. tell me steve is it me was i just not who you wanted to be around anymore was she my replacement because i saw it since the beginning” chocking on my words i hold back my tears. i didnt want to cry but eventually it fell and my vision blurred with tears.” y/n i never ment to make you feel that way and i am so sorry i guess i just got so caught up in nancy and i didnt notice you slowly leave and i i just feel terrible “ steve looked at me finally realizing how much he affected me and how much pain he caused me. “steve if you didnt want to be friends anymore you could have just told me you really hurt me” i say to him not daring to look him in the eyes.”i-i” is all he could say” you know what steve a simple hey i dont think we should be friends anymore its not your fault i just think we should go our own ways would have been nice” i say to him walking past him” you know thanks for being my friend for so many years but i cant be friends with someone who doesn’t give two shits about me anymore” i say as i walk out the door and walk back home since it was only a few houses down.steve not moving just in shock realizing that he was the reason why he lost his best friend.

days past and steve found out that nancy liked jonathan and accepted it telling her its okay and like that they broke up. driving around i felt a wave of sadness hit when the song steve and i would listen to while blasting music. tears spill down my face as i drive home. once i make it home i calm myself down and wash up when i suddenly hear the doorbell go off. walking over i open the door seeing the infamous billy hargrove “ hey their doll face i was wondering if you’ve seen my little sister max i know that you tutor some of her friends so i was wondering if you could help me figure out where the byers house is” he says licking his lips seductively “ yeah i could take you their and help you look for your little sister just let me grab my stuff “ i say looking at him.” after getting to the byers house i stay in the car until i see steve walk out confused at why he is their. everything happened so fast punches were thrown and now i’m driving the kids to this random area in hawkins. steve wakes up and sees me driving confused at how he ended up in this situation. getting to the destination steve and i talk while the kids grab everything. in the car they explained everything that happened in thus far with el , will, the upsidown , and etc. “ we broke up” steve says looking at me “ what why are you okay” even if we weren’t close anymore i didnt want him to feel like he had no one. “ she likes jonathan and the night of the party she called our relationship bullshit and i accepted it since i-“ dustin cuts him off by yelling at him how we didnt have enough time.

getting the kids out of the tunnels one by one steve was just about to help me up when he grabbed onto me tightly in a protective matter when the demo dogs ran toward us. watching as they ran past us he told me” i lost you once and i’m not gonna lose you again”getting out of the tunnels i was able to fully process everything that happened and once el closed the gate and steve and i were finally alone he broke the silence “ i love you y/n i never ment to hurt you and i’m sorry.” speechless i sit their “ steve i know you loved nan-“ he cuts me off “ after our first fight i knew she loved jonathan and i guess i couldn’t believe it till she called our relationship bullshit and i love you so much y/n and it was stupid of me to not tell you earlier” “ i love you too steve but what you did hurt me i mean you completely forgot about me” “ i know y/n but could you give me a second chance i’ll make it up to you... could i take you on a date and patch everything up” i really didn’t want to forgive him but i couldn’t just abandon him because i needed him i loved him and he loved me “ i would love that steve “ i say looking at him with love in my eyes and a smile plastered on my face.

#hawkins indiana #stranger things #fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #masterlist #sweet #angst #steve harrington angst #x reader angst #steve #stranger things season 2 #stranger things season 1

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alj4890 · 3 years

Note

I have an ask? What if Liam got Riley pregnant when they first met in New York? Would he still have to go through the social season? Would she have to raise a baby on her own would Liam find a way to help?

Ooooohhhh. Interesting. That would be quite the conundrum for them, wouldn't it? Especially since the social season starts the very next day after he visited her bar. Hmmm. Let's see what I can do with that time frame. I'm going on the assumption that the social season lasts at least three months with all the parties and traveling they do. Which will help out with the pregnancy part 😉 I think she would still go and take part in the social season since she wouldn’t know she was pregnant yet, but it would definitely alter how things end in book 1.

Masterlist

@gkittylove99 @darley1101 @krsnlove @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @yourmajesty09 @mom2000aggie @ofpixelsandscribbles @twinkleallnight @lodberg @twinkleallnight @amandablink @neotericthemis @mm2305

Aftereffects

Three months earlier...

"Well?" Riley tilted her head to study Liam's profile. "What do you think?"

He cleared his throat. Lips parted, yet no words were formed. Liam had so many emotions hitting him all at once that a mere stranger had made his one wish come true.

His eyes went from the Statue of Liberty to the woman responsible for him being able to see it.

"I'm speechless." He lowered his head, lips curving in a shy smile. "I've never been so moved in my life than I am in this moment with you."

She smiled and turned her attention toward the iconic monument. "She's really something, isn't she?"

He turned toward Riley. His eyes traveled down her beautiful face softly lit by the dull light coming from the ferry they were on and the sliver of moonlight from above.

"Yes," he moved closer to her. "She really is."

Riley looked up at him. Her heart raced at the tender longing she saw in his eyes. He seemed so lonely. So in need of encouragement. So in need of affection.

Before he could step away, she snagged his lips in a tender kiss.

He froze for two seconds before crushing her to him. He allowed all the feelings he kept to himself pour out as a fuel to draw moans from her. The desperation he had been feeling since his brother abdicated didn't seem to exist around this woman.

His kisses traveled down her neck.

"Liam." She sighed when he returned to her mouth.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as he pressed her back against the railing.

"I don't want this night to end." He murmured.

It took a physical effort to stop.

"Neither do I." She cupped his cheek. "I know you leave tomorrow."

He nodded, already feeling the heavy yoke that was about to be thrust upon his shoulders.

"It's not quite tomorrow though." She kissed along his jaw as she whispered. "We can still enjoy the rest of tonight."

"Riley, I--you know I must choose--I couldn't do that and simply leave you to search for a bride." He felt guilty just thinking about it.

He would be the worst sort of cad possible if he were to spend the night in her arms.

He shouldn't have pursued her. The moment she had turned around and greeted him in the bar, he had thought of nothing else except getting to know more about her.

"I want you." She whispered. "If tonight is all we have, then let's make the most of it."

"You have no idea how much I want you." He kissed her once more, completely unable to resist her.

******************

Two and a half months later...

Maxwell winced when he heard the noises coming from Riley's bathroom. Bracing himself, he timidly knocked upon the door.

"You okay in there, blossom?"

"What--" she heaved into the toilet, "do you think?"

"Maxwell!" Bertrand snapped. "What is the hold up. She should have been downstairs fifteen minutes ago."

His eyes widened at the sounds of vomiting.

"Is she ill?" He whispered.

Maxwell shrugged.

"She seemed fine last night." Bertrand thought over the past few days.

"She has been more tired than usual." Maxwell narrowed his eyes in concern. "And this isn't the first time I've heard her throwing up."

Bertrand's stern demeanor turned to worry. "You don't think she's..."

"Think she's what?" Maxwell asked.

"We have been pressuring her to wear the right clothes. I hope we haven't caused her to think she needs to lose weight." Bertrand explained.

Maxwell's eyes widened. He would never be able to forgive himself if he had made Riley think less of her natural beauty.

"Riley!" He anxiously knocked again when they heard nothing but silence. "Can we come in?"

"Sure." Her weak response was followed by her unlocking the door.

The brothers walked inside and saw her sitting in the floor.

Maxwell wet a rag and crouched beside her. He gently cleaned the sweat off her brow, his worry was now off the charts at the half hearted smile she gave him.

"Thanks." She lifted her eyes to Bertrand. "I'm sorry. I know I'm supposed to be outside for the--"

"Don't concern yourself with that." He tempered his usual gruff tone. "We must take care of you first."

Tears filled her eyes at how kind he was being. He wasn't berating her or telling her that House Beaumont needed her to win Liam. She wondered where this Bertrand had been hiding. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks as the brothers discussed ways to help her feel better.

He ordered Maxwell to pick her up and carry her to her bed.

As she settled back against her pillows, he called down to the kitchen and ordered a tray of soup, crackers, and tea to be brought up.

By the time he was finished, she was crying in full force.

"Riley!" Maxwell sat down on her bed and tried to hug her. "Please tell us what's wrong."

Bertrand reached for her hand. "You do know how lovely you are, right?"

Her eyes widened at that odd question.

"We think you shouldn't change at all." Maxwell added.

"Indeed. Many of the dresses in the boutique are," Bertrand's frown firmed as he tried to think of a way to keep her from thinking her body was at fault, "they aren't properly made. One can never go by sizes there."

"And you're size is perfect. Liam can't keep his eyes off you." Maxwell added. "In fact, you could probably add on some weight and be even more beautiful."

"Indeed." Bertrand latched on to that. "Size does not matter. It is what is on the inside that counts."

Riley lifted her head. "What are you talking about?"

"You're," Maxwell mimed vomiting.

"You must stop." Bertrand added. "You do not need to lose weight."

"I'm not doing it on purpose." She shook her head.

It touched her heart though that they wouldn't want her developing an eating disorder.

"I don't know what's caused this." She explained. "The weirdest smells and motions seem to set it off. Like yesterday, the smell of tomatoes had me running for a bathroom and I've always loved tomatoes."

"Could it possibly be your nerves?" Bertrand sat down at the foot of the bed. "The social season can take a toll on even the most seasoned noble."

"I don't think so." Riley mumbled. "It's like my energy has suddenly been depleted. Of course that could be because of the vomiting."

"So what caused it to start?" Maxwell asked.

"How long has it been going on?" Bertrand added.

"I don't know what set it off. It's been going on for a couple of weeks, but it is getting worse."

"Hmm." Bertrand and Maxwell shared a glance.

"Riley, I hope you don't think badly of me for asking," Bertrand struggled to inquire into something so personal. "But, have you, er...did you..."

She lifted her eyebrows in silent question.

"Before you joined us, were you involved with anyone?" He closed his eyes in embarrassment.

"Involved?"

"Any previous boyfriends or hookups before Liam?" Maxwell clarified.

"Oh!" Her cheeks heated with color. "No. I actually haven't been in a relationship for almost a year now." She lowered her eyes. "I had a bad relationship with a guy and decided to focus on myself once I got out of it."

Bertrand relaxed some. "A wise decision."

"So no one night stands?" Maxwell prodded.

"I've never been that type of..." Her eyes widened. She had been that type for one incredible night.

It was the driving force in making her decision to come to Cordonia in the first place.

"Oh no." She breathed. "The night I met you," her eyes held Maxwell's shocked gaze, "Liam and I sneaked away and..."

Bertrand shot up off the bed. "Wait here."

*****************

"We must be certain." Bertrand stressed. "The bloodwork must confirm what the test showed." His frown was fierce as he stood before the physician. "Discretion is a must in this situation."

"I'll have the results by this evening." The doctor replied. "And only I will run the lab work for Ms. Brooks."

"Here's my number." Riley scribbled it out quickly. "If I don't answer, please send a text and voicemail."

Once he was gone, she sagged back on the bed.

"What do we do now?" Maxwell asked.

"We have a ball to prepare for." Bertrand held up a silk dress. "We missed today's events, but we must make an appearance tonight. Everyone will begin to talk if we don't."

Riley nodded. Her mind though was whirling with the knowledge that she was pregnant.

How will Liam react? Will he be upset? Will he hate me for allowing it to happen? Will he think I'm trying to trap him?

How do I tell him?

Taking the dress, she forced herself to get ready.

***************

"Have you seen Riley any today?"

Drake shook his head. "No. Why?"

"That's strange." Liam folded his arms.

He wondered if something was wrong. He hated that he couldn't spend every single moment with her. What if she had reached the end of her patience with this suitor situation?

He shook his head when Drake offered him a drink.

"You've got it bad." Drake teased.

"Got what?"

"Love."

"I do?"

"Are you saying you aren't in love with Brooks?" Drake smirked. "I've seen you with her. Ever since she showed up at the masquerade ball, you haven't looked at any of the other ladies trying to win you."

Liam couldn't help but smile over that. It was true. His night with Riley in New York had been the most magical of his life. Each moment he had spent with her since then all but reaffirmed that she was the only one for him.

He was thrilled at how the people of Cordonia had fallen for her. The press had only positive things to say about The American that had come to win his hand.

He could picture her smile when she approached him at the masquerade ball.

"I think we both know we have something special. One night together will never be enough for me." Riley whispered as he kissed her hand.

"I agree." He held her hand a moment longer than was deemed appropriate. "It isn't enough." His bright blue eyes shined against the silver demi mask. "Are you certain I'm worth going through these next few months? What if--"

"We end up with our happily ever after?" She finished for him.

He knew he had completely lost his heart in that moment. Our happily ever after. Her optimism that they could have that helped him through every step of this social season. She was the prize he knew he could claim once he passed the final hurdle to be king.

He spent his time in dull conversations daydreaming about their future. How beautiful she would be as a bride. How comforting she would be as they dealt with his father's illness and troubles of their small nation.

Then he dreamed of the family they would have. He hoped they had many children, each with her infectious smile and kindness.

He hoped she would say yes when he asked her to marry him. Even if they never had all these other dreams of the future, he would at least have her and her love.

Then all of this would be well worth it.

He did worry about his father's reaction to the time he spent in her company. Whenever Liam attempted to discuss his feelings about Riley, Constantine would point out another lady of the court. He wouldn't allow his son to go ahead and make a decision.

"You better head downstairs." Drake finished off his drink. "Can't have a ball around here without the prince."

****************

"Any word yet?" Bertrand whispered.

Riley shook her head.

He softly cursed, causing her to burst into laughter.

"I'm sorry." She giggled when he shushed her. "But I would have bet a lot of money that you would never say that word."

He rolled his eyes. "Be that as it may, you should go mingle."

****************

"Lady Riley?" Liam gently tapped her shoulder. "May I have this dance?"

She turned around with a start. "I'd love to."

He took her hand and placed it within the bend of his arm. "You look beautiful tonight."

She gently squeezed his arm. "Thank you." Her eyes lifted to his. "And you're as handsome as always."

"I don't know about that." He winked at her. "But as long as you think so, then I'm content."

He took her in his arms as a waltz began.

"Let's not spin as much as we normally do." She pleaded when he twirled her.

His brow furrowed. "Is something wrong?"

"No!" She said quickly. "Just, um, a little motion sickness from time to time."

"I see." He kept his gaze upon her face. "I missed you today."

"You did?"

"I always do whenever you're not around." He admitted with a sheepish grin.

"That's so--" she felt the vibration of her phone.

She stopped dancing, causing Liam to nearly trip

"Riley, is something--"

"Excuse me, I have to--that is--this is from--" she ducked out a nearby door before all her revelations came tumbling out.

***************

She plopped down on the edge of a small couch and read the message from the doctor.

Hitting the link, she read the results of her bloodwork.

Her breaths came in and out in short gasps.

I'm really pregnant.

"Riley?"

All the color drained from her face as she looked up at Liam.

He shut the door to the ballroom and knelt before her.

"What is it?" He took her icy hand in his. "Is something wrong?"

She licked her dry lips and tried to tell him.

"Yes. No. I'm not sure."

He pressed a kiss to her hand. "Whatever it is, I will do all that I can to help you."

She blinked back tears. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything." He laced his fingers with hers.

"Do you," she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, "do you love me?"

"I do." He admitted. "I had planned on telling you during the Coronation Ball."

"Really?" Her eyes narrowed. "I need you to be completely honest with me right now."

"I am." He lowered his gaze to their clasped hands. His thumb brushed against her skin. "I know I'm not supposed to say anything until then, but you are the one I will pick to marry," he looked up at her, "if you want to."

She bit down on her bottom lip. "Do you want children?"

"Yes, and not just for the continuation of the Rhys holding the crown." His smile gentled. "I want a family with you, selfishly for myself. I want all the holiday memories spent with them, watching them see the world with wonder, and seeing our traits passed on, especially yours." He chuckled. "Heaven help me if we have a daughter like you. I will be completely wrapped around her little finger."

Riley couldn't believe she was hearing all she needed to from him.

He really is Prince Charming. My Prince Charming.

"Do you remember the night we met?" She asked.

"How could I forget?"

She grimaced at the worry that still gnawed at her mind.

"My love," Liam sat down beside her. "Please tell me what troubles you."

"I had not been with anyone in a long time." She began. "I mean, no one for months when we spent the night together."

Liam merely listened, wondering where she was going with this.

"I didn't think in the heat of the moment. I should have. It was irresponsible, but I was so swept off my feet..." She took a deep breath. "And I found out today that I'm pregnant."

His fingers tightened around hers.

"I'm sorry. I know with the--"

"Pregnant?" Liam interrupted her. "You're certain?"

"The doctor just sent me the results of my blood work. That with the test I took and the physical exam confirms it." Her eyes widened when he suddenly stood up and took her into his arms.

The kiss he gave her weakened her knees. His arms held her as if she was the most delicate piece of porcelain.

"Marry me." He said between kisses.

"That kinda was the whole point of me coming here." She teased, once she saw how happy he was.

He smiled against her lips. "Is that a yes?"

"It is."

He stepped back and took hold of her hand. With quick strides he had them back in the ballroom.

Waving the conductor to stop the music, he held his hand up. "May I have your attention please!"

The court stilled as all eyes turned toward him.

Ignoring the hushed questions coming from his father, he settled his arm around Riley's waist.

"Lady Riley has made me the happiest man this evening. She has accepted my proposal of marriage and has told me that within a few months or so," he turned his adoring gaze upon her, "we will have an heir to the throne."

Constantine staggered back at this announcement. He had no idea the couple had become that close.

Regina called for champagne to be brought to all the guests as she embraced the young couple.

Liam held his glass up. He decided to force his parent to officially accept Riley in front of the entire court. He suspected that if he had not announced the fact they were expecting, that Constantine would find a way to break their engagement. He didn't know why he felt such unease with his father when it concerned Riley, but he wasn't going to leave anything to chance when it concerned her.

"Father? Would you like to give the toast?"

Constantine cleared his throat. Seeing no way around it, he stepped forward and lifted his glass. He hoped for Liam's sake that this woman would not be detrimental to his rule.

"To my son and the lady he has chosen. May they have all the happiness that I have found with my own queen and may their new family continue to serve Cordonia with grace and honor." He turned toward them. "To Liam and Riley!"

#choices the royal romance #liam x riley #choices the stories you play #choices fan fiction #trr liam

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dangermousie · 3 years

Text

CFC Chapter 54

“A crashing car?” Ahahahaha I see you, Meatbun. But it was indeed an utter pileup!

I know I commented on this passage in its various iterations eight billion times already but I still have more to say. And it’s that XQC taking so long to realize that even though HY is young, his emotions and feelings are as genuine and strong as those of anyone older is so realistic - people do tend to think that especially with regard to children - think of a reaction of an adult to a three year old crying over ice cream they dropped. It’s all amused even if not meanly so. Because to an adult with vastly more experience, this is not a big deal. But what that forgets is that whether it’s ridiculous to someone else or not, to the person at issue that is a real feeling, AND that of course a person can only feel through the lens of their experience - what else is there? Emotions aren’t any less valid because they are informed by lesser or different experience.

Honestly, to me so far this is one of the driving messages of the novel - everyone is in their own world of issues and pain and none of these characters can truly look through the lens of another person and it would be so much better if they did. To XQC, for so long, He Yu’s strong feelings (and we know so many of these feelings are awful - despair, and self-loathing, and loneliness) never quite felt real and therefore never quite felt fully valid. And by the time it wasn’t the case, it was too late.

But the same is true for He Yu - he is so concentrated on his own grievances and his own pain, he cannot perceive others’ different issues. In He Yu’s mind, he’s the winner and always champion of Misery Olympics and while he’s had a horrible time of it, that doesn’t mean other people didn’t either just in different ways. Whether because of his condition, his issues or just his age, HY is not empathetic in the least.

And think about it - XQC does not have a horrible illness. He does not have unfeeling parents. But he had to watch his beloved parents brutally murdered in front of his eyes at 13 (!!!!) and then had to raise a 5 year old by himself. Is it worse or better than HY’s trauma? That’s a matter of opinion but what there is no question about is that is a different type of trauma and a different type of scar. Or think about the patient in the asylum whose name I am too lazy to look up - her life is such a theater of horrors that to me, it makes the combined issues of HY and XQC seem small, though once again that’s subjective. Nobody wins when people start this sort of competition.

My heart breaks for XQC but also - I am sorry - if/when HY x XQC hook up again (how? I have no idea! But that is one of the joys of Meatbun - I both have no idea how/where it’s going and utterly trust her), please have He Yu read up and learn things because Good God. You should not be in major pain the morning after unless you are into pain and XQC clearly is not!

The other thing is the bit about XQC forcing himself to walk in his usual ramrod-straight manner is the moment I went utterly gone for him. I mean, I liked him and found him interesting before. But this is the thing that flipped that invisible switch for me and I went rabid and irrational and now I am Team XQC and I don’t care what he wants and does from now on, he should have it. It’s so small but so real. My mother and her mother were both big on straight posture. And one of the reasons they gave was when you walk with good posture - you look confident but also it makes you feel confident and stronger. And I’ve actually found it to be true - when you throw your shoulders back and straighten your neck and hold your head up, it does not just give others a signal, it gives a signal to your own brain. So to see XQC insist on doing it, despite being emotionally and physically shattered - because of his pride refusing to give up, because he’s so unbending, but also this being some sort of instinctive armor, just hits straight through the heart.

OK, I laughed at HY as a fucking machine. But also, this is another point in the whole “everyone has issues” narrative and HY’s life could be worse. HY, with all his other issues, can pay an insane amount, an amount that XQC could not pay in a million years, so easily. It’s not even a blip to him. Hell, the fact that he forgot to pay speaks to that - I can see forgetting to pay a friend a couple of bucks back right away because it’s not much money. HY forgets because it does not loom in his mind. And this rich lifestyle is instinctive, is ingrained in him. I think he’d find it hard to be poor.

THAT is what he’s thinking about? Priorities are...

The sole good thing that came out of this insanity is that XQC is getting in touch with his emotions, even if those emotions are (rightly) rage. He’s too closed off from them normally.

The fact that you slept with a man should be secondary to the fact that you drugged and raped him, but here we are...

To me, this sums up He Yu as a moral wasteland. To still, when sober and past his fit and not under influence of wine, to still feel excitement over his revenge and to somehow twist it that it’s XQC’s fault for being raped by He Yu is !!!!!!!!!

(I suppose if I were charitable, I’d assume that the disquiet is small stirrings of almost dead conscience and his “he deserved it” is an attempt to justify the unjustifiable to himself, but I honestly don’t want to think so because I am so angry at him. Not until I see some more evidence. I don’t feel like being indulgent with He Yu since he’s indulgent with himself enough for two.)

1. The fact that you can tell from the picture XQC got taken by a man (I am gonna defer to Meatbun’s expertise here) definitely points to the fact that the pictures are going to be used for something bad later - because if it’s just oh XQC had sex, so what, he’s single what’s the big deal. But like this it becomes a different matter. No idea if it will be used for HY or XQC or both, and by whom (money is on Duan and co, but after the way HY went off, I would never say HY himself won’t use it badly somehow) but knowing Meatbun, it will go for maximum damage.

2. Ruthless? Perhaps. Unfeeling? Hmmmm. I am not He Yu’s biggest fan atm but that’s a wonderfully misleading adjective here. He does still seem to be in shock. And fixating.

3. The whole “hahahaha XQC is a hypocrite when he was all ‘I am not interested in sex’“ is - I am not sure if HY is just short-circuiting (fine) or using a rapist justification/rolling in a sea of toxic toxicity (not fine) because I am sorry, that’s totally like “he/she had a reaction, can’t be rape” writ large. Yeah, sure he had a reaction - you poured drugs down his throat. That has nothing to do with his default preferences or his actual state. THE FUCK?!

Anyway, we end on the whole “u mad bro?” bit and you know what strikes me? HY was all “I am done, we are done, my revenge is complete I don’t care” but here he is, still desperately seeking and craving reaction and interaction from XQC.

I remain utterly puzzled as to how these two will ever be a couple except for a couple being defined as “two mutually homicidal people.” Leaving aside everything else, I am willing to accept HY is in the closet - clearly whatever his orientation is, it includes men. But I do not get that sense from XQC at all. When he’s not drugged, he’s barely interested in sex with anyone and I do not get the sense he’s in the closet either. Chances of anyone, let alone He Yu, who is both a man and someone who raped him to humiliate him, being able to entice him into sexual encounters voluntarily is about the chance of me going to visit Mars. Meatbun loves doing insane things so I can’t wait.

PS I know people use the term psychopath all the time casually but ummm, I think He Yu may actually be one? When he has his father (!!!) on speakerphone, calmly carrying a conversation with the man as he’s raping his father’s friend in the club as he talks (!!!!!) that is...in RL I’d be “team lock him up for life, there is something so basic broken in him that it can’t be fixed.” Like - the hell? The ability to put things on different shelves so much is not in the same country as sane (it makes me think of 2ha and TXJ banging CWN being the curtain while performing court business but TXJ was bona fide clinically insane and also this is worse because this is his actual freaking father omg.) Of course, only time will tell whether it’s evidence of him being irreparably incapable of normalcy in terms of living in the world/interacting with others or it was an extreme psychotic (in casual parlance not medical one) break because most people are capable of truly horrific stuff if certain levers are pushed and his default is saner. It’s the question, isn’t it? Whether He Yu’s factory default setting is the monster of the previous chapters or the kid who’d cut his wrists so as not to hurt others.

Anyway, this novel is a terrifying roller coaster ride and I love having strong emotions.

#cnovel #meatbun doesn't eat meat #case file compendium

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mctherofdragons · 3 years

Text

Against the Tides | 5 | F. W.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

AU: Pirate!AU; Muggle!AU; Historical!AU

Summary: The year is 1710. The Duchess is kidnapped by Captain Fred Weasley, the most notorious and blood thirsty pirate of the age. Aboard his ship, The Midnight Rose, love, lust, and longing collide on the high seas.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: angst, fluff, kidnapping, fred is a pirate for god’s sake don’t come for me, kissing, gets a little steamy but no sex, physical illness (not serious), yelling, fred grabs her arm, crying, angry fred, captivity, alludes to trauma, self harm, i didn’t edit this, again he’s a fucking pirate don’t send me hate thanks.

A/N: Thank you all so much for waiting for me during my little break! I had so much to sort through in my own mind and heart. I am feeling much better and I’m grateful you were all so supportive of me during that time. This chapter is not very long, and serves as more of a ‘filler’ but none the less I hope you all enjoy it. I’m so excited to continue this story <3 I love it so dearly!

I do not consent for my work to be published or translated anywhere without my permission.

Series Masterlist.

Taglist: @oh-for-merlins-sake @minty-malfoy @slytherinlovesgryffindor @futureofanthropology @inglourious-imagines @sinz-and-tragediez @acourtofsnakes @vivianweasley @n3ssm0nique @cruciostyles @whizboingies @shadowsinger11 @whitewineandpizzapuffs @gcdric @the–queen-of-hell @gloryekaterina @hogwartslut @theanxietyqueen17 @vogueweasley @blossomweasley @asthmax @ilovejjmaybank @theweasleytwinsgirl @tyyyweasley @feetoffthetablee @thisismynerdyself @wandsandwheezes @loony-loopy-lupinn @missmercurymoon @willowyreads @l-adysansa @arcadianmoonlight @weasley-x-wheezes @lumosandnoxwriting @darthwheezely please message me to be added/removed from my taglist).

______________________

It had been days now since you shared your first kiss with the captain. It was new to you - the way his lips felt when they brushed yours, sending chills down your spine. The feeling of his kisses caused your heart to flutter in your chest. You had allowed Captain Weasley to steal kisses as much as possible, delighting in the way he would come to you just for a few moments of restless kissing. Captain Weasley found solace in the sweet and pure moments you spent with him. You would giggle when his hands found their way to your hips. Your chastity was something newfound for him. It reminded him of the innocence that had long been taken from him.

Fred had taken quickly to doting on you. The crew took notice as well, pretending not to recognize the way he had been going easier on you. His eyes would soften when he saw you, losing their usual shade of darkness.

“Hello, treasure,” He would greet, pulling you away from the eyes of the crew. He would go in for a soft and longing kiss. Your back was often pressed against the damp walls of the ship. Sometimes, his rough hand would wander up to place a thumb on your cheek with the other fingers behind your ear, pulling the kiss deeper than before. You had allowed Fred to play with the soft fabric atop your breasts, but never much more. He savored those touches regardless, due to the way they’d let his mind wander to what it would be like to make love to you.

_________

The days passed by slowly. Eventually, you stopped questioning the Captain about how far you were from home. In fact, you had begun to wish somewhere deep inside of you that maybe he would never return you. The truth of the matter was that Captain Weasley knew exactly where the ship was. He would have been able to get you home in just a few days’ time. But the thought of saying goodbye to you cut him to the quick, and so, he purposely steered the ship in the opposite direction. He felt only a small amount of guilt for deceiving you. After all, the joy and warmth you brought him was a small sacrifice for a lie.

The Captain had even surprised you with a chest of books when you stopped at another port. He had gestured to the chest absentmindedly as he read a map, only glancing up when he heard you gasp. You had torn through the chest, pulling out all of your favorite books. “Oh Captain! You shouldn’t have. Where did you get these?”

“Some poor bastard left his cart unattended. Anyway, you said you were lonely, and that you missed readin’.”

You dropped a copy of Romeo and Juliet as you ran over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He dropped his compass, letting you straddle each side of him. You kissed him softly and he leaned back in his seat. Fred moved to plant soft kisses behind your ear, eliciting a soft gasp from you.

“That feels good, eh, Duchess?”

He kissed your sweet spot again, letting the smell of rum fill your senses. You felt an unfamiliar flush rush between your legs and you climbed off him quickly, straightening your dress out with both hands.

“It’s not proper.”

“It isn’t anything to be ashamed of, Duchess.”

“It simply isn’t done, Captain. I’m betrothed.”

“I know.”

He turned away quickly, going back to focusing on what he had been doing before. You looked up at him as you grabbed a book, going to sit comfortably in his hammock. You were chewing your lip, deep into the story, unable to notice the way he looked at you without you noticing.

You turned a page of your book, closing it, before setting it on your lap. You fixed your dress again, cocking your head as you began to spoke. “Why are you being so kind to me, Captain Weasley? Letting me sleep here? Stealing books for me?”

“Pretty to look at,” he said, a small laugh coming from somewhere deep inside of him as he took a swig of rum. His eyes raked over you and you felt your skin flush scarlet, going back to burying your face into the pages of Shakepeare’s Othello.

__________________

You were laying in his bed, listening to the sound of his breathing. He sounded a bit stuffy, if you were honest, and it worried you. When his eyes opened, he let out a small groan, reaching up to place a tattooed hand on his head.

“You sound ill, Captain,” you noted, placing the back of your soft and petite hand on his forehead. “Thank heavens. No fever.”

“I’m not ill,” he grumbled, going to stand up quickly but shortly landing back to sitting on the bed. Fred put his hand on his head again, shutting his eyes tightly as his ears rang and his head pounded. You cooed, crawling over closer to him. You looked over his shoulder as you placed your hand on his bicep.

“Lay back down, please, and let me make you a cup of tea?”

“I’m fine, Duchess…”

Perhaps it was his recent kind gestures, but you were no longer afraid of the Captain like you were before. Fred’s soft side had become more apparent. Sometimes, you even forgot he was your captor, enjoying being in his company. You pouted a bit and he cracked the smallest smile. “Y/n, it is mighty kind that you want to baby me, but I’ll be fine.”

There was a small rap on the door and you blushed, getting out of his bed before any of the crew got wild ideas about what you were doing there in the first place. You busied yourself with straightening up his desk.

“Come in,” Fred said, going to grab his boots but becoming wobbly on his feet. He let out a loud sneeze, shocking even himself. You looked at him, giving him a knowing gaze.

The door opened and Lee Jordan entered, tipping his hat to you. Fred glanced at you, and then back at his first mate.

“Jordan, why don’t you take over my duties for today? I’m not well.”

The Captain had caved and it took everything in you to not rejoice in triumph. Lee looked surprised but nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

“Don’t let this ship go under or I’ll have your skin, Jordan.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Now, get out.”

You smiled, leaning down to light the fire under Fred’s kettle. You poured him a hot cup of tea, bringing it over to where he was sitting in bed. He coughed a bit, taking a small sip of tea.

“You must have gotten a cold from being damp and freezing.”

Fred had been out in the cold the night before, barking demands at the men as they went through another tempest. He had come back to his cabin soaking wet, shivering from the cool temperatures.

You curled up next to him, placing your head on his shoulder. “Is this alright?”

Captain Weasley hesitated before he spoke again. “...Yes.”

You looked at him, watching his eyes flutter shut slightly. “Tell me your story, Captain.”

“What do you mean? You’re the one with your head in a book.”

Fred closed his eyes. In his mind, he could feel the comfort of his childhood bedroom. As clear as day, he swore he could hear Ginny’s little giggle out in the sitting room. He and George were running around the room, playing with the wooden swords Arthur had carved for them - a special Christmas present. They would play pirates, unbeknownst of the irony in their childhood joys. In the same vision, he saw George’s body again, cold and lifeless on the ground.

He tore his eyes open, staring up at the maroon canopy above him.

“Not a story, Captain, your story.”

“I don’t have a story, Duchess. Please, leave it be.”

“Everyone has a story. Even you.”

You poked his chest playfully, playing with the top button of his shirt.

He reached up, moving your hand off of him. “Stop.”

You sat up, clearly not used to being told ‘no’. Of course, as a Duchess, what you wanted was always given to you. It was a discomfort to be denied something you desired - even something seemingly silly.

“Freddie-”

At the sound of the nickname, Fred felt his entire body tense up. It was the last thing his mother had said when she closed him inside of the wardrobe, never to return to him again. Hearing another person call him that sent fear through his entire being. He was afraid to get close to you because he knew the deep-seated truth that you were only his for a fleeting moment.

The happiness once existent faded from his eyes and he quickly rose from his bed, pulling you out by your arm. He would push you away before you got any closer to him. Fred knew he couldn’t protect his mother from the monsters. But now, he was the phantom, and he was determined to keep you guarded.

“I’m done playing this silly game with you, Duchess.”

“What ever are you talking--”

Fred dragged you toward the door and you could not help but follow behind, trying to keep up as he pulled you. You fought tears, unsure of what you had done to upset him.

He pulled you down the stairs, using his free hand to open up the cell he had been keeping you in originally. “Captain, please, talk to me,” you felt tears filling your own eyes. It was only then, as you looked up, you saw warm tears streaming down his face. His brown eyes looked brighter as they glistened.

He pushed you gently inside of the cell, slamming the door with a loud bang. His hands shook as he turned the key. He couldn’t remember the last time someone saw him cry. He felt embarrassed, but more so, he felt foolish for putting you in danger. Loving you was a losing game and all he wanted to do was keep you safe. He was falling for you faster than he could keep up with. His only defense was to retreat back into his role as a wretched villain in your story.

The only problem was that you had long forgotten him as a sinful pirate. Now, you had become to see him shed his harsh exterior. The light and warmth that emitted from his true self was not something that could be faked, and you knew it. As he stood before you crying, you longed to kiss his lips. You yearned to pull him close and wipe his tears away, using your lips to meet his dripping cheeks with affection.

“Fred, please, I...talk to me.”

Captain Weasley brought his hands up to the bars, slamming on them once more. His rings caused a loud, metallic sound to clang in your ears. “You do not know anything! You spoiled little rich girl! You think you do but you don’t.”

“Teach me,” you begged but he banged on the bars again.

“Be quiet! Jordan will be down with your supper.”

Fred wiped his tears quickly, adjusting his keys back onto his belt. He felt for his dagger, letting his thumb run of it. Just slightly, he let it slice into his skin, relishing in the pain that came soon after. He ignored the sounds of you banging on the bars, calling out to him. You were better off - or so he told himself.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley #weasley twins

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ladyfogg · 3 years

Text

Heal My Wounds - Part 1

Heal My Wounds - Part 1 of 3

Fic Summary: After you meet the infamous Kit Walker, you realize that he cannot possibly be guilty of everything they say he is. Determined to treat him with kindness and compassion, you end up falling hard for the handsome man with gorgeous dark eyes. But you both are playing a dangerous game and you must decide just how far you’re willing to go to save the man you love. Part 2. AHS Masterlist.

Fic Rating: 18+

Fic Song: War by Poets of the Fall

Pairing: Kit Walker/Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, Slow Burn, tw: mental illness, tw: asylum setting, tw: violence

A/N: I ended up finishing this a lot quicker than I thought I was going to. Enjoy! For @tatestripedsweater and @kitwalker02.

You’ve seen many things during your time at Briarcliff. Being a nurse, you deal with truly awful alignments, either self-inflicted or acquired under “mysterious” circumstances. This usually means that a guard roughed the patient up or Dr. Arden can’t be bothered to treat them himself. You learn to expect the worst, not in the patient but in what they are afflicted with. In truth, your heart goes out to every one of them. Regardless of what sent them to Briarcliff, it is always your mission to treat them with the respect and dignity they deserve.

Which is why, when you hear that the infamous Bloody Face, aka Kit Walker, has been transferred to the asylum, you try not to be concerned. You knew all about Bloody Face and what he’s done and when they arrested Kit, you aren’t ashamed to admit that your first thought was, “Good riddance!” However, you force yourself to change your tune once you learn you’ll be treating him at some point. Plenty of dangerous people had come and gone through Briarcliff’s doors. You aren’t going to treat him any differently than you would the other patients.

No matter how dangerous he is.

It isn’t long before you find yourself face-to-face with him. He is there less than a day before he’s brought in to see you, his lip and his nose a bloody mess, the red a stark contrast to his pale skin. His appearance surprises you even though it shouldn’t. You read the papers; you’ve seen his face. Yet, in person, he’s so handsome it takes your breath away and you need a moment to compose yourself.

“What happened?” you ask Kit as the guard forces him to sit on the bed. He is bound with cuffs and chains, an overkill if you ever saw one.

“He got into a scrape with another inmate,” the guard says in a gruff voice. “Bloody Face here got the worst of it.”

“They’re called patients, not inmates,” you correct him with a glare. “And I wasn’t asking you, I was asking Mr. Walker. That is his name, that's what he will be called while he’s under my care.”

The guard, whose name you think is Hardy, looks taken aback by your words. He is a new one who hasn’t had to deal with you yet. While many of the female staff are nuns, you are not. You are there purely for medical purposes, not religious ones. Therefore, you have no reason to force politeness to the guards. After all, why should you? They never show you any. The sooner Hardy learns you will not tolerate his bullshit, the better.

You have been talked to by Sister Jude several times regarding your attitude but since you are appointed by the state, there is nothing more she can do. Eventually, the both of you came to a mutual understanding. In fact, you suspect she admires your non-nonsense attitude as it most often gets results. If there is a patient in your infirmary, you can call the shots. Of course, the male guards don’t like that, but they can get fucked.

When you turn back at Kit, he has a surprised look on his face.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” you ask.

“Just my face,” he answers. “And my hands.”

You glance down and see his bruises and bloody knuckles. Clearly, he defended himself but given the fact that the other patient hasn’t been brought it, you assume Kit got the worst of it. You go about collecting what you need to disinfect his wounds.

To Hardy, you say, “Remove his chains.”

“No can do. Not for this one.”

“His knuckles are bleeding, and I need to examine his hands to make sure nothing is broken or fractured. Remove his chains.”

There is an intense stare-off between you and the guard before he relents and unbinds Kit. Once his restraints are gone, you wave Hardy off. “You may step outside.”

“Now hold on a minute! This man—”

“Has rights. He deserves the same privacy as every other patient. Besides, I won’t have you getting in my way while I patch him up. You can step outside and wait. I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

Hardy snorts, annoyed and done with arguing. “Fine by me. Don’t complain if you get killed.”

“I won’t, considering if that happens, I won’t be able to. Or are you not aware how death works?”

With a sneer, he stalks away, and you heard him mutter, “Stupid bitch.” under his breath.

“Smart bitch actually,” you call after him. “And shut the door on your way out, please.” It slams behind him and you return your attention to your patient.

Kit looks at you with awe. “Forgive me for saying so, doc. But you’re one tough broad.”

You laugh, pulling a chair over so you can sit in front of Kit. “I’m not a doctor, I’m a nurse. And you have to be though, especially in this place. The gentle don’t last long. Now, let’s take a look at those hands.”

Kit extends his hands, and you take them in your own, examining his wounded knuckles. After moving each finger and his wrists, you determine there was nothing broken or fractured so you set about cleaning the scrapes. Kit watches you the entire time. Even though you don’t look up from your work, you can feel his eyes on you.

“I think you’re the only person in this place who’s not afraid of me,” he says after a stretch of silence. “This is the first time I’ve been treated like a person since this whole thing started.”

“Should I be afraid of you, Mr. Walker?” you glance up and are immediately taken in by the soft expression on his face.

“Call me Kit,” he says. “And I never hurt anybody. All the things they say I did are lies. I have no idea what happened to those girls and I have no idea what happened to Alma other than they took her.”

You consider his words for a moment and pull away, letting his hands fall to his lap. The bloody towel you hold is tossed onto your tray of supplies before you sit back and cross your arms. “Alright then, Kit. Tell me why I should believe you.”

Kit doesn’t seem to know what to say at first. You’ve dealt with numerous patients who swear up and down they didn’t do what they were accused of. Most of them had. Because of that, you are pretty damn good at reading people because even the best liar has a tell. An eye twitch, a knee bounce, a lip bite…anything. You trained yourself to look for these things because, in your line of work, it means the difference between life or death.

The man in front of you doesn’t look like he’s hiding anything. More to the point, you don’t feel scared of him. You aren’t made of stone; you feel fear just like everyone else. You are simply better at masking it. However, that violent vibe you’ve learned to sense doesn’t radiate from Kit and as you look into his deep brown eyes, all you see is fear, frustration, anger, and sadness. They all pass one after another on a loop.

“I don’t have a reason,” Kit finally says after a long pause. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t believe me either. But you showed me kindness no one else has and I’m grateful. Really.”

“I think this place wouldn’t be half as bad as those colleagues of mine showed a little kindness too.” You go back to work, cleaning his hands. “This is going to sting a bit.”

Kit flinches as you pour alcohol over his cuts. Carefully, you clean them some more before you are sure they won’t get infected. Once that’s done, you wrap them in bandages.

“There, good as new. Just try to keep those bandages dry for a bit. You can take them off tomorrow to let the cuts breathe. Let me make sure your nose isn't broken.”

Kit remain still as you gently cup his face, turning his head left to right in order to take stock of his injuries. Being so close, you realize how handsome he truly is. That jawline is to die for, and his dark curls looks so soft, you want to run your fingers through them. Once that thought entered your brain, you scold yourself. He is your patient and is in the asylum to see if he is fit to stand trial for murder. Thinking about him in any way other than professional is a dangerous game. And very stupid.

“That bad huh?” Kit asks with a slight smirk.

It isn’t a malicious one by any means. In fact, it’s almost hesitant. Like he is afraid to be so comfortable joking with you. You don’t blame him considering what he has gone through. You offer him a smile in return.

“Just a split lip and it doesn’t look like your nose is broken. It’s not even swollen. There shouldn’t be any permanent damage.”

You grab a fresh towel and dip it in warm water before gingerly cleaning the blood from his face. But before you can get far, Kit reaches up to stop you. Instinctively you freeze, worried that you may have hurt him. Maybe his nose is worse off than you originally thought?

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

Kit shakes his head. “No, I’m just…” He pauses as if he’s not sure what to say next. “I’m sorry but I just...why aren’t you scared of me?"

“You really want me to be, don’t you?”

“What? No! Of course not. I’m just…” He stops when he sees you holding back a smile. “You’re messing with me.”

You shrug and go back to your work. “A little,” you admit. “But to answer your question, I’m not scared of you because I believe you. I don’t think you killed or even hurt anyone. I just don’t sense that sort of evil in you. As for what you claim to have witnessed, that I don’t know about. But I do know crazy, Kit Walker. And you’re not it.”

It is like the remaining tension leaves his body and Kit slumps against you, a few tears running down his cheeks. Without thinking, you pull him into a tight hug, letting him rest his weary head on your shoulder. The warmth of him is invigorating and you savor the feeling. It’s been a long time since you’ve been touched in any way. Long work hours make your social life non-existent and you carefully keep your distance with your patients.

Except Kit, it seems. You don’t know why your well-constructed walls are crumbling under the weight of one interaction with one man.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” he says, his voice muffled by your uniform. “No one will listen. No one believes…”

“I’m listening. But first, sit back before you get blood all over me.”

With a weak laugh, Kit pulls away. He wipes the tears with the back of his hand which you’re grateful for because you were about two seconds away from gently brushing them away. Pulling yourself together, you continue to clean his face while he tells you his story. It’s definitely strange. The idea of being abducted and probed was one you’d rather not think about.

But you don’t just listen to his words, you watch his expression, pay attention to the tone of his voice and his body language. Even though you’ve heard some of it through the papers, it’s different hearing it from him directly. Once he’s done, you’re even more certain he didn’t kill anyone. No one who talks about their missing wife that softly and heart felt could possibly be a vicious serial killer.

It’s his eyes that give him away. There’s so much emotion and depth, you can’t help but believe him. You wish you can explain it, but some things are beyond explanation.

“You sure I’m not crazy?” Kit asks when you don’t respond to him right away.

“After that story, you’re absolutely batshit.”

He chuckles when he realizes you aren’t serious. You pull your hand away, finally done getting rid of all the blood, but he stops you with a gentle touch to your wrist. “Thank you for listening. I could tell you weren’t judging when I spoke, and I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

“It’s not my place to judge. Only heal.” You sit back, breaking all contact with him, hoping it’ll clear your spinning head. “There. Now you’re just as handsome as you were before. Do me a favor and at least try not to get majorly hurt again for the rest of the day?”

“He started it.”

“Everyone always starts things here. And given your current situation, it’s best to keep your head down as much as possible.”

“What’s the point? They’ve already made up their minds about me being guilty,” Kit says bitterly as you roll your tray over to the sink. He sees a pack of cigarettes on your desk and nods towards them. “Mind if I have one?”

You wave for him to go ahead as you clean up. “I wish I had words of encouragement for you. I wish I could say it will all work out. But unless they catch the real Bloody Face, your choices are either here or the electric chair.”

Kit pops a cigarette in his mouth and lights the end. “I have to see the state-appointed shrink. My last hope is to convince some head doctor that I’m not crazy.”

Your heart goes out to him. His situation really is a double-edged sword. If he proves he isn’t crazy, then they are sure to send him to trial and his death. If he keeps spouting off about strangers abducting him and his wife, then they will keep him at Briarcliff. Either way, he loses. It isn’t fair.

“Stick to your story,” you tell him. “If it’s really the truth and that’s really what you know happened, then stick to it. I mean, it’ll probably get you confined here for life. But at least you’ll be alive.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

You don’t get to respond. The door bursts open and Sister Jude strolls in with Hardy right behind her. You wonder how long he waited outside before running to tattle on you.

“Why is this patient not restrained?” she asks in that stern voice of hers.

“I needed to clean his hands and couldn’t very well do that when they were bound,” you say. “He’s all set now.”

“In the future, I would appreciate it if you would leave the door open. No young woman should be alone with this one,” Sister Jude says, motioning to Kit. “Not until he’s been properly medicated.”

“He deserves just as much privacy as any of us do when being medically treated.”

“Not here. Not under my roof,” Sister Jude counters. “I like you, girl, but don’t push me on this. Kit Walker may have the looks of an angel but he’s far from it.”

“She didn’t do nothing wrong,” Kit says angrily.

Sister Jude motions for Hardy to grab Kit. Anger courses through your veins when you see how he is manhandled. “Hey, be careful! I don’t want to have to treat a dislocated shoulder,” you say.

Kit sends you a grateful smile which Sister Jude unfortunately notices. She steps up to him and in a low voice says, “Quit your leering! You don’t fool me, Kit Walker. You can keep spouting that innocent act all you’d like but I know there’s darkness in your soul.”

Kit’s body tenses and you see him clench his fists in anger. The nun yanks his cigarette out of his mouth and puts it out on your desk.

What a bitch.

As he is led away, Kit dares to look back at you and you see the glimmer of another smile before he is gone. The empty room suddenly seems more so without him there. It’s strange how comfortable you feel around him, especially considering the circumstances. After cleaning up the remnants of his cigarette, you sit back at your desk. But focusing is not in the cards for you. The rest of the day, you find yourself constantly sidetracked by the handsome brown-haired man with the deep brown eyes. So much so that you get angry with yourself.

You are hardly ever swayed by just a pretty face. Then again, there’s more to Kit than that. Although, it certainly helps. The way he stood up for you even when he was in trouble spoke volumes about who he is a person. You don’t think there is a selfish bone in that man’s body.

The next day during meds, you don’t see him in the Day Room with the others. It suddenly occurs to you that after the fight the day before, he probably was thrown in solitary. You hate solitary being used for any of your patients but the thought of Kit in a small dark room, bound and alone makes your heart break in your chest. All you can do is hope he’ll be out of there soon.

At least three days pass before you see him again, mostly because you spend most of that time in the infirmary rather than in the common areas. It’s early morning and you are enjoying a rare moment of silence when the door opens, and Kit is led in. He’s bleeding from a cut on his forehead, which has already begun to bruise and swell.

“What happened?” you demand as you leap to your feet.

The guard, a brute named Dixon who you can’t stand, forces Kit onto one of the beds. “He slipped and fell.”

You doubt it. Your eyes slide over to look at Kit, who gives you a subtle shake of his head. “Oh really?” you ask Dixon, narrowing your eyes in distrust. “This seems like a pretty big bump just to happen from a slip.”

“Just treat him so I can get him back with the others,” Dixon orders.

“He hit his head. I’m going to have to keep him here for a few hours to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.”

“Fine.” Dixon shoves Kit until he was laying on the bed. When he reaches for the restraints, Kit fights back.

“No! Let me go!” Kit struggles against him.

“Those aren’t necessary,” you declare, crossing the room to try to stop Dixon.

But the guard isn’t having any of it. The next thing you know, he pushes you away, hard enough that you trip over your feet and fall right on your ass.

“You son of a bitch!” Kit exclaims. He leaps up and punches Dixon square in the jaw.

What happens next is a flurry of blows and swears as the men fight each other. Knowing this can only end poorly for Kit, you manage to get back up before prying the two apart. “Enough!” you snap. “No fighting in my infirmary!”

Dixon is practically snarling as he wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t scare me, Bloody Face. If I had my way, you’d be in the furnace by now.”

Kit makes a move to go at him, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. “Mr. Walker, lay down so Dixon can bind you. If you don’t, I know the right injection that’ll make you so tired, you’ll wake up next week.”

Kit’s eyebrows knit together as he looks at you with concern. You throw him a subtle wink. Breathing heavily, he sits back on the bed and allows Dixon to restrain him. Even though it pains you to do so, you help to keep up appearances. But you don’t tighten them as much as you should. Kit’s jaw is clenched as he watches Dixon’s movements, as if he’s waiting for him to attack again.

Once Kit is secured, you reach into your pocket. Unbeknownst to the guards, you carry around a sharpened scalpel for your own protection and the second Dixon lets his guard down, you press it to his neck, making him halt his movements.

“Listen here, you sick fuck,” you growl. “If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll shove this so far into your neck you’ll have to take your meals through a tube. Are we clear?”

Dixon sneers and takes a step back. “Whatever you say, woman. Call us when this psycho is ready to go back to his cell. And I’d be careful who you threaten. You wouldn’t want to end up like one of your patients, now would you?”

His threats send a chill down your spine, but you keep your hand steady, the scalpel still pointed at him as he backs away. It’s not until he’s out the door that you cross the room so you can lock it behind him.

“Are you alright?” Kit asks the moment it’s clear the two of you are alone.

You cross the room, pocketing the sharp instrument as you go. “I’m fine, Kit. Don’t worry about me.” As quick as you can, you undo his bindings. “Sorry about this. I fucking hate using bindings, but it was the only way to get Dixon to leave. He’s got a nasty streak in him; I’d stay clear if I were you. Are you okay? What happened to your head?”

“That asshole smashed my face into the wall,” he says as he sits up, rubbing his wrists. “He caught me wandering out of the Day Room.”

“Now why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?” you ask, hands on your hips. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your head down?”

“I just needed some peace and quiet. On my own terms and not in a dark dirty cell. Besides, others wander. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because the others aren’t wanted for murder. They mean to make an example out of you, Kit.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You sigh and head to the icebox in the corner of the room. As you put together an icepack for him, you say, “These guards will look for any excuse to get rough. And they especially have it out for you. You have to be careful.”

“I hate this. I hate all of it. I feel like I’m going crazy. My head is so cloudy, and I can barely feel anything.”

“Those are the meds. Meant to keep you docile.” You carry the ice pack over to him along with supplies to fix up his head wound. “And suppress other impulses.”

“It’s inhumane, that’s what it is.” Kit barely makes a face as you clean the cut and dress it. “How am I supposed to defend myself if I don’t even feel like me? I think I’m slipping, doc.”

“I told you, I’m not a doctor.”

“Well, what should I call you then? You never gave me your name.”

You tell him your name and press the icepack to the bump on his head, “Here, hold this. Your nose is bleeding…again.”

Kit does as he’s told. After a moment, he says your name. It’s soft and beautiful coming from his lips and you can barely focus long enough to hear his question. “Can I confess something to you?”

“I’m no priest or nun.” You start to dab at his nose with a damp towel.

“It’s not that kind of confession. I wasn’t just wandering for the sake of wandering. I was trying to come see you.”

You pause, heart pounding in your chest as your eyes flickering up to meet his. “Why?”

“I feel safe here.”

You go back to your work. “I’m glad you do, but I don’t want you to get yourself hurt just to see me.”

“I didn’t know that asshole was gonna beat the shit out of me just for wandering.”

“Say you have cramps.”

Kit raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“If you want to see me…I mean, come to the infirmary, tell a guard or one of my assistants that you have cramps or a stomachache. It’s something most people don’t question since stomach stuff is really common, ‘specially around here. It usually comes with vomiting or diarrhea and no one wants to deal with that.”

Kit smiles. “Good to know.”

You finish cleaning him up and add, “But don’t overuse the excuse. Otherwise, if something is really bothering you, they won’t listen.”

“Understood. Do you really think I have a concussion?”

“No. Your eyes are clear and you’re not slurring your words. I figured it would at least give you a little reprieve from everything out there.”

Kit’s smile widens. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Although, I will have to at least keep your feet bound. That way if the guard comes back, I can quickly bind your hands before they enter. The lock will only temporarily slow them down since they have keys.”

“Hey, if it means spending time here with you instead of out there with everyone else who thinks I’m a vicious murderer, I’ll take it.”

Once you have him settled in the bed, you give him a cigarette before going about your daily routine. It is nice having Kit there. Occasionally, you talk as he smokes, but for the most part, the both of you enjoy each other’s company. He asks you about yourself, minor things, nothing too personal or probing, which you appreciate. You feel like he’s also trying to keep some distance between you, understanding your position and what a friendship with him could mean.

A few hours later, when you hear footsteps coming your way, you quickly bind Kit’s hands.

It takes a second for the door to be unlocked but then it opens and Dixon enters just as you’re pretending to check Kit’s bandages. “Walker here needs to see the shrink,” he says gruffly, crossing the room towards you.

“I was just about to call you.” Your lie is so effortless it even impresses you. “He doesn’t have a concussion. You can take him.”

Dixon is rough as he unbinds Kit and yanks him off the bed. To his credit, Kit doesn’t fight back or resist, understanding the stupid rules he needs to follow if he’s going to get anywhere in this place. Once he’s gone, you start to wrap up for the day, finishing any last minute tasks before getting ready to go home. As you’re straightening up your desk, your eyes catch the medication logbook, and an idea strikes you.

Sitting down, you flip through the pages, taking a look at the medications that are prescribed to each patient. At the bottom of the list is Kit’s name and, with a quick flick of your pencil, you manage to subtly cut his doses in half. It’s not much. You wish you can outright stop giving him the meds but that’s impossible. Hopefully, this way he’ll start to feel like himself.

You expect to be worried or guilty for what you’ve done. But honestly, you don’t. It feels right. Far too many patients have lost themselves in Briarcliff and you’re determined not to let Kit be one of them.

---

Kit’s world is not even recognizable anymore. One day he’s home with his beautiful wife, the next, she’s gone, and the police are accusing him of murder. He sees those damn creatures every time he closes his eyes, hears that loud noise echoing in his ears. If it’s not that he’s hearing, it’s the screams of the other patients.

When he saw you for the first time, heard you snap at the guard for mistreating him, he thought he was still dreaming. You have to be a dream. Nothing that good or sweet can possibly exist in this place. The way you look at him makes him feel seen for the first time in months.

He can’t get you out of his mind. After that initial visit, all he could think about was your warm embrace and the concern in your eyes.

To have someone care enough to worry about him meant everything. Especially during such a dark time. Trying to sneak away to see you had been a stupid idea but one he thought was worth the risk. He needed to know if he would have the same feelings each time, the same security and comfort. Do you really believe him or are you just a great actress?

The second time, you’re just as kind and generous as the first, and Kit knows that he is in trouble. A different kind of trouble than he already is in. This one is emotionally based and has the potential to end very badly.

Kit knew himself well enough to recognize the signs that he is falling for someone. You have only known each other a short while but already he can’t get you out of his mind.

The day following his first appointment with Dr. Thredson, he sees you in the Day Room and has to stop himself from immediately going over. It’s clear you’re busy, making the rounds and checking in on the other patients. Kit watches from a distance, smoking a cigarette as he leans against the back wall. Your kindness extends to everyone you come in contact with. He watches with admiration as you sit patiently with Pepper, checking on the small scrapes and abrasions she has.

You smile and his breath gets caught in his throat. Fuck you’re gorgeous.

Curiously, Kit watches as you slip something into Pepper’s hands before moving on to someone else. It turns out to be a small chocolate, which Pepper immediately devours before going back to her book. Kit smiles.

You catch each other’s eyes across the room just then. It’s a charged moment, like nothing in the world matters but the two of you. He makes a move to walk towards you, unable to help himself anymore. But then meds are called, and the moment is lost. Kit stubs out his cigarette and gets behind Lana as everyone lines up for their medications.

“This is bullshit,” Lana mutters under her breath. “Not all of us need medication. I don’t like that they force it on us. Makes my head all foggy.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Kit asks, echoing your sentiment from the day before. “Keep us under control.”

“I have a point. One I’d like to shove right up their asses.”

Kit snorts at Lana’s blunt phrasing. At first, she had been weary of him but now the two have developed a mutual understanding. Neither one of them belongs there and it’s better to support each other than fight. The line moves and Kit watches you join your assistant to make the medication process go faster.

When it’s his turn, you hand him his cup and briefly, his hands touches yours. It’s like a bolt of electricity shoots through your fingertips and into his, coursing through his veins at such a speed it makes his head spin. On the outside however, he remains calm, bringing the cup up to his lips to knock back his meds. Except, he notices they look slightly different than the days before. His eyes briefly dart to yours and there’s a subtle change in your expression. Your eye closes just enough to seem like a wink without fully being one.

Kit downs the meds with less hesitation than before.

Sadly, he can’t talk to you after that. Once meds are distributed, you go back to the infirmary and he’s left alone once more. Briefly he considers faking a stomachache to see you again, but your warning is still ringing in his ears. The fact that you offered him the excuse was risky on your part. He doesn’t want to get you in trouble by overstaying his welcome in the infirmary. Even though he is curious about the medication change, he lets it go.

It’s not until he’s in his room that night that he realizes he’s feeling clear-headed. Usually, once lights out comes around, the meds have him so loopy he rolls over and goes to sleep. Or at least tries. This time, however, he feels more like himself. Of course, that also means he’s more aware of the dark and the loud screams, but once they subside, he’s left with silence and his own thoughts.

She must have lowered my meds or something. She’s fucking amazing.

Kit smiles, curling onto his side as he allows himself to think about you without worry or fear. Again and again your meetings replay in his mind and when he closes his eyes, he can almost smell the scent of your laundry detergent and perfume. The way your soft hands gently held his made him flex his fingers instinctively. Those lips of yours…he’d given anything to kiss them.

Kit’s eyes fly open when he feels his cock swell. It’s been so long since he’s felt any kind of sexual desire even before being medication. It’s a wonderful change of pace, however now he has a slight problem. Kit feels ashamed of himself for thinking of you sexually. All you’ve done is show him kindness and he’s thinking about doing all sorts of things to you. With a frustrated sigh, he rolls onto his stomach and tries to ignore it.

This turns out to be a bad idea. The pressure of his body against the hard mattress causes wonderful friction and Kit finds himself pressing his hips down for some semblance of relief.

Fuck it, he thinks, shoving his hand in his pants. I need this right now. I need her.

It’s been a long time since he’s done this himself. It takes a second to find the right angle and rhythm. He stays on his stomach, arching his back just enough to give his hand room as he jerks himself off. Burying his face in his pillow, he bites down to stifle his moans as he pictures you in your nurse’s uniform. The way it hugs your frame suddenly assaults his vision. When you had leaned over him to check his head, he had caught just the barest hint of cleavage. Then, he had purposefully closed his eyes to be respectful.

Now, it’s all he focuses on, thinking about how he’d love to run his tongue across your salty flesh while his hands cupped your tits. He’d bury his nose in your skin and inhale your scent before kissing and sucking every bit of you he could reach.

Would you moan his name? He bets you would, and he bets it would sound fucking fantastic.

Kit grips himself tighter, speeding up his movements as he keeps the fantasy going in his mind. Suddenly, the angle is too constricting, and he rolls onto his back, biting his bottom lip as he hand brings him closer to coming.

He pictures it being your hand. Pictures him laying in that hospital bed, you leaning over him and jerking him off as you watch his face. He thinks of you telling him to come for you and as soon as that thought crosses his mind, he explodes, coming all over his own hand as he quietly moans your name.

Sweating and panting, Kit lays there in his bed, heart racing and head spinning. He uses his blanket to clean himself up, tossing it onto the floor before curling into a ball. He expects the shame or guilt to hit him any moment, but he can’t find it in himself to feel either. All he feels is aching in his heart for the real thing.

The next morning, when they open the cells, he remains in bed. Once he hears the guard come closer, Kit begins to moan in agony, clutching his stomach.

Thankfully, Hardy is the one who check on him. Ever since you told him off, he’s been mostly tolerable to Kit. At least to his face.

“What’s wrong?” the guard asks.

“My stomach,” Kit moans. “I think…I think I ate something bad.” When Hardy kicks Kit’s soiled blanket aside, he adds, “Wouldn’t touch that if I were you. I felt real sick last night.”

Hardy wrinkles his nose and gestures for Kit to get up. “Come on. I’m taking you to the nurse.”

Laying on the theatrics, Kit forces himself up, still hunched over with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

You’re sitting at your desk when he enters. The morning light is filtering in through the barred windows and it catches you ever so slightly. Enough to almost make Kit forget he’s supposed to be in great pain. When you see him, your face grows concerned.

“This one is moaning about a stomachache,” Hardy says. “Where do you want him?”

To his dismay, Kit notices you’re not alone today. There’s a patient asleep in one of the other beds. You’re out of your chair in a second, pressing one of those soft hands to his forehead.

“He’s burning up.” Your ability to lie so smoothly makes Kit admire you even more. “Here, let’s get him on this bed right here.”

Hardy and you help Kit onto one of the beds in the corner of the room, one that’s hidden behind a divider. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” you say, tucking Kit in. “It’s probably just food poisoning. I’ve told the cook a million times they need to store the food better.”

“Think he needs to be tied down?” Hardy asks.

“No, of course not. Have you ever dealt with a patient who’s tied down and soiling themselves? My job is hard enough as it is. I won’t be dealing with that today.”

Kit makes retching noises if for no other reason than to see Hardy grow pale and uncomfortable.

“Oh, you better go before he starts up,” you urge, shooing the guard away.

Kit keeps up the act until he hears the door close and you turn to him, giving him a wide smile. “Wow, bravo. Great work, Kit.”

He smiles, sitting up. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll have a shot as an actor when this is all over.”

You chuckle and glance over at your other patient to make sure he’s still sleeping before sitting on the chair by Kit’s bed. “How are you really feeling this morning?”

“Better, actually. Do I have you to thank for that?”

“Well…it did seem overkill to have you on such high doses of medication when you aren’t mentally unstable. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you off them completely.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Kit says, reaching out to lay his hand over yours. “If anything, I’m sorry for you having to take that risk. I don’t want you to get in trouble, or worse, because of me.”

You look down at his hand and he immediately draws it back, worrying he may have crossed a line. There’s something in your expression that puts him on edge. He can see that you’re struggling, which only makes him feel worse. He berates himself for foolishly giving into his desires. Already things are tough, and the future is scarily uncertain. He’s on the hook for murder for fuck’s sake.

Before Kit can continue the self-deprecating spiral, you surprise him by carefully getting out of your seat and sitting next to him on the bed.

“Kit…” you say. “This friendship between us…I don’t know if it can continue.”

Kit’s heart sinks and he looks away from you, his gaze now fixated on the floor. “I don’t blame you,” he says. “It’s not safe being near me in any way. Honestly, it was stupid of me to come here like that. As much as I like spending time with you, I never want to put you in a compromising position. I’ve seen these guards and I know how they treat women. You’re in just as much danger here as I am.”

Your hand takes his, and he snaps his head up to look at you.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” you say. For the first time since you met a few days ago, he hears the slightest crack in your voice. “I’m worried because, if we continue this friendship, I know that for me, one day, it might not be enough.”

His heart speeds up at your confession. Kit can’t believe his ears. The fact that you are feeling even the slightest bit of the attraction to him that he’s been feeling for you is enough to give him the sliver of hope that’s been severely lacking over the last few weeks.

Kit hesitantly links his fingers with yours, giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t. When he says your name, his throat is dry, and he has to clear it before he can go on. “I have no right liking you as much as I do. I don’t believe in God, but I can’t help but think that you’re my damn guardian angel. Because of you, I’m actually starting to think that maybe there’s a way out of this. Or at the very least, staying here won’t be so bad so long as you’re here.”

Your gaze softens and you look away, trying to hide the tear leaking out of the corner of your eye. With his free hand, Kit reaches up to wipe it away with his thumb. He can’t stop himself from cupping your cheek, needing to feel the warmth and softness against his palm. You shut your eyes, leaning into his touch, a shaky exhale escaping through your parted lips.

Your lips.

Kit’s eyes can’t look anywhere else. They look so inviting. He bets they’re just as soft as the rest of you, maybe even more so. Without even stopping to think what he’s doing, he starts to lean in, so slowly that you don’t seem to notice until you open your eyes to meet his. You pull your head back. Not abruptly or angrily, but enough where he gets the message to stop. Kit sighs with disappointment at the refusal. But a second later, you’re leaning in this time, at the same achingly slow pace he had been before.

Your lips brush and there’s a heated charge that soars between you, making you pause before you even properly get a kiss. Your eyes are wide as they meet his, searching for the same thing he’s looking for in yours: permission, acceptance, desire.

Kit closes the distance.

With one hand still cradling your face, he kisses you deeply, drawing your body as close to his as he dares. He feels you melt under his touch and it urges him to keep going, to keep kissing you, to deepen the kiss so he can savor the intense waves of desire washing over him.

You let him, opening your mouth so that his tongue can glide along yours.

It all becomes too intense for the both of you and you have to break the kiss, panting as your foreheads rest against one another’s.

“This is such a bad idea,” you say, the breathlessness of your voice making Kit’s cock twitch. “We have to be smart and we have to be careful. If we really can’t stay apart, then you have to listen to what I say and follow my instructions. Okay?”

“I can do that,” Kit says. He’d honestly agree to anything you say at that point. “Trust me, baby. I know the stakes.”

“Me too.” You take a deep breath and pull away, breaking all contact with him. It immediately leaves him cold and wanting more. “My assistants will be coming to collect the meds any moment. I need to go prepare.”

You reach out to cup his cheek and Kit holds your wrist, keeping your hand there for another moment so he could savor the contact. The way your eyes soften at him only makes him want to kiss you again. Instead, he settles for a peck on your palm before letting you fully pull away.

As you stand and collect yourself, you take a step towards the divider before you pause and look back at him. “No one can know, Kit. Not if you want to stay under my care. If anyone finds out there’s something between us, they’ll transfer me somewhere else and I won’t be able to protect you.”

The fact that you’re scared for him in this scenario and not yourself makes Kit want to throw you on the bed and ravish you. “I promise, I will find a way to clear my name,” he says. “Then once I’m out of here, I’ll take you away. Far away where this place can’t reach us.”

You smile and reach out to stroke his cheek again. “Easy there, Mr. Walker,” you tease, stroking his bottom lip with your thumb. “Keep talking like that and I may think you’re already falling for me.”

He watches you walk away, only one thought on his mind. Too late for that.

#kit walker #evan peters #ahs asylum #kit walker x reader #kit walker x you

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birdbrain90 · 3 years

Text

Raindrops on Roses - A Sylki Fanfic

@swinging-stars-from-satellites (DAMMIT I told you it would make me write Sylki fic xD . This is what I came up with. I didn't do that "I end up in your bed" prompt correctly at ALL, but creative liberties are a thing. This is what I tell myself. It's not TERRIBLE for a 24 hour fic, at any rate. LOL) BASED ON THIS TROPE/PROMPT - "there were two beds but in the middle of the night, you still slip into mine and i don’t complain because you’re sick with a cold/fever because we were running away from the authorities last night and it was pouring rain, and i wake up the next morning and we’re not cuddling or anything, although i wish we were, but we’re facing each other and oh my god, you’re still asleep and i can see every strand of disheveled hair, every freckle, every eyelash, every single detail of your face, illuminated by the 6 am sunrise from the molding motel window behind you, is this love?" The rain hadn't ceased all day, and they wondered if it ever would. Loki and Sylvie had been running all morning and afternoon, trying to cover as much ground as possible before their next jump. They had taken to apocalypse hopping, because two Lokis, separate entities fulfilling the same cosmic role, could not exist together on the timeline. Neither of them found themselves satisfied with that answer, so they ran, and ran, and ran some more.

This time though, neither was alone. It had become fun for both of them, ducking and dodging order while chaos ensued around them. It wasn't much of a permanent life, but it fit somehow.

Finally they came upon a motel. It didn't take long for Sylvie to enchant the receptionist, procuring a room for the night.

"Some day you will have to teach me how to do it." Muttered Loki as he peeled his sopping wet jacket off.

"It's freezing. This weather is absolute shit." Looking like a drowned rat indeed, Loki smiled and waved his wrist, conjuring sleeping clothes for both of them. "Thanks. I'm going to take a shower."

There was an odd pause before she left. She wanted to ask if he wanted to join, and he wanted to ask if she wanted company. Neither had the courage, so the moment was lost on both.

When Sylvie emerged from the shower, her cheeks were blazing red. She flopped down on her bed, looking over at Loki who laid on his bed reading a book.

"My turn?" He muttered, not looking up from the pages. Eventually he got up and headed to do the same thing. When he also emerged clean and dry, he spied Sylvie asleep on her bed. Smiling, he raised his hands, grunting a little as a green glow lit his hands, and an unseen force lifted her into the air, while the same force prepared her bed, tucking her gently into it. "Goodnight, Sylvie darling." He smiled, secretly terrified that she might hear that last part.

Sylvie awoke some time later, shivering so hard her teeth were chattering. She was...cold? That was unusual enough on its own. Every movement seemed to make her colder. She sat up and looked over at Loki, sound asleep in the bed next to hers. He didn't seem to be in any sort of distress. There was no way someone as sturdy as her would fall ill, but that's certainly how she felt. Maybe it was from being soaking wet all day…

Sylvie continued shivering in bed, debating going and taking another shower when something disrupted her thoughts.

"Sylvie…" came a whisper from the bed next to her. She rolled over and stood, throwing her shivering legs over the side of the bed.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I can’t sleep.” When she received no response, she stood and padded over to his bed. He was very clearly still sleeping. Why was he whispering her name in his sleep? “Loki…?” She called.

“Hmm?” Came his groggy reply. His eyes didn’t open, and she honestly wondered whether the oaf was even conscious or not.

“Loki I’m freezing. I can’t sleep. I dunno what’s wrong.” She shivered, immediately missing her blankets.

Loki said nothing, and his eyes still did not open. He took a sharp breath in through his nose, and clumsily peeled back the blanket, wordlessly inviting her into his bed. Sylvie faltered, not knowing what to think, but also not wanting to wait long enough for him to actually wake up and see her embarrassment if he was indeed still sleeping. Slowly, she climbed into the bed next to him and pulled the covers back up over herself. Immediately she was greeted with the smell of his skin. Sweet and spicy all at once. She was frustrated by how intoxicating it all was.

They’d grown close over the time they’d been running, but they were both too cripplingly shy to make any sort of advance. Sylvie didn’t understand it at all. She was no stranger to seducing in order to get what she wanted. Information, a drink or ten, relief from needs, it all came easily to her. Yet somehow here, in front of this beautiful man who had stolen her heart, it was way too real, and she felt reduced to a stuttering teenager. She huffed, rolling away from him in an attempt to forget his sleeping face. She had also completely forgotten the fact that she had been shivering from head to toe just minutes prior. Her quaking had ceased, in favor of warm, restful sleep.

The word “cozy” wasn’t a word Loki normally included in his vocabulary. He’d grown up surrounded by princely comforts, with more brought to him if only he asked. But cozy? That was a new one, and when he awoke the following morning it was certainly at the forefront of his mind. He hummed, stretching lazily and extending his arm. His entire body stiffened in fear when his arm rested on top of something soft and curvy. His breath halted in his throat, and he feared he might choke on it as his eyelids flew open to reveal Sylvie sleeping peacefully next to him. His eyes darted under the blanket, relieved and somehow disappointed at the same time when he saw they were both still clothed. When had she moved into his bed? He certainly remembered falling asleep separately last night. Having to consciously breathe in and out, he tried to relieve himself of some of the rigidity in his body, save for the painfully obvious spot.

Shaking his head, he steeled his nerves. He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d been reduced to a terrified teenager. He looked over at the woman lying near him, his mouth falling open in quiet reverence when a sunbeam poked through the window and illuminated her face. Every gentle crease in her face, the swell of her lips, the long lashes that concealed the eyes he found himself staring into for way too long, it was all too much. He gasped, averting his eyes for fear his heart would leap right out of his chest. He stiffened again when he felt her shift, inching barely closer to him. He wanted to reach out and caress her face, the fear of waking her and ruining this moment overpowering his desires in that moment.

Loki wasn’t sure how long he had laid there, attempting to commit her sleeping face to memory. Her face while she was awake was its own kind of beautiful. He loved the way her nose would scrunch up at certain jokes, the way she would roll her eyes at him throughout the day. When they would get into trouble, her almost inhuman snarl set his blood aflame. He felt he could do anything while the heat of her battle rage encompassed him. Sleeping, though, she was completely different. Her face was peaceful, something he suspected she hadn’t had much of while she was awake. That thought, combined with the tranquility of the moment brought tears to his eyes. He wanted to give her a life of peace. Of stability. But he feared they might never get that chance.

Sniffling quietly, he decided to damn the consequences, and he reached out and brought a hand to her cheek. She did not move under his ghostly touch. He drew his thumb down the bridge of her nose, gliding it under her eyes, memorizing every hill and valley on her face. Moving a bit closer to her, he continued, his desire for her to know how he felt only increasing with physical contact. He removed his hand from her face, sliding it down her arm and eventually resting on her hip. Loki would never be able to explain where his sudden hubris came from, but he decided he would risk the angry palm that would surely fly at his face before too long. Butterfly kisses. Feather light touches of his lips that he was sure would wake her when she felt his quivering breaths on her face. He began at her forehead, kissing as much of her face as he could cover, before finally resting on her lips. He lingered there a bit longer, savoring the feeling. They had kissed before, in the citadel, and hadn’t seemed to find time for it since. He had been able to sneak a kiss on her cheek, or her knuckles every so often, but they hadn’t been able to find time to lay together and explore each other properly.

His heart bounced into his throat when he saw her eyelids bunch up, and finally flutter open. As soon as they did, she gasped and lurched backward.

“Loki! I-I… Uh….”

“Shh…” He crooned, stretching his hand out. “It’s okay. It’s only me, after all.”

“I-I… I was really cold last night. You pulled back the blanket so I… I just…”

“I have no memory of that.” He chuckled, before his face dissolved into concern. “But you? Cold? Are you okay?” He reached out a hand, pressing the back of it to her forehead. He shrugged, feeling no difference in her normal temperature. “You feel okay now. Likely from being out in the rain all day.

“Yeah…” She laid back down, still facing him. Loki followed suit, letting his head hit the pillow once more. They stared awkwardly for a while, fumbling around in their own heads and letting their cheeks darken several shades before someone spoke again. It was Sylvie who spoke first, looking down and counting the wrinkles in the sheets. Anything but meeting his eyes. “Loki…?”

“Yes?”

“We’re in a bed.” Oh that was dumb. Of all the things she’d ever said in her life, that had to be the dumbest.

“Okay? Yes. Yes we are.” She heard him chuckle, ending with a snort that made her want to reach out and smack him. “Brilliant observation, darling.” That word slipped out, and she saw fear creep into his eyes for a brief moment. What he didn’t know is how that one word flipped her stomach and filled it with butterflies.

“Idiot. That’s not what I mean. I mean…” What did she mean? She had no idea. “I want…”

“Yes…?”

“I want it to be like this. Just like this. Default. You and me.” The shit eating grin had not left his face, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to jump on him and strangle it off, or kiss it off. Maybe both. She wondered if he’d be into both.

“Of course. Next time, enchant the receptionist into giving us a key to a room with only one bed.” He laughed, grunting as she finally decided to reach out and shove his chest. He did notice, however, that after she was done shoving him, her hand lingered. He took the opportunity to place his hand over hers, urging her to feel the heart that beat only for her. “I’m teasing you. No need to get violent.” He smiled, his face melting into lovesickness. “I would love nothing more than to wake up with you in my arms every morning, wherever we are, at the end of a thousand worlds I only want to feel your skin and your heart entwined with mine. I lo-....” He froze, the phrase that threatened to leave his lips and the possibility that she might reject it cooled the flame in his gut. “Wh-what I mean to say is I…Um….Y-you see, I’ve thought about this quite a bit... I-I lov-...” He sighed, frustrated. “Can I just kiss you instead? Words are hard when they’re all for you.”

She nodded. His heart sang at her quiet acceptance as he joined his lips with hers. Eventually as their clothing began to fall away piece by piece, the drab motel around them became a luminous place of worship. The world could have ended around them and neither would have cared. This was enough, it was glorious, and it was all their own. Whatever came their way, they’d figure it out somehow, and they’d figure it out together. (This will be cross posted on my Archive of our Own account, Wonderchild90. So if you happen to see it there, that's me! It's not stolen. Oh but also if you enjoy sickening fanfics for these two dumb demigods, come have a look! Shameless self plugging. LOL.)

#pro sylki #sylvie x loki #love is a dagger #loki 2021 #lovedaggers

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

storm-darkened or starry bright

Summary: Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

Tags: angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

TW: vomit, implied/referenced sex and addiction, disordered thinking, depression as a result of medical diagnosis

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

(I've tagged my usual moreid taglist in this fic, but I won't be offended at all if this is too heavy for you!)

Title from "Where All My Books Go" - W.B. Yeats.

Originally inspired by J_Ballinger's Swift, Fierce & Obscene which is just a brilliant piece of art.

you said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud — richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

It starts with the flu.

He calls into work sick and he makes himself comfortable in bed, preparing to ride it out. It is the middle of January after all, and their last case saw them in Ann Arbor, shivering their way through each crime scene and a police station with abysmal heating.

His lymph nodes are swollen, and he’s running a moderate fever — 102 the last time he checked — and the cough he’s had for a couple of days is definitely getting nastier, but he uses the time to catch up on the documentaries he’s had stored on his DVR for the past couple of months. He tries to see it as a positive: he never gets time to rest like this. Warm soup, chamomile tea, and some Nyquil should be the end of it.

He makes the most of it. He gets better. He goes back to work, and life goes on.

“It’s not like you to get sick, Reid.”

Emily doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s about as innocuous as a comment can possibly be, but something about it makes his heart stop for a second. Because the thing is, she’s right. The last time he was actually sick was the anthrax poisoning three years ago, which can hardly be blamed on his body itself. He hasn’t been sick with a virus since he was a child — certainly not anything more than a mild winter cold.

His world turns upside down in the middle of a Tuesday, a couple of them gathered around Derek’s desk laughing about nothing in particular, the easy camaraderie of a close-knit team without a time-sensitive case on their minds.

Three and a half weeks ago: a night heady with alcohol in a gay bar in downtown DC, a charged encounter with a man just Spencer’s type, a whispered invitation back to his place, not making it past the bathroom…

He pales, suddenly feeling violently ill at the prospect of what’s happened, how badly he’s fucked up this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” Emily asks, suddenly noticing his appearance. “You look really pale… maybe you’re not ready to be back at work yet.”

Forcing himself out of his stupor, he manages to open his mouth without vomiting. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and even to him his voice sounds weak and distant. Blood roars in his ears, and all he can think is what that blood could very well be tainted with.

Far away voices discuss something he doesn’t pay attention to before Derek’s placing his hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into the discussion. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Emily isn’t standing at the desk anymore, but he doesn’t think to look around for her, just locks eyes with Derek: noticing his brows knit deeply in concern, worry clouding his dark, striking eyes.

He lets himself be led down to the garage. Later, he won’t remember any of the winding car journey home, Derek’s worried sideways glances, his attempts at making conversation, tucking him into bed, his hesitancy to leave and go back to work. He’ll just remember the weight of his realisation, the sinking acknowledgement of what this means.

What it makes him.

⭐️

The next day, he wakes up ravenously hungry. He doesn’t remember anything after the dreaded realisation, but he remembers that he came to it only minutes after eating lunch: meaning he’s gone over eighteen hours without food. Somehow, he manages to pick himself out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He finishes it all and doesn’t taste a single bite.

He texts the group chat Penelope had made for the whole team last year, ignoring the dozens of anxious messages from his team already filling his phone. Won’t be in.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gets dressed, picks up his phone, wallet, and keys, and walks to his nearest metro station. He counts four stops, gets out of the carriage and walks up the stairs onto the street, weaving through exactly three streets until he finds himself staring at the sign for his Urgent Care clinic.

Words — not ashes, as some small part of him anticipates — manage to spill from his lips as he tells the doctor everything from the unprotected sex he vaguely recalls having on the night of Saturday the 12th of March to his brief flu-like symptoms to his sickly realisation yesterday. Vaguely, he thinks there’s some sort of sick humour in being able to recall exactly what day he had sex, but not the details of the sex itself. Alcohol and dilaudid are the only things that have ever been able to interfere with his memory.

He obediently opens his mouth for a saliva swab, lets the nurse prick his finger and collect a drop of his blood. He wonders if she knows what they’re testing him for. He wonders if she thinks he’s as dirty as he feels, if she’ll violently scrub her hands after smiling politely at him, if she’ll roll her eyes when she talks to the other nurses, lamenting his stupidity.

The sounds of the waiting room melt into the background as he waits for the test to be conducted, and judging by the tone of the nurse who gets his attention when it’s time to return to the doctor’s office, it’s not her first attempt.

He mutters a distracted apology as he gets up from his seat, but she just smiles sympathetically. It shouldn’t get his back up in the way it does.

“I’m afraid you have tested positive for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Dr Reid,” she tells him, her voice gentle but straight-forward. He’s at least glad she doesn’t try and soften the blow. It’s not a blow that deserves to be softened. “I know this is a shock, but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a shock,” he repeats insistently; impatiently. “I knew it was coming. It’s my own fault.”

“Playing blame games isn’t going to help anybody here, Dr Reid,” she says firmly, meeting his eye. “Whether you were expecting it or not, this would knock anyone off-kilter, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

She waits for his reluctant nod before continuing. “The good news is that we’ve caught it early enough to contain the infection. Your CD4 levels are very good, and you do not meet AIDS criteria. I’ve referred you to Dr Frederiks at George Washington University Hospital. He’s an expert in Infectious Disease and specialises in HIV/AIDS treatment. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

He arrives back at his apartment almost $300 out of pocket, having gained nothing but a positive HIV diagnosis. The FBI has brilliant healthcare insurance but Spencer ticked the ‘no’ box on the insurance form. He can’t risk anybody knowing about this.

He texts Hotch and tells him he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning and will let him know whether he’ll make it in for the afternoon. Then he lays on the sofa, and cries.

⭐️

“HIV is a chronic illness,” the doctor explains at four minutes past ten the next morning, “a latent infection. Not a death sentence. Medications have come leaps and bounds in the last ten years, and the regimes aren’t anywhere near as rigorous as they used to be. With your CD4 levels this good, your life really won’t be much different than it was a few weeks ago.”

Spencer’s never had much interest in medicine — after all, there’s a reason he’s not that kind of doctor — but he knows this much. He doesn’t tell the doctor that he’s wasting his time explaining the basics of the disease, just stares blankly at the point in between his eyes, staring at the small crease in his skin, the way it moves as he speaks.

“It’s likely that you’ll die of something else, Dr Reid, decades in the future. When managed correctly, HIV is rarely deadly.”

This seems irrelevant: it doesn’t matter to Spencer what he dies of. Whether his immune system gives in or he’s shot in the line of duty or drops dead in the street from an aneurysm he doesn’t see coming, he’ll be dead.

He still doesn’t say anything.

“For the first six months of infection, the risk of transmission to sexual partners is high,” he continues, unfazed by Spencer’s lack of response. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” It’s the first word he’s spoken since he entered this office. His voice breaks. He can’t have the person he wants: this feels like the nail in the coffin of a relationship dead on arrival.

A look of sympathy crosses Dr Frederik’s face. “In any casual encounters you may engage in, you’ll need to be extra careful. Do you have the contact details of the person you contracted this from?”

His voice is steadier this time. “No.”

“Do you have any suspicion that you were deliberately infected by them?”

“No,” he answers, because he doesn’t, but it occurs to him that he’ll never actually know. He doesn’t remember if they used a condom; if he even wanted to use one. (All he remembers is his muscles and the way he pretended he was Derek, the amused look on the other man’s face when he whispered his name like a prayer.)

“That’s fine,” the doctor smiles encouragingly. It feels patronising. “We’re going to start with a triple combination of medications: tenofovir and emtricitabine combined with dolutegravir. HIV is an adaptable virus and easily becomes resistant, so it’s best to attack it hard and fast as early as possible to give you your best chances at an undetectable viral load in the next year. Which, I might add, Dr Reid, is a completely reasonable goal. At that stage, you will not be all that infectious. You’ll have bloods drawn before you leave to estimate your baseline kidney and liver function as well as overall health. In three months, you’ll have another test, and in six months, we’ll assess how well the drugs are working for you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes not leaving the crease between Dr Frederik’s eyebrows.

“Make those appointments with my secretary on your way out, and contact me if you have any concerns.” He pushes a brown paper envelope across the desk. “Inside you’ll find a copy of your positive test result, your prescriptions, and a number of leaflets on the condition as a whole.”

He squashes the urge to push the envelope back across the desk and nods again.

“Pick up the medication before the end of today and start them either tonight or in the morning,” he advises, before standing up from behind the desk and walking towards the door.

Spencer follows obediently, nodding once more and forcing a grimace onto his face, before walking down the hallway towards the secretary, another stranger he has to share his secret with. Swallowing down the urge to either scream or vomit, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands and bites the bullet.

⭐️

He tells Hotch that he won’t be in that day, and he goes home and forces himself to get it together. He showers first, the hot water washing the grime of the last few days down the drain, but he can’t do anything about the lingering layer of shame clinging to his skin. For the first time since the realisation, he forces himself to look in the mirror. A thin, pallid man with bags under his eyes and the look of someone harbouring a secret looks back at him.

His hair has grown out a little in the last few months, actual curls visible around his face (memories flash across his mind of breathy gasps; a hand buried in his hair, pulling ever-so-gently but they’re gone before they’re even remotely tangible), and he lost a little bit of weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his symptomatic period.

But, as frustrating as it is, it’s not what he sees. Not really. He sees Spencer Reid, possessor of five degrees, soon to become six, expert analyst in the FBI, the man who listens to jazz when he studies and watches documentaries for fun and solves crossword puzzles on the metro.

Something inside him shifts as he’s reminded of his humanity in that moment. It’s the most okay he’s felt in the last forty-eight hours.

He’ll take it.

He goes back to work the next day with little fanfare, getting warm smiles and ‘glad you’re feeling better’s from the team before they’re plunged headfirst into a new case, as it so often goes. They fly to Vermont, and part of him is glad for the distraction: no more talking about his illness, no more self-pity — he’s forced to try and bridge the gap between Dr Spencer Reid, Before and Dr Spencer Reid, HIV Positive as quickly and seamlessly as possible.

He does what he’s good at: offers relevant, detailed facts, profiles the victims and the unsub, cites studies that help them get to the bottom of the case, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the virus coursing through his blood and the feeling of shame he can’t quite shake no matter how clean he scrubs his skin.

They get to the hotel late that evening and Spencer takes his second dose of medication, individually popping each tablet from it’s sheet into his hand. The pharmacist he spoke to yesterday told him that from his next medication order they can put all three tablets into a blister packet for him, but for now he’s stuck punching through three different plastic packets every night. Derek asks him to join them at the bar for a drink, but Spencer turns him down. He’s barely been able to look him in the eye.

If, in some rare and far flung universe, Derek did want to date Spencer, he wouldn’t want to date HIV positive, ex-addict, reckless and unsafe Spencer.

He wouldn’t want to date a man so heartbroken and lovesick that he got black-out drunk and slept with someone — most likely without a condom — just because he bared a passing resemblance to Derek. Contracting the Human Immunodeficiency Virus in the process.

No.

Spencer spends the evening staring into the mirror instead, desperately trying to find the man he was four days ago under the burden of broken suffering he seems to have picked up along with the diagnosis, the positive test, the sympathetic doctors.

When he hears the others come up past midnight and pile into their hotel rooms, laughing and chattering among themselves, Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

The use of the case as a distraction only works until 11am the next day. He’d had trouble falling asleep, and he’s powering through the day fuelled by black coffee and raw determination alone, but those motivators — as effective as they can be — can’t stop his legs from shaking as he stares at the geo-profile, searching for what they’re missing.

It sucks, but he’s glad for the warning the shaking gives him. He finds a chair and sits down, which is likely the only thing that stops him from collapsing when black dots swim in his vision and he’s suddenly vomiting down his front.

“Reid!” Hotch cries, running from the other end of the police station to where he’s sitting, panic clear on his face. They’re the only two from their unit currently in the station, but Hotch quickly locates an officer and turns to him. “Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Spencer manages to protest, although it only makes him want to be sick again, “‘m fine, promise.”

“What’s going on? I thought the flu had passed? Healthy people don’t spontaneously vomit and almost pass out, Reid.”

Somehow, his addled brain manages to concoct a decent enough lie. “Keep thinking I’m better,” he mumbles, leaning forward to put his head between his legs as Hotch places a hand on his back, “and then I’m not.”

“You’re sure this is just the flu?” Hotch asks, concerned but at least appearing to believe him.

“Certain,” Spencer lies.

Hotch nods once before shaking his head at the officer on standby with a phone to call an ambulance. “Well, you can’t work the case like this,” he sighs. “We need to get you back to the hotel, okay? You can rest there. God, Reid, what did the doctor say?”

“Bad case of the flu. Gave me some strong Tamiflu and told me I’d be fine in a couple days.” He gasps the words out in between intense waves of nausea, clasping his hands together in an iron grip.

He absolutely can’t let Hotch catch on. In the nine years he’s worked at the FBI, he’s managed to conceal his sexuality below layers upon layers of closeting, and he’s not about to be forced out now. It started as a purely protectionist strategy — law enforcement in the early 2000s didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to tolerance — but then he just felt forced too deep, felt the web of lies spun too tightly around him to even begin to unpick them.

Terror seizes his heart at the idea of his team knowing who he really is: not because he expects homophobia or backlash, but because he’s not sure he’s ready to live that openly yet. He’s never been good with change, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t help that the whole team is all too aware of his past addiction. He dreads the thought of them thinking he’s using again and, worse, so irresponsibly that he managed to contract HIV.

Hotch gets a rookie officer to drive him back to the hotel, and she keeps sending him nervous glances, most likely worried he’ll stink up her immaculately kept squad car with his spontaneous vomiting. Both he and the car make the journey unscathed, although he knows he probably looks as green as he feels as he drags himself up the stairs — could there possibly be a worse time for an out of order elevator? — and somehow manages to make it to the bed before he collapses.

Unfortunately, his restful slumber doesn’t last long. He’s woken up not half an hour later with the intense need to be sick again, and he races to the toilet, where he spends the next two hours: intermittently slumped over it, being sick into it, and lying on the cold tiles next to it.

It feels like a punishment. If Spencer was a religious man he’d be certain God was smiting him for his sins, but instead he’s left instead pondering karma or fate or some other theory he doesn’t really buy into either. Logically, he knows it’s just a combination of guilt and regret — he made a mistake, he’s suffering the consequences; there’s no fate or religion or karma involved — but his delirious, out of sorts mind struggles to hold on to that.

Reason doesn’t make the nausea any less crippling, after all.

Eventually, he must manage to pass out on the bathroom floor, because he’s being shaken awake by a pair of gentle hands, and when he finally opens his eyes, it’s dark outside.

“Spence?”

Shit. Derek.

His eyes fly open and he fights to sit up, to make himself more presentable. The smell of vomit lingers in the air and he remembers that he didn’t even put the toilet seat down, let alone flush it. (At least he thought to change out of his vomit-covered shirt. Thank God for small mercies.) He blushes, and thinks he must look a pretty picture of red and green as he finally meets Derek’s eyes.

“God, Spence, how bad is this flu?” he asks worriedly, smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. Despite himself, Spencer finds himself pressing back into the touch, relishing any contact he can get.

Then it hits him: he’s dirty. He can’t contaminate Derek like this.

“You should leave,” he asserts hurriedly as he pulls away, hating that desperation is so obvious in his voice. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cleaned everything up, and I used gloves. I’ve been in contact with you the last couple of days, so if you were going to get me sick you would’ve already. I just want to be here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed so tightly they hurt. He wants nothing more than to fold himself into Derek’s arms, let himself be comforted by the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. But he can’t. There are so many reasons that he can’t.

“No,” he says, not opening his eyes, resenting the tear that slips out and spills down his cheek. “You can’t. I’m… I’m not safe to be around.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it escapes anyway, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the confusion cross Derek’s face. “Not safe to…? Spencer, what—”

“I just… I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says softly, bringing a hand to his hair again, and he knows that HIV isn’t transmitted through sweat or vomit but he’s dirty, and Derek is so so good, he can’t be responsible for tainting him. Derek doesn’t relent, though, not even when Spencer pulls away from his touch and shrinks in on himself, leaning against the toilet. “You need to allow yourself to be comforted. You need to let me help, Spencer.”

Suddenly, he feels incredibly tired: the energy seeping out of his body, and he’s boneless against the toilet, absent even of the effort to hold himself upright.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He puts his arms around Spencer’s rolled up body and lifts him, holding him close to his chest as he carries him from the bathroom to the bed.

Spencer doesn’t just let him, he curls into his embrace, clinging to the material of his t-shirt like it’s his only grip on reality.

(Later, he’ll blame the fever, but deep down he knows that just once, he wanted to play pretend, and just once, he didn’t have the energy to stop himself.)

⭐️

The side effects take weeks to finally leave, his body having a hard time adjusting to not only a deadly virus in his bloodstream, but some of the strongest drugs on the market inhibiting his natural enzyme production. Eventually, though, he’s back at work properly, selling a story about a simultaneous gastro-intestinal virus making the flu exponentially worse.

He’s not really sure everyone believes him, but nobody questions it out loud, so he avoids everyone’s eyes and takes it as a win.

Nobody gets close enough to try, anyway. He pushes everyone away, holds them at arm's length no matter how much they kick and scream and claw their way closer to him. It surprises him how persistent Derek is, and for a moment he feels a sad flutter of hope in his stomach and he’s forced to stamp it down: Derek sees him as a brother, a friend, a colleague, not a potential romantic partner.

And it would be irrelevant, even if he did. Derek wouldn’t want him as any of those things if he knew what he was hiding. Ever since his lapse in judgement on the case in Vermont, he’s refused to spend any time alone with Derek, and he hates the hurt he sees in his eyes, hates that he can’t scream at him that this is for his own good. But he can’t know. Because Spencer is still ruled by his relentless selfish desires, and he can’t let Derek go, no matter how hard he tries to.

Kept at arm’s length at least means he’s still touching his shoulders.

He muddles through the next few months on his own, returning to his quiet apartment every night and eating a sad, lonely dinner on his sad, lonely sofa before punching his way through a blister pack, taking his tablets, and going to sleep. He turns down drinks invitations, declines phone calls, ignores text messages. He pretends he isn’t home when there are knocks at his door.

He takes showers that are too hot and cries on the metro, scrubs his fingernails and his face, and when he got a shallow knife wound on a case last month, wouldn’t let a single member of the team near him. Whispering his status, shame-faced, to the attending EMT.

This is it, he thinks one night, as he opens the microwave and takes out the mac-and-cheese ready meal he’d bought on the way home that night. He doesn’t even like mac-and-cheese. It was just the only thing left in the store at 8.30pm. This is my life now. Standing in my kitchen at 9.15pm, not being able to remember the last time I was actually happy.

(He does remember, really. It was Sunday the 13th of March, 9.37am: Derek had ruffled his hair and joked with him as they waited alone in the conference room to find out what was so urgent they were being called into work on the weekend for. Spencer could still feel the aftermath of his Saturday night tryst, and pretended for a brief few minutes that that encounter was with Derek, and those jokes were actually flirting. But then the case took over, then the flu symptoms, and then. Well.)

Before he can carry the mac-and-cheese into the living room, though, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone had mostly given up on turning up unannounced, so it catches him off-guard, and something in him, some vain flicker of hope, or maybe a masochistic desire to hurt even more, propels him forward until he’s opening it and coming face to face with Derek Morgan.

“Spencer,” he says urgently, and panic immediately grips Spencer as he wonders what could be so wrong that he’d need to show up out of the blue, but Derek must see it on his face. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry, I just… I need to speak to you.”

A knot of something that Spencer can’t quite place tightens in his stomach as he stares at the myriad of emotions playing across Derek’s face, but he steps aside to let him in anyway. He closes the door behind them and feels a flash of embarrassment at the state of his apartment. It’s completely clean — his already rigorous attitude towards germ and cleanliness have only intensified in the last few months as paranoia plagued his mind relentlessly — but it’s barren of any joy, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

The furniture is drab and Spencer’s packed away all the photos and trinkets that used to litter the entire place because they just made him too sad to look at. The only life that remains is his books, and the sheet he’d hung to cover them up in a fit of rage a couple of weeks ago still hangs there limply. He hadn’t wanted to see his books: didn’t want the temptation of touching them and tainting them. What if he got a papercut on one of the pages and his virus-ridden blood spilled across the words he treasures so dearly?

He watches as Derek surveys the place with a sad expression on his face, before recollecting himself and turning back to Spencer.

“I know you’ve been pulling away from us, Spence,” he says, almost breathless as he takes a seat on the sofa. Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his body, so he settles on remaining where he is: stock still facing the couch, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. “We’ve watched you become a shell of who you used to be, and we’re all worried about you—”

“I don’t—”

“No, just let me speak. Everyone is worried, and I am too, but… I’m also… I’m hurt, Spencer. You’re pushing me away, turning me down every time I try to get close to you, and it’s painful because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and you mean the world to me.”

I wouldn’t if you knew my secret, he thinks miserably, but he doesn’t say anything.

“More than anything, though, it hurts… because I’m in love with you.”

Spencer stares. He’s hallucinating, he has to be.

“And I know — well, I don’t know because we’ve never talked about it — but I know you’re probably straight and even if you were interested in guys, too, who’s to say you’d be in love with me back? But I had to tell you because our relationship is heading south anyway, plummeting straight for the ground, and I figured it couldn’t hurt, I just… say something? Please?”

He doesn’t mean to say it.

“I’m HIV positive.”

It’s Derek’s turn to stare. Spencer can’t meet his eyes, and suddenly feeling like he needs to Get Out, he rushes to the kitchen and picks up his rapidly cooling mac-and-cheese. He gets a fork out and faces the countertop, away from Derek, as he starts to shovel unsatisfying bites into his not-hungry stomach.

It can’t even be a full minute later that he hears footsteps behind him. “You have AIDS?”

He sets the mac-and-cheese back on the counter. “No,” he answers, not turning around. “I tested positive for HIV; I don’t meet AIDS criteria. My CD4 levels are apparently very good, and the medication I’m taking is proving effective in controlling and managing the virus. I don’t have side effects anymore, and I don’t feel any different than I did before I contracted it.”

There’s a beat of silence. “And this is why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Spencer hesitates before nodding shamefully, his eyes burning a hole in his dinner. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, and I—” He’s cut off by a heaving sob. It catches him by surprise, but suddenly he’s choking on emotion: everything he’s been through, everything he’s been dealing with alone for so long a burden he no longer knows how to carry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek breathes, rushing forward and turning Spencer until his face is pressed into his neck and their arms are wrapped around one another. The nickname only furthers his emotion, falling apart completely in such a way that makes him unsure he’ll ever be put back together again. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets Spencer cry it out until his sobs recede and his tears slow, and he feels confident enough to pull away and meet Derek’s eye properly again. It feels like a reconnection; a reconciliation of sorts, and his breath catches at the emotion on his face. He’d expected a meddle of sympathy and disgust, but all he finds is compassion and love, tinged by a sadness Spencer supposes probably comes from watching the man you’ve just professed to love fall apart like that.

Oh wait. Derek just told him—

“You love me?” His voice comes out quieter and shyer than he’d hoped, and not nearly as incredulous as he’d intended, but Derek softens anyway.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “So much. And if you think you telling me this is going to change how I feel even a bit, then you’re dead wrong, Spencer.”

It’s suddenly too much to think that everything he’d feared happening for the last few months was wrong, and he’s gasping for breath again, sinking to the ground to bury his face in his hands.

“Spence?” Derek asks worriedly, following him to the floor. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No… please, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself, ground himself in the reality that’s unfolding before him, no matter how different it might look than that of his anticipation. “You know, the man. Um, the man I… contracted this from. I slept with him because he looked like you.”

He looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again, searching for anything in them to confirm that he was thinking all the thoughts Spencer feared and coming up empty. “I was so heartsick that I got blind-drunk and slept with a complete stranger because it was the closest to you I ever thought I’d get and then I was just so scared of what everyone would say when I found out. I know logically that HIV doesn’t make someone dangerous or unclean, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling of shame, you know? I was constantly panicked that I’d pass it to one of you. Besides, I’m not even out to the team, and I know the implications of a disease like this: gay or an IV drugs user — I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I was both. I’m clean, and I’ve stayed clean, I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Derek says gently, reaching out a hand and cupping Spencer’s cheek gently. “I think if I was in the same boat I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. You can’t be blamed for bowing to a social stigma this heavy, Spence. I’m just sorry I didn’t realise what was going on sooner. And even sorrier, for that matter, that I didn’t tell you I was in love with you before this even had a chance to happen.”

Spencer smiles a little at that. “Hey, I didn’t tell you either. I don’t blame you at all. Neither of us were out and confessing something like that is no small feat.”

“I suppose so.”

Spencer shifts a little in his position on the floor, the raging storm of emotion that he’s been drowning under for the past four and a half months quieting for the very first time. He breathes deeply for a few seconds before working up the courage to ask the question he really wants the answer to. “I know you said that this doesn’t change the way you feel—”

“And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, because suddenly he gets that. He isn’t sure what took so long. “But does it make you not want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Spencer, no.” Derek’s voice is urgent as he makes intense eye contact with him, raising a gentle finger to his chin. “It doesn’t change a single. thing. I don’t know much about HIV, I’ll admit, but I do know that these days you can get to a point where it doesn’t transmit to partners. And we can be really safe about it. I’ll do all the research to make you comfortable, but Spencer, even if it did mean that we could never have sex, I’d still want you. I want you so badly, pretty boy.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Really?”

“Really.” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, catching a falling tear. “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Spencer. I have been for years. You can ask, Penelope: she’s been putting up with my pining like a saint, but I’m not sure she could’ve taken it much longer.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” Another tear falls as the prospect of what’s about to happen really sinks in.

“Can I?” Derek murmurs, as he inches closer ever so slowly.

“Please,” Spencer whispers, barely finishing the word before their lips are colliding and a flurry of butterflies break out in his stomach as his chest glows with the warmth of a kiss he’s long been aching for. Derek’s hands find his waist, his jaw, his cheek, his hair, exploring his body ever so softly as he kisses him with the same inquisitive gentleness, managing to take him apart with just his lips and his hands.

“God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s as he struggles to hide his wide grin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of that. I’m gonna be like a teenage girl tonight, running my fingers across my lips as I remember every minute of it.”

Spencer giggles at that. “Well you can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ll be doing the same.” He pulls away slightly and looks down for a second before looking back up into Derek’s earnest gaze. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“I’ll kiss you like that every day for as long as you’ll have me.” He doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, connecting their lips again as they melt into one another’s touches, and it makes Spencer laugh later that the most intimate and passionate encounter of his life so far happened on the kitchen floor.

They pull apart as soon as it heats up a little bit, and pain flashes across both of their expressions at the thought of why.

“There’s this thing called PrEP,” Spencer says, still a little ashamed of his situation, that Derek has to be protected against him before they can take this any further. “It’s medication that you take before and after sex with a HIV positive person that blocks the virus from entering your bloodstream if you were to somehow contract it. And we can wear condoms. And once I reach an undetectable viral load, it means the virus is untransmittable, and you won’t contract it even if we’re unprotected.”

Derek blinks. “Wow, that’s… that’s better than I thought.”

“Really? You’re still okay with all this?”

He softens. “Pretty boy, I am so okay with all this, and I’m sorry that you spent so long thinking otherwise. We have time to figure all this out, but what matters is that right now, I have you next to me, and we love each other. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and leans forward to kiss Derek chastely. “I do.”

“Now, how about we bin that disgusting mac-and-cheese and order some Chinese?” he suggests, matching Spencer’s smile. “We could eat it in bed and watch one of those documentaries you’re always talking about.”

Spencer laughs fondly. “You want our first date to be eating takeaway and watching a science documentary in bed?”

“Well it sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty perfect to me, too,” Spencer whispers, the happiness in his chest feeling warm and inviting, begging him to bask in the moment for as long as he can.

They’ll work out the specifics later — they’ll get Derek started on PrEP and attend Spencer’s appointments to measure his viral load, they’ll have important and serious conversations about the risks to both of them, they’ll work out what their relationship means for work, how they’ll begin to repair the damage the last few months have done to Spencer’s mental health — but right now, none of that matters.

All that does is: the buffet of Chinese food Derek lays out on a blanket on Spencer’s bed, the documentary about bees playing on the TV, and the thrilled little glances thrown each other’s way, the stolen kisses and casual touches, the love palpable in the air around them. And later, when the food is eaten, and the documentary is playing the credits: Spencer’s tired head resting on Derek’s loving chest, and the syncing of their heartbeats as they fall asleep to the sound of each other.

This shouldn't have to be said but please do not use fanfiction as sex education and PLEASE practice safe sex. As far as I know, all the information included in this fic is correct, but I have no personal experience with HIV/AIDS, and this is very much written from an outsider's perspective - albeit a thoroughly researched one.

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senju-sekhmet · 3 years

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The Leash (Part 12, Fin.)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death, angst with a happy ending ~8600 words (this chapter, finished work: 83.600) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8; Part 9; Part 10; Part 11

Read on AO3!

Final chapter! To all the brave souls that kept up with this fic until now: THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! <3 Disclaimer below, as always!

DISCLAIMER! My super self-indulgent work comes to an end! I hope this makes up a bit for all the angst that happened and - stick around until the end for more notes from silly me <3

_________

The burn had faded.

Abruptly as ever, and it was followed by nightmares that you knew well. Nightmares whose intensity paled in comparison to being burning alive, but nonetheless nightmares they were. They also passed, and back you were in nothingness. Drifting under the surface that you couldn’t break through.

You had not died, had you? They had kept you alive. They still were. It must’ve been Hashirama. Maybe Tobirama had been there, too.

It was so tiring to think of all this.

The darkness began to stretch. You still were suspended in it, held down - bound somehow - but the nightmares didn’t return. Instead a different kind of sensation set in: itches. Everywhere. Inside, outside - wherever that was, anymore. A headache, maybe? You felt… warm. It became uncomfortable quickly, but nowhere near the sensation of withdrawal - which might be because alongside all this came numbness. As though someone had cut the chains of suspension, lowered you down and put a weighted blanket over you. It still was confining, but in a way also a shallow repose.

You were too frightful to trust it.

You didn’t know what was happening anymore.

You just wanted to rest, but the itch and the aches everywhere were keeping you from it. How annoying.

______

His heart beat achingly and there was a tightness in his chest that felt awfully familiar. The only reason he wasn't being crushed again by heartache again was his brother tending to you.

It had been twelve hours since Tobirama and his brother had literally pushed you off of the verge of death. Now, it was time to pay the price for keeping your heart beating and your lungs breathing.

Violent shivers ran through your body, the sheets were drenched from sweat. Hashirama was inspecting ink on the seals that kept supporting you - ensured your heart beat strongly, upped the blood pressure, sustained your organs more than your body would right now. Wordlessly, Tobirama handed him new drenched parchments to replace the dried up ones at the centers of the seals that released the medication they each had been soaked in.

His hand trembled slightly. "The severity-"

Hashirama cut him short firmly. "Her condition is critical, but stable. All she needs now is time." His brother gazed up at him. “You should rest more, Tobirama.”

His scarlet eyes glared at him, lifting from your pitiful form only momentarily. “I will once Y/n is better.”

It wasn't the first time Tobirama had spoken up. When the true brunt of the overload had started to hit you initially, he nearly panicked - what little peace of mind he had found combusted in an instant and his concern for had him back in a vice grip. His brother on the other hand had not been impressed; he had known it would come to this and his confidence alone had reassured him. Time and again he had told Tobirama it was going to be fine.

All it needed was time.

The man didn’t question his brother, of course - but it wouldn’t easily quench his worries, either. Not when you were lying here, trembling, feverish - whimpering. And he - helpless to do anything but watch. Like before.

He was tired of seeing you teetering on the edge of death with no means of pulling you back. He didn't want to wait anymore for your recovery, he wanted things to start becoming better now. He was tired of being helpless.

He'd spent every waking second by your side until he knew you were well again.

______

More time passed.

Possibly. The blanket didn’t lift. The nightmares - the nightmares didn’t return, either. That surprised you. The circle… the circle was broken, somehow.

Was this death then, after all?

The itch had faded too, slowly - the uncomfortably warm sensation, the aches - it all went away. You were your sweet nothingness, far away from all you had endured, your horrible memories.

No pain.

You could stay here comfortably. If this was death, then you were fine with it. Though you felt one ache still - Tobirama.

He would never forgive himself. If only you could tell him, one last time - that you were alright, that he gave his all. That you loved him and would do so forever.

That sorrow haunted your bliss. And it wouldn’t fade. Quite the contrary - it became stronger and stronger. The stronger it became, the more sensations and thoughts broke through. At first, your mind began to shake off the dark stupor that held it captive until now. Your thoughts became clearer. The process of all you went through - the lack of nightmares now, the breaking of the agonizing routine that previously had governed your life cruelly - it could, should mean one thing. But you didn’t dare to delve into the thought more. Instead, you focused on the sensations that you picked up. Presences. You didn’t feel alone in your darkness anymore. Someone was watching you. You knew them well. Countless times, you’ve traced over his chakra network gently as an inward embrace too tender to put into words.

Tobirama.

He must be doing the same. Occasionally, there was another presence you could identify too, after your mind cleared up more: Hashirama’s.

It made you reel - with excitement. It must mean one thing?

And yet no matter how much you wanted to reach out - you didn’t exactly know how. It wasn’t like you were asleep. Either they put you into this state - or maybe you were too weak? - but every time you tried to shake off the nothingness that had become your comfortable cocoon, you ended up exhausting yourself to a point your mind started to drift away again. Maybe not yet.

You kept on digging your way out bit by bit, every time you felt able to. Senses were returning. At first, there was touch. Perception of yourself - not in the abstract sense, but in an acute way. Your legs, your arms. Your chest. The beating of your heart. Your hand being touched, Tobirama’s chakra warmly hailing and covering your network. At first you simply basked in that sensation. You wanted to return the gesture, but it wasn’t possible - that frightened you, but you didn’t question it. Yet. You just continued to work your way out of this. Every now and then, someone would grasp your jaw to pour a liquid in - the leash, you realised. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t resist it. After touch came hearing. There wasn’t much, really. The birds chirping outside. Conversations between Tobirama and his brother, though you were too tired to follow them, really.

Finally - finally came your eyes. When you opened your eyes again for the first time in who knew how long, your lids felt as heavy as leaden blankets. You almost wanted to close them again directly, figuring the endeavour was just too tiresome.

If it wasn’t for the face by the side of your bed.

His scarlet eyes lit up in a rare streak of excitement. Excitement you could identify as such, at the very least. He suddenly was closer - you realised he must’ve gotten up from his chair to sit by your side - you felt a warm sensation on your hand. His was on it - and already, his chakra moved over your network. That you still had no access to. “Y/n?”, the jitter in his baritone voice was unlike him. Frightened, almost.

You forced yourself out of the proverbial swamp to give him a better look-over. As per usual, his facial markings were painted on perfectly, the black undergarment he wore when neither in battle nor in formal attire was spotless - and his white hair, spiky as per usual.

You realised then, you had thought you never would see his face again.

His brows furrowed and his lips formed a thin, turned-down line. “Y/n?”, he inquired again, now growing more worried. Something wet rolled over your cheek. A sound - you were sobbing.

You really were here, again. With him.

“T-Tobi…”, you croaked out, choking on your own voice. It didn’t sound like you. Raspy, blocked. Withered from not being used. More sobs followed that you had no control over.

Tobirama’s expression grew heartbreakingly sorrowful - his lower lip trembled. He nodded jerkily and extended a hand to cup your cheek gently; wipe at your tears tenderly. Carefully. As if too much pressure might harm you. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then finally - “I’m here.” The jitter was gone from his deep voice. It was reaffirming now.

“I-I t-thought…”, you took a deep breath, working through every word slowly. “... I d-d-died.” The tears continued to roll down your cheeks as Tobirama caressed you.

Now he sounded decidedly pained. Haunted. “You almost did.” In an ironic way, his brutal honesty was reassuring. This really was Tobirama in front of you. “But you’re safe now. You’ll make it, Y/n.” With the determination in his voice, there was no question about that bit.

Suddenly, you felt an urge quell within you so desperately you were overwhelmed to even get the words out properly. You’d have moved on your own to sit up, were it not for the fact just keeping your eyes open was tantamount to running uphill at full speed. But you needed this, now. Badly. Achingly. “H-hold m-me, please,” you stuttered with your rusty voice.

Tobirama hesitated momentarily and stopped his caressing motion on your cheek. He swallowed, indecision clear on his face, “I’m not sure if I should-”

“D-damn it,” you hissed, each second letting your ache for him to be nearer grow more painful. Your sobs came out as wheezing sounds now, increasingly frustrated by the moment that really just lasted so very shortly.

Suddenly his arms wrapped around your chest and his warm face buried itself in the cold crook of your neck, letting you tilt your head to smell his hair. The fresh scent of his - when was the last time you’d smelled it? Whether it was sheer force of will or actually more hidden strength, you willed one of your thin arms to rest on Tobirama’s back that was heaving intensely. He was careful to not put any weight on you except for the contact of your bodies, his chest covering yours - you knew it, but all that mattered was he was here. The sheer purity of the moment snuffing out the ache, the fear - all of the torment and agony of the past days, weeks, whatever it has been.

You simply basked in this as you closed your eyes to feel the connection not just physically, but also from his chakra.

Alive.

You made it.

Although - “My c-chakra,” you whispered questioningly, not bothering to form a full sentence nor break the silence - the serenity - longer than you had to.

Tobirama’s breath came warm against your skin. “Sealed, right now. I’ll open it up-”

He wanted to move. “No,” you replied swiftly, with as much firmness as your weak voice could muster since your body certainly wouldn’t hold anyone back. “Stay.”

Wordlessly, he settled back against you to let the moment continue. Your damn chakra could wait, it would be muted anyway, wouldn’t it?

No matter how long you wanted to stretch this all out, tiredness was beginning to grip you. And despite the fight you put up, you couldn’t help the hand slipping off of Tobirama’s back and your eyes involuntarily closing, every now and then. You hated it. You’ve been away for too long.

Tobirama felt it too, of course. Despite your protest, he pulled back slowly to resume holding your hand gingerly in his. His scarlet eyes had a reddish hue to them now, but his expression was mellow. “You should rest again, Y/n.”

You huffed. “I b-believe I r-rested enough.”

A fine smile formed on his slips and he shook his head. “Not nearly enough, I’m afraid.”

You rolled your eyes in response. “T-tell me f-first. What h-happened.” And your tone left no question about how much you wanted to know, now.

Which Tobirama recognized easily with a sigh. He took a deep breath and his gaze wandered to the ceiling, his deep voice neutral now. You knew what this meant. “We’ve almost run out of leash and it was just through a trick that I learned the final secret to this damn drug. Had it taken any longer, the withdrawal might have killed you. It is thanks to Hashirama’s expertise the chakra overload didn’t, actually.” His effort to keep his voice neutral was failing slightly as the tremble returned to it.

So that was the itch, the ache. Interesting, because for chakra overload - you really hadn’t felt much.

“We managed it the same way we did during the withdrawal,” Tobirama explained, “But the reaction became severe nonetheless. You ran an extremely high fever we had to cool down and it was only due to sedation you weren’t in pain,” his eyes had wandered back to your face, studying it cautiously now. Almost as if he was searching for evidence to the contrary.

You, on the other hand, had to muster all your left energy to process the information and most looked as though you were ready to crash at any given second.

Surprisingly, Tobirama continued his explanation, even though his gaze became more worried. “The seals stabilised you throughout the rest of the overload reaction, which was… intense.” He paused for a moment, his voice having become more quiet. Once more he had to clear his throat before he found his voice again, visibly struggling to find the words and yet speaking clearly nonetheless. “Your condition still became critical. Like said, had it been any other than Hashirama healing you during the last withdrawal, you might have died.”

You exhaled breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. Your gaze drifted over your blanketed self as the realisation hit you more and more.

Might have died.

Close. Everything had been so close.

You’d been running from one danger into the next, life being threatened each lasting second, no break in sight.

“Y/n,” Tobirama’s firm voice became more distant as drawing breaths was becoming harder again and you forcefully swallowed down tears. “Y/n,” he called out again, less firm - a hand stroked up your forearm gently.

“I d-don’t,” you began, trying to wrenched the words out past your sobs, “It’s- d-damn it!”, either your voice got stuck or the wheezing breaths made it to hard, but you couldn’t articulate the overwhelming amount of shock that coursed through your veins. At least you thought it was that. More like a conglomerate of shock, existential pain, sorrow and ultimately, despair.

Tobirama watched helplessly as you fell apart more and more, his eyebrows furrowing in a most desperate way. Once more he reached for your face but this time, his palm stroked your hair gently as his lower lip quivered in search for better words. He didn’t have any - most likely because he felt much the same, if you were to guess. Finally though - “You’ll be fine,” his baritone voice but a whisper, “You’re safe now.” Over and over again.

“I’m here for you.”

Although the moment wasn’t filled with serenity, you needed it. You needed to hear it - over and over again, to feel him caressing you, his chakra like a warm blanket on your network.

You survived, that was one thing.

But the danger - the danger was over.

Finally.

Exhale. Relax.

Eventually, the tears stilled and your breath evened out. Exhaustion claimed you fast now, but you wanted to keep gazing at his face. Tobirama’s expression had grown more mellow. He allowed it, for a bit longer. Eventually though - “Rest now, Y/n. I’m not - you’re not going anywhere. Allow me,” he pulled the blanket down your chest.

You still were littered with seals of course, but Tobirama’s fingers had already settled right in the middle of your chest in the center of the intricate chakra seal. A brief glow later, you could access your sluggish, muted chakra again. The comfort in that feeling alone sent you further down into drowsiness.

A pitiful sigh escaped your lips.

He covered you up with the blanket again. You thought you might have heard him again, but you couldn’t make out any words. Already, sleep had claimed you.

______

The next few times you woke didn’t differ much from one another; usually your strength lasted only long enough for you to open your eyes and stay awake for a short period of time before sleep claimed you again. Even so, the intervals began to increase and as they did, so did your strength to move your arms at least. It was frustrating nonetheless - lying flat on your back only was entertaining for so long. The spirit and mind weren’t as broken, worn out and torn as the rest of you, it seemed.

“I think I’ll go crazy at some point,” you huffed lowly. It was evening and the room was drenched in beautiful, reddish hues of the evening sun. “There really is nothing to do.”

Tobirama was sitting in the chair beside your bed, slowly raising up an eyebrow as his lips formed a fine smirk. “If you’re complaining again, then you must be recovering well,” he observed with dry irony, which you could only roll your eyes at. He had kept his promise - being there for you, any waking second. You suspected he knew since he administered the leash to you - and therefore he was well aware when you’d be awake again to talk to. Whenever you opened your eyes, he was there.

It was comforting. You weren’t doing well on your own, right now.

“Honestly Tobi, I want to see you bed-ridden for what - weeks? - you’re the one who quite literally has to be tied down before he’d actually rest, no matter what,” you scoffed back.

In ever so slight amusement, he pursed his lips more. “Don’t talk like you’re better at it, Y/n. I know for a fact were you able to, you’d be getting out and about even when you really, really should not.” The unspoken ‘like you had been’ hung in the air almost tangibly as you stared at him. You’d never hear the end of this.

“The ceiling, this room and its window can only entertain me for so long,” you pouted.

Tobirama’s smile grew more sympathetic. “It’s only going to get better now.”

You sighed. “I know,” you couldn’t prevent frustration leaking into your voice. Then, something occurred to you. “I noticed,” you began slowly, shifting ever so slightly to face him more. “I’m not… having these nightmares anymore, at all. After I’ve taken the leash. In fact…,” a frown formed on your face. “I do not dream at all. Did... did you do something to it?”, frankly you found the question pointless. You know he had to - you’d been getting the leash for an agonizingly long time now, and that definitely had changed.

His smile faded ever so slightly. “I did. During learning how to create the leash itself I realised it doesn’t require the exact psychotropic agents they tortured you with necessarily. Just something to latch onto, if you will. So right now, you’re just getting a light tranquilizer alongside the leash.”

You had to snort then. “I figured. Explains why I feel like crashing every time I’ve taken it.” He nodded solemnly in reply. Then, a smirk formed. “And why I feel so damn hazy all the time.”

Now, he rolled his eyes. “I’d consider it a positive side effect, to be honest.”

“To actually force me to rest?”

He sighed exasperatedly. “Certainly,” his tone was caustic. “Judging by how sharp your tongue has gotten again, I’m sure without the tranquilizing base solution of this leash, you’d be moving way too much right now.”

Your lips formed a kissing motion. “You love my sharp tongue, though.”

His eyebrows shot up instantly at the suggestiveness of the statement, but he couldn’t deny the chuckle that rumbled in his chest. He was too proud to answer verbally, though. Still, you were sure there was something of a reddish hue around his facial markings.

“Honestly, you should be glad I’m not making an offhanded comment about how my love keeps me tied to this ‘leash’, Tobi.”

“Y/n!”

That instantly let his deep voice rise in volume as it became quite stern. He had crossed his arms in front of his chest. Now, you were definitely sure he had gotten red.

You merely chuckled in reply that Tobirama found difficult to join in, but the proverbially ruffled feathers smoothed out again quickly. It was how you knew he was relieved - making fun at his expense without getting a smart remark in return. In a sense, you were quite glad you were able to again, really.

Besides, you didn’t exactly with the dead, dreamless sleep the tranquilising base of the leash provided. Your brain had been served excellent fodder for nightmares - drugs or no - and you didn’t want to revisit any. Was it an easy way out? Maybe, for a time.

Until you felt ready to tackle… everything again.

Fortunately though, recovery did speed up more and more. Each dose of the leash forced you to sleep it off for a handful of hours after which you felt rather groggy, and clouded of mind - under normal circumstances, you’d start to refuse to take medicine of this kind eventually, but this time you knew it truly must not be delayed. Not that Tobirama didn’t diligently make sure you always were right on time with it - at first he had to help you take it by supporting your chest, neck and head pretty much. By now, you managed to sit up straight already, which was a huge relief. A step closer to leaving this bed. Your muscles still groaned and ached from wounds you had suffered what seemed eons ago, on top of the general soreness you still felt due to damages you had taken during the withdrawal.

“Shouldn’t these have healed by now?”, you complained as you once more had settled against the headboard of the bed, letting out a low groan.

Tobirama withdrew after having helped you up there with his hands under your shoulders. He had refused to at first - you needed to rest still of course - but you threatened to just do it yourself if he wouldn’t. With gritted teeth he had pretty much hefted you up, under the premise you wouldn’t push yourself. The pain you felt now made him look like he was ready to yank you back down if you did so much as whimper again.

“Normally, they would have,” he explained sternly, his scarlet gaze inspecting you. “But without one’s own innate chakra reserves and your poor condition overall, it is unsurprising they did not heal well. Plus, you suffered again during the withdrawal.”

You sighed and opted to refrain from showing any more signs of pain or weakness. It made sense, of course. “Just my luck,” you muttered under your breath.

He had settled back into his chair and crossed his arms. “We will be able to start healing you again very soon, Y/n,” he supplied slowly. “We’ve already started to remove the seals that sustained you and increase your capacity to receive chakra again.”

That had been a relief - seeing the ink wiped off of your skin as a visual reminder things were, in fact, getting better. The biggest of them being the chakra seal on your chest. Not that you had been afraid of it - but as a person that naturally was very in tune with your own chakra as everyone in your clan was, it had felt… looming. The muting component of the leash was bad enough, but by now, you had gotten used to it. The fact you were in a safe environment helped a much greater deal, though. Still - “How… how’s work on the cure coming along, Tobi?”, you inquired suddenly, sheepishly, almost.

He leaned forward on the chair and exhaled a heavy breath. “Slow, but… steady.” He gazed up at your eyes with a solemn expression, neither sugarcoating the facts nor being overly harsh about it. “It’s possibly going to be as complex as the leash. But I’ll get there.” You wouldn’t question his determination. “We have time.” That probably was about the only advantage to all of this right now.

A smile formed on your lips. “Thank you.”

You beckoned him closer with a wave of your hand which he followed hesitantly by settling down on the side of your bed and a questioning glance. Your hand snuck around the back of his neck to pull him closer to you, your fingers lacing into his short hair as his forehead rested against yours. You felt the tension in his shoulders as your free hand trailed up them to cup his face, but his eyes closed slowly and he exhaled a gruff breath. His chakra coated your network warmly already as you tried to return the notion as best you could, which wasn’t much. He simply sighed in return and allowed you to caress him for a silent moment.

Offering a small bit of comfort when really, it was him who poured all his energy into aiding you.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips with such tenderness you felt his chakra flutter.

He swallowed before answering. “I love you too,” he coarsely answered, rough from emotion as one of his hands reached around your chest again to pull you even closer.

You couldn’t remember the last time the two of you had shared an intimate moment like this - and you knew well how he felt about them in a semi public place like this one.

The fact he relatively willingly permitted it was quite saying something.

The fact he actively pulled you even closer did so even more.

Slowly your lips ghosted over his in the utmost tender motion, gasping slightly when he met them with equal softness of his own.

Just a few more moments you allowed yourself this, you wanted to keep him as close as possible right now - before pulling back ever so slightly. When he opened his eyes again, his scarlet gaze was on fire. You didn’t need words to know what he felt. Once more your thumb gently stroked his cheekbone before you leaned back against the headboard again and he withdrew, ending the chakra connection with a final warm caress over your network.

Another day later, you had shedded the last of the seals that had been sustaining you. Hashirama examined you after and was quite pleased, even. Finally, you were on your own again, in a sense. It was a freeing sensation albeit one that came with a tinge of fear. You still weren’t cured yet and had precious little time in which you didn’t sleep off Tobirama’s version of the leash. After you inquired exactly what kind of tranquilizing agent he had used, your considerations as to why your sleep was so dead and dreamless were confirmed: it didn’t just endorse rest, it muted all kinds of emotions, good and bad. It was numbing.

You still weren’t sure how to feel about that - on the one hand, it felt too easy to escape from memories you did not want to deal with that definitely had been haunting you before the withdrawal cracked you. On the other hand, you just weren’t ready to deal with more, now. What you did know for certain was that Tobirama had put consideration in picking the tranquilizer as the base for the leash.

Like right now, when you were fighting against the haze in your mind and the heavy fog that tried to push you back into sleep. You had slept enough. You simply wanted to be awake for now. With a low groan you lifted yourself up to sit in the bed, ignoring the aches flaring in your arms, back and abdomen. Momentarily, your vision blackened, but you stabilised yourself swiftly with your arms on each side.

You must’ve pulled it off earlier, since Tobirama was not here yet - either that, or something happened. Your thoughts were too muddled to consider it more. Dazedly, you started at the window that let the morning sun in while trying to form another thought.

_______

Tobirama’s days had settled into a routine that pretty much was dictated by your waking hours. Without death breathing down your neck and the constant feeling of a looming heart attack, there was little to put the man off, really. As expected, your recovery would be slow and arduous, but you’d make it. He’d be there for you throughout every bit of it as he promised, and he was very intent on keeping this promise. With the modification to the leash, you were resting a lot better too, which in turn improved Tobirama’s sleep. After he had administered the first dosage of the leash with the tranquilising base solution and you had drifted off, he himself had slept for a good fourteen hours.

It had been one of the hardest battles of his life.

Not that he allowed himself any complacency, though. In fact the word barely existed in his vocabulary, but especially so right now - you still needed the cure for this leash.

Unfortunately, developing one proved to be a lot slower than copying the leash. And this was not because your life did not hang in the balance anymore - it was because Tobirama had no testing modality outside of the six prisoners whose lives, alas, still needed to be preserved carefully. And with your life saved, the necessary precautions for experimentation had risen an annoying lot. Except for Kimi, who had been tethered to Tobirama’s very own leash, he had put them all under Zenji’s leash and instructed the interrogation squad’s members on administration intervals and the likes of the drug. All he had to do was produce the thing in a large quantity, which by now had become a well-practiced process.

Zenji in particular had a slew of colorful insults ready for Tobirama, including himself, his brother, his family, his whole clan, Konoha - and yet it was with a sly smirk Tobirama’s iron grip on his jaw silenced him, wrestled his mouth open and poured the leash in.

“Now you can experience your own masterful work firsthand. It’s poetic, really,” he commented cynically, watching Zenji’s pupils dilate already.

“There’s no… cure… for the leash,” the man slurred hatefully, grunting in pain.

Tobirama’s smirk grew and he raised both eyebrows. “You made predictions about the possibility and impossibility of things before, and yet here we are Zenji,” he leaned in closer. “With your help, no less.”

The prisoner’s unfocused gaze looked for Tobirama’s arrogant face, but the psychotropic agents were overcoming him more and more.

“Now you’ll be of equal use again.”

He didn’t stick around for the torture anymore; there was no need. What he needed were these six as outlets for his experiments on a cure. Since the muting component faded, it came down to breaking the seal of the disrupting component somehow. However there was no trace of the seal as such once the drug was ingested - only in the way the disruption was branding itself into the victim’s body. Of course Tobirama well understood how the seal as such worked, but that meant he also understood countering it was a difficult task exactly because of that. Quickly it became obvious he needed more than just to unravel the disruption’s brand; whatever achieved this needed to be woven into the cure much like the leash was created. It would need to be a key that would unlock the chains of the leash.

He was lucky to have such skill in the weaving process as such, by now.

His first experiments were rather edgy. The substances used were primitive in comparison to the leash and aggravated the prisoner’s health to such a degree in one case, Tobirama was forced to provide extended medical support. Ikuro was squinting a lot at the proceedings, although everyone understood there was no alternative.

What time he didn’t spend experimenting or in the laboratory was spent within your room - when you were awake, or at least trying to be awake. Exhaustion and the tranquilizer both sapped consciousness from you a fair deal, but as your strength returned to you slowly, so did your capacity to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a given time. It was the hugest relief - to see you becoming yourself again, truly. Your smile, your laugh, the quips you made - the smart glint in your eyes.

The way you started to refuse to rest.

Of course you had quickly guessed it was no coincidence he has used this particular tranquilizer as base for the leash. But the reason was not to keep you literally too knocked out to move about.

The scars you bore were not just physical, inward and outward. There was a lot of mental damage that Tobirama had gathered enough clues towards already before you had hatched your withdrawal plan. This substance - this substance might be an easy crutch for now, but he refused to let you carry more weight than you had to right now. It was a selfish decision he made for you, he knew that.

Since you never protested, he figured you were in silent agreement, for now.

After the last of the seals were removed from you, it was time for the next step in your recovery, which he had discussed with his brother at length already, before you’d wake regularly. Once you were stable - and had not received any chakra for quite some time - they could finally start healing you properly again.

“It’ll be complicated,” Hashirama warned. “The withdrawal has damaged the functionality of her organs. The injuries she received during her imprisonment are not the ones I’m not worried about.”

Tobirama wasn’t, either. Those were simple in comparison. The withdrawal had wrecked you from the inside out - alongside your body’s reaction to it. He frowned. “You assume we may not heal everything?”

Hashirama clicked his tongue. “I’ve learned not to make any assumptions when it comes to this drug, to be quite honest,” he muttered in a rare streak of bleak irony.

Tobirama could only huff in response.

They’d have to give it their best. If there was anyone who could do it, it was his brother, after all.

Today was the day - after his brother’s evaluation of your state yesterday, they’d start to mend the real damage today. Both were on the way to your room. It was still early in the morning and Tobirama couldn’t deny having sound sleep at night was quite a blessing after the nightmare he and you had suffered. Even so, you should be asleep still at this time.

He opened the door to your room silently - only to find you sitting in bed already, staring out of the window. He spoke before his mind could even process the angered worry that filled him. “Y/n,” his tone firmly questioning - for now.

_______

Your head snapped around to your new company, startled. The look on Tobirama’s face was one you knew well - he’d start scolding you any moment now with how deeply he was frowning already. Hashirama on the other hand, bright as ever - broadly smiling. How these two were brothers, you sometimes really had to wonder about.

“Tobirama, Hashirama,” you nodded, smirking. The urge to just sleep again had subsided somewhat, though your mind still was foggy. Sitting up was an exercise on its own, still, not to mention the pain you felt.

“Why are you awake already?”, Tobirama shot back instantly, rounding the bed swiftly. You’d like to think there was worry attached to the sternness of his tone. “Did something happen?”

You sighed softly and smiled. “No, don’t worry. I just didn’t want to sleep any more, that’s all. I’m much the same I was before.” You really refused to say you were fine. Someone who couldn’t sit up for longer periods of time without pain was not fine.

Tobirama stayed silent, but his scarlet gaze was inspecting you closely. You rolled your eyes and lowered yourself back onto the bed before he’d tell you to, unable to prevent a quiet groan from escaping you.

“Careful,” he stepped closer instantly as worry flashed in his eyes, but you waved him off quickly.

Hashirama cleared his throat then and stepped closer to the other side of the bed, practically beaming now. You raised an eyebrow. “We’ll start mending your injuries again today, Y/n,” he announced with no small amount of pleasure.

Your eyes widened. That would be a huge relief - literally and proverbially. However, you were hesitant to feel hopeful just yet. Frankly most of your mental power went towards processing the announcement still. “How much of them?”, you inquired, when you found you couldn’t come up with a smarter way to articulate your budding worry over the resilient hope that formed.

Tobirama answered solemnly. “You’ve not received chakra in quite a bit now, so there is some capacity to work with. But the damage you suffered was very extensive and will require multiple sessions, most likely.” His voice had become softer, though you focused on the information mostly.

“I will start with the most vital damages,” Hashirama continued, “Seeing how the wounds you received from the stone have begun healing on their own by now, albeit slow. I know they’re most painful, but we must ensure you first recover truly from inside out. Bones, muscles and skin come second.”

You had to give a snort at that, earning you a puzzled look from Hashirama and a raised eyebrow from his brother. “Apologies,” you amended quickly, “I understand. It’d just be nice to move without pain again. Or at all, and not just lie still.”

Tobirama cut in sternly, quickly. “You mustn’t, yet. Healing anything is only going to help if you don’t squander it by pushing yourself too much too fast, Y/n. You know that.” The warning in his tone was clear. And you knew he was right - one of the most basic principles of all medical jutsu - like surgical sutures, they needed time to kick in fully.

Hashirama was more accommodating. “I can ease it somewhat, of course.”

Tobirama’s glance shot towards his brother. “It’s vital to focus on the most important injuries.”

He rolled his eyes. “Let’s get started.”

You couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled up while you rolled up your gown. Hashirama’s warm hands gently placed themselves on your abdomen, and already you felt his chakra spreading in your network, his presence becoming more prominent. Your eyes locked with Tobirama’s who had crossed his arms again, giving you a tender smile that you returned; a different kind of warmth blossoming in your chest. Then, you let your head rest on the pillow and stared at the ceiling before closing your eyes as his brother’s work was unfolding.

Just like when Tobirama had healed you before, the procedure became something of an internal massage of all the parts of you that had been tortured, abused, beaten. Suffered under the withdrawal of the leash, withered and strained. Without your own chakra at your disposal, it was extremely difficult to trail alongside them, but frankly the thoroughly comfortable feeling that settled in was quick to make your eyelids leaden again.

Very carefully, he first tended to your heart and lungs first - strengthening attacked tissue, mending microscopic damages and if needed, precisely cutting away whatever scars your body already had formed to let real organ matter regrow there. Whether it was your imagination or not you couldn't say, but you thought your breaths became deeper and your heartbeat slowed down into a more powerful rhythm. His attention shifted to other organs then: liver, kidney, the gut - and much in the same manner, they tended diligently to the damages.

A stray tear of relief ran down your cheek as shivers ran up and down your spine.

Finally came the injuries inflicted by the torture - process here was more difficult. The gentle, healing massage took on a more forceful note, as though he had to work out kinks in stiff muscle that had not been used much. Almost pinching here and there when even your tardish chakra felt the tear of inferior scar tissue that had formed due to a lack of attention and use. You felt the old wounds warm up ever so slightly, promoting blood flow as well as making the matter more receptive to his care, although the time he spent healing here was notably shorter compared to what they had done before.

It was uncomfortable - not the smooth procedure from before but the quite literal rebuild of what you knew was broken and had been healed broken. Every now and then you’d huff or grunt when the unpleasant sensation bordered pain, but you kept yourself in check - Tobirama was still watching, and you didn’t want him to worry again.

Eventually, Hashirama withdrew as quietly as he’d begun.

You had difficulty opening your eyes again. All of you felt warm now, refreshed - revitalised. The sleep that wanted to overcome you now wasn't the heavy exhaustion you permanently felt, it was pure comfort. It was the same feeling you had after visiting a hot spring after a day of training. The feeling of the sun on your skin on a rare lazy day, a peaceful day.

Peaceful. That was how you felt.

Hashirama was beaming at you, but Tobirama was wearing a slight frown again. “Are you alright?” - the discomfort hadn’t escaped his notice, of course.

You cleared your throat, swallowing down a hoarse lump. “Yeah,” nodding slowly. “Better than before,” you dared a brave smile.

His frown deepened, but he didn’t comment further. In the end, this was necessary - like many other things had been - and so, he’d accept it. He - you - had no other choice.

Hashirama cleared his throat. "I managed to heal quite a bit, more than I expected, in fact. Of course there still is work to be done, but the damages the withdrawal created I believe I will be able to manage with time and patience.” He gave you an appreciative nod. “You're a tough woman." He chuckled brightly.

Tobirama’s mien grew more tender as his frown smoothed out, a light smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

It was difficult not to get intoxicated by his optimism, especially when you felt the way you did now. "Thank you."

"The next session will have to wait since I used an extensive amount of chakra now. And as for the injuries you suffered…" Hashirama knit his brows. "... those will require more work. Your body started to mend those already. Unfortunately in inferior ways, due to your poor condition."

You gave an awkward shrug, as much as that was possible in bed. "I felt that, yeah."

Tobirama's frown returned somewhat again, but he didn't comment.

Before either of them spoke again, you did - with an idea that had hit you just this moment. Something that jolted through your system more uncomfortably than the hope had done before, despite being much the same feeling. "So, since I need to rest so much now…", you gave Tobirama a meaningful gaze he held entirely neutrally, "... couldn't I actually -" You paused. Suddenly, you felt silly, but with the expectant glances on you, you swallowed it down and continued. "Could I perhaps rest at home? I'm stable now, and this room is starting to drive me insane."

Tobirama sucked in a sharp breath through his nostrils, hands gripping the fabric of his black shirt more tightly as he spoke up promptly. "Y/n, as much as I'd like to grant you this, we must consider-"

"Absolutely. I'll stop by to help to heal you again." Hashirama cut in, grinning broadly.

Tobirama's mien turned positively furious at being blindsided by his sibling. "Anjia!"

Hashirama was unfazed. "Patients recover better in homely environments. Y/n is stable, like she said - you saw it yourself, Tobirama. Also, you can ensure even better that she rests well."

"That-", he clenched his teeth at having this argument used against him, but just a moment later, the heated fury had subsided to a smoldering kind of anger that gave his sternness a cutting edge. "She still is in poor condition and should be hospitalised. If anything changes, here is where the aid needed will be."

Hashirama held both palms up and tilted his head. You, on the other hand, were rolling your eyes and waiting for your moment to chime into this conversation. About your own damn self. "I don't see what should happen. So long as the leash is administered on time - which you have been doing - and she rests properly, she's going to get better now."

Tobirama was losing ground and worse yet, he realised this. To his own brother no less. He bared his teeth slightly. "I can't be there every moment in case she needs help. And I won't allow just anyone into our house."

Now was your chance. "Actually, you can." Tobirama's head snapped to you and the furious gaze bored through you. You didn't flinch though. "You can just leave a shadow clone with me. If I need help, you can teleport over. But as you know," now you raised an unimpressed eyebrow, "I'm mostly sleeping and resting."

Tobirama pinched the bridge of his nose as he often would when frustrated. "Y/n…", he began slowly, but you didn't let him start.

"You're with me so much anyway. I'd feel a lot better at home. And you can work there, too. It's easier for everyone."

His expression grew more mellow and his hand dropped as his irritated mien fell. Your pleading glance did the rest. "Fine. But if anything - anything at all - happens, I'll get you back here right away. No discussion." Then he frowned again and any trace of mellowness was wiped off of his face. "The same goes for you not sticking to your bed rest."

You grinned brightly already. "Naturally." You'd find your way around once you could move more again, of course.

Hashirama clapped his hands then cheerfully. "Right then!", he beamed at his brother who just gave a scowl in return. "I'll see you soon. Mito and I will visit, anyway. Until then," he waved, and already was on his way out before you could raise your hand to wave back.

Tobirama sighed. "Regular visits are just another downside," he stated perfectly blearily.

You chuckled. "Cheer up. We'll have a lot more privacy. And…" you paused for a moment, fumbling with the blanket draped over you. "Finally, no more lonely nights."

He turned around to you, eyebrows knitted in a sorrowful fashion that told of the shared statement more than words could. Still, "That… is correct." He stepped closer to the bedside, an utterly warm smile forming now. "It's been a forlorn and cold place without you, Y/n. I’m... beyond relieved that will change now."

With all of the comfortable peacefulness you felt from the healing procedure still, that statement alone made your eyes tear up already in a most soft way. "So am I, Tobirama."

He bent down then and reached under your haggard body with his arms; one gripping your chest tightly, the other wrapping under yours knees. Bridal-style he hefted you up easily - unsurprisingly. Even before your capture he could handle you well. Now your weight was a joke. Closely cradled against his chest, you let your head rest against him with a content sigh. His warm breath hit your face as he bent over briefly to kiss your forehead gently, making you shift your gaze to meet his. The scarlet irises were swimming with a kind of love that alone made your renewed heart pump vigorously.

Already the world around you lurched and a moment later, you were in your bedroom. Your tired gaze found it to be exactly the same it had been before your departure on that fateful mission - one that most likely changed your life forever, you realised. Sparsely furnitured, but practical. A large bed in the middle of the room, adjourning the wall - and broad windows on two walls, overlooking your small garden.

“Welcome home,” Tobirama whispered down to you, a slight tremor to his baritone voice.

“I’m glad,” was all you managed before yet another pure tear rolled down your cheek.

Slowly, he walked to your side of the bed to settle you down as gently as possible. The softness of your own sheets, your own bed elicited a small groan from you and you couldn’t help but bask in the moment with a content mien. “At times, I thought I’d never be here again.”

Tobirama swallowed hard, and when you gazed up at him you saw his jaw working. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Y/n.” The sheer determination these words bore had the warm feeling blossoming in your chest again, but you could only nod in reply. And words might be a sob right now.

“I’ll get you different clothes.”

“No, wait,” you shook your head. He paused mid-walk, having already made for the wardrobe, to give you a questioning glance.

“Come here.” You patted his side of the bed, and nodded.

He quirked an eyebrow up. “Y/n, it’s morning.” Of course, only Tobirama Senju would object to getting into bed again just because of the time of day.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m going to crash any minute now anyway, so you might as well come here now. I can change later.”

With a wondering glance still he slipped to his side of the bed, scooting closer to you as you wrestled yourself to lie on the side. Once he was close enough he assisted in pulling you over, but you weren’t done yet - your arms snuck around his chest and wordlessly, he drew you close to him in a tight embrace. You nestled your face into his chest again as he locked his arms around his, letting his head rest on yours and your legs intertwined. In this position, you could hear his slow, even heartbeat. The steady rhythm was enough to elicit a whole different kind of serenity from you that doubled the warm, comfortable tiredness you felt, but you weren’t quite done yet. Just a moment longer.

Tobirama’s hands ran soothing motions over your back. Yours did the same, feeling the tension ease out of his muscles with each passing second as your caresses drew a content rumble from him.

“Not such a bad idea, was it?”, you giggled quietly.

Tobirama huffed. “How will I get out once you’re asleep without waking you, Y/n?”, he accused playfully, but you could hear the smile from his tone alone.

“You’ll find a way. After all, it’s most important I rest .” You jabbed playfully at his side - just about the only spot Tobirama might be the slightest bit ticklish.

He shrugged it off with a chuckle. “You are absolutely correct. I will.” He tightened the embrace somewhat more, a hand reaching up to the base of your neck to massage your scalp. “So, sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake.”

With your eyes closed now, it was a matter of seconds until sleep overtook you. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

A wholesome kind of rest wrapped around you, drowning all sensations out in the comfort of Tobirama’s arms.

You were home. _________ AAAAAAND! That’s a wrap on the Leash. Let me know what you thought of it - and let me just say THANK YOU VERY VERY MUCH for reading it all! I definitely, really, REALLY loved seeing the returning likes/reblogs for all these parts - thanks a lot! That being said - IT WOULD SEEM... Tobirama hasn’t found the cure yet, has he?! Which means... yes! I’ll write a sequel - it won’t be as big as the Leash at all. Possibly an epilogue or a little miniseries dealing with the consequences of all this - but it’ll get a wrap, eventually!

But! Happy ending <33

#tobirama #tobirama senju #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju x reader #sekhmet writes

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