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drakenology · 3 years

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𝐁𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ♡ 𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : smut!, daddy kink, violence & mentions of blood, established relationship, dumbification, face slapping (politely), dirty talk, degradation, a pinch of knife play (he just cuts your panties open), exhibitionism, breeding kink, cum, fingering, swearing and size kink if you get a magnifying glass.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Hey sexy bitches. This one’s for my Vice City event. I scrapped so many ideas to get here which is why I extended the due date for it.. Anyways! Enjoy, sluts. Daichi supremacy.

He sat at the bar; tall, dark and handsome. He had this roughness to him, his hands riddled with scars and his face rocking one just above his eyebrow. He was one of your most handsome regulars. He always came in around 12 am on Friday, all blooded up and battered from god knows what. Tonight was no different. You sigh, taking in his strong arm that was now covered in bandage wrapping. You strut over to him, pulling your top up a bit to push up your breasts.

“What can I get ya, handsome?” You ask charmingly. He looks up from his empty glass, his deep brown eyes soaking in your form.

“Whiskey, neat.” He replied, smoky tone of voice vibrating against your ears as you bit your lip.

“Comin’ right up” as you turn and walk away, adjusting your shorts after bending down to get his drink ready. His eyes trailed to your hips where your g-string sat snugly on those hips he often watched sway as you walked by to serve your patrons. Were you always this sexy? He never stopped looking at you as you poured him a drink, leaning over the bar to ask him something.

“I swear every time you come in here you show up with a new injury. This is a bar, not a hospital. What the hell were you doin’?” You question, reaching a soft hand up to his brow as if to try and heal it with your touch. He didn’t even flinch either, almost leaning into your hand like a touch-starved puppy. You grab some napkins and wipe some blood from his leaking nose, tsk-ing at him as he sighed. He knew you’d give him shit.

“Got into this nasty scrap with some gang. One of ‘em tried robbing me.. I showed him why he shouldn’t have. His boys came after me and they caught me off guard. One of ‘em had a knife.” He admits. You flinch, looking at him in awe. What’s this guy into?

“Be careful, Lui Kang.” You tease, sliding a glass of ice over to him from one end of the bar while you took some orders.

Not even a few moments later, someone came up to you at the bar. This sleazy looking man with his hair gelled back so thickly it didn’t move as he craned his head to look you up and down.

“Hey, sweetface. Get me a drink, will ya?” His voice like a natural irritant. You turn to him and take his order, your protective regular watching him closely as he sipped his drink. He hardly knew you; just some girl who worked at the sleazy bar he always finds himself licking his wounds in after a scrap. Still, you were always so nice to him; greeting him with a pretty smile, a cold drink and a conversation. He was just so used to violence, fighting for everything he has. He was grateful to have just one ray of sunshine. Vice City, nor his life had ever granted him that luxury.

As you serve the man his drink, he takes a sip and makes this repugnant face.

“Women. Not even good for making a man a fuckin’ decent drink.” He snaps, tossing the drink towards your direction; the glass almost hitting you. You scream as the glass shatters against the wall, your regular standing from his stool to give him a piece of his mind.

“Fuck’s your problem, tough guy?” He spits at him, grunting when a fist suddenly meets the bridge of his nose. The thud causes you to jump, staring at the scene with wide eyes as your heart slammed against your chest. Of course you were no stranger to bar fights, but this? How could one man make violence look so tempting. You gasp as you watch him pick that grease ball up by his shirt and practically toss him out the doors of the pub.

“Fuck off home, before I decide to kill you.”

He takes his seat back at the bar to find you cleaning up the mess, noticing your startled and clumsy movements from shock.

“You okay?” He asked, concerned. You nod. As tough as you try to front to be, you were scared shitless. Though this wouldn’t be the first nor last asshole to grace your bar.

“I can handle myself, ya know?”, putting up a front that you didn’t need his help. You were grateful. But he doesn’t have to know that.

“Sure.” He shrugged. “Remind me not to interfere, miss independent.” You stare into his deep chocolate brown eyes and lean closer to him.

“What, am I supposed to thank you now?” You tease, taking a cherry and sticking it in your mouth.

“It’d be nice.” He smirks, raising an eyebrow at you. You giggle, leaning over to give him an innocent kiss on the cheek as a token of gratitude.

“Thanks.”

After that fateful day, you and Daichi were attached at the hip. He brought you everywhere with him as if his scene was safe and tidy. Most nights consisted of dressing his wounds after watching him roughhouse at his fight club. You never minded caring for him since you know he’d do the same for you in a heartbeat.

The life he lived, the way he made his money just to get by was terrifying and... exciting. You always came with him for his matches whenever someone had bet big money on him or if some assholes wanna settle a score. You always stood in the loud crowd as they watched, beer bottles and cigarettes littering the concrete ground. Daichi told you to always wear his name chain so that the guys knew who you belonged to, those dudes can get real handsy and Daichi would hate to have to hurt a friend. God, you were such a distraction. Daichi stared at you almost too long; dodging a swing of a knife as he took his opponent down with his bare hands. The crowd smashed more glass against any nearby surface to celebrate, the other half of the crowd booing and hissing.

After he was declared the winner, he got his cut of the bet in cold hard cash; about a nice $200,000. Boy was he frisky after that. His big hands stayed planted right on your ass as he walked you both out and onto the streets to walk home. Your walks were always so peaceful after the boisterous and rowdy night. But tonight, Daichi wanted to claim the second part of his prize. He swiftly scooped you up in his arms, sitting you atop a car parked on the side of the steady street. He pulled his knife out from his back pocket, spreading your legs with his palm.

“Better not make a fucking sound, baby. ‘Else everyone’s gonna hear how much of a whore you are for your daddy.” He grunts, taking the blade to cut your panties apart by the crotch from under your skirt. Your pussy was now on full display for him and quite possibly the ongoing traffic driving by. You shudder as the cold breeze hits your bare skin, looking at him with doe eyes - only making him want you more.

“What? Don’t act like you don’t want it like this, babe.” his voice thick with lust as his thick finger reach up to pinch your nipples through your thin top. “God, look at these.” as his hands grope and squeeze the softness of your breasts. You’re moaning into the air as his lips kiss your neck feverishly, taking your top and lifting it up over your breasts.

“You want my dick don’t you, baby?” He whispers into your ear, your thighs starting to tremble just at the low, brassy tone of his voice. You nod, your cunt fluttering as it starts to drip with slick. Your obedience has him feeling firm, the brunt side of his hard cock starting to grind against you through his jeans. You gasp, Daichi’s hands still pinching and teasing your nipples as his hips grind to make you feel good. You start moving your own hips to follow his movements, Daichi groaning as he watched you try and get yourself off.

“Look at you humpin’ me like a little bitch in heat.” He spat, a whimper leaving your mouth as you start getting desperate. His hands stop your hips in place, his eyes seemingly dilated with a dark appearance.

“Take it out since you want it so bad.. yeah, put it in for me. Work for it, slut.” He demands, tapping your cheek to keep your eyes focused on his. He slaps the other side of your face as he snapped his hips, this chubby cock seemingly splitting you open as you cry out. He starts off brutally, as if he weren’t railing you out in public in the middle of the night on some stranger’s car. You weren’t making the scene any more discreet with all your pathetic groans, your hands pulling at his shirt to hold onto something. Your mind became cloudy, panting and sobbing like a real whore. Daichi’s just enjoying the sight of you ruined underneath him, slapping you in the face once more to snap you back from your daydream causing you to gasp. The sting faded as his hand went to stroke the blow with his thumb, the rest of his hand lifting your chin.

“Look at me. Don’t cum until I say so, got it? I feel your greedy cunt sucking me up already.” He says, thumb pressing up against your clit just to make it harder for you to contain yourself. You feel your walls squeeze him, whimpering with every vein of this cock sliding in and out of your walls so addictively. Your hands claw at his back, drooling into his shoulder as you start trying to grind your hips to change the pace. He grunts and holds you still as he slides his thick cock in and out of you slower to tease you, smirking when you start to cry.

“Pl-Please go faster, Da-Daddy, please, I can’t-” You whine, interrupted by a harsh slap to your outer thigh causing you to yelp.

“You can and you will. Daddy’s almost there, c’mon. You don’t want me to punish you out here, do you?” He coos, opening your mouth by squishing your cheeks together, spitting on your tongue and tapping your chin. You shake your head and try your best to take him for a little while longer, your slick oozing all over the hood of the car you were pinned to. As your eyes roll back, you feel Daichi’s cock start to throb intensely, a sign he was close. Relief was soon to come.

“G’head and cum for daddy, baby. Want you throbbing for me, c’mon, you wanted to cum so bad.” Daichi urged, swiftly flicking your clit to help you. You cum in a flash, white lights shining behind your eyes as you scream his name. Seconds later he fills you, pumping his hot seed into your pussy before pulling out to watch it spill out onto the cold metal of the car.

“Sloppy little whore.” He spits, taking his fingers to scoop it up and shove it inside you, pumping his fingers to secure it inside. You pant, your thighs trembling as Daichi hoists you up on his back to carry you the rest of the way home.

Your eyes close, humming as you lean into his shoulder. A silent “I love you”. The walk was silent and safe, dozing off on Daichi’s shoulder as he trudged through the mean streets of the neighborhood you both lived in.

#haikyuu!! smut #daichi sawamura #daichi smut #haikyuu hinata #haikyuu smut #.club specials 💗💋#.vice city 🎲

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teenagefuckboys · 3 years

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WIP Wednesday

today is definitely not wednesday and this is definitely multiple days late (partly due to the strike against post plus partly because i have very bad imposter syndrome that says i’m not actually a fic writer haha lmao) so here’s a snippet from a kind-of wip that is the fic i’m trying to convince myself to post and am going through the last bouts of editing

i was tagged by @cherrydreamer for this (thank you it made me feel all warm and fuzzy, you’re so kind) and i tag @memes-saved-me @neonponders and @yikesharringrove (and if you’ve already been tagged or would rather not participate, no pressure at all)

so, under the cut is a piece from Talking With a Big Smile (and they haven’t got a clue)

**please be aware: cw for mentioned/implied child abuse

When he climbs out of the Camaro, he already knows he shouldn't be here. Harrington's house is big–huge, really. All lit up on the inside, even though Billy already knows that sweet, puppy-eyed, cutie pie Steve Harrington is all alone. Just like always.

His feet don't even make it to the door before he's turning right back around and walking back to his car. But he can hear the door opening behind him.

"Billy?"

Fuck. He plasters on a fake smirk and tosses it halfway over his shoulder, keeping the ruined side of his face in shadow. "Yeah, it’s me, angel face."

"What’re you doing here?"

“Just in the neighborhood.” he can picture the skepticism on Steve’s face.

“Liar.” Billy says nothing. It’s true. He didn’t know where else to go. “Billy, turn around.” there’s no point in fighting it. He got himself into this mess, made his bed and it’s time to lie in it. Harrington wouldn’t let him off easy.

He turns. The little gasp Steve lets out makes Billy drop his gaze to his feet. It looks worse than it is. “Oh my god.” Steve stumbles onto the porch, one hand reaching out uselessly.

“Sorry, I knew I shouldn't have–I'll go—”

"Get your ass in here, you're not going anywhere." He waits, fists on his hips for Billy to make his walk of shame up to the entryway. "Except maybe the fucking hospital." He mutters angrily, grabbing a fistful of Billy's denim jacket sleeve and tugging him inside. "Upstairs, my bathroom."

They don't meet eyes as they go up the carpeted stairs. Billy can't bring himself to look at Steve. There's a gentle hand on his back, navigating them down the hall. Even though Billy has been there before, hell, the last time he spent the night, he slept in Steve's bed.

Billy barely makes it into Steve's bathroom before he's on his knees, puking up everything in his stomach. Immediately, Steve is on his knees at Billy's side. It's fucking nasty. It makes his head ache and his nose run and his eyes water and Billy feels so goddamn pathetic he wants to scream.

It’s a sign of a good old concussion. He knows it is. They’re familiar at this point.

"Jesus Christ, Billy—" Steve breathes, holding his hair back and rubbing one hand across his shoulders as he coughs into the toilet bowl.

"I'll be fine." It's choked out and Steve obviously doesn't buy it for a second.

The hand holding his hair back shifts and brushes the few curls falling over his forehead back. Billy can feel his face heating when Steve lets his hand pass barely-there over the bruising on his face. "What happened?"

Billy only looks at him. It should be obvious.

Steve has a fire in his eyes that Billy hasn't seen in months. Hasn't seen since their fight. Blessedly, he doesn't start. Instead, Steve pushes himself up and turns to the counter. After puttering around for a moment, with Billy ignoring him, he turns back. With a light nudge, he hands Billy two Dixie cups, one with mouthwash and another with water. "Rinse your mouth and drink this. I'm gonna get the first aid kit and some ice."

For once, Billy does as ordered, no fight put up.

It only takes a few moments for Steve to run and grab what he needs before he's back, closing the toilet and motioning for Billy to sit on the lid.

Billy speaks as Steve wraps a hand towel around an ice pack. "I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be crying to you for help. Not after what I did to you."

Steve presses the ice pack to his nose and lets it flatten under his eye, wincing at the flinch and hiss he gets in return. “Which time?” he asks with faux-innocence. And, okay, ouch. He deserved that one. “Billy." There's a pause, waiting for ocean-blue to meet oak-bark-brown. "I don't hate you, you know that right?”

“Why the hell not.” Everyone else seems to.

"I don't hate you because you do enough hating yourself to cover for the rest of us."

#my fic stuff #tag game #harringrove #harringrove fic #billy hargrove #steve harrington #my wips #might be posting soon #please be kind to me #i am but a fragile baby #im posting this late at night #so that i can avoid the repercussions for upwards of eight hours

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onlyhenrys · 4 years

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‘’It’s a fever’’

@iloveyouyen send me this: Fic idea: napoleon is sick and needs nurturing. There’s a shower, tucking in, getting medication, and spoon-feeding some spicy chicken soup. He sleeps and snores like a tired puppy afterward

I changed it a little bit, but I’m pretty sure you’re still gonna enjoy it <3 I love you babe and I hope you feel better soon

Also, a special thank you to @cloverjean for demanding me to write this story XD

Word Count: 1.4K

‘’I hate this,’’ he mumbled, his eyes drooping as you offered your arm as support. A groan escaped from his lips as he swung his legs out of the cab, leaning heavily on his crutches before falling back in his wheelchair.

You leaned down to press a kiss on his cheek. ‘’That’s what you get for being reckless.’’

You heard him mutter under his breath as you pushed him forwards, towards the house that the two of you shared. Napoleon got injured at one of his missions and even though his wounds had healed, he was still left with a nasty fever that just wouldn’t disappear. The doctors had sent him home to ‘heal’ as he drove them insane by his constant nagging. He just needed you and the thought of finally being able to sleep next to you again already made him feel a lot better.

You turned on the lights as you pushed his wheelchair towards the living room, revealing the re-decorated space. A special hospital team had gone out of their way to make sure that you had everything you needed to take care of him at home. The furniture was pushed to the side as Napoleon wouldn’t have enough strength to sit up for a while, instead replaced with your bed. They even brought extra pillows, making sure that he would be comfortable enough.

You stopped in the middle of the room and crouched down in front of him, placing your hand on his knee. “You think you have enough strength for a shower?”

You could see how much energy it cost him to even lift his head, but he still nodded, a weak smile on his face. “Will you join me?”

You snorted and reached for his crutches, handing them to him. ‘’Yes, Solo. I will join you.’’

His eyes followed you as you moved to stand behind him, ready to wrap your arms around his chest and lift him up from his chair. You intertwined your arm with him and together you made your way towards the bathroom. You were glad that you convinced Napoleon to dress in sweatpants because undressing the heavily built man from his suit would’ve been way too complicated, especially with him on the verge of collapsing.

While he was in the hospital, you bought a shower chair, so you could help him wash, without worrying about keeping him upright.

You turned on the water and waited till it was hot enough, before guiding him to the chair, chuckling slightly as he gasped when the hot water touched his sore skin. You reached for one of the shampoo bottles and the calming scent of lavender filled your nose, dragging a soft sigh from his lips as you massage the perfumed liquid through his soaked strands.

‘’I feel bad,’’ he breathed, his eyes closed as you tipped his head back to rinse the shampoo from his hair.

‘’Why’s that?’’

He pressed his head against your stomach as you moved under the hot stream, his arms wrapped around your waist. ‘’I made you worry,’’ you shivered as he pressed his lips on your skin, ‘’I hate seeing that frown between your eyebrows, especially when it’s my fault.’’

You reached behind him to turn off the shower and grabbed a towel from the rack, draping it around his shoulders, rubbing his arms to keep him warm. You decided to stay quiet, to save the conversation for another time when he wasn’t exhausted and burning with a fever.

Yes, you hated seeing him in that hospital bed; but you knew there was a possibility of him getting hurt when you married him.

You quickly dried yourself off before helping him get dressed, slowly guiding him back to the living room, where his bed was waiting for him. You tucked him in and smiled as his breathing immediately evened out, his body exhausted after their shower. The fading light of the sun lit up the room, embracing him in a golden glow, making him look like a fallen angel, with his dark hair and pale skin. You crossed your arms and watched as his lashes fluttered against his cheeks while he dreamed. His lips parted and a soft snore escaped, causing you to giggle.

You absolutely hated it when he snored, not being able to stand the sound as he kept you awake, but you didn’t mind it now, not after you almost lost him.

You tied your hair back in a ponytail as you made your way to the kitchen, collecting the ingredients for spicy chicken soup. Your mom used to make it for you when you were sick and it was something that always managed to get you back on your feet.

For the next hour, you busied yourself with the soup, Napoleon’s snores filling the silence as you moved around the kitchen, filling a bowl with the scenting dish. You shuffled back to the living room, balancing the bowl in your hands, before placing it on the nightstand. His head lolled to the side, his mouth wide open as he took ragged breaths. You reached out and brushed the pad of your thumb over his cheeks, pressing your lips against his forehead, slowly waking him up.

His bloodshot eyes blinked open, trying to focus on your face, drawing a lopsided smile.

‘’Hello, beautiful,’’ he rasped, before pushing himself up, his face scrunched together with effort, ‘’ do I smell your famous chicken soup?”

You picked up the bowl and he reached for it, trying to pull it from your hands, but you wouldn’t have any of it and held it out of his reach. “Uh, uh, uh, you need to save your strength,” you held back a chuckle as his bottom lip sticks out, creating a small pout, “let me help you.”

You lifted the spoon to his lips and he gazed at you before taking a bite. You watched in amusement as his eyes rolled back and a moan escaped. “I missed your cooking,” he smiled, rubbing his belly, “no one makes spicy chicken soup the way you do.” You rolled your eyes at him and lifted another spoon to his lips, successfully shutting him up.

You managed to feed him half of the bowl before he started to nod off again. You tucked the blankets around his shoulders and moved away from the bed when a burning hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

His cerulean eyes rested on your face, his cheeks red with fever as he pulled you closer to the bed.

“Stay,” he whispered, “please.”

You couldn’t say no to him and walked around the bed to lay down next to him, on top of the covers. He pulled you against his chest and sighed as you placed your cold hands on his skin, cooling him down. His body became limp and you thought he has fallen asleep when he spoke up, brushing his hand through your hair.

“I love you, you know that?”

You lifted your head off his chest and met his gaze. “Of course I know, silly. I love you too.”

He averted his gaze and searched for your hand, holding it tightly in his own. “I just feel like I don’t tell you enough.”

Tears started to build in your eyes and you opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off as he continued. “You mean the world to me,” he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, “and I know that you want to build a family together, so,” his eyes locked with yours, “I decided to quit.”

You gasped, “Leon, are you - “

“I chose you, and I know I should’ve done that years ago, but I can’t change the past,” he took a deep breath and squeezed your hand, “the most important thing is, is that I’m ready now, I’m ready to start a family with you.”

You threw your arms around him and buried your face in the crook of his neck, not minding the sweat that covered his skin. “Thank you, Leon. Thank you,” you leaned back and took a good look at his face, noticing the dark shadows underneath his eyes, “get some sleep, love. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“Sleep now.”

#napoleon solo #napoleon solo x you #napoleon x reader #napoleon solo x female reader #sick fic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill characters #the man from uncle #henry cavill imagines #napoleon solo fluff #napoleon solo fanfic #i secretly love Napoleon Solo

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hexmione · 4 years

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The Quidditch World Cup and The Dark Mark - Fred Weasley Series Part 2

A/N: I really should be doing my school work but I was struck with inspiration and I decided to write part 2 to this Fred Weasley series! This might be a little dramatic but I hope you enjoy. This part is also quite long... Nevertheless, I still hope you enjoy.

This is Part 2 of my Fred Weasley x Reader series! Here is the link to the FIRST chapter “Journey to the Quidditch World Cup - Fred Weasley Series Part 1”

Description: (Y/N) Potter experiences rising anger levels at the Quidditch World Cup, but nothing would prepare her for how she would feel after.

Warnings: A tiny curse word!

Word Count: 2,708

Date Posted: September 10th, 2020

---

You, Harry and Hermione, worked out where the pegs and poles of the tents would go. Once you finished, you were sure that these looked like regular muggle tents.

There was no doubt that once Bill, Charlie, and Percy arrived, there would be no room for all eleven of you. You noticed that Hermione and Harry were having the same thought process.

The three of you shared a quizzical look as Mr. Weasley crawled into the tent, “We’ll be a bit cramped,” he called, “but I think we’ll all squeeze in. Come and have a look.”

You and Harry ducked down and made your way into the tent - you shared a look of astonishment. You had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. You scrunched your nose, oddly enough, there was a strong smell of cats.

You left Harry with the rest of the Weasleys and joined Hermione and Ginny in the tent you three would be staying in.

"Hey! How come your tent doesn't smell like cats?" Ron complained as he entered your tent.

You, Hermione, and Ginny let out a laugh at his misfortune. Ron rolled his eyes, "Hermione, (Y/N), Dad wants us to go find some water while he the others are going to find firewood"

"Firewood? Why can't Dad just light the oven?" Ginny asked.

"That's what I said!" Ron exclaimed, "He said something about anti-Muggle security."

---

You, Harry, Hermione, and Ron set off across the campsite with kettles and saucepans. You were amazed at how many witches and wizards there were in the world.

The four of you began to walk in pairs, Hermione and Ron in the front, you and Harry in the back.

"Harry," you said.

"Hm?" Harry hummed, turning to you.

"What were you and the boys talking about?" You asked, "Right after Cedric left."

Harry flushed, "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

You rolled your eyes, "You're lying."

"No! I'm not!" Harry exclaimed.

"Harry, you seemed upset," you said softly. You made sure to give him the best puppy-dog eyes you could manage. Over the years, you had been able to get anything out of Harry by using that one look.

You smirked as Harry groaned, "You know I hate it when you do that, (Y/N)."

"Are you going to tell me now?" You asked.

"It was nothing, (Y/N)! It was just something George said about Fred."

Your smirk instantly fell, "What about Fred? Are you upset with Fred? Is everything okay?" you asked, wringing your hands.

"I know that you're close to Fred and George, but why are you so concerned?" Harry asked with his brows furrowed.

"I'm not! I just-"

"Do you fancy him?" Harry asked abruptly, cutting you off.

"No!" You said, waving your hands. You felt your face flush.

"Yes, you do!" Harry exclaimed, "I know when you're lying, (Y/N)."

"Harry!" You hissed, "I don't fancy Fred!"

Once you said that, you watched as Harry's face drained of color, "You and Fred. Fred and you."

"What? Harry, what are you on about?" You asked, your face still feeling hot.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing," Harry said, sounding stern.

Before you could respond, green clouded your vision, "Er — is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?” said Ron. You had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. From behind the four of you, you heard your names.

"Harry! Ron! Hermione! (Y/N)!"

It was Seamus Finnigan, your fellow Gryffindor fourth year. He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor.

Before the four of you went to join them, Harry pulled you back, "We'll talk about this later."

You rolled your eyes, you knew your brother could be dramatic at times, but this was completely unnecessary, "I thought you said it was nothing!"

"It is," Harry said as he walked ahead to join Dean and Seamus.

Hermione gave you a look, you rolled your eyes and mouthed, "I'll tell you later."

She nodded in understanding as you all joined Seamus and Dean.

---

“You won’t be getting anything for Christmas,” Harry told Ron, thrusting Omnioculars into Ron and Hermione’s hands. “For about ten years, mind.”

You laughed, "I hope you both know that he's lying."

Your money bags considerably lighter, you went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold.

You made your way to Fred and George, "What in Merlin's name possessed you to give ALL of your gold to Bagman?" you asked in a hushed whisper.

"That, my sweet (Y/N), is for us to know, and for you to find out," George replied with a cheeky grin.

You looked at Fred for a moment and wrung your hands together. You hadn't spoken to Fred since Cedric left, "Fred, can we - can I-"

A deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, cutting you off. At once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field. “It’s time!” said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. “Come on, let’s go!”

---

"Here’s Lucius!” Fudge called. You weren't paying attention to his schpeel about you and Harry to the Bulgarian minister.

You, Harry, Ron, and Hermione quickly turned around. Right behind you and the Weasleys were no doubt the Malfoy family. You almost laughed at Draco's mother, as she was wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose.

There was a tense moment between Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy. You remembered the fight they had in Flourish and Blott's right before you and Harry's second year.

“Good lord, Arthur,” Mr. Malfoy said softly. “What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn’t have fetched this much?”

You scowled, "And who did you have to threaten, Mr. Malfoy?" You replied in a harsh whisper.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry turned to you quickly. Hermione gripped your wrist as a warning. Mr. Malfoy's cold gray eyes looked you up and down, "Ah, the Potter twin. Draco has told me a lot about you," he said as his lip curled.

Fudge, who wasn’t listening, said, “Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He’s here as my guest.”

Mr. Malfoy shot you a smug grin as he turned and stared Hermione. Hermione, who had turned pink, stared right back at him. You knew what he was thinking. You knew what people like the Malfoy family thought of witches and wizards of Muggle descent.

You felt the strong urge to spit on him right then and there, but Mr. Malfoy wouldn't dare say anything in the presence of the Minister of Magic.

Draco gave you, Harry, Ron, and Hermione a scornful look before settling himself between his mother and father.

"I could feel the anger coming off of you," Harry whispered.

"What?" You replied.

"It felt like you wanted to spit on him," Harry answered with a grin.

"I did," you said, "How did you know?"

Harry shrugged, "I just knew."

---

"He was about to jump from the box!" Hermione told you as you were all back in the tent, "I had to pull him back into his seat!"

"What are you guys talking about?" Harry said as he and Ron entered the girls' tent.

"How bloody stupid you two are!" Ginny exclaimed.

"You almost killed yourselves over some Veelas!" you added on. You weren't as upset as you made yourself out to be, but you enjoyed watching the boys squirm.

"It wasn't our fault!" Ron complained, "They're just so..." Ron trailed off with a dreamy look on his face.

"Ugh!" Hermione said with disgust, "Get out! Go to bed!" Hermione stood up from her bed and pushed the boys out. She groaned as she fell back on to her bed.

You and Ginny shared a knowing look as Hermione sat back up, "Anything you would like to tell us, 'Mione?" you said with a smirk.

"Hush!" Hermione said, "And don't act like you weren't upset when Fred was acting the same way!"

"Hey!" you said in protest, your face already feeling warm.

Ginny, who found this exchange absolutely hilarious, was rolling around her bed, laughing, and clutching her stomach.

"Oi! And you!" you said, staring pointedly at Ginny, "you looked as red as your hair when Hermione had to pull Harry down from the ledge of the box."

Ginny suddenly stopped laughing, and all three of you stared at each other in silence, all with red faces.

It only took a moment before you all began to laugh at your foolishness. The three of you were extremely close, seeing as you were surrounded by boys all the time. You loved your brother and the Weasley boys, but you, Hermione, and Ginny understood each other in a way the boys couldn't.

"Shall we go to bed?" Hermione asked.

You and Ginny nodded, suddenly feeling very tired.

Three "goodnight's" rang out through your tent. Hermione turned off the light, and you succumbed to the sensual temptation of sleep.

---

"Get up! (Y/N), Hermione, Ginny, wake up!" Mr. Weasley's frantic yells quickly roused you out of your sleep.

" ’S’ matter?" Ginny mumbled.

"No time! Grab your coats and shoes and meet the boys outside!"

You, Hermione, and Ginny quickly did as you were told. You knew something was wrong from the way Mr. Weasley sounded.

You rushed out of the tent, pulling a coat over your nightdress. You placed a hand over your mouth in horror as you saw a small Muggle child, who was spinning like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side.

Bill, Charlie, and Percy emerged from the tent, fully dressed with their wands out, "We’re going to help the Ministry!” Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. “You lot — get into the woods, and stick together. I’ll come and fetch you when we’ve sorted this out!"

They sprinted off, Mr. Weasley quickly on their heels.

"C’mon," said Fred, grabbing Ginny’s hand and starting to pull her toward the woods. You, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George followed. You all looked back as you reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; you could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.

As you walked in a tight group, Ron yelled in pain.

"What happened?" said Hermione anxiously, stopping so abruptly that you and Harry walked into her. "Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid — lumos!"

"I tripped over a tree root," Ron mumbled angrily.

"With those big oaf feet you have, it'll be hard not to."

You, Harry, Hermione, and Ron turned. Next to you was Draco Malfoy, leaning smugly on a tree.

"Fuck off," Ron snapped.

“Language, Weasley,” said Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. “Hadn’t you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn’t like her spotted, would you?”

His attention was directed at Hermione, "What’s that supposed to mean?" said Hermione defiantly.

You were gripping your wand so tight, you were sure that your knuckles were turning white.

"Granger, they’re after Muggles," said Malfoy. "D’you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around... they’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" you snarled.

"Hermione is a witch," your brother snapped. Just as he could feel the anger radiating off of you before, you could feel it radiating off of him now.

You decided to leave Hermione, Ron, and Harry and catch up with Fred, George, and Ginny. Hopefully, the trio would follow as you left.

When you reached the twins and Ginny, Ginny was the first to notice you.

"Oh, (Y/N)!" She cried in relief. She flung herself on you and gave you a tight hug, her face was red and splotchy as if she had been crying.

"We thought we lost you!" George said as he joined you and Ginny, "Fred was just about to go out of his mind."

Fred silently joined you and looked around, "Where are Harry, Ron, and Hermione?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" you said, "They're right here..." you turned around, and all you saw was the path you came. You assumed that once you left, the other three would follow you.

It was like your world had come crashing down. Harry and Hermione would be targeted, Ron being a pureblood would only do so much. Ron, Hermione, and Harry were practically defenseless.

You detangled yourself from Ginny, "I-I have to go," you managed to stutter.

"What? Are you mad?" Fred snapped.

"I have to find them! They're not safe!" you cried. Ginny took a step back next to George.

Fred moved forward, "You won't be safe if you leave! If you haven't noticed, you're (Y/N) bloody Potter! You're a target too!"

"Oh, so now that I'm in danger you want to speak to me! Fred Weasley, you have been cold to me this entire trip! I don't know what has gotten your wand in a knot, and I don't care! You are not the boss of me, and I will leave and find my brother if I please!" You yelled. You were furious.

"Well, I need to keep you safe!" Fred exclaimed. His face was flushed with anger, and you were sure your face looked the same way.

"You aren't a bloody hero! And I don't need protection!" You shot back. You turned to walk back into the woods but you felt Fred's arm snake around your waist.

"What are you doing! Let go of me!" You yelled. You were on the verge of tears at this point. Your brother and best friends were in unimaginable danger, and you couldn't help them. Harry was the only family you had left. Of course, you had your godfather, Remus, and you had your uncle, Sirius, but Harry was different. Harry was your brother.

"(Y/N), please, darling," Fred whispered in your ear. You had started to cry, heartbreaking cries that left bystanders cold and aching for loved ones they had been separated from. George and Ginny watched. Ginny, with tears, slowly running down her face, and George, with his face stoic, gripping on to his sister's hand tightly.

You and Fred sunk down to the ground, your face still hot and sticky with sweat and tears. You couldn't accept defeat, you needed to find your brother and the rest of your friends.

You pried Fred's arms off your waist and quickly stood up, "I'm sorry, Freddie. I have to go."

Fred looked up at you in shock from the floor. You didn't give a second thought as you quickly took off through the woods, leaving the three Weasleys in the clearing.

Fred stood up silently. He was still in shock. He watched the path in the woods, waiting to see if you would come back.

When you didn't, Fred turned around and kicked the tree Ginny and George decided to sit against. He slumped next to Ginny.

"Fred," Ginny sniffled.

"What?" Fred snapped harshly.

"Why do you have two wands?" Ginny asked timidly. She already knew the answer, but she hoped it wasn't true.

George turned to face his twin, "Oh, Fred. You didn't."

A cold wave of fear and regret washed over Fred, "I took her wand so she wouldn't hex any of us," he said slowly.

"But-" George started.

"Dammit!" Fred yelled, "She's out there with no wand!"

---

Quotes from the book used:

“We’ll be a bit cramped,” he called, “but I think we’ll all squeeze in. Come and have a look.”

“[He] had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen.”

“Er — is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?” said Ron.”

“[They] had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind them, they heard their names”

“It was Seamus Finnigan, [their] fellow Gryffindor fourth year. He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor.”

“You won’t be getting anything for Christmas,” Harry told [him], thrusting Omnioculars into Ron and Hermione’s hands. “For about ten years, mind.”

“[Their] money bags considerably lighter, they went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold.”

“And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field. “

“It’s time!” said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. “Come on, let’s go!”

“[...] here’s Lucius!”

“Good lord, Arthur,” he said softly. “What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn’t have fetched this much?”

Fudge, who wasn’t listening, said, “Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He’s here as my guest.”

“smallest Muggle child, who was spinning like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side.”

“Bill, Charlie, and Percy emerged from the boys’ tent, fully dressed, with their sleeves rolled up and their wands out. “We’re going to help the Ministry!” Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. “You lot — get into the woods, and stick together. I’ll come and fetch you when we’ve sorted this out!”

“C’mon,” said Fred, grabbing Ginny’s hand and starting to pull her toward the wood. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George followed. They all looked back as they reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; they could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.”

“What happened?” said Hermione anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Harry walked into her. “Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid — lumos!”

“Language, Weasley,” said Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. “Hadn’t you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn’t like her spotted, would you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Hermione defiantly.

“Granger, they’re after Muggles,” said Malfoy. “D’you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around . . . they’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.”

“Hermione’s a witch,” Harry snarled.

---

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x reader #george weasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #ginny weasley #hermione granger #ron weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley series #harry potter fic #fred weasley oneshot

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ricaffeine · 4 years

Text

𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐎𝐧𝐞

an: i'm sad because of hyunji drought and this is helping me cope :( but fr if tvn decides to make hotel blue moon then yeaji needs to be in it!!

also very annoying, i can't reply to comments bc this is a side blog (bruh wtf tumblr, i'm so sad should i make a new one?) reblog if you feel like it and my asks are open if you wanna chat 🖤✨

CHAPTER TWO

Weekdays at Seoul's National art gallery were usually the same. Buzzing curators dealing with hot-tempered clients. One thing or another was typically going not right and art directors cried about their wrong coffee order.

Although today was not the usual as to the crowds of bubbly news reporters and dazzled art critiques swarming up the wide place. As to Munyeong on the other hand, she was not pleased to the slightest.

"Just smile at the cameras, don't forget about the paycheck you're getting today." Sangin repeated himself for the fifth time. "Don't cause a scene, just think about the money."

Ah right. The paycheck.

As to The Nightmare Garden was bid off for over ten-million dollars, all of today's fanciness was dedicated to her, nation's celebrated female illustrator. However in all honesty, Munyeong barely liked her so-called masterpiece, but considering the amount of cash it will make her, she could be appreciative for the sake of it.

Behind her oversized sunglasses, Munyeong glared at her pesky manager– if looks could kill, he'd already be eleven feet under his grave. Sangin shut his mouth.

"Let's just get this over with," she simply responded, hooking off her eyewear then strutted into the hall with her long legs. Eyes whipped at her and cameras started to flash intensely, almost blinding her and Munyeong wondered how much those little pests could afford her if they got her blind.

And so the event played on. More pictures were taken– as if they hadn't blind her enough cheerful compliments flowed along with the spring breeze. The insincere joker smile she mastered whilst she met her million-dollar client– according to Sangin a hotel owner, though the woman did not have the looks for it– and the glass of filthy wine she almost had a chance to taste if Sangin's sixth sense was not so creepily fast.

Another dreadful two hours later as the dusk had set, hitting the edges with its golden flare, everyone had left. They got their articles and Munyeong will certainly be getting her pools of cash.

To her displease Sangin had informed her to wait as he had to take care of some paperworks she doubted he went to bribe the press into censoring her quoted inappropriate words.

Nevertheless it was not her bother. She gave his plead a second before storming off to the complimentary section of the building.

Luck on her side, for nobody was there and she was able to grab one of the wine bottles with her– as for a fact it definitely was not stealing.

"Don't be shy, I know you want it."

Munyeong stopped within her steps as soon as an obnoxiously familiar voice echoed from the gallery she previously was in. Curiosity taking the lead, she peaked through the corner and had to muffle her own snort. Stood there, nation's art historian with the sharpest tongue– Choi Seojin.

She finds it hard to believe that his articles are highly known around, or even relevant, when his mouth is full of complete shit. However not disregarding the nastiest tea yet– a frightened girl seized under him. Her hands were locked, frightened eyes grew larger as the man spewed out nasty things.

Instantly, she took out her phone to film the disgraceful scene. Munyeong grinned to herself, reminiscing the rage she felt last time when he mentioned about her mother, and how her irritating manager had interrupted her before she could've sent him down the stairs to Satan.

The man reared into the poor girl's cheek when she attempted to fight him off, and Munyeong's smile dropped.

That piece of shit.

Munyeong entered the room, arms crossed, head high. Her wedge heels clicked against the hardwood as she let out an unamused wow.

Mad dog– what she personally thinks he should be called– 's head whipped at her with wide eyes. Like a child getting caught of lying.

"Oh my. Your hobbies are quite interesting Mr. Choi. Talking shit and sexual harassment?" Munyeong spat. "The girl looks like she'd rather kill herself, why are you even trying?"

As if he thought he could get away with what he just did, mad dog released his foul grip on the girl. Munyeong clicked her tongue and tauntingly held out her phone.

"Oh no, don't bother pretending. Judging by the looks, that won't even favor you at this point." She spared a glance at the quivering girl. "Why are you waiting? Go."

Shakingly and with thankful eyes she nodded and left, her footsteps filling void of silence before it coated the air again.

Mad dog snickered, as if there was something to laugh about. "Don't mess with me Ms. Ko. You know me, I won't die alone."

"Certainly I'll drag you and Mr. Lee down with me. Why do you think they call me the suicide bomb?"

Munyeong walked towards him and spreaded a smile, though even dogs could tell you shouldn't push her further. "You mean the bastard you can't fall down without dragging everyone else with him? Why?"

"I can destroy your career with the tip of my pen, I'm sure you know." He gave her a look, panning out his hand. "Now if you hand me your phone, I think we can compromise something."

Munyeong unraveled her arms, eyes hardening at his next sentence. "You think so?"

"Nation's beloved artist turned out to have antisocial personality disorder. What do you think will happen when people find out?" Mad dog sneered. "Her mother who mysteriously commited suicide–"

"Shut up." She warned. His words lit up the flame from their last encounter, adding fuel to her burning fire. Her head pounded, hard. For a moment she had hoped that if he proceeded as she said, then things would not have to get ugly.

"And her father? Spending his last days in the psychiatric hospital."

But men never listen, do they?

Munyeong tightened the hand around her bottle and striked it at him with full force. The bottom part crashed the wall behind him– just above the hung painting- glass shattered as rich burgundy stained its way down, smearing all over. Its taste fused with the air and Munyeong glowered at the creature who dodged her flawless aim.

"You crazy bitch!" He yelled, scrambled on the floor. But Mad dog was quick to lunge at her, they both hit the ground, stumbling as her open purse had been knocked away– and Munyeong's eyes landed on something very specific.

She was quicker, getting on her feet and spared the bastard a strong kick in the groin, leaving him groaning as she reached for her pen.

Her favorite calligraphy pen– its lining was stunning, coated in shiny teal with hints of gold, but most importantly, the dangerously sharp tip. The way it writes like reaping out blood from your hand– hence why it is a favorite.

She hawled back over and he screamed at her, though she didn't hear him. Her head was light as she felt blood rushed through her veins. Munyeong raised her arm and struck it back down.

Die.

Both of them froze. No, not her and mad dog, but him.

Deafening silence had lied between the walls and there they stood, eyes pierced into another's souls. Hers burned like fire, but his were dignified like the deep ocean.

Droplets of blood trickled down his forearm and splattered the floor, staining the rolled up sleeves of his crisp white shirt. What a waste.

"Let go. You can't kill him." The man– still with a bloody pen graved in his palm said.

Munyeong couldn't help but scoff, especially after that fucking bastard had just strangled her. "Don't be dramatic. I was just going to give him a few scratches."

Well maybe that's not entirely true.

Rough scrambling erupted underneath them, but when Munyeong turned to look, the mad dog had just ran off, like a lost puppy. Angrily she bit her lip, close to drawing blood until she felt the man draw his own hand back.

She watched as he did. The way he carefully slid her pen into his jacket and brought out a black silk handkerchief. Very rarely, she'd be astonished by something, and now it's him. Though she found it quite difficult to understand him– since when do you interrupt another's stabbing session by screwing up your own hand instead, and also the audacity to tell her she could not stab somebody?

So lost in her thoughts it took her a few seconds to realize her pulse was not pounding anymore.

"Did anyone not tell you that it is basic etiquette to not pry into someone else's business?" Munyeong said– seized the napkin from him, and began to tie a knot. She shot him a glance.

No reply. The man simply stared at her.

"Hmm?" She raised a brow, amused at his slight flinch when she tugged a little harder.

"Don't stress it too much, my manager will take care of our little incident." Munyeong chuckled as he proceeded to ignore her. "Do you know what? There are a lot of people in this world who deserve to die. And some very thoughtful freaks secretly take care of that, so clueless humans can sleep peacefully at night, completely unaware. Which one do you think I am?"

She dropped his hand, anticipating for his answer. Flares of light shined through the blinds, sharpening at his strong features and she noted his small– yet devilish smile.

"A clueless freak."

He finally responded, leaning towards her. His eyes traced her face, gazing down at her lips for a second too long, before their eyes were locked once again. "And of course you will have to pay, but at what price?"

taglist -> i could not tag some of ya'll :( @anotherdush @callmeashipper @ourcoffeeaddictme @nothingcreativeyet @pancat @hotstuff-benswolo @lookingatthesunset @evielovesfood @waywarm @gloster @hello-79 @ailander

#it's okay to not be okay #psycho but it's okay #iotnbo #pbio fic #kdrama #kim soo hyun #seo yea ji #ko mun yeong #ko moon young #moon kang tae #hotel blue moon #hotel moon light

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m-y-fandoms · 4 years

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Korekiyo Shinguuji x reader fluff

Request: Hello!! ✨ Can i request something fluffy with Korekiyo (it would be nice if it would be with his pregame version (but original is okay, too))? Maybe he's having a sleepover with reader? Thank you in advance ✨ I really like your writing. Your oneshots and imagines make my day!!

Okay I’m gonna de pregame Korekiyo like you asked! So just a tall, lanky, beautiful man with a face mask. No incest and lipstick or killing game lmao. Also I’ll make him interested in anthropology but not the Ultimate/SHSL - Admin Kokichi

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to impose…” your best friend, Korekiyo Shinguuji, stares at you from behind his black dust mask with a concerned gaze. His brows are furrowed deeply in the center.

Korekiyo had gotten into a fight last night with his legal guardian, his older sister. Apparently, it had been a nasty one, unlike anything that’s happened between them before. It gotten so bad that she kicked him out of the house, with no word of when he would be allowed back in.

“Yeah, of course, Kiyo! We are buds right? You’re my bestie! I can’t let my bestie just spend the. night alone in some hotel or sleep out in the street, now can I?”

“But Y/N-”

“Would you let me go sleep in the street if it were me?”

“No, I suppose not, but-”

“Then any argument you have in invalid. Case closed!” You closed your notebook on your desk haughtily as if to signify the end of the conversation. Korekiyo sighed, a slight blush on his cheeks as he placed his head down on his desk with anxiety.

“You’re sure your parents are okay with it?” He mumbled, his black hair cascading down his back and shoulders and splaying out around his desk.

“Well…”

“Y/N…” he warned, scolding you like a mad mother.

“They will be out of town this entire week. My dad always travels for work and my bitch of a stepmother has to stay attached to his hip like a leech at all times so-”

“Then me staying over seems highly inappropriate. I’m sure your father would-”

“Don’t make me guilt you into coming over. You’re my friend. You’re in need, and I love spending time with you! Please?” You reached over and pulled on the sleeve of his exorbitantly-priced sweater with eyes wide like a puppy dog.

“You win this time, Y/N, but if your father finds out and becomes hostile toward me, I’m going to blame you…” he joked breathily, shaking his head at his stubborn best friend. He couldn’t help but give into your every want and desire, and you often pulled him into your schemes and plans. Well...he called them schemes, but he was just a goody-two-shoes, so anything not morally immaculate or life-enriching was considered foolish to him.

“Then it’s settled.” You nearly squealed. You’d been waiting forever to have him over to your house, but he’d always declined. You’d known him for about a year, and still your humble abode had remained a mystery to him. He lived with his older sister who took care of him after their parents died, and she was extremely strict with him. He was never allowed to come over after school. You’d been to his place once or twice, but always with supervision and strictly for studying or some other educational activity. If you wanted to spend time after school, he had to lie to her about where he was going and why. Finally, you’d have your crush, your best friend over to your home.

You had to admit to yourself, you did feel a little guilty about the whole situation. You were inviting him over for mainly selfish reasons. Yes, he was your best friend and you’d never let him go without a place to stay, but there was a large part of you that just wanted the boy you liked alone and to yourself for a night or...maybe two, if this first sleepover went well. Unfortunately though, your crush on him weighed heavily on you. You felt horrible for keeping this secret of your feelings from him, because he trusted you with everything. You were so scared that letting him know that you wanted to be more than friends would ruin the close bond you two had. Yeah...it would be way too awkward to remain friends afterward if he rejected your feelings.

You both were let out after the last class of the day. Korekiyo walked you back home every single day since you’d become friends. At first, you found it a bit embarrassing, seeing as he was one of the kids from the rich neighborhoods around your school and you lived in a middle-class suburb a bit further away. Your fears about your class-difference with your best friend quickly faded as you got to know him. It became clear within weeks of hanging out that he would never judge you based on financial status, whether you lived in a trailer or a palace. That was just one of the many things you loved about him. And boy could you list a bunch…

He was intelligent, a straight-A student and teacher’s pet. He had endless wisdom and knowledge of both practical things and useless trivia. He gave the best advice, and was so passionate about both his hobbies and yours. You could talk with him forever without the topic getting dry.

His looks only enamored you to him further. He was tall and slender, with a perfectly built frame. Unlike your peers, he never got acne, and his complexion was pore-less and smooth like marble. He was pale, and his eyes stood out like flecks of gold against an ivory surface. His hair was healthier and more majestic than any female you knew. It was long, all the way down his back, and was the deepest, darkest shade of black with delicate bangs that fell across his forehead. He was absolutely gorgeous, but for some reason he still had self-esteem issues. For this reason, he always wore a dust mask over his mouth and nose that concealed his entire lower face. You could never understand why. Everyone at school either liked him or was jealous of him, and he had nothing to hide from anyone.

He tried to lie to you at first, stating that he had a weaker constitution and because of frequent illness and hospital visits, his sister made him wear it, but once you got closer, he admitted he liked hiding his face and it made him feel comfortable. He customized his masks, or commissioned them to be specially made, having embroidery on them or patchwork and sometimes shelling out for the more expensive leather or designer masks...which you didn’t even know existed until you met him.

You’d tried to convince him multiple times that he was beautiful and had nothing worth covering up, but he insisted upon wearing the masks in public at least. After knowing him for a few months, he let you see his bare face, but only at his house. And man...were you blown away. He almost...looked like a woman without the mask. But not? It was hard to explain. He was like some kind of gender-less, androgynous deity. He certainly had a strong, masculine brow and jaw, but then his lips were pert and plump and soft...soft-looking at least. They were gentle and the cupid’s bow dipped down low and rounded out. He had a wide, manly chest and slender waist, but long eyelashes. Large, veiny hands, but delicate skin and hair. He was absolutely heavenly to look at. That first time, when you’d seen him without his mask, you knew you were falling hard, and it made you sweat and your heart speed up. You were always so scared that you’d go too far or flirt by accident and he’d catch on and pull away from your friendship. It hadn’t happened yet, thankfully.

It was raining, pouring down actually, and you two rushed down the street side by side, backpacks over your heads for protection from the downpour.

“I apologize. As you know, I would usually have an umbrella but after she kicked me out last night, Miyadera has refused to let me go in and get anything that I didn’t have on my person at the time.” He was right, he was always prepared for any possibility, and his sister had now made that impossible.

“It’s fine. I read the forecast this morning. I should’ve brought one as well,” you yelled, the rain pelting you both loudly. “We really should get a car or something. We’re seniors for fuck’s sake.” We? You didn’t know why you’d said that. He was his own person and probably could afford to buy you both cars with his own pocket money.

Why did you even say that?

“Ah, but walking is better exercise! It’s good for us! Besides...Miya won’t let me buy one... you know that. She practically controls all of my funds.”

“Kiyo, you’re 18 now, get your damn money back!”

“I’m scared…” he chuckled, only half-joking. It was true, you both had turned 18 recently and were about to graduate, but his sister still treated him like a little kid. Pretty ironic, as you wouldn’t kick a little kid out onto the street on their own.

You passed his neighborhood, and he looked up at it longingly, raindrops substituting tears dripping down his cheeks. You could tell this was weighing on him. He loved his home, it was where he felt safe, and he hated fighting with his sister. She was a tough guardian, yes, but she gave up her life as a young woman in her prime to raise him.

You were approaching your street now, both of you soaked down to your socks and hoping your bags didn’t also soak through. You both had many folders of homework and electronics inside that would all be ruined if so. You reached the curb, waiting to cross into your neighborhood, when an unruly teen in his beaten-up sedan screeched by, speeding past you two carelessly. You grabbed Korekiyo’s pale, cold hand, startled by the sudden volume of the law-breaking vehicle, and you both gasped as its wheels dug into the puddle in front of you just below the curb, and splashed onto you both like a tidal wave.

“Fuckin’ asshole!” You yelled, charging forward after the car until a hand landed firmly on your shoulder, holding you back. You swore the rain would begin to evaporate and steam up into the air with how hot your skin was right now. You were royally pissed off.

“Y/N if he’s the type of man to do that, what do you think talking to him would accomplish? Also, do you really think it’s possible to catch up to a speeding vehicle on foot?” Always the voice of reason. Always so calm and mature. You usually admired that in him, but right now you were seeing red, and his dismissal of your mood made you a bit ticked off at him as well.

“But! I-gah! Aren’t you pissed? He just-”

“Got us wet? We were already wet.”

“But he did that on purpose!”

“I know. Being irate changes nothing. Come on, once we are inside I’m sure we can get warm and dry off. I’ll keep you warm,” he smiled gently behind his mask, his eyes crinkling. Your cheeks would’ve heated up had your body not already been aflame from rage. You didn’t know why you were always so flustered when he was caring toward you or touched you or even mentioned touching you. You felt gross reveling in his platonic intimacy so much. It felt like you were taking advantage of his kindness. Yes, he could keep you warm once you got home. That was normal. You two always cuddled or held hands or leaned on each other. You were just that close. But it was all just casual, as friends...right?

“Y-yeah. You can shower and I have some baggier, more comfortable clothes you can wear to hang out and sleep in. I think those should fit.” Korekiyo was taller than you and awfully skinny but you had some general sweatpants and oversized t-shirts that you were sure would fit anyone comfortably. You knew Korekiyo was used to the best and most expensive textiles and fashion, but for just hanging out at your house? It should be fine.

“That’s very kind of you, thanks.” You were sure he was thinking: how could you put me in peasant-wear, but he would never say that aloud to you. “Why do you have that awful look on your face? Did I say something to offend you, Y/N?” He took your hand in his as you reached your front door and rummaged through your bag for your house keys, Korekiyo holding his phone’s flashlight over your bag to assist you.

“No, I’m fine, Kiyo, why?” The keys jingled in the lock and you opened the door.

“You know you can’t lie to me, Y/N,” his voice dropped into a low rumble, and you got chills down your spine. He was just so...sexy without even trying.

“I just...sometimes I feel bad that you spend so much time with me or like I’m not enough, like the rest of our classmates who live in that bougie housing plan of yours...like with the clothes I’m giving you tonight. I feel like you deserve better or like...like what if those kids start to judge you one day because you’re hanging out with people that are beneath you.”

“Y/N,” he stopped you, rolling his eyes as you both dropped your soaking bags and overcoats on the floor on your living room, “You’re my ‘bestie’ as you always say,” he chuckled dryly. “Do you really think I care what clothes I’m wearing when we are alone or what any of our peers think of my friendship with you? I know you know me far better than that… where is this all coming from? You’re unusually… emotional today,” he took your hand once again, leading you to the couch, but pausing before sitting down with you. “I do not wish to soak your couch. That shower would be nice about now,” you could see the pallor of his skin, coated like wet porcelain as he shook slightly.

“Y-yes! Well okay, we have a bathroom in my parent’s master bedroom and one just in the hallway for guests and myself. You can take the master bedroom one, it’s much nicer,” you stuttered.

“Why do you insist on babying me and always thinking I need pampered or require only the finer things in life? I was born wealthy, I don’t need all of those things. I think your house is wonderful,” he gestured around him, “just like you!” He encouraged you before letting you lead him upstairs. You ran to the bathroom closet then to your room, leaving him in the dark hallway alone for just a moment. He observed the photos on your wall, the paint, the carpet. Why would he judge you for any of this?

You returned with the sleep-wear you promised and a fresh towel.

“You can go ahead and use anything in there. My dad won’t even notice. B-but... if you don’t like his soaps and shampoos let me know. I have quite the skincare and bathing collection!” You were a little proud of that fact, and he smiled at the happiness finally leaking back into your attitude.

“I’m sure it will all be fine. Thank you, Y/N.” He nodded, taking the towel and clothes from you before heading into your father’s room. You turned on your heel, fetching what you needed before taking a shower of your own in the hallway’s smaller bathroom.

You sighed, but not in relief or relaxation, letting the hot water fall over you and loosen your tense muscles. You felt just so...fucked up. Conflicted. Confused. Guilty...love-struck. You didn’t know what to do and felt extremely overwhelmed.

Tonight would be the best opportunity to tell him how you feel: alone, private, cozy and warm, cuddling up together? Yes, that was perfect...but at the same time, if he rejects you, then what? He leaves immediately and has nowhere to go? Or maybe he stays the night to be polite and there’s an awkward silence between you for the rest of your lives...what if he avoids you after school and no longer wants to go to the same university as you?! Your head was spinning.

Why am I such a coward...you thought to yourself, tears mingling with the shower water.

When you finally dried off and got dressed, Korekiyo was already waiting for you in your room, having turned on your electric blanket on your bed and sitting patiently waiting for you underneath it. His hair was damp and his mask was on your night stand. He acknowledged your entrance with a warm grin and patted the bed next to him.

“Why are you in bed? It’s only like five, I was thinking we would go downstairs and cuddle on the couch and eat something-” you approached him slowly and he cut you off.

“Goodness, Y/N, what’s wrong?” He stood to meet you, inches away and towering over you.

“Huh?” He took your chin in his hands and tilted it upwards to meet his dandelion-colored eyes.

“Your eyes are all puffed up. You’ve been crying? Why?” Wow…

“You never miss a thing, huh, Kiyo?” You tried to change the subject or lighten the mood or...anything!

“Only when it comes to you~” he hummed before leading you down the stairs and onto your couch. You dragged along behind him like a child being forced to the dentist. “Now, what’s upsetting you? You can tell me anything, you know that…” his eyes were full of concern and he but his lower lip, apprehensive.

“Kiyo, I- well….it’s just...nothing’s wrong. Let’s go get some snacks. I know you love soup dumplings with white rice~” You smiled weakly.

“First of all, that’s more of a meal than a snack, but anyway, you know you can’t lie to me, Y/N.”

“I just...I just want...this is so hard.” You sighed, voice faltering.

“What’s so hard? Me sleeping over, or your dad being gone? The rain earlier?”

“No no.... I want you here and you know I don’t miss my dad...a-and I feel much better after washing up…” your voice trailed off. He took your hand one final time that night.

And then...

“May I kiss you?” Kiyo spoke so gently, so scared and soft, like he couldn’t even believe his own words. Your eyes widened in shock.

“W-what?!” You pulled away from him, incredulous.

“I want to kiss you, Y/N. Will you allow me?” You paused for a moment, your mind reeling, but then you nodded slowly, your brain taking over and deciding it knew what was best for you.

Korekiyo leaned in, the couch squeaking a bit at the shift of weight. He clasped your chin with one hand, and guided you to him. His lips pressed gently into yours, as if he thought he might break you if he went any further. His lips were plush, surging with warmth, exactly how you’d always imagined them. After pecking you, he pulled back, looking for consent, looking for a sign that you enjoyed that, too. You nodded, getting the hint, and he pressed back onto you, a bit more liberal with his affection this time around.

“Mmm…” you moaned into the kiss as you both tilted your heads at an angle to reach deeper, and his mouth slid open. His tongue trailed against your bottom lip and you opened up without hesitation, your heart going a mile a minute. His tongue massaged yours carefully for a long moment that seemed frozen in time, and then he pulled back. You both sat staring at each other, panting a bit, until a smirk teased across the corner of his lips, and a blush appeared on his normally-concealed face. “H-how...how did you know?”

“I’ve always known…” you felt a wave of embarrassment and shame wash over you. “You’re not good at hiding it.”

“Kiyo...I’m so sorry. I know we are just friends and I shouldn’t feel this way. I just- you are...I can’t stop feeling this way.”

“Y/N...did you think I asked to kiss you out of pity…?” He saw something like realization register in your expression, and he reached out, pulling you into his chest.

“You...you feel the same?”

“Exactly the same.” You didn’t feel so guilty anymore. “And I suppose we both were just too afraid of rejection to say anything. But knowing you, I knew I would have to make the first move if I ever wanted you to myself…” he hugged you tighter with those words.

“Y-yeah, I’m sorry about that...Kiyo, I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you.”

“And I should’ve told you, but there’s no use feeling guilty. We both want this.”

“Kiyo, will you...be my boyfriend…?” You now knew his true feelings, but still felt a lump in your throat. What if he didn’t want a committed, serious relationship right now, or his sister wouldn’t allow it...?

“I want that more than anything.”

You spent the rest of the night cooking soup dumplings, then shoving your faces with the greasiest snacks money could buy and watching documentaries while snuggled into his lap on the couch. He pointed out little facts and trivia along with each documentary, his obsession for culture and anthropology unabashedly taking over.

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hailing-stars · 3 years

Text

@febuwhump day 24 memory loss

some kind of dad

summary

Tony walked over and opened the balcony door, just as his suit landed with Spider-Boy in its arms.

“Peter,” said Tony. “There was glass there.”

All he got was a muffled groan filled with pain.

Tony directed his suit to lay Peter on the couch, where the boy ripped off his spidey mask and revealed a head full of blood caked hair.

“Jesus, kid, did you really hit the window that hard?”

Peter interrupts Tony’s peaceful evening at home with some blood and a head injury.

Tony kicked his feet up on the coffee table, and nursed a glass of scotch. His eyes lingered on the fireplace. Logs crackled under the pressure from the flames, and it was incredibly relaxing when paired with the scene outside of his penthouse window, the New York City skyline peppered with giant, puffy snowflakes.

He took a sip of scotch and savored the moment. A moment of peace was a rare oddity in the life of Tony Stark. Even rarer after acquiring an intern with zero self-preservation skill and an annoyingly large and burdensome sense of responsibility.

Tony had to enjoy the tranquility while he could. It was sure to be short-lived.

So Tony wasn’t shocked when it happened. When his peaceful night was disrupted. Actually, he saw it coming. Literally. He took his eyes off the fireplace, and glanced at the window. He saw a blue and red blur quickly approaching his penthouse.

He was wondering what kind of trouble this visit would bring when Peter hit the penthouse window like an insect against a windshield. Peter began to fall, and with a tired sigh, Tony told Friday to have a suit fly down and catch him before there were spider-guts all over the sidewalk.

Tony walked over and opened the balcony door, just as his suit landed with Spider-Boy in its arms.

“Peter,” said Tony. “There was glass there.”

All he got was a muffled groan filled with pain.

Tony directed his suit to lay Peter on the couch, where the boy ripped off his spidey mask and revealed a head full of blood caked hair.

“Jesus, kid, did you really hit the window that hard?”

“This happened before the window, actually,” he muttered with a grimace.

Tony figured that it made sense why he hadn’t noticed the glass and had smacked right into it. He’d already obtained a pretty gruesome head injury.

“That glass is hard,” whined Peter. He stared straight up, at the ceiling, and Tony felt his face crease with worry.

“Yeah, genius, it’s bulletproof.” It was more than bulletproof, actually. It was strong enough to withstand most blows. After aliens visited your planet, you didn’t take chances on home security.

“And Spider-Man proof.” He sounded

Tony sat on the edge of the couch, and rested his hand on his leg in some foreign and awkward attempt to provide some comfort.

“How’s the pain?”

“Awful,” said Peter. He wiggled around on the couch, getting blood all over the cushion, while he tried and failed to get comfortable. “Downsize of fast healing is that it hurts like hell.”

“Better let me have a look at it.”

“No way,” said Peter. Tensing up.

“I’m just gonna look and see if it’s bad enough to warrant a trip to the medbay.”

The look of disgust and annoyance that flashed across Peter’s face was purely teenager.

“Either that, or I can just have Helen get a bed ready for you without me checking.”

“Fine,” said Peter, with a huff. “Just be… careful.”

“You act like I’ve never had to do this before,” said Tony.

The Avengers were prone to hurting themselves. Not even on missions, but in everyday, mundane situations, like that time Bruce slipped and hit his head in the lab, or when Clint had gotten stuck in the ceiling vent.

Tony stood above him, while Peter watched him warily. He gently swiped some of Peter’s bloody hair to the side to get a glimpse of the nasty gash on his head.

“It doesn’t look that bad, actually,” said Tony.

“Easy for you to say,” said Peter, through gritted teeth, and with closed eyes.

“Well running into a glass window probably made it worse.”

Peter popped a single eye open. “Does this mean I don’t have to go to medbay?”

“Yep.”

“Good.”

Tony chuckled. “I have no idea why you hate it so much.��

“Overexposure.”

“That’s a fair point.”

He felt the strange urge to give him a lecture about being careful. Felt parental. Felt like something he’d promised himself he’d never do again again he’d wagged his finger around at the boy after that ferry incident, like he was somebody’s dad.

“Okay.” He clapped his hands together. “Medicine time.”

“I need the special -”

“Specially strong stuff for strangely superpowered kids,” finished Tony. “Yes, I know. I keep them stashed all over the place. With how often you get hurt, it’s like I have a damn pharmacy in my kitchen.”

Tony strolled over to the kitchen, and unlocked the cabinet he kept the pills in. He’s about to search for a bottle of water, when Peter started shouting requests from the couch.

“Got any ice cream, Mr. Stark?”

“You have a head injury and you want ice cream?”

“Sure,” said Peter. “It’ll give me brain freeze, and it’ll make my head injury so numb, I won’t be able to feel it.”

Tony rolled his eyes, though he wished the world worked according to Peter Parker’s logic.

“That’s what the medicine is for,” said Tony. He handed Peter the bottle and two small pills, and watched as he struggled a bit to sit up, ignoring Tony’s offer of assistance.

“No ice cream?” asked Peter, with the puppy dog eyes.

“Medicine first,” said Tony. “Then we’ll see if you feel like eating ice cream.’

“Fine.” He threw the pills in his mouth, and gulped down some water to wash them down. “Still think ice cream might’ve been more effective than pain relievers.”

“Yeah, maybe in a movie,” said Tony. “What were you doing out in a blizzard anyway? Don’t the weirdass villains you fight take snow days?”

“Wasn’t fighting a villain,” he grumbled. “I slipped on some ice outside of Delmar’s.”

“You make it a habit to go and get sandwiches dressed in your Spidey suit? And in the middle of a blizzard?” Tony didn’t think he could stress the blizzard part enough.

“That was just a pit stop,” said Peter. “You know, May’s stuck at the hospital for an overnight shift, and the apartment was kind of empty, so I just figured we could hang out? If you didn’t already have any plans -”

“I’d love to hang out, Pete.” Tony cut him off, stopping the kid mid-ramble, when it clicked that the kid got injured on the way over to see him, and that he wasn’t just coming to see him because he’d gotten hurt. “Besides, you’ve already bled out on my couch. It’d be just rude to leave now.”

Peter laughed.

“How’s the head feeling now? Double vision? Memory loss?”

“No,” he said. “I’m - I’m good.”

“Good,” said Tony. “Think you can manage changing into PJs without falling over? And cleaning some of that blood out of your hair?”

Peter’s nod was slow and uncertain enough to convince Tony that he definitely couldn’t manage it on his own.

Tony helped him to the guest room, where Peter had his own drawer of clothes. It didn’t strike Tony as odd until that moment.

His penthouse had changed in small, but significant ways, since Peter Parker had crashed into his life and made himself at home. The guest room might as well be called Peter’s room, the stashes of extra painkillers, the textbook Tony had pulled out of his couch cushions just a week earlier and had to deliver to Peter while he was at school.

He thought about this while Peter sat on his bed, and while Tony searched the drawer for something comfortable for him to wear. He stopped. Took another glance at the kid.

“You trickster.”

“What?” asked Peter.

Tony didn’t elaborate. He went back pulling out t-shirts and pajamas pants, mentally mulling over the fact that Peter Parker had turned him into some kind of dad, forever cancelling out any chance he ever had at a bit of peace and quiet, and he actually didn’t mind it that much.

Peace and quiet was overrated. Tony lived for the interruptions.

#febuwhumpday24 #irondad #irondad fic #my fic #injured Peter parker #head injury

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skieswords · 3 years

Text

Pull Through Part 6

Please read the warnings in Part 1❤️

Trigger warning, mentions of physical abuse, self-harm, vomiting.

They pulled into the driveway, Becca's hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. Alex placed a hand over them, nodding at her, before stepping out of the car, and coming round to let her out. He took her hand again, and walked into the house by her side, kicking his shoes off as she did the same. Becca took a deep breath and dropped Alex's hand, stepping into the kitchen, and blinking under the sudden light. "Rebecca, happy birthday. Did you have a good day?"

Becca nodded at her dad with a weak smile, and made her way to the fridge, taking out a bottle of water. "Yeah it was pretty good. I got an A in my english exam, by the way." Graham nodded from his seat at the table, his tie resting beside him and the top few buttons of his shirt undone. A few empty beer bottles sat on the table in front of him, another one in his hand. "Fine. What about math? And science?" There was a slight sneer in his voice, and Becca looked at her feet, shuffling awkwardly. "I've got those exams next week. I'll pass them though, promise." Graham snorted quietly, and polished off the beer in his hand, slamming it down on the table with a little too much force. "Yes, you will." Becca nodded and turned to leave, but he spoke before she could. "Grab us another beer, hon." She looked back at him, taking in his dishevelled hair and glassy eyes. "Dad, don't you think you've had enough?" Alex took a deep breath from where he was standing outside the door. Obviously she was feeling brave. "Who are you to tell me when I've had enough? God, you sound like your whore mother." Alex flinched, and took another step towards the doorframe, trying to build up the courage should he need to intervene. Becca's voice, strangely confident, filled the kitchen again. "Don't talk about mom like that. She deserves more respect." Graham's chair scraped against the kitchen tiles, and he stood up, frothing at the mouth. "Don't talk to me about respect in my own house. You're all the same, you, your mother, that boy. Disrespectful, ungrateful bastards, the lot of you. Don't know why I stick around. And you, throwing all of my hard work back in my face, failing your classes? I'm embarrassed to call you my kid." Alex's heart sunk at his dad's words, the words scarily reminiscent of the speech he'd recieved when he came out. Becca clenched her fists and grit her teeth. So much for best birthday yet. "God, I'm so sick of you treating us like this! I try my ass off, dad, but it's never good enough! You've stopped acknowledging Alex's existence all together. He's still your son! Just because he'd rather kiss guys, doesn't make him any less Alex than he was before. He deserves better than you." Graham was seething, stalking towards Becca with his empty beer bottle in hand. "Shut up, little girl. No-one cares what you have to say." Becca scoffed and drew back her shoulders, standing up tall. "You know what? Yeh, they do. And one day, you're gonna realise that. And then you'll be sor-" She was cut off by a sickening crack, and Alex jumped into the kitchen just in time to find Graham standing over Becca's kneeling form, her forehead cradled in her hands. Blood was seeping through her fingers, and Alex noticed the shattered beer bottle with a look of horror. "Get out." Graham was in shock, looking at the blood dripping onto his kitchen floor. He looked up at Alex, almost afraid. "Get out. You heard me." He fumbled for his keys, and ran past the Mercer kids, not sparing Becca a second glance as she whimpered quietly. Alex listened for the sound of tires against the gravel, and felt his shoulders relax as the familiar crunch sounded through the house. He fell to his knees and placed his hands on Becca's shoulders. "Bex? Bex look at me. Let me see. Bex?" Becca groaned and looked up slightly, wincing as her hand brushed against her forehead. She pulled her fingers away, and Alex hissed as he saw the nasty gash across her forehead. He struggled not to panic, forcing down the overwhelming sense of terror in his chest. Taking a deep breath, he reached out for her hands, helping her to her feet. "Fuck. Okay, come on, up you get. We gotta get you to the hospital." Becca leaned on Alex heavily as he helped her out the door, folding over in her seat when they reached the car. Alex watched her out the corner of his eye, clenching and unclenching his fists around the steering wheel. Becca's whimpers were only just audible, her shoulders trembling slightly. He was grateful for that at least- the only thought circling his head was the fear she might pass out.

They pulled up to the hospital, and Alex wasted no time, helping Becca out of the car and through the front doors, his hand round her waist. "Hey, is our mom working?" The receptionist looked up at him in surprise, taking in Becca's appearance. "Another skating accident honey? We told you to start wearing a helmet after the last one, didn't we?" Alex bit his tongue, remembering their last visit to the hospital 6 months ago, when Becca had needed stitches after being thrown down the stairs like a rag doll by their dad. The feeling in his stomach that night, seeing her body lying at the bottom of the stairwell, sprawled out, while blood trickled down her forehead, was one he'd never forget. She'd been knocked unconscious, and for a moment, Alex had feared the worst. But luckily having a mom for a doctor came in handy sometimes, and she'd gotten them straight to the hospital, with strict instructions to call it a skating accident. Alex was tempted to tell the truth, but wasn't given the chance, as Becca smiled weakly and nodded. "Yeah, sorry Naomi. I thought I'd be fine but, guess not!" The dark haired woman shook her head fondly, and brushed down her purple scrubs, before picking up the phone and dialling a number. "Hi, is Julia there? Can you tell her her kids are down here? Her daughter needs some stitches by the looks of things." Becca leant into Alex, his arm now wrapped protectively around her shoulder. Naomi set the phone down and looked at the two of them with kind eyes. "Go to room 211- your mom will meet you there. And, by the way, happy birthday sweetheart!" Becca forced a smile to the kind nurse, before turning away with Alex, and stumbling down the corridor, biting back her tears. As soon as the door was shut, she folded over and started moaning, clutching her forehead desperately. Alex stepped forward and rubbed her back, pulling her hair back and tying it with a scrunchie she had round her wrist. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight, guiding her to the bed and sitting her down. "I don't know where you find the guts to stand up to him, Bex. He always manages to hurt you." Becca sniffled, and leaned into her brother, releasing her forehead and feeling the warm blood trickle slowly down her temple, already sticky. "I'm sick of him treating us like this, Alex. Why are we never enough?" He bit his lip, and felt tears well up in his eyes. "I don't know, Bex. I really don't know." They sat in silence for a few more minutes, Becca's occasional whimpers the only sound in the room.

"Oh my god, Rebecca, what happened?" Julia came rushing in, and placed a hand on either side of her daughter's face, lifting it gently. The entire right side of Becca's face was covered with a light coating of blood, and her eye was screwed shut, blood coating her lashes. She sighed, and stroked her forehead, glancing at Alex. "He did this, didn't he." Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, and she continued stroking Becca's hair as she spoke, making a noise like an injured puppy when Alex nodded. "I'm so sorry baby. I should've been there." Becca shook her head, wincing as she did so. "Keep still. Let's get that sorted." Alex watched with a heavy heart as Julia fetched a suture kit, flinching everytime Becca whimpered at the new sutures. As she washed off the blood with an alcohol wipe, he felt angry tears rise to the surface, the bruise and swelling around his little sister's eye already painfully obvious. Julia pressed a kiss to her youngest child's forehead, before looking to Alex, who had his arms crossed over his chest, his body language radiating anger. "Alexander, hon, can you take her home? She should be fine. I don't want people asking questions." Alex scoffed and shook his head at her. "Really? What if she's got a concussion?" Julia sighed and peeled her gloves off, trying not to look at the red stain of her daughter's blood all over them. "Alex, please. Just do as your told." Becca looked pleadingly at her brother, wincing as she ran a finger over the bumpy stitches in her forehead. It was a nasty cut. About 4 inches wide, and pretty deep, she was going to have a beauty of a scar. "Fine. Come on, Bex." Alex reached a hand out to her, and sent one final disapproving look at his mom, before guiding Becca along the corridor with their hands intertwined. "I promise, Bex, if it's the last thing I do, I'm gonna get you out of there." Becca laughed mirthlessly, waving as they passed Naomi. "Bye honey, I don't wanna see you in here for at least another 6 months, you hear me?" Becca smiled forcefully, before disappearing into the carpark, tucked under her older brother's arm. They got home, and Alex went straight to the kitchen, running a cold towel under the tap. "Here, hold that over it." Becca took a seat at the kitchen table, pointedly avoiding looking at the collection of beer bottles on the table. She watched as Alex soaked another cloth, before kneeling down and collecting the shattered glass from the floor. Binning it, he returned to the floor, grimacing as he started wiping the red splatters off of the tiles. He scrubbed furiously, until he let out a pained groan, and slumped onto the floor, leaning his back against the fridge. Becca ran to him, holding him as he cried, letting her own tears fall. "How many times am I going to have to clean your blood of the floor, Bex?" Becca felt a tear drip off the end of her nose, and ran a hand through Alex's hair. Just over 6 months ago, they'd been in almost this exact situation, only there had been a lot less blood and glass to clean up. "Can I sleep with you tonight?" Alex nodded at his little sister's request, finding her hand and squeezing it tight.

The next morning met the Mercer kids with a silent house, a clear sign that neither their mom or dad was home. Alex rolled over and looked at his little sister, fast asleep with the covers pulled up under her chin, her hair spread across his pillow. She looked so peaceful, the ugly black of her stitches covered by her hair, and it was almost possible to imagine her as any other 16 year old girl, about to wakeup and go to school as she should, to then come home, and go out for her first driving lesson. But of course, the reality was not quite like that. She woke up not long after him, and after accepting a much needed hug for 5 minutes, legged it to the bathroom, closely tailed by Alex, who held back her hair as she vomited for 20 minutes straight. Totally wiped out, she groaned, before feeling Alex pull her against his chest, holding her tightly and rocking her back and forth in his arms. "How you feeling?" Becca groaned in response, resting her head against her brother's shoulder. They were leaning against the bathroom wall, Becca sitting in between Alex's legs with her head on his shoulder, carefully avoiding her stitches. They sat in silence, staring at the wall with blank expressions. There was nothing to be said.

Alex stirred eventually, pushing Becca off him gently, and helping her to her feet. "You need to eat. Cmon, I'll make something." Becca nodded, and walked over to the sink to get her toothbrush. "I'll be down in a bit." Once Alex left, she turned the faucet off, and looked at herself in the mirror. She ran a finger over the jagged black stitches, and touched the skin around them, wincing. A nasty bruise was already forming around them, and she knew she was going to have a killer migraine for the next few days. Becca touched the scar above her eyebrow, only an inch or so below the new stitches, and smiled sadly. Another one to add to the collection. She dropped her hands to her sides, rolling up her hoodie sleeve. She ran her right hand over the small collection of white and purple marks on her left wrist, frowning. Skating accident didn't quite cover these ones. She pulled her sleeve back down, rubbing her arm. Once again meeting her own eyes in the mirror, she drew her shoulders back, and sniffed. She was going to be okay. She had to be.

The smell of burnt toast carried up the stairs, and Becca laughed as she walked into the kitchen, finding Alex standing over a stack of charred bread, a hopeless frown on his face. "Leave it. I'll just have cereal." Alex groaned and jumped onto the counter, swinging his legs as she got the milk from the fridge. He reached in to the top cupboard, and held his hand out toward's Becca, who glared at him, and shook her head. "No, Alex." He raised his eyebrows at her and jumped down, setting the orange bottle down next to the orange juice he'd left out for her. "Take them, I don't care what you've got to say. Just do as your told." His voice told her not to argue, and she groaned, but unscrewed the cap and swallowed back two pills, gagging, before sticking her tongue out at Alex. "You done torturing me for the day?" Alex rolled his eyes and ruffled her hair, pointing to the milk. "Eat. I'm going downstairs." He shoved his hands in his pockets and left the kitchen, stopping outside the door for a moment to make sure she was actually eating. Satisfied after hearing her grab a bowl, he continued on his way down the hall, opening the door to the basement and disappearing down the stairs. The basement had been Alex's sanctuary for years, his safe space, his only escape from his parents. When he came out, he'd basically moved in, only coming out at night to go to his room. They'd soundproofed it when he picked up the drums, turning it into a sort of studio, so that he could go mental without disturbing the entire neighbourhood. His anxiety had been okay recently- it had been months since he'd had an attack. As Becca and their dad started fighting more and more, he'd felt his chest getting tighter and tighter, ready to snap. Becca was the only thing keeping him going. He knew he couldn't break while she was still at home, he had to have his head screwed on straight so he could keep her safe. One more year, that's all she needed, and then she could get to college, and she'd be safe. Their dad was terrifying. But he was also the only person in the world that Alex would stand up to- because he'd do anything not to see his little sister get hurt.

Becca cracked open the door to the basement, and sighed as she heard Alex going at it, fill after fill after fill. She knew he was hurting, and she knew it hurt him to see her hurting. But there wasn't much either of them could do about it. They'd just have to stick it out for a little longer. She pushed the door shut with a click, and ran upstairs, settling down at her desk. She had multiple pieces of homework due by the end of the week, and an impromptu day off meant she'd have lots more to catch up on the next day. But the minute she opened her history textbook, and started to scan the page, her mind started reeling, and she had to clutch her head with her eyes closed in an effort for the dizziness to go away. "Well that's a no to that then." She sighed and closed her textbook, collapsing onto her bed instead. The house was silent, Alex's frantic drumming silenced by the soundproof walls in the basement. Becca fiddled with her fingers, looking around her walls. The usual urge to suddenly change and redecorate the entire room was more dull than it normally was, almost like it was blurry, not quite defined. Her mind was reeling, struggling to work out reality and her thoughts. She groaned and buried her face in her pillow. She almost preffered the constant talking in her head to this. This feeling of uncertainty, not being able to tell the real from the fake. She was going insane.

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random-imagines-blog · 4 years

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Happy Birthday {Viktor Krum One Shot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2734 Summary: Your birthday did not go as planned.

You stood as still as one of the statues. Well, more still than one of them since this was Hogwarts and nothing ever stayed in one place for very long around here. You shrank back a little more into the shadows as the person that you were avoiding walked past. You even went as far as to hold your breath so there wouldn’t be the slightest sound coming from your direction. Footsteps echoed down the corridor. There were two voices of students at the end of the hall who were speaking about the Hogsmeade visit coming up, but they quickly went quiet as they saw who was coming. Not everyone had the time to hide. Instead, they just lowered their heads and tried to make themselves as inconspicuous as they could. The way that this man looked at people immediately made them feel as if they were doing something wrong and would be severely punished for it, even if there was no bad deed being done. You bit down on your lip harshly to keep yourself from letting out a shaky breath as the shadowy figure went past you. It continued on it’s way, not giving you a glance. Only when you were sure that it was gone did you let yourself breathe, your head falling back in relief.

“Vat are you doing?” A voice said from beside you, making you nearly jump inside your skin. You held your hand to your chest, feeling your heartbeat start to calm down from the scare. The surprise wasn’t over though, for you had never before spoken to the young man who was beside you. Viktor Krum - star of Durmstrang and the Bulgarian Quidditch Team. “I did not mean to scare you-”

“It’s alright,” You said, regaining your composure, and gave him a smile. Of course you knew that he was famous, and well, incredibly good looking, but those things didn’t make you nervous in the slightest. “I was hiding. If I got caught, I would have been in big trouble.”

“Vas that Professor looking for you?” Viktor asked with concern. You nodded solemnly, turning to make sure that he wasn’t coming back. “Vat did you do?”

“Professor Snape, that is,” You said, wondering if he had heard any of the rumors around Hogwarts, such as which teachers to avoid and all that. “I skipped his class this morning, and if he finds out that it wasn’t because of an emergency, well, he’ll be using my body parts for those potions of his.”

Viktor looked horrified by the concept of that, but then slowly grew amused. You could tell by the little smile on his face that he was cooking up some questions for you. Oh boy - here we go. “Vhy did you skip class, and vhy are you sneaking out now?” Here he was, a famous Quidditch player, asking you about skipping class. This certainly was not how you thought your day was going to go. You looked around again before you began to answer.

“Well, you see...” You stammered, trying to figure out how to say this without coming across as seeking attention. There wasn’t really anyway around it. “It’s my birthday today and double potions first thing in the morning is not how I wanted to spend it. So I turned off my alarm clock and I slept in. Until about an hour ago actually. It fell on a weekend the last few years so there wasn’t a problem but... well, obviously, this week it’s my enemy. And I snuck out because I’m off to go and see Hagrid, the groundskeeper. I’m helping him to take care of the Abraxans.”

That was evidently not what Viktor had expected to hear, but he found it curious nonetheless. “You English are so strange,” He said, shaking his head. “You skip class ... to vork ... on your birthday?”

“Oh, it’s not really work! I love to do it. I was honored that he and Madame Maxine approved of me for the task. Only the best Care of the Magical Creatures students were picked. I get to groom them, give them their barrels of whiskey - once I even took a sip for myself before they got their snouts in. Nasty stuff. Not sure why they like it, but that’s creatures for you,” You ranted, barely realizing that you were doing it. Social interaction was not something that you got a lot of. Not that you weren’t liked or anything, you just didn’t have many friends. By the time you started to come out of your shell, all of the cliques had been formed, and had been for years.

It was a little hard for Viktor to take in. He was far from perfect at English, though he understood the basics. Though some of your words were rather rushed, he was able to get the general idea. The light in your eyes and the smile on the corner of your lips was enough for him to see how you were passionate about working with the animals. “Strange,” He repeated.

“Oh Merlin, you’re not going to tell on me are you? Because that would be a very cruel thing to do to me on my birthday,” You said, realizing that you had just admitted your rule breaking to a stranger. “I just really messed up, didn’t I?”

“How could I tell on you, vhen I don’t know your name?” Viktor asked. Immediately, you introduced yourself, saying your name out loud, and you were about to tell him that he didn’t have to introduce himself because everyone and their mother knew about Viktor Krum since the World Cup but -

“Oh Merlin,” You groaned once more. “I really am thick, aren’t I? Now you know my name and you could definitely go and tattle on me. Go on then. Might as well tell Filch to get the thumb-cuffs ready.”

Viktor chuckled, which stopped you from admonishing yourself even more. “Vhat I was going to say vas - happy birthday, y/n. Did you get any presents?”

“Oh, well, thank you,” You blinked. You reached into the pocket of your robe and pulled out the letter that your parents had sent you. You liked to carry it around with you on your birthday, because it made you feel like they were a bit closer to you. “My parents sent me a bit of money to get myself a treat at Hogsmeade tomorrow. I was thinking perhaps a cake-”

“I would not count on that, y/l/n.”

The voice of the person that you dreaded came from the end of the hallway.

You had been out in the open for too long.

You closed your eyes and winced as footsteps came closer, and you could smell the musky scent that came from being around potion ingredients all of the time. Professor Snape always smelled like an apothocary. Even Viktor stood silent as the dark haired professor came in closer. It was like the dementors that he had heard about - like all joy was sucked from the corridor because he had entered in.

“Does this corridor lead to the hospital wing?” Professor Snape asked you. Keeping your eyes closed, you shook your head. “Well?” He prodded.

“No, Professor.”

“I see. It appears that you’re standing, which means that you did not lose your legs. So it is seeming like you had no excuse to miss out on your lesson this morning.”

“No professor,” You repeated. You had learned your lesson against arguing with Snape very early on. He had it in for you, ever since you accidentally spilled the porcupine quills upon him and they had stuck into his cloak and poked his backside.

“That means ten points from your house, and you lose tomorrow’s Hogsmeade privileges,” He said, clearly and concisely so there was no chance of you misunderstanding.

“But Professor, it is-” Viktor said, starting to stand up for you but one look from the Slytherin head made him shut his mouth. The only person who came close to being this intimidating was his own headmaster.

“Do not make excuses for y/l/n. I will not hesitate to get Karkaroff involved.” Snape threatened. Viktor looked like he wanted to say more once the threat was made, but you inched yourself between the two men.

“I’m sorry Professor Snape, it will not happen again,” You said, cutting off Viktor before the first syllable came out of his mouth. This was your way of paying him back for trying to stand up for you. You didn’t want him to get in trouble, especially for your own sake. You put on your most humble expression, your shoulders slouching, your eyes downcast and all. You really were disappointed. This was not turning out to be a good birthday at all.

“We will see.”

You sat by yourself in the Great Hall, Most of the other students hadn’t made it back from Hogsmeade yet, but a few had and were sharing what they had bought not too far away. You sighed, and rested your head against the wooden surface of the table, trying to cool your headache. Your birthday had not been a good one, since Snape had made you go to your afternoon class, then make up for what you missed in his. You didn’t get to go help with the Abraxans and worst of all, you didn’t even get to go to Hogsmeade for a Butterbeer and a slice of cake. “This is the worst year ever,” You grumbled to yourself.

You heard someone parking themselves across the table from you. Expecting it to be some worrisome first year, you said, “I’m fine, I don’t need the Hospital Wing, I’m just miserable.”

“I vould be too,” Viktor’s now familiar voice and accent rang out. “- if my birthday had been like yours.”

“If only it was something a doctor could make better,” You said, rising up to sit with your back straight. You took in the opportunity to drink in the appearance of the good looking man’s face, but became distracted when he put a bag onto the table. It bore the undeniable stamp of Honeydukes on it, making you miss the village even more. Oh Honeydukes - you could barely stand the thought of all of those treats without you being there to admire them, to love them, to pick up a cauldron cake lovingly and take a little bite. “Have you come to rub it in that I couldn’t go?” You asked, feeling more miserable than before.

Viktor looked confused, trying to figure out what you were saying. He almost looked like a lost little puppy when he did that. “It is ... not lotion.” He said, blankly. Then it was your turn to be confused, before realizing that he had taken ‘rub it in’ more literally than you had meant it.

“Right, sorry,” You said instead of explaining. “What goodies did you get for yourself, and won’t you get in trouble for it? Don’t Quidditch players have to be highly disciplined and fit?”

Viktor chuckled at that, reaching into the bag. “Is not all for me,” He explained. He pulled a box out of the bottom of the bag. It was wrapped neatly with a colored ribbon - the same color theme of your Hogwarts house. You gasped as he pushed it towards you, and you were able to see through the plastic top to the contents. Inside of it was a cake, custom made from Honeydukes. It was covered in a chocolate icing with ‘Happy Birthday’ and your name on it. Well, almost your name. It was misspelt, but you imagined it was how Viktor had pronounced it. The icing matched the ribbon, and it had magical swirls on it that looked almost like the sky in Van Gogh’s Starry Night. “Happy Birthday!”

“You’re crazy,” You said, unwrapping the ribbon. You took it off slowly, making sure not to rip it, then tied it around your wrist as a sort of bracelet. You would take every little bit of this as a present, even the wrapping. When you opened up the box, the smell of the freshly baked cake took over your senses, making your mouth water. The buttery goodness, the icing which was just the perfect amount - not too much, the flavors mixed in with the cake. It could not have come cheap. You’ve bought cakes from there before, and even just a small plain one with no decoration could be a couple galleons. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“If I didn’t stop to talk, you vouldn’t have been caught,” Viktor said, a little bit of pink coming through his immaculate facial hair. “It’s my fault.”

“Oh no, I didn’t want you to feel guilty. Talking with you was the best part of my birthday actually,” You fingered the ribbon on your wrist, looking down at the cake. It was so beautiful that the thought of cutting into it was almost physically painful. But it wasn’t all that you were given. Viktor brought out more things - Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Sugar Quills. A bit of everything, actually, and soon you were surrounded by all of the treats. “You’re absolutely mental,Viktor Krum.”

“I’ve never had theez-” He said, ignoring your comment and opened up a pack of the every flavored beans. “Are they good?”

“It depends on what you-” Before you could stop him, he pulled a green bean out of the packet and popped it into his mouth.

You winced, knowing that it could have been a variety of flavors, most of them not nice. You had your lime, swamp, broccoli, celery, watermelon, gingerale, kiwi...

Viktor’s face screwed up in unpleasantness, and he forced himself to swallow. “It tastes like - like - grass!” He announced loudly and with disgust. You couldn’t help but laugh at how his face had contorted like that. You patted his arm comfortably, and pushed a pumpkin pasty in his direction.

“It really does mean every flavor. Here, this should help get the taste out of your mouth.” You watched as Viktor opened up the packaging quickly and shoved half of the treat into his mouth. He seemed relieved when it helped, sinking down and his eyes showing gratefulness.

“Thank you. English are strange.”

“Yeah, we are,” You said with a nod and with a shrug. You took the Bertie Bott’s Beans from him and shuffled around. You pulled out one that was a nice golden brown color. Earwax, toffee, tea, mud? You bit off half of it, then let it roll onto your tongue to get the flavor. “Here,” You handed him the other half. “It’s caramel, and not half bad. I promise.”

Viktor took it and rolled it between his fingers. He wasn’t ready for another bad experience, but he trusted you so he put it in his mouth and bit down. The sweet taste of caramel, velvety and rich, filled his mouth, mixing well with the pumpkin. “I get it now - some good and some bad?”

“Exactly. That’s the fun of it.” You took the cake from in front of you and moved it off to the side for now. “Thanks for all of this. My birthday tanked so this was like ... actually really awesome of you.”

Viktor didn’t understand what tanked meant, but he did know awesome so he smiled, brightening up immediately. He took hold of your hand, which startled you, and squeezed it. It was so large compared to yours. And so strong. And so calloused and rough. “You have better birthday today.”

“Much better,” You agreed with a nod. He laughed and the sound was so infectious that you had to join in. Though the two of you got many stares, you sat together for the rest of the day, eating the different sweets, and sharing the beans. You had a half, he had a half, so you both either suffered together or were delighted together. You definitely considered your belated birthday to be your real one, just for this year.

#Viktor Krum #Viktor Krum x reader #Viktor Krum oneshot #Harry Potter #Harry Potter oneshot #oneshot #oneshots #imagines #request #viktork

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beerecordings · 4 years

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hey!!! i'd love to see more with the favored puppet au, that's always been one of my favorite concepts. maybe at a point where chase feels apathy in the face of anti, his caretaker, being a bad person? or something from before, when anti decided chase was worrying him and he didn't want to play the games anymore? :'D ty ty

Favored Puppet AU (Chase): After stalking, haunting, and toying with Chase for years, Anti eventually realized it was no longer fun to play with him while his suffering was so high. Instead, Anti kidnapped Chase and keeps him away from the world as its companion. Chase has learned to be alright with that. The human world, after all, was never very kind to him.

Triggers for heavy discussions of Chase’s past suicide attempts and depression and Chase trying to cut himself again, though he doesn’t succeed. Also might be considered soft!Anti, though Chase is the only one it’s soft for.

Florence I decided to combine that first prompt (Chase feeling apathy when Anti’s being awful) with another prompt so you will see that later! for this one I decided to do that moment where Anti decided he didn’t want to play games anymore. thank you for sending them my dude!! also this is my first time writing for this au so the mythology is really experimental but I just tried to do something new with Anti :) it’s very inhuman and doesn’t really understand Chase, but it decides it wants him, so...

It sits on top of his refrigerator and watches him have his first meal of the day, a depression snack at nine at night compromised almost entirely of the last crumbs in an old bag of Cheetos. The skinny little human creature – though Anti’s seen him staring at his shirtless torso in the mirror enough times to know he’s only growing more dissatisfied with his softening stomach and arms – throws his head back and dumps the rest of the crisps into his mouth, getting orange dust all over his unkempt beard. Anti giggles at the sight of him. Clown boy with his Cheeto dust and the bags under his eyes. Little human thing. Too small and silly even to be able to die. Goofy, stupid human. Slouching, miserable child.

But if there is one thing Anti enjoys about the human, it is his fierce, hateful courage. At first, the laughter in the edges of his hearing sent chills up the boy’s spine and made him turn around with wild eyes, spitting and gnashing his blunt mortal teeth, but now, after months of being haunted, he does nothing except turn around and glare.

Anti is invisible on his refrigerator, but the human – what is his name? Charles, Casey, something – he still tries to find it. He has eyes made to burn, blue as flame, though, to be perfectly fair, fire can be as much a source of life as the bitter weapon Casey makes with his gaze now.

He used to be warm. Anti remembers. He would stutter when the girl came to see him and he carried those little chips with him, rubbing them in his pocket when he passed the liquor store, and his children were all he thought about. But he’s changed. Anti watched it happen. For whatever reason, the girl stopped bringing the children by at all, and at some point the pain of it must have overwhelmed the man, and Anti watched him embrace old habits with a ferocity only describable as self-harm. After his second suicide attempt – that was the only time Anti let Casey see it, standing over him and staring at the crimson of his blood in the bathtub while the man screamed for it to kill him already, shrieking in despair as Anti picked up his phone from the bathroom counter and dialed 911, giggling at the thought of just how powerful his despair would be when he woke up in the hospital – he removed his children from the background of that phone and replaced it with a stock image of the ocean provided to him by Apple’s recommendation.

The light slid out of his eyes at some point. Anti was there. It watched the whole thing.

It enjoyed the whole thing. Mostly.

“Fucking kill me, then, bitch,” hisses Casey, slinking through his own kitchen like he’s being hunted. He is. “Playing games with me, always, well, I’m tired of playing, you know that, I’m tired… fucking kill me then, not afraid of you, not afraid…”

This is also true. Anti’s pretty sure the only reason he moved back to America was to make sure none of his friends would be in the way of the creature who haunts him finally finishing the job. And to stop them from telling him “you need to get help, you’re talking to the voices in your head and seeing things, it’s not real, you need to see a specialist” in an endless carousel of concern and – as Casey always perceived it – condescension.

“Fucking kill me!” he screams, slamming his hand down on his counter. He shatters a pile of unwashed dishes on accident and blood comes pooling up hot and coppery in the lines of his palm, but Casey doesn’t even look down, doesn’t even flinch, just keeps staring straight forward with fire eyes as wild as a horse’s.

But Anti’s bored with him. It hops down from the fridge and wanders through the apartment, whistling. In the kitchen, it hears the man howling as the whistling returns to torment him, the monster’s singing following him for hours and hours every day, never letting him sleep.

Anti used to think it was really funny, that something as simple as a whistled lullaby could make the man shatter in half and sob like his heart was broken open in his hands.

But honestly?

It’s less fun these days.

“Music, music, music,” rants the human in the kitchen, slamming his palm down again and again, cutting open his palm again, again. There’s banging on the walls and muffled yelling. The neighbors are sick of his screaming. He’ll be evicted soon, Anti reckons. Humans used to travel in packs, making it harder to pick them off, but these days ones like Casey often find themselves alone, and no one is around to stand up for him. “I’ll make you stop, I’ll make you shut up, shut up, shut up….”

Anti lets the human sprint past it and retreat to his bedroom, crawling under the bed and taking his laptop with him. He puts on big earphones and presses them hard against his ears, and he rocks himself as his music plays, turned up to one hundred on his computer, mumbling to himself, laughing sometimes, if Anti listens closely enough.

Anti crouches down to look at him. It hums to itself and touches Casey’s face, and he shrivels in on himself and whimpers, but he does not fight or push it away. Not anymore.

He used to be so much more fun before he started to crumble instead of break.

And yet, Anti has not killed him.

It does not know why.

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

When bored – these days, it often is – Anti likes to wander through the other apartments that surround its own. Watching the human sleep can only be entertaining for so long, even if it does like to hear his sleepy, thick breathing and see his peaceful, dopey face, and it’s nice to just roam sometimes. Anyway, the people nearby can be interesting, though Anti doesn’t mess with them the way it does Casey. No one else has ever been that entertaining.

A young couple lives to their right, newly-married with a little rat of a dog they call Barkley. Anti’s human likes most dogs, but he grew tired a long time ago of the shrieking yips through the walls. Anti itself doesn’t mind it so much. One more thing to annoy the human on his slow road to madness.

“Who’s the best boy in the world?”

It passes by their door and hears them cooing and praising the yelping thing. “Are you a good boy, Barkley? Who’s my good little boy? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”

Barkley has been sick for a few days and their fussing over him has been endless as they clean the nasty little animal up after every time it vomits, carefully feeding it vet-recommended dog food and plenty of healthy human snacks whenever Barkley shows an interest. How anyone could care to look after a creature so pathetic and useless is well beyond Anti, but it thinks it’s funny, really. Humans will bow down to pet the lowest of creatures.

I am not like that, it thinks to itself, drifting through the door, invisible. It is important for me to not be like that.

Anti had never had an interest in pets before this year, but, increasingly, it likes to come over and watch them look after Barkley. Constantly it reminds itself – I am not like that. It is important for me to not be like that.

But it doesn’t understand why this is important or why it should not be like that. Truthfully, it has never been skilled with its own emotions. It does as it pleases and what makes it happy makes it happy. If there is depth to that, it isn’t interested.

“Okay, Barkley baby, mommy and daddy are going to go for a walk and be right back in a few.”

“Aww, poor baby, we know. You wanna come on our walk and see all the other puppies along the way, but you can’t go while your belly’s all grumpy!”

“Yeah, little Barkley can’t come today, but mommy and daddy will be right back.”

“Mommy and daddy will be right back, we promise.”

They shower the dog in pets and belly rubs as they baby-talk their way towards the door, blowing it kisses as they head out and lock the door behind them.

“Do you think we should check on this guy here who’s so loud sometime?”

“What, that Chase guy? Are you kidding me? What a creep. He’s so fucking loud. We’re going to have to complain to the landlord again. Guy’s out of his mind.”

Ah, yes, Chase, that’s his name. Slipping into their apartment like a ghost, Anti laughs at the human fickleness and leans down to tweak the little dog’s tail, making it yelp in alarm and start running in circles around the apartment. It giggles and spends some time chasing it and leading it around with its chew toys and such. It likes the way it can make the dog do anything. It likes the cute little dog even if it is such a disgusting, purposeless, stupid little animal. It coos and picks the puppy up, tickling its skinny little ribs and rubbing between its ears.

“Stupid puppy,” it manages to say, in its painful, broken voice. Human language has always been difficult for it, but it prides itself on understanding it well. One day maybe it will speak it clearly too, though for now it knows it would sound like a struggling, glitching machine to a real human. “Stupid baby doggy.”

Faint laughter reaches its sharp ears and it quiets, setting the dog back down. For a moment, only silence, and it crouches in the living room with its black eyes boring into the universe, motionless.

Then it hears raucous laughter as the window in the back of the apartment is pried open and a pair of much, much more pathetic creatures than itself or even this little dog crash their way into the couple’s home. It straightens up, shaking its head, and heads back towards the back room, where a baby’s nursery is beginning to develop. Above the cradle, a pair of imps stop short, staring at Anti as they hover, startled, in mid-air.

Wearing its human’s form, it puts its hands on its hips and waits for them to speak.

They begin to laugh again, loud and boisterous, spit flying out of the one’s mouth while the second’s eyes bulge with hilarity.

“A fairy in California?” The imp rolls in circles in the air, shrieking with laughter. “Who would have thought?”

“Little far from home, Mr. Potatohead,” quips the second, floating up to the ceiling, sneering and sticking out its little purple tongue. Anti’s mouth curls distastefully. “Why don’t you go back to your hunts and your parades, your highness?”

“How’d it get here without getting stuck behind all that running water?”

“Careful, pure-blood, this spoon looks like it might be made out of iron!”

They dissolve into maniacal impling laughter, rocking through the air, shape-shifting in the limited ways they can to make themselves look uglier. If it were the sort of fairy who gave a fuck, Anti supposes it would feel disrespected, but it doesn’t much care. They’re little annoyances who have clearly mistaken it for a much less powerful creature than it really is. They break the monotony for a moment. It’ll kill them in a second. Anti supposes they just came here to make trouble. Imps love break into human homes and stealing their food or making their milk go rotten. They may well have been the ones who made Barkley sick, just to watch the humans take care of the dumb little thing for their entertainment. They’re common in this part of the city because the mountains are close, and imps are snuffling, stupid little creatures of the earth.

“Ew, what’s that?” squawks the first imp, floating closer to it. “Do you smell it?”

“Yuck. His majesty stinks like a human.”

“Just like a fairy to keep a pet.”

“Aw, do you have a widdle human to look after?”

“Maybe we should pay a visit to your stinky little human.”

“Yeah, maybe it needs some company.”

“Some friends.”

“Someone to play a couple fun games with.”

“And then we can find out what it is that made Tinkerbell here go all soft in the middle, like a rotten – ”

But they never get to find out exactly what rotted thing Anti resembles. It snatches the imp out of the air in one snapping motion like the bite of a snake and crushes its body between its fingers, its eyes turning black as the juices run down its wrist.

In its fear, the other imp does not even scream. Its eyes bulge in alarm and it scrambles for the window, but it never makes it. Barkley yelps in victory, chasing his own tail around as Anti’s teeth come down around the meaty little imp and tear it to pieces, silencing the both of the little monsters, leaving nothing behind.

It’ll be picking that out of its teeth for a week, it muses, wandering back out of the apartment and towards its own. But that’s what they get for talking about Chase like that.

It’s odd, though, how it makes it pause and think. That is something other spirits do sometimes, isn’t it? Take a human and keep it as a pet.

The couple with the dog are returning from their walk, holding slushies and each other’s hands.

“Barkley!” they coo, greeting their excited dog at the door. “Are you a good boy? Oh, why are you shaking, baby boy? What a silly little puppy you are. Who’s a cutie? Are you a good boy? You just want a big hug, huh, you just want to be looked after. Mwah, mwah.”

It’s kind of a cute dog, in the end.

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

It liked the way Chase looked up at it, that one day it allowed him to see it.

It liked the way his eyes changed. He was not afraid – Chase is a creature of courage and despair, and these, in Anti’s experience, are both flowers from the same root – but he was distressed. Anti would say that this was because the form he takes is such a disturbingly odd impression of a human that it scared the human, but, truthfully, he thinks he saw a sort of awe in Chase’s eyes that day as well.

He loves fiction. This is one thing it learned about Chase early on. He does not have a reputation for intelligence but he does love his fantasy escapism, or he did back when he still had the energy for things like interests and hobbies. He liked Gravity Falls and Doctor Who and anything with sci-fi or dragons and he would get stuck at bookstores every now and then just walking through the YA section and wishing he was still young enough to enjoy them as much as he used to. In the old days, human storytellers were vital parts of their social structure. Anti thinks Chase would have been a storyteller, in his own way, if this were a few hundred years ago. Maybe he would be happier then.

It does not know when it began wondering about Chase’s happiness. Do not ask it.

The point is that Anti liked the way Chase looked up at it, that one day it allowed him to see it, that day he tried to kill himself.

“No,” he shook his head as Anti took his phone and called for an ambulance. “No.”

But his eyes were looking at something beyond life and death, something he had only read about in books, and Anti did not understand it.

It thinks, now, that Chase was looking at something he had longed for when he was younger. But Anti does not know what. There are fairytales about prophetic heroes and novels about chosen ones and tv shows where fantastical creatures whisk people away on great adventures, but Anti is not a fantasy. Anti is a nightmare. This is something Chase has always known, and Anti has always known, and there should be no misunderstanding between them.

But it liked the way Chase looked at him, that one time it allowed him to see it. That’s all. That’s all it’s saying. It doesn’t mean anything. It is not like that. It’s important that it’s not like that.

Anti touches the human’s face. He has fallen asleep beneath his bed, and his breathing is clear and deep, rhythmic as the song of a bird.

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

Chase sleeps for fourteen hours and then gets up to make a Cup-o’-Noodles. Beef flavored. It’s the only thing left in the pantry except half a jar of strawberry jam and some milk he was too drunk to put in the fridge a couple days ago, spoiled completely by now. Even the cheap rum he’s been buying is out on the table beside the stove. He hasn’t bothered to get dressed and he cuts a pathetically small figure standing over the stove in nothing but some gym shorts and rolled-up Christmas socks because everything else needs to be washed.

Anti roams the apartment, humming distantly and checking up on things. It deletes an unread message on Chase’s phone from contact name “Marv” and waters the succulent Chase picked up on an impulse last week. It’s so funny to it how attached the human can get to things, and so quick too. He once found a bee on the windowsill, brought it sugar water, and looked after it for several hours before letting it outside. The human put on his loudest comedy show afterwards to try and keep himself cheerful, but he’d ended up crying about halfway through, and Anti couldn’t tell if it was related to the bee or not. He’s always crying. He didn’t always used to be crying. He used to be less deep in his despair and much more fun to play with.

Anti shakes the thoughts off and decides to prove that Chase is still fun to play games with. There’s nothing deep about their relationship, Chase just happens to be entertaining. That’s the only reason it followed him all the way from Ireland. It floats towards the kitchen, silent and invisible. It’ll give him a quick scare, not enough to put him off his dinner, just enough to remind him he should still be fighting. Anti shape-shifts cleanly into a small boy with black hair and deep onyx eyes and goes to stand behind Chase, silent and still, staring up at the child’s father as he stirs the noodles in silence.

“I know you’re behind me,” he says after a moment. “Looking like Hunter.”

Anti startles and shivers back into invisibility, drawing away. Chase turns blearily to see that it’s gone and he laughs, deep and hollow.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, stumbling a little as he tilts back his rum. Anti knows he’s already drunk from the calmness in his tired voice. “Used to your tricks by now. You been getting to know me, I know. I been getting to know you too.”

He snorts to himself and leans back against the stove, seeming to forget his noodles. He squints blearily around the room, rubbing at his eyes. He hasn’t put his contacts in since the last time he tried to kill himself. Wanted to make sure he cut the veins, but after he survived that night, it didn’t much matter if he could see or not.

“I think I can sort of tell when you’re close, most of the time,” he adds. Anti sits at the dining table across the room, frowning. “Like… I can feel you. Or something. See you, maybe. I think you make things… a different color. Does that make sense?”

He points sluggishly towards the dining table and then shrugs, letting his hand drop again.

“Doesn’t matter, I guess.”

His pot is boiling over. The water will burn his hands in a moment, resting as they are against the edge of the stove. Chase laughs to himself again, shaking his head, and throws back the rum for so long that he’s panting when he’s done with the drink.

“Funny,” he says. “Would have almost liked for you to be there. As Hunter, I mean. See my baby one more time. My baby. Hunter, my son…”

His eyes trail far away. Anti doesn’t think he’s looking at anything at all. There’s nothing left for him to look at.

Water cascades across the stove, boiling. Chase whimpers as it hits his hands, but he doesn’t pull away.

Something yanks him back.

He stumbles away from the stovetop. Drunk, he can’t keep his balance, and he goes crashing to the ground, falling on his back and dropping his bottle, which shatters into pieces of glass and a small flood of rum across the kitchen floor. Chase gasps, grabbing at his bruised elbow, staring around for a sight of the monster that has haunted him for so long.

The pot of noodles goes spinning off its stovetop onto the other side of the stove and stops boiling after a moment, quieting the kitchen. The knob on the oven flicks to ‘off’ and the red light disappears from the stovetop, leaving it dark and silent.

Chase closes his eyes.

Anti stares at him and it knows, in the moment, that the human was not lying.

He can sense it.

He can tell it’s there.

“Why,” croaks Chase. “Did you call 911 that night?”

Anti steps back from him. His movement shifts glass on the floor with a faint clinking noise.

“Was this what you wanted?” Chase whispers. “Just to see me live like this a little while longer? Just to make sure I couldn’t get away that easy? Was killing myself too good for you? Are you ever going to actually finish me off?”

He is crying. He is always crying.

This isn’t fun anymore, Anti realizes. It isn’t funny.

And honestly –

Honestly…

Honestly, it doesn’t know why it called 911.

“I think that’s what I’ve actually been waiting for,” laughs Chase, sobbing as tears run down his reddened cheeks. “Fuck. Not even staying alive waiting for it, that’s not what I mean, I mean… like I haven’t killed myself because I’ve been waiting for you to do it.”

He throws his head back and cries and laughs and hugs himself with his burned hands and scarred wrists, his whole body shuddering with the tears.

“But you won’t,” he sobs into the darkness, as Anti’s presence draws away from him and the sun fades. “You won’t. Will you? No one will give me any mercy. No one wants me to have any fucking peace. So tired… You won’t…”

Anti retreats to his room.

It doesn’t want to face him right now.

He doesn’t want to face him right now.

Chase cries in the kitchen for a long time, until his whole body feels tired and numb and drained. He doesn’t clean up the glass. He doesn’t clean up the rum. He doesn’t clean up the water. He would probably have slept right there on the wooden floor of his kitchen, but the doorbell rings.

Too drunk to put himself together, he staggers to the door and throws it open to the cold, red-eyed and stumbling like a zombie.

“Uh,” says the delivery kid, fixing her alarmed expression after a moment. “Here’s your food, sir.”

Chase is too confused even to question. Almost dazed by it, he takes the bag of take-out carefully from her hands, thanks her in a mumble, and shuts the door behind him.

KFC.

Did he order this?

No, he was making ramen before he made a mess of it. But it’s what he always gets. Chicken tenders and mashed potatoes and a couple extra biscuits for the next morning.

In his bedroom, Anti closes out of the delivery app and drops his phone onto the bed, deleting one more message from Marv before it drifts past Chase and goes wandering, thinking, roaming, lost.

It’s not like that… it’s important that it’s not. It’s not like that.

Zayn and Mary are walking Barkley. Anti watches the happy little dog go yipping and dancing in the space between them, happy and safe and recovering, cared for by his masters.

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

The apartment fills with soft light in the evenings. White and gold from the weary sun. When it hits the horizon, the gold pirouettes and falls apart into a dozen different watercolors across the long shoulders of the sky. Pouring patiently through the windows, like syrup from the bark of a great dark tree.

Anti sits beside Chase’s bed and watches him sleep, playing slowly with his hair.

It likes Chase’s hair. It always has. Soft and dark but sometimes golden in the sunlight, and ever-so-slightly curly, so you can wrap it around your finger if you’re gentle, and make it spring back again afterwards.

Anti wants to kill something. It doesn’t know what. A human, probably, but not Chase. Chase, Chase, Chase. It had forgotten how much it likes that name.

You like a lot of things about him, it lets itself realize. When did that happen? When the fuck did that happen? One day you’re making him having a repeated dream where he’s carefully cut into pieces and eaten alive by a sentient crocodile because he always got scared of the one in Peter Pan when he was a child and the next you’re thinking about how soft his hair is. It makes Anti laugh, for a moment, but it thinks it feels… sad. It doesn’t know why.

Chase wakes up and it drifts back into invisibility, leaving him to sit up and look around. Check his phone for the time and stare at the floor for a while. Today he is groggy, but not sad, which strikes Anti as odd. Most days he is groggy and sad. Sad groggy stupid human. Anti’s sad groggy stupid hurting human. It sighs and spins lazily in the air, watching Chase push himself up on his feet, his eyes dead and weary.

Someone slams on their door and Chase groans, rubbing at his forehead. He’s hungover again.

“Brody!” The slamming insists. Chase stutters out a breath, slightly frightened, and totters to the door, pulling it open.

It’s his landlord. Anti’s lips curl up in a snarl. A mean, stupid man, stupider than Chase, even, and he looks angry.

And he starts to shout at Chase, and Anti does not like it. It doesn’t interfere, but it doesn’t like it either, and it knows Chase will do nothing. He stands there shirtless in his Christmas socks and stares at his landlord like he can’t believe any of this is real – not because it’s rare for him to be in trouble, just because his life is an alley puddle full of cigarettes and bathing rats and he’s most likely dissociating – and just nods when he’s told to get his act together and pipe the fuck down before he gets kicked out.

“Yes,” says Chase. “Okay.”

The landlord leaves.

Chase shuts the door behind him and looks directly at Anti, invisible on the ceiling above him.

“Jokes on him,” he says dully. “He’ll have to be the one to clean my blood out of the bathtub.”

Anti blinks. Chase pauses, letting his head rest against the cool wall for a moment before he pushes himself back up and wanders back towards his bedroom.

“What you will do?” asks Anti.

Chase startles so hard he slams into the wall of the hallway, whirling around to look at him. Unnerved by his response, Anti scowls and backs away again.

“Sorry, did you just talk to me?” asks Chase. “It’s a dream, then? Or did you talk to me in real life? Or am I really losing it finally? I mean, worse than I have already.”

Anti grumbles to itself and gets up in the fan, making the blades spin slowly, sulking. Can’t even talk to the human without him freaking out.

“Must still be drunk,” mumbles Chase, retreating back to his room.

Anti gets up and follows him.

“What, are you worried?” snaps Chase, digging under the bed, and Anti grins at the heat he’s showing again. That’s more like it. “Haunt me for, what, eight months and now you’re worried? I know you’re there, asshole.”

Anti lets him hear it giggling. Chase rolls his eyes and then he gives a short laugh, shaking his head.

Anti feels pleased, it thinks. Chase turns to look at him. He can’t see him, but he knows it’s there. Anti likes that.

“You really are a monster,” says Chase softly, smiling at it.

And then Anti sees, in his hand, the little tin where he keeps his razor blades.

Anti’s mouth falls in a frown.

Chase looks up into the sunset. Orange and gold, tonight. Flowing over his hair and into his eyes, making them alight. Fire eyes. Fire Chase.

“I hated you for a long time,” says Chase. “But you’re either a monster or the part of my brain that really wants to hurt me, so I guess either way I shouldn’t blame you for being what you are.”

He stands up, straighter than he has in a long time, still fixated on that sunset.

“I… I’ll miss…”

Anti stares at him, waiting, but Chase never finishes his sentence. After a long moment, he turns and takes his phone off of his bed. A slow, shaky breath escapes him.

He always takes his calls between the hallway and the living room so he can pace. Anti knows. Anti knows everything about him. Anti knows things about him he doesn’t know about himself. Anti likes things about him he doesn’t like about himself.

The human steps into the hallway and opens his contacts, carefully picking a name he hasn’t picked in long months, and he closes his eyes, and he waits.

But no one answers. Chase lets out a soft, miserable laugh, gripping the phone in both hands.

“Ah, damn… ha. Sorry, Schneep, I was really hoping you’d pick up.”

He circles quietly in the hallway, running his hands through his hair, his eyes closed and that phone held up to his ear, trying to breathe even instead of weeping.

“Look, man, um. I know we fell apart. Honestly, I really needed you, and you were just too busy for me, and that stung, it did. Maybe it was selfish, but I just… I needed you, Schneep. And I felt like all you cared about was the research, and…”

He rubs his face, brushing away tears. Anti stands at the end of the hall, staring.

“Well, I didn’t call you to accuse you of anything. I just wanted you to know that, um, even though we both hurt each other… I always loved you, man. And I don’t got the courage to call Jacks or Marv, okay, but I love them too. I love them too. And I’m sorry. Cause I was a coward for running away from them, and… maybe you needed me even more than I needed you, and I couldn’t even see it. So I just want you to know: you were my best friend. And I’m really sorry I couldn’t pull you out of your head and that I couldn’t help, or didn’t try hard enough, or just that I wasn’t what you needed. And I…”

Anti sees Chase close his eyes and breathe.

“And I hope I’m not one more person you spend the rest of your life wishing you could have saved,” he whispers. “It’s not your fault, Henrik. I love you. Good night, buddy. Maybe someday – ”

The voicemail beeps. End of recording.

Chase lets out a hurting breath and sets his phone down. His eyes are fixed on the rising sunlit moon, past his window.

“Maybe someday I’ll see you again,” he says.

He goes into the bathroom and crawls into the tub.

And Anti – Anti is paralyzed in the hallway, staring at him, invisible.

But Chase can sense it. Chase can sense him. He looks back at him, his face – fuck, so familiar now, like Anti knows every line of it, every shadow – and says nothing.

Something in Anti cries out against it.

Don’t let him do this. Don’t let him do this.

But another part – oh, another part recognizes what has happened. It has grown attached to this human despite all odds, despite everything. And attachments are dangerous and stupid and useless, just like this little mortal curled up in his white bathtub, holding a razor, staring at it. This is Anti’s chance to let Chase break the attachment. This is its chance to stop this before it goes too far. Before it actually does decide that it likes Chase, that it wants him, that it should keep him, that he loves him in his own fucked-up way.

So it steps back.

It won’t stop Chase.

Let him go. Let him go. It’s better this way. He was just supposed to be entertainment. There was never supposed to be an attachment. So now Chase can die and Anti can leave and they can go their separate ways, and everything in Anti’s life will return to normal. It will go back to Ireland and find something new to do, someone new to torment. And everything will be okay.

It doesn’t stop Chase.

But Chase –

Chase –

“No,” he whispers to himself, gripping the blade. “Please.”

Chase can’t bring himself to do it.

“No!” he screams, lashing himself once, but it hurts and he hates it and he wants it to stop and it’s not like the other times he’s tried to kill himself, not at all. There’s no numbness. There’s no comfort.

He doesn’t want to die.

“Please!” he howls, gripping his own wrists. “Please!”

He’s begging himself. End it. Finish it. Stop it, let me go.

He’s begging the universe. No more. No more, please.

He’s begging Anti.

He’s begging Anti with everything he has.

He turns his eyes to it and he’s screaming, and there’s blood on his wrists, and the glowing moon is like the eye of a god staring down at them, and Anti is illuminated in its light, visible in the shape of a man, visible in a shape like Chase’s, and Chase is begging him –

“Don’t make me live like this any longer!”

Anti turns and flees.

Chase is howling like a shot dog, holding his own shoulders, unable to kill himself, because he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want Henrik to get that voicemail, he doesn’t want to never see the sun again, he doesn’t want to go, he isn’t ready, but he can’t live like this any longer, and he’s never felt more hopeless in his life, and he still doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want to die.

Don’t make me live like this any longer.

Why can’t he end it?

He’s so drunk and so tired and he thought he wanted to die, he really thought he did. No, no, not… oh, he needs somebody, he needs something, he needs something to change. Henrik. He wants Henrik, wants Jackie, wants Marv. He’s staggering to his feet, trying to get up, trying to get back to his phone –

He slips in his Christmas socks and in his own blood, and he crashes down hard in his bathtub, and lies still.

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

“Oh, no, oh, fuck,” Anti hears him whimpering as he comes awake. “How much did I fucking have? Stupid, stupid…”

It stands in the hallway, pacing, its eyes set on the ground. It is determined now. It has decided.

“Oh, shit! Oh.” There’s a nervous laugh from Chase as he notices the shallow cut on his arm. “Oh, wow, I… I must have tried to… but I didn’t! I didn’t, wow…”

There’s an awe in his voice that hasn’t been there for a long time.

Is it… pride?

“I didn’t kill myself,” Anti hears him whispering. “I didn’t… didn’t kill myself. Or I just passed out before I could, but either way, pretty impressive for a fucking idiot like me.”

Anti retreats back to his room and begins to pack the human’s things up, taking only what’s immediately necessary. It doesn’t care about the personal effects, but there are some things they will need – some clothes, his hygiene products, shoes, medicine. He places the succulent gently on top and zips it into place as an added present.

It can hear Chase wandering around the house, apparently dazed by his own survival, or maybe just still drunk from the night before. Anti shuts his phone down remotely and doesn’t let it turn back on when Chase scrabbles at the power button, mumbling about his friends back in England. Anti doesn’t know where the sudden interest in them after months of deleting pictures and ignoring calls has come from, but it doesn’t care.

Here are the facts, in its mind:

Chase survived last night.

It has grown attached to him.

Because he did not kill himself, it can’t escape the fact that it’s grown… fond of the human.

The human survived one night, but Anti has watched him through a great deal of ups and downs, and it knows that Chase will be suicidal again soon enough, and then he might not survive.

Anti does not want to watch him die.

And so the conclusion it came to last night, watching over the boy as he lay in that tub, gently curling his hair between its fingers, was this –

Chase will be its, and Chase will not die.

It has a great satisfaction with this plan now, more than it thought possible. After months of boredom, finally, finally! Something that makes it excited again, something that makes it feel – well – happy!

Chase is still playing with his phone. Anti steps back into the hallway and sees him frowning down at it, pressing on the power button a few times in a row, looking unhappy.

“Did I call him, or…? Need to tell him I’m okay or he’ll – ahh!”

Chase screams aloud at the sight of Anti standing in the hallway with his backpack on. Anti frowns as he goes tumbling to the floor in his alarm, groaning from the whiplash in an already concussed head.

“You’re – you’re showing yourself to me?” gasps Chase, scrambling away. “What’s – are you going to kill me? What’s going on? Hey, stay away!”

But Anti is moving forward, a smile already on its face. This is perfect! This is perfect! It could howl! It could shout! The man is looking at it again, just like he did that night he tried to kill himself, the night that Anti saved his life, and there is the change in his eyes, the recognition, and Anti feels seen and known and in control all over again, and everything is good, everything is perfect.

“What are you doing?” demands Chase, his hands reaching out to protect himself. A fighter, yes, just like Anti always saw. Small and weak and mortal and foolish, yes, but also courageous, courageous, always something special about him. Anti always knew. It grabs Chase’s wrist and pulls him to his feet, humming to itself, singing the old lullaby it always used to haunt him with.

“No, stop, I hate that!” screams Chase, trying to cover his ears, trying to yank away from him. “Stop it, let me go!”

He’s such a pretty little human, even if he is built so scrawny. Anti likes his dark hair and his fire eyes and his soft stomach and even his stupid tattoos, just because they’re his and he’s so goofy, silly human creature. It’s all familiar to him now. The boredom that it thought it was feeling all this time it now sees was a secret fear of the truth that it was becoming attached to him. But last night woke it up to the realization that it did not want to see the boy die and it’s so pleased that he decided to live. In a way, the human was deciding to stay with it! Everything is good. It wrangles Chase’s other wrist and begins to drag him towards the door, unbothered by the sound of his shouting, which is little more than white noise to Anti after so long spent following Chase.

“No, no! Help me, someone help!” he cries.

Someone pounds on the walls of the apartment. A muffled “can you shut the fuck up for once in your life?” makes its way through the plaster. Chase sobs, tearing at Anti’s hands, his eyes wild and desperate. Anti keeps humming.

It will set him up somewhere just as good as this stupid little apartment. Better even. Bigger and less worn. And it will teach Chase to take better care of it too, so he doesn’t make such a mess like he always does. It will give him things he hasn’t even realized he wants yet. It will give him his little succulent back and he will take care of it. Humans need things to take care of or they get very sad and they die sometimes – that’s the thing about humans, they can get so sad they can die, and it’s no longer fun for Anti to watch, so it will get Chase things to take care of instead. What do humans like to take care of? Cows? Hamsters? Potatoes? Whatever he wants.

It takes Chase’s keys and drags him out to his car, opening the door and letting all of Chase’s trash litter onto the street. Its foot crunches on garbage as it pushes its human inside, chirping politely at him when he struggles and gently blocking him from escaping, keeping him pressed inside the car. When Chase tries to lunge forward past it, Anti shoves him against the glass and makes him yelp, clutching at its aching head. Whoops! It pulls back quickly and pats his cheek, checking the bruise and patting Chase’s head. It will take some time to learn the boundaries for touching the human, but it will learn. It keeps him carefully inside until the human has gone breathless and shaky and realizes he can’t get out right now. Satisfied, Anti gets into the car beside him and starts the engine.

Oh, no, wait. One more thing it wants to do.

Anti sets Chase’s apartment on fire, whistling its song to itself as it disables the alarms and leaves a few rags beginning to spread the fire from the oven to the counters. Fuck that landlord who yelled at him. Now the other humans will probably think he died in the fire or something and not come looking for him. Not that they could find him if they tried. Anti leaves the apartment smoking and gets back into the car, chirping and purring to itself, too excited to care that it’s acting like a youngling on its first Samhain.

The human stares at the road as they begin to move, shell-shocked and trembling. Eventually his eyes flicker over to Anti, and it can see that he isn’t sure if he should be angry or terrified or just numb to all of this, numb to everything.

Numb is what he settles on. Numb and a little weepy, anyway. Anti coos and reaches out to touch the human’s neck, rubbing warmly at his soft skin.

Chase curls in on himself, shirtless and shivering in the seat of his own car, kidnapped and alone, and he begins to cry very softly.

There’s blood on his arm. He’s tired. He’s hungover. He’s still struggling with the desire to die despite surviving the night before. He thinks he left Henrik a weird voicemail. The monster that’s been haunting him for years has just appeared in the flesh and thrown him out of his apartment. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He just wants everything to stop.

He just wants this to stop.

The monster repeats its cooing noise at his side, still petting at his neck and throat. Chase shudders and cries, rocking himself gently in the seat, wishing for his headphones. Anti turns on both the heat and the radio. A top-twenties station comes on and plays music familiar to Chase’s ears, and they drive, and they drive, and he begins to go quiet and still, sniffling to himself, hugging his shoulders. Feeling the monster petting him like an animal.

“Okay,” whispers a warbled voice when Chase has finally begun to calm down, and he looks up in shock to see the monster speaking, or trying to. He’d never known it to speak at all – only to watch him, and laugh, and whistle or hum, playing tricks on him or mimicking him in the corner of his vision. They’d never spoken.

“Okay,” it repeats, touching his hair. “Okay.”

Chase swallows and says nothing.

Anti pulls over after a couple hours of driving and hands Chase the backpack, helping him pull out the clothes and put shoes and a shirt on. It leads him inside a gas station and lets him use his bathroom and wash his face, staying beside him the whole time. Chase doesn’t try to protest or call for help. He does not know why.

Anti leads him carefully through the aisles of the gas station, a big truck stop station with rows and rows of snacks and toys and clothes and knick-knacks like phone charges for cars and California-themed snow-globes. It seems interested in everything, but in an amused way, like it’s laughing at everything, and Chase is supposed to be laughing with it.

He doesn’t know what to do. Anti’s arm is around his shoulder.

The monster buys something with Chase’s credit card while Chase shakes beneath his arm and tries to figure out what’s happening, though his brain seems to be shutting down from being so overwhelmed and he really just wants a drink. Anti pulls him back towards the car and this time, he clambers in without protest, sitting down in the passenger seat and buckling in.

Anti sits down beside him and offers him the bag from the gas station. Chase blinks and looks over, taking the bag numbly from its hands.

There are nuts for protein and three bottles of water. Chips and a breakfast sandwich and jerky and chocolate and a small, stuffed lion with the name “Lionel” in its ear.

Anti starts the car again. They drive.

“What are you?” asks Chase in a whisper.

The monster glances over at him and touches his face, stroking a finger down his cheek, down his beard, and, in that struggling, glitching, inhuman voice, it tells him:

“Anti. And you are mine. No more scares. No more slow dying. I look after you. Human. Chase. Mine.”

The monster who’s been haunting him for months wants to keep him as a pet.

The desert is rolling past Chase’s window. Lionel sits patiently on his lap. The radio plays something inane and catchy. Anti is touching his hand.

“Mine,” it says again. “Okay, Chase. It’s okay.”

Chase closes his eyes, and, leaning back against the headrest of the car, he lets himself drift into sleep.

#chase brody #antisepticeye #cutting tw #suicide tw #extreme distress tw #bee writes #2020 prompts #favored puppet #florenceisfalling

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anotheronechicagobog · 3 years

Text

The Crackship Sails to Molly’s - Hailey Upton x Kim Burgess - Strain

written by @anotheronechicagobog

Instead of her alarm clock, it was the sound of retching in the bathroom that woke Kim up. She sighed, pinching her brows together. She didn’t need to ask why Hailey didn’t wake her up when she wasn’t feeling well, she’d been dating her long enough to know the answer. She grabbed a glass of water, a ginger ale from the fridge and a hair tie from their dresser. After tying back Hailey’s knotted and sweaty hair she sat on the bathtub next to her, rubbing her back. “Do you think you’re well enough to try some water? A ginger ale? We should get some fluids into you.”

“I’m-”

“And don’t you dare say that you’re ‘fine’.”

“... Let me wash out the taste of vomit in my mouth and then I’ll try the ginger ale.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Hailey, you know that-”

“No, I really just... Thank you. For taking care of me, for loving me, for everything. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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The ginger ale did not help, nor did the medicine she’d been able to keep down. Her fever spiked, she was so flushed her skin was an irritated pink, she’d gotten dizzy, and she started to hallucinate a talking dog wearing a lion costume. Kim had managed to corral her into the car but nothing, not even Dr. Choi when they got to MED, could calm her down. Her fiance was getting sicker and sicker and nothing was going to be able to quell the panic and fear inside of her. So she sat at Hailey’s beside, curled up in an awful chair, letting her tears flow freely as she cradled the hand of her unconscious soulmate. “Hey, Kim. I got your text. And pizza for you.”

“Pizza, Jay? Really?”

“Hailey would maim me if she found out I didn’t take care of you when she couldn’t. Seriously, we actually made a pact. So eat your food, drink this bottle of water and get ready to be fussed over. She’s gonna make it.”

“How do you know?”

“She’s my best friend, we’ve been through so much together that there’s no other option for me. She’s going to make it, she has to.”

“She has to.”

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Hailey had woken up the next day, but only momentarily. She’d mumbled something about dancing tulips and promptly passed out again. Kim and Jay laughed lightly at her expense, but they were mostly just relieved that she was getting better. Her fever was down and according to Dr. Choi that was really good news. They wouldn’t be able to tell if the dizziness or nausea had dissipated until she woke up, but the fact that she was waking up was amazing. She’d caught a nasty strain of the flu, it was so bad and unusual that the CDC had to get involved. Study her treatment, interview close friends, get samples from Hailey. The works. They were actually starting to get pretty concerned about all the blood tests and tissue samples they needed when Will showed up with an explanation, the strain of flu that Hailey has isn’t from the U.S. so it was slightly different than the strains they’re used to treating, at that point they were just trying to determine where it was from and if they needed to be concerned about an outbreak.

So Kim and Jay calmed down a bit. They were still worried, but having Will there to decipher all of the doctor speak, it was a little easier. When her fever broke they were approached by one of the CDC doctors who had been observing Hailey’s case. They could both tell from the look on her face that this was not going to be a pleasant conversation. “Detectives Burgess and Halstead, I’m afraid I have bad news. We have determined the origin of the strain that has infected Detective Upton. It’s from England, and it’s a unique strain because it appears to have been formed overtime from a few different strains from different countries, not uncommon in people who travel frequently without adequate vaccinations. We have determined a course of action, but unfortunately might be too late. The antibiotics that she needs need to start being taken within 72 hours. It’s been 61. And the closest antibiotics we could get are in London, England. It’s an eight hour flight and they have to go through customs and the FDA and they just might not get here in time. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. She can’t- Why- No-” Tears were streaming down Kim’s face and she fell back into her chair. “This can’t be happening, we’re supposed to be together, have more time together. More time. Just a little more time, please.” Jay was standing beyond Kim’s chair, watching with a fractured soul as she stroked his best friend’s face and begged her to wake up. When suddenly, it dawned on him. “Dr. Tamara, do the antibiotics have to arrive on a commercial plane?”

“Well, no, but a private plane wouldn’t be faster and would cost a lot more money.”

“What about a military plane?” Hope was starting to creep into his desperate features, and instead of meeting sorrowful silence, he was met with mirroring spirits. “I don’t have those kinds of connections to make that happen, but if you do that would absolutely work.”

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Jay managed to get the antibiotics on a military passenger/cargo flight from London to Chicago, almost halving the time everything would’ve taken. Kim hadn’t stopped hugging and thanking him since he got off the phone with an air force buddy he’d done a couple of operations with while he was in the rangers. The meds had been given with four hours to spare, so now both detectives were just a pile of nerves, antsy to see Hailey open her eyes. “For the last time Kim, you don’t need to thank me. Hailey’s important to me too, okay? I haven’t been holding onto that ring for her for the past four months for nothi- Shit.”

“... Ring?”

“Yes.”

“An engagement ring?”

“Yeah.” Kim turned back to the love of her life, happiness shining through for the first time in days, “you better wake up, Hailey Ann Upton. How am I gonna say ‘yes’ if you don’t even ask me?”

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Hailey woke up, and was lucid. Kim and Jay were trying so hard not to overwhelm her. So when Intelligence and firehouse 51 had stopped by they just smiled gratefully and accepted all of the get-well-soon gifts that were offered and sending everyone on their way. When Jay re-entered the hospital room after accepting a batch of cookies and containers of lasagna from the ever angelic Cindy Hermann, he found Kim and Hailey curled up in bed together. Smiling, whispering and just enjoying being in each other’s arms again. Kim blushed at his chuckles and Hailey grinned sheepishly. “I needed a cuddle from my favourite girl, Jay, what can I say?”

“She gave me her puppy-dog eyes. I had no choice.”

“Yeah,” he looked at Kim meaningfully, implying her to remember their conversation about Hailey’s not-so-secret intentions, “you didn’t really stand a chance.”

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Jay dropped the two women off at their apartment a week later after Hailey had finally been discharged. “Thanks for dropping us off Jay, I appreciate it. And Hailey, you still have to take it easy, I’ll go put your hospital bag away and order some food and after Jay heads out we’ll have a Mamma Mia! Marathon, okay?”

“Alright, well my work here is almost done then.” He was met with two sets of raised eyebrows, so he turned his teasing smirk to his partner. “Someone has to make sure you don’t get up unsupervised while Kim’s in the other room.”

“Smart thinking, Halstead.”

“Hey! I’m capable of taking care of myself.” Kim jogged to the bedroom in a fit of laughter, leaving Hailey and Jay alone for a few moments. Jay leaned his body out to look down the hallway and make sure that Kim was out of earshot before he turned back to Hailey. She looked better than she did before, her pallor was back to normal, her eyes were vibrant, and she was glowing in happiness and relief, though her movements were still lapsed and slow. Jay reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the navy velvet ring box and placed it into her confused but waiting hand. “I accidentally let it slip when you were in the hospital. You should’ve seen her face when she caught on, she loves you. So much, and if these past couple of weeks have taught us anything, it’s that you don’t have the time you think you do. Ask her, she’ll say yes. I guarantee it.” After a one-armed hug with a shocked Hailey, Jay shouted a goodbye to Kim before taking his leave.

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They’d finished the first movie and were about to put in the second, but Hailey hadn’t even noticed, she’d spent most of that time staring at Kim.

“Hails? Are you okay? Do I need to call Dr. Tamara?”

“I... I’ve tried writing speeches and planning exactly what to say, but I can’t because you’re too amazing to capture with words. Nothing ever seems good enough. And I have to be honest, I love that, because it means that I love you so much I can’t even fully comprehend it. And I know that you feel the same way, too. Kim, will you marry me?”

Hailey revealed the box from behind her and opened it up to show her the ring. Her heart was hammering in chest so hard and she just couldn’t force her eyes away from Kim’s face and the wistful tears accumulating in her eyes that mixed with the beaming smile she just loved to see.

“Yes!”

#One Chicago #Chicago PD #chicago med #hailey upton #kim burgess #jay halstead #will halstead #hailey upton x kim burgess

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