1.) NSFW, I don't feel I have the ability to write it, nor do I want to. I will, however, write suggestive content; which includes things such as sexual touches, making out, or implied NSFW.
2.) Pedophilia, non-con, sexual abuse, etc. I'm not going to give explanations for any of these since it's pretty obvious why I wouldn't want to write about them.
General Rules
1.) I write for romantic, platonic, and familial relationships.
2.) I don't do character x character, only x reader since it's what I'm most familiar with.
3.) I do headcanons and one-shots. If it's not specified in the request which one you'd prefer, I'll choose which one to write myself.
4.) I'm always automatically going to write the reader as neutral. This includes gender, race, body type, etc. However, I will write a male reader if it's requested.
5.) It's a little hard to see requests sent to me, so if you're not sure I've seen yours, feel free to ask!
6.) If you send me a request that violates any of these rules, I'll either correct it myself and continue with the request (this will happen if you request a female reader, for example), or if it violates a major rule I'll politely inform you of this.
7.) And lastly, if you want to request something that isn't on my Fandom List, don't be afraid to ask me about it!
Fandoms I Write For
Batman V.S. Tmnt
Chainsaw Man
The Disastrous Life of Saiki K.
District 9
Final Destination
Gravity Falls
Wendy x Nonbinary Reader Oneshot
This request got deleted somehow, but I managed to get a screenshot of it sometime before it got deleted!
Inside Job
Reagan x Reader Oneshot:
The straps of your mini backpack crumpled under your strong grip, and the robotic tentacle-like arm system you had
Invader Zim
Zim x GN Reader One-Shot
Recently, a new boy came to your school. He was weird. Like, really weird. He spoke aggressively to everyone, had
Jurassic World
Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous
Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous (Gender Neutral Reader Insert) Series
Chapter 1:
Chapter 1: Camp Cretaceous
Who knew that fresh air could
Jurassic World: Chaos Theory
The Maze Runner (Trilogy)
Gally x GN Reader One-Shot:
(Gally x Gender Neutral Reader One-Shot)
You stand completely still, a fist pressed against your lips as you s
Pacific Rim
Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse
Spider-Man: Across the Spiderverse
Tmnt Bayverse
Tmnt Mutant Mayhem
Tmnt 2007
Tmnt 2003
Tmnt 2012
Casey Jones x Villain! GN Reader Oneshot:
A spark of pink electricity escapes from under your mechanical claw, the crushed skull of the ali
Trolls (Movie Trilogy)
The Walking Dead (Show)
If you have any questions or ideas that you'd like to tell me about that don’t count as requests, just know that I'd love to hear them either way!
Hello!! I know that it's been quite a while since I've posted much of anything, but I wanted to let you all know that I'm planning to write a special chapter to celebrate my Camp Cretaceous story reaching 400 hearts on Quotev!
I've also made a poll so that my readers can have a say on what the 400 heart special will include! Here's the link below:
This poll will decide the content of the 400 Heart Special for my Camp Cretaceous story!
And, while you're here, I'd like to let you all know that I'm in the process of editing and revising all the previous chapters of my story. I'm doing this not only because I believe they're rather outdated (cringey), but also because I plan to continue the story soon and wish for the earlier chapters to better align with the more concrete vision I have for it now.
Anyway, thanks for reading this short notice, and sorry for my long hiatus! /(>.<)\
i can’t wait for if/when your camp cretaceous series gets to chaos theory!!! it’s going to be so good :) i hope we have chaos theory season .. like 5 by that time LOL
I'm super excited to transition from Camp Cretaceous to Chaos Theory! I have a lot of ideas in mind for it, too!! And I agree, although I'm certainly not excited for when Chaos Theory ends, I do hope it's finished by the time I get to it that way I don't run into any plot holes, lol. (ᵔ.ᵔ)
SO GLAD I FOUND U ON TUMBLR SO I CAN BOMBARD U WITH ASKS. I LOVE LOVE LOVE your camp cretaceous series and its actually what got me into camp cretaceous in the first place thank u twin for blessing us with your writing
Ahhh!!! Thank you!! It makes me so happy to see people enjoying my series! The fact that it's what got you into Camp Cretaceous is crazy as well!
Also, feel free to bombard me with asks, I'm always happy to talk with my readers!! (´◡`)
Just wondering if you plan updating your Camp Cretaceous series anytime soon? I absolutely adore that series and can’t wait for the next chapter
I know you said to ignore this ask, but I just want to say that I'm happy you like my Camp Cretaceous series! I'm excited to get the next chapter out for you all!
Yes, I will! I actually have the next chapter in the works, I just haven't gotten the time to finish it because I've been super busy lately. I hope to update it sometime next month!
This is the special chapter for when this series gained over 100 hearts on Quotev. For context, this is a short look into the reader's past (about three years before they even got invited to Camp Cretaceous). I wasn't going to post this chapter on here originally since I felt as if it wasn't needed, and I'm also just not proud of this chapter in general. However, since I finished the 300 Heart Special, I've decided that it's only fair that everyone on this app gets to see this special chapter as well.
Be aware that this chapter contains sensitive content that may be upsetting for certain people, including the following: Neglect, Implied Self-Harm, and Drug Use (not by reader). If any of this is triggering for you, please feel free to ignore this chapter as it doesn't have any actual impact on the story.
‘Tap, tap, tap.’
Your eyes focus on the pencil in your hands, tapping against the paper impatiently.
‘Tap, tap, tap.’
You look up at the board, trying to make sense of the blurry figures on it. You blink, squint, anything to try and understand what it says, but it's all a fruitless endeavor.
‘Tap, tap–’
A hand folds over your own, and you look up at your algebra teacher. She's smiling gently. You can see that at least. She slips the pencil out of your hand and into her own, bringing your notes with her. She looks at them, then at you, then at the notes again, as her smile slowly turns into a frown.
“Were you listening?” She asks, and it's hard to bring yourself to answer when you can hear giggles from behind you.
“Yeah.” You answer curtly.
She places the paper back on your desk, writing the word “FINISH” in big, bold letters. Then, she looks towards you once more.
“Try to pay better attention, okay?” She orders, and you nod.
The giggles spread, and the only thing you can bring yourself to do is lay your head in your arms. It didn't matter, you couldn't see the board anyway.
You didn't think the school would call your parents, let alone that they'd actually be sober enough to answer. You watch quietly as your mom talks to whoever happens to be on the phone this time. You can't remember any counselors' names at this point.
When the call is over, she turns to you, but you only stare back at her. She wouldn't be angry, she never is. You wish she could be.
The drive to the eye doctor is quiet. She tries to make small talk, but it only serves to make you annoyed. With a sigh, she puts a hand on your shoulder, keeping a shaky hand on the steering wheel.
“You're paying attention, right? You're sure it's your sight?” She spares a glance away from the road and towards you, but you refuse to meet her gaze.
“Yeah.” You wanted to yell, but all that came out was a whisper of confirmation.
You wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything besides sit and let people assume you're stupid, but you don't. Instead, you take a breath, leaning your head against the car door. Your mom doesn't speak again.
You stare at the glasses in their case, a frown on your face for reasons you're not sure of. You can hear hoots and hollers downstairs, and nowadays you simply ignore it. But unfortunately, you're only human, so the growling in your stomach can't be ignored.
So, you head downstairs, keeping your eyes solely on the path to the kitchen. As soon as you pull out a bowl for canned soup or something of the sort, there's a ‘thump’ not too far behind you.
“Sweetie?” Your mother croons, her pupils blown wide as she stares at you.
You ignore her, grabbing a can of soup and popping it open before pouring it into the bowl. You fill the empty can halfway with tap water and then add that into the bowl as well, before throwing the empty can away.
“Sweetie?” Your mother calls again, much closer now since you had walked to the trash can.
She grabs ahold of your shoulder, but you violently tear yourself away from her grip. She only stares, and you don't stop to wonder if she can even comprehend what's happening right now. Instead, you put your bowl of soup into the microwave, setting it for two minutes before standing in front of it silently.
She's still staring, you can feel it, but you refuse to spare even a glance towards her. Your fingernails dig into your arms as you cross them over your chest, a thin sweater the only barrier between your nails and your flesh. You wish you could tear it off. Watch as the blood drips onto the ground. Would the droplets be small, red, and delicate? Or would they fall from you in messy globs, staining the tiles below?
You think of your mother, would she understand? In her current state, that is? Would the drugs fade from her system in an instant, adrenaline filling her veins as she watches her only child turn into a bloody mess? Or would she watch in a horrid trance, too drugged-up to stop you from harming yourself? You hoped it'd be the former. You hoped she would give a damn, but you're not sure she could even think at the moment.
You breathe in, and then out, your grip on your arms loosening as your mother finally leaves the kitchen entryway. The hollars return, your father shouting happily despite the noise complaints he was sure to receive later. You open the microwave before it beeps, grabbing the bowl along with a spoon before hurrying upstairs to your room. You feel your hands burn from the heat of the bowl. You ignore it, just as you ignore the mention of your name falling from your parents’ lips.
They never spoke badly of you, but you almost wish they did. You wish they screamed. You wish they hit, or slapped, or even stabbed. You wish they hurt you; you wish they had done something, anything to you; if only so you'd have an explanation for the way you feel.
But there are no bruises lining your skin, and there are no cuts on your limbs; not from them. So you have no excuse for the way you feel, or the way you act. You feel so hurt, and you don't understand why. Your throat feels scratchy despite just finishing a warm bowl of soup, and your eyes burn with tears to come.
With your dirty dishes in hand, you head back downstairs only to find that all the lights are off. Disregarding this, you head towards the kitchen in the darkness, flicking the light switch and squinting as light pours into the kitchen. Looking at the big pile of dishes in the sink, you sigh, realizing you'll have to clean them since you doubt your parents will anytime soon.
You turn your gaze to the dirty dining table, full of stains from spills left to be. The room around you blurs as tears build in your vision once more, and you quietly head out of the kitchen, reaching up to switch the light back off as you go. But something catches your eye before you do so.
Your mother and father lay peacefully on the living room couch. Splayed across each other as snores fill the room. Used needles are abandoned on the table, a shiver running down your spine at the sight of them. Despite this, you walk closer, the kitchen light spilling into the living room. You crouch down in front of your parents’ sleeping bodies. Watching quietly as they sleep. It's horrifying.
It's a horrifying thing to watch, and you don't know why. You watch your mother's chest rise and fall, over and over. You watch as snores fall from your father's mouth, just like always. Why is this so terrifying? Maybe it's how vulnerable they are. Maybe it's the fact that those very needles that lie on the table behind you could take them away from you at any given moment. Or maybe it's the fact that they'd let it happen. They'd leave you without batting an eye.
Tears finally fall from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks as you sniffle and whimper like a small child. It hurts; to look at their sleeping faces and realize that you don't even truly know who they are. Your parents are strangers in your house, sleeping on your couch like guests that are too polite to take a spare bedroom. You don't know your mother's favorite color, or your father's favorite song. You know nothing about them, and it truly hits you when you look at their faces and see… nothing.
At this point, you're biting your lip just to keep yourself quiet, so with a sniffle, you walk upstairs. Tears still fall, and shivers continue to attack you in waves, but you focus only on the hushed sound of your footsteps on the carpeted stairs. You want comfort, but these strangers can't comfort you in a way that matters. You close your door gently, hands shaking around the doorknob.
In the closure of your room, a sob racks your body, and you slide down your door in despair. A hand covers your mouth despite knowing no one will hear you. Still, you're not quiet enough. Still, you're too loud. Still dysfunctional, still wrong. It's all wrong. Nothing's right.
Through your blurred vision, you stumble towards your bed. Climbing into the covers, sitting with your back to the wall and bringing your knees up and folding your arms over them, if only to feel a little safer in a home that didn't feel like your own.
Still, you feel wrong. Still you shake, still you quiver, still tears fall from your eyes. You pull at your hair, nails digging into your scalp as you whine. You feel like a dog. A shaking, starving mutt. With visible ribs, and a shaky stature. You'll whine and whimper and yet no one will bat an eye. No one cares for a mutt. They'll only care if you bare your teeth; if you bark and growl like a bad dog. Only then will they give you the light of day. And their attention will end with a shot, and you'll die being called a bad dog. But you won't understand what being a bad dog means truly, just that these hands that hold you are firm. And that the words spoken are directed towards you. And though you're going to die, your tail wags at the fact that you're finally something other than a mutt. Even if it means being a bad dog.
But in the end, you can't bring yourself to be a bad dog. So you'll stay a mutt. Stay shivering and shaking with your ribs practically poking through your skin. Stay unseen and unheard. And you think, perhaps it's better to stay a mutt than try and be anything else. Because a mutt is all you'll ever be.
For context, this takes place after Camp Cretaceous and before Chaos Theory.
Red wool stretches between your pointer and your thumb, the constant pinching motion distracting you from the noise pouring out of the house speakers surrounding you. You purse your lips, glancing to your right; once, twice, and then you settle your gaze on Kenji. You can't see much from your place on the couch, and the combination of music thrumming from both the speakers and whatever movie was playing on the TV in front of you brings forth a pulsing headache that fills your mind with fuzz. But despite that, you crack a smile at Kenji's sudden, loud laugh. You're not sure what happened or what was said, but in a second, his head is thrown back, his eyes are squeezed shut, and laughter is spilling from his mouth. Your eye only leaves Kenji's joyful form when someone else plops down onto the couch beside you.
“Hey,” Ben grins, two glass cups held in each of his hands. He nudges one into your hand (the one that had been fiddling with your sweater), and you accept it without question. “What're you watching?”
“I don't know.” You spare a glance at the screen before redirecting your attention towards the drink in your hand. It sizzles and pops, a sassafras-like smell filling your nostrils. You take a sip, the carbonation stinging your throat as it goes down. Still, once the cup leaves your lips, you can't help but smile at Ben's remembrance of your distaste for alcohol.
Ben looks at the TV, then at you, moving closer to lean his shoulder against yours. “You don't know? You've been sitting in here for a while.”
You hum noncommittally, taking another sip of the soda in your hand. Ben only leans closer in response, as if closing the distance between you two would give him the ability to read your mind. A New Years party wasn't your idea, but you wouldn't turn down the chance to hang out with your favorite people. The countdown had ended hours ago, now only a distant memory of giggles and shouts. Gifts were given, as is evident by your new sweater, and drinks were drunk. Overall, you've been having a good time up until now.
“You okay?” He asks softly.
Your brows furrow slightly, but you don't let the unsaid accusation anger you. “Just tired.”
Ben hums, letting his head fall onto your shoulder. In return, you wrap an arm around him, taking yet another sip of the soda from your free hand. His eyes soon fall shut, and with careful consideration, you place both of your drinks on the small table to your left. Then, you're blinking slowly, the overwhelming sound from before fading away as your eye drifts shut as well.
You awaken with a start, but quickly calm down once you recognize the hand on your shoulder. Brooklynn smiles gently, a fairly guilty look on her face that has you sitting up quickly. Your shifting form causes Ben to grumble, and before long, he's pulling away from you and rubbing at his tired eyes.
“What's wrong?” You mutter, sleepiness still trying to drag you back into its comfortable depths.
“Can Kenji sleep over?” She whispers.
“Why?” You blink up at her before your head is turning every which way once you notice his absence. “Wait– where is he?”
Brooklynn points to the right, the dim lighting of your kitchen revealing Kenji slumped over the dining table. You can't help but sigh in disbelief.
“Why can't you take him home?” You stand up, looking around for any dirty dishes but finding none.
“We cleaned up.” You flinch at the sudden voice behind you, spinning around to see Darius. He winces at your visible fright. “Sorry.”
“It's fine.” You let out a breath, turning back towards Brooklynn while Ben and Darius rummage around behind you.
“I came by on my motorcycle, and I don't trust Kenji to hold on.” She explains, walking closer to pull you into a hug.
“Sammy can't take him?”
“Sammy and Yaz left a while ago.” She rubs your back, and you push yourself closer.
“What about Ben or Darius?”
Brooklynn parts from you with a kiss on the cheek, and you ignore the burning in your face to instead focus on the problem at hand. Not that Kenji staying over was a problem. You're just worried you won't be able to watch over him considering how tired you are.
“I have to work first thing in the morning.” Darius says, walking out of your kitchen with Ben following behind him. He envelopes you in a tight hug, kissing your forehead before going on to hug the other two.
You look towards Ben, your last resort, considering how busy he usually is. He gives you a tight-lipped smile and pulls you into a solid embrace. Pressing his lips against yours quickly, he gifts you a quiet apology before all three of them inevitably head out. And then your fate of sober-sitting Kenji is officially sealed.
You let out a long groan, heading towards Kenji's unconscious form. You shake his shoulders, calling his name quietly. But of course, that doesn't work, so you resort to the familiar tactic of flicking his forehead. But that doesn't work either. Now, more worried than annoyed, you turn his head towards you to check that he's breathing.
“Bah!” Kenji’s sudden yell forces a scream from you, instincts driving you to slap him out of pure terror. “Ow!”
“Kenji!” You hiss, hitting his shoulder much softer than you had hit his face.
The boy in question rubs his cheek with a huge frown. “That hurt.”
“Don't scare me like that then.” You grumble with knitted brows, though you swiftly grab his face to inspect it.
Kenji goes silent at your touch, eyeing your every feature even after you let him go.
“You're fine, come on.” You call, grabbing his wrist and pulling him up.
“Yes, captain.” He mutters, a slight purr to his words that burns in your mind.
You click your tongue, pulling him harder towards your bedroom. Although, you become much more gentle when guiding him up the stairs in spite of your vexation. And once you're both inside the safety of your room, you pull him into bed with you.
“If you feel like throwing up, tell me.”
Kenji nods, cuddling close to you. “Yes, captain.”
“And stop that.” You mumble, closing your eye. Usually, you'd change your clothes before going to bed, but your new sweater is so comfortable, and Kenji's so warm that you don't care.
“Yes…” Kenji trails off.
You wait for him to continue, awaiting whatever new title he decides to give you, but it never comes. Puzzled, you open your eye only to squeeze it shut once Kenji starts to kiss every inch of your face. Sputtering, you try pushing him off since you don't quite appreciate his breath nor the stubble on his chin, but the kisses only grow in quantity.
“Kenji!” You snicker, blinking in confusion once the onslaught of kisses stop.
Now, Kenji simply stares at you, holding your face in his hands like you did just minutes earlier. His thumbs rub your cheeks with gentleness that you don't expect from him. And then, he begins pecking the scars on your face. His lips are slightly chapped from the alcohol, and his stubble is rough on your sensitive skin, but you find yourself enjoying the attention.
“Lov, uh, you— captain.” He stutters, his words slurring before his kisses stop once more. “I think I'm gonna puke.”
You're up in a flash, forcing Kenji off your bed and shoving his face into the small trashcan beside your desk. And while Kenji's hair isn't long enough to the point that you'd need to hold it back for him, you still thread your fingers through it anyway. It's all you can manage when every retch results in you shuddering and grimacing behind his back.
I was soooo shocked about the fact that YOURE a MAN. Honestly, you're the first man writer ive ever read thats ACTUALLY good, accurate and not sexual.
It's sad that you're surprised by me doing the bare minimum writing-wise, but thank you regardless! I'm happy you like my writing! To be honest, sexual stuff makes me uncomfortable, so I avoid writing about it. I can handle it in books, but anything else, and I get grossed out, lmao.
Grass bends beneath your feet, your steps quiet compared to the buzzing around you. Kenji goes on and on about another adventure everyone had gone on without you, and you find yourself staring at the ground in silence. His recounting of it makes the adventure seem cool, but you're sure it was actually terrifying to experience first-hand.
“You can go with us next time!” He smiles, suddenly bumping shoulders with you.
“Do I really want to?” You ask, the corners of your mouth tilting up.
“Duh! After this, Darius can't deny the fact that you're all healed and ready to go.” His cheerful words nearly bring your heart to a stop.
You purse your lips, tuning Kenji out once more as he continues talking. How will Darius react to you leaving camp without his permission? No, actually, why did you need his permission in the first place? He was supposed to be your friend, not your boss. The very thought of asking Darius for permission to simply live your life was too aggravating to handle, so you forced yourself to take a breath. All this anger directed at Darius made you sick to your stomach.
You wish he'd just talk to you. You wish he'd at least look at you without that pitiful expression on his face. The last time he had spoken to you was when you had first awoken, and it was just to spout some more dinosaur bullshit. Why didn't he ask if you were okay? Sure, he seemed to assume that you weren't all on his own, but if he had just asked you, then maybe you'd admit that you needed some time. Some time to get over this burning pain in your face, some time for you to actually acknowledge the wounds in general. Hell, you haven't even gotten to look at your own face since you had gotten shot! Was this not your body? Were you not your own person? How could he act as if you were some little child who couldn't tell right from wrong when he was the entire reason you had even gotten shot in the first place!
You gulp, a cold sweat overtaking you. That wasn't Darius’s fault. Why would you think that? What's wrong with you? You brought this upon yourself. You're the one who attacked Tiff. You're the one who made the plan in the first place. These are your consequences. They're the result of your actions. It's your fault, not his. So why do you still feel so angry?
Looking to the side at Kenji’s distracted rambling, you come to the dreadful conclusion that you won't be able to hide this little outing from Darius. But, really, what can he do? Darius may be the appointed leader, but how could he possibly punish you for this? Sure, you stayed at camp like he wished, but if you really wanted to, you could have left at any time. You just stayed because… well, you're not too sure. Maybe because everyone was telling you how hard Darius had it, but weren't you the one without an eye now? If anything, you should be the one bossing everyone around. You're the one who knew those ‘photographers’ were bad news. You're the one who knew they were lying. You're the one who tried so hard to get everyone to leave while they still could. And what did they do? They followed Darius's orders; and now look at what happened.
“Hey.” A hand on your shoulder pulls you away from those thoughts. “It's gonna be okay. “
You stare at Kenji with a befuddled expression, unsure of how to respond.
“I know you're worried about what Darius is gonna think, but I'm on your side, okay?” Kenji's smile is smaller than before, but you find yourself believing his every word.
“Thanks, Kenji.” You whisper.
And now, standing in front of camp, you let his words swirl around your head. Especially when you both see and hear everyone up there. Why were they back so early? You didn't even have time to prepare yourself as Kenji walked forward and started climbing up the ladder.
You wanted to stay down here, away from everyone's pitying gazes and their worried words. But, you knew that simply isn't possible. You'd have to confront Darius at some point, and that time was now. So, you suck in a breath and climb up the ladder into chaos.
“Where were you two?!” Darius's face is twisted with so many emotions that you find it hard to recognize the boy.
“We ran out of painkillers, so we went to Main Street–”
“You went to Main Street?!” Darius interrupts Kenji with a yell, his eyes flickering between the two of you. “What were you thinking!?”
“Nothing happened.” Kenji puts his hands out in a placating gesture, but it only serves to make Darius's anger grow.
“Nothing happened? Look at your arm, Kenji!”
The taller boy spares a quick glance at the bite on his arm, a bruise slowly forming over it. “That's just a little bite! The Compies were–”
“Compies?!” Darius sputters.
“We're fine!” You try to step in.
“No!” Darius screams, pointing a finger at your face when you attempt to walk closer. “You're not fine! You and Kenji left without my permission–”
“We shouldn't need your permission!” You argue.
“You got attacked by Compies!” Darius ignores your words, stepping closer.
“It's not that big of a deal!”
“You could've died!” He hisses, his face now inches away from yours.
“Darius, calm down.” Ben tries to intervene, frowning when Darius pushes him away.
Darius sends glare Ben's way before redirecting his rage towards you. “We're trying to find a way off this island, but we can't do that if we have to worry over what you'll do while we're gone!”
“Come on, guys.” Yasmina's voice is drowned out by your own.
“You don't have to worry! I'm not stupid, I can survive on my own!”
“Darius–”
“No, Kenji, you stay quiet!” Darius suddenly turns towards the boy. “I trusted you to watch them!”
“I was watching them!”
“I don't need to be watched!”
“Guys, let's all just calm down.” Sammy says softly.
“No!” Darius yells before turning towards you once more. “If you just told me you needed painkillers, I would have gotten them for you!”
“You wouldn't even look at me! How was I supposed to talk to you?!”
“That's not true!” He argues, his anger spiking.
“It is!” You push him backward, watching as Darius's eyes widen. “Why wouldn't you look at me?!”
Ben calls your name, perhaps in warning, but you don't stop.
“What's wrong with me, huh? Do you hate me?”
Darius shakes his head. “Why would I hate you?”
“Because you're keeping me at camp like some sort of prisoner!” You scream, shaking Kenji's hand off when he tries to grab you.
“I'm just trying to keep you safe!”
“No, you just think I'm going to get in the way!” You poke a finger into his chest, ignoring the guilt in his eyes. “Ever since I woke up, you've been looking at me like I'm some sort of freak!”
“I didn't–”
“If you want to leave this island so bad, then go!” Your words bring about an overwhelming silence. “You obviously don't think I can do anything, so go ahead and leave! I'll stay here and you all can go and live your lives without me!”
Ben shouts your name again, his voice sounding desperate.
“Shut up!” You whip your head towards him, your heart wilting at his pained expression. “God, just–”
You spare a glance around, the ache in your chest growing at the disheartened faces of everyone around you.
“--just leave me alone for one fucking second!”
You spin on your heel, ignoring the concerned calls of your fellow campers–of your friends–and practically sliding down the ladder in your rush to get away from them. You ignore their yells of your name, you ignore the darkness of the sky, you ignore the buzzing in your mind, and you just keep running. You keep running and running until you run out of breath, and lay your head against some random tree as your thoughts catch up to you.
This was bad. That was bad. Everything was bad right now. And now you've stupidly ran into the jungle in the dark, with no idea of where you are. You can't even hear the voices of everyone else anymore. But, you're not sure if that's because of the distance you ran, or if it's because they stopped yelling. You'd prefer the latter. You hope they'll listen to you just this once and leave you alone.
You push your palm against the only eye you have left, letting out a raspy cry as the pain catches up to you. You still haven't had any of your painkillers, and you regret not taking some while you were still walking with Kenji, even if it meant taking them dry. God, you’d choke down as many pills as possible if only the burning heat of your brain would fade. It pumps and pumps to the point that you can't help but whine in agony. And yet, you continue to push your hand against your face, angry at the fact you could still feel anything at all.
Stupid. That's what this all was: stupid. If Darius wasn't such a worried prick, none of this would have happened. If Darius wasn't in charge, none of this would've happened. If it weren't for Darius…
You feel sick. You wish you could throw up every worry rolling around in your head. It's dark. You're sweating, caused by a mixture of heat and adrenaline. You feel sick. You wish you could rewind time, tell everyone to leave while they still could. You wish you could go back. You feel sick. You wish Darius would look at you like he used to. You feel sick. You wish you had died. You feel–
A burning climbs up your throat, and before you know it, you're tilting to the side and puking up stomach acid. You haven't eaten anything today. You retch and gag at the taste, the burn in your throat spreading to your mouth. And once it's over, all you can bring yourself to do is walk away from the disgusting sight. Not even that far, just a couple feet further into the jungle, if only to avoid the smell of the substance. Still, the burn doesn't go away even as you wipe your mouth with your hand.
Then, you're sliding down the trunk of the tree into a seated position in the grass. There's nothing but the sound of insects and bellows from far away. Maybe a carnivore will sneak up on you and swallow you whole, and you'll never have to worry about anything ever again. You pull your knees to your chest, the steady thump of your heart bringing that same nausea right back. You wish everything would stop. You wish you could just lay here for the rest of your life. But, the nausea persists, and the heat of your thoughts continues to envelope your brain, and it's all too much and not enough at the same time. So, you just stare into the open air.
It's too dark. It's too quiet. Everything's wrong. Your eye flits from one direction to the next, over and over until every little shadow looks like someone who's dead. Until every bit of moonlight that shines past the trees turns red and every insects’ chirp turns into a click. ‘Click, click, click’. Over and over as he adjusts the scope. You swallow, uncaring as the thumping of your heart grows erratic. You stay still throughout it all, perhaps in acceptance. Or perhaps, because this is what you've wanted all along. ‘Click, click, click’. He adjusts the scope a final time, and you try your best to keep still as the barrel of his gun points at your head. This time, he won't miss.
There's a rustle to your side, but you don't move. You don't dare mess up his shot, not this time. You wait, patient, unlike your heart, which is practically beating out of your chest. Patient, unlike your breath which leaves your mouth in huffs. You try to stay calm, but you can't help your fear. It's only natural to be afraid of death, but at the moment, you try your best to welcome it with open arms.
A hand places itself on your shoulder, but you pay it no mind, still awaiting the bullet that'll put an end to the burn in your mind. Searing and never-ending. Waiting until it ends. But it never does.
Instead of a bullet pulling the insides of your brain apart, you feel arms wrapping around you in an embrace so gentle you feel tears building in your eye. And when the sound of clicking fades, and the red reflection of his scope disappears, all you can see is Ben.
He doesn't say anything, and neither do you. You just sit in the dark, and hold each other, like nothing else mattered. And, at the moment, you found that to be true. Nothing mattered besides Ben's hands on your back, pulling you closer until you unfurl your legs. And after that he's still pulling you closer and closer, as if he were trying to meld your bodies together. It almost hurts, but Ben loosens his grip on you before it reaches that point.
Instead, one of his hands makes its way to your head, pushing your face into his neck. And you sit like that. For how long, you have no idea, and you can't find it in yourself to care. Because Ben is holding you. Because Ben is alive. Because Ben, Ben, Ben. You almost frighten yourself with how blank your mind gets when he holds you, but maybe that's because no one has held you like this aside from him. Aside from Ben.
You gulp, face growing hot as the embrace continues. “Ben?”
He doesn't answer verbally, at least. But he tilts his head ever so slightly, and you shiver at the feeling of his breath on your neck.
“Why're you here?”
It's only then that he seems to understand that you've had enough, so his hands leave you, and he backs up just enough to look you in the eye. He’s silent, still staring at you. His mouth opens, then closes, and his eyes dart away from your face as he thinks. And in his silence, you find guilt festering within you.
“I'm sorry,” you say abruptly, your voice no higher than a whisper. “for yelling at you. You didn't deserve that.”
Ben shakes his head slightly, but he doesn't offer you more than that in terms of acknowledgment. Instead, he continues as if you hadn't spoken at all.
“Do you really want to stay here?”
You stare at him blankly, your mind rewinding the whole situation as you wonder what he could possibly mean. And then, you wonder why he would ask something like that.
“Did you mean it?” He murmurs, inching closer as if he wanted to block the entire world out.
“Did…” You find yourself stuttering, still reeling from his closeness and the strange questions. “Why?”
Ben presses his lips together in thought, his eyes squinting just a bit as he stares at you. And when he opens his mouth, you wonder how this could possibly be the frightened boy you used to know.
“I… I want to stay too.”
Your eye widens just a fraction as Ben struggles to explain himself.
“It's– I'm different. And, Bumpy, I can't just leave her–and you.” He pauses, eyes locked onto yours. “I don't want to leave you again.”
Your lips tremble, and you can't stop the tear that falls down your face. Even more so when Ben reaches a hand up, thumb dragging against the tear-track. Then, he places his other hand on the right side of your face, so gentle that more tears fall despite the blooming warmth in your chest.
“I don't…” you don't want Ben to stay here. He has so much ahead of him. He has a mom that loves him, he has a new life to live now that he's gotten over his fears, and he's got friends that'll be with him every step of the way. Compared to you, Ben is everything. And you're… “I don't know.”
“That's okay.” Ben whispers, his hand is soft against your burning face, and the heat only grows as you lean into his touch. You feel the pad of his thumb on the healed gash in your nose, and a sniffle escapes you. “Let's just go back to camp for now.”
You shake your head, acutely aware of how pathetic you're acting. “I don't– I can't–”
“You can.” He pulls his hands away from your face, standing over you now. “If you want, you can sleep with Bumpy and me.”
This is so backwards. Ben is comforting you, when you should be the one comforting him. That's how it's supposed to go. That's how it's meant to be, and yet…
Ben grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet. You sniffle, pressing your palm against your eye once again. But, this time, Ben’s here to stop you. He pulls your hand away, replacing it with his own as he holds your face. He's close, closer than you ever thought possible. And you remember that Ben’s changed. And you've changed too. And maybe, this change is alright.
He smiles, and even in the dark of night, you can see yourself in the reflection of his eyes. And, before you know it, you're walking back to camp with Ben, hand in hand. This feels wrong. You feel unworthy. You feel like you're unfit to be treated with such kindness after your outburst. But Ben squeezes your hand tighter, and you find those thoughts slipping away. Slipping and slipping, until all you can think of is how warm Ben's hand is.
Until all you can think of is how warm Ben is, as you lay next to him. Even against Bumpy's armored shell, you feel warm, warm, warm. So warm it burns, and yet it feels so pleasant at the same time. Ben's head falls onto your shoulder, and with his hand in yours, you fall asleep warm.
