My Baby (Sun/Moon x Reader)

My Dear Fuzzy Friend

Note:

>:O
Hello! Oh dear hello again after a whole two months of wait! Things have settled down a tiny bit since the last time I posted here. This is not a writers curse, I Am the cursed one here :), but this is where I get my creativity :P, do please enjoy! Oh! And thank you all for staying around and asking how things were! I missed this story and missed you all! :D

Warnings (something I should add to all my other chapters and not just in AO3, sorry): hallucinations, delusions, non-consensual-non-sexual bondage, physical abuse, slight mention of attempted sexual assault, suicide ideation, self-harm ideation, starvation, slight description of malnutrition (bones too close to skin level). If I missed something please do tell me.

-x-

A day? Two? Three? Why must things blur together as they do? Why must it seem like it has only been an hour but it was actually so much more? Why do they have to sit and wallow in their pain for this long?

They are exhausted, their fingers frozen, red, and hard to move, their eyes dry and so is their mouth.

A sharp and awful taste still lingered on their tongue.

Sun had tried his best to squeeze the water out of his jacket, but his grip was weak, and more and more water would squeeze out even when they thought they had dried the thing. The jacket was heavy, but it was starting to seep water out of it slowly—it was a sign that time had passed. The material would smell of bacteria that had been confined in the depth of the damp clothe, but it was fine—trying to get the smell out would be hard, but again, it was fine.

They just needed to wear it, smelling weird or not. It has to dry.

If it were to dry completely. It was not showing signs that it would.

They draped it over the toilet's head, spreading it in hopes it would dry faster that way. It was cold, freezing—the small space was humid, and that made drying the fabric harder.

Their shorts and underwear are almost dry, at least, but they are dirty and would not offer much warmth if worn now—they would dry out but they would be cold, if Sun wore them then they would suck all the heat he managed to make. His shorts are heavier, and so they will take longer than his spoiled undergarment. It didn't matter, even if Sun frowned at the idea of wearing something soaked in their own shame. He was cold and vulnerable, and he would appreciate his bottoms where they belonged.

His hair was taking a bit to dry. It frizzled up, the red tie taken away to let both it and his wavy hair to stop dripping water. The headache it caused was still pounding on their head even after so many hours had passed, even after they slept (against their will).

Sun wore Moon's hat over his head when he deemed it dry enough, wanting the freezing air to stop hitting his head. It felt like it was seeping into his scalp and deeper in.

It hurt. Everything within an inch of their being ached. A bone-crushing pain so deep it cannot heal.

And it hurt. And hurt. And hurt.

And they sleep. Or, at least, they think they are sleeping. They doze off—in and out of consciousness. A blessing and a curse.

A day in and a day out.

It's almost as if their small goose was trying to comfort them, but that was a silly thought. Staring at them is not an act of comfort.

Did their owner forget about them? Does he believe they have died when their noise of cries died down? Is he leaving them in isolation for a sick purpose other than him forgetting their existence?