#I’m on the pill now this was supposed to fix it!!

[liviawildrose]

𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

it’s a hard pill to swallow, but sometimes, you’ve got to step into a role you never signed up for. maybe your mom wasn’t the nurturing, protective figure she was supposed to be. maybe your dad let you down in ways that left scars. maybe your friends only stuck around to take, never to give. the truth? you can’t wait for someone to come and save you. you have to become your own mother.

ask yourself:

if your child was in your shoes—stuck in a bad relationship, getting treated like crap— would you tell them, “stay”? or would you say, “you deserve better than this”?

if your child was chasing their dreams but struggling, would you mock them? no. you’d guide them, push them to be their best. you’d discipline them with love and cheer them on with pride. now, apply that same energy to yourself.

be that mom who says: “get your shit together because you deserve the best life possible.”

but also the mom who says: “it’s okay to rest, i’ve got your back, and i’m proud of you.”

start showing up for yourself the way you needed someone to show up for you. and yes, it’s sad. sad that we even have to do this. but it’s also empowering to realize you can.

personally, here’s my story.

my mom never cared to take my pictures as a kid nor cared if a haircut made me happy or not, it was literally everything up to her convenience. it hurts now because i would’ve loved to look back and see those memories. but i don’t have them. i can count the photos of my childhood—20 pictures in 17 years. insane, right? so, i made a promise to myself: from now on, i will document my life. i won’t delete my photos. i’ll make sure there’s a record of who i was, what i felt, what i achieved. and when i have kids? you bet i’ll take pictures of them. i’ll curate their childhood with care because i know what it feels like to not have that.

but being your own mother isn’t just about the pictures or the memories. it’s about analyzing everything you missed out on and providing it for yourself now. it’s about being selfless enough to let go of bad habits that hold you back. it’s about kicking toxic people out of your life the way a mom would protect her child from bad influences. it’s about prioritizing your healing, even if it’s messy and uncomfortable. you have to heal your inner child. that 5-year-old who was bullied, that 13-year-old who was treated like shit in her first relationship, that 7-year-old who dreamed big but was told she couldn’t they’re all still inside you, waiting for someone to nurture them. and unfortunately, no one else is going to do it for you. no one else is going to come and fix the damage.

i made a pact with myself: when i have kids, i will raise them so well that they won’t ever need to “heal their inner child” at 17 or 18. they’ll be whole. they’ll be loved. they’ll know their worth from the start. but for now, i’m doing that for myself. and you need to do it for yourself too. because at the end of the day, the only way to heal is to become the person you needed all along. become your own mother.

what is the inner child?

the “inner child” is the part of you that holds your early experiences, memories, and emotions. it’s the 5-year-old you who loved to laugh but was scolded for being “too much.” it’s the 10-year-old you who dreamed big but felt dismissed. it’s the teen you who felt heartbreak for the first time but didn’t know how to process it. your inner child carries the wounds, fears, and unmet needs from your past, but also your natural creativity, curiosity, and joy. healing your inner child means reconnecting with this version of yourself, giving it the love and understanding it never received, and releasing the pain it has carried for years.

how do you heal your inner child?

1. journaling: dialogue with your inner child

dedicate a journal specifically to your inner child. write letters to them, like:

“dear [your name at 5/7/13], i remember when you felt [insert memory]. i’m sorry you went through that, but i’m here now, and i’ve got you.”

let your inner child respond. write as if you’re that younger version of yourself—pour out your fears, dreams, and questions. this process can uncover emotions and patterns you didn’t realize were affecting you.

2. therapy: safe exploration with a professional

a therapist (especially one trained in inner child work) can help you identify wounds and patterns from childhood. they’ll guide you in understanding how your upbringing shaped your beliefs about yourself and the world. therapy also gives you tools to reframe those beliefs and meet your emotional needs.

watch “dear zindagi” lol

3. look at old photos and memories

revisit old photos, journals, or artwork from your childhood. don’t just look at them—analyze them. (i wish i could d this but im stuck with 20 photos so… 😭) what do you notice in your younger self’s eyes, body language, or expression?

• ask yourself:

• what was i feeling here?

• did i feel safe? loved? excited? scared?

• what did i need in this moment that i didn’t get?

• use this reflection to understand your inner child’s unmet needs.

4. create new positive memories

your inner child is still alive within you, and they crave fun, love, and freedom. do things your younger self would’ve loved but never got to do: buy yourself a toy you always wanted. go to an amusement park or build a pillow fort. dance around your room like no one’s watching. this isn’t childish it’s healing.

5. practice reparenting

treat yourself as if you were your own child. when you feel sad or scared, don’t ignore it.

ask yourself: what do i need right now? and give it to yourself.

be the loving, supportive, and protective parent your inner child deserved.

6. identify triggers and patterns

notice when you’re acting out of a place of childhood wounds.

for example: do you get overly anxious when someone’s mad at you? do you seek validation in toxic relationships? trace these behaviors back to your childhood.

were you taught that love is conditional? did you have to “earn” attention by being perfect? once you identify the root, you can start rewiring your responses.

7. inner child meditations and visualizations

find a quiet space and imagine your inner child sitting across from you. visualize yourself comforting them, hugging them, and telling them they’re safe. remind them: “you don’t have to be scared anymore. i’m here for you.”

8. nurture yourself daily

make self-care non-negotiable. eat foods you love, sleep well, move your body, and spend time doing things that make you happy. when you treat yourself with care, you show your inner child they’re worth it.

9. forgive

healing isn’t about excusing those who hurt you. it’s about releasing the hold they have over you so you can move forward. write a forgiveness letter—not for them, but for yourself. (they don’t deserve the love i’m sorry)

“i release the pain you caused me so it doesn’t control me anymore.”

10. promise to break the cycle

vow to yourself (and your future children if you want them) just cause your grandma bleed on your mom and then your mom passed it to you does not mean you will make your future kids life miserable too. the generational trauma must break with you. your future child does not deserve it and so your inner child protect you inner child and when you have a child of your own be the best mother possible, i personally would love to make my future kids childhood so memorable and happy that they will feel the need to comeback and relive their childhood that’s the kind of childhood i want to give them

“i will not let this pain define me. i will create a life of love, joy, and freedom.”

healing your inner child isn’t easy, but it’s life-changing.when you reconnect with that innocent, wounded part of yourself, you’ll find that the love and peace you’ve been searching for has always been within you.

11. foster your inner child’s dreams

when you were a child, your dreams weren’t influenced by fear, rejection, or societal pressures. you dreamed with your heart wide open, purely and authentically. reconnecting with those dreams can heal the part of you that felt unheard or invalidated back then.

a. reflect on your childhood aspirations

• sit down and ask yourself:

• what did i want to be when i was 5? 10? 13?

• what made me happiest back then?

• what did i lose interest in because someone told me i wasn’t good enough?

• write down every dream, no matter how “unrealistic” it seems.

hint: those childhood dreams often point to your soul’s calling.

b. start chasing those dreams now

• even if your dreams have evolved, find ways to honor the essence of them.

• wanted to be a singer at 13? start singing lessons or recording yourself.

• wanted to help people? explore careers like psychology, teaching, or coaching.

• don’t hold back.

it’s not about being perfect, it’s about reconnecting with the passion your younger self had.

c. create small wins for your inner child

• maybe 8-year-old you always wanted to paint but never got the supplies. buy yourself a beginner’s set and paint, even if it’s messy.

• maybe 6-year-old you wanted to be a dancer. take a fun dance class and twirl like no one’s watching.

• small wins send the message to your inner child that they are finally being prioritized.

e. validate your inner child’s feelings and failures

• remind yourself:

“it’s okay that 10-year-old me struggled with making friends. i was just a child trying my best.”

• instead of shaming yourself for past actions, honor them.

every mistake was a step toward becoming the incredible person you are now.

f. use your dreams to shape your future

• your childhood passions aren’t just hobbies—they’re roadmaps to your authentic self.

• align your current goals with your inner child’s desires.

• if 7-year-old you dreamed of making people smile, maybe your career or side hustle should reflect that.

• if 12-year-old you loved storytelling, find ways to write, act, or share your voice.

fostering your inner child’s dreams doesn’t just heal the past—it builds a future that feels authentic to you. every time you take a step toward those dreams, you’re telling your inner child: “you were always worthy. your dreams always mattered. and now, i’m making them come true for you.”

[secretceremonials]

look, i love being a woman, but I wish I didn’t feel so violently suicidal for 10 days before my period xx

[yoohyeon]

My body went numb a little and I’m stressed, cause I hope everything is not coming back and I’m afraid to go to sleep (cause you know I’ll feel it more since I’m not distract and I will panic) but I have to wake up in 2 hours for Puppy’s pills so I have to so sleep now 😭

[shadowwfoxx]

Hurt

Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: Logan takes care of you when you get hurt. fluff. Logan is a softie just for you.

You and Logan were supposed to have a romantic picnic date at the park. That plan was quickly ruined once you looked outside the window and saw dark and angry clouds surface the sky. Not too long after that, the thunderstorm had started. 

Since the weather was so shitty you and Logan decided to stay in, watch a movie, and have him spend the night. You also threw in that you would make him your famous pasta dish that he absolutely loved.

Your apartment felt extremely warm and cozy compared to the storm unfolding outside. You were in your kitchen stirring the pasta to ensure it didn’t burn at the bottom. Logan insisted on helping you but you didn’t allow him, telling him to sit and relax. He was on the couch nursing a beer while watching the football game, looking over his shoulder a few times to check on you. 

The blaring sound of the timer for the pasta went off. You turn off the timer before going to turn off the stovetop. You then grab your pasta strainer and place it in the sink. You grab the two handles of the pot, pick it up, and walk over to the sink to strain the water. 

Just as you were tilting the pot, a huge flash of lighting, followed by the loudest rumble of thunder you’ve ever heard struck. Startled, you swing your head to the side to look out your living room window, the trees outside swaying harshly. Your lights then flicker a few times, your TV shutting off in the process. You hear Logan curse under his breath. 

No longer focused on what you are doing, you tilt the pot full of boiling water further down without realizing it. A huge amount of hot water escapes the pot and comes into contact with the inside of your arm. 

“Fuck!” You hiss, immediately dropping the pot in the sink, making a loud bang when it drops. The pasta spills all at the bottom of it. You groan, and hold your other hand over the burn, trying to relieve the pain spreading throughout your arm. Tears now threatening to spill.

“What happened?” Logan asks, his voice rough and demanding. He is quick to be by your side, his hand warm on the small of your back. 

“I-I burned myself with the pasta water.” You whine, squeezing your eyes shut. Tears start to roll down your face. You were never someone to have such a good tolerance for pain. Logan rubs up and down your back soothingly.

“Let me have a look baby,” He says softly but firm, guiding you to face him. You slowly move your hand that was covering your burn, wincing at the pain. 

Logan holds your arm out, inspecting your wound. “You got yourself good huh bub.” All you do is sniffle.

He guides your arm to the sink, turning on the cold water and letting it pour on your burn. You hiss at the relief and pain it was providing you. 

“I know, I know.” He whispers. He kisses the top of your head while still holding your arm underneath the water. His other arm rubs up and down yours.

“Keep it under the water okay? I’m gonna get some bandages.” The warmth of his body disappears from behind you. You hear him rummage through the bathroom cabinet, groaning when random pill bottles fall on the floor. After a few minutes, you hear his footsteps behind you. He reaches from behind you to turn off the water. 

“Let me fix you up bub.” He grabs your hand, leading you to the couch. He sets his stuff down on the coffee table before taking a seat on the couch. Logan puts a hand on your hip to guide you to sit across his lap. He cleans your burn and wraps it in a bandage. You don’t even notice how you’re still silently crying. 

“Why the tears princess? Hm?” Logan squeezes your thigh. You haven’t made eye contact with him yet, still upset. “Hey look at me.” His hands going under your chin. You finally meet his gaze.

“Cause everything is ruined.” Your bottom lip trembles. “Our picnic date, dinner, and now my stupid arm.” You let out a shaky breath, trying not to cry more. 

“Hey hey, nothing’s ruined. C’mere.” He turns you to straddle his lap. He wraps his muscular arms around your body for a hug, putting one hand on your head cradling it. “We still have that movie to watch. How ‘bout that?” His voice was low and raspy. You nod, looking at him.

He wipes your tears before giving you a peck on the lips. He gives your butt a light tap signalling you to stand up. You stand up as Logan moves to lie down on his side. You lie in front of him, his arm wrapping around you immediately to pull you close to his body. Maybe it wasn’t all ruined after all.

[lailols]

Cockwarming with TXT

MDNI!

Unprotected sex, kinda dom txt x sub f!reader, breeding kink in jun’s

____________________________________________

Soobin

You guys are having the self-care night that you do every so often. You haven’t seen each other in a while, so you pull out all the bells and whistles. There’s music playing softly as you help each other relax and refresh so lovingly. You gave each other mani-pedis and he even helped you shave.:(

He helped apply your face mask and you crawl onto his lap to help put his on. His hands immediately crawl under your (his) shirt to rest his hands on your hips. Everything’s fine until he tightens his grip and pulls you impossibly closer to him.

“I can’t apply your face mask like this.” You giggle into his chest. “I’m also going to get face mask goo on your shirt if you don’t let me go.”

“I just want to be close to you.” He mumbles and even though you can’t see it, you know he’s pouting.

“I don’t think we can get any closer than we already are.” You place your hands on his shoulders to push yourself back a bit. His hands drift down to your butt tapping twice.

“We could….” He trails off, hoping you get the hint.

“Bin, this is self-care night! A sacred tradition that cannot be paused for sex!” You scold him playfully while repositioning yourself to finish fixing his mask.

“We don’t have to do anything! Just want to be inside you.” He tightens his hold and shifts you onto him. You can already feel him growing hard.

“You promise not to move until we finish?” You say already not believing him. “You’re sure you can handle it?”

“Oh, I can handle it alright.” He scoffs. “Can you?”

“Okay, let’s do it.”

Soobin makes quick work of sliding down your panties and opening you up for him. Slipping down his shorts and boxers and easily lifting you to position himself.

As he slides home, you both release a sigh. You close your eyes to adjust and calm yourself. Your walls flutter around him, pulling him in further, further.

“Well, I can’t not move if you’re going to attempt to milk me.”

“I’m not trying to!” You hit his shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m not immune to a monster trying to rip me apart.”

“A monster?” He smirks. “You flatter me.”

“Yeah, yeah, hush so I can finish your face mask.”

He does hush and let you finish your work. After that, you each take turns applying a lip scrub. While wiping his off, you see his lips looking so pink and pouty. You can’t help but lean in closer for a peck.

Well…. It was meant to be a peck. You’re not sure who did it, but one of you decided it was meant to be a deep kiss. Soobin makes quick work of sliding his tongue into your mouth and mapping out the already familiar space. You clench around his dick and at that point, can you really blame him for thrusting up?

You both let out moans and… well…. You know what happens next

“You liar!”

“You started it!”

“I did not! I just wanted to kiss you!”

“And what am I supposed to do? NOT fuck you after that? Be serious.”

Yeonjun

When you told Yeonjun he didn’t need to use a condom because you’ve been on the pill for a few months, you didn’t expect him to turn into an omega in heat.

You didn’t expect him to fuck you six ways to Sunday and then some. He’s put you in every position in the book and even added a few you didn’t know existed and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to stop anytime soon.

Right now he’s got you in a classic mating press and his dancer hips are putting in work. You can barely remember your own name and the only sounds leaving you are broken moans. Tears are falling from your eyes but Jun just kisses them away.

“It’s okay, baby.” He pants out. “I’m almost done, just gotta make sure it takes.”

“Huh?”

“Gotta fill you up, okay? Gotta get you pregnant.” And with that, he’s back to thrusting so hard you’re shifting on the bed. And oh, that was kinda hot? It doesn’t even make sense but he said it as if he believed it.

When he’s done (for the time being), he just flips your position and has you rest on top of him with his cock still inside. You go to pull away, but he locks his arms around your waist.

“Stay.” He says with such conviction. “We’re gonna go again in a bit.”

“Jun, I don’t even remember what day it is, what do you mean go again?”

“I already told you what the goal of today is.” Is all he says in reply, pulling you into a soft kiss.

Neither of you can stay still very long with his quickly hardening cock inside of you, so it's no surprise that you start again soon.

Beomgyu

It was originally a bet. Beomgyu wanted to test if he’d be able to focus more on the game with you warming him, and you pointed out how he can’t even handle getting under the desk support. Being the person that he is, he took this as a challenge, and that led you to now.

You’re fully naked, warming his cock while he’s only in a shirt. Headphones on, and pushed as close to the desk as possible so he can reach the keyboard with ease. It sounds like he’s doing fairly well and if it wasn’t for the way he clenched his teeth anytime he wasn’t yelling at his teammates, you’d think he was completely unaffected.

That’s all fine and good, but what about you? You’re bored. You don’t have your phone and you can’t even see the screen. You can only alternate between looking at your bed or Beomgyu’s face/neck.

Really, he can’t blame you for finding a way to entertain yourself, can he? You start small, leaning into the crook of his neck and leaving quick kisses, running your hands up his chest. His arms tighten on your sides, but he doesn’t really react outside of that.

You then move to licking and sucking lightly. Not enough to leave marks, but enough for him to feel it. Once you do that, one of his hands leaves the keyboard to mute his mic and the other finds your waist.

“Be good, and let me finish.” He says tilting his head down to make eye contact with you. “I’ll play with you after, okay baby?”

“I’m not even doing anything.” You pout up at him. “I can’t see the screen and you’re yapping my ears off.”

“Hmm.” He pouts down at you. “And whose fault is that, huh? Keep those pretty lips and hands to yourself and I’ll make it up to you after this game okay?”

“But-“ You’re cut off by one of his teammates yelling at him to move already. Beomgyu fixes you with a look, unmutes his mic, and quickly focuses on his game again.

You figure that since he doesn’t want you to touch him, you’ll just touch yourself. You lean your head back on his shoulder and slide one of your hands between your bodies to rest on your clit. You rub it softly at first and let out a sigh.

The stimulation makes you clench around Beomgyu and he tries to look at you but you don’t move. After a few seconds, he just goes back to the game. Gradually speeding up your movements, you bite your lip to keep your noise down. Your other hand rests on his other shoulder to ground yourself.

It feels, surprisingly, good. Good enough that you’re pretty sure you could come from this alone. You’re so caught up in your pleasure that you don’t realize that Beomgyu hasn’t spoken in a while, you also haven’t heard the keyboard either. The only sounds in the room are your soft sighs and the wet sounds of your pussy (if you realized, you’d probably be mortified).

Just when you’re on the edge of your release, Beomgyu grabs your waist and pulls you completely off of him.

“Why’d you do that?” You ask around a gasp.

“If I knew you’d be such a slut, I wouldn’t have asked you to warm me while I game.” Is his bored reply. “If I hadn’t left the game, everyone would’ve heard you being a needy whore.”

You promptly look away from him.

“Oh, so now you have some shame? I told you I’d make you feel good if you let me finish, but you always need to get what you want, huh?” He pushes you onto the desk and stands. “I can never be nice to you. You always have to be a little brat, huh? Where’s my good girl?

“I am good!” You protest. “I was just bored.”

Yeah, the defense sounds weak even to you.

“Yeah? Well now you’ve got my attention and you’re not gonna like it.” Beomgyu promises with a cruel smile.

Taehyun

You don’t remember who suggested you cockwarm Tae while he writes lyrics, but you think they’re very smart (that alone leads you to believe it was him, but semantics). It’s just another form of quality time between the two of you, but so much more than that at the same time.

You’re resting on your elbows scrolling on your phone while he’s being kneeling behind you (bless his body) as he works. His lyric book is quite literally on your ass so he has a space to work but it’s fine. You can totally do this all the time. If you stumble upon a really good video, you can almost forget he’s inside you completely.

Or, at least your mind can. Your body, on the other hand, cannot. Tae feels you dripping on his knees and the bed. He can feel your walls fluttering around him every so often. And really, what kind of boyfriend would he be if he just let his pretty girl suffer?

Even if you don’t know it yourself, your body is telling him that you need him. He has to do something. And really, he’s been working for nearly an hour, that’s enough time. You’ve been so good for him, it’s time to give you what you need.

He tosses his book onto the floor and pulls you up onto your knees, startling you.

“Tae-?” You can even finish until he’s leaning over to hook his head over your shoulder, reaching so so far into you.

“Shhh baby,” he says sweetly, placing a kiss on your cheek. “I’ve got you. You’ve been so good for me even though you needed me so bad. Let me make it better, hm?”

And now that he mentions it, you’re aware of just how wet everything is. How nice and heavy he feels inside you. How if he doesn’t fuck you in the next few minutes you just might die.

And fuck you he does. He has to reward his baby for waiting so patiently.

Kai

“So, we just… stay like this?” Kai asks from behind you with one of his hands hovering unsure above your naked hip.

“Yeah! And we watch the show!” You say pointing to the anime playing on the tv.

You see, you wanted to try cockwarming while watching anime. It would take a time when you and Kai relax together and make it even more relaxing!

Sadly for Kai, the absolute last thing he feels right now is relaxed. He really doesn’t want to move, but it’s just- it’s hard okay? He has his pretty girlfriend naked and pressed against him. His cock is snug between your walls and it feels good. Of course, it feels good, but it could be better, right?

It wouldn’t even just feel better for him, it would feel better for you too. He waits for a bit to gauge how you’re doing, and it seems like you’re content to remain like this for the show. Kai doesn’t think he can handle that- actually, he knows he can’t.

He starts shifting a bit. Trying to find a comfortable position, until he just decides to just thrust shallowly. It’ll be subtle, right? He could pass it off as finding a good position, right?

With that in mind, he takes a tighter grip on your hip and pulls out just the slightest bit before going back in. And fuck, even just that is leagues better than staying still. You don’t even seem to have realized.

He continues on like that and, oh, has it always been this hard to stay quiet? Maybe it’s the nature of what he’s doing, using you like this while you’re content to watch the show. Is this a kink? It definitely feels kinky. Whatever, he’ll think about it more when he isn’t trying to chase an orgasm.

On your end, you’re thanking every god you can think of that Kai needs you just as much as you need him. From the second he slid inside you, you knew you were done for. So when he started thrusting, you could’ve cried from happiness. As you feel Kai push you nearly to the edge, you grab his hand and move it down to your nub to help you along the way.

“Sorry!” His mouth says, but his body grows more brazen. Now that the facade is gone, he doesn’t have to hold back, right? He can just focus on making you feel good. And he does exactly that. Thrusting harder and rubbing your clit, to push you over the edge.

After letting you ride out your high, he pulls out and flips you onto your back. Not even hesitating to enter you again. It’s okay, you can finish the show later, he needs you. Just take it for him, okay? He’ll make you feel so, so good.

[lila-lou]

✨Peanut✨

Summary: Stuck in a safe house with Soldier Boy is a test of patience—and nerves. He’s sharp-tongued, cocky, and impossible to ignore, pushing your boundaries just to see you flinch. You try to keep your distance, but he has a way of getting under your skin. You’re supposed to keep him in check, but the real challenge might be keeping yourself together.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Nickname, Shy!Reader, MENTION!Reader was touched without consent, Ben being as cocky as ever, some kind of fluff i guess

Word Count: 10523 (long ass shit here, lol)

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The room felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for him to make the next move. Soldier Boy—Ben, as Butcher had instructed you to call him—sat at the battered wooden table in the middle of the safe house. He was grinding pills into powder with the flat of his knife, muttering to himself, the motion aggressive and precise. Every scrape of the blade against the wood sent shivers down your spine.

You kept your eyes fixed on the television, not really watching whatever rerun was playing. It didn’t matter. Nothing could drown out the weight of his presence. The way he dominated the space even when he wasn’t speaking. Even when he wasn’t looking at you.

You didn’t know why he tolerated you. Out of all the people who’d tried to babysit him since Butcher hauled him out of whatever Russian nightmare he’d been buried in, you were the only one still standing. Maybe it was because you didn’t push him. Or maybe it was because you were too afraid to even try.

Two years ago, your fear of supes had been planted like a landmine in your chest. One night, one supe, one scar across your soul. That was all it took to change you forever. Now, being in the same room as one, especially him, felt like walking barefoot through a minefield. One wrong step, and everything could go to hell. Literally, in his case.

Ben scooped the powder into a neat little line, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “You don’t have to sit there like a deer in headlights, you know”, he drawled, not looking up. His voice was gravelly, tinged with a roughness that made you want to shrink further into the couch. “Not gonna bite”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of the couch cushion. “I’m fine here”, you said quickly, your voice thin and brittle.

“Sure you are”. He leaned back in his chair, his shirt unbuttoned enough to show a glimpse of the skin of his chest. That chest. The one that could, and had, turned entire blocks into ash. He tapped his nose twice before snorting the line with practiced ease, sighing as he leaned back again. “You’re terrible at pretending, you know that?”.

Your breath hitched, and you cursed yourself for it. He noticed everything. “Pretending what?”, you muttered, eyes glued to the TV screen.

“That you’re not scared shitless of me”, he said, his tone almost amused now. “It’s cute. Kind of pathetic, but cute”.

Your stomach twisted. The urge to snap back at him rose like bile, but you shoved it down. Provoking him was the last thing you wanted to do. Instead, you focused on keeping your voice steady. “I’m not scared of you”.

Ben laughed—deep, low, and sharp enough to make you flinch. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart”.

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to keep your breathing even. This was your job. This was what Butcher had asked of you. Watch over him, keep him in line, don’t let him blow anything up. Easier said than done when every fiber of your being was screaming to get the hell out of there.

Ben finally looked at you, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you”. His tone softened—just barely—but it still sent a shiver down your spine. “Not unless you give me a reason to”.

That didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but you nodded anyway, not trusting yourself to speak.

He reached for another pill, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You know”, he said, his voice quieter now, “it’s exhausting, being treated like a goddamn bomb all the time”.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his gaze fixed on the table as he rolled the pill between his fingers. For a moment, he almost seemed… human. Vulnerable.

But you didn’t know what to say. Didn’t trust yourself to say anything. So you just stayed where you were, curled up on the couch, watching him out of the corner of your eye and praying you wouldn’t be the one to set him off.

Ben tossed the pill back, swallowing it dry like it was nothing before reaching for the whiskey bottle on the table. He took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood up. For one fleeting second, you thought he might leave the room, give you some space to breathe. But no—he grabbed a bag of popcorn from the counter, ripped it open with his teeth, and made his way to the couch.

You tensed immediately. There were at least three other places he could sit, but no, he dropped himself right beside you. Not just close—touching. His thigh pressed firmly against yours, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of your jeans like a live wire.

Your body locked up, your heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. If he noticed your discomfort—and of course, he did—he didn’t let on. He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth, his eyes flicking toward the TV screen before turning to you.

“Whatcha watching?”, he asked casually, his voice a little softer now but still holding that rough, unshakable edge.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… whatever was on”.

He snorted. “Riveting choice”. Another handful of popcorn disappeared into his mouth, and he leaned back, spreading out like he owned the place. Which, let’s face it, he kind of did. Every room he entered felt like it bent to him, like the walls themselves were trying to make room for him and his ego.

As the minutes dragged on, he kept up the small talk. About the shitty popcorn, the weather, the ancient couch springs that squeaked every time one of you shifted. His tone was light, conversational, but his eyes… his eyes were anything but.

He wasn’t looking at the TV anymore. He was watching you. Really watching you. The way your shoulders hunched in on themselves like you were trying to make yourself smaller. The way your hands fidgeted with the hem of your hoodie. The way your legs were pressed tightly together, like you were trying to disappear into the cushions.

“You’re tiny”, he said abruptly, almost thoughtfully, his gaze dragging up and down your frame. “Like, seriously. How are you even a person? You’re what, a buck twenty soaking wet?”.

You stiffened, your face flushing. “I’m… normal-sized”, you mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Normal? Sweetheart, if I even looked at you wrong, you’d probably snap in half”.

Your stomach churned at the words, at the casual way he said them. Like it wasn’t a threat, just a fact. And maybe it was. He wasn’t wrong—he could break you without even trying. Supe or not, he was built like a goddamn tank, and you… well, you weren’t.

His gaze lingered on you, sharp and appraising, like he was trying to figure you out. “What’re you so scared of, huh?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “You think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The lump in your throat was too big, your fear too loud.

“Relax, doll”, he said, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “If I wanted to crush you, I wouldn’t need to waste my time sitting here talking to you, now would I?”.

That didn’t make you feel any better. In fact, it made your skin crawl. But you nodded anyway, because what else could you do?

Ben smirked as he leaned back, stretching his arm casually over the back of the couch. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving you.

“So”, he drawled, cocking an eyebrow. “Got a boyfriend, Peanut?”.

The word caught you off guard, and you glanced at him sharply, your confusion momentarily outweighing your fear. “P-Peanut?”, you stammered, the nickname so unexpected it almost made you forget how close he was.

He grinned, his teeth flashing white against his scruffy beard. “Yeah, Peanut. You’re tiny, right? Probably weigh, what, eighty-five? Ninety pounds tops? I could pick you up with one hand, and you’d barely be a snack”. He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, like he found the whole thing hilarious. “Peanut fits”.

Your face burned with embarrassment, but you didn’t say anything. What could you say? He wasn’t exactly wrong, but hearing it said out loud—especially by him—made you feel smaller than ever. You tucked your legs up under you, trying to create some kind of barrier between his imposing presence and your body.

“C’mon”, he said, his voice lighter now, teasing almost. “You seriously don’t have some guy waiting around for you? Someone to take care of you? Feels like you’d need a bodyguard just to make it through the grocery store”.

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. “No boyfriend”.

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. “Huh. Surprising. A thing like you? I’d think guys would be lining up”.

His words weren’t comforting. They weren’t meant to be. They carried an undertone that made your stomach twist, a reminder of how easily he could take you if he wanted to. You shifted uncomfortably, pulling your hoodie tighter around yourself like it could somehow shield you from the heat of his gaze.

“What’s the matter, Peanut?”, he asked. “I’m just making conversation. You don’t have to look so freaked out all the time”.

“I’m not freaked out”, you lied, your voice trembling just enough to betray you.

He snorted, clearly not buying it. “Sure you’re not”. He leaned forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing himself closer to you. The smell of whiskey and faint cigar smoke clung to him, mingling with something sharper, something distinctly him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. Told you already, didn’t I?”.

You nodded again, but the tension in your body didn’t ease. If anything, it grew worse as his eyes traveled over you again, lingering in ways that made you want to sink into the couch and disappear.

“Man”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re wound up tighter than a fucking spring”. He reached for the popcorn bag again, the casual motion a stark contrast to the intensity of his words. “I don’t know what the hell Butcher was thinking, sticking me with you. You’re not exactly intimidating”.

You bristled at that, a tiny flicker of indignation breaking through your fear. “I wasn’t supposed to intimidate you”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just… here to keep an eye on you”.

He laughed—loud and abrupt, the sound startling in the otherwise quiet room. “You’re supposed to keep an eye on me?”. He leaned back again, throwing one arm across the back of the couch again and grinning down at you like he’d just heard the best joke of his life. “Fuck. That’s rich”.

You didn’t respond, biting your lip to keep the words locked in. You couldn’t afford to snap, couldn’t afford to give him a reason to escalate. Not with how close he was. Not with how easily he could overpower you.

Ben’s laugh faded into a low hum, almost as if he were talking to himself, but the words were loud enough to reach you. “You know”, he muttered, swirling the last of the whiskey in the bottle before setting it on the floor, “I could help you relax. You’re all wound up like a little bird that flew into the wrong fucking cage”.

The comment made your stomach tighten, your pulse spiking as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze wasn’t on the TV. It wasn’t even on the popcorn anymore. It was on you. Slowly, deliberately, like he was working through some kind of internal checklist, his eyes dragged from your face, to your neck, to the way your hoodie hugged your body.

“Yeah”, he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher.

“I’d probably crush you. Tiny little thing like you. But…”. He leaned his head back against the couch, as though considering something deeply. “I could figure it out. Work on my self-restraint”. He exhaled sharply through his nose, almost like a laugh, but it didn’t carry any humor. “Not sure you’d survive, though”.

Your throat went dry, and your mind raced for something—anything—to say to steer the conversation somewhere less terrifying. But the words wouldn’t come. It was like your brain had shut down entirely, overwhelmed by the weight of his presence and the dark, unsettling undertone to his words.

“I mean, shit”, he went on, almost lazily, like he was just idly musing. “It’d be a tight fit, no doubt about that. But I’d manage”. He turned his head toward you, one eyebrow quirking as though he was waiting for some kind of reaction. “What d’you think, Peanut? Think you could handle me?”.

Your heart felt like it might explode. You shifted slightly, trying to put even an inch of space between you, but the couch offered no escape. He noticed, of course he noticed, and the smirk on his face only widened.

“Relax”, he said again, though this time it sounded more like a command than a suggestion. “I’m just messing with you”. He leaned back again, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth like the last thirty seconds hadn’t just happened.

But the tension in the air didn’t dissipate. His words lingered, sinking into your mind like oil, staining everything. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe too loudly, your entire body coiled as tightly as a spring.

Ben glanced at you again, his expression unreadable now, the grin gone. “You really gotta lighten up, Peanut”, he said, almost absently. “You’re making me feel like a fucking monster”.

You wanted to tell him he wasn’t making it easy. That his very presence was suffocating. That every word out of his mouth only fed the gnawing pit of fear in your stomach. But you couldn’t. So you stayed silent, staring at the TV and praying that he’d get bored soon. That the night would end without him pushing any further.

Ben shifted slightly on the couch, the springs groaning under his weight. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if lost in thought, but you could feel his attention still anchored on you, heavy and unrelenting.

“You know”, he started, his voice low and casual, “I heard Butcher and that cum-guzzler talking about you”. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly as though giving himself time to savor the words that would follow. “Something about why you’re so jumpy around supes”.

Your heart clenched, and you went rigid. You hadn’t realized Butcher had told him—why would he? What purpose would it serve, giving Soldier Boy ammunition? You glanced at him sharply, trying to gauge his intentions, but his expression was frustratingly neutral, save for the slight quirk of a smirk playing on his lips.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, shaking his head. “Can’t say I blame you”, he continued. “Sounds like you had a real shitty time of it. Some asshole supe gets a little too handsy, decides he’s owed something just because he’s got powers. That about right?”.

The knot in your stomach tightened, but you didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt like it was closing, the weight of his words pulling every horrible memory to the surface.

Ben didn’t seem to need a response. He let out a long breath, his smirk fading as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “Here’s the thing, Peanut”, he said, his tone quieter now, almost contemplative. “Guys like that… they give the rest of us a bad name. Not that I give a shit about my reputation, but, you know, principle and all that”.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why… why are you bringing this up?”.

He shrugged, the motion casual, but the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. “Just thinking out loud. If that’s the only experience you’ve got with supes… well, no wonder you’re scared shitless. That’s the memory you’re stuck with”. His gaze slid to you, sharp and probing. “But maybe I could fix that”.

“Fix it?”, you echoed, your voice trembling. “What… what does that mean?”.

He smirked again, leaning back and stretching his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing just a hair’s breadth away from your shoulder. “I’m just saying”, he drawled, “maybe if you had a different kind of experience, you wouldn’t be so fucking scared all the time. Replace that shitty memory with a fucking awesome one”.

The implication in his words was crystal clear, and your stomach churned violently. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie, your nails digging into your palms. “That’s not…”. You trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper. “That’s not how it works”.

He tilted his head, studying you with a mixture of amusement and something darker. “You sure about that? Sometimes all it takes is one good memory to wipe out the bad. One moment to make you forget the rest of the bullshit”.

You shook your head, your pulse hammering in your ears. “I don’t think—”.

“Calm down, Peanut”, he interrupted, his voice dropping into that low, commanding tone again. “I’m not saying I’d do anything. Unless, you know, you wanted me to”.

Your breath hitched, and you pressed yourself further into the couch, as if the cushions could somehow swallow you whole. His gaze was piercing, unrelenting, and you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, suffocating.

“But hey”, he continued after a moment, his tone lightening again as he grabbed another handful of popcorn. “It’s your call. I’m just saying… I could make it worth your while”.

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. Your mind was racing, your body frozen in place.

The safe house was quiet except for the distant hum of the water running in the bathroom. Ben was in the shower, and you were stuck on the couch, your nerves coiled tighter than ever. It had been weeks since that first night, weeks of this strange, unbearable dance between the two of you. He hadn’t pushed things too far, but he hadn’t stopped either. The teasing, the lingering touches, the weight of his gaze—it was constant, suffocating, impossible to ignore.

And now, as you sat there waiting for him, you hated yourself for the stupid summer dress you’d chosen to wear. It was hot, unbearably so, and the safe house didn’t have air conditioning. The dress had seemed like a practical choice at the time—lightweight, easy to move in—but now it felt like a mistake. The fabric clung to your skin and you couldn’t help but feel exposed. Vulnerable.

You shifted uncomfortably, pulling the dress down as far as it would go and wrapping your arms around yourself. It didn’t help. The room felt stifling, and the faint sound of the shower only added to the tension. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering, couldn’t stop the little voice whispering in the back of your head: What’s he going to say this time? What’s he going to do?

The shower shut off, and your breath caught. You stared at the TV, not really seeing it, your heart pounding as you heard the sound of the bathroom door creaking open.

Moments later, Ben emerged, a towel slung low around his hips and his hair damp, water droplets trailing down his chest. He was a vision of raw power and confidence, and he knew it. The smirk tugging at his lips told you as much.

“Hey, Peanut”, he said casually, like this was the most normal thing in the world. He grabbed a second towel and ran it through his hair, his muscles flexing with the motion. “Didn’t think I’d keep you waiting, did you?”.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting back to the TV. “I wasn’t—”, you started, but your voice faltered. “I mean, I’m fine”.

“Sure you are”, he said, chuckling under his breath. He crossed the room, tossing the towel onto a chair as he made his way to the couch. You felt his presence before you saw him, the heat of him, the sheer weight of him, as he sat down beside you. Close. Too close. Again.

His eyes flicked to your dress, lingering for just a moment before he leaned back, draping his arm over the back of the couch. “Nice dress”, he commented, his tone light but his gaze sharp. “Didn’t know we were getting all dressed up today”.

Your face burned, and you tugged at the hem again, wishing it were longer. “It’s just… it’s hot”, you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“That it is”, he agreed, his smirk widening. “But you didn’t have to go all out for me, Peanut. A little effort goes a long way, though, so… thanks”.

You clenched your jaw, your hands twisting the fabric of the dress in your lap. “I didn’t—”.

“I’m just messing with you. Don’t get so wound up”, his voice dropping into that familiar, teasing drawl.

You wanted to snap back, wanted to tell him to knock it off, but you couldn’t. You just sat there, frozen, your heart pounding as he shifted slightly closer, the edge of his thigh brushing against yours.

The problem wasn’t just that you were afraid of Ben anymore—though that fear was still there, lurking beneath every breath, every glance, every word. The problem was that, over the past few weeks, something else had crept in, something worse.

Attraction.

You hated yourself for it. Hated the way your pulse quickened when he smirked at you, the way your thoughts lingered on his voice, deep and rough like gravel underfoot. And now, as you sat beside him, that stupid towel slung so dangerously low on his hips, it was taking everything you had to keep your eyes on the TV.

But you failed. Of course, you did. Your gaze flicked toward him out of the corner of your eye, drawn like a moth to a flame. The towel clung to his hips precariously, the line of dark hair below his navel trailing downward, disappearing beneath the fabric. And lower—your breath hitched—the outline of him was visible, faint but undeniable.

You quickly looked away, your cheeks burning, your heart hammering in your chest. What the hell is wrong with me? you thought, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it almost hurt. This was Soldier Boy. Ben. The same man who teased you relentlessly, who could crush you without a second thought. A damn supe. And yet…

“You’re quiet, Peanut”, he said suddenly, his voice breaking through your frantic thoughts. His tone was casual, but you knew better than to believe it wasn’t deliberate. He always knew how to needle you just enough to get under your skin. “I mean, you’re always quiet, but today? What’s the deal?”.

You didn’t respond, your throat too dry to form a coherent excuse. You tried to keep your eyes locked on the TV, pretending to focus on the images flickering across the screen. But you could feel him watching you, the heat of his gaze sliding over your profile, lingering far too long for comfort.

“C’mon”, he pressed, his voice dropping an octave, rich and deep enough to make your stomach do an unwelcome flip. “You’re the only action I’ve got in this shithole they’re hiding me in. Least you could do is talk to me. I’m bored as hell over here”.

Your hands twisted in your lap, gripping the fabric of your dress like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not with the way his words made your skin flush and your heart pound.

“I don’t know what to say”, you mumbled finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben leaned back against the couch, his towel shifting just slightly. “You don’t have to say much, Peanut”, he drawled, his smirk audible in his tone. “Just give me something. Anything. Hell, even a complaint about how much you hate being stuck with me. I know you’ve got those”.

You glanced at him for just a split second, and that was your mistake. He was sprawled out, all lazy confidence, the towel still clinging low on his hips, the light from the TV casting faint shadows over his chest. The sight made your stomach twist, and you quickly looked away again, your cheeks burning.

“I don’t hate you”, you blurted out, immediately regretting it.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Don’t you now?”. His smirk deepened, and he leaned in just slightly, the arm draped over the back of the couch brushing your shoulder. “Could’ve fooled me with the way you can’t even look at me half the time”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers knotting into the hem of your dress. “I just…”, you stammered, unsure how to explain without giving away too much. “You make me nervous”.

Ben tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost curious. “Nervous, huh?”, he repeated, his voice quieter now, like he was mulling over the word. “Why? You still think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

“No”, you said quickly, though the fear still lingered at the edges of your mind. “It’s not that”.

“Then what?”, he asked, his tone deceptively gentle, but his gaze was sharp, unrelenting. “What is it about me that’s got you so wound up?”.

You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Your silence only seemed to amuse him further. He let out a low chuckle, leaning back again, his fingers lightly drumming against the armrest.

“Shit, Peanut”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re like a puzzle I can’t quite figure out. Makes me want to push, see how far you’ll bend before you break”.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you forced yourself to keep your breathing steady, to keep your focus anywhere but on him. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep this up, this fragile pretense of calm, but you knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to let this go. Not tonight.

The tension in the room was suffocating, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands trembled as you placed them on your thighs, pushing yourself up from the couch. “I… I need some water”, you mumbled, not daring to look at him. You didn’t wait for his response—if he even had one—and walked quickly toward the little kitchen tucked into the corner of the safe house.

Your footsteps felt too loud against the worn wooden floor, the tiny kitchen offering no real reprieve from his presence. You grabbed a glass from the cupboard, your fingers trembling slightly as you filled it from the tap. You told yourself the sound of running water would drown out the pounding of your heart, but it didn’t.

The quiet click of his footsteps behind you made you freeze.

“Thirsty, huh?”, Ben’s voice came from far too close, his tone casual but laced with that ever-present teasing edge. He was right behind you now—you could feel him, his heat radiating like a furnace, the space between you barely a breath.

“I just needed some space”, you said, your voice quiet and shaky, gripping the glass like it was a lifeline.

“Space?”, he echoed, like the word was foreign to him. You heard him shift, his hand brushing lightly against the counter as he leaned against it. “Still can’t handle being near me?”.

You froze, the glass trembling slightly in your hands as you felt him step even closer. His body was right behind yours now, close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his chest against your back every time you shifted.

“You look really pretty today”, he murmured, his voice softer now, quieter, but no less unsettling. His words sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you gripped the glass tighter, your knuckles turning white.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hair, playing with a loose strand like it was the most natural thing in the world. The movement was slow, deliberate, as if he were testing your reaction.

“Didn’t think a little dress like that could make someone so…”. He trailed off, his fingers gently tucking the strand behind your ear from behind, his touch warm against your skin. “Sweet. You do surprise me, Peanut”.

Your heart pounded, your breath catching in your throat. “Ben, please…”, you whispered, barely able to get the words out. You didn’t know what you were asking for—for him to stop, to step back, to leave you alone—but your voice carried the weight of your unease.

“Oh c'mon now”, he murmured, his tone dipping into that low, velvety register that always made your stomach twist. “I’m just saying you look nice. No harm in that, right?”.

His hand lingered for a moment longer, brushing lightly against your shoulder, before he stepped back just enough to give you a fraction of space. But it didn’t feel like enough. The air around you still felt heavy, charged with his presence.

“You don’t take compliments well, do you?”, he asked, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice as he leaned casually against the counter. “What’s so scary about me telling you you’re pretty?”.

“Nothing”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben’s gaze dropped, shamelessly traveling down your body. You could feel it, the weight of his eyes lingering on your legs. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and you caught the faint movement out of the corner of your eye. It sent a fresh wave of heat through your face, your stomach twisting into knots.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing, almost contemplative, “it’s been quite a while for me.” He leaned a little closer, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he rested it on the counter beside you. “And with you here, looking like that, acting all shy and innocent…”.

He trailed off, his smirk widening as his gaze dragged back up to meet yours. “It’s really hard for me, Peanut”.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and your breath caught in your throat. Your grip tightened on the edge of the counter, your knuckles white as you fought to keep yourself grounded. “Ben, stop”, you said softly, your voice barely audible, but there was a tremble in it you couldn’t hide.

“Stop what?”, he asked innocently, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him. He wasn’t innocent, not even close. “I’m just being honest. You don’t want me to lie, do you?”.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart pounding as you met his gaze. His smirk was maddening, equal parts charming and infuriating, and the way he was looking at you—like he was sizing you up, deciding just how far he could push—made your pulse race for all the wrong reasons.

“I’m not… I’m not doing anything”, you stammered, your words tumbling over themselves. “I’m just—”.

“Just standing there, looking all sweet and pretty”, he interrupted, his tone playful. He straightened slightly, his height and presence towering over you as he leaned a little closer. “You have no idea, do you? How hard you make it for me to keep my hands to myself?”.

Your breath hitched, and you stepped back instinctively, the counter digging into your lower back as you put as much distance between you as you could in the small space. But he didn’t move closer—he just stayed there, watching you, his smirk softening into something almost… curious.

Ben’s smirk deepened as he watched you, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he was peeling back every layer of your defenses. “You know”, he murmured, his voice soft but still carrying that teasing edge, “I think you actually like me, Peanut”.

Your eyes widened at his words, and you shook your head quickly, your back pressing harder against the counter. “That’s not true”, you said, your voice trembling with the effort to sound convincing.

But he didn’t seem fazed. If anything, your reaction only amused him more. His hand darted out, slow and deliberate, resting gently on your hip. It wasn’t forceful, wasn’t threatening—it was almost careful, like he was testing the waters, giving you a chance to stop him.

Your breath hitched, and your body tensed under his touch. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of your dress, the weight of his hand grounding you and overwhelming you all at once.

“You’re not pushing me away”, he said softly, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. His fingers flexed slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he was there. “That’s gotta count for something”.

You opened your mouth to say something, to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, but no words came out. You were frozen, caught in the weight of his gaze, the closeness of him, the way his presence consumed every inch of space around you.

His other hand came up slowly, brushing against a strand of hair that had fallen into your face. He tucked it behind your ear, his touch featherlight, his green eyes locking onto yours. “You keep telling yourself you’re scared of me”, he murmured, his tone quiet, almost tender. “But I think you’re scared of something else”.

“Ben, I…”. Your voice cracked, and you trailed off, your hands clutching the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“Shh”, he whispered, his hand on your hip shifting just slightly, his thumb brushing against the curve of your waist. “You don’t have to say anything, Peanut. Not if you don’t want to”.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your uneven breathing, the faint hum of the refrigerator in the corner. His touch wasn’t rough or demanding, but it was firm, grounding, impossible to ignore.

And then, slowly, he leaned in, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “Just… Push me away if you want me to stop. Promise I won´t be mad”, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips so close to yours you could feel the ghost of their presence.

Your heart pounded, your mind racing with conflicting emotions—fear, confusion, and something far more dangerous bubbling beneath the surface. You hated how much you craved his attention, hated how much his touch made your body betray you. But even as you stood there, frozen, his words echoed in your mind: Push me away.

Would you? Could you?

The choice was yours.

Bot you didn’t push him away. You stayed still, your breath hitching as Ben’s smirk deepened. He took your silence as permission—or maybe just a challenge he was eager to win.

Without a word, his hands slid more firmly around your waist. Before you could even process what was happening, he lifted you effortlessly, like you weighed nothing. The glass of water slipped from your fingers, landing with a dull clink on the counter as he set you down atop it. The cool surface against the back of your thighs made you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him.

He stepped closer, pressing himself between your legs, his movements deliberate and unyielding. Your legs opened instinctively to accommodate him, the fabric of your dress sliding up as you shifted. The hem bunched high on your thighs, and your stomach dropped when you realized how exposed you were. The little triangle of fabric between your legs was on full display, and Ben’s gaze dropped to it immediately, his lips curling into a wolfish grin.

“Well, would you look at that”, he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, the faintest edge of amusement making it all the more dangerous. His hands trailed down to your knees, his thumbs brushing against the inside of your thighs, sending a shock of warmth through your body. “Peanut, you’ve been holding out on me”.

You squirmed, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as if it could anchor you against the storm of his presence. “Ben…”, you whispered, your voice trembling, unsure if it was a plea for him to stop or to keep going.

“Shh”, he said softly, his hands sliding higher, spreading your legs further apart. “I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you”.

But the way he looked at you—the hunger in his eyes, the possessive way his hands claimed your body—made your pulse race for entirely different reasons. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed his hips against yours, his body firm and unyielding.

“You have no idea”, he whispered, his voice rough and thick with desire. “No idea how hard it’s been. Watching you, waiting for you to stop running, stop hiding. But now…”. His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Now I’ve got you right where I want you”.

Your heart pounded, your mind spinning as his hands continued their slow, deliberate exploration of your body. You hated how your body reacted to him, how the heat pooled low in your belly, how your breathing quickened despite yourself. Hated how much you wanted him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

And Ben—he knew it, too. You could see it in his smirk, in the way his eyes burned with triumph. He was in control, and he knew it. You wanted him, and that he sure knew too.

Ben’s smirk deepened as his hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing teasingly against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His touch was firm but not rough, as if he were savoring every moment. He leaned back slightly to get a better look, his eyes darkening as they locked onto the little triangle of fabric barely covering you.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and full of heat, “I’ve been imagining this for weeks. But it’s even better than I thought”.

You opened your mouth to respond—to say something—but the words caught in your throat once more as he hooked a finger under the fabric. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, a wicked gleam in his green eyes as he gave you - again - just enough time to stop him.

But you didn’t.

With a sharp, controlled movement, he ripped the delicate material apart, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the quiet kitchen. The force of it sent a jolt through your body, but it didn’t hurt. It was more of a shock—both from the action itself and the way his eyes devoured the sight before him.

Your breath hitched as the ruined panties fell away, leaving you bare to him. His hands stilled for a moment, his gaze fixated on your glistening, perfectly shaven lips. A low growl rumbled in his throat, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on your thighs.

”Fuck peanut”, he muttered, his voice rough with desire. “Look at you”.

Ben’s grip on your thighs tightened as his eyes darkened, roaming over every inch of you like you were something he was about to own. He let out a low, gravelly chuckle, shaking his head with that familiar smirk—cocky and unapologetically lewd.

“Is this what chicks are doing these days? All shaved, all fucking spotless?”. His thumb traced lazily along your inner thigh, teasing just close enough to make you squirm. “In the ’80s, everyone had a damn jungle down here. Didn’t matter who you were, movie star or some chick at a dive bar—hair everywhere. But this?”.

His thumb slid lower, brushing over the seam of your closed, glistening lips. The slickness made his touch effortless, his rough hands stark against your softness. “This is a whole fucking upgrade”, he murmured, almost to himself, his tone filthy and raw. “Smooth as hell… fuck Peanut, you’re like a fucking dream”.

Ben’s eyes stayed glued between your legs, completely enthralled, like he was witnessing something unreal. The pad of his thumb pressed further, parting your slick lips with almost lazy confidence. He slid it down to your entrance, where he paused, testing the way your body reacted to him.

“Fuck me”, he muttered under his breath, his voice gravelly and thick with lust. “You’re soaked, Peanut. Look at this. Look at you”.

Your breath hitched audibly, your chest rising and falling as his thumb pressed lightly against your entrance, his other hand tightening its grip on your thigh to keep you exactly where he wanted you. His touch was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment.

“You’re fucking perfect”, he murmured, half to himself.

Ben’s thumb dipped just barely inside you, and the moment he felt how tight you were, he froze. His breath hitched, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as he pulled his hand back. His grip on your thigh tightened, grounding himself as he muttered under his breath, “No fucking way. Not with my fingers. I’m not wasting this on anything but my dick”.

His green eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a dark hunger that sent a shiver racing down your spine. He took a deep breath, his smirk returning as he dragged his hands up the outside of your thighs, pushing the fabric of your dress higher as he went.

“You’re something else, Peanut”, he growled, his voice thick and unapologetically filthy. “This body, this tight little hole… it’s all mine”.

He grabbed the hem of your dress, tugging it upward with slow, deliberate movements, giving you every chance to stop him. But you didn’t. Instead, you lifted your arms instinctively, your breath catching in your throat as you helped him pull the dress over your head. The fabric slipped away easily, pooling on the floor beside the counter, leaving you bare except for your trembling body beneath his gaze.

Ben stepped back slightly, just enough to take you in, his eyes roaming over every inch of your exposed skin with raw, unfiltered desire. He let out a low whistle, his lips curving into a grin that was both predatory and approving.

“You’re even better than I imagined”. His hands moved back to your waist, firm and possessive as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, positioning you exactly where he wanted you.

“You don’t even realize, do you?”, he muttered, his hands trailing over your hips, your stomach, your thighs, like he couldn’t get enough of touching you. “How fucking perfect you are. How fucking lucky I am”.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he growled, “I told you, Peanut. You’re mine now. Every inch of you”.

With one swift motion, Ben pulled the towel from his hips and tossed it carelessly to the side, revealing himself fully. Your eyes widened the moment you saw him—huge, heavy, and impossibly intimidating. A gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you instinctively pressed your hands against his chest, trying to push him away.

But he didn’t budge.

Your heart raced, panic and uncertainty flooding your senses. You weren’t a virgin, but this… this was different. The sheer size of him made your stomach twist with both fear and something else you didn’t want to name.

“Whoa there, Peanut”, Ben murmured, his voice low and teasing, but there was a glint of smug satisfaction in his eyes as he glanced down at himself, then back at you. “Scared already? Thought you said you weren’t afraid of me”.

“I just…”, you stammered, your palms pressing harder against his chest, but he didn’t move. He stood there, unyielding, his muscles firm under your touch as he watched you with that same maddening smirk.

“Relax”, he said again, his tone dipping into that familiar mix of amusement and raw lust.

Your voice came out in a shaky whisper, your eyes wide and fixed on him. “This… this won’t fit. No way”.

Ben’s smirk deepened, the gleam in his eyes turning even more smug, like your fear only fed his ego. He let out a low chuckle, his broad chest rumbling under your trembling hands. “Won’t fit, huh?”, he repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. “You really think I’d let that stop me?”.

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling slightly against his chest as you tried to pull back, but his hands on your hips held you firmly in place. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. “Don’t sell yourself short, Peanut. You’ll take it. You just need a little… encouragement”.

Your stomach twisted at his words, a mix of fear and heat flooding your senses. “Ben, I—”, you started, but he cut you off, his hands sliding slowly up your sides, strong and possessive.

“I’ll make it fit”, he murmured, his voice low and dripping with confidence.

One of his hands moved between your bodies, and your breath hitched as he grabbed himself, his cock heavy and intimidating in his hand. His green eyes flicked up to yours briefly, watching your reaction.

“Just.. relax, Peanut”, he said softly, almost mockingly, as he positioned himself. “This is gonna feel real good. Trust me”.

You bit your lip hard as you felt the tip of him slide through your slick lips, the slow, deliberate motion making your body jolt with unexpected pleasure. The contrast of his roughness and your softness was overwhelming, your hips twitching instinctively as his thick head dragged against you.

“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on where your bodies touched. “You’re already soaking for me. You feel that, Peanut? That’s your body telling you it wants this. Wants me”.

A shaky whimper escaped your lips, and you hated yourself for the sound, for how much you wanted him. The warmth, the pressure, the way he moved—it was too much, too intense, too consuming.

Ben chuckled, his thumb brushing over your thigh as he kept guiding himself against you, letting his tip tease your entrance but not pushing in just yet. “Look at you”, he muttered. “Already whining, and I haven’t even given you the real thing yet”.

You bit your lip harder, trying to stifle another whimper. His free hand slid up your side, gripping your waist possessively as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Don’t hold back now, Peanut", he growled. “I want to hear every little sound you make. Wanna know how much you’re feeling this”.

The heat pooling low in your belly was unbearable, your body trembling as he continued his slow, torturous motions. He wasn’t even inside you yet, but the weight of him was enough to leave you breathless.

Ben’s cocky smirk softened just slightly as he began to nudge himself inside you, his movements surprisingly slow and deliberate. He pressed forward an inch at a time, giving you room to adjust to his size. His hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you steady as he worked himself in, his gaze locked on your face.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered under his breath, the usual arrogance in his tone giving way to something deeper, rougher. “Tight as hell. I knew you’d feel good, but this? Fuck”.

You winced at the stretch, your body instinctively tensing around him as he pushed in further. The sensation was intense, overwhelming, and you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice low and almost soothing as he paused, letting you adjust. “I know, baby. It’s a lot. But you’re doing good. So fucking good”.

Your hands gripped his forearms, your nails digging into his skin as he slid another inch deeper, the burn of the stretch making you gasp. “Ben”, you whispered, your voice trembling, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

“I’ve got you”, he said, his voice steady and firm, his thumbs rubbing small circles against your skin in a rare gesture of comfort. “You’ll get used to it. Just breathe”.

You tried to focus on his words, on the way he moved so slowly, giving you time to adjust to every inch of him. The stretch was still intense, still bordering on too much, but as he eased in further, your body began to relax, the pain giving way to a different kind of pressure.

“That’s it”, he murmured, his lips quirking into a small smirk as he watched you. “See? I told you you’d take it, Peanut”.

You couldn’t form a response, your breath hitching again as he pushed in another inch. He groaned softly, his head falling forward briefly, his self-control evident in the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

Your body trembled, the overwhelming fullness leaving you unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. He stayed still, his hands firm on your hips, his gaze softening just slightly as he gave you a moment to adjust.

“You’re doing so good, Peanut”, he said, his voice low and almost gentle, though the hunger in his eyes hadn’t faded. “Just a little more, and then I’ll make you feel real fucking good. I promise”.

Ben pushed in further, inch by inch, until he finally bottomed out, his hips pressing flush against yours. The sheer fullness, the stretch, was almost too much, and a breathless moan escaped your lips, mixed with a high-pitched whine that you couldn’t suppress. The sound seemed to drive him wild.

“Fuck”, Ben groaned, his head dropping forward to rest against your collarbone as his hands tightened on your hips. His breathing was ragged, and his entire body seemed to tense as he fought to keep himself in check. “You feel… Fuck, Peanut. You’re so fucking tight”.

You trembled under him, your hands instinctively clutching his broad shoulders as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely. He was so big, stretching you to your limits, and every inch of him pressed against places you didn’t even know could feel like this.

“Ben”, you whispered, your voice shaky, unsure if you were pleading for him to move or to give you more time to adjust.

“I know, baby”, he muttered, his voice gravelly and low, muffled against your skin. “I know. Just… fuck, just give me a second”. He groaned again, a deep, primal sound that vibrated through your chest, his hands gripping your waist like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You’re perfect”, he murmured, lifting his head slightly to press his forehead against yours. His green eyes burned into yours, dark with lust and something deeper, something almost reverent. “Fucking perfect. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me”.

You let out a shaky breath, your body slowly relaxing more around him as he stayed still, letting you adjust to the fullness. His hands moved to cradle your thighs, spreading you wider as he groaned softly again, his lips brushing against your jawline.

“Breathe, Peanut”, he said, his voice softening for a moment as his thumbs rubbed gentle circles into your skin. “Just breathe. You’re taking me so damn well”.

The praise sent a rush of warmth through your body, making you shiver against him. Slowly, he began to pull back just an inch, testing, watching your reaction with sharp, hungry eyes. The drag of him against your sensitive walls made your breath hitch, and his smirk returned as he groaned again.

“Yeah”, he growled, his voice thick as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re gonna love this, Peanut. I’ll make sure of it”.

Ben groaned deeply as he began to move, the drag of his length against your tight walls slow and deliberate. He pulled back just enough to make you feel every inch before sinking back in, his hips pressing flush against yours once more. The stretch still made you wince, but the intensity of the sensation was quickly mingling with something warmer, something almost unbearable.

“Shit”, he muttered against your collarbone, his breath hot and ragged. His lips grazed your skin, his teeth scraping lightly as he fought to keep his pace measured. “You’re squeezing me so damn tight. Like you were fucking made for me”.

A breathless whimper escaped you as he thrust again, a little deeper, a little harder. The fullness was still overwhelming, but with every slow, calculated movement, your body started to adjust, to mold to him. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and he smirked against your skin, clearly enjoying the way you clung to him.

Ben’s thrusts grew harder, his hips snapping into yours with more purpose, more force. The sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, raw and intimate, but you bit your lip, desperate to keep quiet.

But Ben noticed. Of course, he noticed.

“Peanut”, he growled, his voice low and commanding, roughened by pleasure. He angled his hips just slightly, hitting a spot that made your back arch involuntarily. “Don’t you fucking hold back on me”.

A soft whimper escaped you, and his smirk returned, wicked and dangerous. “That’s more like it”, he muttered, his hands gripping your hips even tighter as he thrust again, harder this time. “I want to hear you. Every. Fucking. Sound”.

You clenched your teeth, your nails digging harder into his shoulders as you fought to keep quiet, but it was no use. His pace was relentless now, each movement deliberate, dragging pleasure and desperation out of you with every stroke.

“C’mon, baby”, he murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t be shy. I want to hear how much you love this. Want to hear you beg me for more”.

You shook your head weakly, trying to resist, but when he thrust again, deeper than before, a moan slipped past your lips, raw and unrestrained. Ben groaned in response, the sound rough and guttural as he rocked into you harder.

“Fuck, that’s it”, he growled, his teeth scraping against your neck as he buried himself to the hilt again. “That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for. Knew you couldn’t stay quiet forever”.

Your breath hitched as he moved faster, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. His hands moved up to grip your waist, holding you steady as he claimed every inch of you, his lips grazing your skin as he spoke again.

“You feel that?”, he muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Feel how perfectly you’re taking me? That tight little body of yours was made for this, Peanut. Made for me”.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, your soft moans turning into desperate whimpers as he pushed you further and further. His words, his touch, the sheer intensity of him—it was too much, too overwhelming. And Ben—he soaked in every sound, every tremble, every gasp, his grin widening as he kept driving into you like he couldn’t get enough.

“That’s my girl”, he murmured, his hands sliding up to cup your face as his eyes locked onto yours. “Now stop holding back and let me hear it all”.

Ben could feel it—the way your body tightened around him, your walls fluttering as you approached the edge. His pace didn’t falter; if anything, it became sharper, more deliberate, each thrust angled perfectly to drive you closer to unraveling completely.

“You’re close, aren’t you, Peanut?”, he murmured. “I can feel it. You’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go”.

You whimpered, your nails raking against his shoulders as the pressure in your core built to an unbearable intensity. Your head fell back, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, but Ben wasn’t about to let you hide from him.

“Uh-uh”, he said sharply, his hands gripping your hips harder as he slowed his thrusts just enough to regain your attention. “Don’t you fucking look away”.

Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze hazy and unfocused as you tried to meet his. His green eyes burned with intensity, dark with hunger and something possessive that made your stomach twist. He leaned in, his forehead pressing against yours, his movements deliberate and unyielding as he pushed you closer and closer.

“When you come”, he growled, his voice rough and commanding, “you look at me, Peanut. Got it?”.

You nodded weakly, unable to form words, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge. He thrust harder, deeper, his rhythm relentless now, each motion pulling soft cries from your lips that you couldn’t control.

“That’s it”, he muttered, his gaze locked on yours, unyielding. “That’s my girl. Let me see it. Let me see you fall apart for me”.

The final thrust sent you over the edge, your body clenching tightly around him as your release crashed through you. Your eyes locked onto his, your vision blurring with the intensity of it, and Ben groaned deeply, the sound rough and raw as he watched every second of your undoing.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered, his voice strained as your walls gripped him like a vice. “You’re so fucking perfect like this”.

Your body trembled as the waves of pleasure coursed through you, and even as you came undone beneath him, Ben didn’t stop. His movements slowed just enough to let you ride out your high, his hands firm and steady on your hips as he kept you exactly where he wanted you.

“Fucking beautiful when you come. Told you I’d make you love this”, he murmured, his smirk returning as he leaned in to brush his lips against your ear.

Ben wasn’t close to being done with you—not by a long shot. After a moment of catching his breath, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to the couch and sitting down with you straddling his lap. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you as he eased you down onto him again. The stretch made your breath hitch all over again, but your body had already molded to him, making it easier this time.

“You’re not done yet, Peanut”, he murmured, his voice low and smug, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Not until I’ve had my fill”.

You didn’t know how much more you could take, but your body responded on instinct, your arms wrapping around his neck as he thrust up into you, slow and steady. Every motion sent shivers through you, the pressure building again despite how spent you already felt. His hands roamed your body, gripping, caressing, holding you steady as he moved beneath you.

Time blurred. You lost count of how many times he made you come—how many times your body tensed, shook, and fell apart in his arms. Ben took his time, alternating between hard, commanding movements and surprising moments of gentleness, as though savoring every second. His voice was a constant in your ear, filthy and possessive, coaxing every moan, whimper, and gasp out of you like they belonged to him.

By the time you collapsed against his chest, your body spent and trembling, you couldn’t even think straight. Your breaths came in soft, shaky gasps, your cheek resting against his chest. Ben’s hands moved to your back, stroking gently now, his touch grounding as you slowly came down from the overwhelming high.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice softer now. “You’re done, baby. You’ve earned your rest”.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you securely against him as he leaned back into the couch. The tension in your body eased, and you felt your eyelids grow heavy, the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body lulling you into a daze.

Surprisingly, Ben didn’t push for more. He simply held you, his rough hands surprisingly gentle as they traced lazy circles on your back. His cocky smirk had softened into something almost content, his head resting against the back of the couch as he watched you drift off.

“Guess I wore you out”, he muttered, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he shifted slightly to make you more comfortable. “Can’t say I blame you, Peanut. You did good”.

You didn’t respond—couldn’t respond—as sleep overtook you. Completely spent, your body went limp against him, your soft breaths warm against his skin as you passed out in his arms. And for once, Ben didn’t press or tease. He just stayed there, holding you close, his gaze lingering on you with something almost resembling pride.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

[heliads]

want you, need you - minho

Ever since you became a Med-Jack, Minho can't seem to stop collecting random injuries that absolutely require your attention. You might be catching on.

masterlist

The Med-Jack hut is either overwhelmingly busy or frustratingly slow, no in between. There are days when every single room in the place is crammed full of patients– somehow, every Slicer manages to cut themselves, and every Builder breaks a bone– and you wish you had picked any other job than this one. The busy days are rough. You start wondering what might happen if you stopped being able to put people back together as quickly as they fall apart. You think about the endless cycle of injury and healing until everyone wears out entirely, a map of bandages and skin pressed thin like dead leaves.

Those are the hopeless days. Then, you’ll have a dry spell, when everyone manages to get their stuff together and no one complains of sprained ankles or excessive sunburns. At that point, you start twiddling your thumbs and mindlessly organizing and reorganizing the medical supplies. By the end, you almost start wishing people would get hurt just so you’d have something to do. It’s an uncharitable thought, certainly, and one you regret once you’re stuck in the middle of another hurricane of aching Gladers, but when there’s nothing else to do, it comes nonetheless.

You’ve found yourself in the middle of another boring week. For the past few days, the Slicers have remembered how to hold their knives so they chop the animals and not themselves, the Builders hit their nails with their hammers instead of their thumbs, and the Runners don’t give themselves cramps and stay in perfect health.

Well. Not every Runner.

Even during the most boring stretches of your admittedly short career as a Med-Jack, you can guarantee that you’ll have one specific patient. Just like clockwork, every few days a certain dark-haired, teasing someone shadows your door, complaining of overworked tendons, pulled hamstrings, heatstroke, and every other medical condition under the sun. If Minho can think it up, he’ll say he’s got it.

It’s honestly becoming ridiculous. For someone who’s such a capable Runner, it is truly remarkable that he survives so many ailments. One would think he would give up running entirely if it gave him this much grief. Yet every day, Minho sets out for the Maze with a cheerful disposition, and at least two times a week, he appears in the Med-Jack hut, sporting some new injury that materialized at some point during the day.

So, when you look up from labeling the medicine cabinet for what must be the dozenth time this month, and realize that you haven’t seen the Keeper of the Runners in a few days, you know that it’s about time for him to come down with the flu, a severe migraine, or maybe both at once.

True to form, you’ve barely finished going through the medications on one shelf of the cabinet when Jeff, one of your fellow Med-Jacks, comes into the room. “You have a patient,” he says impatiently. “Guess who?”

You roll your eyes, although you can’t help a small smile. “Can’t you handle Minho yourself?”

Jeff gives you a look. “I tried. He told me he wanted to wait for a professional. Figures.”

You snort. “You’ve been here longer than I have.”

“I told him that,” Jeff complains. “This might surprise you, but he didn’t care.”

“Tell him again,” you say, turning back to the pill bottle you’re labeling. “I’m busy.”

Jeff heaves a dramatic sigh. “I’m not wasting my time with that. He’s your problem, go fix him.”

You shoot him a confused glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” Jeff retorts, reaching over to grab the bottle out of your hands. “Ever since you started here, Minho randomly comes over all the time. You know he used to hate visiting the Med-Jacks before you arrived? Now he can’t stop showing up.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you protest weakly.

Jeff sighs again, so deeply you swat him on the shoulder. “That’s klunk and we both know it. The data doesn’t lie, Y/N.”

“There’s no data,” you argue, but Jeff’s already waving you out of the room. 

You make a face at him, then go down the hall until you find Minho waiting in one of the smaller rooms meant for patients. He’s poking at some supplies on a small table in a corner of the room, but he straightens up excitedly when he sees you.

“Doc! I’m so glad you’re here.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “What have you done to yourself now, Minho?”

“That’s no way to treat a patient,” Minho frowns exaggeratedly. “Whatever happened to bedside manner?”

“You got bedside manner the first ten times you showed up for no reason,” you tell him pointedly. “After that, you get whatever I feel like. You should be happy I’m still giving you bandages. We only have so many, you know that? Maybe I’ll start charging you a fee.”

“I can pay,” Minho says lazily, leaning forward so you can feel his breath hot on the side of your face. One of his hands starts to curl around your side, pulling you closer to him.

Dangerous, he is. You idly push him away with your palm, pretending to examine the supplies he’d been poking at earlier so you have time for the heat to leave your face. “How about you just tell me what’s wrong with you this time?”

Minho sighs dramatically. “Well, since you care so much, I’ll have to tell you that I’ve broken an ankle. It hurts so bad. This might be it for me, Y/N.”

You arch a brow. “Which ankle?”

He pauses a moment, thinking. “Left.”

“You’re standing on it just fine right now,” you point out.

Immediately, Minho shifts all of his weight onto his right leg, grabbing the back of a nearby chair for support. “No, I’m not. Look, I can’t bear the pain. It hurts.”

You just look at him. Minho looks back at you, unable to stop the corners of his lips from curling up into a proud half-smile. “Do you really expect me to believe that?” You ask.

He gasps. “Y/N. Are you trying to discredit your own patients? Some Med-Jack you are. I bet Clint would trust me.”

“Then go talk to Clint,” you say, making for the door.

Minho hurries over, flinging out an arm to close the door before you can open it. “Wait, wait. I didn’t mean it, sweetheart. You’re the only Med-Jack for me, I swear it. Clint is nothing to me.”

You take an obvious glance towards his feet. “That ankle sure seems to be healing fast, huh? You moved over here like it was nothing.”

Minho leans his back against the door. “Alright, you got me. Nothing’s wrong with the ankle. Still, my lungs have been feeling exhausted lately, that might be something–”

“That’s because you run everywhere,” you say, grinning in spite of yourself at his antics. “Come on, Minho, you’ll have to get a better excuse someday.”

“My bad for wanting to see you,” he returns. “I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever. I miss you,” he adds a little quietly.

It makes you smile in earnest this time. “So you’re here to be a good friend, then.”

“Yeah,” Minho says, and you might be kidding yourself but you swear he sounds almost disappointed, “A good friend. That’s me.”

You tap him gently on the arm to get him to move from the door. “How about I promise to find you straight after my shift ends, and you agree to leave without using any more of my medical supplies? Jeff’s going to kill you if we run through anymore bandages, I swear it.”

Minho pretends to think this over. “Straight after? You promise?”

“I promise,” you repeat. “So? Do we have a deal?”

“We do,” he intones solemnly, and at last lets you open the door and usher him out, but only after extracting one more promise that you won’t delay to talk to Newt or anyone else once Jeff lets you out.

When you get back to the storage room, you find Jeff waiting for you, grinning knowingly from ear to ear. It bothers you for some reason, not the fact that he’s on this topic again but worse, the thought that he might not be entirely wrong for it.

“Wipe that look off your face,” you mutter.

Jeff’s grin just broadens. “How was your star patient?”

“Fantastic,” you assure him, “And I’d be fantastic too, if you could stop bothering me with whatever weird thing you’re thinking about right now.”

Jeff shrugs exaggeratedly. “Of course. I don’t know why anyone would think about Minho being unable to go three days without talking to you. That would be crazy.”

“It would be,” you add darkly. People in the Glade have said that you have a tendency for killer death stares. However, Jeff seems to be impervious to it, because he just keeps sitting there, proud as anything, as if he were in the right about this.

As if. This isn’t the first time your friends have tried to suggest there’s something going on between you and Minho, and the honest truth is that nothing has happened at all. Yeah, Minho’s your best friend, and yeah, your days are significantly better when you see as much of him as possible. What about it? It doesn’t mean a thing. Life is hard. If you want to talk to the boy who makes you laugh like no one else, you should be able to do it in peace.

You can’t deny that the rumors stay on your mind, and recently, you haven’t been able to deny them with as much conviction as usual. You’re not blind, Minho is good-looking, and maybe you start thinking about something past friendship when he makes another excuse to get in your personal space when you’re sitting together by the fire or walking through the Glade. 

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before, but as good as it might be to have Minho in every way that matters, you’ll still be perfectly happy with just the one. You can’t risk your friendship, even if, two drinks of Gally’s brew into a Bonfire Night, you start thinking about what it would be like to kiss him, or worse still, when Minho drops by the Med-Jack hut again, you convince yourself that maybe he’s not just doing it because he’s a good friend but because he wants you just like you want him.

It can’t be, though. For one thing, Minho is notoriously confident. If he liked you, he would have told you by now. You’ve seen him argue with Gally for the fun of it, not to mention the fact that he chose to be a Runner of all things. Minho lives on a constant adrenaline rush. Compared to what he does on a daily basis, confessing his feelings has to be nothing major. If he wanted to tell you, he would, and he hasn’t, so obviously there isn’t anything to tell at all.

For another, and this might just be in your own head, but Minho is so brave and capable that he seems to eclipse everything around him. Maybe it’s just the force of your own perspective, but you swear the entire Glade orbits around him. When he gets back from a run, he’s immediately swarmed by Gladers asking him about how it was, if he saw anything important. He’s always the first person people talk to, the immediate choice for a dinnertime companion. Minho could have anything he wanted in the Glade. So why would he want you?

You’ve managed to force the whole thing from your mind as best you can. Minho is your friend. At least you can have him like that, even if it kills you sometimes to look at him and imagine all the ways you would love him if he would just give you the chance. Any good medic can keep their feelings internal when they need it, and you’re the best there is.

You meet Minho later that night as promised, and you do your utmost to pretend everything is normal. You stay with him until the sun sinks below the horizon, until the Doors slam shut, until the moon begins its familiar path across the sky. You talk the whole while, idle chatter that occasionally drifts off into comfortable quiet. You’ve never been able to do that with anyone before, feel so at ease that you can stay silent for minutes at a time and have it not be awkward, but with Minho, it’s so simple. Then again, you can hardly remember anyone at all. Maybe there was someone in the past who mattered to you just as much as Minho does now. Even without your memories, though, that feels impossible. Minho could have no substitute, not to you.

You’re expecting the next day to pass in a breeze of idle hours, but around midafternoon, your dreary day of organization and the occasional bad paper cut is harshly interrupted by the sound of chaos outside. There’s shouting for a Med-Jack, and then several people are rushing someone in. It’s a Runner, apparently, you hear the details as you run for supplies. The Maze started moving during the day and he got hurt.

You can tell from the way people start nervously looking at you that it’s bad. At first, they don’t say any names, but then you burst into the chamber that serves as your operating room and you know that it’s worse than you could have possibly imagined, for not only does it seem like there’s enough blood to drench the Glade, but the victim isn’t Ben or one of the other Runners, it’s Minho. Your Minho. Your Minho, bleeding out on your table, who will need you to save him.

You stand there for one fragile moment, drenched in horror, then spring into action. Clint and Jeff have surfaced by now, and you direct them to anesthetize Minho. You want him to feel as little of this as possible. After carefully cutting open his shirt to determine the source of all that awful blood, you determine that it’s not as bad as you thought, more of a broad surface wound than a deep puncture. That much blood loss is dangerous, though, and he’ll need several stitches to close the flesh.

About an hour and a half later, you’re done. You and the other Med-Jacks lean back, panting heavily. Your hands and clothes are smeared with red, but color has crept back into Minho’s cheeks, and he’s starting to breathe evenly again.

“How long until he wakes up?” You ask Clint.

He checks a nearby clock, then Minho’s pulse. “Fifteen minutes, probably, but he won’t be fully conscious for up to an hour.”

You nod. “That’s good. Clear out, you guys. Get some rest.”

Jeff stops by you on the way out. “You can stay with him if you want. He’d be glad to see you when he wakes up.”

You let out a slow breath. “Thanks, Jeff.”

He pats you on the back then leaves to wash up. You spare the time to scrub your hands and get on a fresh change of clothes, but head back to Minho as soon as you can. Ben was with him when the accident happened, he said that everything happened so fast he hardly knew what went down. You don’t want Minho to wake up alone and confused, covered in bandages and unable to shake the scent of blood.

Once the immediate danger is over, you’re left sitting in a chair by Minho’s cot. His chest is swathed in bandages, but no red has flowered through them yet, which is a good sign. As you watch, the fingers on his right hand start to twitch. Clint said he would start to stir around now, and you’re glad to see the signs of movement. Watching him there– so still, so motionless– it made you wonder if he would wake up. It made you wonder if there was any way you could survive if he didn’t.

Minho is starting to make small sounds of distress under his breath, so you lean over and take his hand, squeezing it carefully but comfortingly. “Hey, hey. It’s me. You’re safe.”

You hear the ghost of your name in his whisper, and then Minho starts to quiet down again, restless rustles turning back into quiet breathing. You check his heart rate with your free hand and are glad to see it returning to normal, shaking off the lethargy of the anesthesia.

Minho sleeps for a little longer. Afraid to upset him, you keep your hand in his. You can tell when he wakes again, because his fingers start to press against yours. Consciousness comes upon him like a wave beating upon the shore. All of a sudden, his eyes are blinking open, and then he’s trying to sit up too fast and is forced back down to the cot by a bout of dizziness.

“Easy,” you tell him, pressing him back. “Don’t try to sit yet. The meds aren’t out of your system.”

“Y/N?” Minho asks, voice hoarse.

Hearing the scratchiness of his voice, so totally removed from the usual confident cadence of his words, makes your throat close up. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”

“Hey, Doc,” he says roughly. “Jeff won’t give me klunk about the bandages now, will he?”

“No, he won’t,” you say, torn between laughter and outright sobs. “How do you feel? Any pain?”

“All good,” Minho tells you. “What about Ben? Is he okay?”

“Ben is fine,” you assure him. “You’re the one we’re worried about, Minho. I knew the Maze was dangerous, but like this–”

He cuts you off, squeezing your hand. “Hey, all in a day’s work. I knew the risks when I went in.”

You shake your head, hot tears starting to well up in your eyes. “No, no. This isn’t fair. You’re not supposed to get hurt during the day. Minho, I didn’t even know anything happened, and then they brought you in, and there was so much blood– I thought I was going to lose you, and I didn’t even get to tell you–”

Even in the midst of your tears, you have the presence of mind to stop yourself before you give yourself away. It’s just– the thought had not abandoned you the whole time he slept, even the whole time you operated, that you could lose him without ever having him at all.

Minho shakes his head as best he can. “I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m okay.”

“But you almost weren’t,” you whisper. “What if Ben hadn’t been able to get you back in time?”

You take a ragged breath, trying to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use. Your shoulders shake, and Minho leans up slightly, as if drawn to it. To you.

“You’re pretty even when you cry,” Minho says, one hand weakly rising up to brush a tear from your cheek. “How is that fair?”

You laugh haltingly, in between the tears. “Barely awake five minutes, and you’re already flirting.”

He grins. “It’s all I want to do.”

If this were any other day, you would be able to brush off that comment, but something about this moment, this space– no one else in the room, Minho’s palm still tenderly cradling your cheek, your heart still erratic from the stress– you can’t help but turn the words over and over in your mind. All I want to do. All I want to do.

“Minho–” You start.

“Shh,” he says. “You already know that. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen through it. My smart girl. All those times I came to see you. Don’t say you haven’t realized.”

“Minho–”

“Newt says I’m being stupid. That I shouldn’t keep trying to have something that isn’t mine. But I’ll tell you something, Y/N, I’m selfish, and I’m greedy. I want you, and I don’t want to think about you with anyone else but me.”

Your breath is harsh in your chest, heart beating so loud you’re certain they must hear it echoing all across the Glade.

Minho’s eyes are fixed directly on yours. He sits up carefully, enough to reach his other hand up past your waist to the small of your back. “Tell me you don’t want me, or I’m not going to stop trying to keep you. Tell me to stop.”

Your lips part as you try to form an answer. Minho’s eyes dart down to the movement, and they only rise to your gaze with great reluctance. “I don’t want you to stop,” you tell him at last. “I want you, Minho. Only you.”

Two years now, you’ve known Minho. You’ve seen him proud and defiant, laughing and joyous and as happy as anyone could hope to be. Still, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile as brightly as he does right now, right before he kisses you.

Every touch is electric, and this is the most powerful of all. Your mind is reeling from the moment your lips meet, sending you far beyond the reaches of the Maze to the sky itself. You could be floating forever if you wanted, and you only start to gradually come back to earth when he slowly breaks away.

“Minho,” you say, hesitating over every syllable.

“Y/N,” he mimics, lips turned up in an irrepressible smile.

“They’re going to want to know that you’re awake. I promised I’d get the others,” you tell him.

He considers this for a moment. “They don’t need to know immediately, do they?”

You smile. “No.”

Minho’s eyes glint. “Then kiss me again. You can tell them after.”

It seems like a fair deal to you. You kiss him to make sure of it.

maze runner tag list: @blondsauduun, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss,

@hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver, @il0vebeingdelulu

all tags list:

@wordsarelife

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

"Twix."

Blue says your name in a single exhale of relief. You didn't expect her to be awake. She sits with her legs outstretched by a barely-there fire as you enter the cabin, the busted door groaning shut behind you. Fatigue sinks you to the floor beside her. You're about to curl your numb hands within the long sleeves of your new jacket, but the burn on your fingers makes you wince from the friction.

“You're filthy." She reaches for your hand, gently inspecting the burn. "And someone hurt you."

"Well, technically, I hurt them."

Blue shakes her head, the tone of her voice hardening the moment she drops your hand. "You shouldn't have gone."

"It was important—"

"It was stupid. You saw how those guys tried to kill us!" She huffs out a breath before snapping her gaze back to the flames. "You... you didn't tell me you were leaving. You didn't even say goodbye. I just woke up and you were gone.”

"I didn't want to wake you this morning because you needed rest,” you reason.

"That's a shitty excuse," she grumbles back, gesturing to the pink bracelet on her wrist. "I may not have a lot of friends, but I do know they're supposed to tell each other things like this."

Your eyes trail down from the burnt skin on your fingers, red and bubbly, to the cheap, plastic beads encompassing your wrist.

"You're right," you speak softly. "I should have told you."

A few minutes lapse in thick silence. In the midst of it, you swallow a few chalky pills to help with all the pain. You've been conservative in using them so far, but with your additional score of medicine, you figure you can afford some relief. There's no way you'll be able to sleep with your bitten wrist throbbing incessantly.

You're about to lean against the wall and let your eyes flutter shut when Blue speaks again, this time her voice so quiet you wonder if you're imagining it. 

"You know, I was excited to go on this trip," she whispers, still looking at the fire. "I even secretly hoped we'd run into other people, just because—" she pauses to swallow, "—because I never get to meet any. And the ones we have met, my dad always kills. Except for you."

She drags her sleeve over her face and it’s now you notice she is crying. A knot forms in your throat and, after the day you've had, you struggle to find the right words. 

"He kills them for a reason," you settle on, voice equally hushed. "A lot of people are—"

"A threat, I know." Blue repeats the words like a bitter mantra, then looks at her bandaged leg. "What does it feel like?" she asks after a moment, sliding her glossy eyes to yours. “Killing a person. Ghost told me it feels just like killing an animal or a Grey."

You inhale, then fix your stare to the dark ceiling. "No— I don't think it feels the same. It's much worse. I still get sick from it,” you admit.

"How many have you killed?"

"I don't remember anymore, but not that many." Certainly not as many as Ghost has. "It was always in self-defense. Always because I had to."

"I wish nobody ever had to," she says.

"I know. Me, too.”

With a sigh, she carefully scoots closer to you. "I'm sorry for getting mad. I just want to go home.”

"Don't be sorry. I’m the one who is sorry." You shake your head and offer her a shoulder until both of you have your backs against the wall. Her hair tickles your cheek. A small hand slips around your waist in a tender embrace, her fingers latching onto the fabric of the jacket. The sore muscles of your core flex instinctively from the touch before you finally force yourself to relax. It’s just Blue.

"Your dad says we're going back tomorrow,” you whisper, jaw grazing the crown of her head. “Sleep. It'll be a long day again."

"A long day for you maybe," she murmurs against your shoulder. "I get to ride on his back."

"Lucky you." You drape the heavy blanket over your bodies. Together you are warmer, if only by a little. 

Deft wind whooshes through the trees, kissing your wet skin. Splotches of wriggling orange and red follow the water's current, along with a trail of brown muck as you scrub your breasts, hair, and cheeks. The sight of fish makes your stomach grumble. It's been far too long since you've had anything but squirrel and deer and berries, but this is not the time or place to ponder a way to catch one. The blue wash of early morning lightens with each second that passes. You wring out your hair, rewrap your wrist, and put your clothes back on before carefully climbing up the slope, satisfied enough with your icy bath.

"Ready," you announce, blowing a white breath into your hands and rubbing them together. Ghost crouches down so Blue can teeter onto his back. The backpack full of ammo hugs his front. He appears exceptionally bulky with all the baggage, and yet, he makes it look effortless.

Together, you head towards the infamous bridge, if one could call it that. Silvery fog makes it hard to see more than ten meters ahead of you, but Ghost seems to have the area memorized. Your hands ball up in your pockets, feeling empty and useless. With no bow, you have to rely on Ghost to get you back. It's a weird thing. Though, you suppose if there's anyone you'd want to be stuck out here with, it would be him. His presence alone offers more safety than the measly knife around your ankle.

"Ghost, we should go behind her," Blue says when you reach the beam.

He steps aside to allow you on first. "Try not to go for a swim this time."

A flush of pink bites your cheeks, though you blame it on the cold. It's hard to believe just four days ago you slipped off this thing. With his hands preoccupied, Ghost can't hold onto your shoulders like before, but he lingers close behind and repeatedly orders you to keep your eyes on the bank. 

Once you're all across, a calm quiet settles, a vast contrast to how talkative Blue was the first time around. It makes you absentmindedly pick the skin around your nails. By the time you reach the road, you've looked behind your shoulder at least ten times, half-expecting to spot a burnt face hiding among the trees. Squirrels prattle by. A starling calls above your head. But no people. You force your eyes onward and take a deep breath.

"So, uh, would you rather get mauled by a bear," you break the silence, stepping over a stray tire, "—or be struck by lightning?"

It takes a second for Blue to respond. "Oh. That's a good one. Do I have a gun while the bear attacks me?"

"No. No weapons. Just you and the bear."

"Then lightning." She pats Ghost's shoulder. "Could you take a bear?"

"On a good day, maybe," he answers.

"What about you, Twix?"

"No," you instantly scoff, kicking at a rock. "A bear would rip me apart. I would choose lightning because it'd be quick."

"Okay, I have one," Blue quips. "Would you rather be ripped in half, or fall off a tall building?"

"Ripped in half by what?" Ghost asks, tilting his head back.

"It doesn't matter." You can hear the roll of her eyes.

"It does matter. Might change my answer."

"Fall off a building," you interject. "The way down would suck, but I bet you don't feel a thing once you hit the ground."

"But you'd look like a dead bug," says Blue.

"I don't care what I look like. I'll be dead."

Ghost clears his throat. "My turn, then."

"No! You have to pick one," she exclaims. 

"Building," he drawls. A shadow of movement passes to the right of you. You naturally flinch closer to them, but it's just a doe hunkering down tall weeds that reach out of the concrete. A chuff of breath leaves your lips as you look away, only to find Ghost staring at you. For a few seconds, his eyes flicker between you and the deer before he goes back to focusing straight ahead. 

"Would you rather," he begins, "—chop off all your fingers, or take out your own eyes?"

"What do I use to take out my eyes?" Blue asks.

"Knife."

"I guess my eyes," she winces. "I mean, I'd rather get rid of two things than ten."

They both glance at you expectantly. A frigid gust of northern air takes hold of your hair, so you tuck the unruly strands behind your ears. "Uh, fingers," you decide after a moment. "I could probably live without them."

In the village, the air stinks enough for Ghost to come to a halt. Before, he was able to pass right through. This time, a group of fourteen or fifteen Greys seems to be trapped on the main street between a crumbled wall and a fallen telephone pole. He has to decide between expending ammo or time. It's not long before he nods to a small building and the three of you scale the rusted fire escape. From the safe distance of the roof, he takes out the Greys one by one with an accuracy that barely leaves a dent in the ample stockpile of cartridges. With the route cleared, he's saved at least an hour or two of precious daylight. 

The fog lifts. The ambery sun tries to peek through the clouds, but the sky is bent on staying grey. By the time you are back, your blisters have blisters. Blue has fallen asleep, cheek smushed against the back of Ghost's neck. Relief, thick and palpable, tastes sweet on your tongue. The fence, the rabbit hutch, the much-cozier cabin; none of it is home to you, but still, it calls your name in a welcoming coo. 

You have to aim Ghost's flashlight so he can unlock the gate. Blue stirs, but her eyes remain closed even when he pushes inside the cabin. It's shrouded in darkness. You prop the flashlight on the table as his boots scuffle against the floor.

He puts her to bed. As he does, you feel around for the sofa and nearly choke when your worn fingertips graze shabby fabric. Not icy water or solid wood or muddy ground, but something soft. You're about to sink into it, your bones desperate for the springy cushions, when he returns to the threshold of the hallway with an ugly, flannel sheet in his hands. 

"Here."

It's hard to be certain if you thank him or not; your brain conjures up the words, but your voice doesn't seem to function quite right. One thing is certain: you accept the sheet, tuck it on with urgency, and then lay down, burying your face in the crook of the pillow and arm. You kick off your boots and let the darkness take you, swift and heavy. It could be a coma or death disguised as sleep, and you figure you'd still slip into it without fuss. 

Those first days back are quiet. Blissfully uneventful. You sleep and sleep. In fact, you don't move from the couch except to relieve yourself and eat a little. Ghost and Blue don't seem to do much, either. Or maybe you just don't notice.

At one point, you wake up to a small stack of shirts beside the couch. All black. One long sleeve, the rest short. You change into one and continue sleeping. 

At another point, Blue hovers above you with a whisper that draws out a groan from you. "Hey. Ghost is making me skin some rabbits. Apparently, it's the only chore I can't get out of. Do you want to help me?"

"I think I'm good." You stuff the pillow over your face to make your point. 

"You've been sleeping for three days, you know."

"I could go for another three."

She takes the hint and staggers away. Walking now. You hear her right leg drag a little.

The sleep is good until it's not.

On the fifth night, you're no longer fatigued enough to keep the dreams squandered. They start as whispers. Hoarse and gritty. Then they get louder and louder, shouting your name until they are so loud it feels like someone is screaming in your ear. Different voices blend into an indecipherable cacophony. One screams in pain; another in anger. You feel someone's cold fingers take hold of your neck and are finally pried awake, flying up against the couch with fiery pants burning through your lungs. But all that's there is a dark room.

Sweat clings to every inch of you. It feels like everything is on fire, and all you want to do is cool down. You haven't bathed since the river. Catching your breath, you swing your legs down and quietly pad to the bathroom where you hope a little water is left. Luckily, in the glint of moonlight, you find a bucket used for washing hands and scoop some to your face. Then, you comb it through your sweat-laced hair. 

You unwrap your wrist and brush your fingers over the bite. You dab some water on it. You can't see well, but you feel the constellation of congealed scabs beneath your fingertips. Scars. Wounds. Your nostrils flare as a you wonder if one day you'll be so covered in them you won't even look like yourself. It's a good thing there is not enough light to spot the reflection of your face in the mirror, because you're not thrilled to greet the one now on your brow.

On your way out of the bathroom, something solid and immobile blocks your path. You startle backward, sucking in air as you peer up at a masked face. Ghost. It's Ghost. You haven't spoken to him since getting back, and in this moment, you long for the ability to push past him, but his wide shoulders consume the narrow hall. 

It's silly to think you can avoid him when you sleep in the same space now. The thing is— you have no idea what to think of him. Before, it was easy to settle on fear of how easily he could snap your neck, and annoyance for how he treated you. And then, when forced to, you could engage in a pragmatic conversation about how to keep yourselves alive.

But now, you don't know what you are supposed to feel around him, and you have spent zero time reflecting on it so far.

"Sorry. I was just, uh, washing my face."

"In the middle of the night?" he rasps, tilting his gaze down.

You teeter back a step, keeping a healthy bubble of space between your bodies. You're not sure why he hasn't just moved out of the way, or what he would be up and about for at this hour, but briefly, you wonder if he is suspicious of you. If after everything you went through, he still thinks you're trying to do something and might send you back to the shed. The three of you relieve yourself outside the cabin since the plumbing doesn't work, so it certainly does seem odd that you'd be in the bathroom during the night. 

"I was sweating a lot." Inwardly, you curse at yourself. "I mean, I haven't bathed since we got back, and I..." You trail off in a whisper.

"And you what?"

"I don't know." You fiddle with the hem of the oversized shirt he gave you. "I'm not trying to kill you or your daughter in your sleep, though, if that's what you're thinking."

He simply stares at you. It feels like he can see right through you, and your eyes drop to your wool socks. Then, he murmurs, “I wasn't thinking that."

"Okay," you reply carefully. "Could you... please move, then?"

Finally, he steps out of the way, but you feel the burn of his eyes on your skin as you brush past him. 

"Twix."

You pause, looking back. "Yes?"

A shake of his head. And then: "Take a proper bath tomorrow. You could use it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Will do." 

With that, you crawl back onto the couch.

[toxic3mmy]

Karl leaves some gummies that are aphrodisiacs, Quackity who passes by sees them and eats almost all of them, then the aphrodisiacs take effect and he goes home to solve his problem but you are right at his house 🤭🤭

prompt: alex eats special gummies

okayokayokay, this one was interesting to write… sorry if it’s too short!

alex was visiting a few of his friends at karl’s house. afterwards, you were supposed to meet him at his house and discuss his plans for his next big stream, as he decided that he wanted you in it.

unbeknownst to you,

alex was feeling a little bit peckish. as his friends chatted and laughed about random stuff, he asked karl,

“hey man, is it okay if i get a glass of water?”

to which karl scolded him for even asking, as alexis was obviously welcome to do practically anything at karl’s house.

and so he went to the kitchen and got a glass of water but then went to the food pantry to find what he was actually there for.

as he scoured through the pantry, he found a small bag of sour gummies. he proceeded to open the bag and frowned when he saw there was only one inside. he decided to eat it and look for any other of the same candy.

he had to dig through a few shelves when he finally found a fancy looking box full of similar heart shaped sour gummies. the front had some words in a different language. alex shrugged and ate one. then two… then a few more.

when his tummy was satisfied, he put the gummies back and returned to his friends in the next room.

after about 30 minutes or so, alex started to feel a little funny and so he decided to say goodbye and make his way home.

“oh fuck oh fuck… what the fuck is going on?” he said to himself as he paced his bathroom, hoping that he was just nauseous and needed to vomit

nothing came out… but something definitely came up.

he was hard… like rock hard.

he was as hard as he was when he ate a sex drive enhancement pill on a dare a few years back.

he needed relief from the building tension down below. he decided to go to his room and open his phone to pornhub.

he found a really pretty girl who just so happened to look similar to you.

he laid back in bed and undid his jeans, slowly taking his hard cock out. he started to rub himself, whimpering at the friction.

he bit his lip as he tried to concentrate and get off, his movements quickened to the sounds of the girl on the video.

he stopped as he realized that he wanted, no, needed more. this wasn’t enough.

a knock at his front door steered his focus away from what he was doing

shit… y/n was here

he completely forgot that you were coming over. he got himself dressed again and opened the door a sliver to see you

“hey! i brought you some coffee!” you said, holding two cups of iced coffee

“um.. actually, im not feeling well… can we rain check this for another day?” alex said, faking a cough

your face furrowed in worry

“what’s wrong? here, let me in so i can take care of you” you said

“n-no! … i mean um, im really gross right now and throwing up everywhere. i dont want to get you sick too” he said quickly

you shook your head and laughed softly, pushing the door open and moving past alex

“nonsense! i’ll make you that soup you love. it’ll fix you right up” you replied

alex was silent. you turned to look at him and saw that he had his hands obviously hiding his crotch

“do you have to pee or something? come sit down so i can get a better look at you” you gently lead him to his couch and he didn’t dare look your way at all. now you were really starting to worry

“alex? what’s wrong?” you asked and he shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes

“alex, please talk to me” you practically pleaded

“it’s so s-stupid… please don’t make me say it, it’s embarrassing” he said through sniffles

“oh lexie, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. i’m your friend, okay? i promise i won’t judge you. i just want to make sure you’re okay.” you reassured him

“fine… i was at karl’s and i got hungry. so i ate these stupid fucking gummies and they’re… they’re for… they make you horny! and i don’t even know how many i ate and this stupid god damn raging boner won’t go away!” he put his head down and cried softly from being overwhelmed

after deep thought, you pulled him up from the couch and started leading him to his bedroom

“let’s lay you down, okay?” you said and alex nodded softly

as you laid him down, he sighed and closed his eyes. this was the perfect moment.

you started by pulling off his beanie and you ruffled his hair. you then began to take his sweatpants off and he suddenly opened his eyes

“y/n? w-what—“

“shh, just let me take care of you”

his bulge was visible now. his dick was tucked underneath the waistband of his boxers with his leaking head peaking out. you crawled on top of him and helped him take off his shirt. your mouth immediately went to his neck, leaving wet open mouth kisses. you trailed down lower and attached your lips to one of his nipples.

alex whimpered and bucked his hips up at the sensation of your tongue circling around his sensitive nubs. you sucked and bit his skin, trailing down lower and lower.

as you were right underneath his bellybutton, you looked up at him as if asking for permission

“please y/n… please do something… i can’t take it anymore” he whined, tangling his fingers in your hair

you licked up his prominent shaft through his boxers and he was crying again, this time not from embarrassment but from pleasure. you laughed softly and released his member from his boxers, sliding the article of clothing off his body and onto the floor somewhere.

you took his long dick in your small hand and began to pump him at a slow pace, making sure to lick up all the precum from his tip.

“oh fuck! yes! m-more!”

“i barely did anything” you laughed, going back to running your tongue on his tip

“it’s just so good” he grunted as he bucked into your face

“get on your knees” he said suddenly and you quickly got down from the bed and onto your knees

you looked up at him as you fully engulfed him into your mouth. alex threw his head back and started to slowly find a pace in which he thrusted himself deeper into your throat

what you couldn’t fit into your mouth, your hands took care of expertly

“god—yes! y/n, you have such a pretty little dirty fucking mouth—ah!” he held your head with both hands now, forcing himself down your throat until you couldn’t breathe

your eyes were watery, causing your makeup to run, and you were gagging like crazy around his cock but you couldn’t care less, he sounded too good to stop

“stand up and bend over the bed” he growled and you did exactly that

he was behind you now, rubbing his tip between your slippery wet lips. you mewled as he rubbed against your clit with his cock, loving the feeling

“please just put it in! g-give it to me lexie, please!” now you were the one whining

as he entered your warm slick cunt, he gathered your hair in one hand and pulled your head back to reveal your neck. he kissed and sucked the skin right underneath your ear and left little dark colored bruised from sucking so hard

“bet you’ve imagined this huh? me burying my cock deep inside of you?” he asked and all you could do was moan out his name

“i’ve fantasized about exactly this. bending you over my bed, taking all of you. fuck.. you’re so fucking tight! joder, mami, you really know how to take it, don’t you?” he said as he sped his pace up, his balls smacking against your plump ass

“you feel s-so good… nghh!” you whimpered out

you were pushing yourself backwards onto his cock, meeting his thrusts

“i don’t think i— im close alex! ‘m so c-close!” you cried out, throwing your head down into the mattress to muffle your screams

“yeah baby? so soon? aw, c’mon, i know you can last longer hm, chiquita?” he purred and still sped up, giving your ass a loud smack

a few more thrusts and you came with a shout of his name. as you came down from your high, your body shuddered with complete pleasure. after catching your breath, you sunk down to your knees in front of him once again

he grabbed your chin forcefully and said in a gruff voice, “open up, sweetheart”

you did as he ordered and he laid his swollen tip on your tongue as his hand pumped himself quickly

your mouth was wide open and you were whimpering with anticipation for his cum

alex was moaning louder than before and finally, he came in short spurts on your tongue and down your chin

he caught his breath and took you to his bed. the two of you laid down, you on his chest comfortably and completely fucked out.

“are you… are you still hard, alexis?” you asked with genuine surprise

“yeah” he laughed

“round two?” you offered in an innocent voice and he laughed even more

“si mi amor, just give me a sec” and he held you tightly to his body

[logansargeantsbabymom]

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader , Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warning: cursing, douchebag Oscar, cheating

A/N: I definitely did lie to you guys, I promise you that I am working on TGTSG pt 8, it's just taking more time than I'd like to admit! Sorry and I hope this makes this situation better <3

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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F1 Masterlist

Was any of it true? Gazing at me starry-eyed. 

“Oscar, c’mon we’re going to be late!!!” I said ushering my boyfriend out of our bedroom closet. 

A light chuckle left his lips as he emerged from the magical sliding mirror doors “Babe, it’s only the car reveal. It’s okay if we’re a tiny bit late” Oscar said as he walked over to me, rubbing a hand up and down my shoulders

An unamused look became present on my face “Baby, you know how much I can’t stand being just a millisecond off schedule, right now you have us 10 minutes behind! You’re killing me here!!” I added a bit of an exaggerated sigh as I dragged out that last sentence. 

I wouldn’t say I had OCD or whatever but if anything and I mean ANYTHING was just the slightest bit off, I wouldn’t be able to focus on whatever task was at hand before it was fixed. 

“Okay, okay. Let’s go. Thank god you’re dating a Formula 1 driver who knows a thing or two about driving fast. I promise we’re going to be there on time.” A small smile made its way on the corners of Oscars mouth as he grabbed my hand and guided me out of the house and to his McLaren.

And your Jehovah’s Witness suit. Who the fuck was that guy?

We’d arrived at the headquarters just under 2 minutes till Zak had to go up and make his big speech before revealing the 2024 season’s car.

Oscar and I tried to make our quiet entrance as to not draw attention to us being technically 30 minutes late. 

See the drivers and the workers that didn’t help set everything up had to be there at 8:00pm whereas everyone else who had a special invitation had to be there at 8:20pm and then Zak’s speech would take place at 8:30pm but thanks to Oscar just NEEDING to find the perfect outfit himself instead of just putting on the one that his assistant brought him, he made us super late. 

Lando was the first to notice our not so subtle attempt at being sneaky “Mate, if you wanted to shag your girlfriend you couldn’t given me a heads up so I could’ve made up an excuse as to why you weren’t here when you were supposed to.” 

Embarrassment flooded my cheeks at the thought of more than half the people in our vicinity thought that t and I were late because we wanted to have a quick fuck before we left 

“No Lando!! We’re not late because we fucked! We’re late because Oscar here,” I started, gesturing at the handsome man next to me “decided he didn’t like the outfit that his assistant brought for him so he had to spend an hour picking and changing his clothes until he found what he thought was best for him.” 

My answer seemed to satisfy Lando enough because he wiggled his eyebrows at us before nodding, taking a sip of his very much alcoholic drink before walking away from us. 

“Oh my gosh Oscar, never again am I being late with you. I can’t have people thinking we fuck like rabbits all the time!!!” I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face.

You tried to buy some pills. From a friend of friends of mine, they just ghosted you. Now you know what it feels like. 

Oscar left to go get both of us a drink before the lights dimmed and a spotlight was shone on Zak, who was standing at the top of the steps.

Zak looked around to get a good feel of the crowd’s energy tonight “Hey guys, I’m the McLaren CEO, Zak Brown. I’m sure you all know why you’re here tonight but in case you don’t, let me tell you why. You’re all here because you either work here or was invited. Either way, tonight, we’re all going to witness the unveiling of our 2024 seasons formula 1 car! But before we get to that part, I want to call up my two Formula 1 drivers to say a few words. Lando, Oscar, please come up here.” 

And I don’t even want you back, I just want to know if rusting my sparking summer was the goal. 

I clapped and watched as my boyfriend and our best friend walked up to make their speech, Lando being the first to take the mic.

“First I just want to say: Thank you everyone for being here with us today to do this reveal, none of this would be possible without any of you guys and that each and every single one of us here at McLaren are extremely grateful to you guys. Thank you to Zak for believing in me enough to resign me for the next 2 years and uh yeah, I’ll pass it on to Oscar now.” That last part came out with a little awkward chuckle as Lando scanned the room before passing the mic to Oscar 

“Hello, Uh Lando said the majority of what I was going to say but I also want to thank my beautiful, wonderful, loving, thoughtful, talent girlfriend for sticking by my side” Oscar started as he looked deep in my eyes as the crowd around us ‘Aww’ed us “oh and thank you to Y/N for being there too.” he added with a laugh that caused the crowd to also erupt in fits of laughter.

My face turned red and my blood began to boil. Did he really just say that? I mean I could be making this a bigger deal than it is but to me, Oscar just embarrassed me in front of maybe 250+ people, who mind you might do a little ‘story time’ on their experience there and would add that part which means hundreds of thousands of people are going to hear about how Oscar embarrassed me. 

The rest of Oscar’s speech was a blur and I hadn’t even notice that him and Lando had left the top steps until I felt his arms around my waist and my body tensed at the feeling. Oscar’s touch right now made me feel sick, who did he think he was embarrassing me like that in front of hundreds of strangers and then acting like nothing happened? 

And I don’t miss what we had but could someone give a message to the smallest man who ever lived?

I shrugged Oscar’s arms off of me which earned me a confused glare from him which I quickly shut down

“I’m going to grab another drink. Do you want anything?” It was the best I could come up with. 

It got Oscar’s touch off of me and it gave me some space away from him, which I so desperately needed right now.

“No thank you, just hurry back” Oscar said sweetly as he attempted to place a kiss on my lips that I quickly dodged. 

I saw another look of confused flash across his face but I was too busy getting far away from him as possible to notice how long his face had stayed like that. 

Over at the makeshift bar they had, I poured myself a half cup of punch before making my way to the other end of the bar to fill the rest of my cup up with tequila. I closed my eyes as I took a sip of my alcoholic punch before letting out a satisfied sigh while feeling the drink burn its way down my throat, my solo bliss didn’t last long before I felt the presence of someone near me. Opening my eyes, I was met with one of my dearest best friends: Lando. 

“Having fun?” Lando said as he grabbed himself a cupful of punch awaiting my response 

“So much fun, I totally don’t want to be at home with a (favorite/drink) eating (favorite/food) while watching (favorite/ show) right now.” I said as I let out a sarcastic laugh which earned me a glare “I’m kidding Lando. I’m having a good time, what about you?” 

“Just a good time? Why not an amazing time?” Typical Lando to only catch the first half of my sentence 

“I have a mild headache right now, that’s why it’s just a good time I’m having right now. I didn’t have time to grab or take any medicine so I’m suffering right now.” that was the best lie I could come up with, let’s just hope that he believes it. 

By the look on his face right now, he was starting to believe the lie I just spewed to him. “I think Zak has Ibuprofen in his office, let me ask him to grab you some” before I could protest, he was gone. 

You hung me your wall, stabbed me with your pushpins. 

I realized that I was spending too much time at the bar and that Oscar was going to come looking for me soon so to save him the hassle, I made my way back over to him. 

Turns out he wasn’t going to be looking for me soon because he’s too busy having some blondie all over him. She’s running one of her hands through his hair while the other is resting against his forearm. The sight made bile rise in my throat as my stomach churned, I can’t be seeing this clearly right? Maybe I actually was suffering from a massive headache and that’s causing me to see all these things, right? This wouldn’t be the first time something like this happened, granted I’ve only ever heard of a ‘headache so bad you’re seeing things’ in movies before so I can’t really rely on it being a real thing. 

Once Oscar’s gaze quickly fell on me, he pushed the blonde off of him and quickly made his way over to me. 

“Hey beautiful, you were gone for a while.” He tries to plant a kiss on my lips but I placed a firm hand against his chest to leave a gap. 

Apparently me dodging his kiss for the second time tonight really upset Oscar because he rolled his eyes before bringing his concerns to my attention 

“What is wrong with you? This is the second time you dodged my kiss, what’s going on?” I could tell there was hints of an attitude lacing his words.

“Oh geez Oscar I don’t know, maybe it’s because I come back over from getting punch and I see a blonde girl all over you and you’re letting it happen?” I can’t believe he really has the audacity to question why I’m dodging his kiss when he quite literally was probably cheating on me in public less than 2 minutes ago. 

A scoff left Oscar’s mouth as he rolled his eyes at my comment “You’re kidding right? That’s what this” he gestured in between us, “is about? C’mon Y/N, she literally is my race engineer trainee, we were literally talking about work”

“Oh yeah because talking about work requires her to be handsy with you in public in front of your girlfriend?” I can’t believe Oscar was trying to downplay this right now. 

I watched as Oscar shifted on his feet before crossing his arms “First of all, you weren’t in front of us and second of all, she wasn’t being handsy. Sarah just asked what shampoo and conditioner I used because her brother needed recommendations and I told her the ones you buy me.” 

“That doesn’t give her the right to run her hands through your hair while holding your forearm, are you kidding me?” Everyone around us could feel the tension thickening. It was so thick that you could break 2 machetes trying to cut through it. 

“Go be insecure about our relationship elsewhere, I don’t have time to deal with this right now.” I didn’t even have a chance to get a word in before Oscar stormed away from me, leaving me alone in a crowd full of his co-workers and fans with nothing but my hurt feelings and confused thoughts about what the fuck happened in the last five minutes. There was only one thing in my head right now that was clear: I need to get the fuck out of here now before I make this a bigger deal than it is.

In public, showed me off. Then sank in stoned oblivion cause once your queen had come, you’d treat her like an also-ran. 

I don’t know when I got home nor do I know how I got home, all I know is that I’m home and home is where I’m free to drown my sorrows with a nice bottle of Brothers Bond bourbon in peace. Only, I wasn’t able to have a second of peace because a rapid set of knocks were being banged against my front door which caused me to jump at the sudden sound and tighten my grip on my drink. Walking to the door with an annoyed expression on my face I was met with Lando’s somber expression. 

“Lando, I’m sure you heard about the fight and I just really want to be alone right now.” I said as I attempted to slam the door in his face but was blocked by his foot.

“Ow, I didn’t expect that to hurt that bad.” Lando started as he tried to shake the pain out of his foot “Everyone knows about the fight-” 

“Ugh, great” I scoffed

“That’s not why I’m here though-” Lando didn’t get to finish before I cut him off again

“So why are you here? I mean no offense but I want to be alone right now”

“Stop cutting me off then. I’m here because, gosh I don’t know how to say this to you” He took in a deep breath before letting it out in one long exhale “I’m just gonna show you” I didn’t get to process the words that came out of his mouth before he flipped his phone showing me a video of Oscar and Sarah making out in the corner of the room before Sarah dragged him out of the frame. 

It doesn’t take a genius to know that they we’re going to find somewhere there to have sex. The video was a total of about 10 seconds and by the end of it, tears had already fallen. It’s funny how in a span of ten seconds your whole life could change, one minute I was upset over an argument I had with my boyfriend and the next I’m watching a video of him cheating on me. The sight before me made bile rise in my throat as I felt my heart shatter into a million tiny pieces.  I never knew that loving someone could cause so much hurt, that if they did wrong by you it would feel like you were dying. I couldn’t breathe, it felt like my whole world was caving in on me and I couldn’t do anything to stop it, that I was just there to watch this tragedy unfold. I never knew that someone who claimed to love you until the end of time could do something so terrible to the one person they promised to never hurt, that even after you watched video proof of him cheating on you that you didn’t want to believe it. I shared a lot of firsts with Oscar, the most important being that he was my first love, he took my virginity from me and that’s one that’s one thing I could never get back from him. Despite everything I’m feeling now, I wish there was someone who could tell me why my heart wants to go back to him. My heart yearns for Oscar’s touch, his love, his time, my heart just wants it all, everything Oscar is willing to give it. 

You didn’t measure up in any measure of a man. And I don’t even want you back, I just want to know if rusting my sparkling summer was the goal. 

It’d been 15 minutes since I found out about Oscar cheating on me and the whole time Lando’s been holding me as I sobbed into his chest, I was so hurt by Oscar that I couldn’t find any sense of comfort in Lando’s touch. I feared that I wouldn’t be able to find comfort in anyone’s touch because of how bad Oscar hurt me and that’s not how I wanted to live my life. That’s not how anyone should have to live their life, surrounded by so much hurt that you can’t find joy in anything. The pain was consuming me so much that I felt like the only way to make it go away was to drown it in alcohol and that’s what I intend on doing. 

Pulling myself out of Lando’s grasp, I leaned forward and grabbed the bourbon bottle on mu coffee table and brought it up to my lips. I took one big gulp, enjoying the burning sensation I was feeling as the liquid ran down my throat. I took another long sip before the bottle was yanked from my hands. 

“Lando please, give it back I don’t want to feel this. I don’t want to feel anything, I cant live like this.” I started to sob again, hoping he would feel bad enough to just let me drink the whole bottle. ‘

Unfortunately Lando didn’t cave into me “I know it hurts but you have to feel the pain. You have to feel all your emotions in order to get past this, I know Oscar hurt you but I’m here to help you. I’m your best friend and I want everything for you but you can’t drown your feelings in liquor, I love you too much allow that.” I almost wanted to believe the words coming out of Lando’s mouth because I know he’s not Oscar and that I can trust him but a part of me doesn’t want to trust him and Lando could sense that

“Y/N/N, I need you to believe me. I want the best for you and you know that, you know that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you but right now I need you to trust me. Alcohol isn’t the solution.” The look in his eyes were sincere and I knew I could trust him.

I buried my face in my hands as I reluctantly let the bottle go and allowed Lando to take it from my hands to lock it away in Oscar’s liquor cabinet. By the time Lando had returned to the living room   and saw my state he could obviously tell that at any given moment, I would start spiraling again and that was the last thing either of us wanted right now. I felt the sofa dip next to me before abruptly being pulled against a body.

“I’m going to hold you like this and you can talk about any and everything or we could just sit in silence but I can see it in your eyes that you want to be held.” Lando said as he rested his chin against the top of my head which I moved to look at him in his eyes.

I was able to whisper a faint “okay” as I looked in his aquamarine eyes, I never realized hoe beautiful they were until right now. Now that I think about it, everything I’m noticing on his face right now, I never had noticed before. I never realized all these little features in his face that made him beautiful, actually, I never realized how beautiful Lando was until right now. How plump his lips looked, how soft and fluffy his hair must feel against the palm of my skin, how the gap between us seemed to slowly disappear as I looked at him looking down at my lips and how soon the gap between us closed as our lips met. This kiss I was sharing with Lando felt different from all the kisses I’ve ever shared with Oscar, this one kiss alone had butterflies lighting fireworks in my stomach as I felt my broken heart mend. It sounds crazy, I know but something about this moment with Lando felt raw and real, it felt like everything I was missing in my relationship with Oscar was just found. 

The kiss consumed my whole being, I never want this moment to end. Everything felt right and nothing could ruin this moment. 

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?”

taglist:

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal @eddieharrington @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999 @dark-night-sky-99 @rougekiki @xoscar03 @jess-wither @bountychanti @dhanihamidi @Ggasly.p @tellybearryyyy @a-panseuxalmess @love-simon @tallrock35 @iiaik0ii @Milkyymelanine @ilovsyou3000morgan

[moonstruckme]

Love, OMG?? the doctor!rem fix killed me 😭 do you think you might do part 2 where shes bedridden and he's taking care of her?? currently sick too 😭

Thanks for requesting!

part 1 | part 2

Doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 962 words

Remus has got you all doped up. You didn’t even bother asking him what the pills he handed you a few hours ago were, but now you’re feeling tired and teary. 

“Rem.” Your voice is hoarse, barely there. You try again. “Remus.” 

A head of fluffy brown hair pops out of the kitchen. “You calling me, sweetheart?” 

You swallow. “Yeah.” 

“Oh, honey,” Remus eyebrows pinch together as he comes down the hallway to you. “You sound awful, I could barely hear you.” 

“Sorry,” you croak, the sympathy in his voice only serving to tighten your throat. “Did you roofie me?” 

His eyebrows raise as he sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing your leg through the sheets. “Think they’d have my license for that one, dove. Why do you ask?” 

“I’m really sleepy.” 

Remus nods. “That’s alright. You took the nighttime ones, remember? It’s a good idea to rest right now.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t remembered. Remus frowns like he can tell. 

“Wait one second, dove.” He disappears back down the hall, returning a few moments later with a steaming cup of tea. “I put honey in it, so it should help with your throat for a little while.” He passes it to you carefully, keeping a hand on it as you raise it to your lips just in case you drop it. “Careful, there you go. Alright if I take your temp again?”

You nod, blowing gently on your tea while Remus puts the thermometer in your ear. You relish the feel of the steam on your face, and your first sip is so saccharine you wonder how much of the tea is actually tea and how much is just honey. It’s good like this, though. You lean forward until your forehead rests on Remus’ shoulder. You would’ve assumed that doctors would be so desensitized to illness that they’d have no bedside manner left for when they’re off the clock, but Remus is being so extra sweet to you. He’s made you drink probably four gallons of water, sure, but it’s all “sweetheart” this and “dovey” that, and you don’t think you’ve ever received a more soothing back rub than the one he gave you this morning. You don’t actually mind being sick all that much while he’s here to take care of you.

You’re so caught up in your maudlin reverie that you’ve forgotten the device in your ear by the time it beeps, and you jump. 

“Sorry,” Remus laughs, surprised by your reaction. He puts a hand behind your neck, helping you ease yourself back down onto the pillow. “You start to drift off there, lovely?”

“A little,” you admit, pulling the covers up over your shoulders as a shiver takes you.

He hums, the sound half amusement and half concern. “Well, your fever’s gone down a bit at least, so the medicine seems to be doing its work. How’re you feeling?” 

“I feel like I’m dying,” you reply, picking your phone up off your pillow to wave it about, “and I checked, the internet agrees with me.”

“Oh, really?” Remus smiles as he brushes a few wayward strands of hair from your forehead. “I suppose it’s a good thing you have the internet to tell you that, since there’s not, say, a fully qualified medical professional at your disposal.” 

“What is it you’re always saying?” you ask him, and the tea really is making your throat feel better; the warm honey coats your mistreated esophagus like a balm. “It never hurts to get a second opinion? Anyway, you never said the flu would make my legs hurt like this.” 

Remus blinks. “Your legs?”

“Mhm.” You flex your feet, bringing to life the ache that’s plagued you for the last several hours as if to prove it to him. “They hurt.” 

Remus frowns as he feels for your leg through the covers. “What part hurts, honey?”

“All up and down them.”

Remus cuts an odd look your way before his hand finds your calf. He squeezes, and you hiss.

“Ouch!” you say. “Fuck, yeah, it’s there.” 

Remus laughs. Actually laughs, and ever harder when you look at him with betrayal in your eyes. “Sweetheart,” he says. “Honey, my darling, do you remember how we went ice skating yesterday?” 

You feel your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Yeah?”

“And do you see how that would work out muscles you don’t usually use all that much?”

Your frown worsens. “Sure. Why?”

The smile Remus gives you is kind, but you can still see the amusement twinkling in his eyes. “You’re sore, dovey. It’s got nothing to do with the flu, you just worked the muscles in your legs a bit harder than they’re used to. I’m feeling it in my calves, too.” 

“Oh.” You nestle into the covers until they reach halfway up your face, retreating in embarrassment. Remus laughs again, pushing the sheets down under your chin and kissing your face. His nose is cold where it mushes into your feverish skin. 

“Sorry, I’m not making fun of you,” he promises, though he’s snickering. “I mean, I will, but not when you’re so unwell. You’re still my poor girl for now.” 

“I like poor girl privilege,” you decide, turning your cheek so he’ll kiss it again. He does, smiling against your skin. 

“You know what other privileges you get?” Remus asks you. “Other than tea and a hiatus from teasing?” You hum contentedly. “I’ll tell you something I never tell my other patients.” 

“What’s that?” you ask him, unsure if your sudden dizziness is from the fever or just the effect his affection has on you. 

Remus climbs over you, slipping beneath the covers and pulling you up against him. “Cuddles are the best cure for the flu.”

[deanswhiskey]

don’t let me go - sam winchester

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

summary; while researching alone, the nest of vampires you were hunting takes you

wc; 2,223

warnings; canon level violence, blood, pain relief pills, kissing, angst, kidnapping, vampires hurting reader

authors note; i never know how to end fics i’m sorry for the shitty ending 😭

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

vampire nests. sometimes they’re easy to kill, other times they’re not.

the bigger they are means more to kill. this nest was particularly large. not that you, sam, and dean weren’t equipped, it was just way larger than you’d expected.

it was only supposed to be a nest of 4 or 5 vamps. you guys had already taken out two.

but, during the time between the last vamp kill and now, you were taken. as leverage, of course.

there was still some research and investigation needed before storming the nest. you stuck behind do research more while sam and dean played fbi for a little while longer.

dean was loading the trunk while you fixed up sam’s tie for him. “be back quick, okay?” you said while pulling the tie up, securing it around his neck. you patted his chest, smoothing out the tuxedo.

sam grabbed your hands and rubbed the back of them with his thumbs. “of course. be safe.” giving a light kiss on your forehead. he headed out the door but not before he gave you one last smile. sam was always extra affectionate before going out for hunts or investigating. you never understood why. you liked the affection though.

you changed into something a bit more comfortable; jeans and a tight fighting top weren’t the best for constant sitting and research. one of sam’s t-shirts and sweatpants will do.

you grabbed one of the motels provided coffee cups and made yourself some coffee. you poured some cream and two sugars into the mug and made your way to the dining table.

your computer was open with about 8 different tabs, john’s notebook opened on a page about vampires, and your personal notebook open while you wrote down whatever thought came to mind while researching.

as you were writing something in your notebook, you heard a noise from across the room. if you were anybody else, you wouldn’t have reacted the same way you did. drawing the gun from the waist band of your pants, you carefully made your way across the room and into the adjoining room. dean made you guys get separated, but still adjacent, rooms when you and sam started dating.

upon further inspection, you made the assumption it was somebody next door. when you turned around there were two large guys standing right behind you. before you could act, they grabbed your arms and forced you back against the nearest wall.

they kept shouting “what do you know?” but you couldn’t hear much of it due to how hard they slammed your head against the wall. after they realized you weren't going to talk, they took out a blade and started cutting you to further force some answers. nothing deep, just shallow cuts; shallow enough to cause enough pain.

“i don’t know!” you repeatedly shouted as they kept making marks along your face, neck, and arms. tears started to run down your face at this point. the men put their blades down and smirked at one another. they could practically smell the winchesters in the adjoining room.

the man with the shaved head drew back his fist and knocked you out cold.

next thing you knew, your hands were tied to a chain from the ceiling. your head was pounding and you could feel your hands going numb. it was dark out from what you could see, so you only assumed it was after 9pm.

you prayed and prayed that sam and dean had found something that lead to wherever you were.

moments later, a group of people emerged from the shadows. they all had an open mouth smile bearing the pointy fangs coming from their mouths. the dots connected and you realized you were in the middle of the vamps nest; now on display as their next meal.

sam and dean returned to their hotel room and found you gone along with small droplets of blood on the carpet. anger and fear coursed through their veins. luckily, the vampire they encountered while investigating was the weakling of the nest, he gave up any and all information about the nest and places they might be in exchange for his life. of course, sam and dean didn’t listen and chopped his head right off.

they hauled ass back into the impala and went to the first of three locations they got. the burst into the abandoned factory and searched high and low and nothing. next was what was supposed to be another abandoned location but turned out to be a lively bar. they both hesitantly walked in, no one turned any heads. they talked to the bartender, nothing suspicious. they came to the conclusion no one in the bar was a vamp. the sighed and walked to the car. the hoped that this last location was it.

all while sam and dean were searching for you, you were fading in and out of consciousness as blood leaks from you all over. you were so tired.

these vamps were really adamant about whatever information they were trying to get out. you had no idea what they were talking about. you begged and pleaded saying you didn’t know what they were talking about. they’d simple say “shut up” and backhand you.

“please,” you all but whimpered out. your voice weakened after all the screaming you’ve done. “i don’t know anything.”

“well, that’s not what we heard, little girl.” the vamps fangs were protruding out of his mouth. and that stupid, stupid smirk just pissed you off enough more.

“well,” you breathed out. “whoever told you, is a stupid,” you spit out the blood that was in your mouth, “son of a bitch.”

that really pissed this guy off. he turned away angrily, but not before nodding to this one blonde girl. she had a hungry look in her eyes.

you shook your head repeatedly while muttering no over and over. “this ain’t gon’ hurt a bit, sweetheart.” her country twang would’ve been a bit comforting if she wasn’t about to bite into your neck.

her fangs were out and her hands force your head back so she could bite. your screams echoed in the empty house. your body filled with a hot sensation. it felt like no other. blood pooled out of your neck and further staining your clothes.

she pulled away with your blood all on her mouth. her eyes had this satisfied look as she backed away from you.

your body faltered, if it weren't for the cuffs, your body would've laid limp on the floor. your wrists on the cusp of dislocating from the way you were practically putting all your weight on them; your feet could barely hold you anymore

sam and dean pulled up to the house quietly with their headlights off. after turning off the engine they heard a loud scream, this had to be it. they immediately were on high alert. they forced open the door with their machetes and flashlights in hand.

they heard another scream rip from your throat and ran in that direction, careful not to make any sounds. there were two big buff vampires waiting right outside the door. sam and dean would've been a little intimidated if their wasn't adrenaline coursing through them. their blades swung through the air and eventually the two big bodyguards heads were on the floor, blood pooling at the winchesters feet.

seconds later, they burst through the door. they must've counted 7 or 8 more vampires inside. they noticed your bloody and bruised state hanging in the middle of the floor. they, somehow, become more angry when they notice bite marks on your neck.

you were on the verge of passing out until you noticed them. they fearlessly fought for you, slashing away at the vampires.

the blonde girl from earlier had an almost scared look in her eyes. she quickly unlocked your cuffs and dragged you out of the room. your vision was blurry, you could hardly make out anything.

she got outside of the house and leaned you up against a nearby tree, "you're all mine sweetheart. you're a tough one, delicious too." she all but licked her lips at the smell of your blood.

she opened her mouth, fangs jutted out, and was about to bite again when her head was sliced off, falling to the ground. her dead body going limp on the ground, which revealed your hero. sam winchester stood there with his bloody machete, breathing heavy after all that fighting.

"my hero," you weakly smiled.

"hey, don't talk right now, save your breath," he calmly whispered, kneeling down to pick you up.

"everything hurts," you groan.

"i know, i know," he carried you bridal style to the impala. "just try to save your breath."

"'m sorry sammy," you leaned against his chest.

"you have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart." he gives you a sad smile, setting you into the back seat.

"tell dean i'm sorry about the blood in baby."

"i'm sure he'll understand," he held onto your hand from the front seat as dean drove back to the motel.

“don’t let me go,” you whispered, feeling soothed by the circles sam was rubbing with the pad of his thumb against your hand.

you passed out moment later only to find yourself laying on sam's motel bed. you look down, no longer bloody but still in a lot of pain.

stumbling over to the bathroom mirror, you see stitches along your neck from where the vampire bit you. you were also in new clothes, no longer in bloody torn ones. another one of sam's shirts adorned your body along with a pair of his shorts.

sam walked in not long after with a pharmacy bag in his hand, he hadn't noticed you up and out of bed until you walked out of the bathroom. "oh my god, you're awake," sam dropped his bags and ran to you, attacking you in a hug. your groaned a little, hugging back, your body still hurt. "oh, i'm so sorry," sam goes to pull away but you pull him back in.

"no, sam, its okay, please just stay here," you whisper out, hugging him tighter.

sam pulled away and looked at you with worry in his eyes, “i’m so sorry, truly. i wished i never even left you. dean could’ve gone by himself. i should’ve stayed, i’m-,”

“sam,” you held his shoulders, steadying him. “it’s okay, i forgive you. it’s not even your fault.” he just smiled weakly in response.

sam went to pick up the bag he dropped,”i got you some pain relief.” holding a box of ibuprofen and rattling it.

“thank you, sammy,” sams cheeks flush at the nickname. only you were allowed to call him that.

you downed a few pills with some water and sat back down on the bed; sam following you.

“listen,” he starts. “when i walked in here and you weren’t here, i panicked. more than i ever have. losing you would mean losing the sun in my life. i don’t know what i’d do if i had lost you.” sam keeps fidgeting with his fingers; unsure of what do to. he doesn’t know if he could look you in the eyes without crying, blurting out his undying love for you, or both. “i just—”

he stops mid sentence when he feels your hand on his hot cheek, guiding him to look at you. you now sat criss cross on the bed fully facing him. “sam, it’s okay. i’m safe, i’m here now,”

he leans into your touch, “i know, i don’t want to lose you again.”

“i’m right here sam, i’m right here,” you said softly, rubbing his face with your thumb.

you leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. your lips lingered as your face still right at his. your lips dangerously close to his.

with a quick breath of courage, sam gently placed his lips on yours; as if he was testing the waters. as soon as you leaned into the kiss, he kissed back with a little more force.

sam was pouring out his emotions and feelings into this kiss as his lips molded against yours perfectly and his nose smushed against your face.

your hand gently raked through your hair as you kissed sam. the feeling of sams hand on your waist felt like sparks against your skin.

sam was the first to pull away, “you have no idea how long i’ve waited to do that.” you just giggled in response. sams forehead rested against yours as his eyes screwed shut, “please don’t ever leave again.”

“i’ll try my hardest not to.”

“good, because i’d go crazy.”

“just shut up and kiss me again you fool,” you giggled.

sam smiled and attacked you in kisses. your contagious laughter made sam smile even harder.

sam and you spent the rest of the night laying in the comfort of each others arms. sam practically refused to let you go.

“i’ll never let you go again,” he jokingly said as his big arms wrapped around your waist.

“good, don’t let me go.” you smiled. “goodnight sammy,” you whispered up at him.

“goodnight love,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

sams arms squeezed you tighter in a gentle manner. he never wanted to let go.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

[hannahssimblr]

I wander through the food stalls in the late afternoon once I’ve inevitably lost the others, and join a long queue for food. Chips. This seems to be ninety percent of my diet these days. Chips and the kinds of sweets from the corner shop that burn the coating off my tongue. I pay for them and some sad, limp looking hotdog and wolf them down before hopping into the queue for the bar. I get three beers, all with the lids confiscated. Necking them all is the only way to avoid the inconvenience of carrying them upright for several hours, and while I do it, I wander through the festival in a relatively aimless search of a familiar face. 

The festival is in a field, or several, somewhere. I really have no sense of where I am according to a map. By the edge of the campsite, a path meanders into a small wood decorated with ribbons and hanging lamps in the foliage overhead. Acoustic melodies drift down the winding path as I pass couples in hammocks and groups of friends seated in the shade among the wildflowers. 

There is a smaller stage here, wooden, with a tarp hung overhead, housing musicians who play a lazy tune to a crowd on the picnic blankets and cushions scattered across the grass. A group of people in weird clothing dance in a circle, doing the type of moves people only seem to do when they’re familiar with the bong. Swaying, arms loose and hair, (because they all have long hair,) swishing across their backs. I seat myself on the grass in the dappled shade of an oak tree to finish my last beer, watching them as I let the alcohol slowly take over my body with that familiar, hazy weight. 

Eventually, one dancer sees me. Our eyes meet across the clearing and I feel embarrassed for looking at all. She smiles this slow, tranquil smile and begins a slow dance in my direction. 

“Fuck sake.” I think. “Why was I looking? Now I’m going to have to speak to this weird hippie-”

“Are you joining us, or are you just having a look?” She has a country accent I don’t recognise, but since I’m ignorant of all that exists outside of Dublin city, this much is not surprising. 

“I’m just, uh, I’m just looking, I suppose.”

“You seem a wee bit glum.”

“Right well, I’m fine, so.”

“I assumed you were looking over at us because you felt like a dance, but were feeling shy.”

I hack out a laugh. “What? No. No, I don’t dance like that.”

“‘Like that’? Like what?”

I peer over to the others behind her, one of which appears to believe he’s floating through time and space. “I’m not even nearly stoned enough, to be honest.”

“Ah, well, easy fix there. You could be stoned.” She sticks her hand into the pocket of her big patchwork skirt and offers me a rolled joint, but I shake my head and push it away. “Look, thanks, but I don’t smoke.”

“Do you do anything else?” she rummages through another pocket. 

“Not right now.”

“What’s wrong with now?”

“It’s about four in the afternoon.”

“It’s a festival. We don’t currently exist under the constraints of society. You don’t have to wait until it’s dark to do pills here, or whatever it is you think. You can be a free man, anybody you want to be.”

I shake my head. “You’d only be wasting them on a stranger. Don’t.”

She plonks next to me in the grass. The smell from her clothes is like the health food shop in town, where Jen buys those enormous bags of sesame sticks to munch with deliberate obnoxiousness in the middle of religion class.

She says, “You seem forlorn. I have this sense that you ought to be happier.”

I regard her for a moment, her red curls wild, the sun catching a halo of frizz around a circular face. “Look, if you’re coming over here for some other reason, like, you know… if this is about you wanting to-”

“I don’t fancy you, or anything like that.” She says, then, after I pause, she adds, “sorry to shock you, but I’m not interested.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you offended?”

I hesitate. “No.” 

“You’re hardly making an assumption because I’m a girl doing something nice for you, are you? This doesn’t mean I want something more from you. You get that, right?”

I shrug. 

“Because that’s what boys do. They’re only nice to girls they think are hot.”

“Speaking from experience?”

She sighs, a great, long sigh of something like satisfaction with herself for having figured me out. “See, you would have been quite mean to me in school, wouldn’t you?”

I survey her for a few moments, then decide on cautious honesty. “Probably.”

“I’m healing at the moment. I’m seeking empathy for the kinds of people who I feel resentment towards. I thought I’d come over and offer you, and by extension every sporty, slightly ignorant boy from my secondary school…” She pulls a small baggie out of that skirt pocket and her face lights up with surprised delight, “ketamine! See it as a peace offering.” 

I ignore it until she puts it away. 

“You actually remind me of my friend.” I tell her.

“Interesting.” 

“She’s got the same hair, whenever she doesn’t straighten it, and stuff, it’s kind of curly like yours.”

“Ah, and is she also a massive babe?”

I pause.

“God. I was joking. You can say that she’s pretty without slipping up and complimenting me, too. Don’t worry, I won't get the wrong idea.”

“Yeah, Alison’s pretty. She doesn’t really, um, wear the clothes you wear, or anything, there’s just something about your hair, I suppose, and parts of your face that remind me of her.”

“Is Alison here today?”

“No, she’s in Dublin. I… yeah.”

The girl grins and bites her lip impishly. “So this friend, is she just a friend, or do you love her or something?”

I’m rendered momentarily speechless by the strangeness of this conversation. Who is this person, this Alison imposter? I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t like that with us. She’s a friend.”

“But you want more.” She prompts, and I furrow my brow. “You’re fairly nosy. Did you know that?”

“You’ve just started telling me this. I’m only listening to you.”

“Fair enough. I don’t know, anyway, maybe I wanted more at a certain time, but I’m just kind of like that with a lot of girls, like, I just get, like, feelings about them. It’s the main thing that’s wrong with me at the moment.”

“Explain that to me some more. Do they not feel it back, or?”

“Well, that’s not the issue, usually.”

“Ah,” she says, “You’ve got other, deep dark, brooding things going on, then.”

I lay my empty beer bottle on the grass. It tips over and rolls down the little incline where we sit, out of reach. I leave it there. “I suppose.”

Someone in the band has whipped out a sitar, sending psychedelic sounds over the crowd, and I sort of feel like my body is ascending to another realm, transported right back to that time Jen and I did mushrooms in a carpark and all the vehicles started looking like big weird bugs. It's dreamlike, transcendent, like I’m not real, and nothing I say holds any weight. I’m just a soul in the woods with a ginger girl in fairy clothes offering me bags of pills. 

“So, are you sad about Alison?” She says. 

“That’s part of it.”

“And the other parts, are they related to women, too?”

“Everything’s related to women a bit, isn’t it?”

“I’m very curious about what’s wrong with you.”

I let out a short, self-conscious laugh and pluck a blade of grass from the ground. 

“You don’t have to tell me. I just wonder what has you sad and alone in absolutely glorious weather, on the first day of a festival.”

“That’s why you came over, is it?”

“Yeah, in part. I’m saving you the same way I’d save a baby bird chucked out of its nest.”

“You look like you’d do that,” I say derisively, “and you'd disrupt the entire hangout so you could call the SPCA.”

She doesn’t flinch. “Yeah, ‘cause I would.”

“Okay, well, you could be working on me for a while. I think there’s everything wrong with me currently, so.”

“Well, I’m high as fuck, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Right.” I concentrate intently on the grass in my hand, folding it, knotting it, then breaking it apart, centimetre by centimetre. The girl, Not Alison. Weed Alison, sits there patiently as I repeat this process, plucking grass, fiddling with it, breaking it, flicking the bits away.

There’s a chance, I realise, I am becoming a weird man. A man who does things like this, who sits with a person he has never met before, and begins telling her private things about himself. Next thing I know, I’ll be fifty-eight years old and doing this to college girls on the bus as they try their best to ignore me and look out the window as I miss their every signal. The outlook isn't great.

This girl is asking questions because she is overly interested in other people’s lives and sees me as something amusing to be played with. Intellectually, I know this, yet there is a part of me that believes she has genuine concern for me and my wellbeing, like I really am some rejected baby bird. I experience a wave of momentary anger at her for confusing me until it becomes suddenly clear that I am angry at myself for the things that I feel. 

Still, the truth, having been given permission to emerge, rises in my stomach like bile.

I’m horrified to feel emotion swelling behind my face, and wait a long time to speak, in case my voice cracks and humiliates me. “I think I’m in love with someone.” 

“Oh, right,” she says, like this piece of information is not as astounding as I assumed it would be. “Someone other than your Alison friend.”

“Yeah, someone else.”

“Another she? Or a he, this time?”

I huff out a laugh. “A she.”

“Have you mentioned it to her?”

“God, no.”

“Do you plan to?”

“It’s pretty obvious to me that she’s better off not knowing.”

Her face lights up. “Ah, because she’s together with somebody else. Your friend, right? Your best friend.”

“Why are you making this into a soap opera? She’s not with anyone else... I don't think. It’s just, logistically. It’s not right.”

“So you’re kind of… not following your heart.”

“Fucked if I know what I’m doing, to be honest.” 

“Well,” she says, leaning thoughtfully onto her elbows, “What would happen if you told her about what you’re feeling?”

I glare at her in outrage.

She blinks. “Well, don’t you think she might like to know?”

“No, it’d be the worst thing possible. I’ll ruin her.”

“Maybe it’d be worse if you didn’t tell her.”

I have to stare at her for several seconds while I formulate a response. “It’s best for us both that I say nothing.”

“You have to tell her. What if she feels the same? What if she’s just waiting for you to say something? What if you’re both afraid for the same reason? What if you miss your chance and never get another?”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Have you ever kissed her?”

“No.”

She gasps, eyes dancing. “You must. What if it’s fab?”

“That’d be worse than not doing it at all.”

She cocks her head, “I don’t understand you. What about this love you supposedly feel?”

“It’s just a summer thing. I’ll get over it.” 

A sigh. “Okay”

“I always do.”

“Until you don’t.”

I narrow my eyes. “What’s that mean?”

“It means you do until you don’t. I thought that too, once, and then-”

“Eimear!” One of the dancing hippies calls out to her as the melody changes again, to something lively and upbeat. “Are you bringing your little chavvy friend to dance or not?”

She looks at me, and I shake my head firmly. 

“No,” she calls back, “He's decided against it.”

The group boos me heartily as she climbs to her feet, making such a scene with their disapproval that others turn to have a look, and to smile at me in that sympathetic way that you do to a child that is failing to fit in with his peers. I am a spectacle in football shorts among the harem-pantsed congregation. 

“Let yourself experience love.” Eimear says in parting, as serenely, she drifts towards her friends, twirling in a meadow of dog daisies. 

“Right, yeah.” I say, and get up to wander back the way I came, wobbly on my feet as the full force of the beers I necked in one go hits me all at once. And as I leave the strange, hazy dreamland behind and reenter the grungy reality of the main arena, I reach into my pocket and discover something that wasn’t there before. 

It’s a baggie with three pink, pressed ketamine pills. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[paingoes]

Destroyer - In Shadows

(Masterlist)

another pretty short section, had to do a little check-in on delta

(Content: dissociation, conditioning, guilt, past trauma, implied child abuse, nightmares)

================

Delta struggled to remember a time he had felt worse in all his life. He was sure there were times. In his early, early childhood, when he was first broken in. He barely remembered those days anymore. It was too painful to think about when he didn’t have to. But the memories did come to surface, sometimes. He had internalized an alien way of being and had been made to hold it permanently if he wanted to live. He must have been more pliable then. The act took on a life of its own and whatever might’ve been there otherwise would never — could never — be known. It was a soft wrongness. He did not remember it well, but he imagined it must’ve felt very similar to the way he did right now.

He sat folded up in his room, clutching his head, struggling to breathe. He was drawing, which he never did. He drew out the forms he had seen in his dreams. Some of them were of real memories, but just as many were images sliced together from a life at war. He drew them over and over again, then tore them up so that there could be no evidence of his distress. He wanted to scream. He wanted to be good. These two impulses chafed at each other in his mind. He tilted his head forward and blood poured out of his nose. 

His body kept producing these reactions against his will. He kept getting sick. He choked down his own symptoms in front of the others, not wishing to be sent to the doctor’s unwillingly. He didn’t want to take pills. The shivers, though, they wouldn’t go away. No matter how much he tried to calm himself, he kept flinching abruptly. Each shadow seemed deadly and alive and inert.

He hated it here. He could admit it to himself now, but it didn’t lead him anywhere. He hated everything on the ship and everything outside of it. He hated the Empire, selfishly. He hated what his life had become, the way it never could have turned out any other way, the thousand ways it could all come to an end. He didn’t hate Paris, exactly. Though that would be easier. When he thought about the prince, his chest just got hollow and achy. Loyalty felt like an open wound.

Delta wished he couldn’t feel anything. That was the idea. That was always the act. But when Simon — or god forbid Paris — started to talk to him like he was a person, how was he supposed to keep it up? How could they speak to him like that and still-

Maybe he did hate them after all. He wished he couldn’t feel gratitude. He could’ve drowned in it. 

“I’m sorry,” Delta said, so many times that it lost its meaning.

“Will you knock it the fuck off already?!” Paris yelled. Because it had become self-indulgent, really. He didn’t know why he was apologizing. He just wanted to make things right; that’s all it stood for. But it was hopeless. It was all fucked. Delta was so, so confused.

He kept going back to the forums. His hands shook when he opened the laptop, but this time it wasn’t fear. It was guilt. Paris had spared him once already. Delta had begged his forgiveness. He had sworn not to do it again. Still, late at night, almost every night, he got back online. He was a lurker; it was a natural progression of what he’d been all his life. 

Delta had never been outside of the Empire’s walls. It was vast, yes, but it was not everything. The internet was an artifact left mostly untouched by its dominion. Delta studied it with a kind of numb curiosity. People spoke so differently there, so casually. A lot of them were just as cruel and as angry as Empire’s players, but then a lot of them weren’t. Again, he felt a strange ache. The world felt so far away from him.

That night, he got the strongest urge to remove his collar. He couldn’t, of course. That would defeat the point of having it. But he still felt with certainty this was the thing that would fix him. If he could just see without senses, feel the pulse of all the energy around him, let the light out…he was sure it would help. It always did a hard reset on his mental state and he needed badly to stop feeling the way he did right then, to let some new and overwhelming force come to replace it. His wish went unfulfilled. Instead, he just went to sleep, sinking back into the unconscious world. The shadows rose up to meet him.

[awingedinsect]

-Flood me like Atlantic-

Chapter 11

Full series

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: TRAUMA. Processing grief. De@th and loss of loved ones. Descriptions of g0re. This one was a bit difficult to write but it’s an important addition, and something you’ve all been waiting for MIGHT just be at the end! enjoy :)

He remembers that moment.

The way the beach got suddenly so quiet.

How when he looked up from his notebook, he couldn’t see a little head playing in the shallow waves.

He remembers how he ran. The way the wet sand churned under his feet as he called her name, running down the shore.

How the dark waves felt enveloping him, fighting his body off, like it wasn’t welcome in the water; trying to break his bones as his voice got hoarse from screaming.

He couldn’t believe it, he couldn’t believe it…

“I don’t believe it.” II Whispers, eyes dilated and hollow. He sits on the end of his bed, not even looking up at Vessel in the doorway.

“I don’t believe it…”

“II? Can I come in?” Vessel speaks softly, though his lanky frame is a bit stiff. His hands fidget in the front of his hoodie.

II’s wet eyes flick up at him, red lips parting in a tragic shape. He nods.

Vessel steps quietly inside, closing the door till it’s open just a sliver like he found it.

II’s room is plain. Mainly a grey palette, with a few posters and cassette tapes littered around. Clothes are piled up on top of the dresser and the bed is unmade.

He’s been locked up in here, since last night when he saw the news. III and IV had both initially followed him in, trying to console him behind the closed door as Vessel stood outside, helpless.

II was crying.

And he knew he wasn’t supposed to help.

Now, Vessel settles down on the bed next to him, not saying a word. His head is bowed, eyes staring into space for a few beats before nervously flitting over at the drummer.

“…How you holding up?”

II sniffles, wiping his face. He sighs. “I dunno, Vess. I’m fine. I just can’t…” he looks up at him now, those big red eyes almost pleading. “Did you see what he looked like?”

Vessel did.

How could he forget? The image is now burned into his head as permanently as the symbol behind his bangs. Matt’s body, stretched out on the rotten floor of the house. The candles surrounding him, melted into puddles that seeped up around his blue skin and mingled with the blood dripping from the marks on his chest.

Patterns that lace Vessel’s own body.

Venus is dead.

He had to tell himself that over and over again, all night and all morning. She’s dead.

…isn’t she?

Vessel’s hand slips out of his pocket, tentatively moving to II’s knee.

“I know what you’re going through.” He says. “…grief is the toughest pill there is, I think. I wish I could fix it, II.” There’s a desperation in his voice, a little crack that he tries to hide. “…You don’t deserve it.”

“Who could’ve done that to him?” II’s voice is choked again. “Fuckin carved him like an animal.” His eyes meet Vessel’s, and go hollow. “…Did someone try to do that to you?”

Vessel swallows.

He still hasn’t told any of them the story. About Venus, about what happened that night. But he knows they’ve all been thinking about it since the photograph flashed on the tv.

It’s about time he told someone.

“…I dunno if it’s connected.” His voice is low, threatening to get bumpy. “But… you remember that girl who walked up at the bar? At the Blacklit room?”

II nods, confusion in his face. But he lets him continue. “Well, she texted me, about a week after the accident. Had me meet her at the sight. And she… well, she drugged me.”

II’s eyes go wide. “You telling me she did all that to you?” II looks horrified.

“…when I woke up she and her friends had me tied down.” Vessel’s lashes flutter, blinking away a bit of dew that’s gathering. “And then she… got on me. Told me I was some kind of offering, then got her knife out.”

II is silent. They both are for some time.

“…I think she’s dead, II.” Vessel says. “I dunno all that happened, I blacked out again. But she was gone and I… could just feel it.”

He wasn’t about to launch into the whole story. To be honest, he’d kick him out of the house too if he brought up Sleep. Though maybe one day they’ll be able to understand.

“I could be wrong.” He says. “She might still be out there. But no matter what, we’ll get justice for Matthew… I promise.”

Vessel almost thinks he hears the floorboards creak outside the door. He turns his head only for a moment, but II stays still. The drummer bows his head.

“…I loved him, I think.” He whispers. So quiet that it’s barely heard. So soft that Vessel knows it’s only halfway meant to be said; a confession for himself.

“Did you?”

“…maybe. I don’t know. I’ve known him since we were kids, on and off… never was able to shake the feeling that maybe I wanted him more than I had him. But it doesn’t matter now, does it? He’s fuckin dead.”

The words drill straight into Vessel’s chest like a knife. Oh, II…

The water choked him, salt burning his eyes as he swam out into the deep. He couldn’t see anything. Couldn’t hear anything but the water. It dragged on his clothes, trying to swallow him just so it could spit him out.

Vessel’s eyes glaze over, wondering off to a different plane. “…I had a sister, once.”

II looks up at him, blinking. “…not anymore?”

The words come out of his mouth like breathing. Like breathing with lungs full of water and a head full of so many memories it’s about to overflow.

“…I was sixteen.” He continues. “Wasn't supposed to happen, you know?” His voice breaks on the last word, and his throat ties in a knot. He hasn’t talked about it in years. “Just one day and… I lost her. I was supposed to watch her, to make sure she stayed close. I looked away for only a minute.”

II’s face is even paler as he listens, hands knotted in his lap. His eyes are wide as saucers and more intense than Vessel has ever seen them, though he barely dares to take his own off the opposite wall.

He clears his throat, swiping his cheek with a sigh. “…the point is, she gave me a keyboard for my birthday. That same day. She got to hear me play it, said she loved it… she always loved to listen. I was just teaching her how to play the piano that month… She was a natural.” His eyes are full now, lips quivering. But there’s a point to all of this, and he’s gotta see it through.

“Matt was a drummer, yeah?”

II nods, scrunching his hands in his jeans.

“Means he’s not all gone. He’ll be with you now, when you play. In the music and the sound. Just like she’s in the keyboard, and in every the piano. We keep playing for them.”

His hand climbs to II’s shoulder, squeezing softly. “To keep their sound alive.”

II sniffles, nodding. “…thank you.” he says, hunching into Vessel. He wraps his arms around his waist, disappearing into his side like a little shadow. Vessel isn’t sure what to do at first, wet eyes blinking away the fog now that he’s being held. His arms wrap slowly around his friend, hugging him like he hasn’t hugged anyone in awhile.

They sit like that for a few minutes. Neither of them say a word, and neither of them cry anymore. It’s a sacred moment suspended in time and memory that Vessel makes sure to lock away and not forget.

After awhile they part, and Vessel leaves for the door.

“Vess?” II’s voice follows after him. He turns, raising his brows.

“What ever happened to your keyboard?”

The drummer asks. “You still got it somewhere, right?”

Vessel shuffles his feet, fingers gripping the brass doorknob.

“…It was in the motel I was staying in before everything.” He says, swallowing hard. “Probably confiscated, by now. But it’s alright. Maybe it’ll turn up in a pawnshop one of these days, huh?” He tries to smile, for II’s sake. But they both know it’s forced.

II nods, knotting his hand in the bedspread. “Yeah, probably, mate.”

As Vessel walks out, his head turns down the hallway just in time to see III’s door close softly shut.

He hadn’t even heard him.

•••

The house is quiet.

More quiet than usual.

Vessel stands in the kitchen, hand splayed on the counter as he downs a glass of water. His eyes are unfocused, flitting lazily out the window at the pitch darkness and the kitchen reflected in it, trying to gather his thoughts.

Where had he gone?

IV and II are both in their rooms still, having gone to bed hours ago. The sun will be up in an hour or two. But Vessel only managed to grab a bit of sleep before getting up to pace the night away, mind turning sluggishly over the events of the past few days and how they might correlate to III’s sudden disappearance.

“Does he do this often?” He had asked IV as the sun was setting and the bassist was still nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t said he was going anywhere, or even that he had something he needed to do. IV shrugged. “Sometimes… not a lot. But don’t sweat it, I’m sure he’s fine. If he’s not here for breakfast I’ll try calling him again.”

Vessel rubs his eyes, blinking hard. His head still hurts from that bit of an emotional display with II earlier since, honestly, he hasn’t cried in a good long while. And even then, it was hardly a sob fest.

But it certainly could have been.

”If you’ve gotta be sad, why don’t you write about it?” He can hear her say. “Make a song about being sad. That way, when people hear it, maybe it’ll make them happy they’re not alone!”

He closes his eyes, dropping his head back as his fingers tap slowly over the edge of the cold counter. Back and forth… Hands arched… If he listens carefully, he can hear the notes.

A tear slides down his cheek.

Suddenly he hears something down the hall. His eyes flick open, turning around as his fingers go still.

He sets his glass down.

“II?” He whispers, passing by the drummer's door and going straight to the sliver of light pouring out of III’s. He doesn’t remember it being open.

Reaching for the knob, he pushes it quietly and peers inside.

III’s not here.

Nothing is out of the ordinary, the stained glass lamp casting a soft glow over the aesthetically pleasing mess. And yet his heart drops to the floor the second his eyes land on the middle of the bed.

There’s no fucking way. That’s not possible, is it?

An unmanageable frown starts growing on his mouth as he steps inside, hands reaching shakily for the familiar row of pearly white keys. They’re a little scratched, the black surface aged and feeling oddly bare of a white bow.

But it’s perfect.

He presses down a single note, the delicate sound settling into his bones.

“-it’s tuned.”

He turns around, eyes blinking hazily at III in the doorway.

“What?” His voice is half stolen. “How did you- where did you…”

III steps inside, doc martins and a long suit jacket not detracting from the bags under his eyes. He looks exhausted. He wanders closer to Vessel, looking down into his eyes and not stopping, finally. Those long lashes flutter as he looks over him, casting shadows down his cheeks.

His lips part. “…It’s tuned.”

Vessel’s arms are around him before he can stop himself, and III returns the gesture like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like holding him was something he was always meant to do, and that all he needed was the proper time.

“Thank you.” Vessel chokes into his shoulder, hands clawing up the back of the jacket. “T-thank you.”

III’s hands spreads in the back of the singer's hair, holding him tight enough to suffocate him and not showing any sign of letting go.

“I’m sorry.” He breathes.

And that’s it.

…And that’s more than Vessel ever needed to hear from him.

He was spat out. Left on the shore, rejected by the sea and all that it contained. He was desperate. Alone. Made to wander and wonder why he wasn't fit for the same tomb as her, after all.

He waited on the beach, praying to the water. Spreading his hands in the foam and asking it, simply, why.

But it had no answer, and neither did anything else. Not his mother, not one of the flyers in the waiting room a month later. Not a god.

Though he had this insatiable desire; To claw down his mothers heaven, and make sure that the girl was in there. If there was ever a reason for heaven to be real, it was so that she’d be put in it and sheltered forever. Whether or not it was best. Whether or not he’d ever be able to reach her, in the end.

“Let the tide carry you…” his hands draw the sounds out of the freshly tuned keyboard, nodding his head slowly to the music. It’s alive again.

“…back to me.”

Tags: @thevenomousseprent @moonlit-valkyrie @mmendez0124 @yourviscera @rain-down-on-me @xzero01

[forpiratereasons]

meeting stede bonnet

a slow meandering through June. first day, first prompt: sunlight

day 1 | day 2 | day 3 | day 4 | day 5 | day 6 | day 7 | day 8 | day 9 | day 10

-

There was a thought Stede had never thought before.

He’d suspected it was there for a long time, honestly—he’d caught it before, here and again, hovering in the corners of his eyes. He’d been very good at looking away. He’d been looking away since the divorce six months ago, or maybe for every day of the twelve-year marriage itself. Or—maybe for a lifetime. Depended on how you looked at it, he supposed.

But now it was here. The day. The day, the day he was going to finally let himself think it.

If I wake up on June the 1st and I know, I’ll really know.

He’d taken two sleeping pills around nine. Didn’t want to stay up waiting for it. Didn’t want to shatter the fragile thought under the pressure.

Stede’s alarm went off as scheduled. Freddie Mercury’s voice belted through the room, big, breaking free.

The sun was already shining. He’d left the curtains open the night before; he’d wanted the light first thing. He’d wanted to wake up already soaked in all that warm, beautiful light, and now here he was.

It was suddenly so easy.

I’m gay, Stede thought.

The next breath shuddered into Stede’s lungs, rough and unexpected, like he’d never taken a breath before in his life. He knew.

He’d always known.

As a boy, picking flowers, running from kids who’d already known there was something different in him—as a teenager, smoking his first cigarette, avoiding the gaze of the girl who’d lit it for him—as a man, holding Mary’s hand in their wedding bed and swallowing against the crush in his ribs that told him every reason he ought to love her, like he could force the logic of her into the heart hiding underneath—he’d known.

I’m gay, Stede thought again.

He had sort of thought he might feel different. Or might—be different, somehow. But no, not really: he got up on the same side of the bed he’d always slept on. Showered the way he’d always showered, dressed the way he’d always dressed. Fixed his hair the way he’d always fixed his hair. Drank the protein shake for breakfast he’d always drunk.

He was still himself. He’d always been.

June the 1st, he repeated to himself, standing in the kitchen, tapping his fingers on a little brown paper package that had come from Etsy three days ago. Bit like a birthday, maybe. The start of something new.

One manicured fingernail slipped under the tape on the package. The sun was in Stede’s eyes as he whittled along the length of the flap, undoing the tape bit by bit. Cloudless day. The sunlight stung.

The contents of the package clinked on the granite when it fell out.

Stede counted to three. Then he counted to ten. Then he counted to fifty, and finally he counted to a hundred and thought, come on, then. You’re gay. Be gay about it.

He looked down. On the worktop was a small enamel rainbow pin.

Just a pin. Gold backing. He’d spent ages looking for one that matched Gilbert Baker’s original flag, with the pink and the aqua. A progress Pride pin was coming too, but for this day, for the first day, he’d wanted the first flag.

For something so tiny, it carried so, so much.

It took a minute to undo the backing with trembling fingers. Punching the pin through the fine fabric of his shirt—white, which he never wore, but he wanted the pin to really stand out—felt like releasing something inside himself that had been building for years and years. Like lancing a wound. Like the first sharp, hot moment of healing.

“All right,” he said out loud, forcing himself to pass the mirror in the hall without stopping to look, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. His heart was pounding under the weight of the pin; his hand was sweating where it’d settled on the handle of his front door.

It was a fifteen minute walk from here to the bookshop on the wharf. Stede was going to walk it, and open the shop, and wear the pin. He was going to let people see.

Just a fifteen minute walk from here to the rest of his life.

He took a deep breath.

He stepped out into the light.