#IS THIS NOT ABOUT THE DOCTOR PUTTING HIS SHIT DOWN AND LETTING OTHER PEOPLE HELP HIM.

[quietwingsinthesky]

(i do try not to think about that episode so much because it does annoy me greatly that it’s this build up of. everyone around the doctor loves him so much they’d risk destroying time itself to save his life. river resists shooting him, amy puts together pieces of him in her head enough to want to help him across reality breaking, and at the end, the whole of time and space hears someone say “the doctor needs help!” and they come to answer. because that’s the good he puts out into the universe. people will come. if he just asks, they’ll come.

and then the episode turns around and goes, ‘yeah, anyway, river’s an idiot for doing all this dramatic shit to save him lol. the doctor had a plan all along to save himself. he doesn’t need anyone’s help.’ like THEN WHAT WAS THE POINT. OF EVERYONE WHO CAME. TO HELP HIM. WHY DID WE BOTHER WITH ANY OF THIS.)

[inkskinned]

it's just that there's a few more steps you have to take that other people don't have to take, but they don't see the steps, so they think you should be able to hop from moment to moment, a chickadee.

it isn't getting out of bed. it is the weight, the hook in your chest, the anchor. you have to move the anchor first. you have to silence your alarm, but your phone is in your hand, which means now you have to put the phone down, which is too-hard. you get stuck in there for a while, the white screen, mindlessly scrolling. you don't even like this activity, have tried a few other options but - here you are, and time is passing.

you've googled iron deficiency causes depression and if i drink enough water does it help with mental illness and anxiety but no caffiene within the last two weeks, like how you googled am i gay quiz at 17.

it isn't just calling the doctor back, it's the anxiety, it's these little moths in your lung cavities, furious and fluttering. you need to figure out how to capture your fingers from between their nervous bodies. you are an adult, you can say the words yes hi, i'm calling because i need - but you need to practice first. maybe write it down because what if you misspeak, wouldn't that be embarrassing. write it down, but you need to find a pen first. well, actually, your desk is kind of messy. you should get a new pen. you should get a new organizational system. you should try journaling.

your grades in school were always strange. the way teachers would say things like it feels like you're not trying. you could touch stars in the stuff you cared about. well, sometimes. god be willing. homework average zero. oops! your english teacher's wrinkled brow: i know you know this stuff. what the fuck are you doing?

it isn't the showering, it's the mirror before the shower and the soft horrible pull of your naked physique. you have to avoid eye contact completely or else it'll be 93 minutes later and you'll have picked at your skin until every little pore is bleeding. you have to stand up but standing is tiring and also you should have remembered to buy more soap but you never remember anything. maybe get out of the shower and while it's still running and you're still dripping wet, use your phone to take a note. make a note to get your groceries. let the shower run while you stand half-in half-out and get lost in your phone for a moment. come back out when the water runs cold and now you have to sprint to get ready.

your grandmother's frown. you're just being lazy. protestant work ethics in a house that isn't even protestant. she says she just learned different but she means learned better, doesn't she.

it's not that you can't send the email, it's that your hands have been hurting lately and the desk really is messy and also why the fuck would you even care about this thing? doesn't everyone else feel like they're drowning? hi brendon thanks so much for sending! will review and get back to you shortly. but now you're on the internet, close the tab with tumblr on it. go on, close it. feel the little soft vapor of boredom come up and over your eyeteeth and make everything overwhelming and itchy.

literally all you have to do is put on shoes to go outside. you're literally already dressed, that's the hard part of this whole thing. literally just put the shoes on. just... do it! do it! this shit is easy!

it's literally that easy. just stop taking all those stupid invisible steps. stop following your strange made-up rules. times like this, even you're positive you're faking. you just don't want to bother with the cleaning and the cooking and the being-an-adult.

but then - shouldn't you be able to put these stupid shoes on? nobody's even looking. go on kid. life is out there! just take the leap!

get moving.

[ladykailitha]

Spooky season is here and I was just thinking about that tiktok (maybe) of the couple at the haunted house where the guy pushes the girl onto the feet of the ax wielding haunt and then the girl and haunt have a conversation that ends with the girl chasing the asshole with the ax and the haunt happily following her.

But make that Steddie. Steve as the girl. Set between seasons 3 and 4, but in a world where Steve going on a date with a man is surprise not a thing of revulsion (as in people would surprised that he was dating a guy having been a ladies man in high school, but no one would give him shit about it). Because it's my sand box, damn it. I make the rules here!

*

Steve wasn't sure what possessed him to go on this date with Jeremy. He didn't like haunted houses. He had seen too many real horrors in his life be frightened of fake ones. But Robin said he could pretend to be scared and cling to the guy's arm, maybe even get a kiss out of it.

What he wasn't expecting was for it to actually terrify him. He was clutching Jeremy's arm the whole way through, chanting in his head "don't hurt them, it's not real." Over and over again whenever the urge to push the actors away or in one extreme case when they were in the haunted hospital break the doctor's nose.

The actor looked too much like Dr Brennan, and while the patient on the gurney wasn't a girl or even had shaved hair, but Steve's protective instinct went into overdrive. It took every ounce of self-will Steve had to keep clutching Jeremy's arm.

They finally hit a room that didn't look so bad. It had a wood floor and four garish statues, one in each corner. Their fog machine was working in high gear but seemed to collect around one figure in particular.

It held an ax over its head, its mouth open in a silent scream. The robes that gathered around its sandled feet were perfectly rendered in stone. The sleeves of the robe revealed a couple of bat tattoos on the right forearm.

Steve was entranced, he let go of Jeremy's arm for the first time since they started and took a step toward it.

It was then the actor jumped off his pedestal and swung his ax down.

Jeremy did the inexplicable. Maybe even outright despicable thing. He pushed Steve forward into the waiting arms of ax murder. Steve stumbled landing on the actor's feet.

"Whoa!" the actor asked. "Are you okay?" He put the ax down and helped Steve get to his feet.

"Did he really just shove me at you to save his own ass?" Steve asked in shock.

The actor cocked his head to the side. "That's what it looked like to me. I hope that was a friend and not a date..."

Steve winced. "Sadly, the latter."

"Fuck, dude," the actor said. He spotted the ax. "You want to get revenge?" He picked up the ax and handed it to Steve.

Steve laughed. "Hell yeah!"

He ran after Jeremy, very plastic ax in hand, the actor cheering him on.

The next room was holding Jeremy so that he wouldn't be split from Steve and gotten lost. It was full of evil clowns. Something that apparently Jeremy was terrified of, judging by the screaming he had been doing.

The actors spotted Steve coming at their prey with an ax and Eddie cheering him from behind, they immediately clocked what had probably gone down. They let Jeremy pass them and two of the clowns broke off to chase him out of the haunted house, gaining cast members with each passing room (still enough remaining to scare other patrons but obviously gaining a crowd to hound this guy.)

He exited the haunted house screaming obscenities at Steve and the actors. The crowd laughing and pointing. He got into his car and drove off.

The smile slid off Steve's face. "Fuck. There goes my ride home."

The ax murder laughed as all the other actors went back inside. He pulled off his hood to reveal a mess of dark brown curls and grey face paint around his eyes on his lips. "I've gotcha, big boy."

"Eddie Munson, right?" Steve asked when he finally placed the face.

"Aww," Eddie cackled. "You do remember me."

Steve scoffed. "Kinda hard to forget."

Eddie's grin grew big. "Duly noted." He scratched the back of his head. "I am sorry about the shitty date though."

Steve shrugged. "It turned out more fun then I thought it would."

Eddie cocked his head again. "True. It's not every day you get chase away a bad date with plastic ax."

Steve handed it back to him. "Shouldn't you be getting back? Won't the other patrons find it odd when the room is empty of scares?"

Eddie smiled slyly. "Who says I left my post unattended?"

Steve's eyes went wide. "How many more of the statues are actors?"

Eddie leaned forward into his space. "I'll never tell," he said sing-song.

Steve laughed.

"Just let me inform my boss I'm taking you home and clean up this makeup, I'll get you home, Stevie," Eddie said.

"You don't have to do that," Steve mumbled. "I'm sure I could call someone."

Eddie shook his head. "Nah, I've got you."

"Thanks."

Ten minutes later Eddie was back on the pavement standing next to Steve. He was back in his usual shredded black jeans and leather jacket. But he wore a denim vest over top of it.

"I like the vest," Steve murmured. "I like pins and things."

"Patches," Eddie said.

Steve hummed his confusion.

"The other things are patches," Eddie explained.

Steve smiled. "That's cool."

Eddie pulled up to Steve's house without asking for directions.

"Should I ask how you knew that?" Steve asked as he got out of the van.

Eddie just waggled his eyebrows as he got out of the van too.

"You gonna walk me to the door, Eds?" Steve asked with a smirk.

"These woods behind your house are pretty fucking scary, dude," Eddie said with a huff of laughter.

Steve just shook his head and bit his tongue to avoid saying exactly how much.

They got to his door and Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve's lips.

It was sweet and warm. "What was that for?" Steve asked, breathlessly.

"Isn't that what you do at the end of a date?" Eddie asked with a teasing grin. "Walk them to door and give them a kiss good night?"

Steve laughed. "Yeah. Yeah it is. Good night, Eds."

"Good night, Stevie."

Eddie walked to his van. "If you want to go on a date that doesn't end you chasing your date with an ax, you know where to find me."

Steve grinned. "I might just take you up on that. Provided it's not another haunted house."

"Don't worry, baby," Eddie said with grin. "I'm loyal. Just a one haunted house kind of guy."

Steve shook his head and unlocked the door. Before he close it behind him he could hear Eddie celebrating, cheering and hollering.

Robin was never going to believe him when he told her how his date went.

But that's okay. She was right. It was fun.

*

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @itsall-taken @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @redfreckledwolf @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @vecnuthy

[imaginesbymonika]

LOML- loss of my life | Part 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Plot: You knew him at a time when he didn't, and now he is looking for you...

Warnings: depiction of violence, angst, mentions of (perhaps) death, angst, fluff at the end (maybe), takes place after TFATWS

Previous Chapter | Masterlist

Bucky couldn’t possibly open up to Sam about his nightmares. Let alone tell him about her. How would he explain anything to him if he didn’t even manage to remember her name or what she looked like? He furrows his eyebrows. Y/e/ced eyes. Yes, that’s it. Your y/e/ced eyes looked up at him with an emotion he couldn’t quite place- one he rarely got to see.

They remained on him for a short moment before you turned to look at one of the guards. Pierce and the others had left by now, leaving you alone with The Winter Soldier and one single bodyguard- which was truly a joke. One gun wouldn’t be anywhere enough to stop The Winter Soldier if he decided to launch at you.

But Hydra wasn’t a caring employment agency. They couldn’t care less whether you lived or died. In the morning if they would stumble upon your lifeless body, they would burn it and toss your remaining ashes into the trash. Then they would just go out to abduct the next doctor. You softly scoffed at the thought and turned around:” Can you please bring me my bag?”

The guard merely nodded at you, and for a moment, he turned his back on the two of you. However, as you perked up at The Winter Soldier, you didn’t feel any kind of fear. Maybe you had already given up on your life, who knew?

“Here.”, the guard let out and tossed the bag on a table. “Rude much?”, you whispered underneath your breath before standing up and walking towards it.

“Okay.”, you declared as you walked back to him with a bottle of sterilizer and a handful of cotton pads:” I am not going to lie to you, this will probably sting- a lot. You have a few mildly concerning cuts and a few stitches up that got infected.” A sigh left your lips:” I don’t know which of the other doctors did such an awful job, but I’m going to fix them, okay?”

The Winter Soldier observed you carefully and tilted his head at your movements. “Please, remember I am not trying to hurt you. I am here to help.”, you whispered and leaned down again, putting some of the brownish liquid on the white cotton:” Are you ready?” No one had ever asked for his opinion before.

Then he nodded.

It took you roughly 8 Minutes to clean every cut on his exposed torso, and once you were done you leaned back:” Okay, great. None of these have to be stitched up.” Your hand moved softly over his arm, and he flinched when it came in contact with one of the scrapes.

“Shit, sorry.”, you got up and made your way over to your bag. Your gaze drifted to the guard, who was waiting for you to finish so The Winter Soldier could be thrown back into his cell again. You have never seen the cell but you can only guess that, if anything it’s dark and cold in there.

You turn back to the man with the lengthy hair and bite your lips while holding a couple of bandages in your hands: ”I’m almost done. I promise.”

You quickly made your way back to him to put them on before you ultimately looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”, you whispered, trying your best to make it seem like you were not saying a single word:” I’m so sorry for the way these people are treating you. If anything I believe that there is still good in you, at least somewhere. That deep down you’re a good man, used to fighting a war you’re not interested in. I-.”

„You’re aware that you can tell me anything, right?“, Sam‘s voice cuts straight through the fog. Bucky only exhaled deeply before he leaned back in his chair outside Sam‘s house.

The weather is nice and he shuts his eyes for a few seconds while facing the sun, how he treasures the warmth on his skin- her warm hand on his cheek was an extraordinary contrast to the coldness of the room, and he would have leaned into it if it wasn’t for the guard ripping you off of him, and throwing your body onto the dirty tiles. He-

„Last week, when we were having dinner you called me a friend in front of Sarah, and you know what friends do.“, Sam lets out, and even though his voice has a playfulness to it, there is a layer of concern in it.

Bucky rolls his eyes:“ Are you implying that I lied to your sister?“ „I don’t know. Did you?“ „I would never lie to your sister. She means too much to me.“, Bucky winks at Sam before bringing the beer bottle up to his lips again, and a chuckle escapes his lips once he sees the look on his friend's face.

[amaiwrites]

ITS JUST A KISS

Monoma… is broke. That is, until, he starts working part time in Recovery Girl’s office by copying her quirk. It’s all going well until a certain someone shows up with injuries that need to be healed…

inspired by this post! monoma x fem!reader, fluff <3

word count: 1.6k (!!!)

“Kirishima, Y/n— you’re up next.” 

Y/n takes in a deep breath before she steps onto the platform. Today’s class is combat practice, and students were put in pairs assigned by Mr. Aizawa. Y/n’s up against Kirishima— and he’s great! But that’s the problem. He’ll definitely be a tough opponent. 

“Whoever gets the other to step off the platform first— or to surrender, will win.” 

Kirishima gives Y/n a determined grin as he hardens his arm, and Y/n returns the favor as she powers up her own quirk. 

“And… fight!” 

Kirishima throws a punch, Y/n dodges. Y/n kicks Kirishima’s leg. Kirishima gets a hit in on Y/n’s side, then Y/n punches him right in the chest. It goes on like this, each of them landing hits one after the other. Everyone is watching the fight closely, excited to see who will win in the end. Then, a loud noise is heard, causing Y/n to turn her head. 

“I am here!” All Might exclaims, and Y/n gets a tiny bit distracted from her fight because, hello, it’s All Might! 

Wait, focus— fangirl about All Might later! She looks back over to Kirishima, and his hand flies right out to her face. She stumbles backward, and falls onto the green grass next to the platform. Right out of bounds. 

“Kirishima wins this round.” Aizawa says, “Y/n, are you okay?” 

“Yeah…” Y/n didn’t hit her head on the ground or anything, but she puts her hand on her forehead and sees that it has some blood on it. 

“Ah, shit. Sorry Y/n! I didn’t mean to hit your head like that, it wasn’t very manly of me.” Kirishima offers his hand out and helps Y/n stand up. 

“That’s okay,” she smiles, “nothing Recovery Girl can’t fix later. Good fight!” 

The cut on her head wasn’t bad enough to cause great concern, but Aizawa sent Y/n down to Recovery Girl’s office anyways. 

Dang, I really wanted to see Momo go up against Uraraka, Y/n thinks as she knocks on the door to the nurses office. 

“Come on in.” A voice— definitely not Recovery Girl’s voice, says. Y/n cautiously opens the door, only for her eyes to meet—

“Monoma?!” 

“Y/n? How delightful to see you here!” Monoma welcomes her inside, warm smile on his face, but Y/n is still skeptical. 

She crosses her arms. “What are you doing here?” 

“Recovery Girl was kind enough to let me work part time in the nurses office.” Monoma smirks, “The best part about it is that I get to see how many of you 1-A idiots end up in here injured! Not nearly as many Class B students get hurt like—“ 

“Now, now, calm down Monoma. You’re supposed to be helping.” Recovery girl says, and Y/n tries her best not to laugh. “Heal her cut for me, will you dear?” 

Monoma’s smug demeanor seems to fall, his eyes going wide as his head turns to Recovery Girl. “Heal her? But— it’s just a small cut!” 

“Wait, how would he heal me?” Y/n cuts in. 

“Well, as you know, Monoma here can copy quirks,” Recovery girl explains, “I’ve had him copy my quirk so he could heal non-emergency people. This way I can go be right on the scene of classes like yours, where bad injuries are prone to happen.” 

…Interesting. Besides his quirk, Monoma is the least suitable student to be helping out like this. From what Y/n has seen, Monoma only likes to help his classmates, and definitely notClass 1-A. 

“Speaking of, I’m off to find your class now. They’re outside on the platform left of the main building, yes?” 

Y/n nods. “Take good care of our patients, Monoma!” The door closes behind Recovery Girl as she leaves the nurses office.

And now it was just the two of them. 

Monoma sighs. “Sit.” He says, pointing towards one of the doctor’s beds in the room. 

He always has so much attitude, Y/n thinks, but she sits where he told her to anyways. She would leave, but it’s probably not the best idea to leave her cut unattended. 

Stupid Monoma. His ‘I’m-better-than-you’ attitude and that smug smirk that’s always on his face is so… ugh. If he was less of an asshole, he’d be cute. 

Wait, what am I even saying??

Monoma isn’t cute. He’s not. Y/n hasn’t thought that, not even for a second—

“Damn girl, this cut’s worse than I thought.” Y/n almost jumps at the sound of Monoma’s voice next to her. He stands in front of Y/n, placing various medical items down next to her. When he’s done with that, he frowns. “Who did this to you?” 

Y/n studies Monoma’s expression. Usually he’d be teasing her, saying that with his idiotic smirk on his face. Call her crazy, but he almost looks… worried? Weird. 

“Kirishima,” She answers, “it was an accident though! I got distracted and his hand slipped.” 

Monoma grunts in— understanding? Disapproval? Y/n doesn’t know. 

“Idiot.” Monoma mutters, and Y/n’s not sure if he’s talking about her or Kirishima. His hand taps Y/n’s thighs. “Spread out your legs.”

She gives him a suspicious look. “My cut’s on my head, dummy.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” He pushes her legs apart himself, and then he stands between them. “See? Now I can get to your cut easier. Dummy.” 

Monoma takes a wet cloth and starts to clean around the cut and he— well, he smells nice. That might seem like a random thing to say, but he is right up in Y/n’s face right now, which is being flooded with the smell of subtle cologne. He just smells nice. 

Y/n usually keeps her distance from this guy, but he isn’t that bad up close. The Monoma that Y/n sees right now isn’t the obnoxious little shit that’s always talking trash about 1-A, but a concerned… classmate? Friend? 

And, Y/n has to admit to herself, maybe he’s a little cute. Just a little bit. It’s totally the blue eyes— or the hair. Or the voice— Okay, not gonna think about that anymore. 

Monoma puts the cloth down, his eyes meeting Y/n’s. “I’m gonna kiss you.” 

“What?!” Y/n exclaims, her face quickly turning pink. Where the hell did that come from? Monoma just laughs. He gently takes Y/n’s face in his hands and kisses her forehead. 

Wait. Copying Recovery Girl’s quirk… he was just kissing me to heal my cut, that makes sense! Y/n hadn’t realized that until now. 

His quirk must’ve malfunctioned somehow, though, because that kiss didn’t make Y/n feel better. It made her heart start beating really fast, and— is it hot in here? Because Y/n definitely feels hot. 

Oh. 

Monoma’s smirk appears back on his face. “Y/n, are you blushing? Aww! Want me to kiss you again?” 

“Shut up!” Y/n’s eyes go to anywhere in the room, just not on him. Shit, she can’t like Monoma! The guy that, like, all of your friends hate? That hates you? Well, isn’t that just great. 

Monoma’s still standing where he has been, right in Y/n’s space. It’s not helping. She finally decides to look back at him, because he probably should have moved away by now. He really should, before Y/n does something that she’d regret. 

“Oh,” He says simply, taking Y/n’s left hand in his. “You’re bleeding here too.” He wipes the blood off of Y/n’s hand with a cloth, then presses his mouth to her palm. Another kiss, yet there wasn’t even a cut on her hand. That was just blood from her forehead. 

“Um… there’s no cut on my hand.” Y/n points out, and Monoma just nods. 

“Great observation, Y/n,” He teases, “I’m aware of that. I just wanted to see if your face could get any redder.” 

Y/n rolls her eyes. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that to get me to blush.” She says, despite her now red face. 

“Alright then,” Monoma starts, leaning in just a little bit closer. “guess I’ll have to keep trying then.”

“I…” Before Y/n can stop herself, she glances down at Monoma’s lips. I’m about to do something stupid, aren’t I? “Y-“

“Y/n! Are you in there?” Ochako knocks on the door, startling both Y/n and Monoma. Y/n quickly stands up as she walks into the room. “…Monoma? What are you doing here?” 

“Oh, Ochako! Who won your match?” Y/n asks, partly to take the attention off of her but mostly because she’s curious. 

Ochako grins and puts her hands on her hips. “Me! Momo was quite the tough opponent though, I just barely won…” She shrugs. “Speaking of class, Aizawa sent me to find you. We should hurry back, Deku and Bakugo are up next!”

If you know Izuku and Bakugo, you know that this fight is going to be intense. It’ll definitely be entertaining to watch too, which is why Ochako grabs Y/n’s hand and starts to lead them back to class. 

Y/n tries to look over her shoulder at Monoma, but Ochako closed the door on their way out. 

“Hey, what was Monoma doing in there?” Ochako asks. 

Kissing me, Y/n thinks, but she probably shouldn’t say that. “He’s… working for Recovery Girl. Copied her quirk and stuff.”

“Whatt? I never would’ve imagined him as a nurse, he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to help others like that…” 

Y/n nods in agreement. He didn’t seem like her type either, yet here he was making her all flustered. 

Seriously, out of all people, Neito Monoma?

You’re an idiot, Y/n. 

should I make a part 2? 🤭

[floralpascal]

Taking Care of You

Summary: You've been stressed out and working like crazy lately. John finally has enough and devises a plan to take care of you and make you forget all about your work.

Pairing: John Price x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.9k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only, minors do not interact)

Warnings: stressed reader, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex (you know the drill, wrap it y'all), orgasm denial, praise

A/N: This one goes out to all my stressed and busy babes out there! This is 100% self indulgent since I've been working day and night recently. We all need us some Price to take that stress away

You knew that you had been distant for a while. Work had been piling up on you, responsibilities pressing in from all sides. It seemed like all you did was work, work, work these days. 

Your husband, John Price, was as supportive as he always was. He, of all people, understood that sometimes you just had to put your head down and get work done. When he was home with you, he always made sure that you ate and stayed hydrated. He limited your caffeine intake. He made sure you took breaks. In all, he was the most supportive, understanding man on the planet. 

…which was why his reaction now was so surprising. 

You saw him approach the makeshift office that you had set up at your kitchen table from over your laptop screen. In a soft, even voice he ordered, “Close the computer, love.”

Continuing to type, you spared him a questioning glance as you shook your head. “I just took a break like… an hour ago.”

“Three,” he corrected. “It’s almost eleven at night.”

You whipped your head up to look at the clock that hung on the wall behind him. Sure enough, he was right. Dread spread through you, your brain already kicking into crisis mode. “Shit. God, I’ve got to get this done.”

“It’ll be there tomorrow,” he countered. “You’ve been workin’ like mad all weekend long. I’m not gonna let you run yourself into the ground. So. Shut. The. Laptop.”

He stressed each word, and suddenly you felt what it must’ve been like to have John as a Captain, calm but commanding. Your eyes met his, your mouth open to fight him on the matter, but you found him ready for it, a testing eyebrow raised. It was rare that he would ever tell you what to do, but it always came when he was worried about you and trying to take care of you. Any time you had gotten a significant injury, he had made sure that you stuck to every word of the doctor’s orders. 

You huffed and leaned back, already sensing defeat. Instead, you tried to plead with him, “John, I won’t be able to sleep unless I get this done. I’ll just keep thinking about it.”

He put one hand on the table, leaned toward you, and pushed the laptop closed with the other hand. With his face barely a breath from yours and his eyes darkening, he rumbled, “I can fix that.”

Your body reacted to his sultry insinuation immediately, your heart rate jumping in an instant. You couldn’t help but drop your gaze to his lips for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “And how’s that?”

“I’ll make it so that you can barely even think anymore. I’ll wear you out so much you’ll fall asleep without even a thought about this,” he said, tapping the closed lid of your laptop. 

At times like this, you hated how easy it was for him to get you riled up. He knew exactly how to play you, exactly how to make his gravelly voice even more enticing, exactly what to say to get you squirming in your seat for him like you were now. 

You pressed your lips together, thinking for a moment. You couldn’t pretend that you didn’t want this. You were so tired of all the work and John knew exactly how to play you. But if he was going to have some fun, then so were you. With a provocative flit to your voice, you challenged, “Then prove it, Captain.”

For a moment, all he did was let a sultry smile pull at his lips. Then he was on you, his hands guiding you up from your chair and his lips finding yours. It was all fire and passion, but yet not too rushed. No, John never rushed this early. He loved to work you up slowly and leave you begging for him to just touch you already. He followed that playbook now, walking you backwards to press you up against the wall, his hand guarding your head from hitting it. 

As he tilted your head to give his lips access to your neck, he rasped against your burning skin, “Never too stressed to tease me, are you?”

Your breath hitched as he found the sensitive part of your neck, your hands clawing at his back and tangling in his short hair. After a moment, he moved back up to kiss you, his tongue dancing with yours for a long while. 

Eventually, his hands on your hips guided you to walk with him towards your shared bedroom. You took turns pulling at the other’s clothes, leaving a trail haphazardly in your wake. By the time you both passed through the doorway, John was only in his boxers and you in your plain black bra and panties. As he laid you back onto the bed, he eyed you as hungrily as he did when you wore lingerie for him. 

“D’ya know how fuckin’ sexy you are, love?” His hands pressed against your stomach before roaming up, up, up as slowly as possible. Your eyes fluttered shut as he ghosted his hands over your bra, arching shamelessly into his touch. Still drinking the sight of you in, he rasped, “Gotta take care of you. Gotta make sure I get rid of all that stress, all those worries.”

“John…” you whined, already needy and falling for his plan. One side of his mustache raised in a smile, clearly understanding that he already had you right how he wanted you. “Just touch me, please.”

John chuckled, giving your breasts a quick squeeze before placing a kiss just over your heart. “I am touchin’ you, baby.”

“Fuck, John, you know what I mean.”

He pressed the faintest of kisses up your chest and to your neck. Against the skin of your neck, he teased, “Maybe I don’t. Tell me. Use your words, love.”

Despite his insistence, he gave you no time to answer. Instead, his lips found the sensitive column of your neck, the touch no longer feather-light like it had been before. Now, he kissed and nipped with a passion that had you gasping beneath him. 

“Hhm? I didn’t catch that. Gotta speak up,” he mumbled next to your ear, the heavy timber of it sending shivers down your spine. But you could feel the curve of his lips against your soft skin, his beard prickling you as he did. 

“Don’t be a tease,” you grumbled halfheartedly. Even now, though, you couldn’t resist him. Giving in, you begged, “God, just fuck me, John.”

He made a sound of appreciation, deep and reverberating, the kind you could feel in your own chest. Leaning up over you, his icy blue eyes came to meet yours. “Now, was that really that hard?”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing your own smile as you grabbed his neck and leaned up to give him a bruising kiss. Returning the heat immediately, he dropped the act for a moment. Lips moving in tandem with yours, urgency lacing every movement, you felt him get lost in it. Surely enough, as he adjusted over top of you, you felt his hard-on graze your lower stomach. You chased him, hooking a leg over his hip to roll your hips against him. He groaned into your mouth, eyes squeezed shut. 

“So impatient today,” John chided. He pulled away and sat up, his hands coming to unhook and discard your bra on the floor. As he went to do the same with your underwear, you breathed a sigh of relief thinking that the torture of his teasing was finally over. 

Settling between your thighs, a man in heaven, he brought his mouth close to where you needed him. However, at the last second, his breath dusting your sensitive skin, he turned and brought his lips to the inside of your thigh instead. He still couldn’t hide his smile when you groaned in frustration. 

You were in for a hell of a ride. When he got in a teasing mood like this, there was no stopping him. 

Beard and mustache picking deliciously against you, he kissed up one thigh. Then, when he almost reached your center again, your breath hitching, he switched to the other thigh. There were some days when he did this that it felt like heaven — days when you were already losing yourself to the feel of him before he even got going. While you tried to conjure up that more present, more patient version of yourself, it didn’t seem possible now. You needed him so badly it ached. 

When your fingers found their way into his hair and gave him a light tug in the direction you needed him, he finally let you have your way. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, a small chuckle shaking the broad plane of his back. As he lowered his head, his hooded eyes meeting yours, he purred, “If tha’s really what you want, love. Have it your way.”

With that, he finally brought his tongue to you. Ever so slowly, he licked into you, drawing a gasp from your chest. Sliding his hands up from your hips to hold the sides of your stomach, his tongue made a twin journey up to your clit. He flicked his tongue a few times, slowly testing you.

Though it was all too slow for your liking, he steadily built up the pace. The scrape of his beard. The flick of his tongue. The reverb of his moan as you tugged on his strands. It was a delicious cycle, speeding up each time through. 

You let your head tip back into the pillow as you finally felt that tension in your stomach — a coil winding tighter and tighter. Your breath was ragged now, your legs already bracing around John’s head. 

“Yes,” you panted, eyes squeezed shut. “Just like that. I’m so- I’m so clo-”

Right as you were about to crest that hill, John pulled away all at once. Your orgasm dissipated like a wave against the beach — there one moment and gone the next. 

You whipped your head up to look at him, disbelief and righteous fury in your eyes. You were met only with a hungry, conniving smirk from the infuriatingly sexy man between your thighs. In this moment, even with his beard and the signs of age on his face, he didn’t seem a day older than the first time you had seen this smirk. The John Price that smirked in triumph at you now was the same as the John Price who had done it for the first time nearly a decade earlier. Had you not just had euphoria ripped away from you, you probably would’ve been more sentimental about this revelation. 

“Jonathan Price, I swear to god-”

You were cut off by another one of his chuckles. He licked his lips slowly, making sure you watched as he tasted you. “Still too stressed, love. Don’t think you’re ready yet.”

“You teasing asshole,” you huffed, but the edge was lost to it. 

It only made him smirk even more. “Fine,” he acquiesced, leaning back down. “Let’s try this again.”

At the same time that his mouth found your clit again, one of his hands traveled down to slip a finger into your dripping entrance. A small moan escaped you at the new sensation. As he started to build you back up again, his mouth and finger moving in tandem, you couldn’t help but forget his past transgressions. All that mattered now was the buildup leading to the big drop, the wonder that John could work between your thighs. 

Suddenly, he slipped a second finger into you, drawing a surprised whine from your lips. “Ohh… oh, fuck…”

He groaned in approval, the vibrations of his mouth against you only upping the unbearable pleasure. 

You were there again, so close to the edge that you could practically see it. Your body tensed in anticipation of the drop like a rollercoaster. It was just-

John pulled away again, shattering the buildup to your orgasm for the second time.

You let out a pained hybrid of a groan and a whine. Now, rather than annoyance coursing its way through you, all you had was desperation. “Fuck! John, please!”

“Hmmm, there we go,” he mused. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.”

“Please let me come, baby,” you pleaded. “I need it so bad.”

Pushing himself up, your heart sunk at the thought that he might keep teasing you and leave you hanging. Though he was never, ever one to leave you wanting, you were too far out of it to think straight anymore. All you knew was that you needed him and he was holding that just out of reach. 

Instead, he climbed up to lean over you. With a gentle hand, he cradled your jaw, making you look at him. Your slick glistened on his chin and beard. His pupils were blown wide, the icy blue of them nearly lost to it. With how much self control he had, his eyes and the tent in his boxers were the only indications that he was as affected by this as you were. 

“D’ya think you’re ready for me, beautiful? Think you can take me?”

You nodded immediately, still breathless. “Need you so bad, baby. Please. I can take it.”

He searched your eyes for a moment before nodding. “That’s my girl.”

Finally, he stripped off his boxers, revealing his red, leaking cock. You couldn’t stop the small whine you made at the sight, your need for him overriding any coherent thought.

John pushed into you in one swift stroke, drawing your nails to scrape across his back. The stretch was delicious, tearing you apart and soothing the insatiable ache in your core at the same time.

“Feel so fuckin’ perfect. So fuckin’ perfect for me,” he praised. If the feeling of him seated inside you wasn’t already enough to set you ablaze, his praise was. It always was. 

His arms came to rest by either side of your head as he leaned down and stole a heated kiss from your lips. Then, he drew himself slowly out of you before sharply driving back into you again. Your body shook with the force of it, forcing you to break from his lips as you let out the most lewd moan of the night. 

But, of course, that was just the beginning. John continued like that, fucking you harder with every quick snap of his hips until the only sound in your bedroom was the slap of skin on skin and both of your grunts and moans of pleasure.

“This what you needed, baby?” John asked, voice gravelly and breathy. “You needed to get fucked this good?”

Your voice caught in your throat, a strangled sound coming out in place of an affirmation.

He sped up his pace, his cock hitting so deep within you that you had to squeeze your eyes shut. He groaned, “My good girl. Always workin’ so bloody hard. You deserve this — deserve to just let me take care of you.”

Your pussy clenched around him at his praise, drawing groans from you both. You clawed at his back, searching for some sort of tether in the tidal wave of pleasure you were trapped in now. For the third time tonight, you could see the salvation of your orgasm on the horizon. Having been denied it so many times, its immensity and force was almost alarming. 

Though you were too lost in John to think clearly, you were able to gasp out one plea. “Don’t stop! Baby, don’t- don’t stop!”

Rhythm growing sloppy, John assured, “Not gonna stop this time. Been so fuckin’ good for me. Come for me, love.”

That’s all it took to have you falling apart on his cock, the tension in your stomach snapping in an overwhelming flood of euphoria. Breath catching in your chest as you rode out the high, John continued to fuck you through it, murmuring deep praises all the while. 

Just as you were coming back down to earth, your body finally feeling like it was yours again, John was nearing his high. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He groaned, head lowered by your ear. With a few more sloppy thrusts, he was burying himself to the hilt in you, his warm cum coating your walls. You gasped at the feeling as he ground his hips into yours a little.

Still propped on his arms, he sagged down over you, his breath ragged like yours. You dragged a hand up from his shoulder blade and into his hair, letting your fingers card through the soft strands as John came back to you and pulled out. Then, he lifted up enough to meet your gaze again. He took you in for a moment before leaning down and giving you one last heated kiss. 

The two of you clearly spent, he leaned his forehead against yours after he broke away. He brought a large, calloused hand to brush against your cheek. 

“You’re so bloody gorgeous,” he mused. “I love you.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “I love you.”

“Feelin’ better?”

“So much better,” you answered. The stress and pressure you had felt for days was gone now, replaced only with the feeling of John. For the first time in a long time, you truly felt relaxed. 

“I told you I could fix it,” he said triumphantly, wiggling an eyebrow at you.

After taking a moment to clean you both up, John crawled back into bed and shifted to spoon you from behind. With his strong arm over your stomach and your legs intertwined, you let him envelop you. As sleep slowly pulled you under, the only thought on your mind was him.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 39

Part 1 Part 38

Will’s heartbeat picks up when someone knocks on the front door. Even though Demogorgon’s don’t knock, and bad men with guns probably don’t either. He stays curled up on the couch while Jonathan goes to open the door.

The voice that drifts in from the front door makes his shoulder relax.

“Johnny boy!” Eddie calls, pushing into the house like he owns the place, Steve trailing in his wake. Eddie looks around, eyes wide. “Woah, this place cleans up nice.”

Mom and Jonathan had picked up all the furniture, cleaned all the debris from the linoleum, and packed away all the Christmas lights into boxes they’d stuffed into the garage. Neither of them had let Will help, so he’d sat on the couch, doodling pictures of Steve and Eddie as they worked around him.

“Thanks?” Jonathan says, awkwardly shuffling on his feet.

Steve smiles at him, “hey, man,” he says, bumping their shoulders together companionably before slinking past him to sink down onto the couch.

Will reaches out to snatch Steve’s hand, notices the fine tremors running through it. There’s sweat beading on his forehead, standing out starkly without his hair to mask it.

“Are you okay?” Will asks.

Steve smiles over at him, “I’m fine.”

“Actually,” Eddie says, clapping his hands together enthusiastically before wincing and shaking out his fingers, “We just came from physical therapy, and someone,” he pauses to make squinty eyes toward Steve, “could use some food to make up for the calories.”

“Eddie,” Steve sighs.

“No,” Eddie says, crossing his arms, “the doctor said you needed to eat to like, fix your body and shit.”

“I’ll, uh, go grab some sandwiches,” Jonathan says, scurrying into the kitchen and away from the conflict.

“I’m hungry,” Will murmurs, even though they’d had breakfast late and he’s really not.

Steve slumps into him, head lolling onto his shoulder as he groans pitifully. “God, there’s two of you now.”

Will giggles, cheeks warm at the contact.

“How tragic,” Eddie says, slumping down on Will’s other side, reaching over him to run his hand playfully over Steve’s head, avoiding the stitches. “Two people care about your wellbeing? Whatever will you do?”

Steve slumps further into Will, shaved head scratchy where it’s rubbing against Will’s chin. Eddie pushes him down, gently onto Will’s crossed legs. Steve grumbles but lets himself be shoved.

“There,” Eddie says. “Now we can feed you like the wilting princess you are.”

Steve scowls, eyes drifting between both of them as he mutters, “Whatever, dude,” before he seems to droop, eyes closing.

They sit quietly, waiting for Jonathan to come back. Will settles into himself, enjoying the way his skin isn’t crawling, the way it only seems to when he’s with Steve and Eddie.

It’s like, now that he’s met them, the shadows only fully recede when they’re in sight. That crawling thing inside him stops trying to get out.

Jonathan looks surprised when he gets back, plates full of sandwiches stacked on top of one another. He puts them on the coffee table, eyeing Steve. “Should we, uh, wake him?”

“’m not asleep,” Steve mumbles, levering himself up with a wince. He, notably, doesn’t open his eyes until Eddie grabs one of the sandwiches and curls his fingers around it.

He eats slowly, sedately, and seems to doze off again, a quarter of the way through. Will pulls the sandwich from his fingers and puts it back on the plate.

Eddie puts the remains of his own sandwich on top of it, pushing Steve gently down onto the couch, gently placing the throw from the back of the couch over where he’s curled into a ball.

“Is he okay?” Jonathan asks quietly.

Eddie’s brows furrowed as he looks down at Steve, but he smooths it out by the time he looks back up. “He’s fine,” he says, ironically echoing Steve’s own words, like covering up each other’s raw edges comes by rote. “Physical therapy just seems like a lot.”

Steve’s legs are now in Will’s lap. He clutches Steve’s ankles, cuddling them into his stomach.

“Guess we’re staying here for a bit,” Eddie says nonchalantly, but he’s biting his lip and darting his eyes between Jonathan & Will like he’s waiting to be kicked out.

Will clutches Steve’s ankles tighter, looking over at Jonathan as well. Jonathan shrugs, “Sure,” he replies. “Mom’ll be overjoyed. She’s pretty much adopted you both into the family.”

Eddie looks down, at Steve’s sleeping face, biting his lip. “Oh.”

Will thinks of Uncle Wayne, and the way Eddie’s Mom or Dad weren’t ever mentioned, not even once. He thinks about the conversation he’d overheard his Mom having with Hopper, that Steve couldn’t go home alone, and the way Steve hadn’t seemed to want to call his parents at all. Even in trouble. Even in Hell.

Well, they’ve got three more family members now, whether they like it or not.

And Jonathan’s right – Mom is happy when she gets home to find two teenaged boys passed out on her couch. She makes her special occasions lasagna, and the smell seems to rouse both boys from their prolonged nap.

It’s a quiet dinner. Mom asks gentle, probing questions about Steve’s health, and when everyone’s thinking of going back to school. Steve waffles around the conversation, blushing and turning awkward every time Mom turns the power of her care onto him.

Eddie seems to bloom with it, though, talking about getting back into D & D, and his band, and his plans to corral Steve into staying home at least for the rest of the week.

By the time they leave for the night, Will’s belly and heart are both full. Still, the shadows creep back in.

Will goes to sleep, alone in his bed, shivering from the cold, clawing thing inside him.

Part 40

[bitin-and-barkin]

Intertwined Fingers

What would the aftermath of your so called death look like?

Warnings: Arthur Morgan x Reader, Gender neutral reader, he's going a bit insane ngl, implied self harm, dog symbolism, smut, fun fact: Pomade was commonly used as lube in the 1800s, Dom reader, sub Arthur, soft sex (I finally did the soft sex thing), No mentions of your genetalia, you just jerk off Arthur because you wanted to take care of him tonight, sorry probably not what the people were looking for but its fine, weirdly described sex to the point where it's not even porn, just an art piece, more yandere shit in the next part but you can smell the start of it here, overuse of the word Intertwined

READ MORE UNDER THE CUT + Pt 2 to another story, Pt 1 here, Pt 3 here

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

That night in the hotel room, Arthur sheepishly asked if he could stay with you for the night.

You, of course, accepted.

After climbing into bed, he couldn't keep his hands off of you.

Well, he usually can't, always clinging to you like a koala bear. But especially not tonight.

Rubbing his hands up and down your chest. Feeling the grooves in your skin. The curves and marks. Wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling his nose into your neck.

Making sure all of his touches were gentle, as not to cause you pain.

Feeling your stomach rise and fall as you slept peacefully. Hearing your heartbeat.

Still softly sobbing, keeping it quiet so you could sleep, not daring to let go.

He felt like sinking into you in that moment.

For the first time in ages, Arthur slept peacefully. He could sleep for ages with your hands intertwined with his.

When you tried to get up in the morning, he pretended to be asleep so you'd stay with him for longer. When you tried to get up anyways?

He pretty much begged you to stay with him.

You ended up laying in bed for another hour before you finally were able to leave.

While taking you back to camp you told him about the doctors. How you already went to the one in Valentine, but they could only do so much.

He said he was gonna get a doctor to come here and properly check you out again, as he knew one that owed him some favors.

Worries of discreetness be damned.

Once you had gotten back to camp, people stared at you like they were looking at a ghost.

In fact, Sean fainted when he first saw you. They thought you were dead.

You even looked the part.

Hours had passed and it was sundown. Arthur had brought in a doctor named "Alphonse Renaud." By now, he had been in there for hours, Arthur right by his side.

His hands were soaked in blood, helping the doctor deal with everything they did to you.

The sick fucks had put nails in your legs.

Nails.

Your back was ripped to shreds, with some marks looking even like they came from whips.

They were irritated too, and Dr. Renaud guessed that they had poured whiskey into your wounds.

He was wondering how you managed to let him hold you the night before without wincing and whining out in pain.

Just imagining how much pain you must've been in, when he thought that he needed to hold you?

How much pain you must've been in when he was asking you on the ride back home if you felt okay?

He felt like the worst shit on earth.

Alphonse estimated you'd live a lifetime of numbness and pain on certain, scarred parts.

At least you weren't in pain right now.

You were currently passed out from Morphine after Arthur yelled at Swanson to help alleviate your pain, when he heard you whimper as the doctor worked.

He silently cried into his hands next to your bedside after he heard your shallow breaths.

He was scared. So fucking scared.

A 3 days passed, with Arthur watching your every movement like a hawk. He was around you 24/7. All other priorities just seemed to fade into the background.

You were fading in and out of consciousness. Going through fevers and hot flashes, scaring everybody at camp.

Whenever you were awake, you seemed to be in a trance. Muttering about things that weren't there, unable to recognize anybody. Not even your husband.

Arthur hadn't slept in that time either. Afraid that if he looked away for one second, the O'Driscolls would swoop up and take you away from him again.

He didn't even think of letting Kieran near you, your horse, or the tent you were in.

He got antsy when you got home, gaining an even shorter fuse to match. Doing everything to make the place more comfortable for you. Cleaning your bedsheets, changing your bandages. Gently talking to you about his day and asking about yours while you were asleep, that way if you woke up you wouldn't wake up alone.

Hosea insisted he needed rest. But every single time he went to bed, he couldn't sleep. Wracked with anxiety. Knowing you were just 15 feet away, safe and sound in your tent, yet still wondering where you were.

Wondering where his darling was.

He snuck into your tent later that night and sat down next to you. Coming down here just to make sure you were still breathing.

Watching your chest rise, your breaths were still as shallow as ever.

He had just gotten you back and he was already losing you again.

And with his coddling and touching, he had only made it worse.

He'd give anything to go back to the way things were.

Before you went on that shitty sniping job, god, what in fucking hell made Dutch think that was a good idea?

He'd give up all his things. He'd kill every O'Driscoll known to man. He'd break his own legs. He'd trade places with you. He'd kill himself.

Just for you to be okay.

He reached down, tracing his finger against scars that weren't there before.

He started talking softly to your sleeping body,

Saying how later he'll take you to the city and get you anything you want. He'll take you out dancing, or to the saloon, or to one of those new picture shows if you feel up to it.

How later he'll shoot Colm for what he did. Make his death slow, make him feel every ounce of pain you did. Doubled. He'll make Colm beg for mercy, then leave him to rot to death in some shithole.

How later, if that stupid Tahiti dream ever becomes realized, he'll settle down with you. Have a kid or two if you feel like it. As long as he can raise them with you.

Only you. Nobody but you.

How later, he'll build a mansion for you and you'd never have to be afraid of anyone hurting you ever again.

How he's so sorry that you had to come find him.

That you'd kill him if you died.

He heard the bed creak as he nervously chatted on and on.

Felt your fingers intertwining with his.

He turned to you, smiling.

You had awoken, and reached out to him.

He tucked your hair behind your ear.

There you were.

For the first time in a long time you were coherent. Aware. Unafraid.

And for the first time in a long time, you saw him clearly.

He took your hand and raised it to his lips, gently kissing your bruised knuckles. Asking how you felt as he did.

He looked... tired.

There were scrapes on his palms and hands, deep cutting scars. Going up and along his wrists and forearms.

Now that you think about it, when you first saw him again, his sleeves were rolled down.

He never rolled them down.

There were new gashes on his face. Along his lips and jaw. He was starting to look like John.

His cheeks were gaunt, and he had deep eyebags. As if they've been festering for months.

His hair was longer, a bit tangled too.

You're used to him being so broad, and while he still is, he looks almost underweight.

You took your other hand and reached up to his cheek, gently stroking it.

He leaned into your touch. He looked exhausted.

God, What had happened while you were gone?

He was resting his face on your hand as he held your other.

You gripped his jaw and pulled him close, softly placing a kiss on his lips.

And placing his free hand on yours, he returned it.

Bodies intertwining like a jigsaw puzzle.

He tried to pull away, wanting to give you air, but you pulled him even closer.

God, you were gonna be the death of him.

He pushed his hands under your shirt,

with you hastily undoing his belt.

Whispering to you,

"Darling, you're so pretty it hurts."

Pushing you to the bed,

placing kisses on your scars.

You pulled your hand away and placed them on his jeans, groping him through his pants.

His head whipped back, letting out a shaky moan.

Whimpering something unintelligible.

You were toying with his tits through his shirt.

Biting down, leaving hickeys along his neck.

Continuing to grope his dick, making him sport a tent in his pants.

And just looking into his eyes, and he had the look of a kicked puppy.

Just begging for you to properly touch him.

Unzipping his fly, his dick sprung out. Slapping against his stomach.

No wonder he had that look in his eyes. He'd follow you like a dog, and worship you like god. At least, it looked like he wanted to tonight.

You took his dick in your hand, pumping him up and down. Pressing your forehead against his, telling him to just relax, that you wanted to take care of him. Helping him take his shirt off as he whispered "Are you sure?" Asking you if you felt well enough to do this.

His breath hitching, he fumbled to untie his bandana before resorting to just rip the thing off entirely.

Peeling off his shirt just to feel you more. To touch you, as you pulled him close. Asking him to tell you just how much he missed you as pre-cum seeped out of his dick, slicking your palm.

You pulled forward and gently kissed his collarbone, licking your free hand and playing with his chest as you stroked him at a steady pace.

Biting down on his neck, his flesh soft between your teeth.

Only yours though. Only yours.

He slotted his head into your shoulder, and began to mumble, kissing your neck up and down.

Cradling your head in his palm.

Running his fingers across your bones, licking stripes against healed wounds.

To whimper and to whine, just like he did the day before.

Like a dog doing all the tricks it knew.

Fucking like two instruments playing in tune.

His eyes were glossed over, his hot breath puffing like smoke, and his words weren't making any sense anymore.

The sensual turning the sexual into the unintelligible, just repeating over and over,

I love you,

I love you,

I love you.

People in camp always talked shit about Arthur, how he was "Van Der Linde's Bitch." His dog, broken in like a wild horse. Obedient, pliable, perfect. But they're giving credit to the wrong man.

It was all you. Only you, Only you.

He arched back on the bed, crying your name as he came. His seed splattering across his stomach, into your hands.

Begging you not to leave him ever again.

Not even once,

Not even once,

Not even once.

Pleasure sparked behind his eyelids like a gunshot.

You hushing him with silent kisses, telling him to quiet down.

Letting him rut and sputter into your hands like putty until he finally came completely undone, and the only noise was his labored breathing, panting.

His hands trailed up your thighs, eager to return the favor. But you gingerly grabbed his palms and brought them up to your lips.

Oh so gently kissing his knuckles, just like he did for you.

His eyes were still red from crying. Months of grief released in a week.

You pulled his face close, kissing him on the cheek.

Pulling him down into bed, slotting your hips in between his.

Sleeping together,

with your hands intertwined.

|

|

|

|

|

Should I keep this story going???

@yyiikes

[thatstonedwriter]

˚₊‧🍄[ Pain in the Ass ]🍃˚₊‧

◉ Synopsis; Billy Butcher comforts(?) you as you deal with chronic pain

◉ CW; swearing, chronic pain, mentions of self-medication, references to ableism, Butcher might be a bit OOC (sorry), implied romantic attraction

◉ A/n- I’m still nervous about writing scenarios/short fics but i wanted to try it out since I really like this prompt. Hopefully it turned out alright- enjoy!

You’d done your best- really you had. All morning, quotes from people who thought they knew better, your parents, your own fucking doctors- everybody saying it’s just “mind over matter”- echoing in your head. Classic platitudes you’ve heard since you were younger; people trying to relate, but instead, minimizing your pain.

“Oh yeah I get it- sometimes my stomach hurts, too.”

“Headaches suck but it could always be worse right?”

“You can’t let pain control you.”

“Fuck those stupid God damn- agh!”

Annoyed grumbles turn into a sharp gasp as another wave of pain shoots through your joints. This paired with the stomach/headache combo from this morning was really wearing you down.

And now you were reaching a point of desperation. The medicine you’d been prescribed proved itself useless against the pain today- and sure you could ask for some meds from Frenchie’s stash but… that option should be saved as a last resort. You could ask for help from Hughie, Kimiko or M.M. Surely one of them would be kind enough to pick up more of your prescription or grab you some heating pads- but then again, going out in public could put them at risk. You couldn’t ask them to put their lives in danger for something so trivial.

Never had it crossed your mind to ask Butcher for help. Worst case scenario, he kicks you out of the group for being weak- best case scenario? He says something ableist and leaves you to fend for yourself. No. You’re not dealing with that shit, especially not now.

A knock on the door to your little “bedroom” signaled that a higher power had other plans for you.

“Ya’alright in there, love?” Butcher’s voice, in any other scenario would have been a pleasant surprise- but in this moment of vulnerability? It was like hearing death bells toll.

“Yeah- yep- yep I’m good, thanks.” Your curt reply was not unusual to Butcher, but certainly not preferred. Slightly worrisome, even. You hadn’t come out all morning, and now you’re miffed with him? He hadn’t even done anything to piss you off! Today, at least.

He tries the doorknob, letting out a frustrated huff when it turns out to be locked.

"Trying to let yourself in? See, you're why God made locks."

"Come now, no need for the 'ostility-"

You rolled your eyes as Butcher began his usual spew of excuses, but one in particular caught your attention. It was near the end of his little monologue- softer, quieter, and spoken with a hint of uncertainty.

"and besides… can't have ya crappin' out on us, yeah?"

Even from in your room, you could hear the uncomfortable shuffling of a man unacquainted with emotional vulnerability.

"I'm not 'crapping out' on anyone," you scoff, wincing as more pain sears through your body. "But.. I could use some hel- hey!"

Before you could even finish your sentence, the door "magically" opened- and there Butcher stood, sly smirk on his face, lockpick in hand. He catches your gaze and shoves the pick back in his pocket.

"So then, what seems to be the problem, eh?"

God, it's going to sound so ridiculous when you say it out loud. Compared to what everyone's been through, saying "my tummy hurts" isn't really a matter of urgency.

But it's more than a stomach or headache on it's own. It's more than your joints occasionally aching and popping. It's been every goddamn day for as long as you could remember. Would it really be so wrong to ask for help?

“It’s just been.. pain. All day.”

“Is that all? A’right, where does it ‘urt?”

“…Everywhere. All the time.”

Your response caught Butcher off-guard. He’d been expecting some minor complaints, or even a sarcastic retort about what an ass he was being. The cocky, confident expression was replaced with one of concern as he caught a glimpse of the medications littering the nightstand. Surprisingly enough, they were all your own prescriptions. Probably not strong enough for whatever you were dealing with, Butcher reckons.

“You tried Frenchie’s stash?” he sighs, playful demeanor gone as he goes fishing in his pocket for cigarettes and a light.

“I’m.. saving that as a last resort.”

Butcher lets out a ‘hmph’ as he lights a cigarette, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out the door.

“What d’ya need?”

“Sorry?”

He takes another drag, this time blowing the smoke out his nose. “Make me a list, I can grab what’cha need.”

It was hard to tell whether or not Butcher was annoyed with you. On one hand, you could appreciate the concern. On the other, it was almost certain Butcher was frustrated with this show of “weakness.” It took you a moment to find the right words- not necessarily wanting to decline the offer, but hesitant to voice your needs.

“You don’t need to grab anything. Meds aren’t helping today, and I can’t ask you to put yourself at risk. But if you’re offering… I wouldn’t mind some company…”

Uneasy silence smothered the room until Butcher finally sighed, dropping his cig on the floor and putting it out before walking into the room, taking long, slow steps. He grabs a nearby chair, loud scraping assaulting your ears as Butcher drags it to the side of your bed, plopping himself down and crossing his arms. More uncomfortable silence envelops the two of you until you decide to speak up.

"You don't have to be here if you don't want to, y'know."

"I know," Butcher mumbles. He glances at you out of the side of his eye, gaze softening as he watches you wince as yet another wave of pain rolls through your body.

Black spots invade your vision as the aching in your body worsens. You let out a low groan, hands gripping the sheets tightly as you wait for this wave to pass.

A larger, calloused hand covers one of yours, startling you enough to open your eyes. Through the black spots, you swore you could see Butcher's hand on yours, thumb rubbing your knuckles softly.

"You'll uh.. You'll be a'right."

You let out a weak laugh at the awkward, but sweet attempt at comfort.

With how little you'd expected from him, this gentle, caring side to Butcher was a welcome surprise. As the pain dissipates, your eyes begin to flutter closed.

"How about ya take it easy today. I'll tell the others not to bother ya, and I'll come back 'n keep ya company." Butcher's voice is soft- unexpectedly considerate.

Nodding weakly, you lean your head back, shifting against the pillows to get comfortable once again.

Butcher squeezes your hand, keeping a firm hold on you as you drift back to sleep.

[ideasarestuckinmyhead]

a story where the bittersweet boys hace a listener who gets new glasses and thinks they look dumb but they in fact are actually giving office siren vibes

Honey, your sexy with or without glasses.

Glaring at the mirror in front of them, Sugarboo was annoyed when the eye doctor told them they needed to wear the glasses. Their eye sight was slowly getting shitty....well shittier so they needed the glasses.

"God, I look like a nerd...." Mumbling to themselves, Boo then walked put the bathroom. After getting dressed and doing their morning routine they needed to eat then leave.

The bakery has been getting more popular, especially in the morning. Boo started making morning baked goods and people been flocking to it. Grabbing the jacket on the couch, it's been colder in the morning.

"Hey Boo want....." Alphonse turned his head and his voice died as he saw his partner. Sugarboo then gave him a look, what was he staring at?

"Al? What did Boo put on that one outfit- Holy shit." Across from Alphonse, Seth turned finally seeing what the pinkette saw. Both blinked dazed at Sugarboo, making them feel a but more embarrassed about their glasses.

"Okay, I get it I look weird-" Spitting out slightly, Boo was interrupted by both shaking their head.

"No Sug-"

"Boo that ain't what-"

Words overlapped as they tried to say what they meant. The third of the trio glared at them, they really just wanted food before leaving.

"Okay then what?" Hissing out, Boo felt a bit bad as they both flinched a bit. Claiming down, Boo saw Alphonse coming to them with a flirtatious smile.

"You look sexy, Boo." Whispering, Alphonse leaned down to their face. Seth got out of his trance and went to the right of Alphonse. Nodding along with what the candy man had said, even giving his own smirk.

"What's that one thing? Office siren? That's what you look like sugar~" Breathing out, Seth chuckled as Sugarboo gave him a awkward smile. Putting a hand in their face and waving with the other.

"Y-you two are just saying th-that...." Stammering slightly, Boo felt their face warm up. But the boys didn't let up, Alphonse gently took their hand on their face. Seth followed taking the one they were waving.

"You look really fucking hot right now Boo. You know we wouldn't just say that..." Whispering Alphomse leaned to their face kissing their left cheek.

"Yeah Sugar, you look even more good with the glasses." Chuckling out, the brunette then kissed Boo's right cheek. Boo made an embrassed noise as the two gave kisses on their face.

"Okay! Okay! I get it....I look fine." Huffing out, the baker looked at the two before them. Both men smiled at them, with a chuckle Alphonse opened his mouth.

"More than fine, your smokin' but okay. Now what ya want for breakfast hot stuff?" Turning away Alphonse hurried to give Boo food. Seth smiled at them as he guided them to the kitchen.

"Sorry for keeping you right there we know you need food before leaving." Apologizing, Seth helped the pink haired man ready their breakfast.

Watching them Sugarboo smiled happily, these two always know how to help them. Both men were so silly when Boo makes a comment about themselves they don't approve of. Thanking the two for food Boo scared it down and then rushed off to work.

[gigi-loveless]

Maybe something about how After hazel fights the beefy guy (ew I forgot his name lol) girlfriend!reader is crying and picking Hazel up and helping her recover 🥹🥹 thank you!!

“and thank you for attending this years pep rally!”

everything is a blur. one second josie is holding you back from the fight, and another you’re tripping over the bleachers, hot tears bleeding down your face, shoving through the stampede of people towards your girlfriends lethargic body.

“hazel? hazel…come on. you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay….” you plead over her limp, gashed up body. her fluffy brunette mane is drenched in crimson blood, and you could’ve sworn that she needed ambulance. just as you’re about to crouch down to her, you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“dude, i’m so sorry- i- i didnt-“

“pj.” you whip around, swatting her hand away from you aggressively. you never liked the idea of hazel joining the club in the first place, but the small cuts and bruises you tended to when you picked her up from school were manageable. this was a whole different level. taking a step forward, knuckles turning white with rage, your eyes meet hers centimeters away. “stay the fuck away.” you seethe, pushing her away. you consider just beating the fuck out of her for a moment for what she did to your sweet girlfriend, until a weak, husky voice materializes behind you. instinctively, your stature softens, collapsing down to the floor next to her small frame.

“haze…it’s alright.” her eyes flutter open weakly, and she coughs up a bit of blood. isabel runs to grab her cardigan, and hands it to you to clean the blood up. dabbing the silky cloth across her beaten up face, everything else melts away. she is your entire world. no, your universe. you brush her hair out of her eyes to assess the damage, and even though she put up a good fight, he beat the fuck out of her. it’s even worse up close; both nostrils are gushing blood, a busted lip, and a positively broken nose.

as you’re comforting her barely conscious body, brittany sprints back in, with all of the first aid she could grab from the nurses office (she knows where everything is because of how many times she gets kicked in the face during cheer). the three of you make quick work to clean her up the best you could, and as you’re rubbing the last piece of gauze over her swollen nose, she finally tries to speak.

“h-hey…” she whimpers, half chuckling.

“what’s so funny, haze? you just got the shit beat out of you!”

“oh you’re just…you’re really pretty…at this angle.” she groans.

“haze…” forcing a half smile through your tears, “you know you didn’t have to do that, right?”

“yeah i just, i don’t know…i thought i was fighting pj and-“

“wait, what?”

pjs unsavory mumbles about “getting a room” come into earshot, but you attempt to drown it out. you take hazels black and blue painted knuckles, and heave her up to her feet, catching her full body weight, head securely placed in the crook of your neck. while rubbing her back and cooing over her, you feel pjs glares stabbing into your soul. with brittany, the both of you take each of hazels arms and start to walk her limping frame out of the gym doors and to the car, while pj and josie gawk at your girlfriend. you signal to isabel to take over for you for a moment, and you storm up to the two girls. “you two fuck with her again, i fuck with you. and trust me, you’ll want the ambulance on speed dial, got it?” neither of them can say a word, just gulp and scurry off, muttering to each other about whatever bullshit they’re gonna try next to save their sorry asses.

isabel and brittany help to buckle hazel in the passenger seat of the car, and they make you swear to text with any updates. the door shuts, and hazel immediately just starts bawling, tears mixed with blood beating down onto her shirt.

“i know, i know….it’s okay honey.” you kiss her forehead, not caring about the sticky blood that seeped into her hair. “how about this, let’s go to the doctor, get you all checked out, then go back to my place and i’ll make us dinner?” she nods, and wipes her tears with her sleeve.

“you have no idea how much i love you…”

“i love you most, hazel.”

[fatkish]

Hii,could you do a part 2 of Aizawa x suicidal child? Please :)

Maybe they did hurted themselves or just confort

Father Aizawa x Suicidal Reader Pt.2

I’ll Never let you go

You and your dad went to the hospital the next day to get your mental health evaluated. Turns out it’s shit. The doctors suggested that you should be on suicide watch and be put in the psychiatric ward for the mean time until they deemed you safe for the partial hospitalization program. While you were in the psychiatric ward the doctors suggested that you see a therapist and create a safety plan. So you asked if you could bring an instrument or at least a pen and paper to write with so you could write songs and journal.

It took some time but you got settled and your dad visited you every day. As the days went by you were writing and journaling. Things didn’t seem that bright right away but that was fine.

(Play the song)

You light a candle just to see in the dark

You're only running on a fuse, and it's been falling apart again

I'm by your side, I hope at least that helps

And life sucks sometimes, it's feeling more like hell

When your dad would visit he would tell you about your cats at home, the mischief his students got into, etc. sometimes Uncle Hizashi would come with him and you two would pretend to jam out to music he’d play. But even though you smiled and laughed there was still a darkness lurking beneath the surface of your mind.

And all the walls around you are turning to ashes

And the flames surround you when everything crashes

Don't hold your head, 'cause it'll all work out

And don't let go of my hand, I won't let you down

The silence is deafening

Keep fighting, you're trembling

But it's fine, it'll be alright

See the pain in your eyes, but we still survive

As you talked to your therapist about the reasons why you feel like dying the relief of getting it out in the open was momentary before the weight of your feelings would come crashing down. You and your therapist would talk about how your dad found you as you were planning to end it all. You talked about how your dad would feel if you went ahead with it and he was too late. How it would affect him and others and how they would feel if you died.

Just don't forget about me

When you feel like you're drowning

I know it's hard to try

If it gets rough, I'm by your side

As the days passed and you talked to the doctors they eventually saw that you were ready for a partial hospitalization program. This program would have you visit the hospital and have a certain amount of hours you would need to spend in the classes at the hospital. These classes had other people in them and was a sort of rehab program for many different people. The classes were about a bunch of different topics that focused on mental health.

When everything

Is falling apart, put your head on my shoulder

Don't cry, just another bad night

You'll make it out alive

When everything is taking its toll, I'll pull you a little closer

If you slip, I'm falling too

And I'll never let you go (never let you go)

You learned a lot of different things like how different mental disorders affected the brain and its functions. You took art therapy and music therapy classes where you would draw something based on the prompt or you’d share a song and explain how it made you feel. All in all, it was very enlightening and helpful.

If your clouds are grey then so are mine

Your smile faded but still you shine

Got my path again into your soul

It's a place that I call home

I can feel your fingertips, they're burnin' my skin again

But I still take your hand

And we'll run away from this mess

I'll bury my heart in the hole in your chest

Your dad would talk with you about your classes and what you learned. You’d show him your notes and he loved seeing the art you made even if it sucked. He found the techniques for panic attacks very useful and decided to have you teach them to him so he could teach his class.

Just don't forget about me

When you feel like you're drowning

I know it's hard to try

If it gets rough, I'm by your side

You spent more time with your dad and he took more time to focus on you and your mental health. He put time aside to make sure to spend with you. You guys would cuddle on the couch and you’d help him grade papers. Sometimes you’d need his help to understand what someone wrote. Apparently you read the students bad handwriting better than your dad. You decided to write feedback on some of the papers like ‘practice your handwriting on separate paper. Heroes need legible handwriting’ or you’d make small corrections and show them how to fix it for next time. Overall, grading papers with your dad was fun.

When everything

Is falling apart,

put your head on my shoulder

Don't cry, just another bad night

You'll make it out alive

When everything

is taking its toll, I'll pull you a little closer

If you slip, I'm falling too

And I'll never let you go again

You told your dad that you still have bad thoughts but now, every time you did, you’d follow your safety plan and talk to him or Hizashi. You’d find someone who you trust and talk to them. Your dad would let you snuggle up to him with your head on his shoulder as you told him everything you needed to.

You don't have to cry alone

And I'll hold this weight above you

If you slip, I'm falling too

And I'll never let you go

Some of the best things you learned were to just live day by day. You don’t have to worry about tomorrow and you don’t have to be hopeful about tomorrow either, it’s enough to just be curious about what’s next. You decided that you wanted to see your friends become heroes and that you had to see if Bakugou became the next number 1. That was enough for both you and your dad. And he promised that he would always be here for you and he’d never let you go.

[eviesaurusrex]

ꜱɪᴄᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴛʀɪᴋᴇꜱ | ʜ. ꜱᴛʏʟᴇꜱ

GIFs not mine!

Harry Styles x Actress!Reader

summary: Harry is down with the flu and had to cancel his remaining L.A. shows. Seeking comfort and reassurance that this was the right call, he FaceTimes his girlfriend YN, who is filming her recent movie on the opposite side of the country, and decides to surprise her sick and hard-working boyfriend.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: Harry being insecure and anxious about his decision, feeling bad about said decision, sick!Harry, but overall fluffy fluffness!

author’s note: I’m so sorry for our hard working man (and all the fans who had tickets), but glad that he prioritizes his health even though it sucks. But his health is more important, people. Please keep that in mind. And yes, I just had to write this. Deal with it <3

;

He didn’t need to wait long for her to accept the FaceTime call—probably already anticipating it after she surely had read the headline of him canceling his remaining L.A. shows. It instantly soothed him as her pretty face appeared on his phone’s screen, though it would be even better if she were right next to him. Harry would never be shy about admitting that he loved when YN took care of him. She just knew the tricks and quirks to make him feel better within hours.

“Hey, pretty woman,” he greeted her with his scratchy voice, sniffling a bit and wrapping himself tighter in the lavender robe he had stolen from YN’s designated spot in their bathroom. She smiled softly at him, but the singer could see the worry lines deepening at the picture of his sick self. “Hey, love,” she returned and cooed silently. “How is my man doing?” Harry could see her moving around before she plopped down onto the comfy couch he missed every time they weren’t in their New Yorker home.

He shrugged. “Feel like shit,” he mumbled and sighed deeply before it tickled a violent cough out of him. Her brows were even more furrowed after he had calmed himself again. “Oh, love… What did the doctor say?” Harry shrugged again, feeling more miserably about his canceled shows and fans than about himself and that nasty virus. “The flu. Not the other nasty virus sneaking around in the open. So, you don’t have to worry yourself to death, darlin’.” YN cocked a brow now, looking at him expectantly. “I thought we knew each other after three years into this relationship, H,” she chastised him jokingly with a chuckle. “Y’know I’m always worrying myself to death when it comes to you, sweets.”

And it was the truth. Even if Harry wasn’t sick, YN worried for him—when he flew, when he went on stage, when he went out with friends and didn’t text if he needed a ride back home, and returned in the depths of night to demand drunken cuddles. However, the latter was such a rare thing he did that it almost didn’t count. And she worried the most when she wasn’t there to comfort and take care of him because she was across the country or the globe. It hurt somewhere deep down in her heart seeing him like that, seeing him suffering alone, without a helping hand to ensure he would get better in no time.

“Did you have some soup, love? Should I order something and let it bring to you?” She already sat straighter just to do exactly this, but Harry already shook his head slowly. “Jeff brought me some earlier. Left it at the door, rang, and bolted like a thief on the run.” He chuckled lowly before coughing again, worrying YN even more. But she chuckled alongside him to keep their conversation as light as usual. “At least someone who takes care of you. Got ya’self a good pot of tea?” Again, the singer nodded, grabbing the sunflower-yellow mug from its designated spot next to the propped-up phone and taking a huge sip. “Even put honey in’nit, but it doesn’t taste even closely as good as yours, darlin’,” Harry admitted and furrowed his brows. “Did I do something wrong? Used the wrong honey? Wrong tea?”

YN’s heart broke once more at the sound of his helpless tone and his sad puppy eyes, feeling the urge to leave everything behind and fly across the country. She already eyed the calendar on the coffee table in front of her. “Did you use the one in the drawer? Right to the stove?” Harry nodded, a sad expression deepening on his face. “Yeah,” he mumbled, crushed. YN cooed again, trying to soothe his mind. “Maybe you let the tea steep too long, lovie. Give it another try later, yeah?”

He nodded again, letting his hand rake through his soft, now messy curls, and the woman knew that he wanted to ask something, that something was on his mind, continuing to bug him. “What’s wrong, H?” YN sat up again and leaned forward, smartphone in her hand and forearms resting on her knees. Harry threw her a look she knew all too well—she saw it numerous times on his face and hers as well. Self-doubt. Easy as that. “Do you think it was a good idea to cancel the shows?” She already wanted to open her mouth to tell him exactly this, but he continued. “It’s the first time in my entire career, and I feel like I let down my fans, of whom many traveled to L.A. just to see me. I can’t imagine the costs for that—well, I can, numbers-wise—but the… the emotional cost, the excitement, some of them probably took off at work and… and… I just feel like I failed them, YNN.”

Her heart ached even more, and YN had to try to suppress the tears trying to invade her eyes. He was always so hard-working, always trying to meet his fans’ expectations and wishes, consistently delivering—not only in his singing but also in his starting acting career. She was always in wonder and astonishment when witnessing the dedication of her boyfriend, but at some point, his body had to cave.

“Listen to me, my love,” she began and staring at her man’s face through the screen. “It was the only thing you could do, the only responsible decision there was. Not only for you and your health but also the health of Mitch, and Sarah, and Jeff, and all the others involved, not to mention the health of your fans. For many of them, you’re a role model, someone they look up to, and now they see that it’s a responsible move to say, ‘Okay, I’m sick, I’m gonna stay home’ because many people already forgot this essential key even though we went through a pandemic and still living in one. And I don’t wanna start to talk about the good you do for your body right now. I’m actually impressed on how long you two pushed through with all that stress and constant traveling.”

YN had only waited for that moment to occur—but had desperately wished for it to happen when she was back with him on tour or at home, not when she was in the midst of wrapping up a new project.

Harry grew very silent during her rambling, watching her closely, a small smile appearing on his handsome face. “How long have you waited to hold that speech, love?” Now it was YN’s turn to shrug. “Maybe a few months?” Harry started to grin at her bashful smile and blushing cheeks, still not believing his luck of having found her in that small bookshop back in London, where she had fervently tried to get a hold of a Jane Austen novel.

His grin morphed into a tender, loving smile, only reserved for her eyes to witness—and maybe some cameras when they walked the carpet together or were seen on their many dates. Harry just loved to spoil his woman, and if it were time with him she demanded she would get exactly that.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and YN smiled back, resting her chin in her palm. “Anytime, H.” She checked the clock and hummed softly. “Get some rest, sweets, yeah? Check the bathroom cupboard with the towels underneath. There could still be some unopened stuff for your cough. If not, text me, and I’ll let something get to you.” Harry smiled wider and took a sip of tea before watching her intently. “How did I deserve you?” YN grinned at him, cocking her head to one side. “Asking myself the same question, love. But seriously, get some rest. And when I say rest, I mean the full blow of bedtime comfort and something on Netflix or Prime.” The singer saluted playfully. “Yes, ma’am,” he grinned before turning a tad serious again. “Will probably watch one of yours, so I at least can pretend you’re here. Miss you, darlin’.”

The tears tried to spill over again, so YN took a deep breath before answering, not trusting her voice entirely. “Miss you too, Harry. So, so much. But I’m faster back than you think, ‘promise. I love you. So, so, so much. Sleep tight later.” Both softly waved at one another. “Not as much as I love you, sweetheart. Have a good shoot later.” With a soft Thanks and See you later’s, they ended the call, and YN plopped back onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling in the lonely, quiet apartment. She knew it was rash and born out of desperation, but she just had to do it.

So, she unlocked her phone again, grinning at the goofy wallpaper Harry and she had taken in front of the Statue of Liberty two years ago and scrolled through her contacts. “Hey, Jenn. I need a massive favor,” she spoke up after her manager had accepted her call.

;

Harry groaned at the feeling of his sore body after waking up from his restless and unsatisfying slumber, and the first thing he did was cough into the crook of his drenched hoodie. He groaned again after he finally could take a fresh breath of air into his constricting lungs and fought his slow way out of bed to shower and change into something not wet.

With half-closed eyes, he walked into the adjacent bathroom, turned on the shower to let it warm up, and shed his clothes and let them pile on the stone floor. He could take care of that later… Or when he felt better, whenever that might be.

He stood rather long under the hot water drizzling down on him like summer rain before Harry could push himself to leave the cozily warm glass cabin and wrap himself in a fluffy towel. Suddenly, a smell wafted into his nose that was clocked before the hot shower, and the scent let him stop in his tracks. It was her perfume—he could name it in a sea of scents if he had to. Blinking, the singer tried to scan the bathroom for the source; maybe he had accidentally sprayed it last night when he searched for the soap dispenser after not turning on the light? Slowly shaking his head, he dried himself and his hair shortly before changing into a new pair of sweatpants, fluffy socks, and a fresh hoodie. Taking out the cough syrup YN had mentioned two days ago, he took the needed dosage and left the bathroom to go downstairs to prepare a fresh batch of tea and maybe something to eat, though he really didn’t feel like it. But he knew what YN would do if she were here.

Harry yawned while slouching down the stairs but stopped at the end of the steps at the sound of used cutlery and boiling water. With growing confusion, the man rounded the corners and was faced with an angel in his kitchen—one of his Pleasing hoodies adorning her body with a pair of sports tights underneath. She hummed along to the tune of the song playing in the background—The Yawning Grave by Lord Huron, her favorite band—while she prepared the can he had used every day since getting sick and had something boiling on the stove. He felt joy rising in him, but the confusion was still very prominent.

Maybe he hallucinated because the fever was too high?

“Is this real, or is this only in my head?” He asked into the room, scaring her in the process of questioning, and with a low shriek and a slight jump, YN turned to him, a hand pressed over her heart. “Stop scaring the living daylight outta me!” She laughed softly as Harry came rushing over to her, grabby hands outstretched and getting a hold of her waist. Pulling her incredibly close to his chest, the man sighed as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her signature scent, which always brought him comfort, and tightening his hold on her. “Whatyadoinhere,” he mumbled, almost inaudible and incomprehensible against her soft skin, his eyes closed, his body finally relaxing.

Her fingers inside his hair tickled a satisfied moan out of him and pushed him to wrap his arms even tighter around YN, not wanting to let her go ever again. Her fingernails scratched gently along his scalp, just the way he liked, and he could feel her soft lips peppering kisses over the reachable part of his head. “I wanted to come home next week anyway, so we pushed a bit through the last couple of scenes, and Jenn got me the first available flight. Couldn’t let you be on your own. My heart almost broke when I saw you slouching around during that FaceTime, feeling miserable enough not to deal with taking care of yourself. So, that’s my job from now on again, ‘kay?” More gentle kisses followed her words, and Harry had never felt this loved and cherished. “A goddess and godsend,” he mumbled again against her skin and let her pull his face up so she could face him and see how he held up so far.

YN’s palm laid softly against his forehead—the contact alone almost made him swoon on the spot after so many weeks and months without her—and he watched her expressions, memorizing every single muscle movement all over again. “At least your fever is not too high. The world will look much better after a bowl of fresh soup and a fresh batch of tea.” She smiled up at him before pulling him at his neck down to her, pushing herself on her tiptoes, and softly kissing his warm cheeks one after the other. The tip of his nose was the last part accepting the tender peck of her lips.

She turned again to stir in the boiling pot, and Harry followed her like a puppy, wrapping his arms around her body again and pressing his face against her shoulder. “You won’t let go anytime soon, aren’t ya?” YN smiled a smile full of contentment as she added the noodles to the chicken broth and removed the tea bags from the pot to add the perfect amount of honey. He only shook his head but watched her doings with eagle eyes, furrowing his brows as she prepped him a mug and let him take it. “It’s just how I made it,” he murmured and taking a sip, closing his eyes, and humming softly. Just how he loved it. “Maybe it tasted different because I have a special ingredient, H,” YN chuckled and prepped two bowls of hot soup for them to enjoy as a late breakfast and an early lunch. “Tell me, please. Don’t wanna feel so helpless anymore if you’re not here, and I need your tea,” he pleaded with her, and the gorgeous woman turned in his arm, cupping his cheeks with both hands. “It’s cheesy but super easy.” Her smile made him almost feel healthy again. “I put an ounce of love into it. It’s what my grandma always told me. Everything tastes better when a loved one makes it for you.”

Almost on the verge of crying, Harry put his mug to the side and cupped her cheek, his other arm still tightly wrapped around her middle. “I don’t deserve you, my darling love,” he whispered and pressed a kiss to her forehead, not wanting to risk infecting her as well. YN continued to comb through his hair and rolled her eyes. “How often do I need to tell you that you, Harry Edward Styles, deserve the freaking fucking world?” He shrugged gently before nodding in the direction of the living room. “Cuddle with me, and I may be convinced of it this time,” he smiled, and with one last look, YN covered their soups and took the pot of tea with her. Harry already threw himself onto the couch, waiting impatiently for her to claim her spot, but first, she covered him with their favorite fluffy blanket. She made sure that he was perfectly covered before finally crawling underneath it as well and pressing her body against his.

“Come here, love,” she whispered invitingly, and Harry let his head heavily rest on her chest, his ear over her soothing heartbeat. He closed his eyes tiredly as she started to stroke through his hair again, scratching his scalp and neck, rubbing over his back. YN began to talk in a mumbling voice about everything and anything until she felt him slip back into slumber he definitely needed the most.

;

This got cheesier than anticipated, but this was born entirely from my need for self-indulgence, so we will live with it. Hope y’all enjoyed it! <3 As usual: comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated

taglist: @onecrazydirectioner @nyctophilic0vitnir

[nurse-floyd]

Not a People Doctor

Pairing: Rhett Abott x Vet!Reader

Fandom: Outer Range

After a bar fight, Rhett shows up at your doorstep.

For the amazing @vivwritesfics and the reason I am now Rhett/ Bob trash! Thank you for the title idea 💕💕

It's getting late as you settle down in your living room with a hot cup of tea and the latest book you're reading. Your peace is interrupted by a soft knocking at your door. You almost think you've imagined it when the knock comes again, a little louder this time. Grumbling slightly, you set your book aside, hoping it isn't another mare in labour or a horse with colic; you just want a quiet night.

Opening the door, you put on a smile for the paying customer you expect to find, but your smile falls as you see none other than Rhett Abbott, your childhood friend and a frequent customer. He looks dishevelled, blood staining his clothes, and you can already see the bruises and cuts on his face in the dim porch light.

"Jesus, Rhett, what the hell happened to you?" you exclaim, ushering him inside.

He winces as he moves, clearly in pain but not wanting to let on. "Got into a bit of a scuffle at the bar," he mutters, not quite meeting your gaze.

Leading him into your living room, you move the blanket you'd been cuddled under not long ago. "Sit down, let me take a look at you."

He lowers himself onto the sofa. You flip on the light switch to give you a better view of his injuries as you sit on the coffee table opposite him.

"You must've really pissed someone off," you tut as you gently turn his head with your fingers on his chin. You lift his shirt seeing the bruises over his ribs, shaking your head. "We need to get you to a hospital; some of these cuts need stitches. Probably got a broken rib or two as well." 

Rhett gives you a shit-eating smile, a smile only he could pull off when his face looks half as bad as it does, and it still makes you weak at the knees. "That's why I came here, thought you were a doctor."

"I'm an animal doctor, not a people doctor," you shake your head in disbelief.

"I can try. I don't have any of the good pain meds, so it's going to hurt like a bitch, and it won't be the prettiest. Gonna have a few more scars to add to the list."

"Never had any complaints from you. You always liked my scars and tattoos."

You smack him lightly on the arm, causing a 'hey' from him in response. Ignoring him, you run to get the first aid kit you keep in your bathroom closet as well as your veterinary kit.

You start to clean his wounds, carefully stitching up the deep cut over his eyebrow. You can't help feeling a pang of concern. Rhett isn't a stranger to bar fights, but seeing him so vulnerable and injured stirs something within you.

"Are you going to tell me what that fight was about?" you ask gently, your voice laced with worry.

Rhett hesitates for a moment before he meets your gaze. "It was dumb. Just some guy mouthing off about things he shouldn't have," he admits, jaw clenching.

You sigh, finishing up and snipping the last of the stitches. "You need to be more careful, Rhett. You're going to get yourself seriously hurt one day."

He nods, his expression sheepish. "I know... I know. I just... I didn't want to go to the hospital."

You place a comforting hand on his cheek, your thumb gently smoothing over his cheekbone. "Well, you're just lucky you've got me, and I happen to know my way around stubborn bull riders, and I'm pretty good at suturing."

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "You have no idea."

Once you've finished cleaning and bandaging the last of the wounds on his face, you sit back, admiring your handiwork. "There... all done," you lean in and place a gentle kiss on the side of his head, "good as new." 

Rhett stands up slowly, getting a look in the mirror above your fireplace. "Thanks, sweetheart. I owe you one."

"Don't mention it, I'll just add it to the list. Just promise me you'll be more careful, Rhett. I'm pretty good, but some injuries I can't fix."

He nods, his gaze finally meeting yours. "I promise."

As he makes his way to the door, you can't help but shake the feeling of concern lingering. "Hey, Rhett? You need a place to stay tonight? Probably shouldn't be alone after something like this."

"I don't want to put you out..."

"You're not," you interrupt him.

Rhett's gaze softens, and you can see the gratitude in his eyes. "I... I'd appreciate that. Thank you."

You feel a wave of relief wash over you as you leave him on the couch, running to change your sheets, not wanting him to spend the night on the sofa with his injuries.

"Beds all changed; let's get you some rest. I've got some pain meds and a glass of water up there for you too."

He looks at you, confused as to why you haven’t brought down blankets and pillows, assuming he'd be sleeping on the couch.

You hold out your hand. "Come on, I don't mind. Besides, I'll feel a lot better knowing you're not sleeping on that uncomfortable sofa."

He blinks, confusion evident in his expression. "Are you sure, Y/N? I don't want to intrude."

You give him a look that leaves no room for arguments, and he knows he'd be fighting a losing battle to even try.

With a grateful nod, he takes your hand, helping pull himself to his feet before he follows you up the stairs. You pull back the covers, helping him slip under the blankets before joining him. As you both lie there, you couldn’t help but love the feeling of the warmth of his body beside you. You love it even more as he wraps an arm around your waist, whispering a thank you into the crook of your neck. 

[angelkhi]

kiss it better - j.m

pairing: dilf!joel miller x babysitter!reader

summary: turns out joel is trained in first aid, among other things.

warnings: SMUT (18+ Minors DNI) oral (f), fingering, masturbation (m), age gap, creampie but not technically p in v, cumplay i guess, squirting? cum eating/swapping(???), praise, an inkling of overstimulation, hair pulling, needy joel, some dirty talk / bad language, nicknames: dove, pretty girl, sweet girl, idk just some down right dirty shit with some feeling, mentions of injury (a scraped knee and elbow), age gap, slight hurt comfort, grumpy bucky, kinda sweet ending. very sorry if i missed anything!

word count: 2.4 k

a little note: hi! this shit is nasty soz xx i wrote this for bucky but changed it to pre-outbreak joel cause yeah, also not proofread cause i don’t like reading my own shit, and sarah is like 5 in this, also if u know me no you don’t, okay love ya x likes and reblogs appreciated 🫶🏾

"You, kitchen. I'll be down in 10."

You'd listened of course, planting yourself on the kitchen counter and awaiting his return, but those 7 simple words left you fidgeting for the entire 10 minutes he was gone.

Joel walks into the room without a word, puts the bright red first aid box on the counter next to you and pulls up a stool. You can't help but watch his fluid movements, admiring his grace and precision even in the smallest of movements. All of them are deliberate, calculated.

"This is gonna sting a bit." He rips open an alcohol wipe, sliding a hand behind your knee to keep you in place. "Deep breath for me."

"Joel, I can sort it myself- mother fucker!" You start to protest but he presses the wipe against your broken skin, the sting unexpected despite his prior warning.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Joel smirks, wiping over your knee once more, his fingers digging into your flesh when you try to pull away from him. "Keep still."

"I told you I'd sort it." You mumble.

"Stop being so proud for 10 minutes. Let me help you."

"But..."

He sighs, finally looking up at you. You're not sure if it's the intensity of his stare, or the fact that he's hunched over you, touching you so gently, as though a scraped knee just might break you, but that sigh defeats you.

"Okay."

Silence falls over you again and you continue to watch him work, smiling when he fiddles with small bandage and adds a princess sticker for good measure.

"I'm sorry about earlier. Didn't mean for such a dramatic entrance but you know Sarah, she's..."

"Stubborn and bossy."

"I was going to say strong minded and competitive. Like her father." His brow quirks subtly, but you pretend not to notice it.

"So... stubborn and bossy." Joel smiles, still completely focused on bandaging your knee, "There you go, all patched up."

You nod, unsure of what to say all of a sudden. Joel fills the silence.

"I've missed you." Three simple words, that probably would've had little effect on you if they hadn't come from him.

"You saw me yesterday Joel."

"You know that's not what I mean dove." He glances up at you, just for a second, but a second is all he needs to know you understand. Of course you understand. You've spent the better part of a year trying not to miss him.

"Always so proud. It's okay to let people help you."

"My pride took quite the hit today thank you very much, your kid is way too good at tag." Joel chuckles, and your bruised pride heals a little, knowing that you had made him laugh. The way that his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunches, the almost giggle. You want to commit it to memory. To keep them it your pocket safe and tight for when you needed it. Even as his soft eyes bore into your own, silently demanding an answer to his statement.

"Thank you, Doctor Miller. I'd better be going." It's cowardly, barely even a whisper, almost drowned out by the low hum of the fridge.

But you don't move though and nether does he. Joel smooths the bandage over your knee, his lingering thumb quickly replaced by his soft lips. Joel gazes up at you as he rose from his knees, his hands sliding up your legs with each fluid movement. His hands move on their own accord, across your thighs, skimming your hips and waist, moving up and up until he's cradling your jaw.

"I wanna keep you in just a little while longer for observations, doctors orders" You lean into his touch, hyper aware of how close the pair of you suddenly are.

"Hmm. Okay Doctor Miller, any other remedies... since you insist." You're breathless, the air in the room seeming none existent as you bend to his will.

"I can think of one."

He bunches your skirt up around your waist in one swift motion, urging you to lay back against the cool marble countertop. His lips are full and warm against your skin, lingering on the inside of your knee, his fingers holed in the side of your panties, dragging them ever so slowly down your thighs. Joel's every movement is slow and deliberate, as though he's trying to savour each and every part of the moment.

"Such a pretty cunt." A small burst of cool air against your exposed pussy pushes you closer to the edge of desperation. Joel's hair tickles your inner thighs, his soft shirt brushing the back of your knee

"Tell me you missed me." He's so close to where you need him, practically dangling himself on a string. "Tell me how much you missed me touching you like this."

Joel finally touches you, his thumb circling your hole, watching you clench around nothing desperately spread out on his kitchen counter willing to take anything he'll give you.

"Missed you, Joel. So much." He hums, pride seeping out of his pores, dark eyes flickering when you say his name.

"Fuckin my hand to the thought of you was torture dove. Nothin compares to this perfect little thing." His lips purse and a small burst of cool air brushes over your clit. You grow more and more desperate the closer he gets, you're practically offering yourself up on a silver platter and he chooses now to take his sweet time?

Your fingers thread through his shaggy locks, prompting him to do something or you'll do it yourself. Joel' laugh is quick and breathless, his eyes slipping shut when you lightly scratch at his scalp.

He leans forward, tongue dragging from your entrance to your throbbing clit. Your fingers tighten in his hair and he groans pulling back to speak.

"Just as sweet as I remember." He takes another moment, then his head is between your thighs.

You're not sure if it's been hours or minutes but Joel's head is still buried between your thighs, lapping at your clit and weeping hole like a starved man. Every time you think he'll give you some sort of a reprise, he just gives you more. Fucking an extra finger into you each time he comes up for breath, or simply just toying with your clit, enjoying the way you respond so diligently to his every touch.

Your hands find the edge of the counter out of sheer desperation, too scared you'll pull at his hair too harshly in this marathon of touching, that is at least until Joel's movements stop abruptly, his head lifting from between your.

"Joel, are you okay?" His large hands wrap around your wrists, prying your hands off of the marble and back into his soft hair.

"Don't stop-" he presses a sweet kiss to your thigh "-feels so fuckin' good."

He wastes no time getting back between your thighs, bringing you back to that ledge he'd left you on. The soft point of his nose brushes against your clit, your hands grasping his hair with fervour. Joel's moan is low and deep, vibrating from his lips right to your open cunt. The knowledge that you're giving him just a fraction of what he's giving you makes your chest swell, and you bet that if you had to energy to lift your head and look down on him, his trousers would be uncomfortably tight and his hips Joeling up at nothing.

He curls his fingers, hooking them perfectly against where you need him, his hand moving at an unnatural pace. You try to stay quiet so not to wake the little girl asleep upstairs, but you're being torn apart from the inside out and Joel's muffled sounds do nothing but spur you on. Once his lips pucker against your clit and his fingers rest on that perfect spot, you're finished. Torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer, you simply just let it happen, let him coax your body through a perfect orgasm until you have no choice but to push the gluttonous man away.

"So fuckin' pretty. Look at ya, all mine." He's breathless, supporting your now upright frame between his muscular arm and chest. He presses his soft lips to yours, and it's a mess of nipping and sucking. His tongue brushes up against yours slowly and deeply, the taste of your own orgasm lingering on your lips.

"Just one more. Gimme one more yeah? So fucking good for me dove." You nod, something between a hoarse sigh and a whimper when he asks for verbal confirmation. He slides two long fingers back into you with ease, right back with that bruising pace, watching with dark eyes as you grind your clit on the ball of his palm.

"That's it, I've got you sweet girl. Give it to me." Joel's efficient when he works your body. He enjoys how you clench around his fingers when your orgasm builds, or how your swollen clit respond so well to his touch. He likes it when you push your fingers into his broad shoulders, anchoring yourself to him. He fucking loves it when you muffle the high pitched scream in his shoulder, teeth digging into his skin slightly as you release over his hand.

Dark grey spots linger on the cotton of his joggers from where you'd gushed all over him, but he doesn't care. Joel cradles your face, taking you in, his own little slice of heaven on earth. His.

Your nimble fingers tug the waistband of his joggers until they're just low enough to release him from their confines. His fingers brush over yours, moulding them against him, guiding you to palm his cock in a tight fist. Joel's concentrated gaze flickers between your glistening thighs, your pretty eyes, your half parted lips, your wet pussy spread out just for him. He's frantic, chasing pleasure from your white knuckled fists.

You slip your hand free, tracing over the stubble on his chin, fingers trailing around the back of his neck, until they're locked in his hair again. Your grip is rough when you tip his head back slightly, and he shudders against you, hips chasing his fist.

You relinquish in the small amount of power, the new feeling sending a rush down your spine. His lips rest against yours, his soft noises brushing against your skin.

"You gonna let me make a mess of this cunt, huh? Gonna let me come all on your pretty pussy."

"Joel please."

"Fuck. You're too good to me." He's whining for you. Fucking whining, and it's all because of you. Joel's hips stutter and thrust into his hand, the thick head of his cock bumping against your sensitive nub, extracting every last ounce of pleasure from your already spent body.

"Joel, come inside of me. Please Joel, you're always so good to me, let me be good for you." His hips slow as he takes in your words, your hands on him. He works himself over with his fist once more before he grips himself at his thick base pressing himself against your sensitive clit once again. He slides himself down, down, until the head of his dick is pressed against your waiting hole.

The familiar stretch of him pushing into you has you whimpering, still so sensitive. Joel's breath stutters and his hands grip your hips as he fucks his tip into you. His thrusts are quick and shallow as he gets himself off and you're muttering against his lips how good he feels, how pretty he looks, how much you love it when he takes what he needs. You scratch at his scalp, and grip his hair that little bit tighter and he's keening over, pressing his lips to yours. His eyes squeeze shut and he whines into your mouth as he pumps himself empty inside of you.

He works swiftly, removing himself from your warmth, sliding you to the edge of the counter and falling to his knees.

"Fuckin perfect." He mutters to himself, watching as his spend leaks out of you, fingers toying with the mess he made. He drags his soft wet tongue against you, once, twice, slipping into your used cunt until you're clawing him away beyond over-sensitive.

But then he's up, and in front of you and you're reading and waiting knowing what he's about to give you and you're willing to accept it. He kisses you, the mixture of your slick and his come on his tongue. You take it, the debauchery act pushing you so far past the point of desire. His fingers still move against you, still playing with your clenching cunt until you're seeing stars.

"Joel, too much."

"M'sorry dove." He says, pulling his fingers away from you and sucking them into his mouth.

He moves quickly, reaching for a cloth and some of his pyjama pants from the washing pile on the dining table. He's careful when he runs it over your thighs and in between your legs, holds you carefully when he helps you down from the counter and slips you into the sleep trousers that are far too big. He's soft and warm and careful and everything in between when he holds you against his chest.

"Joel..." He hums. "I don't want to miss you anymore."

You pull away to look up at him, terrified that you'd misread the situation, that your cloudy brain and lingering crush on the father next door has made you overstep the mark.

"Don't wanna miss you either dove." His lips brush yours.

He seems nervous, it's beyond sweet, but you'd never felt so light, so relieved. "Stay?"

"What about Sarah?"

"Please, she's been begging me to date you for months." Oh.

"And what do you want?" His soft thumbs stroke your lips whilst he holds your gaze, soft yet demanding.

"I wanna take you out to dinner. Want you next to me when I wake up in the mornings. I want you to sit on my face til your crying. Wanna give you everything you want, no matter how ridiculous, I just want you, if you'll let me." Oh. Big oh. You pull him close, resting a hand over his quick beating heart, worried it just might give out.

"You already have me."

He flashes a toothy grin, his blue eyes sparkling even in a dimly lit room. He kisses you slow and sweet, pouring every ounce of care an affection into your lips making it certain. You absolutely already have him too.

[napakmahal]

I’d never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you

Pairing: Hiro Hamada/reader

Trigger warnings: heavy talks of grief and loss, depression (chat unfortunately Tadashi has died in this one)

“I don’t get why we’re driving two hours away just for therapy.” Hiro was becoming pissed off at his aunt's insistence that he go to therapy at least once a week either in person or on the phone. He liked phone therapy better, the crackling audio made it easier to hide slight twinges in his voice.

“It’s part of your plan, remember? Your doctor said that’s how we get you the best care possible and you agreed to try it, remember?” Cass pressed. Of course Hiro remembered, he remembered how bad it pissed him off. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? He said he was fine, that should have been enough.

In one month Hiro had been passed around to three different therapists of different genders, nationalities, and backgrounds to try and connect with him better. None of them worked and it was becoming increasingly clearer that one-on-one therapy just wasn’t for him. He didn’t talk and when he did he lied. Plus, one-on-one with somebody twenty years older than him who’d forgotten what it was like to be fifteen or said stupid shit like “he’s in a better place now.” wasn’t super helpful.

So enter group therapy. Just a big circle of teens talking about their problems like a pubescent al-anon. Hiro may have been pissed but Cass had a right to be concerned. With him not going to school he had nothing to occupy his time. She’d wake up early to open the cafe and he’d already be up on his phone. And she knew for a fact he wasn’t getting any sleep. He’d sleep all day and eat nothing before being up all night and eating anything that was quiet enough she wouldn’t hear him.

“Just seems kinda pointless.” He sighed and leaned back in the passenger seat. “I’m fine, everyone’s just being so dramatic.”

Cass didn’t respond to that. She just leaned over and grabbed onto her nephew’s hand and kissed his palm. “Did you take your drops today?”

“Mmhm.” Hiro lied.

After the blast an EMT on sight noticed that Hiro’s right ear was bleeding from the pressure while he was taken to the hospital for possible concussion. For weeks after that all he could hear was a persistent ringing but thankfully he hadn’t lost his hearing and the fall had hurt his shoulder blades more than it’d hurt his head. After his brain scan in the hospital his doctor had told him how lucky he was. Hiro swore that if he ever got diagnosed with a stroke, he’d pray he wasn’t his doctor.

They pulled up to another branch of their hospital and parked out front and just in the truck silently.

“Can we go home now?” Hiro spoke up.

Cass let out a breathy laugh and looked over at him. “The program lasts ten weeks, if you make it to five and still want out then okay. Deal?” She held out her hand.

Hiro thought about it for a moment. Five weeks of keeping his mouth shut and letting other people talk about their problems for an hour and a half sounded like a solid enough idea. So he and his aunt shook on it.

Five weeks, just gotta make it five weeks.

They walked into the building with Cass’s arm draped over Hiro’s still healing shoulders. The second they arrived at the receptionists desk a tablet was shoved in their faces. “Sit down, fill out the online questionnaire.”

The questions were always the same:

In the past week I felt mad: sometimes, always, never, often

I worried something bad might happen: sometimes, always, never, often

I felt like I couldn’t do anything right: sometimes, always, never, often

I or people around me participated in substance abuse: I did, my friends and I did, my parents did, none of the above

Have you ever been diagnosed antidepressants: yes or no

Have you made any attempt to commit suicide or thought of commiting suicide within the past week: yes or no

It took Hiro a total of seven minutes to complete the questionnaire without putting any thought into his answers. When it was the ‘parent/guardian’ portion Cass took forever to finish.

When the questionnaire was filled out, a woman in a blue blouse and a key card walked over to them. She asked with sweetness, “Hiro?”

She introduced herself as Dr. Yang and walked Hiro and Cass all the way to her personal office. The walls were covered with older teens graduation photos, kindergarten drawings, and fidget toys on her shelves.

“I know you’re here for group, but because your previous doctors told us that you’ve never done group therapy before I just wanna give you the low down. Is that okay?” Dr. Yang looked at Hiro. He just nodded with a smile. Of course it was okay, he was here wasn’t he? She explained about how some of the kids had been doing groups with her before and how privacy in group settings worked. Hiro was all fine listening to all the foundational stuff until she started getting too personal.

Dr. Yang looked directly at him. “So, Hiro. Can we just talk a little bit about why you’re here? I was informed by one of your previous doctors that your brother just passed away recently. I’m so sorry for your loss, I’m sure it was hard.”

“It’s okay, thanks.” Hiro finally spoke up. It wasn’t okay but it made everyone less uncomfortable if he just said it was okay. “But I guess I’ve just been like- sad for a while.”

“And that’s perfectly alright.”

That was the thing that pissed Hiro off the most. How his therapists would reassure him that it was okay to be sad. No shit it was okay to be sad, somebody died! He knew that and having people say that to him made him feel like he was being treated like an idiot.

The two of them talked for a bit until Dr. Yang sent him out of the office so she could speak with Cass alone. One therapist had invited her into the room to ask her about her perspective and she ended up basically sobbing–which Hiro felt really bad about. It just went to show that she’d been spending a shit-ton of time worrying about him yet nobody was really worried about her.

Hiro walked over to the room his group would be meeting. Waiting for the pre-meeting with Dr. Yang and his aunt to be over when he saw you already sitting there. You looked up towards the door at the sound of footsteps. You two exchanged smiles but didn’t say anything to each other and Hiro took the seat two chairs away from you. It was awkward.

“Are you new?” You asked, trying to break the silence.

Hiro paused as if he was shocked you were talking to him but answered. “Yeah, this is my first group therapy session.”

“Cool, cool.” You nodded.

Awkward silence again.

This time Hiro spoke up first. “I like your shoes.”

“Oh thanks. Yours are cool too.” You pointed to his sneakers. The laces obviously didn’t come with the shoes when he bought them. He must have replaced them but they looked kinda cool. The session didn’t start for another fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes in that room in awkward silence sounded vile. “Do you want a lemonade pop? I know where they keep them.”

“Uhh, sure.” He agreed for the exact same reason you asked. The silence was deafening.

After you snuck your way into the first aid room and grabbed two lemonade pops from the freezer, you two sat down on the stool of one of the larger windows.

“So what are you here for?” You brought the frozen treat up to your lips.

Hiro was still trying to open his when he said, “Because I’m sad.”

“We’re all sad, you’ll fit right in.” You joked. Hiro genuinely let out a small laugh at that which felt nice. “No but pretty much everyone here is chill.”

“How many times have you done this?” He took a small scrape of the pop with his front teeth.

“This will be my second program and my last. I mostly know a lot of the other people here from school.” You shrugged. “Where do you go to school?”

He answered quickly, “I’m not in school right now.”

“Oh.”

Shit. Now you probably think he’s some kind of degenerate high school dropout.

“I just haven’t registered.” He added immediately after.

You licked the side of your pop to keep it from melting onto your clothes. “Did you move?”

“No, not exactly.” Hiro had realized he’d accidentally opened up a can of worms into his personal life for you.

Intrigued, you pressed him for more details. “What happened?”

“I got accepted somewhere, I just need to register.” Perfect, vague yet descriptive.

Damn. He must go to some kind of private school. Why else would he use the word accepted? You joked, “Damn rich people.”

Hiro nearly laughed. Rich? They were relatively low income and only saved thousands of dollars a year on car payments because he could fix their truck for free. Years ago after one of Cass’s friends paid her daughters 20,000 dollar tuition she told both Hiro and Tadashi that she would not be paying for any tuition. She’d pay for books, parking spots, and the occasional on campus meal. But never tuition. Just her luck Tadashi got his fifty-thousand dollar scholarship plus financial aid and Hiro got a full-ride. If he ever planned on using it.

“We aren’t rich, trust me.” He laughed to himself.

“Private school kids are rich to some degree.” You shrugged. Denying their richness is kind of a rich people thing to do.

His eyebrows contorted with confusion as he looked at you. “I didn’t get into a private school.”

“You said you were accepted.” Now it was your turn to be confused.

“Yeah, accepted to college.” He explained slowly.

You stared at him blankly. There was no way. “College? How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“Bullshit.” You shot immediately right after. “I don’t believe you. That’s bullshit. You are bullshit.”

A smile tugged further at Hiro’s lips. “I swear I’m not lying. I got accepted to SFIT.”

“Why are you really here? Is it actually because you’re a pathological liar?” You drilled. Graduating early wasn’t super uncommon but graduating early and getting accepted to a prestigious university like SFIT was insanity. “You’re telling me you graduated at fifteen and got accepted to a top school like SFIT?”

“Well I actually graduated at thirteen.”

“You are such a liar!” You reiterated once again. If he graduated at thirteen that must have meant he was nine when he started high school. No fucking way. “Prove it to me.”

“Well my acceptance letter is at home but sure I’ll show it to you.” He finished up his lemonade pop and licked the remaining ice chunk off the stick.

You scoffed. “And give you time to print a fake one out? No, the second you get home send me a picture of it.”

Just like that you exchanged phone numbers. While typing in each other's numbers Hiro realized this was the first time he’d laughed with someone in weeks and it actually felt really nice. But it was overridden by a feeling of guilt. Why did he feel so guilty? He just laughed with someone he found funny. Why did feeling a small bit of true joy after his brother's death make him feel so obnoxious? Almost like he was rubbing it in someone's face. Or like he was doing it to purposely hurt someone.

It’s weird thinking you know loss but then life gives you the finger and proves you wrong. Hiro lost both his parents, that’s plenty of loss for anyone. But he was only three when it happened so what did he really understand about it? Hiro has always been told he’s smart and rightfully so. With an IQ of roughly 210 it’s a correct assumption to make. But if losing his brother has taught him anything, it’s that he knows nothing about shit that really matters.

Hiro really hated the waves. A brochure on grieving a doctor had given him said that the heaviness of grief episodes will wax and wane. In good there will be bad but in bad there will be good. But it will never be the same. Talking with you actually felt like something that wasn’t soul crushing numbness but a wave of guilt and overthinking immediately followed it.

Nothing would ever be the same.

While Hiro was wrestling with such a random wave of heavy feelings you looked up from typing his number into your phone. “Wait, I just realized I don’t know your name.”

He snapped out of his small daze and looked you dead in the eyes. “Hiro,” He gave you a small smile and held out his hand for you to shake. “My name’s Hiro.”

You gracefully smiled back at him and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you Hiro. I’m y/n.”