#Sagging Cheeks Treatments

[brailsthesmolgurl]

"Who is this Karen?"

Preview: How the boys react to a Karen lashing out at you?

Warnings: Slightly longer read than usual, but you get to see how they talk smack to a Karen for disrespecting you :>

ZAYNE

You stood in line, awaiting for your turn to get into the popular restaurant that you and Zayne were planning to try out. Zayne had dropped you off in order to search for a parking spot, claiming that it is way more efficient for one to just wait in line. Right when it was about to be your turn, you stood up, smoothing your skirt and stepped up towards the reception table but someone had beat you to it, pushing you physically to get you out of their way, risking you nearly stumbling. "Hey." You reprimanded the lady in the big red coat, her head tilting towards you with a scrunched up frown on her face. "You can't just do that, you have to line up according to your turn."

The lady scoffed and simply waved her hand off, mocking you in a tone you had never heard from anyone in your life. "Apparently you do not know that this restaurant runs on a star rating don't you darling? First-comers like you should shut up and wait while VIPs like me deserve to be tended to first." You were in a state of disbelief, slack-jawed, fists tightened, ready to mutter a string of colourful curse words in front of this lady before a hand gripped onto your shoulders and you turned.

Zayne stood next to you, assessing the situation that he had spotted from afar as he was coming closer to the restaurant. "Are you alright?" He glanced down towards your legs, to spot for any injury but when he noticed nothing stood out, he rubbed your back as a comforting gesture before he stepped forth towards the woman. "Excuse me." He stated and the lady turned, with the same expression as the first time. "I believe you have to be in line. It wasn't right for you to push someone just to get in front of the line."

"You are not the restaurant owner, talk to me again and I will call the police." Her voice was up an octave now, clearly offended at the both of you calling her out on her mistakes. "This is a restaurant that runs on point systems! Do your research before coming onto me you brats!" Zayne seemed indifferent towards her, she is just like another patient of his that may be suffering a psychotic episode amidst treatment. It is no stranger to a doctor of his calliber.

"Scream much more, and you will get wrinkles on your face." Zayne drew air signs, marking out the spots on her face. His tone was collected, informative even. "Your lips are peeling and your skin is sagging on the edge of your jaw. If I were you, I would get myself checked out for any cardiac anomalies." His statement made the lady gasped in horror, hands immediately flying up to touch her cheeks. Zayne only took his phone out and showing her his medical ID. "Just some words of advice from a fellow cardiac surgeon. You should not delay any further, I think your heart requires immediate attention." He quirked an eyebrow and watched as the lady panicked, albeit judging him silently under her breath and stepping off to get back into her car (that was parked illegally by the street) to leave.

With the lady leaving, the both of you managed to secure your seats fairly quickly. Walking into the restaurant, you turned to ask Zayne about the diagnosis earlier on and he replied with a soft chuckle. "It works once you flash them the ID." He pulled out the chair for you as he always would, waiting for you to be seated before he continues, seating himself down. "No harm in fighting stupidity with stupidity."

RAFAYEL

"So, today we will be going to this beach that I had always been talking about. Are you excited?" Rafayel turned his head over to you when he is at a red light, smiling at you and taking your smaller hand into his. He placed a chaste kiss onto the back of your hand and proceeded to rev his engine when the lights turned green. The date had been planned for more than a week as Rafayel was busy with exhibitions and you too, with your own work. Hence, when the time comes for the both of you to meet, it is only natural for your boyfriend to plan for a romantic getaway.

Approaching the beach, you could taste the brine in the air when Rafayel had opened the roof on his convertible to let you get a better view of the ocean. The seas are mimicking the skies, one owning dashes of sparkles while the other has fluffy cotton balls hung on them, both adding up to be a picturesque scene. It was a right choice for Rafayel to make judging by how enamoured you are with the scene ahead of you. He revved into a driveway and parked right next a red sedan, alerting the lady next to them. "Who do you think you are?" She immediately questioning, sunglasses pushed up onto the top of her head when she squinted her eyes to get a better view of the both of you. "You are going to hit my car!"

Rafayel nonchalantly got out of the car, hands thrown up in an act of surrender. "Lady, calm down. We mean no harm." He then sauntered over to your side to open your side of the door, holding his hand out for you to take, all while still trying to hold a reasonable conversation with the lady who had not stopped accusing him of wanting to hit her car. "As I've said lady, I do not have the wish to hurt anyone. I apologise if my skills scared you." Due to his indifference, it only got the Karen riled up, stomping out of her car and coming right up to both of you. Rafayel instinctively shielded you, his height still towered over the woman.

"THIS IS MY BEACH AND YOU DO NOT HAVE THE RIGHT TO TRESSPASS, YOU HEAR ME YOUNG MAN?!" She angrily pointed a finger at him, her bikini suggested she is here for the beach as well. "So it is either you both get the hell out of here, or I am calling the cops." Grabbing her phone out of her small clutch, she begin dialing the number on it and pressing it to her ear. You looked towards Rafayel with a worried expression, but he only held a smirk as he listened in on her conversation. "Yes! This man with a convertible is trying to kill me in a crash--yeah, okay you talk to him!"

Then she handed her phone over to Rafayel, which he took into his hands and pressed it against his ear. For a man who seemingly 'broke-the-law', Rafayel is not taunted. "Hey there, yeah. Yeah that's me. Yeah, she is claiming that this beach belongs to her." His eyes glinted a hint of playfulness, smile widening at the Karen. "Can I report this for tresspassing or...okay, yeah, I'll call you back if she starts anything on MY BEACH." Specifically emphasising his words, the woman choked onto her breath, looking at Rafayel as he gave her back her phone and tilting his head, still smiling. "A word of advice, next time, if you're gonna play with fire, just be ready to get burned, yeah?"

SYLUS

Sylus would rather be surrounded by thousands of the strongest wanderers now than to be in the grocery store with you right now. This burly, manly man does not see himself to be a fitting piece of a puzzle within a grocery store. Everywhere his eyes darted, he catches sight of men with beer bellies pushing carts with babies while referring to a long, floor-panning grocery list, or a mother who has too many children to provide welfare for, or maybe a family where most of the time the wife is the ruler of the house. No, Sylus is not a sexist, he just holds too much of an ego for his masculinity that he feels like he does not belong in a grocery store. Staring down at you, he sighed inwardly. Regardless of what he had thought of, what he held as a belief, here he is still, nothing different than those wife-pleasers he witnessed littered all over the store.

“How long are we going to be here for?” He groaned, holding up the basket slightly higher when you had gotten your pick of the better watermelon. “N109 does not run by itself given its current glory you know.” His mockery only got you rolling your eyes at him. You would admit, he is a scary man for the eyes, but once you had gotten to know him, gosh, this man would bow to puppy eyes and wheedling words. Feeling your throat getting scratchy again, you pointed at the vitamin water that was placed in the basket and Sylus cracked open the cap then handed it to you. You gulped the drink down your throat, trying to gain moisture to rid it of the scratchy feeling before you felt someone tapped on your shoulder and you turned around.

The lady who tapped your shoulder was skinny, body the shape of a trunk and with hair so blossoming that Sylus may have outwardly mocked her to be a tree. But the man does watch his mouth whenever he is around you. “Young lady, you can’t drink from the bottle like that without paying for it! That is called stealing!” Her loud exclamation got some people turning their heads and you could feel the embarrassment crawling up your back. You fumbled with the cap and was about to say sorry before your boyfriend took up the space next to you, his 6”2’ height made the woman looked like a garden gnome, with weird tree-like hair.

“Why can’t she? She is paying for it afterall.” The corners of his lips curled up, but it resembled an amused smirk rather than a smile as he watched the lady below him started to act out. If he were to be alone right now, there is no doubt that this woman would perish before she could utter another word. But, as what he had always believed in, violence is only to be utilised strategically. And using it on this lady, in front of you, in a public area, would result in serious consequences, so he decided not to. But, this does not mean he would back down either.

“You are supposed to buy things before you consume them. Don’t you know how the law works?” The lady was clearly pissed, voice raising even higher to create a scene. “I am going to call the store manager on you to get you and your girlfriend reported for stealing!” At this rate, she would only cause more trouble than necessary. Sylus simply clicked his tongue with a ���tch’ and he tilted his head slightly, his right eye taking colour of a bright scarlet. Then, you watch as the woman in front of you tripped over nothing and she fell face-first. You gasped, wanting to go forward to help her but an unseeable force held you back and it got you figuring out the cause of her trip. Sylus was using his energy manipulation skills to get her to practically trip on air.

“Let’s go.” Without wasting anymore time, he grabbed onto your hand, his smirk widening as he lead you to walk through the aisles to get to the counter to check out your items. When he was confronted with why he did that, the confident man simply quirked up one of his thick eyebrow and retaliated. “You think I would back down easily if anyone comes at you like that princess? I would downplay the act of punishment for your sake, but I won't stay idle like a trophy husband sweetie.”

XAVIER

Xavier had came up with the idea to bring you along for some clothes shopping for the upcoming team building event which involves a masquerade ball. A couple of days ago, he had to sit through hours of you sifting through your closet, looking for any gowns that could be reused for the second time until you reached the realisation that you do not own a gown because 1) it’s not practical and 2) it’s a huge waste of money and 3) it does not fit your usual aesthetic for clothings.

"How about this one?" Xavier asked when he pointed at a store with ball gowns being displayed at their windows. Observing your hesitation to step into the store, he grabbed onto your hand and started leading you towards it. The pull was a bit of a drag however as you were stumping your feet onto the ground from wanting to enter such a boujee store. God knows how much those dresses would cost. "It's alright y/n, I will pay for it okay? You don't have to fret about a gown for days. Come on."

After getting assisted by the salesperson, you had managed to pick out a few outfits and you slotted yourself into one of the fitting booths to try them on. At the meantime, Xavier sat on the bench outside, scrolling through his phone mindlessly while he waited for you. He noticed a shadow loomed over him and he looked up, seeing a lady in her mid-40s looking down at him. "Is someone in the fitting booth?" Xavier nodded his head in return, stating that his girlfriend is inside. "Can you ask her to hurry up a little? I am pressed for time and I need to try on this outfit."

"Guess you will have to wait till she is done. She is only at her first dress." Xavier spoke calmly, already sensing discomfort from the way the lady had spoken to him. The curtain to the fitting booth then slid opened and you stepped out, adorning a blue sequin dress that matches the shade of Xavier's irises and he smiled in return, standing up and blatantly ignoring the lady as he walked up to you, gesturing his finger for you to turn and to show him the full outfit.

It was a sweet moment until you were interrupted. "Can you hurry up missy? I am in a rush and I need to try this on." She held up a dress in her hand, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. "FYI, this dress does not fit you, you look fat in it." Your eyes were widened immediately when the lady mocked you. When you turned to Xavier, he too, bear the same expression as you but he was quick to recover.

"I don't think that is a nice thing to say when you should be the one to look at yourself in the mirror." His jab at the lady made her face immediately turned red, all adrenaline rushing towards her head. Xavier crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head while sighing. "I guess there is no need for you to try on that dress of yours, because I'm pretty sure it won't fit you."

And the next thing you know, the lady was rambling, shouting towards the employees for being mistreated but here you stood, next to Xavier, who is not one bit phased by her behaviour. Your boyfriend only watches the show unfold in front of him, and pats the top of your head, smiling at you. “She started it first, I figured if it wasn’t for her, I would have fell asleep waiting for you to be done with your fittings.” And you gave him a hard punch against his shoulder.

[corruptedcaps]

Maid for it

“Another day, another mess.” Issy muttered, pushing the door open and stepping into the dim, stale air of the nightclub. Sammy followed close behind, tying her graying hair into a loose bun.

“I don’t know how they do it.” Sammy said, squinting at the leftover chaos. Empty glasses, glittering confetti, and half-crushed cans scattered across the sleek floors. “Every weekend, they come in here acting like they own the place. No respect for anything but themselves.”

Issy snorted, picking up a crumpled cocktail napkin. “The youth of today. They think the world revolves around them. Everything’s a selfie, a status update.”

“Right? Did you see that girl last week when we were on the night shift, the one in the sparkly dress? Spent more time filming herself than dancing.” Sammy shook her head, grabbing the mop.

“Remember when we used to go out? Actually had fun without needing an audience.” Issy said grabbing a trash bag.

Sammy smiled. “Good times, Issy. Good times.”

Issy looked around the club, hands on her hips. “So, where should we start?”

Sammy, already eyeing the far end of the room, groaned. “We should flip for the bathrooms. You know they’re always the worst. I swear, they must turn into animals in there after midnight.”

Issy pulled a coin from her pocket, holding it up with a smirk. “Heads, you do the bathrooms. Tails, I’ll take the hit.”

Issy flicked the coin into the air. It spun, catching the dim light, before landing in her palm. She peeked and grimaced. “Tails. Dammit.”

Sammy chuckled. “Good luck in there. I’ll take the bar.”

With a sigh, Issy grabbed her cleaning supplies and headed toward the bathrooms. The door to the ladies’ restroom creaked open, revealing the usual chaos. Loose makeup smeared across the countertops, lipsticks rolling about, and a few forgotten articles of clothing thrown haphazardly on the floor.

“Same old, same old.” She muttered, shaking her head. As she wiped down the counter, something caught her eye. There, lying next to an abandoned sequined purse, was a black wig.

Issy barely had time to blink before the black wig sprang to life, leaping from her hands and onto her face. “What the hell—!” She gasped, stumbling backward as it crawled across her skin like a living thing.

The wig slithered up her cheeks and over her eyes, settling firmly on top of her head. She reached up to tear it off, but just as her fingers touched the strands, a sharp, sudden pain pierced her scalp, like dozens of tiny needles burrowing in.

“Ow!” Issy yelped, frantically tugging at the wig, but it was on tight, as if fused to her head. Her hands shook, and as the seconds passed, a strange warmth spread through her body. Subtle at first but soon, it grew into an intense heat, like something was shifting beneath her skin.

She stumbled toward the mirror and froze. Her wrinkled skin, the creases she had grown accustomed to over the years, began to smooth out. The sagging around her chin and eyes lifted, disappearing before her eyes. Her body shrank, her waist narrowing, her arms slimming.

Her breath caught in her throat. “What... what’s happening to me?” She whispered, her voice sounding younger, sharper.

Issy stood frozen in front of the mirror as the transformation continued. Her chest began to swell, her old bra straining as her tits grew larger, fuller, and perkier. The sight made her gasp, her hands instinctively moving to her chest, feeling the unfamiliar weight.

“Oh my god.” She groaned as her hands grasped her new sensitive boobs.

Her lips plumped next, slowly puffing out until they were full and glossy, as if she'd just had an expensive treatment. Her fingers twitched as her nails elongated into perfectly manicured, polished claws, no longer the brittle, chipped things she had grown used to. Every detail, every change, unfolded right before her eyes in the bathroom mirror.

At first, her mind raced in panic. “This isn’t right! What’s happening to me?” She could barely recognize herself. Her body was no longer that of a middle-aged woman, but something else entirely. A younger version of herself, but not even that. This version of her was more idealized, almost like one of the women she’d see strutting around the nightclub, basking in attention.

“This... feels kind of... good.” She murmured, a smile creeping across her face.

Issy’s smile widened into a full, self-satisfied smirk as she admired her reflection. She couldn’t stop staring and why would she? She was perfect. Her body was flawless, every curve exactly where it should be, her skin glowing like it had been airbrushed. Her lips curled as she traced a finger along her jawline.

“God, I’m gorgeous.” She purred, the words tasting sweet on her tongue. She tilted her head, catching the light just right, and let out a soft laugh. “No wonder those girls spend all night taking photos. If I looked like this every day, I’d never stop looking at myself.”

Her eyes gleamed as she adjusted her stance, taking on a more bratty posture. “How could anyone not be obsessed with me?” She purred, running her hands over her hips, admiring the perfect hourglass figure staring back at her. She turned, posing, admiring herself from every angle.

Now, she felt invincible, untouchable. No one could match her. Not even the sluts she cleaned up after. “I’m better than them. Better than everyone.”

Issy’s breath caught in her throat as the words echoed in her mind. “Better than everyone.” She repeated slower, taking in the gravity of the statement, the condescension of the words. She blinked, suddenly horrified by the vanity consuming her.

“What am I saying?” She whispered, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. This wasn’t her. She wasn’t like those girls, shallow and self-absorbed. She was… a good person, wasn’t she?

“No!” She muttered, forcing herself to look away from the mirror. Her hands shot up to her head, fingers gripping the wig. She tugged, trying to pull it off, but it wouldn’t budge. Instead, a tingling sensation crept across her skin as the hair started to defend itself by hitting her with more changes.

Her maid’s uniform tightened around her body, the fabric hugging every new curve as it shrank higher and higher, separating at the middle. The bottom part morphed into a slick, black leather skirt, clinging to her like a second skin.

The top part relaxed and in fact became bigger, becoming a luxurious and decadent, fur coat draping over her shoulders. Her sensible work bra followed in her new skirts footsteps by turning into a tight leather tube top.

Issy’s hands dropped from her head and ran over the leather, feeling the smooth texture, her fingers grazing the fur. “It’s perfect.” She said, her bratty tone returning and a smirk creeping back onto her face despite herself. She twirled, watching the coat flare out.

She looked better than any girl she had seen walk in or out of that club and the feeling was intoxicating. She knew could any wan eating out of the palm of her hand with just a look. As a maid she was invisible, but looking the way she did now who could ignore her?

And yet there was still a voice in the back of her head urging her, begging her to rip the hair off. The hair was giving her a body to die for but it was also making her more conceited and vain.

“No! This isn’t right! Ohhhh fuck but it feels sooo good! No I have to end it before it’s too late.@ she groaned.

Using what resistance she still had in her, she reached up and grabbed the hair in her hands. Her pretty nailed fingers wrapping around as many strands as possible. With one big tug she hoped it could at least come a little loose but the hair had one last card to play.

All at once Issy felt a surge of heat flow to her pussy and she felt it tighten to an extreme she didn’t know was possible. The very act was making her cum like never before, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“Ohhhhh goddddd yessss!” She moaned loudly. Images of hot guys railing her in the very bathroom she was in filled her mind and made her cum again. She pictures herself strutting through the club like it was a buffet, choosing any man she wanted. She would be the best sec they ever had and she would make sure they spoilt her as rotten as her soul.

“Why fight it?” The thought slithered into her mind like an invader she couldn’t argue with. “I deserve this.”

Issy’s eyes rolled back to normal but there was a change instantly in them. They were no longer soft and caring eyes, instead they sparkled with spoilt narcissism. She stared at her reflection, the smirk growing wider, her eyes gleaming with pride. “Of course I fucking deserve this.” She said, the words slipping out effortlessly. She felt a surge of power, a thrill that coursed through her veins.

“I’m never going back to being some fucking loser maid again.” She declared, her voice full of conviction. The memory of her old self, ordinary and invisible, was pathetic. She sneered at the thought.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Sammy’s voice echoed off the tiles. “Issy, are you ok in here? I heard a moan of pain.” She called, her tone impatient. But as she stepped inside, she froze, her eyes going wide. “What the hell…?”

Standing in front of the mirror was a woman Sammy barely recognized. Issy, or at least what was left of her, turned slowly with a bored expression. “Relax loser, haven't you ever seen perfection before. Of course you haven’t just look at you.” She drawled, rolling her eyes.

Sammy’s jaw dropped as Issy picked up a glittering sequin bag from the counter. Unzipping it, she pulled out a thick wad of cash, a grin spreading across her face. “Look at this, my day just keeps getting better.” Issy purred.

Sammy stepped forward, her voice shaking. “Issy I don't know what happened to you, but you can't keep that cash and we need to get you help to reverse whatever the hell happened to you!”

Issy scoffed, flipping through the cash. She playfully put it up to her face like it was a telephone. “Hello police? Yes my friend put on a sexy black wig and turned in to the hottest bitch I've ever seen. Get real loser, even if there was a way to reverse this why the fuck would I want to go back to that pathetic loser I was?”

Sammy grabbed her by the arm. “Because this isn't you, Issy.”

Issy yanked her arm free, her eyes flashing. “You're right, I'm not Issy anymore. That weak, invisible woman is dead. I’m Bella now. And Bella gets everything she wants.”

Sammy’s heart raced as she backed away, her eyes darting between Bella and the door. “I’m going to find help. We’ll figure out how to take that wig off, Issy, I swear.” she said, her voice firm but shaking.

Just as Sammy reached for the door, Bella moved with lightning speed, slamming it shut with a loud bang. Sammy froze, staring at her in disbelief. “What are you doing?” She asked, fear creeping into her voice.

Bella leaned in, her eyes gleaming with a dark, twisted delight. “I can’t have anyone knowing about my wonderfully evil hair now can I? So, you’re just going to have to join me… Samantha.” She said slowly, her voice dripping with malice.

Sammy flinched at the sound of her full name, her body tensing as Bella ran her hands through her long luxurious hair, pulling thick chunks from her head that seemed to instantly regenerate. Without effort she twisted the clumps it into a sleek ponytail. Before Sammy could react, Bella flung it at her.

“No!” Sammy shrieked, trying to duck away, but the hair came to life midair, writhing and twisting like a serpent. It latched onto her arm, tightening with terrifying strength. Sammy gasped, frantically tugging at it, but the hair slithered up her arm, relentless, heading straight for her head.

“Get it off me!” She cried, her voice desperate. But Bella only smiled, cold and sinister.

“Don’t fight it, Samantha. You’ll love being a hawt bitch.” Bella purred.

Bella stood back, her arms crossed, watching with gleeful anticipation as the living hair slithered up Sammy’s arm and latched onto her head. Sammy let out a muffled scream, clawing at the strands as they dug into her scalp, but it was no use. The transformation had already begun.

Bella’s grin widened as she saw Sammy’s body start to change. Her chest swelled, her boobs growing fuller and rounder, the fabric of her cleaning uniform tightening around her frame. Sammy’s lips plumped next, growing into a pouty, perfect shape as if they had been touched by a masterful surgeon, designed to be prefect for dick sucking. Her wrinkles faded before Bella's eyes, years melting off her face as her skin smoothed into a flawless, youthful complexion.

Sammy’s body slimmed and reshaped, her figure becoming athletic and toned, curves in all the right places. Her old exhausted, middle-aged self was disappearing by the second. Bella felt a surge of satisfaction and pride watching the transformation unfold, seeing Sammy’s resistance fade.

Sammy’s eyes, once wide with panic, began to dull, her expression shifting from fear to something colder, more detached. Her lips, once trembling, now settled into a perfect, pouty smirk.

Sammy’s maid outfit began to shift, the fabric tightening and shrinking against her changing body. Her uniform morphed, the dull cloth replaced by sleek black leather that hugged her hips, forming a short, revealing skirt. Her top dissolved into a thin black string bra that left little to the imagination, her big tits barely being held by it.

A shiny black puffer coat materialized around her shoulders, draping loosely and adding a seductive edge to the ensemble.

Bella grinned in approval. “Now that’s more like it. Doesn’t that feel better, Samantha?”

Samantha turned to the mirror, her new reflection staring back with cold confidence. She ran her hands over her curves, admiring how her new clothes showed off her perfectly tight new body.

She turned to Bella, her eyes gleaming with approval. She took the cash from her friend’s hand and held it up to her face, mirroring the fake phone call Bella had done earlier. "Hello police? I want to report a crime. The crime of looking oh being a bad bitch." She said sticking her tongue out playfully.

“Thanks babe. You were right, I do love being a hawt bitch. I was meant to be this beautiful.” Samantha said, handing the cash back to Bella she turned back to her reflection. Bella sadled up next to her and the two beauties primped and admired themselves. Samantha grinned pushing her tits out at her reflection.

“We’re going to have so much fun. Imagine the broken hearts we’ll leave behind, the envious bitches watching us, desperate to keep up. We’ll show all those poser girls what it really means to be spoiled brats.” Bella said, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Samantha chuckled, tossing her hair back. “They’ll hate us, but they’ll wish they were us.”

Bella nodded. "Of course but they never will be because we were maid for this."

THE END

[ellieswifie]

Matt x reader living tgthr !! First moving in, mornings tgthr, cooking, who does which chores, etc.

living with matt

𐙚 blurbs!

MATT WAS BEYOND EXCITED WHEN YOU GUYS FINALLY MOVED IN WITH EACH OTHER. i mean before you guys even got your own apartment, you slept over at his shared house with his brothers numerous times, but it was about time you guys got a small place to yourself.

it’s nearly twelve o’clock and matt’s got his head resting on his elbow while watches you sleep peacefully. he’s got a meeting with his brothers in a couple hours, but he doesn’t even care. he loves laying in bed, your shared bed, until it’s mid afternoon. he’ll wait last minute to get out of bed because he loves hanging out with you.

your drowsy eyes began to open slowly but you don’t jump at matt looking at you, just as tiredly. you just smile, nudging your head further into the pillow. "morning matty." you whisper, moving your hand to your face to rub your eyes. his eyes follow your face, turning a tiny red.

"good morning." he only says. you glance over at the clock laid on the end table. your eyes widen slightly noticing how late it is and how late matt is getting out of bed.

"it’s almost time for you to go, why aren’t you dressed?" you question, rising up from the bed.

matt continues to watch in, unfazed and unbothered. "ive got some time to kill." he mutters, lifting from the pillow and reaching for your cheek. he pulls you close, planting a gentle kiss on your temple. "besides i wanted to get ready with you."

that’s how most mornings are with matt. he’ll wake up an hour or so before you, just to lay and wait for you to wake. he doesn’t love getting ready or eating without you.

same goes as for dinner plans and lunch. he will never eat without you if your at home with him. sitting at the table or the bar island with your meals just eating and talking is somehow comforting to him.

he never forces you to wash dishes either. since he’s home half the time, he’ll tidy up and let you rest from time to time. same goes for you when he’s been filing a lot with his brothers. you guys don’t set a chore list typically, but you know who and when that person does what.

you look at matt with a love sick smile. he’s pushing himself out of bed, and heading towards the master bath, sweat pants sagging. he turns back, toothbrush and paste in his hands. "what?"

"oh nothing." you laugh, shaking your head. "just wondering whose cooking brunch."

you find yourself crawling out of bed too in matt’s shirt and underwear. he catches a glimpse of your legs before you quickly slide into some pj pants hanging from the bed. you don’t know weather their yours or matt’s. you both live for the baggy clothes live and since you’ve moved in together, it’s impossible to track whose clothes belong to who.

matt laughs as he starts applying the tooth paste. "i ordered ihop? im for sure not in a cooking mood." he replied. that’s how things usually end. take out is you and matt’s best friend twenty for seven.

you nod as you walk into the bathroom, standing next to matt in the mirror. you smile at him through the mirror, just smiling. he raises his eye brows and you cover your face with the your hands.

you still can’t believe how amazing it is living with matt sturniolo. the princess treatment, the free wardrobe of clothes, and the amazing respect he brings in your relationship.

yeah you love this man.

[kingofbodyrolls]

End of the World: a Flickering Hope (m) | myg

every nation seems at war with themselves and everyone, but you and Yoongi manage to stay alive. Until the inevitable catches up to you and you desperately seek help. Will you find it before time runs out?

→ Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) �� Genres/AUs: post-apocalyptic, dystopian, survival, co-dependency to stay alive + heavy angst, fluff and minor smut with a very small sprinkle of comedy and hope for the future. → Tropes: established relationship → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 4k (it’s a shortie 🤭) → Warnings + triggers: protected sex (it’s very minor and not very detailed like I normally do), nuclear war (bombings), exposure to radiation, cancer (talks about treatment and cures (yes in this story there’s a cure for cancer 🥹)), dystopian world, everything is a wasteland, factions and segregation (the elite/rich vs everyone else),there’s also a bit of social commentary in it, anxiety attacks, hyperventilation, time skips, hope. It’s still angsty and grim, lol, but with a hopeful ending! → Author’s note(1): it got short (compared to what I usually write lol). It serves as a bridge between the first story (end of the world) and the spinoff (whalien52). I hope you enjoy it even though it’s short, and if you enjoy this dystopian world, I recommend reading the spinoff (it’s with Jimin as the male lead though).  → Read on AO3? [link]

[navi]: end of the world // end of the world: a flickering hope // shower drabble // whalien52 // end of the world: epilogue

“It feels like we’re at the end of the world,” you murmur, gazing out at the blue ocean, mesmerized that at least something still looks the same. The rest of the landscape is a stark contrast, a wasteland ravaged by endless bombings.

“Yeah, it kinda does,” Yoongi muses with a chuckle, gently nudging your shoulder.

“Do you think this war will ever stop?” you ask, hope mingled with despair. Over half a year has passed since the first bomb fell, and now it seems every nation is at war with itself and each other.

“When there aren’t more people left, maybe,” he replies, his voice rough, the morbid truth hanging heavily between you. The powerful few seem intent on death and destruction, and everyone else is left to suffer and die.

“I don’t get it. The whole world is going to die at this point,” you say, sagging to the ground beside Yoongi.

“True. But we’re not the ones in power. We can’t do anything about it,” Yoongi says, his voice steady and calm.

“They say on the radio that almost all countries are affected and there isn’t much land left like we used to know,” he adds, a frown etched on his face.

“God. I don’t want to listen to the radio anymore. I get so depressed hearing about it all,” you groan, “I almost want to throw the damn thing into the ocean. But it’s our only lifeline to civilization, I guess.”

He chuckles, “I get it. It’s fine if you don’t want to listen to the news. I’ll listen for you and tell you the important information if there’s any.”

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you lean in and kiss him on the cheek.

“Maybe we should move again,” Yoongi suggests. You both rise, packing your things and bags.

As you walk through the desolate land, the forests and bushes burned and charred, the road made bumpy by explosions, the sky alternates between a bright blue on days without bombings and a dark shade of gray whenever there’s more bombs falling.

But just seeing the blue sky on some days gives you a fragile flicker of hope for the future. Maybe things will be alright in the end? Are you delusional for thinking that? For still wanting things to go back to the way they were before the war? Deep down, you know it’s impossible to rewind time, yet you can’t help but yearn for a chance to prevent all this devastation. You’re neither a politician nor a soldier, nor do you want to be, but sometimes you wish you had their power and autonomy.

Rumors swirl about the remnants of your government reaching out to other nations for help, but with the entire world reduced to a wasteland, there’s no aid to be found, no refuge to seek. You glance down at your battered feet and worn shoes, the ash and dirt mingling in a grim testament to your journey. The sight makes you frown. Where should you head to now? The question hangs in the air, as heavy and uncertain as the gray clouds that often blot out the sun.

Honestly, you don’t know where you’re going— to safety? What is safety even in a world where every country is at war?

— 2 years later

You don’t know how, maybe through sheer luck, but you and Yoongi have managed to survive the worst of the war. Over two harrowing years of constant bombings, the omnipresent fear of death, and relentless fighting for your lives. Every minute has been a nightmare, an unending torment.

But now, there’s been an eerie silence. 

The bombings have ceased, and the world seems quieter—too quiet. You suspect there aren’t many people left. Most are probably dead. Only the lucky, the hardened survivalists like you and Yoongi, have made it this far. You’ve heard rumors about the wealthy sequestered in their bomb-proof bunkers. How fortunate for them. A shame you couldn’t afford such luxuries. Yoongi’s house lacked such a feature. It would’ve been nice to have been spared from this massacre, to have been sheltered from the relentless horrors.

You and Yoongi have set up camp in a desolate wasteland. Nature is gone, replaced by a sandy, barren expanse. You’ve made a small bonfire to keep warm—it’s the middle of winter now. Though you have each other to stay warm at night, a fire is always a welcome comfort, even if it risks attracting unwanted attention. But you’re prepared for that. You still have your weapons, and Yoongi has taught you to aim better. You feel a grim satisfaction in being prepared, wishing you’d taken such precautions before the bombings. But it’s never too late to learn, right?

“Have you heard any news about civilization?” you ask Yoongi, warming your hands over the small fire.

“Only that people are trying to gather and rebuild slowly… but they don’t agree on how things should be, now that the regular government has fallen,” he shrugs, his shoulders weighed down by the burdens of survival. Yoongi has been your rock since you met, always listening to the radio for news when it depresses you too much.

“Figures,” you pout, rolling your eyes. “There’s probably going to be a fight for power,” you chuckle bitterly. It wouldn’t surprise you. People are so fucking predictable. You don’t want a part of it, but if it affects you, you’ll do whatever you must to live comfortably.

“I hate what this has done to nature,” Yoongi sulks, kicking sand into the fire in frustration. “I mean, I miss the trees. The green colors. Even grass. That feeling of being barefoot on grass. I miss it so much.”

You nod, agreeing completely. God, you miss that too. Or a nice shower. Damn. You haven’t had one since Yoongi’s house. The thought makes you sad, makes you clench your fists in anger. 

You hate this world and everything it has become.

Sometimes you wonder if it would have been better to die, like your friends. But you quickly banish those thoughts. It’s not fair to your friends or to everyone else who’s dead. You’re alive, and you have to make the best of it, even though everything sucks and nothing will ever be the same again.

“I also miss sleeping in a bed. Like on a nice mattress. Fuck. There are so many things I miss,” Yoongi adds, his voice thick with emotion. Reminiscing about the things he misses brings him great pain.

“Yeah,” you say, placing your hand on top of his. “But at least we still have each other.”

“Yes. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he smiles at you, and you think he looks so handsome and beautiful, his cute nose and jaw—everything about him is amazing. His rough yet soft features. You love him so much. He has done so much for you. You’ll forever be in debt to him.

— 4 years later

“My feet are so sore, Yoon,” you pant, feeling the throbbing pain from days of relentless walking, the swelling making each step a new ordeal.

“Let’s take a break. We’ve been walking for days. Let’s set up camp,” he rasps, his voice rougher and more hoarse with time, a result of exposure to the relentless elements or something else, something you both fear to name.

Dropping your backpacks to the ground, Yoongi sets up the tent while you sit down, finally giving your weary legs a rest. Your gaze drifts to the sky, now filled with white clouds—a stark contrast to the endless gray you’ve grown accustomed to. Four years ago, you never thought you’d see white clouds again, let alone a glimpse of blue sky. It makes your heart clench with a fragile hope, a hope for a future you scarcely dared to dream about, yet desperately cling to. On the rare days when the sun breaks through the perpetual gloom, you savor its warmth and light.

“We’re almost out of food,” Yoongi states, coughing slightly before sitting next to you. You lean into him, seeking comfort in his presence.

“It’s okay. I wish we could forage from nature. We can make it,” you say, your voice tinged with hope as you lace your fingers with his. Both of you are exhausted—tired of walking, tired of running. Ever since the war started four years ago, you’ve been on the move, searching for safety. The world was bombed into oblivion, and those who survived scattered, fighting for their lives. The old people in power have regrouped, forming the New World Order, a ruthless regime bent on controlling what is left of civilization. They keep many secrets, information they don’t want the scattered remnants of humanity to know. The New World Order hunts anyone who opposes them, which is why you stay hidden, moving in the shadows. Various resistance groups have sprung up, each fighting back, but they are fragmented, hard to keep up with.

“Yeah, but for now, we still have some food left. Let’s eat,” he says, hugging you tightly as if afraid he might lose you.

You follow his lead, retrieving rations from your packs. Food is scarce, but you’ve learned to live off minimal portions just to stay alive. Begging for food in a city is a last resort; stealing is even lower on your list, but survival drives you to consider the unthinkable.

Eating is a relief, filling your empty stomachs. After your meal, you and Yoongi head into your tent. It’s battered and full of holes, but it provides a semblance of shelter, a fragile barrier against the harsh world outside.

Inside the tent, Yoongi massages your tired feet, his touch soothing the ache from days of relentless walking. You nestle into each other, your lips finding each other in a desperate dance. Your breaths mingle, turning into soft moans that punctuate the silence of the night.

“I want you, love,” Yoongi pants. The way he calls you ‘love’ now always makes your heart race, your face flush. You’ve been in love with him for a long time, and every time he says it, it reminds you just how deeply.

“I want you too. Please, make love to me. I need you,” you quiver, your desire for him skyrocketing. This need always peaks at night or in the mornings, a burning hunger that drives you into each other’s arms on the daily.

Yoongi undresses you with a feverish urgency, and you help him out of his clothes. Your kisses become needier, as if you’re afraid this might be the last time. His lips trail down your neck, and you moan, feeling like you’re in heaven. He grabs a condom—you’d used up that box of 500 pieces a long time ago, but thankfully Yoongi managed to find some in a city you passed through, because bringing a child into this shattered world is the last thing either of you wants. Fuck the fact that you don’t have money. But you don’t have money for a child either.

He strokes himself, grunting low and lustful, then rolls the condom on. He nudges your slick entrance, always ready for him, always needing him. He guides himself into you, filling you completely, and you both gasp at the sensation. His hands find yours, fingers lacing together, grounding you in the moment.

He starts to thrust, slow and steady, each movement deliberate and sensual. “I don’t ever want to lose you,” he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion. He presses down on you, his forehead resting against yours, eyes closed in a deep breath before he opens them again. “I feel like we don’t have much time.”

You look at him, puzzled by his sudden anxiety. “Why?”

“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling I have,” he says, his lips meeting yours again.

When he pulls away, you try to reassure him. “Everything will be okay. We’ll make it.”

He hums, increasing the speed of his hips, thrusting deeper. “I love you,” he whispers, his hand finding your clit, rubbing circles that send waves of pleasure through your body. Your climax builds quickly, and you release around him, your moans mingling with his name, telling him how much you love him, how lucky you are to have him.

He kisses you deeply, and with a grunt, he finds his own release, filling the condom. You both pant for air, and he rolls to the side, discarding the condom in the corner of the tent. He spoons you, your hearts beating in sync, the warmth of his body a comforting shield against the cold, uncertain world outside.

In the quiet aftermath, you feel a fleeting sense of peace. Despite everything, you have Yoongi, and in this moment, that feels like enough.

The next morning, your feet feel somewhat better, but you know you’ll have to walk again today. You and Yoongi eat a sparse breakfast, trying to ignore your dwindling food supply. At least you still have clean water.

As you pack up, Yoongi looks at you with a serious expression. “I think I’m getting sick,” he says, and your heart drops. This is what you’ve been dreading. It’s his cough, isn’t it?

Forcing optimism in this shattered world, you give him a wry smile. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe we should head to one of the cities near the Capital. There might be a good doctor there who can look at you.” You smile, clinging to hope, because you can’t afford for him to be sick. 

You can’t afford to lose him. 

You don’t want to be alone. 

You need him and you love him.

Relax. Deep breath. Yoongi’s soft eyes meet yours, and you do your best to steady your thoughts and your breathing. An anxiety attack won’t solve anything.

“I think that’s a good idea,” he says with a smile, grabbing your hand and tracing light circles in your palm. “It’s okay. It will be okay.”

You pack up the rest of your things and start the trek towards the Capital. You don’t want to enter the Capital itself, knowing The New World Order’s presence makes survival there impossible. Your best bet is a suburb with a good doctor.

Hand in hand, you walk, one foot after the other. Many breaks for water and pee breaks make progress slow. You have to set up camp again, and the days stretch into weeks. The journey on foot is grueling, and the scenery is a bleak reminder of the war—cracked roads, sand and dirt, burnt patches, and ash-covered areas. You hate it, the stark contrast to the life before the war, but it’s also how you met Yoongi. At least one good thing came out of it.

You don’t know how long you’ve been walking, but at least you have each other, unlike the last time you ventured out for safety. Both of you are immensely tired, feet sore, but then you spot it in the distance: a small city just before the Capital.

The Capital and its surrounding cities have been rebuilt since the war, their new structures futuristic looking; cold and distant. You miss the comforting feel of home.

“You see it too, right? It’s not just my mind playing tricks on me?” you ask in disbelief, eyes fixed on the city ahead.

“It’s there, you’re not crazy, love,” Yoongi chuckles beside you, his hand still in yours as you will your bodies to make it to the city.

It’s small, barely more than a dirt road flanked by a few buildings. Calling it a city or even a town would be a stretch. As you walk through the deserted streets, hope wanes. Suddenly, a tall, muscular man with black hair steps into your path, and you collide with him.

You bump your head against his chest and groan, muttering an apology. When you look up, you see one of the softest faces you’ve ever seen on a man.

“No, it’s okay. It was my fault. I walked out in front of you,” he apologizes, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. You feel Yoongi’s hand freeze in yours, and you turn to see what’s wrong. His expression is one of sheer disbelief, as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Kook?” he utters, eyes wide with unmistakable recognition.

The stranger’s eyes widen, and then he bursts into a broad smile, opening his arms to embrace Yoongi. “Hyung!” he cries, tears streaming down his face as he squeezes Yoongi so tightly you fear he might break a few bones.

“You’re alive?” Yoongi asks, happiness lacing his voice as they step back from each other.

“Yeah!” Jungkook grins, his eyes soft and proud. “I made a survivalist camp. There are a few of us here; you’re welcome to join us.”

“Wow. We looked for you after the bombs. Went to your house, but it was destroyed. I thought the worst. But fuck, I’m so glad to see you again,” Yoongi says, tears in his eyes as he hugs Jungkook again, unwilling to let go now that he’s found him.

“I was fine. I made it out before things got bad,” Jungkook says, turning his gaze towards you.

Yoongi, sensing Jungkook’s curiosity, introduces you. “This is my better half. If we could get married in this time and age, I’d call her my wife.”

You blush at his words, knowing them to be true. Officially getting married is nearly impossible now, with the risk of exposing yourselves by going into the Capital for a license. You don’t need a label to know what you mean to each other.

“Oh, how cute! You survived the apocalypse together?” Jungkook asks, still smiling as he gestures for you to follow him.

“You could say that,” you reply, smiling as Yoongi tugs you along to follow Jungkook.

Jungkook leads you through the sandy street to a larger house in better shape than the others. Out front, a few cars and a motorcycle catch your eye; their sleek, futuristic design makes you wonder if they’re from the Capital. “This way,” Jungkook says, opening the door to the big house. Inside, the air is fresh and clean, the walls a washed white, the wooden floorboards creaking under your feet.

“Welcome to Whalien52,” he announces proudly. You hear rumbling noises and turn to see a group of guys rushing out from a nearby room, stopping in their tracks when they spot you and Yoongi.

Jungkook laughs. “This is the rest of the gang,” he says, pointing to the rowdy group now chuckling among themselves. You give them a small wave.

“Our resistance group is quite small, but each of us has a different skill set that comes in handy when dealing with The New World Order. Let me introduce everyone,” Jungkook says, beaming with pride as he highlights each member.

“This is Namjoon. He handles all our tech stuff,” he says, pointing to a tall man with silver hair who smiles at you.

“Excuse me, you have tech?” you ask in disbelief. It’s been so long since you’ve seen proper technology, let alone held your phone. Speaking of which, you haven’t seen your phone in years, probably left behind when the war started.

“Yeah, we make our own,” Namjoon says with a smile.

“Anyway,” Jungkook clears his throat, “this is Jimin. He’s our stealth and assassination guy.” He points to a man about the same height as Yoongi, with pink hair.

You gulp, realizing how invaluable such a skill would be against The New World Order.

“This is Taehyung. He’s our resident handyman,” Jungkook says, introducing another tall man, this one with blue hair.

“This is Hoseok. He’s the one who plans our missions and does recon,” Jungkook continues, pointing to a man with red hair.

“And lastly,” Jungkook says, pointing to a tall man with broad shoulders and a lab coat, “this is Jin. He’s a doctor.”

The introductions settle in, each name and role adding a layer of hope and security you haven’t felt in ages. Here, amidst the cracked roads and remnants of the old world, is a pocket of resistance, a flicker of defiance against the oppressive new order. You realize this group, this place, could be the sanctuary you and Yoongi have been desperately seeking.

Your eyes almost sparkle at the mention of Jin being a doctor, and relief floods you—maybe you don’t have to keep walking in search of help.

“Nice to meet you all,” Yoongi says, waving weakly and coughing. You notice Jin raising an eyebrow and moving closer to Yoongi.

“That cough doesn’t sound normal. How long have you had it?” Jin inquires, his eyes scrutinizing Yoongi.

“Yeah. But recently it’s gotten worse,” Yoongi admits, his voice hoarse and raspy.

“Come with me. I’ll check you out,” Jin says, gesturing for Yoongi to follow him into what looks like a makeshift clinic room. Yoongi lets go of your hand, and you spot a couch nearby. Sinking into it, you're grateful to be somewhere safe, with a roof over your head. Jungkook sits beside you, explaining how his camp started as a literal campfire gathering for war survivors, evolving into a resistance when they uncovered the government's dark secrets and withheld information.

Time seems to blur as Yoongi is examined. When he finally emerges, his face is pale, eyes hollow. Panic grips you as you rush to him, grabbing his hands. “What’s wrong, love?”

“Apparently... I have cancer,” Yoongi states blankly. Tears spill down your cheeks. This is your worst fear come to life. You cling to him, shaking your head in denial.

Jin steps out, his expression somber and apologetic. “I’m sorry for the bad news. Y/N, I think we should check you too. You’ve also been exposed to radiation,” he explains. You look into Yoongi’s eyes, seeing a mix of sadness, anger, and determination.

Biting your lip, you kiss his cheek, then follow Jin into the patient room. The air feels heavy with despair, but also with a flicker of hope. Here, among these survivors, you might find a way to fight back against the darkness that has consumed your world.

Jin examines you thoroughly, running blood tests and scans with machines you haven’t seen in years—machines you thought had been lost in the war. Perhaps Namjoon built them? You don’t ask. Fear keeps you silent, dread pooling in your stomach. What if you’re sick too? What if Yoongi is going to die?

Jin finishes his tests and leads you back to Yoongi. His face is grave as he begins to speak. “Y/N has breast cancer,” he says, frustration evident in his voice.

“But I don’t feel sick,” you protest, though you know it’s futile.

“It seems to be in the early stages,” Jin assures you. You grab Yoongi’s hand, seeking comfort.

“Yoongi has thyroid cancer, and it’s more advanced,” Jin continues, finally sitting down on a stool.

“What can we do? Is there a treatment or cure?” you ask, your voice trembling. You know cancer treatments exist, but in this world, such things seem out of reach—hoarded by The New World Order.

“There is,” Jimin says, stepping forward. His pink hair contrasts sharply with the bleak surroundings. “The New World Order has a cure for cancer, but they keep it tightly guarded.”

“They only care about themselves,” Hoseok grunts, rolling his eyes in disdain.

“Those people are selfish, hoarding information and research,” Namjoon says, clenching his fists. “Information should be free, not hidden behind a paywall.”

“It’s not even a paywall, Joon,” Jungkook interjects. “It’s exclusive to the elite. They don’t care about the rest of us.”

“Can we get this cure?” you ask, your voice small and uncertain.

“We can try. We don’t agree with their methods, and this cure is crucial. Many people are suffering from cancer due to radiation exposure,” Jungkook says, his hands clenching into fists. You notice the tattoos lining them, symbols of resilience and defiance.

“This is too much to ask,” Yoongi says, shaking his head.

“No, it isn’t, hyung. I want to help you and everyone else. This is our mission, right, Jimin?” Jungkook turns to Jimin, his eyes glinting with determination.

“Yeah,” Jimin replies, his voice light but resolute. “Let’s steal the cure and save humanity.”

In that moment, hope sparks within you. This ragtag group, against all odds, might just have the courage and skill to challenge The New World Order and reclaim the future.

→ The story continues in the spinoff ‘Whalien52’ (pjm x reader)  (it’s not the same reader though and Yoongi and this reader features in it)

→ Author’s note(2): I’m not entirely pleased with this sequel, because I had a hard time figuring out how much I should say, and again, I felt like most would be the same, lol— like what more can happen while the world is ending? Maybe I’m just not creative enough. I’m really in a tough spot with my writing, but I’m really trying, but I feel like everything is crap… Anyway, I think it works perfectly to set up the other part (spinoff) 🤷 Also; a big shoutout and thank you to @manipulatedstars for having the idea to make Jungkook run a survivalist camp 🥳💜

[piss-pumpkin]

The scorpion (Luke Castellan x reader)

This follows the plot of the books, but god damn Charlie’s kinda hot.

4.0k words, starts pre- tlt, established-ish relationship, gn reader

3 times you should have noticed + one time you did

1.

Luke was more than ready for his quest. The best swordsman at camp, a mentor to half the younger campers, dominating force in capture the flag, he was all of it. And more. If anyone knew that, it was you. 

So when he came back, face covered in a bandage stained red and brown, sword scraped and worn at his side, shoulder sagged and head hung… you weren’t the only one surprised. After the congratulations and the golden laurels for his and his bravery, it was straight to the infirmary.

You found him lying on one of the beds by the windows, the room empty. Looks like he was the only patient, today. 

“Hey,” you said softly, creeping up beside him, and pulling up a chair by his bedside. 

He didn’t sit up, but did turn his head on his pillow to face you. The medics had changed his bandage, it now a pristine and clean white, with only a streak of red down the centre, rather than the bloody rag form before. “Hey,” he sighed. 

He looked up at you with his big brown eyes, or… just the one eye, and finally sat up, gently taking your hand and thumbing over it. 

“Are you alright?” You couldn’t help ask. It felt like the obvious. He must have heard that question a hundred times since getting back. But maybe it’d be different coming from you. You leaned in closer, putting your other hand on his, too.

He frowned a moment, looking down at the pile of hands, then back at your face, and his eyes softened. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he relented.

”You’re tired of people asking that, aren’t you?” You questioned, trying to smile for him. 

He stifled a snicker. “Dead on, Y/n,” he said, shaking his head with a tired smile, “But hey, at least I know you care.” He punctuated himself by squeezing your hand. 

You smiled, and let go of him a moment. “Scoot over,” you said, gesturing in the air for him to move.

He chuckled, “bossy much? I’m the patient here,” he teased, moving over to make room for you. 

“Well, that doesn’t mean you get special treatment,” you said, shifting over from the chair to wriggling under the thin blanket sheet next to him. Shoulder to shoulder, sides to sides. You held his hand again, and he laced his fingers with yours. 

“You’re saying this isn’t special?” He chided, free hand in his heart to show you just how much your words could hurt.

You grinned, “Yes, I make a point to cuddle all the injured.” You worked your feet under his legs to keep them warm, snuggling further into his side. 

“I gotta do this more often, then,” he smiled, wrapping an arm around you.

”So,” you said, beginning to talk with your hands. “How was the quest? Gimme all the cool stories,” you laughed, looking up at him.

Your mouth fell ajar though, seeing how his face darkened, his grip loosening in your hand and around your shoulders. “It was… freedom,” he said, not meeting your eyes.

You shifted your weight side to side for a few beats, waiting for him to elaborate. But he didn’t. So you had to. “Did you like that?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “It’s like… being a regular teenager out there. When the monsters aren’t at your ass, you can pretend you’re normal,” he said. Maybe sneered. 

You blinked, stroking his palm with your thumb. “It must have been nice, then. To pretend,” you said, trying to get anything more from him. It was rare that Luke ever hid anything from you. His lack of details was… alarming. What happened on that quest?

”I wonder if I’ll ever get to leave again,” he scoffed. He brought a hand up to the bandage by his eye. “Probably not, considering this mess,” he spat. 

“Luke, we all have our battle scars,” you said, brushing a few stray hairs off the cloth. He leaned into your hand when you brushed his cheek, his lips pressing against your palm and the pads of your fingers. 

“At least yours mean something,” he said quietly. Angrily. “It was just a dragon, the one guarding the garden. It meant nothing. It was barely a fight. Just a bump in the road on a fools errand,” he said, words finally bubbling up. Exploding, even. And you realized just how upset he was. 

You swallowed, and took a breath. Carefully, you kicked the blankets off your feet, and shifted one leg over his lap to sit on him, across from him, looking straight into the one eye uncovered. You brushed his hair aside, and cupped his face in two hands. “It means something to me, Luke,” you said, softly and sternly. “Do you hear yourself? Just a dragon,” you laughed, gently thumbing over the bandage, tracing the line of blood with a ghost of a touch, lacking any pressure that might hurt him. “Dragons are scary, they’re a good fight, Luke,” you felt his hands rest on your hips. “This doesn’t mean nothing, it means you fought, and that…”

You trailed off a moment, caught up staring at him, while he waited for you to finish. You sighed, leaning your forehead on his, “it means you came back alive, Luke. Not everybody does.”

He leaned forward so slightly, so his lips brushed against your when he spoke. “No, they don’t, do they,” he said sadly. 

“But you did.”

Now it was his turn to brush hair out of your face, before he closed the impossible distance to kiss you. him. Your cheek brushed up against the bottom of the bandage.

     2.

You heard the faint hum of the cleaning harpies pass by your area of the beach, and sighed in relief. Your deal with them held strong. They left you alone when you snuck out late, and you supplied them with contraband, with the help of your Hermes cabin friends. And Luke.

Sneaking out past curfew was typically punishable by… them, whatever the harpies had in store. Sometimes threatening to eat you, or so you’d heard. But not for you and Luke. Never for you and Luke. So beach night it was. 

The air was cold, as late as it was. The water, too, when you dipped your toes in, you shuddered. So you and Luke lay stargazing on the sandy shore. Lucky you the weather barrier around camp wasn’t letting any clouds through tonight, it seemed every little star was visible. Reachable, even. 

”What do you think they do up there, all day?” He said, staring up at the stars, hands folded behind his head as a pillow. “On Olympus.”

You let out a small laugh, “I mean, are they even up there? Or are they down here having dumbass kids like us all day.”

Luke hummed a low hum. Maybe more like a grumble. “Gotta replace the ones that die on quests,” he said coldly, flaring up at the sky. 

Your eyes widened, and you shifted over sideways, moving the rocks and grains beneath you to lightly hit him. “Dude,” you said, trying to make eye contact. 

He didn’t bite, instead staring up, maybe past the stars beyond you, and sighed. After a moment, two, maybe three, he finally caved, turning only his head to look at you, and you saw his scowl soften. Carefully, he laid an open hand on the ground between you, and looked at you with tired eyes. 

You were always faster to give in. You sighed, placing your hand on his gently, tracing the lines on his palm before lacing your fingers together. “Luke, you know you shouldn’t say stuff like that,” you said.

He was quick to counter, just like he was with a sword. ”But am I wrong?” He squeezed your hand, almost pleading. 

You grimaced, not wanting to pull away, but struggling to keep your hand in his. He was warm, as always, but the cold creeping into his tone was enough to make you shiver. 

He waited for an answer. Or maybe he was just entranced by the stars. You sighed. You’d give him the benefit of the doubt this time, the sky was beautiful, it was easy to believe. “Luke, they’re gods,” you said carefully, trying to diffuse him. “Our lifetime for them is like, a minute. The morality of parenting is different for them, I think.”

He grumbled, but he was losing his fire. “Then they shouldn’t have us,” he sighed. “If they’re not going to care.”

You scooted closer, shoulder to shoulder, and pulled his hand onto your chest. “Luke, they do care… and if they didn’t have us,” you paused, letting a small nose laugh out. “Then we wouldn’t be here.”

Luke looked over to you, nose nearly touching yours. In the dark you could barely make out his features, but it was more than clear the fiery anger had died out into a dull simmer of disappointment. “If they cared, we wouldn’t have to fight for a scrap of their attention,” he scoffed. “You wouldn’t rather be a normal kid?”

You smiled, “no chance.” 

He raised his brow, clearly sceptical. “Y/n, we spend our whole lives in danger, at the mercy of monsters, and our parents who want nothing to do with us.”

”Luke,” you started, sitting up. You sat on your knees, shifting them closer him so they pressed against his side. You lightly rubbed a circle on his palm. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you said, as if it was obvious. “Luke, if we weren’t demigods, we wouldn’t have met. We wouldn’t get to spend our summers in like,” you laughed, punching him playfully in the stomach, “the best camp ever, and sword fight each other and our army of siblings.”

He stayed silent, looking up at you with tired eyes. Pretty eyes, in the starlight, and squeezed your hand. 

“Luke, I really think that-“ you paused to take a breath, looking out into the water. “-I think it’s all worth it,” you smiled down at him. “Despite everything.”

He sighed, sitting up beside you, shoulder to shoulder once more. His gaze softened when he looked at you, and you shivered slightly as he pulled your hand close to his lips to gently kiss your knuckles. “Maybe you’re right,” he relented. 

You laughed head butted his shoulder, “When am I ever wrong?”

He smiled, throwing his hands up in defeat, “Never, never,” he laughed softly. “I should never doubt you.”

“That’s more like it.”

3.

Percy was a natural. Not at many things, half the Apollo cabin was still traumatized from his archery incident, but he was remarkably good with the sword. Just one day with Luke and he was well on his way to best half the camp. Day two of his training, this time with you, went similarly well. 

There was a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, and he was nearly out of breath, his sword hanging low in his hand. “How-“ he started, putting his hands on his knees for balance. “How much more of this are we gonna do?” He panted. 

You snickered, sheathing your own weapon and crossing your arms, “You can be done, Perc.” 

You came up in front of him, and offered a hand. He took it by the forearm, heaving himself up, and stumbling forward. You held on tight, laughing as he found his footing. 

“You killed it, little dude,” you said, slapping him on the back. 

“You killed me,” he shot right back. 

You smiled, letting his hand go as you started to walk with him back to the cabins. “Hey,” you laughed, “you’re lucky it was me and not Luke.”

He nodded, and shook his head dramatically. 

He broke off before you could get to the Hermes cabin he called home, though. Saying he was going to hit the showers. You grinned as you playfully pushed him over in that direction, making some snide remark about how he stinks, despite the fact that you probably did, too. 

When he was gone, you started to walk faster, no longer accommodating for his tired legs. Your sights were still set on the Hermes cabin, and you practically hopped up onto the porch.

The door was always unlocked, and you didn’t bother knocking. “Heyyyy,” you said, swinging he door open. Luke had off hours from his chores, lucky for you. 

His back was to you, standing at his desk, seemingly engrossed in whatever was in front of him. He practically jumped out of his skin when you called. 

“Gods! Y/n,” he exclaimed, turning around stiffly, his desk still hidden behind him. He gripped the edges of it with white knuckles.

You squinted, pointing at him with a grin, “what’cha got there?” You asked, slithering up beside him. 

On the desk, rather mundane, was a cardboard box. Its contents, however, left you with wide eyes as you turned your head over to Luke, nudging closer to you were shoulder to shoulder with him. His muscles were stiff, and he turned back around to stare into the box with you. Inside, was a scorpion.

He sighed, looking away from you. “New pet,” he said softly. 

You leaned in closer to him, smile painting your lips. “A scorpion?” You asked, brow raised. “Really?” you looked down at it again, as it paced from one side of the cardboard to the other, and back again. “I’m a little surprised.”

He looked back at you, brow furrowed with some kind of concentration. “Yeah, I did some research though..” he looked down at the little creature. “Heard they made good buddies.”

You smiled, poking his cheek to steal his attention back. “Does it have a name yet?” You asked, almost teased.

His face softened when he looked at you, and he pushed off the desk with both hands. He stepped closer, leaning into you, resting his forehead on yours. 

“Careful, I might be sweaty,” you laughed quietly, bringing your hands to the back of his neck to tangle with his curls. 

“I don’t mind,” he smiled. “And no, she doesn’t have a name yet.” His nose gently rubbed against yours, and you closed your eyes, stealing a quick kiss, feeling his smile on yours. His hand traced your cheek, “Did you want to name her?”

You beamed, pulling back to look him in the eyes, “You’d let me?” You asked.

He snickered, shrugging his shoulders as his hand cupped your cheek, and you leaned your head into him. “Nobody I trust more,” he relented, smiling with his eyes in away you’d never seen before. 

You hummed, thinking aloud. “You give me too much power,” you chided, looking back down at the scorpion. To many choices. Cute name, silly name, badass name, old lady name, food name, noun name; you pursed your lips, considering the possibilities. 

Luke waited patiently, eyes transfixed on your face as you thought. 

“How about clurm?”

He stifled a laugh, breaking his gaze and his hold on you. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

You nodded happily, bridging the gap he created between you by pulling back. You locked your hands around his waist. 

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, wrapping his arms around you in turn. He was so warm, the way he enveloped you, burying you in his chest, much to your content. 

You stayed there for a few moments, maybe longer. You, Luke, and Clurm in the Hermes cabin, while all his siblings were training, or doing chores. And eventually, headed, you and Luke, to the dining pavilion, hand in hand. 

You idly chatted as you bounded along, swinging your arms between you. “You did really good teaching Percy with the swords yesterday,” you said, grinning. “When I worked with him today, he was surprisingly good.”

Lukes brow raised, and for a second you felt a tremor in his hand. “You were with Percy, today?”

”Yeah,” you grinned. “I gotta help you train your new favourite newbie, right?”

Luke looked away, nodding, “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I suppose he is, isn’t he?”

You smirked at him, playfully hitting him across the chest. “I think every newbie is, at some point, Luke,” you teased. “Just can’t resist taking them under your wing, can you?” You said, nudging him with your elbow. 

He shook his head, throwing his hands up in defeat, “Guilty,” he admitted, nearly a laugh in his voice. 

The dining pavilion was maybe half full. Not bad considering you were a little early. You walked together to get plates.

      The time you did.

They were back. Percy, Annabeth, and Grover, much to your pride, survived the quest! You made sure to congratulate them, along with everyone else, give them some of your best contraband and secret snacks. 

Things seemed to be getting back to normal around camp. No mysterious monsters, no tension among the gods, on Annabeths team, you had claimed a six game win streak in capture the flag. She seemed to have grown up quite a bit on the quest. Percy and Grover, too. 

Percy hardly resembled the dumb-struck kid he was when you and Luke first trained him with a sword. You were off to the arts and crafts station for clean up duty when you saw them together in the arena, Percy training and Luke offering a break. Just a month, maybe two, ago it was the other way around. You smiled at the ground beneath your feet, thinking of Luke finally taking it easy. 

When you went to the Hermes cabin that evening, though, he was still gone. And his siblings rolled their eyes as you sheepishly asked if they knew where he might be. 

Suppose the last place you saw him was with Percy earlier. Maybe they were still hanging out in the woods. Percy was bound to be leaving soon when summer ended, Luke probably wanted to spend some good time with him before then. You found your way to the training grounds, and followed the nearby path towards the woods. Luke did like the beach, and Percy was a son of Poseidon. Probably took Percy there.

You hopped down the stairs, and off the small ledge leading to the sandy shores, and your blood went icy cold, heart practically freezing, aching, pounding, in a vice. 

Percy was half drenched in water, stumbling, seemingly blindly, toward you and the path, until finally leaning on a tree like a crutch, before tumbling to the ground. 

You were always a fast runner. “Percy!” You yelled, racing beside him, throwing yourself at him to try to look for a wound. He looked up at you with wide and confused eyes, but found it in him to raise his hand. Just as you tried to tell him, stop, you’re hurt, you saw the sting. Dead centre of his palm, oozing puss, and greying and greening his skin around it.

”Holy shit,” you muttered, staring at it for a moment. Just one moment. You whipped your head down to look at his face, and knew you had to move fast. 

“Okay, Perc,” you said, digging your arms under him to pick him up. “This might hurt,” you said, heaving him up. Lucky he was light. You stood a little too fast, and needed another moment to regain your balance. Maybe one moment too many. Where was Luke? 

You sprinted as fast as you could, carrying Percy half like a princess, half like a fireman through the forest. Stray branches and brushes scraped your face. His too. His eyelids were starting to flutter, closing and opening to a confused daze, and shutting again. 

“Hang on,” you groaned, barreling through the forest. “Nearly there.” Where’s Luke?

You shook your head, breaking through the tree line, hastily calling for help. Lucky you a few campers were nearby, and you weren’t far off from the big house. Chiron could help him. Chiron had to help him. 

Where was Luke? 

You waited outside the infirmary while Chiron and a few of the Apollo cabins best healers worked. Luke was still so painfully absent. You sighed, staring down at your feet, leg tapping anxiously on the floor. 

You barely heard Annabeth come in. You nearly gave yourself whiplash turning your head to look at her. She looked tired. Sighing, she slumped next to you, assuming the same nervous posture. Neither of you said it. Neither of the elephants in the room, Percy or Luke, would be addressed. 

Or so you hoped. Annabeth looked at you, and you kept your eyes trained in the cool white tile beneath you. “Y/n,” she sighed. You didn’t want to see her face. The hesitancy and shakiness in her voice was enough. “Do you know what happened to him?”

You shook your head, not looking up. But you had your best guess, despite all your efforts to turn off your brain.

You couldn’t see her face,  but you knew well enough she pursed her lips, crossing her arms at her chest. 

It took days for Percy to come too. 

And you rushed in along side his friends to see him, weakened and pale. He smiled when he saw you all, though. 

And then he told you what had happened. As cloudy as his memory was after the venom, he seemed to recall even the smallest details. The secret sword. The contraband coke. The beach. Shooting the shit. And the Scorpion. That he apparently kept hidden from all else but you. That you weren’t meant to walk in on him with. 

Annabeth was as stoic as she could be. Not surprised, but still hurt. Doing better then you.

When Percy so much as uttered his name, your heart dropped into your stomach, and seemed to be eaten alive by the acid. Your breath hitched when Percy told you about the dreams he confessed to. You clutched your shirt at your chest when Percy told you about the plan for Tartarus. You sucked a breath in though clenched teeth, bared fangs in a fight or flighty response, when Percy told you about how cynical, angry, remorseless he had been. 

Where was Luke? 

That was what you had wondered that day. What you should have been wondering for years. Where was Luke? When had he left you? 

Was it when he started plotting Percy’s death? When the nightmares and the whispers started for him? When he chose to serve Kronos over you? His friends? His siblings?

You only noticed you were crying when the hit tears reached your lips, and your taste was flooded with salt. Nearly embarrassed, you wiped them away and excused yourself, before any of them could urge you not to. 

Luke was gone. And as you looked around camp, disoriented, head and heart pounding, all you could see was every place he stood. Places he kissed you.

He fucking kissed you. Next to the scorpion. His weapon of choice. That you named. You glared at the grass as you stumbled to your cabin. 

Or, that’s where you thought you were going. You ended up at the Hermes cabin. The door was unlocked, and you didn’t bother to knock. You never did. And lucky you, all his siblings were out, at activities or doing chores. 

You stood at the foot of Luke’s bed. Fuck. You kicked it. Fuck. You punched the mattress. Fuck. You tore into the pillow, clawing at it and ripping the seams.

Why didn’t you notice? All his anger. His resentment. His nightmares. Could you have stopped him? If anyone could’ve... If anyone could’ve, it was you. 

You collapsed into the bed. It smelled like him, suffocatingly so. How didn’t you notice? That you were losing him? 

You can’t fix him. But I’d try, and I’d let him break my heart for it. Anyway. I got kind of inspired by another Luke fic I saw, and idk I was in delirious trace writing this with an edited Lana del Rey song on repeat for like an hour and a half.

[thisfrailheart]

prompt: sickfic | july 26 | wolfstar | M: language/swearing - complicated feelings about dealing with chronic illness (anger issues/depression/fear of abandonment/unfair treatment of partner) | word count: 722 | @wolfstarmicrofic

***

"Ow. Shit."

His knee gives out on the way to the door. Pain explodes in his hip, nerves are misfiring and his leg can't handle it. Remus stumbles into the doorframe, hits his shoulder on the edge.

He closes his eyes. Grits his teeth to keep from screaming. He's so angry and so tired. And he can smell himself. He reeks. Pain episodes always make him break out in a cold sweat. He gags a little and wishes the ground would swallow him up.

He hears rustling. A sleepy voice. "Remus? Y'okay?"

Why are you awake, he thinks and despises himself for the rage in his chest. He sighs. "Just go— going to the bathroom."

Remus hopes it sounded neutral enough. There's shuffling and he knows for a fact it didn't. A moment later Sirius is by his side.

"Let me...?"

Remus wants to say 'no' but knows he can't. He hates the other man. And himself as well. Sirius pulls Remus' arm around his own shoulders to help hold him up, puts his hand on Remus' waist.

Remus bites his tongue as they shuffle down the hallway.

"Hip or knee?" Sirius asks and pushes the bathroom door open. Flips the light switch. Remus says nothing. "Both?"

And Remus can't take this. "Yes, it's fucking both, alright? I just needed a fucking piss and I can't even fucking do that without help because one issue has turned into fucking two has turned into fucking three. And there'll probably be a fourth and I'm fucking sick of it! I'm so fucking sick of it!"

He pulls away, stumbles into the bathroom and slams the door in Sirius' face. Guilt takes over immediately and he drifts through the motions for a bit. Too caught up in his own horrid thoughts.

Remus limps back to their bedroom, holding onto the walls. The apology is on the tip of his tongue when he steps into the room. "I—"

Sirius isn't there. His heart skips a beat. Two. Then he notices a sound coming from the living room. The TV. His shoulders sag in relief. He sits on his side of the bed with a sad smile. Sirius arranged his pillows in the way he likes. It's the only way to take pressure off his painful joints sometimes. He wants to cry but exhaustion wins in the end.

Remus wakes the next morning, bitter taste of guilt in his mouth. He sits up with a wince. Feels even worse when he notices that Sirius propped his cane next to the nightstand but didn't actually come to bed.

"You're awake."

Remus shifts to look at Sirius, who's standing in the doorway. He looks tired and his eyes are red. "I'm—"

"Shut up!" Sirius snaps. He stalks into the room, comes to stand in front of Remus. In between his legs.

This is it, Remus thinks. He's finally had enough.

"You see this?" Sirius asks. He bends down to grab Remus' hand, then proceeds to hold it in front of his face. The little black star tattooed on his finger mocks him. "Did you lie? When we stood in front of that officiant and you promised to love me, now and forever?"

Remus looks up at Sirius. He's shaking and close to tears. "Cause I didn't. Through good times and bad, I promised. So let me help when it's bad, you fucking prick. I'm sorry you're in pain, I really am. If I could take it away, I would. But I can't. So we're just going to have to deal with it. Cause I'm not letting you go it alone, you hear me? We're forever. Sickness, health, whatever else." He takes a deep breath.

Remus leans forward, into Sirius. Nuzzles into the fabric of the shirt Sirius had thrown on at some point. It's one of his. He rests his cheek against Sirius' stomach, feels fingers carding through his hair. "I'm sorry for speaking to you like that. I'm so sorry. For what it's worth, it wasn't a lie. I meant it. Mean it. I just wish I wasn't—"

Sirius tips his head back with a gentle finger under his chin. Looks at him with a soft smile. The one that's just for him. "Hush. I love you, now and forever."

Remus' heart calms. "Through good times and bad."

[gluttonygirls]

How could she be the spy?

The boss had told you to keep a careful eye on this new recruit to the crime family, worried that they might be the one leaking information about the gang's activity, but…

Well, you're pretty sure that she had nothing on her mind other than food.

Following behind her as she prattled on, giggling and cheerily talking to you. She seemed like an airhead, totally unbothered that you weren't responding to her prattling on about all her favorite foods she could get from this burger place. You were more annoyed by the slow progress you were making. Because for a rat, this woman was built like a whale.

Every footfall shook the ground, her colossal fat ass swaying to the beat of her steps. You had no idea what she weighed or how fat she was, but it had to be an ass twice as wide as she was tall, if not thrice. Each step set the ground quaking, forcing you to focus on your balance as you walked behind her. And you weren't staring at her because she was hot, you told yourself, but because where else were you going to look? Her ass was straining those denim shorts, though you wondered if a garment that could act as a dust cover for a car could still be called "shorts". The doughy cheeks were pressed in the confines of those pants, but not by much. Plenty of her ass hung out the bottom of them.

That only drew your attention to her fat thighs. Blubbery, doughy, huge pillars of fat that probably weighed down your own weight, each. Again, you corrected yourself as you watched that slide over each other, jiggling in contact, the rubbing of her plush skin audible as she slowly moved. Thrice your weight. Definitely thrice. Each. They sagged too far over her knees, thighs touching her own calves, for them to be any slimmer.

Following her, the ground still shaking, you see her finally approach the burger joint. Belly Busters Big Burgers.

You can't see the recruit's gut, but you can hear her slap it, the ripple of her touch sending doughy waves over her hips, making that fat ass jiggle even more. You stare again as it claps against itself, sloshing and swaying back and forth.

With a squeeze she pulls herself through the triple wide doors, giddily waving to the cashier. You see her slip something out from between her breasts, handing it to the cashier who stoically nods, tucking it away. You roll your eyes. Was she such a fat ass that she kept her order written down?

You watch her sit down, waving for you to come over as she struggles to cram her fat ass into a booth. There's no way she's fitting in, even if they removed the table in the middle of the booth, you doubt she'd squeeze in. Huffing as you approached, you opened your mouth to complain.

Only for her to reach beneath her belly, grab something that was stuck between her thigh and her gut, and slap it on your wrist.

Handcuffs.

"Now, let's see."

Smirking, all her bubbly, giddy nature gone, a cool smile rested on her flabby face.

"Maybe if you're good and tell me what you know, I'll use you as a chair."

You stammer out, asking if she means it the other way around.

"From how you were staring? No, I think the chair treatment is me playing good cop~"

[dawn-moths]

Hellooooooo can I please ask for your thoughts on numbers 15, 25, and 44 from the prompt thingy for tomura?? Love your blog btw ❤️

helloooo~ yes you absolutely can!

it got a little long so i'm putting it under the cut <3

15. what kind of sense of humor do they have? or do they have one at all?

so i don't think it comes to a surprise to anyone that tomura's sense of humor is incredibly dark. i think he'd find certain satirical things amusing. i don't see him as the self-deprecating type because i think he'd see making himself the punchline a sign of weakness. but yeah. i think his sense of humor is very sick and twisted and dark. he probably laughs in the face of things that are really fucked up and has everyone else looking at him in a way that's either offended or concerned.

in the "x reader" realm of this, i think your guys humor would have to match up in some respect. maybe you'd mumble something cynical, albeit amusing, under your breath in response to something you witnessed or something someone else said and tomura would be the only one close enough to hear you. at first he might look at you in a way that spoke to the fact he didn't expect that kind of comment out of you, but ultimately he'd crack a smile and take it as an invitation to start to joke around you, seeing just how far he could go before even you were like, "ok, too far."

25. do they have a daily/nightly routine?

i don't see tomura as being the type to abide by any kind of self care routine. he's probably just a "ok, do the bare minimum and brush my teeth" kind of person, and that's on a good night. however, once you're in the picture some of your habits might start to rub off on him, even if at first he might find some of the things you do pointless or strange.

he lingers in the bathroom one night to continue conversing with you while you wash your face, slowly falling into a trance as he watches you care for your skin, applying your moisturizers or other nighttime products after gently washing away the day with a warm washcloth.

after this watching becomes a routine in and of itself between the two of you, one night you offer to give him the same treatment. at first, he acts like he wants no part of it, gives an excuse that he only stays behind to watch you so the two of you can keep talking, but you knows that's no longer true.

after some convincing, he huffs out an indignant, "fine..." and allows you to kneel down between his knees as he sits on the closed toilet seat, securing his unruly silver waves out of his eyes and away from his forehead so you have ample room to work. tomura mutters a comment about how he'll only let you do this to him the once, but as you begin, the warm washcloth soothing his skin and causing some of the tension he carries in his neck and shoulders to sag, you have a feeling he's going to want to take those words back.

you know your skin products won't cure him. they probably won't even make a difference to his dry patches in the long term, but still, it's not about fixing anything for him as it is about simply soothing, even if just for a short while. your moisturizing oils become his favorite, their natural scents lulling him as he lets his eyes fall closed, wispy white lashes fanning over his scarred cheeks, focusing on the way your fingers feel as they gently massage the oils into his skin.

he never tells you he likes it. he never thanks you. but you know by the way he relaxes under your tender touch and meticulous care that he appreciates it nonetheless. he never has to ask if you'll do this for him. every night, following you completing the routine on yourself, you repeat it on him. you'd do just about anything to help give him even a little bit of the relief he's too proud to admit he craves.

44. who, if anyone, would they trust with their deepest secrets?

i think tomura is the type to hold a lot (almost everything, in fact) inside and confide in very few people, if any at all. if he's going to tell anyone something he considers a "secret" though, it's likely going to be kurogiri first. the man has been tomura's caretaker for so long, in so many ways he's probably the closest thing to a real father tomura is ever going to know. and the thing about kurogiri is that he can keep a secret exceptionally well, especially if tomura gives the cautionary "don't tell this to anyone" warning.

tomura likes to try and work out as much on his own as possible, though, sometimes, (like when he first meets you, perhaps, and doesn't quite know how to go about his new feelings for you) he likes to bounce certain ideas off of kurogiri. when all his thoughts, theories, and worries get too tangled up in his head, he'll wander down to the bar late at night, take a seat, and just start to ramble. it's a gradual breaking open of the true problem at hand. he starts with a lot of hinting at things, talking around things, but kurogiri's directness is often quick to identify the real issue and pull it from all the side-stepping and avoidance that tomura might find himself lost in.

but, and the most important part of these exchanges, kurogiri is able to lead tomura to certain conclusions that make tomura feel as if he thought of it all on his own. it keeps tomura confident and kurogiri just wants to see tomura succeed. however, once he feels he can trust you enough, tomura does start confiding in you. and it's not even that you give him advice or help him sort things out. it's more so that he feels like letting you in on some of these thoughts makes the two of you feel like a team. it makes the burden of holding it all feel a little less heavy. it's probably as close to vulnerability as he's going to get. so you listen. you offer your own thoughts on the matter from time to time. but, above all else, you just want him to continue feeling like you're a safe place for him to turn to whenever he needs it.

send me a character i write for + a prompt from this list ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[archonsoflove]

his love language | part 4

featuring: pantalone, baizhu x gender neutral! reader

content warning: slightly suggestive?

{gift receiving}

Having a partner with poor taste would have been a terrible blow to Pantalone’s reputation. But it seems having found himself in a relationship with you – from a humble family merchant background – has proven his prejudices wrong. While you aren’t as well versed as him in the arts and fineries of the higher living world, you learn quickly and listen, all your attention devoted to him.

And now, years later, finding a few more streaks of grey in lilac shocks nestled in black hair, you have learnt to read him like a book. Fine teas from Sumeru are brought home after visiting family, soothing incense and spice fill the empty corners of the home you share together.

When the wealthiest man in Teyvat could have anything he desires at the snap of a finger, what could you possibly give him that he hasn’t procured already?

The companionship and warmth you have brought into his once isolative and dull life as a businessman has altered his perception of this world dramatically, and he would go to any lengths needed to keep you safe.

Now, waking up beside you, tangled in mulberry silk sheets, a fine robe whispers across your skin as he moves it away to kiss your bare shoulder softly. Lithe fingers trace over your shoulder, your neck and to your jaw, pausing there to admire you stir in your sleep.

Watching the sun fall onto your skin, your hair catching the light as it falls over your face transfixes him into placidity. What more could a man want, when the thing he needed most woke up next to him each morning? He knew he would never find the answer, and quite frankly, he didn’t want to.

•

{words of affirmation}

“You work far too hard.”

This is what you keep telling Baizhu at the end of yet another long week. Haggard, at his wits end and scolded at by Changsheng as he places her down on the comforter next to you on the bed.

“I’ll be in the bathroom,” is all he says over his shoulder, his voice a shell of what it was, energetic and passionate on Mondays and all but lost by Fridays.

You follow him into the adjoining bathroom, smiling softly when you see his shoulders sag in relief. You’d drawn hot water and infused it with lavender and silk flower essence beforehand, as you usually did.

“Thank you, my love.”

Every week, you two seem to follow the same routine. You undress, both shedding the weight of the day from your shoulders, the hazy atmosphere in the room slowly but surely seeping into your weary bones. The clawfoot tub isn’t small by any means, but you find it slightly cramped with him between your legs, his back to you.

Gentle hands sweep up his hair into a messy bun once you’re both in, and with silk flower oil cupped in your palms, you gently knead into the sore muscles of his back and up into his neck. He hunches forward, eyes closed, a small sigh of relief escaping past his lips.

“It seems young Hongdou has behaved rather well this week,” you started, voice soft, accompanied by the soft splash of water as Baizhu righted himself.

“As much as she could, considering her endless complaints of bitter medicine,” Baizhu started, a small lilt of frustration in his tone. “But treatment has been curbing her illness quite dramatically as of late.”

“And I hear someone got her to take her medicine on the first try,” a small grin as you gently poked at his shoulder. “You did so well with her this week. In no time, all the other children will stop being so wary of Bubu Pharmacy, I’m sure of it.”

Baizhu chuckled lightly at that, turning his head to the side for you to leave a quick kiss on his cheek.

“It seems enticing them with something sweet doesn’t hurt.”

After long days such as these, he was endlessly grateful to have you at his side. After so many patients, unfortunate diagnoses, and long-term treatment plans, hearing your encouragement at the smallest of victories made him feel just that little bit better. While he tended to focus on the grand scheme of things, you helped reign him back into the present.

MASTERLIST

Who should I do next? Send an ask! 🤍

[starqueensthings]

I was going to wait to post this until Mama Echo Monday, but fck it. Happy Star Wars Day, Pals!

Pairing: GN!Reader x Echo. No mention of Reader’s appearance/gender (with the exception of "an unladylike grunt" mentioned once to describe exertion). 

POV: 2nd person, 4641 words.

Summary: Echo and SquadMedic!Reader share their first kiss after he makes an unplanned trip to the MedBay.

Warnings: Slightly whumpy as Echo gets injured while completing some ship repairs, mentions of blood and medical procedures (stitches specifically), mentions of Echo's traumatic past, mentions of the anxieties he deals with regularly now in regards to medical treatment. 

Rating: SFW, fluffier than a fkn cotton ball

A/N: I am not a doctor. I’m not even close to a doctor. I don’t know if any of the medical words/references make any sense but I did my best with the tools I had LOL 

Huge thank you to the always incredible @staycalmandhugaclone for beta reading, your time and feedback was so appreciated. 

You hummed quietly along to the song warbling from the radio in the corner as you flattened the last of the dozen cardboard boxes that had, up until this morning, housed the carefully packaged restock of your MedBay supplies. Hunter had long since asked you to start keeping the empty boxes, as they worked well for kindling and the squad had taken to settling down after missions with a bonfire wherever possible. But storing bulky boxes in your already cramped closet of a MedBay had proven a challenge in itself, as the only method for storing such clutter was to have them sandwiched tightly between the wall and the arm of your bulky treatment chair. 

“Don't get stressed, it's gonna get figured out…” you sang to yourself. The fluffy pop song filling the quiet corners of the room was not your regular cup of tea, but was surprisingly successful at pulling a small wiggle from your hips, and the occasional snap from your dusty fingers. “Deep conversations at the Waffle House...” You sashayed across the room to the beat of the song, heading towards the wall of cabinets opposite the door.  

“But you knowwwww it’s always love,” you chorused, holding an invisible microphone in front of your mouth with your right hand, while your left latched each of the cupboards closed. 

The clunk clunk of approaching heavy footsteps (the kind that could only belong to the large metallic feet of Echo) were masked by the reverie that the radio always seemed to put you in, and you were momentarily deaf to everything else.

“Um… Mesh’la? Mesh’la?”

A sudden sharp intake of breath tugged heavily at your throat as your body jerked in surprise. You spun around towards the door, ready to adorn the person who’d induced your cardiac arrest with the most vehement glare you could muster… but the distress on the face of the man slumped in the doorway wiped every ounce of ire from your mind immediately.

“Sorry,” Echo mumbled from the doorway where he had paused. “I didn't mean to scare you.” 

The urge to clamp your hand over your thundering heart was immediately robbed from you as your eyes registered his visible torment, and his even more obvious need for medical attention. “Maker,” you hissed, your eyes widening and your lips parting. 

“So it is that bad...” he grumbled, correctly reading the shock on your face and triggering his shoulders to sag. 

You closed the space between you in a brisk walk, your brows knitted tightly in concern and focus. Echo had his hand clamped over his right cheek, though the pressure he was applying from his palm was nowhere near enough to stem the flow of blood now cascading down his jaw and dripping onto his chest plate. 

“Let me see,” you instructed gently, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and slowly tugging his arm downwards.

You had no choice but to ignore the loop-de-loop that your heart did in your chest as a result of your contact with his skin; Echo had had that effect on you from the get-go. For obvious reasons (and not), he was unlike any man you’d ever come across before. Sure, his cybernetics and past experiences made him unique enough as an individual, but it was more than that. He had a distinctive, polite sort of grace about him; a warmth that emanated from deep in his person that you’d never encountered before. There was just something about the way his eyes seemed to caress your features as he listened to you ramble about whatever topic it was that you needed to vent about that particular day; something about the way that his smile tugged just a little more on his left cheek than his right when Wrecker got him laughing hard enough; something about the little smirk on his lips, and nod of his head that he sent your way every morning before he was awake enough to voice a greeting.

Simply having him in close proximity somehow simultaneously calmed and excited you, wiping your mind of all coherent thought, while your heart was jolted into overdrive. It was particularly bad in the moments like this one where your skin brushed against his, as your body always seemed to take it as a cue to throw composure out the window, doping your blood with enough hormones to make your hands tremble. And then there was the fact that time did not seem to be a concrete concept when you two were together; you could have happily spent a continuous decade passing tool after tool over his shoulder as he patched up the ship, or three weeks collecting firewood from the nearby forest, or simply reading side by side in the cockpit chairs.

You cleared your throat quietly, trying to rid your insides of the butterflies that had launched into a fluttering dance routine at his touch, so you could focus on his injury. “Tech told me to come see you,” Echo mumbled through an expression laced with fear as his arm fell to his side. “He said something about a flap being ‘full thickness’?”

Now free from the pressure of his palm, the laceration on his cheek began to leak freely the moment it was exposed. Barely a breath later saw your fingertips quickly cloaked in the same red carnage that had seeped through the cracks of his own fingers. As you gently pulled at the loose overhang of skin, you reached around to the waist pouch on your lower back, yanked the zipper open, and deftly retrieved a handful of sterile gauze packs. With a quick rip of the paper packet, you unfolded a fresh square of linen and immediately pressed it against his cheek. He winced lightly against the pain of the pressure you applied, but did not pull away from your touch.  

While one left hand continued to hold the gauze in place against the warmth of his oozing cheek, your other reached for his elbow, pulling on it gently until he took a step forwards through the threshold of the door and into the MedBay. Somewhat awkwardly, as you were walking backwards and at a drastically reduced speed, you guided him towards the treatment chair and sat him on the worn albeit squashy cushion on the seat (an addition you incorporated upon first seeing the cold and rigid equipment).

“What in the name of Mandalore’s moon happened to you?” you asked him, reaching for his hand again and gesturing for him to hold the gauze in place for you.

He swallowed with apparent difficulty, his eyes flickering anxiously around the room, glaring at each piece of diagnostic equipment mounted on the walls around him. The MedBay was Echo’s least favourite area of the ship, and he had already apologetically admitted that he only visited it when he absolutely needed to. “The machines and stuff kinda freak me out,” he had divulged quietly halfway through the generic physical you had put him through shortly after you joined the squad.

Thanks to your research and the details in his medical chart, you were well aware before joining the crew that he had had several limbs replaced by cybernetic machinery in the past, but it wasn’t until several weeks after, in a whispered night-watch conversation on the ramp of the Marauder, that Hunter explained how… and why. Echo’s recurring MedBay anxiety, or the “Med Dreads” as you had comically labeled it since, became immediately validated and unspokenly understood.

“Your cheek, hun. What happened?” you probed again when he failed to answer you, deliberately keeping your tone light and warm as it usually helped diminish his anxiety.  

“I… uh… got cut.” He answered your question in a mumble, forcing the lump of anxiety down his throat for a second time and sending you a fleeting glance.

“Well I can see that, Captain Obvious,” you quipped with a smile and a small eye roll as you took the saturated material out from under his hand and replaced it with a fresh one.

After tossing the used fabric into the biohazardous waste bin beside the chair, you reached around your waist into the pouch again, this time retrieving the travel sized bottle of your go-to wound disinfectant: a neon orange effervescent solution that smelled strongly like iron, and worked remarkably well at cleaning superficial wounds with minimal pain. You held the gauze over the opening in the bottle and tipped it upside down thrice. Once satisfied with the level of saturation, you screwed the lid back on and returned the bottle to your pouch.

Your fingers wrapped tenderly around his wrist again, tugging it away from his cheek and collecting the soiled linen from his fingers. The bleeding had almost entirely subsided, blood now seeping out from under the flap of skin in droplet form, as opposed to the crimson river it had been when he first walked in.

“It’s… it’s Corporal.”

Had you not seen his lips move out of the corner of your eye, his murmur of words would have been completely lost amongst the incoherent chatter of the radio hosts.

“Pardon?” you asked him, stopping the movements of your hands to give him your undivided attention.

You were surprised to see a small smile begin to tug at the corners of his mouth as he turned his gaze back to you. “It’s Corporal,” he repeated. “Corporal Obvious.”

The upswing in his demeanor took you by surprise, momentarily blanking your mind of a response as a smile worked its way across your own face. You peered into his twinkly eyes for a breath of a moment, basking in the warmth that they smothered you in every time that they fell on you. “Oh, my apologies, sir…” you chirred with a smirk, resuming your careful wiping motions across his injured cheek. “Apparently you’re Corporal Funnyguy today, too.”

A small laugh left his nose in something of a soft snort, triggering the butterflies in your stomach to resume their tortuous, internal flap-about. Your cheeks began to burn as the echo of his laugh; you loved when he laughed, particularly if it was you that had managed to pull it out of him.  

In an effort to keep the giddy smile off your face, you bit down on the insides of your cheeks, deliberately keeping your eyes away from his until you could regain your composure. After discarding the gauze in your hands, you turned your attention back to the laceration on his cheek, prodding it gently and tugging on each end to observe its reaction to various degrees of tension. Now that the area was cleaned of the carnage, the injury was thrown into sharp relief, and you were internally grateful you’d removed the mirror from this room months ago. Echo was a tough cookie but was notoriously squeamish with blood and injuries, and whatever it was that had cut him, left a clean albeit deep wound, extending from his cheekbone outwards to his ear.

“Hmm,” you hummed, placing your hands on your hips and wiggling your nose as you thought about the best method to close the wound. “It’s definitely full thickness, unfortunately,” you intoned. “I’ll have to E-Mag stitch it, hun.”

His shoulders sank dramatically, and a heavy sigh left his mouth as he tipped his head back in exasperation. You swallowed against the sadness and empathy building in your chest, placing what you hoped was a calming hand on this shoulder. He nibbled gently on his bottom lip before looking back at you, his eyes now framed with small creases of suppressed fear and contempt. 

“Can’t you just use a bacta patch?” he asked you, failing to entirely stifle the desperate plea in his tone. “Or some of that fancy tape you have?” His eyes darted around the room again, this time almost frantically, as if visually finding the tape would be enough to convince you to use it, but his silent petitions were met with nothing but a poignant shake of your head. The inevitable, and likely infinite, list of alternatives he was sure to propose, as he so frequently had in the past, were no match for the dismissive explanation waiting patiently on your tongue.

“Echo, hun, we've been over this before. Bacta is a great tool, but it isn’t the end-all and be-all.” You spoke quietly, trying to catch eye contact again by shifting your weight and tipping your head until your face was in his line of sight. “The laceration is deep into the epidermal layer, and skin always heals from the bottom upwards. If we put a patch on, it will limit the amount of breathing your wound can do while it’s healing, and the chance of forming a compound infection increases pretty drastically.”

You watched the ghosts of unvoiced arguments shift his expression as he turned his face away from you again, his amber eyes flickering back and forth between the rebuttals that only he could hear; sorting through the rolodex of bargaining chips in his mind, searching for anything to help him obtain a fast pass out of this chair, and away from the prospect of foreign tools near his body. But despite the crease between his heavy brows deepening to that of dark chasm, he remained quiet, the only motions of his mouth being the mollifying nibble of his bottom lip.  

“I promise, once the stitches dissolve, we’ll put some bacta gel on to prevent scarring, and you’ll never know it happened,” you offered warmly, standing up straight and retracting your hand from his shoulder. “But for now, I’ll give you a pain injection to numb the area and you won’t feel a th—”

“No pain injection,” he interrupted, snapping his head around to stare at you. 

You stifled your sigh just enough for it to leave your mouth as nothing more than a poignant exhale drenched in sympathy. “Echo,” you started, cowering only slightly under the intensity of his stare. “We've been over this too. You know the stitcher is more uncomfortable than the injector. It'll be more comf—”

“No injection. I don’t need it, or want it.”

“Come on, Corporal Toughguy,” you pleaded, hoping that adding a dash of humour to the situation might soften his refusal. “I’m a whizz with the injector, ask anyone! And you can even load the vial yourself, if you want, so you know exactly what’s going in—” 

“Still no, and always no.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and challenged your pleading eyes with the flick of a dark eyebrow, wordlessly reinforcing that this was a battle you were not going to win, and he would out-stubborn you into the ground. Little did he know, the intensity of his warm eyes directed at you so piercingly, had almost entirely diminished your resolve, and a smile was working its way back across your face before you could stop it. 

“Fine,” you conceded, sticking your tongue out at him fleetingly before turning around and stepping away from the exam chair.

With an unladylike grunt, you retrieved the heavy durasteel case that held the E-Mag stitcher from one of the lower cabinets on the opposite wall. The Republic Cog logo on the lid was almost entirely faded from the constant friction of your hand opening and closing it, but the tool inside was measuredly kept in good repair. With the prod of the button, you brought the stitcher to life while simultaneously doing your best to hide the tool behind your back as you crossed the room towards where Echo sat watching you.  

His glazed eyes focused again as you approached, flickering only fleetingly to your hidden hand before another heavy sigh stole over him. You steeled yourself against the dread building inside of you, reminding yourself that your discomfort in this moment was nothing compared to his, and despite the awareness that you were about to cause him moderate to significant physical and emotional pain, this treatment was necessary.

“You sure no pain injection, hun?” you asked him when you returned to his side.   

“I’m sure,” he answered with a stoic nod.

“But are you sure sure? For sure, sure?”

“I’m sure sure… for sure… sure?” he answered slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly as his lips curled into a smile. “Maker, that word sounds weird when you say it so many times.”

A huff of a laugh poured from your mouth as you nodded. “I did that to Tech the other day too,” you said with a grin. “I somehow got him to say ‘tinkle’ three times in a row and I think he almost had a seizure.”

Another laugh forced Echo’s injured cheek upwards, though you were pleased to see the creases around his eyes were momentarily free of pain and tension. The look of neutrality, hell even joy on his features was a welcome change to the subdued and forlorn demeanor that the Med-Dreads drowned him in.   

You know you let your eyes linger on him for just a little too long, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same euphoric pull towards you, that you were feeling towards him in the span of that shared laugh. Father Time had launched into his usual cruel tricks the second that Echo’s crinkled eyes met yours, and suddenly moments could have been hours; years could have been seconds; an eternity could have passed and you wouldn’t have known, for his eyes on you made everything around you make sense, and at the same time, irrelevant.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, apprehension ghosting behind his eyes as he clutched the armrest of the chair tightly in his pallid hand. 

“Okay,” you answered in a determined whisper, gathering the remains of your resolve, and finally pulling the E-mag stitcher from behind your back. 

The wad of boxes wedged between the chair and the wall was, unfortunately, precisely where you needed to stand to hold the stitcher at the optimal angle, but you had no intention of delaying or drawing out Echo’s torture any longer than necessary. Eager to start and to finish so that he could be free of the mental and physical turmoil, you opted to lean across his body instead. You heard his breath hitch in his chest as you stepped in between his knees and leaned into his space, but whether his alarm was triggered from the feeling of your body against his, or the fear that enveloped him upon seeing the stitcher, you were not sure. 

“Just keep your eyes on me,” you instructed him, giving him one last smile before turning your attention to his cheek.

And he did. And it almost killed you. Watching his eyes water and his muscles tense with each stitch that you guided the tool to feed through his skin sent a wave of guilt and remorse crashing through your stomach to the point where you began desperately searching your brain for something to distract him with. 

“I think I’m going to try and get Hunter next,” you declared after the 6th stitch had wracked his tense features with another wince. You paused, offering him the moment of pain-free peace that he refused to verbalize. “What should I try and get him to say? Something attainable... but I kinda want to be on the raunchy side. Any ideas?”

“Hmm,” Echo considered after a long, slow exhale. “How about something like nipple?”  

“Nipple!” you chortled. “That’s perfect.”

“It’ll be hard to get him though,” he added against another wince as the tool in your hand threaded another stitch through his skin. “He’s too aware. You’ll have to get him nice and distracted first.”

“Kinda sounds like you’ve done this before,” you suggested quizzically, glancing over at him and cocking an eyebrow.

Echo shrugged a shoulder and let the ghost of a smirk work its way across his lips. “My brother and I had some prankster tendencies back in the day,” he answered cryptically. “Though he was a natural at it, so I always took his lead.”

“Tell me about him,” you probed, grateful for the opportunity of a lengthy and important topic; one that might be enough to steal his awareness from the present pain that you were putting him through.

A surprisingly sad sounding sigh left his mouth as he closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly against unspoken thoughts. “Maybe another day,” he eventually mumbled with a small grimace.

Every cell in your body urged you to protest; to argue with him; to reassure him that you truly did want to know everything about the brother that he only ever mentioned fleetingly; to remind him that you would eagerly listen, with open ears, for as long as he was willing to talk, like he had done for you only countless occasions. But you couldn’t bring yourself to force him into anything at this moment; not while he was already uncomfortable... already desperate to escape this room and the pain you were putting him through.

You sighed quietly to yourself, making a mental note to prompt again later, and pushed the 11th stitch into place.

“Okay, deal,” you answered. “Maybe you and I can take down Hunter as a team? I’ll bring nipples up in a conversation because, let’s be honest, it’d be weird coming from you… but you’ll have to think of a way to get him to say it multiple times.”

“Deal,” he agreed with eyes clamped shut. “What about Cross? Have you managed to get him, yet?”

“No,” you grumbled audibly and dramatically. “I can’t even get him to say one word, let alone the same word repeatedly. I don't think he likes me much to be honest...”

“Nah, it’s not that,” Echo assuaged, opening his eyes again and directing them on to you. “We all love you. Crosshair’s just a severe guy. It takes him a little longer to show his colours than everyone else.”

“Yeah well… so far the only colours I’ve seen of his are ‘snipey’ and ‘cranky’,” you chuckled, shifting your weight slightly so you could rest your elbow on his shoulder. “Oh… and ‘morning-breathy’.”

Pride welled inside of you as Echo laughed again, his chest vibrating below yours with every snicker that left him.

“He does have bad morning breath,” he agreed with a grin. “Not as bad as Wreck though. He could kill a man with that toxic morning gas.”

“Good thing Tech has the cabin ionizer on full blast at night or I think we’d all be dead.”

“That’s why he has it on full blast at night.”

Two things happened in the subsequent moment of shared laughter: you pushed the final stitch through his skin, but before a suppressed sigh of relief could even think about leaving your mouth, Echo’s hand shifted from the arm of the chair and landed gently on your side. He placed it there so softly that, in any other moment, you may have been able to shrug it off as an unprovoked shift of your waist pouch, but being so close to him had increased the sensitivity in your skin- in your very awareness, and there was no denying that was his hand clasped timidly, yet purposefully on your clothed rib cage.

You froze, turning your head slowly to face him. His eyes were fixed on you, and his face donned an expression that you’d never seen on him before: a juxtaposed blend of confidence and apprehension. You slowly straightened up, the breath in your lungs stalling as you watched his eyes dart from your left eye to your right.

You could have sworn you had heard music playing mere seconds ago, but it didn’t seem like your mind was presently able to register anything other than the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You could have sworn you were just laughing about something… but that couldn’t be true, as there was absolutely nothing inherently comical about the way he was looking at you, nor did there seem to be any air left in your lungs to spare on laughter.

“Thank you,” he breathed, using the gentle hand on your side to pull you a fraction of an inch closer to him.

“For… for what?” you somehow managed to ask.  

Hesitation stilled him for only a moment, his cheeks flushing slightly as his eyes darted back and forth between yours again. “For being… you. For being so... you know... awesome.”

If the butterflies rearranging your internal organs like furniture wasn’t enough to end you right then and there, then the addition of his gentle touch under your chin would certainly have been your demise. Tingles radiated from the place where his finger rested on your skin. Your hands, still limply holding the stitcher at your side, began to tremble in anticipation as a force more powerful that gravity pulled you closer and closer to him. Your lips parted slightly as his gaze darted between your eyes again. 

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered against your lips.

“Yes,” you breathed, your eyes fluttering closed.

A cannon went off somewhere in the depths of your stomach as his lips brushed against yours, testing the waters of your approval; offering you the opportunity to pull away if you wanted, but there was simply nothing else in the entire galaxy that you’d rather be doing. There was simply no better feeling than this; than transferring every ounce of desire in your body into his through means of a kiss.

You pressed your lips more firmly against his, deepening the kiss while the stitcher fell to the floor at your feet with a clunk that no one heard… forgotten, irrelevant.  As he probed your lips further apart, your right hand snaked its way up his chest to cup his jaw just below his ear. His hand returned to your side, brushing his thumb tenderly against your ribs, as his tongue made a hesitant entrance into your mouth. You welcomed it immediately, pushing your chest right up against his, impervious to the uncomfortable rigidity of his armour.

“This does not seem an appropriate treatment protocol for a level 2 subdermal laceration.”

You and Echo broke apart immediately, both of you turning deer-in-the-headlight’s expressions to the door where Tech stood wide eyed and slack jawed in the threshold. Echo blushed and hung his head to his chest, as a nervous giggle left your lips.

“Um…” you started, your mind frantically searching for a valid excuse as to why you and Echo had just been unceremoniously draped all over one another, all the while somewhat distracted by the large smears of engine oil across Tech’s forehead. “Well I stitched him first… and then… shifted focus...” Tech deadpanned you, his expression unreadable, and his magnified eyes blinking intermittently behind the lenses of his smeared goggles. 

“What was your method of choice?” he eventually asked you, when not even the radio in the corner could puncture the awkward silence in the room.

“S-sorry?” you stuttered. Echo scratched his nose in your peripheral vision but you refused to look at him, lest you return to pieces and pounce on him again.

“What was your chosen method for the laceration repair?” Tech clarified, shifting his goggles on his nose.

“Oh… um. The Electro Magnetic stitcher. It was full thickne—”

“Then I was correct in my initial diagnoses. Good for me.”

He turned and left without another word, his gaze immediately redirected back downwards to the datapad clutched in his dirty hands.

When the sounds of his footsteps faded to nothing, you finally risked a glance back at Echo. His smirking face pulled an embarrassed smile from you immediately, but his eyes remained locked on you as he stood up and reached for your hand.

“Come on,” he spoke quietly, interlacing his fingers with yours and pulling you towards the hallway. “Let’s go for a walk.”

.

[rk-tmblr]

"What the fuck is goin' on your mind!?" Atsumu screams.

Anger's fuelling him like a wildfire, but there's tiredness clinging on his shoulders as a glass meant to team it. And it goes even worse when Kiyoomi refuses to answer him. He keeps giving him the back, hides his face into the locker while he pretends to collect his things or something. Anything but taking the bait.

"Seriously!?" the blonde laughs humorlessly and then stomps right at his side. Shoving his shoulder back, he obliges the spiker against the cold locker and corners him. "Are ya really givin' me the silent treatment?" he snarls as his eyes run everywhere in his face, desperately trying to find the all answers he kept from him.

Kiyoomi gulps under his lingering gaze, it feels like daring to touch that fire and he can't breathe anymore.

"What did ya say?" Atsumu still presses him and he lets go.

"Go away from me. Now." he grits out.

He doesn't care if it hurt the blonde somehow. He can't watch over his feelings when he's clearly stepping over his. And so the setter moves a feet behind, his contorted face softens a little when he catches Kiyoomi letting out a whimper.

"I'm just trying to-", he cuts his talk short.

"I don't know, Miya. I just- can't, okay?" he sighs and one of his hands goes to tug at his dark curls, "I'm trying but I..." his fingers tremble and his confession comes out as a whisper "I'm fucked up and you're not helping me right now."

Atsumu nods slowly but his look is far away, until he sags completely and lets himself sat down on the bench. It seems that the fire had consumed all of the oxygen inside the glass, and now there's nothing left but a swirl of gray smoke.

"Don't say shit like that, Omi-kun..." he murmurs and his voice too soft that makes Kiyoomi wince.

"Don't you fucking dare pity me-" the spiker starts to build up his walls again.

It doesn't matter how high or thick he would build them, Miya Atsumu's a wrecking ball and would always find the bare truth he's hiding for his own sake.

"I won't ever look at ya like that..." his blonde hair shakes from side to side, catching the white light of the locker room, "I didn't mean to upset ya, I-" he bites his devious tongue as if revealing it actually weights heavy -and maybe tastes bitter too- "It's hard for me to be gentle when I see someone I care for spiraling... it makes me feel powerless when I just want to help."

Kiyoomi feels his heart drop. How can he always fuck things up? He struggles to keep his composure, counts his breathes to collect at least what's left of it and does what he never dares to do. The spiker comes closer and sits on the ground -denying all the disgusted thoughts about the sanitary of it, and also his own mind at this point. Hesitantly moves his fingers to grasp Atsumu's hands and runs his thumbs over their back. He can feel the other's gaze burns his cheeks, he knows he's surprised by his lips agape.

"Give me some time," he pleases softly, "I'm not used to feelings, I need to rationalize them first and only then act on them, Atsumu... I'm not like you," he admits and still avoids his gaze when the blonde slips from the bench to sit on the ground like him, "...I can't even understand why would you see someone like me."

[hourcat]

Piarles + 6 ("Are you jealous?") 🙏

It's not like he's expecting all that much on a race weekend, of all things. Pierre knows that every team's media responsibilities are different, and that Ferrari especially thrives off of the content it's putting out between race weekends. He's been training himself not to be bothered by it...or, at the very least, trying his damnedest.

It's been getting harder, lately, considering Carlos' driving has been infuriating Pierre for the better half of this year so far and Charles still giggles and laughs along with him whenever they're in front of Josh's work phone.

Josh, of all people! Pierre's friend. He'd never wish anything bad on him, truly, but the little jealous creature that is permanently entrenched deep in his gut wishes he'd never left AlphaTauri. He'd been good at playing up the heavy bromance between himself and Yuki back in the day, which will only mean it will work just as well with Charles and Carlos. It's a nauseating thought.

But he's trying not to have it. It's especially difficult this weekend, because Monza is so steeped in Ferrari lore that there's no way Pierre is going to escape without being forced to witness some god-awful onslaught of red teammate shenanigans on his Instagram feed, but he is trying. It's what has him clenching his fist as he walks through the motorhome lot, the water bottle in his other hand getting the white-knuckling treatment as he thinks about how he is not thinking about Charles getting too close to Carlos to make the tifosi happy. "It is only a weekend," he mumbles aloud like he's actually going to listen to himself. It's only a weekend, and Jack had texted him earlier in the week that the two of them will be doing some TikTok trend because Esteban is too busy to have fun or whatever. He'll survive.

And then he hears a bright peal of laughter as he's walking by the alley between the Ferrari and McLaren motorhomes, and his confidence in that statement wanes dramatically. When he turns towards the sound, Pierre is greeted with the sight of Carlos fucking Sainz leaned onto Charles, tickling him as someone not named Josh films the two of them for some stupid challenge. He's almost chest-to-back with him, one arm hooked around his waist, and oh Pierre is seeing red. Is there a color beyond red for this? If there is, he's being swallowed up in it. Charles lifts his head at the perfect moment, mouth open wide and giggling as he seems to register Pierre's presence. His eyes are sparkling with joy.

Pierre doesn't even have the wherewithal to wave. With a noise that feels like it's been clawed from deep in his chest, he stalks off the rest of the way to Alpine's setup, anger boiling in his blood and filling his ears from what he'd just seen. There is no personal space between them, he thinks hotly, there is never any fucking space. He's rationalized instances like this before, and he will again, but the sight of Carlos pressed so intimately against Charles is burned into his retinas right now. He swings his driver's room door open and then slams it shut. Ben asks him if he's alright through the door and Pierre barely manages an I'm fine before he throws himself onto the couch like a child having a tantrum. "Fucking Monza," he mutters to the empty room. Like he didn't win here once upon a time. Like he doesn't love Italy with his whole heart.

Truthfully, Pierre doesn't know how much time he's actually spent coiled up in anger when the knock at his door breaks the silence. "Pierrot," Charles' voice is sweet and concerned, which means Pierre doesn't stand a chance against him right now. He sighs and sags further into the couch.

"Come in, Charles," he answers. The door clicks open immediately and Charles doesn't even bother waiting for it to swing shut again before he's clambering onto the couch, wrapping his arms around Pierre's shoulders to deliver a wet kiss to his cheek. The wildfire of rage in him cools off a little.

"Hi," Charles murmurs, nose smushed against the line of Pierre's beard. His mouth is warm. Pierre wants nothing more than to tug him into his lap and kiss him senseless--kiss him until he forgets his teammate, his team, his purpose here in the first place.

Instead, he sighs. "Hi," he responds, trying to keep from sounding too despondent. "What are you doing here, calamar?"

Charles peels back to raise his eyebrows. "What do you mean," he says flatly. "I did just witness you storm off like you were going to commit a murder, Pierre. Was I not supposed to come make sure you were not in trouble?" His mouth is quirked in a little smile, but his eyes hold a glint of concern that makes Pierre feel a little guilty.

"I'm fine," he replies. But it sounds flimsy to his own ears, and Charles snorts and shakes his head. "Don't worry about me, Charles. I'm alright. Nothing is wrong." He tries to pull Charles into his lap, now, but Charles is firmly settled into Pierre's side right now, and is apparently using all of his toned muscle to stay there.

"You're a terrible liar," he mumbles. "You can tell me any--" but then he cuts off, inhaling sharply all of a sudden, and Pierre swallows because this is exactly what he does when he figures out how exactly to read the mood. "Are you jealous?"

He sounds so incredulous that Pierre can't help the flush that colors his cheeks. "No," he lies. Charles tuts softly and grabs at Pierre's jaw, tilting his head so that they're now facing one another properly. He can't hide this for long.

"You are a terrible liar," Charles repeats, voice even quieter. "Pierre, I don't--you have nothing to be jealous over, Carlos is my teammate. I have to do this with him. We are a brand, no matter how much I don't like it." He wrinkles his nose. "You know I only love you."

Pierre does. Hearing Charles say it out loud again makes him blush even more, embarrassment putting more and more of his heated feelings out. He does know Charles loves him and him alone, and he does know that it's all Ferrari mandates and propagandas, but...

"Charlie," he murmurs. "I'm sorry. I know." When he tugs at Charles again, this time, he's rewarded: the Monegasque hums softly and goes along with it, settles in Pierre's lap like a weighted blanket and drapes his arms over Pierre's shoulders. The expression on his face is loving and knowing and nonplussed all at once.

"I know you are not his biggest fan," he hums. "And you know I am mad at him for what he has done to you this season. But I can't avoid him, mon petit." Charles rubs a gentle hand against Pierre's chest. "Please don't be upset. Please?" He's giving Pierre the big doe eyes that always, always work on him. Damn his boyfriend for knowing him so well.

He swallows, then reaches up to rest his hand against Charles' cheek. "I won't be," he answers. Then: "I will try my hardest, Charlie. For you."

Charles' face breaks into a grin. "For me," he echoes. "Thank you, mon petit." He swoops in for a kiss--chaste, quick, warm. Pierre wants to keep him trapped in his arms all day long. "I love you." Their noses bump. Pierre sighs, then leans in again for another kiss. (He can't help it. Habit.)

"And I love you."

[1920sladydectective]

Nurse Aesop Part Two (Not Proofread Lol)

You had known it was coming for several days, the simmering pain and cravings served as a reminder that your body was working on a tight schedule, one that did not care for your social calendar or your newly shared sleeping arrangements. 

Twinges woke you as you forced yourself to breach the soft sanctity of the bedcovers, cold air rushing onto your exposed legs as you hobbled quietly to the adjacent bathroom. If your estimates were correct you would have about ten minutes before the cramping in your abdomen became unbearable and your vision started to blur. 

Grunting as leant against the sink, the cool porcelain doing little to calm you, you allowed your eyes to flicker shut as you attempted to ignore the nausea. 

Aesop despised waking up alone, especially since the arrangement was so fresh, his palm anxiously rubbing the bare cotton sheets as he blinked back confusion, a soft groaning smashing through his tiredness. As smoothly as he was able, he rose grabbing his wand and wandered to the bathroom, concern consuming him at your rosy cheeks and clenched fists. 

Calling your name did little to rouse you, as he invaded your personal space, arms wrapping around you from behind as he planted a kiss to your crown. His cool skin triggered a slightly louder and more surprised grunt. 

“I was calling for you,” He muttered, rubbing rhythmic circles onto your wrists as your hold on the sink loosened slightly. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” It was gentle and frustrated, as he kissed your head again, “It’s my monthlies,” 

“You didn’t wake me, not really,” Aesop said, circles moving from your knuckles to your lower abdomen as you let out a shocked cry, “I think we should get you into a nice bath,”

“You need to go back to bed, it’s four in the morning, you have classes to teach later,” 

Aesop laughed slightly, as the flick of his wand caused a sudden gushing flood of water from the sinks, “I know that,” a pause, “Won’t you let me care for you, Little Dove?” 

His tone was deep and sugary, coating you as you tried to ignore the overwhelming relief. He had his own pains and so often cared for you too, yet it seemed to please him to do so, and you were not one to deny your loved ones their pleasure. 

The bathtub filled quickly with hot, steaming water, as he stepped away and filled it with all manner of sparkling, technicolour potions and salts, the smell alone making you sag slightly with happiness. 

With an assured swiftness, Aesop took your hand and helped you into the bubbling pool, your clothes long since discarded, as a blissful whimper eked out. In the small interlude it took to run the bath he had already forced two pain potions into you and as a result, the combined treatment had you limp with joy, body sucking up all of the nurture. 

Absentmindedly you realised that Aesop was murmuring to you, as he sat on a transfigured chair, sponge in hand as his soft strokes rubbed your tired skin. 

“Darling,” His voice was quiet and peaceful, stubble grazing your forehead as he went about cleaning you, “So precious, so perfect, my Angel,”

It was difficult to remember the pain of your period with a gorgeous man above you, whispering sweet nothings as lavender and lemon filled your nose. In fact, it was difficult to do anything at all, as you drifted into a light daze, the potions abolishing the last of the twinging pain. 

The next thing you were aware of was a deep musky scent, as he lifted you from the water and wrapped you in a towel that felt impossibly soft,  your malleable body leaning into his as you yawned loudly. 

“Twas nice,” You said into the fabric, heavy eyes fixed on him. 

“I told you it would be,” He sounded almost smug, but you didn’t have it in you to mind, as he steered you towards the bed. 

“But my clothes,” It was slightly delirious. 

“I’m getting your clothes, and everything else you need,” He turned, looking at you, “Sit down,,” It was firm, and your legs were weak, so you did. 

Aesop hated to see you unwell for any reason, but as you sat pouting in a towel with damp hair sticking to your cheeks, he couldn’t help the magnificent ache in his chest at the feeling of loving you. You fought him as he wrestled you into soft bed clothes and he snorted his way through the poorly matched battle, well timed kisses to the cheek disarming your meagre defences.

As if you had never left, you found yourself in bed bundled up with your head resting on his chest, body tingling with relief as you desperately tried to keep a conversation with Aesop. 

“I love your perspective on things, Firefly,” Aesop said, nuzzling your cheek, “But now is the time for sleep, not for pondering,” 

“Can I ponder in my sleep?”

“If you wish to, Sweet One,” He laughed, heart twisting again as your breathing evened out, body succumbing in the middle of a rebuttal sentence, “Dream of me,”

[ftl-faster-than-life]

I'm going to be a real bitch and ask "Just do it." Sladick :)

Hmm. I actually started something completely different for this prompt. However this idea overtook it so here we are. Soft, mushy Sladick with a side of whump and aftercare. TW for dislocations and injuries. Everyone's well over 18 but there's no smut, anyway. PSA: This is not an accurate depiction of relocating a shoulder dislocation. This is a romanticized depiction. Do not try this.

"Just do it." Dick murmurs, voice pitched low in the dark room they're currently holed up in. Slade squints his eye at what he can see of Dick's face, the tension in the narrow slice of his jaw illuminated by a strip of neon light that seeps past the motel curtains. His blue eyes catch the light, glassy and staring fixedly at some point in the middle distance. He's in a lot of pain. The dislocated shoulder isn't the worst of Dick's injuries, let alone the only one, but it's the last to be tended to and Wilson is once again impressed by the mental fortitude his companion has. The mercenary's jaw works, and then he nods once. Reaching up, he put his hand on Dick's shoulder, to the side of the injured joint. Slade took a moment to feel grateful that Dick was only hurt--skin bruised and broken, but warm and alive under his touch--before he gripped that shoulder more firmly, getting leverage. The small sound Nightwing made didn't deter him. Grabbing his arm just below the shoulder, Slade pulled: Out, then up. He heard Dick inhale sharply, watched his head drop forward as he weathered the pain of having already injured ligaments drawn taut. He felt the joint 'clunk' back into place. Dick sags as his hands leave him, and Slade reaches down to grab the younger man by his hips, pulling him gently back against him while turning his body so that the younger man can rest against his chest without aggravating his still aching shoulder. Grayson eased slowly, the adrenaline of the pain wearing off and leaving the kid dopey with the aftermath. Dick's cheek was resting against his chest, nestled against the white hairs that decorated the solid slabs of muscle. "You're okay, kid." Deathstroke rumbled softly, reaching up to tease a lock of dark hair from the messy tangle. He toyed with it, chin tucked to his collarbone as he watched Nightwing's blue eyes grow hazy. "You're safe." The safety was artificial, temporary, they both knew it...but for the moment, the vigilante allowed himself to be lulled into resting, curled up in the arms of a killer in some no-names hotel.

---- If you would like resources for emergency medical treatment like relocating a shoulder, I suggest you investigate local first aid courses as the internet can be unreliable on this topic. Please remember that relocating a shoulder improperly can result in nerve damage or major bleeding. If you think your shoulder's dislocated you should seek medical attention. Partial dislocations may allow you to still use your arm and mislead you into thinking it's fine, but can cause lasting damage to the joint, muscle, and nerves in the affected area. Thanks for reading!

[miasmaghoul]

I FORGOT TO SAY PLEASE

PLEASE can i have trans mountain being teased by rain in the mirror PLEASE

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

since u said please

just 4 u

mwah mwah mwah

cw for transmasc character being willingly feminized ))))

A golden beam of the setting sun pours through the open window, casting angelic light over Mountain's face and chest. He stares at himself in the mirror, at the places where he and Rain meet - Rain's hand in his hair, the other rubbing a low arch over his stomach. The water ghoul's cheek is pressed against his shoulder, his expression blissful.

"Look how beautiful you are, princess," Rain says, smooth and sultry. He drags his claws gently over Mountain's twitching abdomen, smiling at the whimper the words bring. Rain traces around one of the dark marks he'd sucked into Mountain's chest with reverence.

Mountain shivers at the sight. He doesn't know why he needs this treatment, this particular brand of rose-tinted cruelty that only Rain can provide. It cuts him to the core in no time, but Rain still insists on dragging it out every time anyway. Good thing Mountain can never get enough.

He's a disaster - everything from his jaw and throat to his inner thighs is littered with purple marks. Love bites. His hair is loose and wild, fallen from its bun with the way Rain has had him thrashing. There's a cluster of bluebells and milk thistle at the base of each of his horns, their sweet smell mixing with Rain's sea breeze and wet leaves. It's intoxicating, stuck in his nose with the heady scent of his own slick.

"Pretty," he agrees, perfunctory, sagging further against the smaller ghoul as Rain's hand dips lower, tantalizingly close to where Mountain needs it most.

"Such a messy girl," Rain murmurs into his skin, lips soft and words sharp against his shoulder. "All this, just for me?" Rain is so hard against his hip, leaking copiously. Almost as wet as Mountain, whose eyes are stuck on the way his slick has practically reached his knees.

Rain makes a V with two fingers and slides them to either side of Mountain's cunt. His clit is reddened and swollen, ignored for so long now while Rain took his pleasure elsewhere. Rain drags those two fingers through his folds, a lewd, wet sound that makes Mountain whimper. The earth ghoul's knees give out and Rain follows him down with a chuckle.

"Always so weak like this," Rain croons, nipping at Mountain's earlobe.

"Please," Mountain gasps, bucking into Rain's hand, "Rainy, fuck, I can't -" The water ghoul pulls back and Mountain makes a strangled sound as Rain drags his wet fingers up through his happy trail, slick shining in the beam of summer light coating his belly.

"Oh you can, babygirl," Rain supplies, licking a bead of sweat from Mountain's temple. The view in the mirror shows them both the way Mountain clenches around nothing. He doesn't think he's ever felt so fucking empty.

"It hurts," he whimpers, twisting the loose binds keeping his wrists behind his back, "I - I need it, please." He feels insane, lost without Rain's deeper touch. The water ghoul sticks his tongue in his ear and they both watch Mountain's clit throb.

"Aww, you poor thing," Rain says, falsely sympathetic, "need me to kiss it? Make it better?"

"Will you?" Mountain shudders at the thought, blinded by a flash of Rain's soft pink lips wrapped around him, bobbing his head. "Kiss it? Suck it?"

"Maybe," Rain purrs, kissing the length of Mountain's shoulder as he drags his fingers back down. "If you can be a good girl and give me what I want."

Mountain moans, high and feminine, as he watches Rain's fingers stroke past his clit, through his core. Gathering wetness. Mountain flushes impossibly redder when Rain holds them up in the light, stretching his slick between those long digits. Mountain would do anything to get them inside him. They both watch him clench again as Rain smears his fingers over Mountain's kiss-swollen lips.

"Open," he says, and Mountain has no hope of disobeying. He takes those fingers into his mouth with a choked sob, laving his tongue over every rough spot. Rain meets his gaze in the mirror as Mountain tastes himself, drooling over Rain's digits while the water ghoul smiles. Rain ruts against Mountain's hip and the earth ghoul moans around those fingers at they pet the back of his tongue.

Mountain whines when those spit-soaked fingers are pulled away, watching Rain drag them down his chest. Closer and closer. Inch by inch. Not stopping. He's shaking and panting by the time Rain reaches the end of that wispy trail of hair. He feels like he's going to burst out of his skin at any moment.

"Can you do it for me, sweetheart?" Rain licks at his throat, grazes his lips over his pulse point. His fingertips brush the barest millimeter of his clit and Mountain feels like he's been electrocuted. "Can you give that to me?"

Rain's takes Mountain's stiff clit between his thumb and forefinger, and all the air disappears from the room. Mountain looks at him in the mirror, and they both watch a thick thread of slick drip from his aching hole to pool on the floor.

"You'll be cleaning that up with your tongue," Rain chuckles, and those fingers start to stroke. Mountain's long-withheld tears fall before he can think to fight them. Rain smiles fondly. "There we go," he praises, kissing a tear from Mountain's cheek as the earth ghoul starts to drool and roll his hips, "knew you could do it. So good for me, baby."

"Thank you, daddy," Mountain slurs, and Rain throbs against his hip.

"There she is," Rain breathes. "Let go for me, sweet girl. You've earned it."

Mountain falls to pieces in his arms, trusting Rain to put him back together again. Hopefully not too soon.

[leonowoo]

Toffees and Pancakes (Toothpedia sickfic)

Pavia and Horrorpedia was doing a duel for practice and Horrorpedia got hurt in the end, so Tooth Fairy had to take care of him until he gets better.

It's up to ur interpretation if it's platonic, romantic, or something else! (Art belongs to me!)

===========

Tooth Fairy found him adorable in this situation. It reminded her of their time together in her office. How Horrorpedia would often visit her to get the toffees, watching horror movies, and talk about everything horror, and how she treasured those days with him while she kept company. Maybe that was what Tooth Fairy needed also. A friend.

===========

“Joshua?” Tooth Fairy barged into Horrorpedia’s room without warning.

Her eyes eased as soon as she found Horrorpedia sagging into his couch like butter melting in a pan. The man’s eyes lit up to her and Tooth Fairy sighed at the sight of him being secure. She strolled towards him before kneeling upon his yellow couch and caressed his cheeks to check any signs of injury, before letting him go and furrowing her brows.

“Pavia and An An Lee are worried about you,” she said as she went to check Horrorpedia’s hands, neck, and eye to ensure that he was unstained from that previous battle he had. Her tone didn’t want to sound hectic, so she always had tenderness within her voice. Ensuring that she was a reliable doctor.

She didn’t want to give a prudent face but she couldn’t help the idea of Joshua being hurt. Of course in response he shoved Tooth Fairy’s hands away in irritation and sat up straight on the couch, but Tooth Fairy just wanted him to be safe. She wasn’t usually this frantic whenever a patient gets hurt, but Joshua was so reckless and negligent that Tooth Fairy had to fill in that maternal figure for him. Of course what did she expect from a kid like him, they were always troublesome in the first place.

She shook the thought off, removed her gloves and checked Horrorpedia’s temperature.

“Oh Mrs. Tooth Fairy, none of this is n-necessa-, CHOO!” Horrorpedia said as he sniffed. Wiping the snot off his nose and clearing his throat. Tooth Fairy shook her head. He was like a vulnerable little puppy and Tooth Fairy was the mother taking care of him.

She attempted to check his temperature again and surprisingly he was letting her do it. He was in his vulnerable state after all, might as well give in. Horrorpedia swore under his breath in annoyance that Tooth Fairy couldn’t help herself but grin a little over his reaction. She put her hands over Joshua’s forehead as her eyes lowered. She was calculating how bad it was and sighed before looking up at Joshua again.

“Your head is hot, Joshua,” Tooth Fairy said as her face frowned. Her mood shifted rapidly from one moment to the next.

“It’s Horrorpedia, Ms. Tooth Fairy.”

“Horrorpedia, your head is hot,” Tooth Fairy corrected before walking away from him and diving into his drawers next to his bed. Horrorpedia raised a brow.

“I don’t need all this treatment really, Ms. Tooth Fairy,” Horrorpedia assured as he let out a light chuckle. “No no, you had a rough battle with Pavia and now you’re not going anywhere until you feel better.” Horrorpedia scoffed at that order.

“I’m fine, really. You don’t have to be my mom or anything-,”

“And it seems like I should, Joshua-,”

‘Horrorpedia-,”

“Because the last time you were sick and went out, you passed out on the mission. All that fuss that Madam Z had to interfere and delay her meetings. And you were under supervision for 5 months, when originally it should’ve been two.” Horrorpedia groaned and stretched his body on the couch. “When I’m fine, I’m really fine. You shouldn’t worry that much about me. I’m pretty competent anyway with my self.”

That was of course an oblivious lie. Tooth Fairy always remained serene with her patients, but Joshua seemed like an exception. He wasn’t competent with his self in the first place to begin with. He was imprudent and hot-headed at times and she was always there to fix up his wounds. Let alone him taking care of his own body. He’d always enroll in missions he wasn’t supposed to, get himself in trouble with Madam Z over and over, and he’d always do anything to soothe out his boredom and seek adventures. Which was probably why he was close with Pavia and An An Lee and why he keeps getting injured every minute. He was the puppy who wanted to escape from his mother’s grasp and break free.

Tooth Fairy gave a light eye roll to Horrorpedia for a second before digging back through the drawers.

“Until you adjust yourself here, you’re free to go,” Tooth Fairy enlightened.

“Oh come on, I promised Pavia and An An Lee-,”

“And I will tell them to delay our picnic together to Tuesday next week-,”

“But that’s too long. And besides, Pavia was eager for this picnic.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand Joshua-,” Tooth Fairy got cut again. “Horrorpedia-,”

“I mean Horrorpedia… that you’re feeling unwell and not suited for picnics right now. Like usual, he’d be pent up in your room for a night waiting for you to get better once I tell him to cancel the picnic today,” Tooth Fairy explained as Horropedia sighed. “And besides, he’ll always worry about you.”

Of course Pavia was always cautious of Horrorpedia. He was attached to Horrorpedia like a dog loyal to his master and he’d always approach Joshua’s room just to sleep next to him, merely because he was having nightmares. They were more or less a reflection to each other to Tooth Fairy’s assumption. In short, she could say they were like partners or maybe siblings. The wolf took in Joshua as his mentor. Pavia is his role model.

But regardless, both Tooth Fairy and Pavia acted like parents to Joshua’s hasty nature. Which was one of the reasons why Tooth Fairy always had her eyes on him. Pavia kept luring him through dangers and Horrorpedia was fragile enough to damage himself like a doll plunged to a pack of wolves. And Tooth Fairy’s job was to knit him back together so he could plummet out of his secure bubble again. In which she wasn’t letting that happen again. Not on Pavia’s watch. At least not on her watch.

“What’re you looking for anyway in my drawers?” Tooth Fairy snapped back to her consciousness before resuming what she was doing.

“Something to ease up your heat,” Tooth Fairy said concisely before sauntering to the next drawer on the other side of the bed.

“You shouldn’t look at the drawers beca-, CHOO!” Tooth Fairy sighed over the sneeze and shook her head.

“Seriously Ms. Tooth Fairy, it’s my personal stuff-,” Horrorpedia cut his sentence as soon as Tooth Fairy held a magazine within her fingers.

“Oh, what a fascinating edition,” Ms. Tooth Fairy said as she removed a 1970s horror magazine out of the drawer. “Hey!” Horrorpedia exclaimed as lurched out half of his body towards Tooth Fairy’s direction, his lower body still glued to the couch.

“Spooky. I do love some classic campy slasher themed magazines. Who would’ve expected an edition like this.” Tooth Fairy held it up to admire it and Horrorpedia let out a whine, his hands luring out in torment, as if he was a baby crying for their stolen toy. Tooth Fairy let out a stale chuckle before resting the magazine back to the drawer in which Horrorpedia sighed in relief. He didn’t want Tooth Fairy to invade any of his stuff, he used to be eager to show Tooth Fairy any horror-related stuff he had but now he’d prefer to show it to An-An Lee. But nevertheless, Tooth Fairy was always willing to hear Horrorpedia. While everyone avoided him and refuse to hear his rants, Tooth Fairy would always be available to lend her ears.

“It’s a rare edition, so always be careful with that,” Joshua suggested as Tooth Fairy nodded. She was cautious of his belongings. She closed the drawers as her eyes began to wander around the room. “What specific item are you searching for anyway?” Tooth Fairy didn’t respond.

She didn’t find what she was looking for as she removed a jar from her coat. The jar contained bright summery pixies circulating inside and Horrorpedia gazed at it in awe. Tooth Fairy then made her way back to Horrorpedia, before opening the jar and pinching her fingers on the thin surface of one of the pixie’s wings, managing to pluck one fairy out of the jar. The fairy squirmed within Tooth Fairy’s clenching fingers, like a fish trying to slip away. The fairy was small and Tooth Fairy took her time to scrutinize its suffering, getting awed by its vulnerability before shifting her attention back to Horrorpedia.

“Say ‘aaah,’” Tooth Fairy held up the pixie above Horrorpedia’s mouth as he shoved Tooth Fairy’s hands away.

“I-I don’t need the fairy,” Horrorpedia mumbled under his breath, his eyes not meeting Tooth Fairy’s. She sighed.

“I’ll give you toffee, how does that sound?” Tooth Fairy asked, her tone remained serene. The more she talked, the more motherly she sounded and the more Horrorpedia was getting childfish. “I’m not a kid anymore-,”

“But you can’t take care of your own body. If you eat this fairy it’ll ease my burdens, if you eat the fairy then I won’t have to keep an eye on you all the time. The fairy won’t take your teeth, I promise that.” Horrorpedia still didn’t look at Tooth Fairy’s direction. His eyes indicated that he was skeptical about something but Tooth Fairy couldn't point to the core of his uncertainty.

“What’s wrong, Joshua?” Tooth Fairy asked, her head tilted a bit. Horrorpedia chewed on his lips as he gazed on the floor. The gesture was surprising because Horrorpedia didn’t even bother to correct Tooth Fairy that his nickname was ‘Horrorpedia.’

Tooth Fairy gave a weary but caring face, hoping that Horrorpedia would open up. Indicating that she respected his boundaries and that she wasn't trying to force him. A silent demeanor to show that she cared for him.

Tooth Fairy waited for his response but he was being bashful over it. “I-,” he began as Tooth Fairy’s face lit up. “Yes?” Tooth Fairy responded slowly, ensuring that she won't be judgmental over Joshua's answer.

Joshua’s mouth opened again but words didn’t spill out. She eagerly waited for his reason but he kept on being apprehensive.

She realized that she was giving Joshua a special treatment. It wasn’t too often that Tooth Fairy uses fairies as an alternative but she just wanted Joshua to not plunge into any more damage. He was still a kid after all. And it sounded like Tooth Fairy is the mother who’s taking care of her son’s wounded knee and Joshua’s declining her affection. Which didn’t sound too bad but Horrorpedia was technically an immature young adult when she thought about it.

“I don’t have all day Joshua, spill it out.” Tooth Fairy leaned in closer, trying to get his eyes to look at her. A minute of silence draped over them and Joshua finally sighed as a starter.

“It’s… I-, I don’t like… I don’t like the texture,” Horrorpedia finally said, his face blushing a little over embarrassment. A sense of relief breezed away Tooth Fairy finally, and she let out a light chuckle over his answer.

“D-don’t laugh at it… my reason is perfectly rational!” Joshua’s face got even more warmer and Tooth Fairy continued chuckling. She thought it was something bad, but what did she really expect from someone like Joshua?

“Come on it’s not that bad,” Tooth Fairy enlightened with a giggle. Joshua was taken aback of her and his face was streaked more with red. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck and he clenched his teeth together.

“You promise they won’t take my teeth?” Joshua mumbled. Tooth Fairy didn’t answer at first and thought he didn’t need an answer. She was simply awed by Joshua’s innocent demeanor and she held on his shoulders affectionately. Joshua gazed at her again as they locked eye contact, long enough for Horrorpedia to puzzle out her face to have enough faith in her.

“Since when did I ever break a promise?” Tooth Fairy assured soothingly as Horrorpedia rolled his eyes.

“I lost a tooth because of them,” Horrorpedia stated as he crossed his arms. Tooth Fairy grinned.

“Is it when it was the fifth time you were breaking out of a mission and went to my office for toffee?” Horrorpedia giggled over the memory. A blush bloomed within Tooth Fairy’s cheeks, knowing that insufferable the horror nerd was, he had an uplifting laugh that usually made her day.

He then leaned on the couch again, breaking eye contact and focused his eyes to the fairy that Tooth Fairy was still pinching. It took him a while to adjust to the idea of him eating the fairy and his face seemed to indicate that was considering it.

Tooth Fairy found him adorable in this situation. It reminded her of their time together in her office. How Horrorpedia would often visit her to get the toffees, watching horror movies, and talk about everything horror, and how she treasured those days with him while she kept company. Maybe that was what Tooth Fairy needed also. A friend.

“Fine… I’ll take it.”

“Wonderful-,”

“On one condition.” Tooth Fairy raised a brow. “Sure, anything that I can help with?” Joshua blushed again thinking of his condition.

“You-,” he closed his eyes as he gathered his courage to say it. “Can you make me some pancakes?” Tooth Fairy’s eyes widened a bit.

It was a surreal idea but she was just overthinking about it.. She just grinned like usual and held up the fairy above Horrorpedia. He flinched of course, but he knew that the grin was enough for Horrorpedia to take as a yes.

Joshua opened his mouth as Tooth Fairy dropped the fairy onto her student’s mouth. Tooth Fairy watched him as he adjusted his mouth with the fairy inside, the pixie squirming in his cheeks. It took a while for him to completely swallow it and sigh in relief but he gave off a bright face and realized that it wasn’t what he expected.

Of course he tasted the fairies before, but he had a preference from time to time to not take it at all. “Feeling any better?” Joshua hummed.

“The effects haven’t kicked in yet, but I should be fine,” he said with a light shrug as Tooth Fairy rubbed his back.

Of course, as promised, Tooth Fairy went to the kitchen to cook some pancakes and Horrorpedia was glued to his couch as he waited for his food. Tooth Fairy didn’t mind cooking for him because nevertheless they were friends one way or another and she was willing to do it. Her heart had a safe space to take care of Joshua and she liked doing it.

“Tooth Fairyyy,” Horrorpedia said as a moan escaped his lips. Tooth Fairy whirled around to see the nerd approaching her. “Feel any better?” Joshua gave a drunk nod.

His movements were sloppy and flamboyant, his eyes were shut, his hair was like a bird’s nest, as he made his way to his friend. All the energy oozed out of him and his legs were getting more vulnerable. Until then he almost collapsed and Tooth Fairy caught him. He was in her embrace as he nuzzled in her shoulders. Tooth Fairy checked his temperature and it seemed like the heat wavered away but he was… fatigued.

It had been a long time since she saw Joshua this vulnerable. There were days he would hide in her office to avoid trouble, there were days that Joshua went to her clinic and asked if he could stay there, there were days where he asked her if the both of them could hangout this weekend. She lowered her eyes at the thought and grinned. It felt like the nostalgic days. And she was glad she could be an emotional reliable partner to Joshua.

Sometimes Tooth Fairy thought her life lacked essence and purpose, but now Joshua was here, it triggered her body to progress forward. Tooth Fairy, isolated in a white room, being told to do her routine was given something to linger on. Something to protect, something to provide, something to love. Her energy was dripping and oozing out of her skin, but she was willing to as long as she was preserving the one she loves. As long as her mantra was driven by guarding the things she held deep in the hilt of herself.

Joshua took a big sniff and giggled over the smell lingering in the kitchen. “Pancakes,” he whined. He sounded like he was drugged but she couldn’t blame him either. It sounds ridiculous but he was intolerant to eating the fairies, which was hy he sounded drunk. And maybe that's why he didn’t want to eat them.

Tooth Fairy patted his back and embraced him soothingly. “Yes, pancakes… now please Joshua, get back to the couch before you pass out,” she suggested as Joshua nodded slowly. He parted from Tooth Fairy’s embrace and made his way back to the couch.

Tooth Fairy yanked a blanket from his bed and laid it upon her partner’s body. The horror nerd shivered in comfort as the blanket was finally wrapped around his body. He let out a light whine as he closed his eyes over the soothing sensation. Tooth Fairy sat beside him and caressed his hair, watching him as he was on the verge of sleep.

Tooth Fairy played a bit with his hair as she hummed a tune of her favorite song of her homeland. Horrorpedia hummed in relief also as soon as Tooth Fairy’s fingers caressed his hair. A feeling of nostalgia lingered in the air and it was like the universe roped the two of them together. A mother bird landing on a random nest amidst a storm. Of course, Tooth Fairy always saw herself as Horrorpedia’s mentor, but sometimes she considers herself as something more. The urge boiling inside her to protect Horrorpedia at all costs, to protect his well being, the urge to always keep him safe had been planted within Tooth Fairy’s heart. Of course their feelings were mutual, but Tooth Fairy liked the idea of being the one taking care of Horrorpedia. She had major motivations in life and protecting the ones she loved was one of them.

Horrorpedia adjusted himself on the couch and Tooth Fairy leaned in to kiss his forehead.

“Sweet dreams, Horrorpedia,” she muttered with a beam. Half-asleep, Horrorpedia raised his head and let out a grin as soon as he heard Tooth Fairy. “You finally call me Horrorpedia,” he whispered as he went to sleep.