#aftercare whump

[whumpberry-cookie]

During the aftercare, Whumpee's doing something that they want to apologise for.

(Cw: emetophobia - bodily waste, implied abuse, swearing)

And Caretaker instead of going "Noo, it's okay. It's normal!", decides to joke instead.

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

Vomiting:

"Well... I didn't like this shirt anyway."

"I know. I don't like their cooking either. I bet it tasted better the second time"

"You don't even have anything in your stomach anymore! Where does that come from?! Do you puke your trauma out?!"

"Bruh.... you could warn me to grab an umbrella"

Takes a sip of water and spits back at them.

Dropping stuff:

Whumpee accidently drops Caretaker's favourite mug. So Caretaker ignores apologies, stands up, walks slowly to the cabinet and drops a plate, maintaining eye contact. It's so random Whumpee burts out laughing.

Something crushes and breaks loudly. Whumpee was the one who broke it. Caretaker just looks down and flips at it. "Yeah, exactly! Take this, fucker!"

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

[bilightningwhumper]

Mangst 2024- Day 1

Masterlist . Next>>

Forever Prey (Red Riding Hood) Masterlist

“I never wanted this”

Summary:

Rae wakes up after Sienna has a nightmare Potential spoiler excerpt from "Forever Prey"

Notes:

Warnings: talk of throwing up/puke; mentions of abuse (physical, psychological, sexual, emotional, etc) Characters: Rae- Huntsman Sienna- Red Riding Hood Director Wolf (mentioned)- Big Bad Wolf

Rae's POV

Something woke Rae up. Blinking blearily around, she was alone in the room. Under the door was a faint light. Not enough to wake her, though. Sienna was probably just taking a late bathroom trip.

When she rolled over to fall asleep again, that’s when she heard it.

Retching.

Rae threw off the blankets, stumbling slightly over the clothing she’d left in a pile. She pulled open the door and made her way over to the bathroom. The sight that met her broke her heart.

Pale and trembling, Sienna was hunched over the toilet. Tears streaming down her face. Eyes red and puffy. As Rae came in, another bout of retching started, vomit turning to bile.

“Oh, Sienna.” Rae murmured, reaching over to flush the toilet to get rid of some of the smell. Then she sat down, gently rubbing Sienna’s back.

Her soulmate didn’t do much more than whimper, a sob briefly bursting out as more tears came down.

Rae slowly coaxed Sienna to sit back against the wall. Not far from the toilet, just so she wasn’t hunched over it anymore. The tears didn’t stop, but the trembling slowly ceased and color started coming back into her face.

“Sorry.” she mumbled, resting her head against Rae’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Wrapping an arm around Sienna’s waist, Rae kissed her temple softly. “You have nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t something either of us can control.”

They both went silent. Sienna curled up more into Rae’s side. She responded by pulling Sienna closer, gently rubbing her side.

Rae could hear the clock in the living room ticking in the distance. What time was it anyway? Sienna had a doctor’s appointment in the morning. A good thing, too, with this happening.

Just as she was about to suggest going back to bed-

“I never wanted this.”

Rae frowned. “Wanted what?”

Sienna didn’t answer right away. She drew away from Rae, playing with her shirt hem. Rae couldn’t make eye contact with her even when she tried.

“To …” Sienna swallowed hard. “To miss him.” A sniffle. “To dream about him. Long for another heat for him to help me, comfort me. To -” She broke off, twisting her shirt so hard it might rip.

Rae put her hands over Sienna’s.

“Sienna, can you look at me?”

It took a few heartbeats, but vibrant bloodshot green eyes finally met hers.

“You are allowed to feel whatever you feel.” she said in a clear measured voice. “Wolf took your trust, your need for love and kindness and used it against you. But it’s not your fault for falling for it. It’s entirely his for taking advantage of you. Okay?”

Sienna let out a shakey breath. “I still feel his hands on me. He’s in my dreams. Why- why do I still want him? Even knowing that-” Her voice cracked again as she held Rae’s hands tight.

Slowly pulling a hand away, Rae pushed some hair behind Sienna’s ear and cupped her cheek.

“Because healing isn’t linear.” she said, using her thumb to brush away a fresh bout of tears. “It took years for him and everyone else to do this to you. It’s going to take time to undo that.”

“What if it never goes away? The memories? The craving?”

Rae hummed. “Well, I know I’m determined to make new happy memories with you. And over time, they’ll outnumber the old and bad ones.” Then she gently booped Sienna’s nose. “And I dunno, maybe we’ll replace the craving with one for ice cream or something.”

Sienna let out a surprised laugh, wiping at her tears herself. “Really? Ice cream?”

Rae just shrugged. “I’m tired, alright? It was the first thing to pop into my head. It’s not like I’m going to encourage a habit of drinking or drugs, now am I?”

Hearing Sienna’s giggled warmed Rae’s heart as well as seeing the small smile on her soulmate’s face. She took her hands, gently pulling her up.

“Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

Sienna followed her up off the floor. Then stopped Rae with a hand on her shoulder.

“Is it alright if… if I spend the night with you?”

Rae flushed a little, a warm feeling setting in her chest at the look of cautious hope in Sienna’s face.

“That’s fine by me.”

The bright smile Sienna gave her was worth the nervousness thrumming through Rae at the prospect. Pushing the door open to her room, she realized this was the first time she’d be sharing the bed with anyone since breaking up with Jenny.

Arms around her waist broke her train of thought.

“I can smell you overthinking, Rae. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. We don’t have to do this. If-”

Rae stopped her, intertwining her finger’s with Sienna’s on her stomach. She probably didn’t mean to, but feeling Sienna’s breath on her neck flustered her more.

Clearing her throat, Rae turned to take Sienna’s hands again, smiling softly. Sienna’s comfort mattered more than her nervousness and any past feelings she may have had for Jenny. But the concern on Sienna’s face made her pause.

“It’s…” She wet her lips, searching Sienna’s face. “This is a big step. Sleeping together. I mean,” Her face started burning. “Well, just sleeping sleeping, not, you know, but-”

Sienna cut her off with a finger to her lips, confusion turning to amusement.

“Rae, you just woke up from a dead sleep after a long day at work and still came to make sure I was okay. I know that’s bare minimum, but it means a lot to me anyway. And right now I really, really just want to be surrounded by you and your scent because you make me feel the safest I’ve been in years. No more nightmares, or at least no more waking up alone after them.” She moved back, tucking her hair behind her ear again. “I trust you.”

Rae’s voice caught there, knowing the weight behind those three words, especially for this. Not trusting herself not to go into another tired ramble, she stepped aside for Sienna to enter the room first.

After Sienna got settled, looking unfairly cute tucked into Rae’s blankets, she clambered in next to her, pulling her close again. They ended up with Sienna curled up using Rae’s chest as a pillow, Rae’s arms around her, legs close to entangled.

As Rae started to drift off, Sienna murmured her name. She hummed in response.

“I don��t want to crave ice cream.”

Rae hummed again, too tired to do much else.

Sienna snuggled close, wrapping an arm around Rae’s middle. “Would it be alright, eventually, if I started craving you instead?”

That got a strangled tired noise out of Rae as she rolled over to hug Sienna more as she started giggling at the response.

“Hush you.” she said, nuzzling into Sienna’s hair. “Sleep now, teasing later.”

Rae felt Sienna let out a soft laugh that turned into a contented sigh, hugging her tightly for a second before relaxing again. Breaths slowly became more level and even as she drifted off.

Kissing the top of her head softly, Rae murmured. “Love you, Sienna.” before drifting off herself.

[theres-a-body-here]

Monster dick problems

A sequel to this post

Feeling like a dumbass, you sit on top of your Minotaur boyfriend's lap on the living room couch, pressing your face into his firm pecs as hot tears roll down your cheeks. He hugs you close, running reassuring circles on your back with one massive hand as you sniveled.

"Shh… shh… I told you to be patient," he murmurs gently as he holds you close, still supporting your weight easily. His deep voice rumbles beneath your ear, vibrating through your entire body and making you shiver involuntarily.

It was true - you had been hasty and impatient again, trying to take him all at once during sex. You should have known better than to try and rush things, especially with a fat cock like his.

Feeling ashamed of yourself for being too eager, you bury your face deeper into his muscular chest, letting out a muffled noise as you nod quietly. A heavy sigh escapes his broad chest as he catches on to your embarrassment.

Deciding to switch topics, he cups your chin in his huge palm and tilts your head upwards, placing a gentle kiss to your tear-stained cheek. Leaning back slightly, he gazes down at you with concern etched across his features.

"Does it still hurt?" he whispers softly, his warm breath tickling your face as his free hand lowers to gently pat your bottom.

Unable to find your voice yet, you nod silently in response, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks. Sensing your distress, he pulls you closer to him, wrapping his strong arms tightly around your waist. He plants a tender kiss on your forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than usual.

His thumb brushes away at your tears as he leans back to look into your eyes, cupping your face in both hands.

"It's alright, baby boy," he croons softly as he watches you. "We'll give it another shot later tonight, once you've had time to prepare properly. Just relax for now."

You burrow further into his protective embrace, hiding your face in his hard chest once again. Sniffling, you listen to the steady rhythm of his beating heart beneath your ear, focusing on its calming tempo. His strong arms hold you close to him securely as he idly strokes your back lovingly with one massive hand.

[hurtcomfortguaranteed]

In The Sentinel 2x12, Blair is unwittingly drugged with a powerful hallucinogen that sends him into a violent, disoriented frenzy. Jim manages to calm him down before the overdose kills him.

[inky-here]

cw: panic attack mentioned, hurt/comfort, recovery

a small whumpee huddled in a tight space when having a panic attack or being overwhelmed

and a bigger caretaker who wants to comfort them somehow managing to squeeze themselves in too, making whumpee laugh because of how comically they had to fold their limbs

[where-is-my-whump]

Hudson and Rex 6x08

[cpt-winters]

Team Leaders Can't Ask For Help

A tremor ran through Leader's hand. Shuddering, he readjusting his grip on the tweezers, the metal cool against his clammy hands as he worked. The crimson liquid contrasted against his pale skin as the blood ran down the upper portion of his leg and pooled around the torn flesh, his black trouser leg frayed around it.

A shaky groan escaped him as he pulled the last piece of shrapnel clear of the wound, ripping an overlapping strip of flesh as he plucked the debris away. The tweezers fell to the tray with a soft clink as he reached for the needle.

"Leader?.."

He bit back a sigh, recognizing his teammate's voice as his hand smacked against the tray harder than intended, fumbling to retrieve the needle and spool of thread.

"What are you doing?"

"It's nothing." Leader's brows pulled together, his utmost focus on the minute loop in the needle as he willed his trembling fingers to push the thread through.

A warm hand pressed against his own, carefully lifting the from his weakened grasp.

"I can do it myself."

"Yeah?" Teammate raised a brow, their eyes briefly meeting. "Well you don't have to."

[rabbitdrabbles]

ok but what about a whumper who wakes up their whumpee super gently. one who cuddles them in their blankets every morning and presses kisses into their hair, hushes their slurred protests with sweet nothings, rocks them slowly and rubs their shoulders as they patiently rouse them.

then, after the initial affection, and after whumpee is good and awake, they’ll drag them off for yet another day of torture.

[whumpberry-cookie]

(W:) "I bled through my clothes and sheets you freshly washed. I'm so sorry..."

(C:) "Oh, just put them in the washing mashine. Did you patch up your wounds or need some help with that?"

(W:) ".....aren't you angry?"

(C:) "I don't- exactly unders- You want me to get mad at you for bleeding?"

(W:) "Not that I want it. But that's not a normal reaction"

(C:) "I'm kinda scared to ask what in your understanding is a normal reaction"

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

[azures-bazar]

Oi there ! I love your RDR2 one shots (mostly the ones where Arthur's being soft af) !!

Could you make one of Arthur being sick and being taken care of by female!reader ??

Thanks in advance, love your work !

High Fever

Hello there anon, thank you for your request !

First of, I'm sorry it took me more than two weeks :') My job is taking most of my free-time as I kinda overwork (yep). Keeping the job I've got at the moment is a real battle, so writing takes much more time than I expected.

Anyway, I hope you'll still like this one-shot. I'm sorry for the mistakes, it's badly written due to the lack of free time I've got :')

Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader 

Word count : 3.8k 

Short summary : Arthur came back to camp overwhelmingly sick, and you are not leaving him alone !

A/Note : Arthur’s tent has flaps and he’s sharing it with reader ! 

Tags : Arthur is sick, some fluff (as always), soft, taking care of someone ill, chapter 3, summer breeze, small whump aftercare (somehow), flu, vastly inspired by IRL

The sun was shining brightly, the morning weather was already quite warm. It was not a surprise, you had been warned about Lemoyne’s overall hot summer weather, but the climate was very different from the one you used to enjoy while the gang was hiding in the Heartlands. You still loved this weather, especially when you had some time to look at the scenery which was surrounding you. Beautiful tall trees, a lake which appeared to be endless, some islands ahead of you… something about Clemens Point felt magical, if not even a little safe. Who would have guessed the Van der Linde gang was hiding here ? 

What made you feel even more safe was the tent you were sharing with Arthur, for a variety of reasons. You had been brought in the gang by Dutch after escaping the law following a minor bank robbery you had performed alone, somewhere back in 1893. Since the very first day you had spent with the rest of the gang, Arthur had displayed a lot of interest in being around you, from helping you to use a bow to spending time drawing by your side. Your rather friendly relationship slowly turned into a very awkward romance when Arthur gifted you with a large bouquet of wild flowers, dropping a kiss on your lips while watching the sunset from a hill. 

"I… I think I really like you." this single sentence he had told you made you go on an incredible journey of two outlaws being in love 

As of 1899, you and Arthur had been sharing his tent for about a year. You could easily remember him holding your hand while asking Dutch to move your cot to his quarters. Indeed, you had slept in Arthur’s tent on a variety of occasions : on rainy nights, when the weather was too cold, when someone of you was drunk, and, of course, when you wanted to have some fun. It had taken two days for Dutch to finally accept Arthur’s request, knowing that some of your nights would obviously not be as quiet as his… and god knows how right he was !  

You rarely slept on your cot, mostly resting into Arthur’s embrace, getting up with the morning light and birds chirping around you. However, that day, instead of peacefully waking up with the light from the outside passing between your tent’s flaps, Arthur’s continuous sneezes and soft coughs had dragged you out of your well-deserved rest. Being on guard duty all day long doing mostly nothing was boring… and somewhat tiring. You had chosen to sleep on your cot that night as you went to rest earlier than the rest of the gang. 

"Ugh…" you sighed, shifting from your cot 

You stretched and made your way to Arthur’s bed, triggered by the sound of his sneezes. You could remember him coming back one day ago from a journey to Ambarino which had lasted for two days. Since Arthur came back, you could easily hear him cough quite often, at any time of the day. The sneezing had started to occur last night, much to your biggest dismay as you just wished to get some sleep. 

"Arthur ?" you whispered 

Arthur’s eyes cracked open as he noticed you were standing nearby. He greeted you with a sweet smile, which caused you to put your frustration aside, melting from the inside as you placed your hand on his forehead. Thankfully enough, Morgan was not feverish. At least… not yet. 

"Did I wake you up ?" Arthur asked, a little confused 

"You’re sick." you sighed 

"No, I ain’t." 

You shook your head, asking Arthur to stand up to prove he was in good shape. He even proceeded putting his clothes on for you not to worry about him, causing you to smirk a little. Whenever you were sick, Arthur was always the one taking care of you. And, right at this moment, as he was getting sick himself, he proudly hid his illness behind his usual smile and rough voice. 

"See ? I’m fine." he said, leaving the tent

Arthur quickly headed out to chop some wood while you looked at him with a rather concerned expression. As far as you could recall, whenever Arthur was sick, there were at least two phases. The ‘No I’m fine’ phase, which was the one he usually displayed whenever he was starting to feel a little sick. He would still keep doing chores, going hunting and not even care about his health, overworking himself to please Dutch anytime he needed. 

The second one was the ‘I’m dying’ phase, which, as its name suggested, was triggered whenever Arthur felt horribly sick. During this phase, Arthur usually behaved like a man on his deathbed, begging for the mercy of whatever was above, crying like a child until the symptoms would slowly fade away. Indeed, you did not want Arthur to get to this phase because not only it was a pitiful sight for such man, but also because you already had some hard time acting serious when he was behaving like a young boy. 

For a few hours, you watched Arthur take care of some chores while minding your own business, up until Morgan stopped walking around and started coughing heavily. You watched him cough, nearly falling on his knees as you quickly carried a sack of grain to Pearson’s wagon. You quickly walked towards Arthur, who was slowly trying to breathe normally. 

"You okay ?" you asked

"I’m fine." Arthur answered in a rather weak way

"No you ain’t."

You moved closer to Arthur, raising your hand to touch his forehead, causing him to chuckle. Of course, Morgan was a tough man who did not need anyone’s help, and seeing you wanting to take care of him made him feel very amused by the situation. Yes, he was sick… and there was no need to hide it from you. 

"My god, your forehead is burning !" you gasped. "Get back to your tent !"

"Y/N, m’fine…-"

"To your tent, right now !" 

Arthur noticed how persuasive you were, causing him to chuckle, raising his hands in the air as you pushed him towards his tent, quickly informing both Dutch and Hosea, who were having a talk nearby, that their boy was sick was would not do anything today. They both knew Arthur was doing most of the work around camp, he definitely deserved some rest ! Especially being this sick ! 

"Oh, I’ll go make a Ginseng tonic !" Hosea said, quickly heading to his tent

"Are you sure you can handle this grumpy giant cowboy alone, dear Y/N ?" Dutch asked you, glancing at Arthur who was sitting on his cot grumbling something while crossing his arms and legs

"Don’t worry, Dutch." you smiled. "I’ll take care of your son !"

Dutch chuckled, watching you get to your tent before closing its flaps. The single view of Arthur, nearly pouting on his cot, his arms crossed on his chest and his feet drawing circles on the ground made you smile. What a funny sight it was to witness such a brawny man and well known cowboy with a bounty on his head behaving like a grumpy child who was refusing to get some rest ! 

"Take ‘em boots off, Morgan." you said 

"Y/N, I ain’t gonna stay in my tent all day long, the others need me." 

"You’re staying here. The others can take care of some chores for a day, you’re staying in this tent." 

"But I…-"

"I said you’re staying in this tent. Now take your boots and pants off." 

Arthur grumbled and obliged, calmly removing his boots. He loved taking care of you, he absolutely enjoyed having you rest into his embrace, comfort you after some nightmares you had, watch over you whenever you were feeling sick… but was not used being taken care of. He was a grown man who did not even need anyone’s help. Having such a beautiful lady like you watching over him made him feel both awkward and incredibly good, even if he was to proud to say it. He proceeded removing his gun belt and satchel while staring at you with a defiant smile. 

"Wanna see me naked, sweetheart ?" he smirked

"No, just take your pants off." 

You helped Arthur removing his suspenders and pants, leaving him in his union suit. You carefully passing your hands on his shoulders, wiping away some dirt while pushing him on his cot. He did not even dare showing any signs of resistance, laying down his bed with a sigh as his head rested on a pillow which was once yours. 

"M’fine, Y/N, I swear." he sighed 

"You ain’t a good liar with me. I’ll go get some blankets." 

"This is humiliatin’…" 

Arthur’s words made you shiver, causing you to sit beside him. How could he believe being sick was humiliating when probably every single human being could catch a cold ? You placed your hand on his burning head, letting out a soft sigh before looking into his green orbs. 

"It ain’t. You’re sick, and it happens. You’re spending so much time trying to do chores, doing hunting, doing bounties, robbing places… just for us to survive. Now, allow yourself to rest for a bit. You deserve it." 

"But the others…-" 

"The others will be just fine. Close your eyes and get some rest. I’ll come back to check on you." 

Despite not agreeing with you, Arthur closed his eyes as you gently covered him with one of his blankets. You looked at his grumpy face with a little smirk, listening to him grumbling a few words in his three-days beard before leaving the tent to do some chores around camp. What a literal child Arthur was to act like this ! You often wondered how Hosea, Dutch and Ms. Grimshaw had managed to take care of him back when he was a young boy, especially knowing that Arthur’s behaviour once used to be similar to Sean’s. 

You came back to check on Arthur after taking care of some chores, being given Hosea’s tonic. His eyes cracked open as soon as you walked back inside the tent. He rose on his elbows, getting you with one of his absolutely amazing smiles. You would have killed for this smile, definitely. They were so genuine and worth it… and Arthur was the most handsome man you knew ! 

"Did you get some sleep ?" you smiled 

"No." Arthur shook his head. "I ain’t gonna sleep in the middle of the day like that. I ain’t lil' Jack to take naps. "

"Arthur… You take care of me when I’m sick, lemme do the same for you. I brought you Hosea’s tonic." 

You walked closer to Arthur’s cot and sat next to him, pouring a very strange coloured liquid into his tint cup. Hosea had told you about its ingredients, but you did not expect such a yellowish tone… and awful smell. At first sight, it really looked like some snake oil, and the terrible scent coming from it did not help at all. 

"I ain’t drinkin’ that." Arthur chuckled. "It smells like cat piss."

"Arthur, please." you smiled back 

"Ugh… fine." 

Arthur swallowed the tonic in one go, coughing as he quite disliked its taste, nearly throwing up as he felt this strange liquid go down his throat. He knew that taste and that smell, it wasn’t the first time Hosea was making him a tonic. He had spent a vast majority of his teenage years drinking a variety of them, getting sick quite often. He could remember most of them, but the Ginseng tonic was probably the one he had drank the most throughout his time in the gang. 

"My god, it tastes terrible !" Arthur gagged 

"Yep, but Hosea says it’s the best for you !" 

According to Hosea, this tonic would put Arthur back on his feet in no time. You trusted Matthews’ expertise, having watched him carefully mix the Ginseng’s petals with some water and some gold berries you had brought him a day earlier. Just like Arthur, you also had the opportunity to drink some of these tonics throughout your life with the gang… enough for you to feel a vast amount of compassion as you watched Arthur struggle with his drink. 

"Now get some rest, Arthur." you smiled. "I’ll be back in a few hours, I just need to help Pearson cook the stew and finishing sewing my dress." 

Arthur did not respond, only watching you going out of the tent, sighing as he closed his eyes once more. He could not escape ! Arthur started dozing off after a few seconds, listening to Dutch and Molly arguing nearby his tent, to Sean’s terrible jokes by the crate of whiskey, and to an attempt of Bill to bond with Kieran over a bottle of beer. Something made him feel relaxed, the way you took care of him made him feel relaxed. He secretly adored it, despite not mentioning it. 

You came back a few hours later, as promised, having sent Dutch, Hosea and Tilly to look for Arthur every thirty minutes or so to make sure he was still fine. As you came back inside the tent, you found Arthur groaning, sweating so heavily that your heart nearly stopped at the sight of this poor man in such pain. 

"Oh my god, Arthur… how do you feel ? What hurts ?" 

You helped Arthur up, softly taking off his sweat-soaked union suit. You wanted to make it quick, and Arthur’s wobbly arms did not help at all. He groaned a little when you tried taking his arms out of his shirt, feeling an intense pain coming from the back of his head. You managed to take out some old cloth and plunged it into a bucket of cold water to wipe away some of Arthur’s sweat. 

"Head hurts…" he groaned 

"I know, sweetheart. I’ll just clean you up a little and you’ll lie down." 

"Sweetheart". You called him sweetheart, a word you never used to qualify him… Arthur was quick to give you some nicknames, from variations of your own name to pet names you adored. Your heart stopped beating for a second as you awaited Arthur’s response, being greeted with his sweet smile and painful sight, slowly passing the cloth on his shoulders.

"Lemme do this m’self, dove…" 

"Arthur, it’s not…-"

Arthur tried getting the wet cloth from your hands but ended up loosing balance. You quickly caught him before he would hit the ground, sighing as he whined, burying his head in the crook of your neck while his arms remained wobbly. How humiliating it was for him to be at your whole mercy ! Such a tough outlaw, skilled gunslinger… barely able to move his arms without whining like a sick child ! He was not fully himself, but somewhat happy to be taken care of.

"M’sorry…" he whispered. "I hate being like that…"

"It’s okay. Stay still for me, alright ?" 

"Sure…"

You were worried about Arthur’s health, but somewhat amused by what you were seeing at the moment. What a child… you knew that all men from the gang, no matter how tough they were, often behaved as if they were on their deathbeds whenever they were sick. A simple headache had led Bill to pretend he was dying, Dutch had once remained in his bed for three days because of a nasal congestion. You knew that Arthur was just a little sick at this moment, believing he was about to die too. 

"There you go." you said, passing the wet cloth over Arthur’s torso. "Let’s put on a new union suit." 

"I’m dying…" 

"No, you ain’t." 

Arthur used the last bits of energy he had to shrug. You quickly lifted his heavy legs up to get the bottom of his union suit off, not even bothering about him being naked. You had seen him undressed quite often, this wasn’t much of a discovery ! You wanted him dressed into something, that poor man was sick ! You carefully slipped a red union suit on him, buttoning it while Arthur looked at you. His eyes were half-closed, a soft smile was blooming on his face. You could easily tell he was not fully himself, just by the look he was giving you. 

"Are you hungry ?" you asked him, taking his face between your hands 

"I’d eat you raw, honeybee…" Arthur responded, his eyes twitching. "Maybe with some cranberry sauce, along with potatoes…" 

"Well… seems like you ain’t. Lay down." 

Arthur’s words made you blush, but his health was far too much important at the moment. He laid down, moaning as soon as his head touched his pillow. As you were on your way out of his tent to get him some stew, Arthur whined, causing you to shiver and turn back. He was looking at you, giving you a sick puppy glance, summoning enough energy to spread his arms wide for you to embrace him. 

"Don’ go…" he whimpered 

"Oh, Arthur…" 

You slowly walked back to his cot, your heart was fluttering as you could not even resist these puppy eyes. Arthur, even being so sick and probably a little needy, was still the charming man you adored. The most handsome man you had ever met, the sweetest gentleman gifting you with flowers, gems, antique alcohol bottles… who would have thought such an angelic-looking man was an outlaw and had blood on his hands ?

"Feeling needy, huh ?" you smiled, passing your hand through his sweaty hair 

"I’m gonna die…" Arthur whined. "Don’ leave me… I’m so sick…"

"I’ll be right back, sweetheart. I’ll come back with another tonic, wait for me." 

Arthur whined as he nuzzled his head into his pillow, allowing you to grab one of his blankets and cover him up to the shoulders. You passed your hand through his dirty blonde hair, causing him to smile a little before watching you leaving the tent. You nearly felt bad for leaving him ! You grabbed a bowl of stew and quickly ate it as Hosea gave you another of his tonics. 

"He must drink it before midnight, it will help him rest." Matthews told you as he gave you the bottle

"Alright. I’ll make sure of it." 

Hosea smiled and patted your shoulder before heading towards his bed made of a variety of different blankets, kissing the picture he had of his wife, laying down while keeping his eyes open for a moment. He watched you walk towards your tent, absolutely delighted to know his boy was having you around him. What a treasure you were for the gang, indeed ! So sweet, adorable and caring ! You headed back to your tent with Hosea’s tonic and were met with a rather pleasant sight.

"Oh." you smiled 

Arthur was asleep laying on his left side, facing the sunset. You slowly walked in to get a better glimpse of him, not even wanting to wake him up. He looked so peaceful, so sweet ! Who would have thought this good-looking man, having beautiful green orbs hidden under his eyelids and long eyelashes which could trigger anyone’s jealousy, had blood on his hands ? At first sight, nobody could have guessed Arthur was an outlaw rather than being just a really handsome man. What a shame that the only one not accepting his beauty was himself… 

While you were away from your tent, Arthur had battled to keep himself awake. He had pushed his pillow on the ground, not finding it comfortable enough, dragging the blanket over his body, then kicking it away, then dragging it back again. He was sleeping so peacefully that you did not even want to move the blanket a little over him. You smiled as you calmly sat by him, checking his temperature by kissing his forehead. 

"The fever’s gone…" you whispered

"Y/N ?…" Arthur mumbled

"No, no, sweetheart… go back to sleep…"

The soft sound of Arthur’s whine could be heard as his eyes cracked open. You expected to be met with a rather grumpy sight for interrupting his sleep but, as soon as his vision got clear enough to see what was around, Morgan smiled to you. Your sole presence had triggered a sudden happiness as he calmly took your hand and held it close to his chest. He liked it, he liked the way you took care of him. It felt good to have such an angel like you around, stitching up his wounds, giving him medicine, watching over him as he slept… he felt safe. 

You were melting, you felt butterflies fly in your belly as you kept analysing Arthur’s beautiful features and lovely smile. His usually green eyes had turned blue to the tears of pain he might have shed earlier, and due to this flu he had caught. What a handsome man he was ! Even with his high fever, dark rings under his eyes, sweaty hair… you could have given anything to prove him how handsome he was. Anything. Taking care of him while he was sick was giving you the perfect opportunity to enjoy his presence a little more, to admire this talented gunslinger and very skilled artist, whose large hands always came up with amazing and refined drawings. 

"Was dreamin’ of you…" he whispered 

"Oh ?" you smiled, gently caressing his hair. "What was I doing ?" 

"You’re wearin’ a white dress and a flower crown… and you’re singin’… that you loved me and all…" 

"Oh, did you like it ?" 

"Of course, ‘cause I love you…" 

This vast amount of butterflies could not stop flying in your belly, just this single sentence made your heart flutter. Arthur never truly voiced all his love for you, but being so tired and ill… his ‘introvert-filter’ was quick to disappear, as well as his overall grumpy behaviour. Arthur slowly rolled aside, patting his cot for you to lay down next to him. And, with such an adorable puppy glance, how could you refuse ? 

"Wait up, Arthur." you smiled. "Lemme just get my clothes off." 

It took you just a few seconds to take your shirt and skirt off, quickly laying next to Arthur who nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist while letting out a long and very relaxed moan. You chuckled as you felt his beard tickle you clavicles, his heavy breath getting slower and slower as he slowly dozed off in your embrace. 

"I love you too, silly man." you smiled, kissing his forehead  

Arthur moaned in return, making you smile as his grip on your waist tightened, passing your hands in his hair, caressing his skin, dropping a few subtle kisses on his forehead. What a man you had here, what a peculiar feller ! A literal bear whenever he was doing fine, but a young child whenever he was sick. You did not mind, you loved him for what he was, you loved him entirely. And you would nurse him back to health, whatever the price was. You did not care about getting sick yourself, Arthur’s recovery mattered the most at the moment. 

Nothing else mattered. 

[bilightningwhumper]

@ailesswhumptober 2024- Day 26

Sensory Saturday: Electrocution, burning, “This is going to sting.”

<<Previous . My AI-less Whumptober 2024 Masterlist . Next>>

Shadow of a Shield (Jamie's story) Masterlist --- SoaS Series Masterlist

Summary:

Excerpt for "Shadow of a Shield" (Jamie's story) Training between Jamie and Ana doesn't go well

Notes:

Characters: Jamie- Steve and Peggy's daughter Ana- Jamie's best friend (turned girlfriend) Warnings: mention of injury by burning, first aid

Ao3 link

Word count: 382

Jamie PoV

Jamie stopped letting out her flames as Ana cried out. Panicked, she ran over to where her girlfriend was clutching her hand. The smell of burning flesh was rank in the air, no doubt as much as hers became seeing Ana hunched over, arms gathered to her middle.

“Here, let me see,” she said, trying to keep her voice even and soft instead of the frantic whine building up in her throat.

Even as she hissed in pain showing her palms to Jamie, Ana still smiled at her. “It’s not that bad, hun.”

And they weren’t, the smell making it seem worse than it was, but they still needed to do first aid.

“No more training today.” Jamie said bluntly, dragging Ana over to the locker rooms.

The alpha didn’t protest, staying quiet as she let Jamie fuss over her. Though she did hiss again as her hands went under the cool water from the sink.

As Jamie pulled out disinfectant from the med kit, she murmured, “This is going to sting.”

“What, more than before?” Ana joked, her smile faltering slightly as Jamie gave her a look. “Sorry.”

It wasn’t until after the burns were cleaned and ointment put over them that Jamie spoke again. “I don’t know hurting you, even if it was by accident.” she said quietly while wrapping bandages around Ana’s hands.

Ana just shrugged. “I have to learn how to defend myself somehow. And you need to learn better control. We’re the perfect pair for that, logically speaking.”

“Yeah, but,” Jamie sighed, frustrated, though she stayed as gentle as she could as she started on the second hand. “I have super healing. You don’t.”

Ana got a pensive look on her face, so Jamie stopped talking, letting her think. When Jamie had finished and putting the supplies away, Ana finally spoke. “What if we got the boys to make us suits?”

“What, like super suits?”

“Kind of. Just something for training that can withstand our powers without either of us getting hurt.”

“Oh.” That was a really good idea.

Ana took Jamie’s chin in her hands. “I don’t like seeing you hurt either, you know.”

The smell of the ointment made Jamie sneeze, ruining the moment. But it made Ana laugh, so Jamie couldn’t help but smile.

SoaS Taglist:

No one so far

[theres-a-body-here]

Bite Aftercare

Male!werewolf x Male!reader drabble

<-Previous - Next->

You'd think the bite would be worst part of the marking process.

You're wrong.

When werewolves mark their mate, they flood pheromones into their body's endocrine system. An evolutionary process meant to ensure mates can better understand each other's emotions and needs without much communication.

While useful for typical werewolf pairings, this adaptation proved extremely painful for mixed species partnerships like yours and Josh's.

Now, hours later, you find yourself lying on the bed, wracked with tears and sobs, your entire body burning hot and shaking. Through it all, Josh remains close by your side, offering what little comfort he can.

Unable to hold back his own tears, Josh apologizes profusely, "I'm so sorry…" His heart aches at seeing you suffer, and he desperately tries to console you, gently lapping up your salty tears with his rough tongue. "I'm sorry."

As you snivel and hiccup into his chest, his ears flatten on his head. "I love you so much," he murmurs, holding you ever closer, "you're going to make the most amazing mate anyone could ever ask for."

To further ease your discomfort, he returns to the site of his mark, tracing the sensitive openings of the wound.

Despite your best efforts to remain strong, another weak whimper escapes your lips.

Josh immediately responds with gentle reassurance, his clawed hands stroking your back in circular motions, "Shh, it's okay. You're being so strong right now; I'm so proud of you." Continuing to clean the fresh wound, he adds softly, "And I love you more than anything else in this world."

As the intensity of your pain gradually subsides, you gather enough strength to utter a few words, "I love you too."

[hurtcomfortguaranteed]

In The Expanse 4x08, Amos mentally shuts down after being blinded by an alien organism. Holden is there to comfort him.

[capturedpain]

Daredevil 3x07

"You're losing blood. Please let me see to your wounds."

Matthew Murdock. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen. And one of the most whumped man on TV.

[just-whump-and-suffering]

Kisses from Death Ep 05

[resuswhore]

overview: m/m resus, fluid in lungs; cpr, suction, pacing, very hardware heavy. whumpy with a happy ending.

- this was originally written as personal/private piece, I wrote to get off, but I decided to share, so the flow might be a little odd. - perspective slightly shifts from beginning to end, but nothing drastic, just a heads up. - this is my first official piece on here, hope y'all like it.

I need to hold a limp and vulnerable boy in my arms, to feel his soft skin and brittle bones fall completely to my will, I want to hold his hands in mine, knowing his life depends on me. I want to hold him as he lays unconscious in a hospital gown, to kiss his almost too cool forehead, and listen to the beep beep beep beep of the monitor as his heart struggles to beat for itself.

I want his body is intruded upon; IVs in his hands and wrists, even in the crooks of his elbows, a PICC line taped down against his bicep, a central line embedded against his chest, a jugular line if I’m really luck, giving me access to all of him, to his weak heart and sickly body. I’ll to press kisses along his arms, port to port, iv to iv, feeling the sterile plastic beneath my lips. I’ll hold his cold hands in mine, weary of the pulse ox taped to his forefing, making sure to be gentle as I hold onto him like I’m his lifeline, and in a way, I am.

I will take him into my arms as he struggles to remain in the same plane as me, slipping between the veil of life and death. I’ll call his name and shake him in a way that seems far to harsh despite my attempts to be gentle with his fragile body; I’ll to watch as his limbs flutter around helplessly, and his head lolls against my shoulder, his face remaining slack.

As his heart begins to fade, I’ll force my knuckles into his sternum, rubbing at it harshly until it is covered in bruises. I want to feel his weak attempts at whimpers and the hiss of struggled breaths, as I try desperately to force life back into his weakening chest, to make his dying heart beat a bit stronger, a bit faster. I’ll take seflish pride in knowing the pain I’m causing him is saving his life, even if something that could almost label as guilt or shame tears through my own heart.

I’ll try to help him breathe, even if I know my actions are futile; I’ll help him sit upright, laying him against my chest, fluid spilling from his lips as I use a single, gentle hand against his throat, gripped tightly around his jaw, to hold his airway nice and open, while also tilting his head slightly down to allow him to pass the fluid keeping him from getting air. Every time he begins to choke, despite lacking the energy to do so, I’ll use my finger to clear his throat of spit and fluid so he can attempt to breathe clearly. When he stutters through half a breath, choking before he can fully fill his lungs, I’ll press my mouth over his and give him some of my own breath, feeling his chest rise and fall, his cheeks pillowing and throat shifting as I do so, bobbing as he nearly chokes over the force of my air going down his throat, pressing gentle kisses to his lips between each breath.

Eventually, he’ll stop breathing against me entirely, and I will hear him gurgling on his own spit until he is too weak to attempt another, and feel his ribs stopping shifting with the far too intense effort it took to pull even the smallest amount of air into his body, and his weak attempts at coughs as his lungs give out, jerking his chest against my own pitifully, his head pulling back ever so slightly until he goes entirely slack. My own heart will ache and my stomach will tingle with something eerily similar to arousal as his heart follows suit, flickering out from its already slow rhythm until there is nothing but a sharp ringing in the air. I’ll shift the hand currently holding his airway open, letting his head sag and his airway obstruct almost completely, to press my fingers deeply into his carotid, wanting to feel for myself that he is gone.

Before I can even process the fact that his heart has truly stopped, I will quickly scoop him up into my arms, his head falling off my shoulder and sagging helplessly, causing his neck to extend in an exposed fashion, before laying him out on the bed haphazardly, surrounded by the muffed-up blue hospital sheets and myriad of lines and wires and tubes that curl around him like some sort of all-consuming halo, letting his gown ride up and become disheveled, exposing his beautiful skin; the boney curves of his chest, the way his ribs stick out ever so slightly to protect his weak lungs and weaker heart, the soft flesh of his belly, the sharp edges of his collar bone.

I’ll press my fingers to each of his leads, making sure they’re firmly stuck down where they are littered over his chest, and rearrange the wires so they lay nicely against his form. As I let my eyes scan over his unmoving body, I’ll tighten the blood pressure cuff around his thigh, just to be safe. I’ll card my fingers through his hair and study his emotionless face, pressing kisses over his closed eyes and to the corners of his cold lips.

As I half heartedly pump his chest with one hand, I’ll attempt to shove my suction tube down his throat with the other, trying desperately to do the job of 2 people, maybe three people at once, or more so, the work his body should be doing but can’t. I’ll hear the satisfying crackle of fluid leaving his wet lungs, all while his head bobs with each compression, his body offering no other reaction to the bowing of his ribs or the tube down his throat. I’ll struggle at the angle, having to abandon his heart to focus on his lungs.

I want to watch his lips turn blue as I struggle to suction all the fluid from his throat and lungs, unable to truly get any air in his lungs, no matter how many times I pressed my lips to his and blew as hard as I could, only to feel my breath gargle in his lungs. I’d shift his head over and over until I decided to place and OPA, slipping the plastic tube down his throat, finally establishing an airway; I’d use it to place a suction tube down his airway, into his lungs, finally clearing enough fluid give his body what it so desperately needed. I’ll press my warm, pink, lips to his cold, gray-ish ones, finding them sickly moist, but finally feeling air move through the plastic tube and down into his lungs, lifting his chest in the process, the warm air coming back cool.

Once I can get his airway stabilized, I’ll go back to his chest, finding his once pale ivory skin now tinted gray. His delicate ribs bow beneath my hands almost too easily, his stomach bulging and his shoulders jumping with each compression. The sound of the gentle gasps of air that leave him, almost whistling past the OPA, as I break his chest and the quiet but still harsh beeping of the EKG as it warns me of his dropping stats and the effects of my compressions on his sick heart filling my ears.

I want to make use of all those ports, filling him with fluids and drugs, desperately hooking him up to whatever I can get my hands on, anything that could potentially bring him back to me. I’ll send adrenaline straight through his PICC line, fluids and vasopressors through his IVs, trying to stabilize his dying body or bring back even the most feeble of heart beats.

I’d have to keep breathing for him, stopping my compressions when my shoulders begin to burn more than I can power through, only to drape myself over him, fingers in his hair, as I press our mouths together, breathing into the OPA, air filling past the plastic tube. I’ll repeat the action over and over again, filling my lovers lungs with air, reveling in the smoothness the airway brings to our one-sided exchange of air, how the air whisps out of it with a gentle hiss, how steady it feels when I place my hand to his chest, feeling it fill his moist lungs.

I still have to pause to suction him over and over, to keep him from drowning on his own fluids, but something about the action, feeding the tube down his throat and working it through his lungs, hearing the crackle of fluid, and even when I go back to breathing for him, his chest rattles every now and again despite my best efforts. His lips grow colder and colder against mine as time passes, but as I breathe for him again and again, they momentarily match my warmth before I go back to compressions, our last exchange feeling almost like a kiss, but surely cool when I abandon them.

I’ll pull his gown even further down to expose his full chest, and the bruises I’ve left, so I can press AED pads to his skin, feeling his bones shift beneath me as I press them to his chest firmly. I’ll shock him and watch his chest seize, and his head throw back, exposing his pretty neck, and his hands clenched tightly at his sides. I’ll shock him over and over again, each time with higher and higher voltage, his reaction to the shocks becoming more violent each time. After each attempt I’ll lean over and kiss him, gently apologizing for what I’m doing to him, only to shock him again even harder. Somehow the shame is arousing, knowing I’m breaking him, hurting him, only out of desperation.

I’ll need him to come back, I’ll beg him throughout the compressions, as my hands begin to wander from his sternum, and straying just slightly to the left, directly over his heart, because I need it to beat, I need to pump it directly so it can find the strength to restart.

I want his name to fall off my tongue like a prayer, over and over and over again, until there is nothing left in my mind. I want my actions, and my devotions to be like prayer to him, my attention to every facet of his being, even then, when he is dead under my hands, to be like worship. I want to break him, hurt him, destroy him in my attempts to revive him; burning his skin with each shock, breaking his ribs, bruising his beautiful body.

His heart restart after I’ve shocked him more times than I can count, given him more air than I can even begin to imagine, and broken his chest in a desperate manner. It’ll be weak and slow, I’ll have to guide it with my hands, continuing shallow compressions, so it doesn’t flutter back out of existence, until I grow too tired to keep up any consitancy.

I’ll switch to pacing with the AED, struggling to get it to catch a rhythm at all, turning the dial up more and more, worrying that he’s too far gone, that even though his hearts attempting to beat at the moment, its given up its fight and wants only to fizzle out and be left alone (little does it know I won’t allow that). but once it does, I’ll find pleasure in watching his chest jolt with each small shock of the pacer. I'll turn the volts up, much like I did the defib, and push his heart to be strong. I want to hold his hand as he begins to dig his nails into his palms as he is struck with pain. I can’t even bring myself to give him something for the pain out of fear of risking his heart stopping once more, even though I know it's cruel and most likely selfish to do so. I love him, I can’t lose him, I’ll torture him if it’ll keep him alive, pleasures lulls through my being at the realization.

His breathing remains non-existent, so I’ll have to keep breathing for him, keep giving him these kisses of life, knowing my air is keeping him alive, is keeping his feeble heart beating and his sad little lungs alive. I’ll switch to an ambu bag when I can’t keep his saturation up any longer, and his body has gone a sick grayish palor, far past that blue shade, for me to keep using my recycled air, and when I do, I’ll fill his lungs to the brim each time, and relish in the return of color to his skin. It was selfish to deprive him of real oxygen for so long, but the feeling of knowing I held him in limbo for so long is intoxicating.

I’d spend hours keeping him alive, holding him in my arms, sterile hospital sheets wrapped around his form in an attempt to work some color back into his skin, my lips pressing to every inch of skin I can get to, kissing him ever so gently, willing him with sweet words to stay with me. I’d breathe for him, with the ambu bag until my wrists grew sore, and only then would I indulge my need to fill him with my own air, pressing my lips to his over and over again until his stats dropped, before going back to the bag, taking breaks every time he’d start to gurgle on fluid reaching his airway, to suction fluid from his lungs once more. Maybe he’d code a few times, maybe he’d gasp a few of his own breaths, or maybe he would just lay there, letting me help him, letting me keep him alive with no struggle or resistance.

But eventually he’d flutter into consciousness, looking frantically through his lashes, eyes blown wide and teary, whining as his chest spasms with each jolt of the pacer, and gagging on the airway still sitting in his throat. I’ll insist he keeps it in for me, because I need him to be safe for me, that he still can’t hold his own airway and his heart can’t maintain its own steady beat, and that it's for his own good. I’ll tell him I’m sorry, that everything hurts, that he has to suffer through the pain because I can’t risk his precious little heart.

I’ll watch as he struggle, hands haphazardly trying to pull the pads off his chest or pull out the air way, gently restraining him as the struggle begins throwing off his heart rhythm. I’d bind them to the side of the bed, holding one hand in my own, stroking his cheek with the other. I’d promise him that I was sorry, that he had to leave it, that he needed it, that is was for his own good, that it would all be over soon. I’d kiss away his tears as he struggled to remain conscious, finding trust in his tired puppy dog eyes.

I won’t allow him to breathe on his own, not unassisted, no, I’d sit behind him, leaning him against my chest, his head rested in the crook of my shoulder, aiding each and every breath with the ambu bag, oxygen turned up full flow, making sure his chest fills completely each time. His lungs are still weak and soggy, I still need to suction him every now and then, which is harder now that he’s conscious, but twice as pleasing, cutting off his air so that way he doesn’t continue to choke

treating him seems to be a lot like that, ebb and flow, doing harm in the moment to do good in the future, hurting him to keep him alive, torturing him because I love him, shame turning into pleasure

I’ll watch his eyes roll back as he loses grip on reality, lashes fluttering, alarms blaring, fluid crackling through the suction, something twisting in me in the most divine way. Once I’m finished I make sure to give him deep, almost too full breaths, rubbing his sternum until his eyes snap open, flashing to me in a panicked manner. I’ll kiss him and tell him everything is alright, that I’ve got him, that he’s safe with me, because he is, I’d shift the tides to keep him here with me. He’ll look up at me, still scared, confused even, and in pain, but all I’ll see is trust, trust that I’m protecting him, trust that I wouldn’t be hurting him if I didn’t have to, trust that I love him and thats why I’m doing this.

He’d submit himself to me, letting his eyes fall blankly around the room, his own breathing completely stopped, not because he can’t, but because he knows I’ll do it for him, his body going completely pliant against me so I can shift him and hold him and work him however I need without any problem.

In time his heart will strengthen, part of me is too worried to take him off the pacer, but I do slip him some morphine, and he finally slips into a blissful enough state to sleep. I’ll slip out from behind him, settling him up on the pillows gently, making sure his airway remains stable. I’ll decide to switch him to a breathing bag, so he can breathe on his own, but I’m still able to assist when needed, giving me an opportunity to let my mind stray.

I keep part of my mind locked on his body, the sound of his breathing, the way his chest moves as he inhales, the spasm caused by the pacer, the force it takes him to get air in, the palor of his skin; another on the monitor, what his vitals look like, if any alarms are going off; a third on the bag, watching him inhale, deflating the bag slightly before it refills with air. But the rest is focused on him, his pretty face, the bruises I’ve left all over him, on his chest, his jaw, even his lips are all red and swollen. His ribs are battered beyond belief, there are surely burns under the AED pads from how long they’ve sat on his body, his palms are bloodied from how tightly he’s clenched his hands tight, but something about all that is beautiful, all tragic like. It makes me want to just sit and stare, and to be frank, I do. I sit and I watch, hushing him when the morphine begins to wear off, squeezing the bag when he struggles to breath on his own, holding his hand still bound to the bed all throughout the night, savoring his beauty, almost like he’s now too fragile to touch.

In the morning, I’ll take the airway out and let him breathe on his own, feeling an odd disappointment in my relinquishment of control, almost shoving it back in when he chokes hard, coughing up fluid into his lap, his eyes panicked, but a few blows to the back and a rebreather mask takes the edge off and eventually he settles back into the pillows, where he’ll watch me dazily as I rub his chest, trying to get his breathing to fully settle until he falls back to sleep. His heart rate remains steady so I begin to wean him off the pacer, lowering the voltage bit by bit until I feel sure I can take them off. All the while, he doesn’t say a word, his throat is bruised from my efforts, but he watches me idly, like he wants to say something.

He’s still sick, there's still fluid in his lungs, and his hearts still weak, his output is low and his rhythm is bradycardic, but manageable with atropine, his saturation fluctuates, but upping his oxygen helps that too. He watches me float about his room, doting or while I’m working on him, listening to his heart and lungs with the stethoscope (hissing at his wet lungs once) more pushing meds, suctioning his lungs, cleaning around his ports. He even watches while I’m looking at the machines keeping him alive, listening as I babble to him mindlessly. He smiles, leans back, chest huffing lightly;

“I love you,” I barely hear him, his voice is quiet and broken, he coughs lightly between each syllable, but he says it. He looks at me like I’ve hung the stars (and his morphine), holding out his sickly looking hand, which I take immediately. “You saved me.”

He smiles, his perfect, soft, glowing smile, despite everything else happening to him, lightly squeezing my hand to the best of his ability, his head sinking into the pillow like it takes all his strength just to do so, and in reality, it easily could. But that doesn’t stop him from pulling my hand up to his chest, right over his heart, where it's thumping against his splinted ribs. I go to speak, to assure him that of course I did, but he pushes me with a gentle look.

“I’m here, cause of you, you saved me,” his words are floaty, like he���s not 100% there, but he looks at me, eyes wide, sure of himself, before pulling my hand up to his carotid, letting my fingers find his pulse, weak and slow, but there. “I’m still here, and I’m going to stay here, because I have you. and you won’t let me go.”

He wraps both of his IV ridden hands around my arm, his skin cool against mine, bringing it to his mouth so he could kiss my fingers. It was odd, feeling the boy he had just spent hours resuscitating and stabilizing, be the one to take care of him, even as minisculely as he was now, but touch was far from foreign, and the look in his eye was far too comforting not to lean into.

We would most certainly have to talk, really talk, about everything, but that could wait, right now, all I planned to do, was hold onto my boy, to feel him breathing, to hear his heart rate on the monitor, knowing I got him back, that all of it was worth it, cause he was here, and his still love me, despite the pain and the fear, the selfish choices made out of my own lust. It’d be fine. We’re fine.