#and there's braces under the cabinets as well

[gallusrostromegalus]

Kronk Meme Voice: Aw yeah, it's all coming together...

[hivemuthur]

i haven’t seen this before but a viktor x doctor!reader where his pains are extra bad one day but he’s come to a standstill to his discoveries so he’s extra irritated already. and so reader tries to help him and he just snaps. can be full on angst or angst w/ happy ending if you please. idk much about the topic of chronic pains so hopefully this request wasn’t ignorant, tweak it if you want! love ur writings!!

Hi Anon! Here's your fic!

It Never Entered My Mind

viktorxgn!doctor!reader general audiences, angst with a vague resolution

author’s note: Okay, so this wasn't easy to write because I'm on the both sides of this coin, as a person with chronic pains and someone with medical degree. So, when I'm in pain I want people to pat me on the back and make me a cup of tea, and when someone announces they are in pain I'm this annoying dude that asks WELL DID YOU DRINK WATER TODAY? :O Title from Miles Davis, cheers!

word count: 1,3K

—

The first thing you hear is the door slamming shut and then a long groan as Viktor kicks off his shoes and drops his keys in a bowl. His movements are careful, deliberate—like with each one, he calculates how to hide the fact that something is wrong. But you see it anyway. The stiffness in his shoulders, the slight hitch in his step. The way he lingers just a little too long by the door, gripping the frame before finally stepping out of the hallway.

“Hey,” you greet him, eyeing his posture from under your glasses. “You’re late.”

“Hm,” is all he offers in response before strolling toward the kitchen. No teasing remark. No tired but affectionate jab about you keeping track of his schedule. Just that vague, dismissive sound as he moves past you, his cane tapping against the floor in uneven intervals.

Undoubtedly, it’s going to be another one of those afternoons where he sighs and talks mostly to himself while telling you not to worry about it. So you brace yourself and follow him.

“Have you eaten?”

“Not hungry,” he mumbles while searching through the tea cabinet. You frown. His coat is wrinkled, his hair more dishevelled than usual. And up close, you notice the tension in his face—the tight set of his jaw, the way his fingers curl into his palm even as he reaches for a cup.

Pain. It’s always there in some form, but tonight it clings to him heavier than usual.

You step forward, your hand already reaching out for his shoulder. “Viktor—”

“I am fine.”

The words come too quickly. A pre-emptive strike. Which only confirms that he isn’t and makes your frown deepen. You exhale and go for the obvious first.

“Do you want something for the pain?”

“No.”

He doesn’t even look at you. You can see his defences rising and feel yourself becoming annoyed with his martyrdom.

“Viktor.”

“I said no.”

He sets the cup down harder than necessary and sighs, defeated, as if you have just betrayed him somehow. As if it’s not the physical pain that he is looking to ease.

You cross your arms, studying him for a moment before shifting tactics. “Alright. Then tell me what happened.”

“It was just—” He waves a hand, as if dismissing an invisible nuisance. “Nothing of importance.”

“That’s not an answer,” you press, and all air leaves you. Why do you press in the first place? If he wants to sulk alone, you should let him.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. His patience is thinning, but so is yours.

“Viktor,” you try again, willing yourself to be softer this time. “Just talk to me.”

He hesitates, then finally, “I am stuck.”

You blink but say nothing, making space for him to speak. Your features soften at the sight of him cracking—just a bit.

“With Hextech. With my research.” His fingers tap against the counter, restless, agitated. “It is like hitting a wall, again and again. Every theory, every equation—I run in circles, and it is infuriating.” His voice edges with frustration, exhaustion—something raw beneath it all. “And on top of that, my leg—” He cuts himself off, lips pressing into a thin line.

When he doesn’t continue, you take a step forward and place your hand on his shoulder. “You need to take better care of yourself, Viktor.”

His jaw immediately tenses. “Not this again.”

“You don’t take breaks, you barely eat when you get like this, and it only makes everything worse—”

“Enough,” he growls, shaking your hand off.

But you don’t stop—meaning well but making it worse. “You push yourself too hard. You know stress makes the pain worse. If you just listened to me—”

“I am not your patient,” he hisses through his teeth. It isn’t loud, but it’s sharp enough to cut through your little lecture.

You stare at him, startled, words stuck in your throat. Viktor exhales sharply through his nose, gripping the edge of the counter as he fights for composure. When he speaks again, his voice is lower but no kinder—disappointed, for that matter.

“I do not need a lecture. I do not need to be told how to manage my own body, my own limits. I live in them every day.” His knuckles whiten before he delivers the final blow. “I need my partner. Not my doctor.”

And that does it. Because he is right. You’ve slipped into doctor mode without even thinking. Instead of just listening, instead of just being there, you’ve tried to fix it—fix him—like he was just another case to manage. Or an inconvenience.

And the worst part? You can see it in his face, in the way his shoulders have drawn inward like a man bracing for impact—this isn’t the first time.

You swallow hard, and with the lump in your throat go all the possible words you could say to him. I am sorry sounds like not enough. That wasn’t my intention sounds accusatory. I just want you to feel better feels too dismissive.

“I’m sorry.” You pick the lesser evil and reach for him again. “I’m here for you. Tell me what you need.” You say it quietly, moving closer, and it hurts you disproportionately that he keeps moving away.

“Viktor.” You plead, taking advantage of his slower coordination and sliding your hands around his waist. He raises his arms as if he’s trying to shake you off, but you persist.

“I do not need to be scolded like a child, that’s for sure,” he mumbles grumpily but lowers his arms. Still not ideal, as now you are wrapped around his waist while he stands stiffly, arms hanging limply by his sides. But he does finally look at you. “I just need you to listen, that’s all. To tell me it’s going to be all right.” Just tell me that you love me despite all of this.

You never meant to make him feel like that—like a problem to solve rather than the man you love. But how else are you supposed to react? When he is in pain, when he is hurting, barely keeping himself upright?

You exhale into his chest, trying to find your footing, trying to push back the instinct to argue—to tell him you know what’s best for him. Because that’s not what he needs.

“I’m sorry,” you say again. “I wasn’t trying to—” You shake your head. “I just don’t want to see you suffer when I know there are things that can help.”

Viktor rubs a hand over his face, still avoiding your touch as much as possible. “And I appreciate that. But you have to understand—I have lived with this pain for years. There is no solution. No cure. No treatment that will make it all go away.” His gaze lowers to meet yours. “Sometimes, I just need comfort.”

Something in your chest aches at the admission. “I’m sorry for not seeing you,” you whisper, placing your hand on his cheek. You see something shift in his expression. “No more lectures. I promise.”

Viktor huffs out something like a laugh, tired and wry. “That is a first.” But his hands do finally move, settling on your hips, making you sigh in relief.

You press your ear to his chest and close your eyes. His heart beats unevenly.

“Can I at least take care of you?” you plead quietly, your palms flattening against his back.

His eyes close for a beat when he sighs. And then he hums softly.

“Yes,” he admits. “You can do that.”

[ameliathornromance]

The house you had been living in had seriously dilapidated after your parents had died.

Since you had little to no help, living far out and away from the nearest village – which was just under five miles walk – there wasn’t a lot you could do in the first place.

So you’d let the broken tiles on your roof, be broken and when rain came, let the water leak into your room and drip, drip with the tone of a metronome. You’d let the walls foundations crack and climb up to the ceilings of your house and let the doors hinges to each room in the house rust and stiffen open so that you could no longer close nor open them.

While you had tried to fix the problems yourself initially, they proved a lot more difficult than you would have thought.

The door hinges would not budge from the wooden thresholds, no matter how hard you tried to unscrew them, when you tried to re-plaster the walls, the thick cement smelling sludge would either become watery and the cracks reappear, or the mixture was just too thick and would take whole chunks of the wall with it, as it crashed onto your now rotting wooden floorboards.

Needless to say, you were not in the best spot. The only room that didn’t seem to be effected by the house falling apart, was the kitchen. All the cabinets worked, the sink still delivered clean water and the fire pit for cooking hadn’t failed you once.

One day, a hankering for blueberry pie got the better of you. You hadn’t made one since your parents had died and figured it would do you some good to get out of the house and then come back to make a deliciously sweet treat.

And so you’d set out into the forest, wicker basket hanging off the crook of your arm and waiting to be filled.

Once you had found the blueberry bushes deep within the forest, you began to pick and completely forgot about your surroundings. You don’t know how long you must have been there, for all you knew it could have been hours.

It wasn’t until the trees became still and the birds twittering and chittering had been silenced that you were brought out of your meditative state. Living in the woods for a long time, you get used to the sound of wildlife.

It isn’t until that wildlife goes silent that you realize when you’re in danger.

Confirming your suspicions, a low grumbled reverberated in your chest, the hairs on your neck standing on end.

You turned from your spot by the blueberry bushes and watched as a pack of wolves surrounded you, their teeth bared, hackles raised, their backs dipped as they readied their attack.

Eyes darting around, you searched for an escape route. It’s not like you could dart between them, they’d rip you apart like a chew toy.

Jumping over the bushes was a no go as well, the moment you’re in the air, they would strike and then you’d really be in trouble.

With the wicker basket still squeezed between your elbow, you instinctively gripped it as you realised that this situation was as helpless as it looked.

This was it. You were going to die here.

Just as your thought had finished, the wolf central to your vision let out a bark and lunged, spring boarding off it’s back paws, jaws open and aiming straight for your neck.

You squeezed your eyes tightly closed, threw your arms up to protect yourself, braced yourself for the feeling of teeth ripping at your flesh, the feeling of your warm blood spilling down your front.

But instead, the wolf gave a yelp, followed by a whimper.

You squinted open your eyes, ready to shut them again at the first sign of danger.

A wall of green, thick muscle stood in front of you, the pack leader clasped in this monster’s hands.

“Back!” He snarled. And as if he were throwing a baseball, he threw the creature to the ground.

As soon as the wolf had hit the ground, it had scrambled up, still whimpering. It scuttled away, pack following after it with their tails between their legs.

Heart in your throat, chest thumping like a drum, you looked up at your saviour.

It was an Orc.

Exactly as described by your parents as a child: Tall, walls of muscle with green skin that pulled taught over the strong flesh of their body.

Long, yellow tusks that jutted out from its bottom jaws as it turned to face you. It’s long dark hair had been tied into a low pony tail that swayed with his massive figure as he grunted at you, “are you alright?”

Still reeling from the wolf encounter, you nodded, words escaping you.

“Do you live nearby?” He asked.

You nodded again. His steel cold eyes examined you for a moment, completely enrapturing you.

“Come, let me walk you home.” He placed a hand between your shoulder blades and began to guide you away from the scene of the battle from the wolves.

“Oh?” You said, surprised. “O-Okay.”

The pair of you walked back in silence as you processed what had just happened; Where had this Orc come from?

You hadn’t heard him when you were sat there picking the berries – which were surprisingly intact, despite your reaction to block the wolf.

Without even realising it, you had led him back to your house. Absently, you said, “thank you. For saving me from the wolves.”

The Orc whose steely scowl had not faded during your walk, gave a curt nod and then looked over his shoulder. “I should be getting back to the camp now.” He said. “The others will wonder where I have gone.”

He went to turn and walk away, but you grabbed his hand, “w-wait!”

The Orc looked over his shoulder at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I can’t just let you go without thanking you properly.” You said. “I was going to make blueberry pie, if you’d like some.”

The Orc seemed sceptical for a moment, looking at you as if you might have been mad for asking him to come in.

“Are you certain?” He asked. “What of your family?”

Biting your lip, you shook your head. “Don’t worry about them. They won’t mind.”

After another sceptical look from you, the Orc shrugged. “Alright. Just a slice.”

Relief washed over you, before your face went scarlet.

Your hand shot away from the Orc’s hand, “s-sorry.”

The Orc gave another shrug and the pair of you made your way inside your home.

Upon stepping back into the place, your heart sank as you remembered the disrepair it was in. “I’m sorry about the mess.” You said, holding the front door open for him. “It’s not very easy for me to do all the repairs on my own and I don’t think anyone will come out to help me fix it. The kitchen is fine though!” You gave a nervous smile.

The Orc paid no mind to your hurried explanations as he looked around your front room, at the unlit fireplace, your sofa and lack of other decorations. “You live here?” He asked.

“Yeah…” you trailed off. Not wanting to make this anymore awkward than it already was, you rushed to the kitchen. “Do Orcs drink coffee? Or tea?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the kitchen, your rescuer sat at your comparably tiny table, with a smaller mug of coffee in hand, watching you as you went through the motions of making a pie.

A part of you couldn’t quite believe what you were doing. Making a pie for an Orc? A blood thirsty brute who would happily eat you whole?

When the pie was finally done, you placed a slice in front of the Orc who had taken to admiring some embroidery your mother had done while she was still alive.

Upon seeing the slice in front of him, he picked up your plate and scrutinised it from all angles, as if he was a star chef looking for mistakes in an amateurs work.

You watched with baited breath as the Orc picked up a fork and shovelled a portion of the pie into his mouth.

After a moment, he hmphed and downed the rest of the slice in a flash. “This is good!” He said, flashing you a wide grin. “Another slice!”

Taken aback – but nevertheless glad – you cut out another slice and gave it to the Orc. After five or six more slices, the Orc rested an elbow on the table and pointed at you, “how are you not working somewhere like a bakery, hm? You’d make a killing!”

You chuckled abashedly. “I don’t know… I’ve just had to keep an eye on this place, make sure it doesn’t fall apart.”

The Orc took one last glance around the kitchen and then back at you. “I’ll tell you what, blueberry lady.” He said, his thick calloused finger still pointed at you. “You keep making this kind of food and I will help fix up your awful house.”

Your eyes widened. Was this Orc really offering to help?

“But, what about your camp?” You asked, concerned. “Won’t they get worried about you?”

“Bah!” He waved you away, “they’ll be fine without me for a while.” And with that same, toothy grin, he stood and rubbed his hands together. “Now, show me the main problem first and we will tackle that tomorrow morning!”

And true to his word, he had. After sleeping on the sofa, you had shown him the problem on your roof, with the water dripping into your room and he had simply waved it off once again. “Easy problem.” He said, stepping outside into the front garden.

“I didn’t realise Orcs were so handy,” you told him as he walked around the back of your house.

“We are good problem solvers.” He said, smiling. “We have to be, as we are constantly on the road and being chased around by Humans. We think quick on our feet.”

After finding a ladder and some spare tiles hidden away in the back of your shed, the pair of you set to work. By the end of the day, the tile had been fixed and by the end of the next, the cracks in your walls had been properly plastered over.

You weren’t going to lie, you were growing fond of this Orc. His initial cold demeanour seemed to have fallen away and was replaced by this jovial energy that was just infectious.

Everyday, instead of waking up and dreading the day to come, you felt excited to see him and greet him with a cheerful smile, before the pair of you started working on your next DIY project for the day.

It was nice to have someone to talk to again, to eat the food you cooked and to laugh with.

You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed talking to someone.

Unfortunately, the day finally came where everything had been fixed and the house looked as if it had never been damaged in the first place.

It was then that you realised, that this would be the day you two would part. For the past couple of weeks, your new friend had been talking about returning to his camp, which he was sure had now moved far ahead of him now.

“It’s normal for them to leave some Orcs behind,” he had explained when you expressed concern for him, “they always leave signs that only other Orcs can see so we can catch up. They are not so heartless.”

The night before his departure, he had told you, “to thank you for the great food, let me take you to a Tavern I go to sometimes on this route. They do a good beer there.”

When you had tried to tell him that there was no need for something like that, that he had done more than enough, he had dismissed your words, “this will be the last night we see each other! Let it be a fun one!”

When he’d said that you had completely ceased all objections.

The next evening, the pair of you set off on the trek to the village. As you both laughed and chatted, you realised that when he left, there would be no one else to do this with.

After all, it’s not like you were friends with anyone in the village and most people would give you strange looks if you just decided to insert yourself into their conversations.

When you both reached the Tavern, your Orc friend ordered two pints of beer and set one in front of you with a massive thunk.

“I’m really going to miss you.” You said, as you watched your Orc down his whole pint in one go.

You decided to sit at a booth in the corner of the Tavern, hidden away from prying eyes.

“And I will miss you too,” the Orc replied, sad smile spreading across his lips. He ran an arm across his face, wiping away the foam and signalled the barman to get him another drink. “It’s rare that I get to enjoy the company of a woman like you. Normally, they run away from me rather than invite me into their home.”

“Well, you did save me from a pack of wolves. I had to do something to thank you.”

Soon, that second pint of beer was gone too, while you were still on your first. You sipped at your beer apprehensively as the Orc beside you finally got his hands on what was now his fifth pint.

“Um…” you pursed your lips nervously. The Orc’s face had began to turn slightly pink. “I think you’re going a bit over board there.”

“Nonsense!” The Orc next to you slurred, jousting his glass pint at you with a wobble. “Orcs can handle a hell of a lot more beer than any human can! I mean,” he pointed at the pint in your hands. “Look at you, you’re not even finished with your first one.”

Your Orc friend hiccupped and held a fist up to his mouth, as if he was going to belch. After a moment, he placed his forehead on the edge of the table in front of him and heaved a sigh.

“Maybe you’ve had one too many?” You asked. Carefully, you removed the Orcs thick calloused fingers from his pint glass and slid it across to the other side of the table. “You wouldn’t want to get a hangover tomorrow would you? You won’t be able to go back to your camp otherwise.”

The Orc grumbled something next to you, forehead still firmly planted on the table.

“Sorry?” You asked.

The Orc looked up, resting his chin on the table edge and repeated, “I don’t want to go,” his cheeks had gone from a slight pink to a dusting of red, “I like staying with you.”

Your heart caught in your throat as he continued, “you’re kind and sweet and pretty,” he smiled at you as a free hand reached out to your face and caught a lock of hair hanging from beside your face.

He twirled it around his finger, before replacing his forehead down on the wooden ledge. “And I don’t want to leave you alone, no woman should live alone in a world where wolves will attack you.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “I don’t want you to go either.” You said, quickly.

The Orc beside you looked up at you, eyes wide in surprise. “R-Really?”

“Yes! I don’t want to be alone again! Spending time with you has been the first time in a very long time that I’ve been happy!” You admitted. Tears welled up in your eyes as you continued, “I don’t want you to go because...” you swallowed the lump in your throat, “I really like you!”

The Orc stared at you for a moment, stunned by your words. “Y-You mean it?” He sat up straight, apparently completely sober since the fifth pint.

You wiped your tears and nodded.

The Orc fell silent for a moment as if in contemplation before he clapped his hands together. “I’ve got the perfect idea. You should come with me.”

“Go with you? But what about the house?” You asked.

“It was falling apart anyway!” He said, “And we did our best to repair it, so it’s not like it’s going to collapse any time soon. We can go back to it any time, it could be like a holiday home. My camp comes through here and when we need a pit stop, we can just put up in there for a little while!”

Hope soared in your chest, “you mean it? I can really go with you?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” The Orc stood up from his seat, swaying slightly. “Come! We should head back home and pack your things! We will have a long journey tomorrow.”

And with that, the two of you made your way out of the Tavern and back to the house.

“I’m so glad you’re coming with me, I don’t know if I could bare being away from you, blueberry lady.”

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[mazikeenhyde]

All is Fair in Love, War and Dominant Fuckery - Part 2

POLY JUDGMENT DAY – 18+ - MINORS DNI! 

WARNING – FULL ANGST  - FIGHTING (PHYSICAL&VERBAL), CHEATING, DRUGS, ED, DOMVS SUB etc 

WRESTLER-READER (female)  X WWE JUDGMENT DAY – RHEA RIPLEY, DAMIAN PRIEST, DOMINIK MYSTERIO, FINN BALOR 

-Part 2 -

Finn and I had gotten back home a lot later than I expected, we had trained for a solid three hours in a local gym. He mainly focused on the weights section and training his already perfect abs. Meanwhile I was imagining Dom’s face on the punching bag and let all hell break loose, as I knocked the ever-loving shit out of it repeatedly, cussing the twat under my breath. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Dominik with all my heart, I loved every single one of them. But at times Dom could be such a dick, especially since the whole Liv Morgan storyline had started. He was different, he acted like a whole new person at times. I could sit back and close my eyes just imagining how much I would love to just throttle him until he begged me to stop, except when he would be pleading with me, I wouldn’t… not at first anyway. 

As we made our way into the house it was dark, the lights were all off and the hallways silent. Kissing my forehead Finn quietly turned and crept upstairs as he was ready to shower and crash in bed. Same routine as ever for me, I needed to get a drink of water and have a moment to myself before I could turn off for the night. 

Making my way into the kitchen I reached out and flicked on the undercounter lights, knowing full well they wouldn’t be half as bright as if I turned on the main one. I didn’t want to disturb the others who I imagined were all fast asleep, but I was wrong. 

The second the light came on a dark figure leaning against the kitchen Island, mere inches in front of me came into full view. It was Rhea, and she was pissed. 

Her eyes, like dark inviting pools you could easily drown in glared down at me as she stood with her arms crossed. Adorning her black skinny jeans and laced corset top her fingers tapped against her skin, running her nails along her bicep. 

“Don’t Lie to me y/n.” She stated, bluntly, calmly and without any emotion. 

Stepping to the side I spotted a small wooden box behind her, and I recognized it all to well. It had been hidden in my bedside cabinet. It was private, and I knew the only person who had found out about it, obviously couldn’t keep their mouth shut. 

“little cunt” I muttered under my breath, closing my eyes for a second, but I was rather sharply bought back into reality as Rhea lunged herself forward, wrapping a hand around my throat and pushing me back, pinning me against the kitchen wall behind. Her grasp around my throat tightened and her eyes burned a whole wave of fury like I had never witnessed before. 

A part of me was terrified in that moment, the other part a little turned on. But the fear was definitely winning. 

“I’m not playing with you y/n.” Rhea spat out as her other hand slammed against the wall right next to my face. 

Her grip around my throat loosened as she took a tight hold to the front of my hoodie instead and threw me forward, tossing me straight into the kitchen island. I fell forward, stomach taking the full impact as I braced over the counter and paused trying to catch my breath. Rhea came up behind me and taking a handful of my hair pulled me back up so I was standing again and whispered in my ear. 

“Open it.” 

But I dare not, I knew what she would say, and she would never understand. 

“No.” I muttered silently, full of fear yet I knew the contents of that box needed to stay secret. 

Rhea seemed genuinely surprised by my response for a second as her grasp on my hair got tighter. 

“What did you say?” She spat out through gritted teeth, taking in a sharp deep breath and inhaling my scent. The smell of sweat and fear only further fueled that dominant side of her. 

“I said…NO!” I tried to shout as I attempted to escape her grasp. 

“I can open it…” a soft and quiet voice came from the shadowed hallway behind us. Rhea turned, pulling me with her as we both turned to see Dominik, in his black and yellow checkered pajama trousers and Latino Cheat t-shirt.

The boy took a step forward as Rhea released her grip on my hair and I took a step back, staring Dominik down. 

“Don’t you fucking dare” I stated, staring a hole through him, but I could tell he was enjoying being able to one up me. 

Before either of them could move I lept onto the Island countertop grabbing the box and holding it up in the air, away from their reach. 

 “FUCK OFF, JUST, JUST FUCK OFF THE LOT OF YOU!...”I paused to take a breath, “Why can’t you all just get out of my space, just get out of my, of my life for like 5 minutes!” I screamed, clearly loud enough that Damian and Finn had come downstairs and entered the kitchen as well in time to hear my great speech. They both seemed both surprised and a little worried at the sight of Rhea and Dominik standing at the base of the kitchen counter while I had somehow made my way to the top, waving a little wooden box in the air like it was the holy grail. 

Finn stared up at me as Damian walked to the side, unfortunately for me being a short arse in comparison he could still reach my hands, even if my arms were fully stretched out. Wrapping one large arm around my waist he pulled me down while pulling the box out from my hand with the other and passing it over to Rhea. 

“No Damian, stop! Please!” I pleaded as he placed me down on my feet and stood behind me. He held his arms out and held me in a tight embrace, it was both comforting and a little uneasy all at the same time. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be nice or just keep me still. 

Dom smirked at me, offering a wink, like he was so pleased he could screw with me once again. Ever since Summer Slam he had found a new personality trait he was thriving off. This whole I’m better than everyone and I’m such a bad boy, blah blah blah. Even if I loved him, his behavior made me wanna knock him out so badly. He reached out his arm to take the box from Rhea, but she flicked his hands away, never breaking eye contact with me. 

“Nah, that’s not how we are going to play this.” Her Azzie accent was thick, deep and felt all to emotionally invested in this very moment. 

Slamming the box on the countertop she slid it over towards me, her eyes glaring through her dark eyeshadow. I could tell something in her had clicked. 

“You want us out of your space, out of your life? Fine” she said, taking a step forward and placing one finger below my chin to raise it up to meet her, tears welling up in my eyes. She didn’t care though; you would think she was enjoying it.  

“If this is so important to you, that it means more than what we have? Know damn well, that regardless of what anyone else thinks… I expected better from you, y/n” 

Great, way to make me feel shit. I was getting the I’m not angry, just disappointed lecture.

“But Rhea? She…” Dom interjected but before he could finish I had finally had enough of him. Breaking away from Damian’s grasp I pushed passed Rhea and in one swift move, my fist collided with Dom’s face. 

“FOR ONCE CAN YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I screamed as he fell back, gripping his face. 

Damian was quick to grab a hold of me as Rhea got in between us and Finn latched onto  Dominik before he could retaliate. 

“You always gotta cause trouble don’t you y/n! You’ve always gotta be the center of attention!” He spat, wrestling with Finn’s grip. “Love over Loyalty y/n! and here you are keeping secrets!”   

“HA! That’s rich! Seems like you’re the attention whore these days, parading around RAW like your some GOD!” I tussled and escaped Damian’s grip as Rhea latched her arm around my front while I got in Dom’s face. 

“Funny thing, bringing up loyalty Dom Dom… how is Liv?” I questioned smiling, knowing full well I had hit a nerve. His cheek had turned red and was starting to swell at this point. It hurt my heart a little, but my anger soon buried those emotions. 

“That. Is. Just. A. Storyline.” Dom was furious, spitting every word through gritted teeth. I raised my eyebrows enjoying the reaction from him as Rhea pushed me back into Damian who took a tighter hold of me. 

“I Dunno Dom, seems a little too real these days” I offered him a wink, “Did you really need to spend sooooooo much time together outside of WWE’s walls. Someone’s enjoying themselves?” 

“ENOUGH” Rhea shouted, slamming her fist on the counter. “ENOUGH!” 

Just then a familiar ringtone filled the room, and I smirked as Dom’s face turned to his pocket. 

Dom took a hard swallow as Rhea reached into his pocket and glared at the photo of Liv Morgan flashing up on his phone screen. 

“Busted…” I sang out and smiled as Damian’s grip loosened on me. 

Dom threw his arms up and out from Finn as he ran over and grabbed the box from the countertop…

“If I’m going down, you’re coming with me!” he shouted. 

“NO!” I screamed and reached forward as he smashed it onto the floor, exposing its contents on the ground. 

My secret spilled out across the tile floor and not a single member of the judgment day said a word. They just stared at the floor, forgetting for a moment that only seconds before Dom and I were ready to fully knock the shit out of each other.

Rhea turned to look at me, disappointment etched across her face.

"It's not what you think..." I pleaded with her, tears running down my cheeks.

"Then tell me y/n, tell me."

TBC

-Anyone want me to put them on a tag list for part 3? -

[michelleleewise]

Fire and Ash...

A Long Live the King Tale..

Pairing: King Jotun Loki x Asgardian female reader

Warnings: there be angst here!! Cause it's me....come on lol mentions of labor and delivery (cesarean...not graphic), mentions of alcohol, yelling, crying, swearing, jealousy, assumptions, self doubt,

Summary: Loki is off realm as an unexpected surprise arises....causing you to question your relationship....

A/n- ok so......this is the continuing saga of Loki of Jotunhiem and y/n of Asgard. Because an epilogue wasnt enough lol i hope you all enjoy!!! 💚💚

Part Thirteen--Part one-

One year after your return to Jotunhiem-

"WHERE IS HE!?" You yelled, gripping your stomach as your knees buckled "I have sent word my queen, he should be here shortly." Alrik said grabbing your elbow "don't touch me!" You yelled trying to steady your breathing "apologies my queen." Alrik said quickly letting go. Bracing yourself on the wall you took a deep breath as the pain passed "a..alrik, will you...hold my hand?" You asked trying to straighten yourself "umm...yes my queen." He said holding his hand out. "We must get you to the the healers, we cannot wait." He said as you placed your hand in his.

"Fine time for a trip to Asgard." You growled clenching your jaw "king thor..." alrik started when you shot a glare at him "I do not give a damn about king Thor!" You snapped feeling another wave coming "His place is here with me, Not galavanting around like some school boy!" You yelled as the pain set into your lower abdomen "yes my queen, you are absolutely right." Alrik quickly said as you doubled over holding your stomach. "If he is not here in five minutes I will Stab him myself!" You gritted "very good my queen." Alrik agreed as you slowly straightened "t..take me to the...the healers, I cannot take this." You said shakely as the pain eased.

"Would you mind if i carried you my queen? It will be faster." He asked watching you intently "and have the men see me as some weak woman!? Not on your life." You said taking a deep breath. "You will walk me there." You said straightening your spine, pushing your chest out trying to look as composed as possible "of course my queen." He said walking to the door he held your hand tightly as you walked into the long hallway. You held your head up, chin out as you walked towards the healing chambers, Alrik taking slow strides to match your pace when another wave hit hard. "They are getting closer, we must hurry." Alrik rushed out watching you double over. "This will happen when I say so." You growled again trying to breath. "I am not sure it works that way my queen." He said seeing everyone looking at them.

"Fuck! C..carry me! I...I can't.." you groaned feeling a tear slide down your cheek as Alrik laced his arm under your legs holding you to his chest he began to run "we need the healers! Quicky!" Alrik's voice echoed through the halls as he maneuved around eveyone "a...alrik..." you panted, gripping your stomach feeling the tears streaming freely "I know my queen, we will be there shortly." He assured you as he sped up his pace "move you oafs!" He yelled to a group of guards standing by the entrance to the healers "if anything happens to the queen you will face Loki's wrath." He growled as they quickly dispersed. "It's ok my queen, we are here." Alrik said setting you down on a small bed.

"What has happened?" One of the healers, Norendra asked rushing over "it is time, you must assist her!" Alrik said walking to the side of the bed grabbing your hand "but...this wasn't supposed to happen for weeks." She said calling over the other healers "well it did!" You yelled making her jump. "I...I'm so...sorry." you panted laying your head back against the pillow "it is alright y/n." She said offering a soft smile. "You, quickly retrieve me the pain elixir from the cabinet." Norendra said grabbing your other hand "all will be well soon, keep taking deep breaths." She cooed rubbing the back of your hand "w...where is L...loki." you asked taking a shaky breath "I am unsure my queen, but we will get through this." Alrik smiled dabbing your forehead with a damp cloth. "I...I need him." You said, unable to stop the sob that escaped you. "He will be here y/n, I know he will." Akrik said trying to calm you.

The other healer came over, handing the elixir to Norendra before joining the other healers fluttering around the room. "Here, drink this and all will be well." She smiled holding the vial to your lips you leaned up drinking it all before settling back down. You felt your eyes droop, sleep calling your name looking up Alrik "t..thank you...for everything." You smiled feeling the pain cease "anytime my queen." He smiled back "i...I love you...your like the brother I never had." You said squeezing his hand "sleep well...sister." he smiled as your eyelids slowly dropped, sleep taking you. "We will have to perform surgery." Norendra said to the other healers making Alrik look up "what? Why? Everything has been fine." He said taking a step towards her "it is in the wrong position, we must act now." She said bringing everything to the side of the bed.

"And since the king is off realm and you are her guard you must stay." She said sternly pointing to a chair in the corner. Alrik sighed, bringing the chair over he sat it down next to the bed grabbing your hand In his "loki...I will get you for this." He growled rubbing your hand with his thumb he averted his eyes as the healers prepped you

Loki sighed, gripping the handle he swung the door open walking into the tavern. He made sure his asgardian illusion was in place as he glanced around finally spotting the massive blonde he had been looking for. "Thor!" He yelled making his way around servers and patrons "ah Loki there your are!" Thor bellowed standing up. "Mother said you needed to see me?" Loki asked looking around at the drunken revelers and their half naked aquantinces "yes! I wanted to introduce you to my friends seeing as whenever you are here you never come out." He said taking his seat pulling a voluptuous red head into his lap making Loki roll his eyes as he sat down "volstagg, fandral, hogun and of course the lovely lady sif." Thor said pointing to each one as he introduced them "everyone, this is Loki, my brother." Thor said clapping him on the back.

"I was not aware Thor had a brother." Sif said eyeing him. "Yes well, we only fairly recently discovered it and Odin was not my father." Loki said waving a server over "ah I see, well it is a pleasure to meet you." She said smiling as the others lifted their glasses "here here!" Thor said downing his drink "another!" He yelled throwing it to the ground shattering it making Loki jump. "So brother tell me, how are you enjoying Asgard this time of year?" Thor asked wrapping his large arms around the red head in his lap "it is fine, I only wish it wasn't so stifling." Loki said as the server set a drink in front of him "Well we will make it worth your while won't we?" He asked the small group of friends as they started cheering and laughing, loki looking around at them seeing sif giving him an odd look "drinks all around!" Thor yelled as a group of servers decended on the table. "Drink up, the night is young." Thor winked at Loki making him sigh. "Only one Thor then I must retire, I return home tomorrow." Loki said sitting back "we shall see." Thor said giving his friends a sly look as they all picked up their tankards.

Several hours and drinks later Loki stumbled back to his chambers, much to his chagrin Thor had coaxed him into drink after drink as the revelry bled long into the night. "Norns what was in that mead?" Loki sighed leaning his head on the door to his room he pushed it open stumbling inside. "That oaf will be the death of me." He said peeling his tunic off he tossed it onto a chair by the fire before slumping down on the chaise across from it. A smile spreading across his face at the memory of you and him on the one in his sitting room when a faint knock sounded at the door. "No Thor! I am done for the evening." He said resting his head on the back of the chaise when his door opened "oh come now, you cannot be tired yet." Thor said walking inside closing the door behind him. "Well I am so if you don't mind." Loki sighed pinching the bridge of his nose as Thor plopped down on the chair across from him "or have a seat I suppose." Loki snarked sitting up. "I only came to offer a night cap." He said wiggling a flask back and forth "and possibly offer some company this evening." He smirked and winked making Loki's brow furrow.

"We have some of the most exquisite pleasure maidens in all the nine." He said sitting back "and I am certain one would be more then happy to spend the evening with the king of Jotunhiem." He said giving Loki a knowing look "I beg your pardon?" Loki asked taken aback "oh, we also have men if you prefer or maybe a bit of both eh?" Thor asked wiggling his eyebrows "no Thor, you know of my relationship with y/n." Loki said sternly looking into the fire. "I only know you took her back with you. You haven't spoken much of her...although mother tells me she is expecting your child?" Thor asked taking a drink "yes she is, I care for her deeply." Loki said taking the flask from Thor "well from the sounds of it she is no more then a concubine carrying your heir." Thor shrugged "she is more then that brother." Loki growled glaring at him "I love her." He continued taking a drink. "Well then why have you not married her? Made her your queen then?" Thor asked holding his hand out "well i...we just haven't...you don't understand..." loki stuttered handing the flask back.

"Loki you needn't explain anything to me, I was only offering you company for the night...help relieve your stress." Thor said taking a drink "your trips here seem to be becoming more frequent and your stays longer, is everything alright between you two?" Thor asked eyeing him. "You wouldn't understand thor." Loki sighed sitting back "I was not expecting y/n to be with child so soon, i...I am not sure I am ready." Loki said titling his head back "well it's a bit late for that." Thor laughed "have you spoken to y/n about this?" Thor asked "no, I have not. She has not been quite herself as of late, the child has not been easy on her." Loki said closing his eyes "I have not wanted to burden her with my troubles as well." Loki said sighing. "So your solution is to leave?" Thor asked making Loki's head shoot up "because it seems to me that is going to cause more problems then lessen them." He said shaking his head "as I said brother, you would not understand." Loki said standing up "now if you will excuse me I am quite tired." Loki said pointing to the door. "Alight I'll go, but I truly feel you are digging yourself a hole you won't be able to get out of." Thor said standing up holding his hands up.

"Thor..." loki started when the door to his chambers flew open, frigga walking inside "I have received word from Heimdall your child is on the way." She said looking between them "what!? We are weeks away!' Loki yelled grabbing his tunic "apparently not." Thor laughed "good luck brother, and congratulations." He said patting Loki on the back as he left. "Heimdall is waiting for us at the bifrost." Frigga said quickly turning and leaving "norns help me." Loki said righting his tunic following her. Silence hung heavy between them as they walked to the bifrost, Loki's anxiety rising the closer they got. "Son, what troubles you?" Frigga finally asked making Loki sigh "what if I'm a terrible father? What if I become like Laufey?" He asked looking up at the golden dome "Loki, you have a good heart...you will not be as he was." Frigga said looking over at him "but i..." he trailed off looking up at the stars "no buts! You will be an excellent father." Frigga said sternly as they walked in seeing Heimdall ready "but, whatever is happening between you and y/n you must repair it." She said grabbing his elbow "I know you have been hurt and your are scared but do not shut her out." She said offering a soft smile seeing him nod.

"Heimdall, king Loki is ready to return to Jotunhiem." Frigga said sternly seeing the man nod "when you are ready." He said sliding the sword into the podium "I will return to tell you of y/n and the little one." Loki said hugging frigga to him "take care Loki, lest you lose everything." She said hugging him back. Loki pulled back nodding, flicking his wrist his illusion dropped, his skin fading from ivory to azure. "Be well my son." Frigga said as loki stepped up to the opening "be well Mother." He called back as Heimdall turned the sword sending him home.

You drifted through the haze, pain blossoming in your stomach hearing voices floating through the room "Loki, as a friend you are a complete fool." Alriks voice snapped bringing you back. Slowly opening your eyes you saw Loki and Alrik across the room "you need to talk to her." Alrik's voice sounded again "talk to me about what?" You asked, seeing both their heads snap to look at you "nothing love, we can talk when you are better." Loki smiled walking towards you when alrik grabbed his shoulder "do it...or I will." He growled nodding to you before quickly leaving the room. "W..what was..." you trailed off trying to sit up when a sharp pain shot through you "love lay back, you need to rest." Loki said gently pushing you back when reality slammed into you.

"Whe...where's the..." you started when Loki cupped your face in his hands "y/n, he is fine, he's sleeping." He said nodding to the small bassinet on the side of the bed. You took a deep breath laying back against the pillow "thank the norns." You sighed closing your eyes. "They had to perform surgery my love, he would not come out on his own." Loki said taking a seat on the bed next to you. "Why?" You asked, looking up at him feeling your eyes burn "why weren't you here Loki?" You asked clearing your throat "I am so sorry love, I thought we had time and i was..." you scoffed cutting him off "in Asgard, yes I know." You sneered looking to the ceiling "you are there more then you are not these past months." You said fighting the tears that threatened to fall "y/n my love, i..." loki was cut off as the healer came in "apologies my king but she needs rest, I have to ask you to leave." Norendra said standing at the foot of the bed "very well, just give me a moment?" Loki said seeing her nod and walk across the room.

"My love, you know I only wish to know the family that was taken from me." Loki said as you tilted your head, a tear betraying you sliding down your cheek "am i not your family as well?" You asked watching him look down to his lap "I am sure you have gotten your fill as well...seeing as I could not accommodate you." You snarked looking back to the ceiling "now y/n, that is..." Loki started when Norendra stepped up again "my king I must insist." She said sternly. "We will discuss this later y/n." Loki said, watching you stare unmoving at the ceiling as he stood up "please ensure she has anything she desires." Loki said seeing Norendra nod he quickly turned making his way to the door, glancing back watching you roll to your side your back facing him "I'm sorry y/n." He whispered opening the door stepping out.

"Did you talk to her?" Alrik asked suddenly making Loki jump "no, she is in no state right now." Loki said briskly walking to the throne room "I meant what I said, you do it or I will." He said making Loki stop and turn to him "why are you so concerned hmm?" Loki asked crossing his arms "have you two grown close in my absence?" Loki sneered watching Alrik take a step towards him "if we were not blood Brothers Loki..." he growled clenching his jaw "I care for her a great deal, she is like a sister to me and I will not allow even you to treat her as less then she deserves." Alrik said sternly, his voice rising getting the others attention "you will watch how you speak to me! Brothers or not I am your king!" Loki yelled taking a step towards him.

"And she is my queen!" Alrik yelled "and she deserves to be treated as such, not left alone by the man who says he loves her!" He continued taking another step towards Loki, leaning down he held his gaze "the man you are now..." he trailed off looking Loki up and down "does not deserve her." Alrik sneered standing back up "I will be in my chambers should you need me...my king." He sneered quickly turning walking the other way down the hall. Loki stood speechless, Alrik's words sinking in as he watched him walk away. He's right...you don't deserve her loki thought to himself turning back to the throne room, taking a deep breath he looked down the hall towards the healers deciding where his priorities lie he turned and walked towards your room, slowly opening the door he quietly slipped inside

"my king, what are you doing?" Norendra whisper yelled at him storming over "please, y/n and my son are here...allow me to stay?" He asked feeling the tears well in his eyes "fine, but you will be quiet yes?" She asked as he nodded "very well, come visit your son." She said walking over to the bassinet, Loki following behind her "have you thought of a name my king?" She asked carefully picking him up as Loki held his arms out, cradling his son to his chest "yes...we did in fact." Loki whispered, running his finger along his sons tiny cheek. "Vali Alrik Lokison." Loki smiled seeing his sons lips turn up at the corners. "That's a beautiful name my king." Norendra said grabbing a chair from the corner "here, sit with him...she will wake in a bit to feed him." She said as Loki sat down rocking his son in his arms. "You will be a great king one day." Loki whispered hearing Vali coo "better then I I am certain." Loki smiled when soft snores came from the bundle in his arms.

"Sleep well little one, you have much to discover." Loki cooed leaning back in the chair he looked up at your sleeping form, regret filling him at not being here when you needed him. "I will be better...for you...for our son...I swear it." He whispered closing his eyes. He leaned down kissing his sons forehead humming to him as he rocked him back and forth. "I swear it.." he whispered again, a tear streaming down his cheek as he gazed at the most precious things in his life.

@lokistoriesblog @hyperlokilover @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @simplyholl @lokidokieokie @mjsthrillernp @violethaze @dryyoursaltyoceantears @loz-3 @commanding-officer @stupidthoughtsinwriting @high-functioning-lokipath @jaidenhawke @lokiandbuckysdoll @littlespaceyelf @lastlovesong17 @ladyofthestayingpower @homesickloki @glitterylokislut @avoliax @yelkmelk @mayjaysthots @buttercupcookies-blog @differenttyphoonwerewolf @her-glorious-purpose @nate-ate-hate @chantsdemarins @ladymischief11 @usagishira @princess-asgard @honeyg19 @goblingirlsarah @cabingrlandrandomcrap @mochie85 @silverfire475 @smolvenger @loki-laufeyson-1054 @marygoddessofmischief @animnerd @texmexdarling @fictive-sl0th @jin0x0 @vbecker10 @eleniblue @lady-rose-moon @pics-and-fanfics @kittiowolf210 @kats72 @asgardianprincess1050 @crimson25

[just-jordie-things]

Hi! Idk if ur still doing the kiss prompts, but can I request number 65 for Inumaki? If ur not writing for the prompts anymore feel free to ignore this.

kiss prompt 65: one small kiss, pulling away for an instant, then devouring each other ___

"that was really stupid,"

you were a little upset.

"i mean, did you even fucking think? you're not an idiot. or maybe you are!"

you were a little more than upset.

toge could only sit on the cot of the cot in the infirmary, knowing no other help was coming to save him from your scolding, as it was the middle of the night and the place was pretty much abandoned at this time. it was only him and you. and you were storming around the place as you familiarized yourself with shoko's organization, trying to gather the supplies you needed to fix him up after an assignment gone awry.

he'd tried to assure you that he could tend to his own first aid, but you'd given him a sharp glare that told him to shut his mouth, sit down, and not argue.

"i've never seen something so reckless and so fucking pointless in my whole life," you're muttering as you slam cabinet doors and throw supplies one after another on the counter beside where toge sat. "you're lucky you're not dead, you know that?"

you don't look at him, despite his eyes following your every movement. you keep your head down, or you're too focused on finding something.

"salmon" he agrees quietly.

when you've finally gathered everything you needed to tend to the open gash on his arm, as well as the various smaller wounds covering his body, you walk back towards him. you still don't meet his eyes as you silently begin to soak a rag in rubbing alcohol. but he can see the deep frown pulling on your face.

he feels guilty- as well as a lot of pain- but the guilt sits heavier in his stomach. you have every right to be this angry with him. he had acted recklessly. but in his defense he'd been trying to protect you. the large slice on his shoulder would have been nothing compared to what would have happened had he not shoved you out of the way and taken the blow for himself.

you very well could've lost your head. and here you were fussing over a banged up arm that hurt now but would heal in a few weeks.

"this is really gonna hurt" you mumble before you began cleaning up the wound.

you're right, he hisses and shifts his weight around as you wipe away the excess blood and sterilize the wound as quickly as you can. you're just as uncomfortable seeing him in so much pain, and it makes your throat burn, but you keep yourself focused on cleaning him up to the best of your ability. you're no stranger to tending to wounds such as these.

you're still muttering in a scolding tone as you prep the needle. something about how much you hate doing stitches, how stupid he is for acting without thinking, how shoko should be the one here to fix him up, and toge takes it all with a grain of salt. even if he could speak, there wasn't anything he could say to ease your irritation.

but he hates it. he's seen you upset, but not like this, and never with him. his stomach churns with the discomfort of knowing you were so cross with him.

you warn him again before you begin stitching up the wound. but there's a hesitation in you as he braces himself, and he glances over to see that your hands are trembling. violently. your hands shake so much he's surprised you haven't dropped the needle, but you seem to have an iron grip on the small tool.

you still refuse to look at him, your eyes set hard on the wound that was going to start bleeding again if you didn't get your shit together.

"mustard leaf?" with his other hand, toge reaches towards you, tentatively resting his hand over yours, easing some of it's shake, but not completely. he still feels the tremors under his touch.

but almost as soon as he touches you, you're pulling your hand away from his grasp, letting out a long breath, and getting to work on stitching him up.

twelve stitches. you curse each one you knot up. twelve stitches that could've been avoided.

you're tying off the last one when he hears a small sound come from you that has him trying to get a better look at you, even though you're avoiding his gaze like the plague.

but then it happens again, a small choked sound comes from your throat and there's nothing you could do to cover it.

it was a whimper.

with furrowed brows, toge reaches for you again, this time firmly grabbing your hand. finally, you look up at him.

your eyes are filled with tears, and they're pouring down your cheeks in steady streams. his face contorts into one of unease, eyes flickering over your features in a hurried assessment to find what was wrong.

and when his hands began moving across your arms, trying to find where you were hurt, you shook your head, grabbing his wrists and moving them away before he could continue.

"i'm fine," you choke out, wiping the tears from your face. "it's you i'm worried about,"

his expression falls. you sniffle as you reach for the gauze on the counter, unrolling it a generous amount.

"it's just- just- why would you do that?" you mumble between quiet sobs. "you can't do that. you scared me, toge"

you're avoiding his eyes again, but he's staring at you with concern flooding his lavender eyes.

tears still fall off your lashes as you gingerly wrap the gauze around his arm. you've probably overdone it, but as the thought crosses your mind you give it two more loops, just to be secure.

when you're done, his hand catches yours again. you don't look at him. you shut your eyes and hang your head, wishing you had a stronger resolve than you did. you're still angry, but it's starting to melt into something else as reality settles in. had things gone worse... you don't want to think about it.

toge's other hand touches your chin, barely, but enough that you get the idea, and you look up at him again.

i'm sorry, he mouths the words out slowly so that he's sure you understood. you sigh, your shoulders falling heavy.

then he points to the bandage you'd applied, and you follow his gesture as he brings his finger to your clavicle, staring at you ardently, needing you to understand what he was trying to communicate.

for good measure, he drags the tip of his finger across the base of your neck, and then points again to the wound on his arm, and at you.

you sigh, shaking your head at his rough explanation. you pull his hand down away from you.

"that wouldn't have happened," you say quietly. "i had that under control, neither one of us would have"

"ikura" it's a curse, likely him calling bullshit. he tilts his head at you, staring at you with an expression you couldn't read as easily as you usually could.

"i'm sorry for yelling," you mumble. "i was just worried, that's all"

he gives you a small smile before shrugging his shoulders and shaking your head, likely trying to tell you he's fine. you huff, knowing fully well he was going to have a long night of pain and discomfort ahead of him still.

"salmon" he says with a reassuring smile.

you wince back at him.

he tugged on your hand, gently, but enough to make you shuffle forward. your face felt warmer the closer he drew you, pulling again and again until you're as close as he wanted you to be. your eyes are wide as they land on his, silently asking what he was doing, what he wanted.

his lips pull wider into a proper smile, and your gaze falls to the way a dimple forms in the center of the mark on his cheek. you have the urge to reach up and poke it, but you don't. there's a bruise that blooms too close to the spot, and you don't want to be the cause of anymore aching.

his fingertips touch your chin again, tilting your head until your eyes meet his again. you look forlorn, like you have a deep regret. he frowns at you as his index finger hooks under your chin.

"does it hurt?" you murmur quietly as your fingers tremble over his jaw.

toge shakes his head, a bold lie, everything hurts, but nothing about you could ever inflict pain on him.

he convinces you of this when he leans forward, only needing to move a small amount in order to touch his lips to yours.

you startle, remaining perfectly frozen before him at the new sensation. you and toge had always been very close, but you weren't kiss-each-other close. this was completely new, and unforeseen.

your eyes are still wide open when he pulls back all too soon, leaving the kiss chaste, and your lips tingling with the desire for more. even in that small, quick kiss, you understood him.

he gives you a small smile when he looks at you, as if cheekily asking if that made up for the stress he'd put you through tonight.

but you're already leaning back in, eyes falling shut this time as you slant your lips over his as though this wasn't a completely earth-shattering experience. he's still smiling against your mouth as you kiss him eagerly, trying to pour every last ounce of love and concern from your mouth into his.

your movements are gentle as you rest your hands over his shoulders, barely applying any pressure, too worried you'd catch a scrape or bruise in an unpleasant way. it makes your rushed series of kisses soft and sweet, but still you're breathing heavily by the time you pull away again, your forehead resting against his.

you'll scold him again later for being reckless. but for now you could share sweet smiles and sweeter kisses in between whispered confessions of fondness. ___

xoxo ~ jordie

[mothandpidgeon]

Making Out to Pablo Honey (virgin!Dieter Bravo x f!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

pairing: virgin!Dieter Bravo x f!reader

rating: E MDNI

summary: Dieter’s always tried to be cool. The thing about being cool, though, the more he tries, the less it works. You, on the other hand, you’re cool.

contents: virgin!Dieter, young!Dieter, lots of 90s references, cannabis, mentions of masturbation, fingering, premature ejaculating, one ferris bueller reference, reader is able bodied and not described physically moth never uses y/n.

This fic is about horny teens doing horny teen things. It's not too late to not read this if that's not ok with you.

wc: 2.5k

a/n: I'm thinking of this as a Dieter origin story. I really enjoyed thinking about him before he was the DIETER BRAVO. Anyway, this was kind of healing I wish I knew him back when I was in high school. Thanks @moonlitbirdie and @whocaresstillthelouvre for betaing and cheering me on!

“Sweet or salty?” you ask. Your head is buried in one of the kitchen cabinets, rummaging through a selection of snacks. 

Dieter sits on the counter opposite, watching you with a lazy smile. 

“Sweet,” he says. “No, wait. Salty.”

You look at him over your shoulder, your eyes bloodshot under heavy lids. 

“You’re so stoned,” you giggle. 

Dieter blushes. Despite the fact that he coughs after every hit, getting high with you after school has become his favorite past time. You never tease him for it, just put the joint between your lips while Dieter wonders if you can feel the warmth from his there. You’re both well and truly blazed at this point after smoking up in the dugout of the school's baseball field.

Dieter gazes over your body as you stand on tip toe, reaching for the top shelf. It’s like he can’t control his eyes from wandering to you when he’s like this. Sometimes you notice. 

“What?” you’ll say. “You’re staring at me.”

“You’re paranoid,” he’ll lie. 

He wishes he was brave enough to tell you that he’s staring because he thinks you’re beautiful. 

It’s hard to believe that the two of you are actually friends now. He still remembers when you were assigned as his lab partner, a girl that he was equally drawn to and intimidated by.  

Now he’s in your house after school almost every day. 

“Honey?” your mother’s voice calls from the front door.

“Shit.” Dieter hops onto the floor before she enters the kitchen in a smart business outfit. 

“Oh, hi, Dieter,” she says, smoothing the bottom of her hair. 

“Hello, ma’am,” Dieter says. 

You stifle a laugh. 

“Dieter, you don’t have to call me ma’am,” your mother says.  

“Um okay,” he replies. He can’t remember her first name. She’s told him before. Does he seem stoned? Oh, god, he definitely does. 

She scrunches her nose.

“What’s that smell?” she asks.

Dieter’s stomach plummets. The two of you must reek of pot. He’s grown to like the scent– an earthy tang that now reminds him of you. He braces himself, trying to clear his foggy mind for a moment so he can’t act sober. 

“Somebody must’ve run over a skunk,” you say. “What’re you doing home so early?”

You change the subject so seamlessly. Of course. Nothing ever seems to scare you.

“I’ve got a meeting with the Vermont people but I left the damn file here,” she says, picking a folder up from the kitchen table. “I’ll be back late if we close the deal.”

“Good luck,” you say.

Dieter bursts with laughter as your mother goes out the front door. You join him, nearly doubling over with your giggles. 

“I was freaking out!” he tells you. “A skunk! I can’t believe she bought that.”

“I know, right? She’s clueless,” you chuckle. “Look.” 

You hold up your creation— a plate bursting with flavor and texture. It’s organized into little piles of treats— potato chips, Oreos, a handful of glistening strawberries. Chocolate covered pretzels rest beside dried cranberries and several ropes of licorice separate honey roasted peanuts from fun sized Kit Kats in glossy red wrappers. It’s a feast, every bite he could ever want just when he wants it the most. 

“Fuck,” he whispers as he takes in this offering. 

Maybe it’s the pot buzzing around in his head but he can feel himself falling head over heels for you. He wants to kiss you but what if you don’t want to be kissed? What if you reject him? He could play it off as a joke like the one he told in the biology lab that got you to notice him for the first time. Humiliation he can handle but he’s not sure he could take that heartbreak. 

The cookies are calling his name so he abandons any dreams of filling his mouth with your tongue in favor of a Nutter Butter. 

There’s a big, L shaped couch in the basement that Dieter sprawls out on while he munches on the fruit. They might be the best strawberries he’s ever eaten. Everything tastes so good when he’s high. He wonders what you taste like. 

“Do you like Radiohead?” you ask sorting through a pile of cassettes. 

“Yeah. I love them,” he says. He’s only heard one of their songs on the radio but if you like them, he wants to like them, too. 

Dieter’s always tried to be cool. He has a lot working against him— built like a string bean, a goofy personality. His own fucking name has betrayed him. He got the same haircut as Leonardo DiCaprio, he saved up to buy a pair of fancy sneakers, he spends hours in the mirror carefully choosing his outfits. The thing about being cool, though, the more he tries, the less it works. 

You, on the other hand, you’re cool. Effortlessly so in your black boots and chipped nail polish. It’s not just the music you listen to or the clothes you wear. There’s something in your attitude, an aloof confidence that he’s never been able to replicate. 

Despite his anxieties, you never make him feel judged. It seems like you enjoy introducing him to new things. You offered to make him a mixtape and it sent his heart fluttering. He’s shared a thing or two with you, too— leading you through the aisles of the local video store handing you his favorite obscure movies. Sometimes you laugh at his enthusiasm but it’s never mean spirited. 

You pop the tape in and climb up onto the sofa as rough guitar strums seep through the speakers. There’s something psychedelic in the music that has Dieter sinking deeper into his seat. 

Although there’s plenty of space, you sit alongside him, propping your feet up on the chaise beside his. Dieter’s pulse picks up. He’s so aware of you so close to him, each move of your muscles as you get comfortable. He can smell the pot tangled up in your hair and the fresh scent of cotton that always lingers on your clothes. 

“I like being high,” Dieter sighs. 

You laugh. He fucking loves the sound of it, wants to be a little clown to keep you giggling away.

“Give me a Kit Kat,” you say. 

The snack plate is balanced on Dieter’s lap so when you fish through it for the candy, he can feel the pressure of your touch right on his dick. He stifles a groan, trying to focus his attention on the crinkle of the wrapper in your hands. 

He’s touched himself to the thought of you more times than he’d like to admit. There was an incident when you unexpectedly brushed your ass against him at your locker and he popped a boner. He had to take care of it in the bathroom, one hand cupping the tip of his cock as he came so he didn’t make a mess. 

“Dieter,” you say. His name sounds so sweet when you say it softly like that. 

“Yeah,” he replies. 

Some time in the last fifteen minutes, his mind wandered away and he got lost in the haze of his high. He can’t remember what he was thinking about before you got his attention or how long he’s been out of it. There’s just a warm feeling in his head and every once in a while he remembers that you’re sitting right next to him and he smiles to himself and then he floats away again. 

“You’re staring at me,” you say. 

You’re close, laying on the same couch cushion, your face just inches from his own. You have pretty eyes. Maybe that’s what he’s been looking at. Or your hair. He likes your hair. 

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. There’s no denying it this time. 

Your lips curl into a smile and your eyes dance over his features. He feels himself leaning towards you like his head is too heavy to fight your magnetic pull. 

Your noses brush, that’s when he realizes that you’re moving towards him, too. Both of you hesitate there, an acknowledgement of this point of no return— your friendship will never be the same. 

You kiss him. At first it’s a cautious meeting of lips and, suddenly, a crash of passion and excitement. It’s sloppy and unchoreographed but the two of you find a rhythm. He can taste the chocolate in your kiss. 

You climb onto his lap, sliding your hands beneath his shirt. Having all of you there, straddling him like he’s in his own wet dream, is overwhelming. Blood rushes to his cock. There’s so much of you to explore— soft places to touch and hold and taste. He wants all of you all at once and you seem just as eager. 

Your mouth roams his neck and teeth rake against his earlobe as you rock over the bulge in his jeans. He’s so sensitive from the weed, he can practically feel the hot drag of your pussy even through the layers between you. 

Dieter fumbles with the clasp of your bra and you knock his hands away to do it for him, then unbutton your pants and do the same for him. He keeps his mouth on yours as you pull off his shirt with eager kisses. 

He slips his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties. He’s met with the slick lips of your pussy giving him a delicious shiver. You gasp and sink your teeth into his bottom lip. 

Now your hand finds him, coating his length with precum and tugging. 

“Oh god,” he chokes. He wills himself not to finish right there in your hand. 

Dieter presses a finger into your entrance, slow and cautious, watching your expression for any signs of discomfort. You’re so tight, he can’t imagine the crush of it around him. The strokes on his cock stutter and slow as he thrusts deeper until eventually your limp hand simply holds him. He doesn’t care.  The feeling of you is addicting, all slippery and inviting. 

“Ow,” you complain. 

“Is this ok?” Dieter asks. 

“Don’t just finger me,” you complain. 

He blanches, unsure of how to correct himself. If you want more, he’s more than willing to give it to you but it has nerves churning in his belly. 

“I’ve never done it,” Dieter says. 

He immediately wishes he could take the words and swallow them back down. His neck burns with embarrassment. The coolest girl he’s ever met is letting him in her pants and he just spoiled it all by admitting he’s a virgin. 

You stare at him with big, round eyes, your lips swollen from kissing. Your adam’s apple bobs in your throat. 

“Me either,” you tell him. 

It’s Dieter’s turn to stare. He’s shocked. It seems like you’ve done everything already. At least, everything a high school senior would aspire to do. 

If you were embarrassed to tell him that, you don’t let it linger for long. “That wasn’t what I meant,” you say. “It just— I don't think I can come that way.”

Dieter nods in awe. This isn’t the first time he’s gone to third base but he hadn’t felt very sure of his technique during those few encounters. You look a little nervous, maybe for the first time ever, but he’s so impressed you’re confident enough to tell him what you want, to even know. He wants to give you exactly what you need. 

“Show me,” he says. “Show me what you like.”

Your pupils blow out and Dieter’s not sure which one of you is more aroused. Eventually you regain yourself, nodding quickly and climbing off of his lap so you can shimmy your pants all the way off. 

Dieter can’t help but stare at all the parts of you that are exposed. You’re so pretty he can hardly believe he gets to touch you. His cock throbs at the sight and he fists himself before realizing that he’d better stop if he wants to last more than half a minute. 

You lay back on the couch, parting your bent legs for Dieter. He sits up for a good view as you explain the secrets of the universe. You take his hand and guide his fingers to your pussy, carefully sliding them along the side of your clit. It’s velvety soft and warm and slick and you take in a sharp breath. His cock jumps. Again, a wet stroke over you. You set a pace, your hand around his as he makes you melt.

“Woah,” he whispers to himself as he watches your body respond. 

He’s not sure where to look; at the glistening lips of your pussy, a rare glimpse at the opposite sex in real life or at your face, eyes closed and brow knit as you float in ecstasy. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

He forgets the throbbing between his own legs, entranced by your pleasure. Your grip around his hand slackens and Dieter experiments with slightly faster strokes, kissing your neck. Your pulse thrums under his lips, your whines vibrating. 

As he gathers more slick from your entrance, you grind your clit into the heel of his hand. Your hips lift from the wet patch that’s growing beneath you. Dieter keeps his hand planted on you, giving you all the friction you need. 

He tries to find a way to tell you to use him, to take what you need, but he’s speechless. Watching a girl get off on him, and not just any girl but you, feels like witnessing a miracle. 

Your muscles tighten, every single tendon in your body wrapped up like a rubber band about to snap. He can’t help himself. Dieter slides a finger inside of you. It feels even better than before, now that your walls are coated in that sweet release. 

That’s when it crashes over you. You lock up, your arms and thighs straining. He can feel your core tensing around him desperately and he thinks he might cum just from the sight of you like this. It’s not like he’s seen in porn. You’re quiet, focused, somewhere else and he wants to go there, wherever that planet of pleasure might be. 

He wants to kiss you, to taste your release and bury his face in your tits but he doesn’t dare move and ruin this exquisite moment for you. So he keeps moving with the same steady tempo as you flutter around him. 

You groan out his name, long and slow and it sounds like music. 

Dieter feels his hips jerk and, oh fuck, he’s cumming. He tears his hand away from you to squeeze it over his spasming cock. It’s too late and the wet press of you coated on his fingers doesn’t help. He paints his torso with his own warm, sticky spend. 

You stare, eyes wildly surveying the mess on his belly, still dazed as you come down. 

He should be mortified that he just blew his load all over himself the very first time he’s gotten physical with you but his veins are coursing with bliss. His head falls back, chest heaving as he catches his breath. 

“I really like you,” he says. 

Your face breaks out in a smile and you bashfully bite your lip. He feels your fingers intertwine with his own. 

“Yeah. I like you too,” you say. 

-

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and my asks are always open!

[seoulzie]

범규; whispers of the unsleeping

───── orphic ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 (adj.) mysterious & entrancing; beyond ordinary understanding

synopsis: in the small city of yeosu, insomniac choi beomgyu seeks refuge in his school's abandoned astronomical observatory to catch some sleep. there, he encounters y/n l/n, a sociable and carefree girl who shares his struggle with insomnia. together, they form an unlikely friendship and revive their school's defunct astronomy club, spending their nights exploring the stars.

彡 pairing: beomgyu x f!reader 彡 genre: fluff, angst, strangers to lovers au, university au 彡 warnings: mentions of mental health & insomnia, parental abandonment (?) chronic illness, strong language, grief & loss

RELEASE DATE; 07/26/24 — this week, friday

index: prologue i. sleepless encounters capella ii. a place of our own vega iii. rekindling the stars proxima iv. phases of the moon, phases of us rigel v. cosmic challenge polaris vi. beyond the horizon altair vii. heart to heart betelgeuse viii. tomorrow's sunrise arcturus the end: epilogue

TAGLIST: OPEN! leave an ask in my inbox, reply to this post, or send me a dm!

CHOI BEOMGYU ( 21 ) ( M )

a student who struggles with trouble falling asleep most nights. consequently, he is irritable at school, always searching for an opportunity to find a secluded place to doze off. despite his gruff exterior, he is well-known around campus for his charming looks.

Y/N L/N ( 20 ) ( F )

a cheerful and enthusiastic student, the astronomy club president, whose secret battle with insomnia leads her to the solace of the astronomical conservatory at night. determined to keep her condition hidden, she finds refuge among the stars until she encounters another night owl, beomgyu.

PROLOGUE: CHAPTER 0 word count: 3.1k

another sleepless night. beomgyu stared up at the ceiling of his room, counting the cracks for the hundredth time. it was a game he played with himself when he couldn’t sleep, a futile attempt to trick his brain into shutting down. spoiler alert: it never worked.  he groaned, the sound echoing hollowly in the silent room, and threw an arm over his eyes, trying to block out the faint glow of dawn creeping through the dusty blinds. the alarm clock on his nightstand blinked 6:00 am in angry red numbers, a mocking reminder of the day looming ahead.

with a sigh that condensed the exhaustion clinging to him like a shroud, beomgyu rolled out of bed. every muscle screamed in protest, a dull ache thrumming through his limbs. he shuffled to the bathroom, his movements heavy with sleep deprivation. his reflection in the mirror looked as shitty as he felt—dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking up in every direction, and a permanent scowl etched on his face. he splashed some cold water on his face, hoping it would wake him up enough to function through another hellish day at school.

he reached for his usual blue and white striped tube of toothpaste, but his fingers met only the cold, hard plastic of the sink. panic clawed at his throat. empty. of course, it was empty. why wouldn't it be? just his luck.

frantic, he rummaged through the cabinet under the sink, desperately searching for a spare tube. nothing. nada. just a half-empty bottle of mouthwash that reeked of peppermint and disappointment. he slammed the cabinet shut, the sound echoing through the small bathroom like a gunshot. “fucking hell.”

defeated, beomgyu straightened up, bracing himself for another blow. he hobbled over to his laundry basket, a tangled mess of unmentionables. he started digging, desperately searching for a matching pair of socks. hope flickered when his fingers brushed against soft cotton, then died a slow, agonizing death as he pulled out a lone, navy blue sock. where was its partner? had it been swallowed by a rogue dryer gremlin? eaten by a sock-hungry monster lurking in the washing machine?

beomgyu stared at the single sock in his hand, a monument to his perpetually bad luck. he was starting to think the universe had a personal vendetta against him. this wasn't just another day; it was a full-blown disaster waiting to happen, and he was just the hapless protagonist caught in the middle.

after throwing on his uniform and grabbing his backpack, he headed downstairs. his dad had already left for work, as usual. the house was eerily silent, a stark contrast to the chaotic mornings of his childhood before—stop it, he thought to himself. beomgyu shook off the unwelcome memories and grabbed a piece of toast on his way out.

he dragged himself to the front door, his feet protesting with each step. a splash of color outside his window caught his eye. mrs. han, his elderly neighbor, was kneeling by her rose bushes, her weathered hands wielding a watering can with surprising vigor. despite his fatigue, a small smile tugged at the corner of beomgyu's lips. mrs. han was a fixture in the neighborhood, a tiny woman with a heart as big as her prized hydrangeas.

"good morning, mrs. han," he managed, his voice rough from disuse.

she looked up, her eyes crinkling at the corners with a smile. "good morning, beomgyu. off to school already? you look a bit pale," she said with a motherly concern that always made him feel a flicker of warmth.

"just a little tired, mrs. han," he replied, offering a weak smile. "those history essays won't write themselves, you know."

mrs. han chuckled. "always busy, that's you. but remember, dear, rest is important too. don't you burn yourself out."

"i'll try my best," he promised, though the words tasted like ashes in his mouth. he knew the truth – sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford.

beomgyu continued his walk, the rising sun painting the sky with streaks of orange and pink. the usual sights and sounds of the morning held a peculiar distance, muffled by the fog in his brain. the bakery across the street, usually a source of enticing aromas, only offered a dull ache in his stomach – a reminder of the breakfast he hadn't bothered with.

as he neared the school gates, the sounds of chatter started to seep in, a rising crescendo of greetings and nervous laughter. he braced himself for the usual barrage of hellos and high-fives, his trademark charm already feeling strained. beomgyu wasn't just tired, he was running on fumes, his charisma a flickering candle in a hurricane of exhaustion.

just as he predicted, a cheerful voice chimed in from beside him. "beomgyu! looking handsome as ever this morning, even at this ungodly hour."

he turned to see yeri, a girl from his class with a smile as bright as her sunflower hair clip. she was notorious for her bubbly personality and her unashamed crush on him. usually, beomgyu would respond with a playful jab or a witty remark, adding to the innocent flirtation. but today, a single word was all he could muster.

"hey," he croaked out, a smile barely flickering across his lips.

yeri's smile faltered slightly. "everything okay? you seem...out of it."

he shrugged, the movement feeling like wading through mud. "just a late night studying." it wasn't a complete lie, but the truth felt too heavy to share.

"well," yeri continued, her voice losing a bit of its usual chirp, "don't let it get you down. math class first thing, right? let's just hope ms. choi isn't in one of her moods."

there was a time when such a comment would have sparked a playful banter, a shared groan about their least favorite teacher. today, beomgyu merely nodded, a hollow feeling settling in his chest.

despite his exhaustion, beomgyu couldn't help but notice the way heads turned in his direction, the whispered greetings, the stolen glances. he was undeniably popular, the school's resident charmer. but the weight of that popularity felt like a suffocating cloak.

a group of guys from the basketball team hollered a greeting, their voices echoing off the lockers. beomgyu offered a weak wave, the movement seeming to drain the last vestiges of his energy. a couple of girls from the dance club giggled as they passed, their eyes lingering on him for a beat too long. all he could do was muster a tired smile, the effort feeling monumental.

he reached his locker, the familiar combination numbers a blur in his sleep-deprived haze. as he shoved his books inside, a hand landed on his shoulder. it was kai, his best friend, his partner in crime (or at least, they were when beomgyu had the energy for crime fighting). kai, unlike beomgyu, was a beacon of energy, his perpetually ruffled brown hair and mischievous grin a constant source of amusement.

"dude, you look like a deflated balloon," kai commented, his voice laced with concern. "another night?"

beomgyu slammed his locker shut with a sigh that spoke volumes. "yeah," he mumbled, leaning against the cold metal for support.

kai's brow furrowed. "seriously, beomgyu. you've been like this for weeks. we talked about this already! you said you’d try anything besides looking like you haven't slept since kindergarten."

beomgyu ran a hand through his hair, a grimace creasing his face for a moment before smoothing out into a tired indifference. "yeah, yeah," he mumbled, more to himself than to kai. "it's whatever at this point."

kai's concern flickered, then died down as he picked up on the subtle shift in beomgyu's demeanor. he knew that tone – the one that said beomgyu was resigned, shutting himself off. pushing wouldn't help.

"alright," kai said, switching gears with the practiced ease, “come on, zombie boy. let's get to class before ms. choi starts discussing the square root of boredom."

the morning dragged on, each class blending into the next in a haze of exhaustion and boredom. beomgyu could barely keep his eyes open, let alone focus on the lectures. 

his first class was math, and he trudged to his seat, slumping down with a heavy sigh. he rummaged through his bag, only to realize he had forgotten his pen.

“hey, taehyun,” he whispered to the boy sitting next to him. “got a pen i can borrow?”

taehyun glanced at him and chuckled softly. “forgot yours again? here.” he handed beomgyu a pen, shaking his head in amusement.

“thanks, man,” beomgyu muttered, trying to muster a grateful smile. he opened his notebook and attempted to take notes, but his eyelids felt like lead weights. the teacher’s voice droned on, a monotonous hum that only made him feel sleepier.

his head began to nod, his vision blurring as he struggled to stay awake. just as he was about to give in to the sweet embrace of sleep, he heard his name being called.

“mr. choi,” the teacher’s voice was sharp and reprimanding. beomgyu jolted awake, blinking rapidly.

“y-yes?” he stammered, sitting up straight.

“care to repeat what i just said?” the teacher asked, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

beomgyu’s mind went blank. he hadn’t heard a single word. “uh… something about calculus?” he guessed, hoping he was at least close.

the class snickered, and the teacher sighed in exasperation. “detention, mr. choi. maybe next time you’ll pay attention instead of dozing off in my class.”

beomgyu slumped back in his seat, cursing under his breath. “great. just fucking great,” he thought.

by the time lunch rolled around, beomgyu was ready to collapse. he shuffled towards the cafeteria, his head hanging low. he spotted his friends at their usual table and dragged himself over, the fluorescent lights feeling like a personal attack on his already throbbing head.

"yo, beomgyu!" yeonjun called out, waving him over. "you look like shit, man. rough night?"

beomgyu slumped into a chair, the metal groaning under his weight. a defeated grunt escaped his lips as he slumped his tray onto the table. "yeah," he mumbled, picking at his food with a complete lack of enthusiasm.

soobin, munching on an apple, raised an eyebrow. "again? dude, you really need to see a doctor or something."

beomgyu shrugged, picking at his food without much appetite. "what are they gonna do? prescribe me more useless meds? no thanks."

yeonjun leaned forward, concern etched on his face. "have you tried, like, meditation or something? i heard it can help."

beomgyu rolled his eyes. "yeah, 'cause sitting still and doing nothing is gonna magically cure my insomnia. thanks, but no thanks."

taehyun looked at him, frowning. "you really should try something, man. this can’t be good for you."

beomgyu sighed. "yeah, well, i’ve tried everything. nothing works. now i’ve got detention ‘cause i fell asleep in math."

taehyun winced. "harsh. what are you gonna do?"

"skip it, maybe. find a quiet place to sleep," beomgyu muttered, pushing his tray away.

beomgyu wandered the halls, his mind a jumble of thoughts and exhaustion. the school was a labyrinth of possibilities, each one fraught with its own set of risks and potential rewards. he needed to find the perfect place to nap, somewhere quiet and out of the way where no one would bother him.

places to (possibly) sleep 1) the janitor's closet

the first place that came to mind was the janitor’s closet. beomgyu had passed by it a million times, always noticing how the janitor, mr. lee, would leave it unlocked while he went about his duties. beomgyu headed towards the closet, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. he carefully turned the knob and slipped inside.

the closet was small and dark, filled with cleaning supplies and equipment. the smell of bleach and disinfectant was strong, but beomgyu didn’t care. he saw a small space behind a stack of boxes and decided it would have to do. he crouched down, wedging himself into the cramped space. the floor was cold and hard, but he was desperate for some rest.

he closed his eyes, trying to let the darkness and quiet lull him to sleep. just as he felt himself drifting off, the door creaked open. beomgyu’s eyes snapped open, and he held his breath. mr. lee stood in the doorway, a look of confusion quickly turning to annoyance on his face.

“hey! what are you doing in here?” mr. lee barked.

“shit,” beomgyu muttered under his breath. he scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding. “sorry, i—uh—i got lost?”

mr. lee narrowed his eyes. “out. now.”

beomgyu didn’t need to be told twice. he quickly slipped past the janitor and out into the hallway, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. so much for that.

places to (possibly) sleep 1) janitor’s closet 2) library

next, beomgyu decided to try the library. it was usually quiet, and he figured he might be able to find a secluded corner to catch some z’s. he made his way to the library, the scent of old books hitting him as soon as he stepped inside. the librarian, mrs. tanaka, gave him a stern look over her glasses, but he ignored her and began his search for the perfect spot.

the library was mostly empty, with only a few students scattered around, hunched over their books. beomgyu walked past the rows of shelves, looking for a place where he could hide from prying eyes. he found a spot in the back, behind a tall stack of books on astronomy. it was quiet, and he could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning.

he sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall, and pulled his knees to his chest. the cool air and the silence were soothing, and he felt his eyelids grow heavy. just as he was about to drift off, he heard footsteps. he peeked around the stack of books and saw a group of girls walking towards him, giggling and chatting.

“great,” he thought. “just great.”

the girls didn’t notice him at first, but as they got closer, one of them spotted him. she nudged her friend, and they both started whispering and giggling even louder. beomgyu felt his face heat up with annoyance and embarrassment. this was definitely not going to work.

he got up, brushing the dust off his pants, and made his way out of the library, ignoring the stares and whispers of the girls. “too many people and out in the open,” he thought. scratch that idea.

places to (possibly) sleep 1) janitor’s closet 2) library

beomgyu trudged on, defeat clinging to him like yesterday's gym clothes. he formulated a mental list in his head, each possibility crumpling under the weight of potential interruptions. the rooftop? too exposed. the music room? a rogue trumpet could shatter any hope of sleep.

his weary eyes scanned the familiar halls, a sliver of hope flickering as he rounded a corner. there it stood, a solitary figure against the twilight sky—the astronomy tower.

the tower, a relic of a bygone era of scientific exploration. its once-gleaming silver exterior was now weathered and rusted, the windows dark and vacant. It had been years since anyone had ventured inside, rumors of asbestos and ghosts swirling around it like dusty cobwebs.

but for beomgyu, in his desperate search for a haven, the tower's isolation was a siren song. no students lingered in its shadow, no teachers patrolled its perimeter. in that forgotten corner, a flicker of hope ignited. it might be dusty, it might be creepy, but it could be perfect. as he neared the tower, the details became more pronounced: chipped tiles forming the entrance walkway, a rusty weather vane groaning in the faint evening breeze, and the peeling paint revealing the faded inscription "ad astra per aspera" - "to the stars through difficulties." an odd prickle ran down his spine. the inscription felt oddly fitting, a challenge on this day of immense hardship. could the tower, in its own dilapidated way, be his path to the stars? to sleep, the most elusive star in his current reality? the door was old and creaky, and it took a bit of effort to push it open. just as he was about to reach for the door handle, the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day.

“fuck,” beomgyu muttered, feeling his shoulders slump in defeat. the observatory would have to wait. he decided then and there that he would check it out tomorrow during his free period. he turned and trudged back down the hallway, the prospect of a good nap tantalizingly out of reach.

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© 2024 seoulzie

[leaentries]

out of line | nico hischier

summary: when his girl finds the ring, it doesn’t end like he had hoped.

warnings: mostly angst, swearing, this does have a happy ending (im sorry i couldnt leave my babies in dispair)

wc: 1.9k+

a/n: i’m sorry in advance, i feel like i don’t write angst that well…but i hope you enjoy regardless

the captain’s girl masterlist

Heaviness lay in thick blankets around the room, almost like the inches of sand that covered the expanse of beach outside. Your throat felt tight at the intense gaze Nico was blazing at you. It wasn’t often the two of you fought, but it sure hurt like hell when you did.

Shuddered breaths heaved in your chest, hands pricking at your nails. It all felt like a nightmare. Except, you weren’t waking up.

Tension had been rising for days, emotions only growing as you and Nico danced around each other. You had refused to acknowledge the elephant in the room, or rather, the ring.

You loved Nico, with everything in your being, but you weren’t ready for marriage. Not yet anyway. Nico had always seemed so understanding about you choosing to wait a few more years before doing anything rash. Yet now, you weren’t so sure.

With Nico inviting you to come along for the trip during bye-week, you couldn’t have been more ecstatic. The thought of being able to spend an entire week with your boyfriend was like a breath of much needed fresh air. And it was, for the first few days.

At least until Wednesday.

❥.

Nico had gone out with some of the guys, promising to be back by 4 at the latest. Not that you minded much, getting the very nice and very expensive villa to yourself for a while was enticing.

After an hour or so in the sun, you decided to take a little break and use the giant bathtub that had been screaming your name since you had arrived. Grabbing your bag and some clothes, you made your way to the en-suite, making sure to leave the door slightly cracked, just in case Nico got home.

You turned on the faucet, making sure the water temperature was just right, before stripping yourself and sinking into the welcoming space. Closing your eyes, you sunk your body lower into the water, until it brushed against your chin with any movement. The motion of the slight waves was like a massage to your sore, sun-burnt skin.

You remained in the tub until the water ran cold and your skin began to get pruny. You pulled the drain, before carefully getting out and wrapping yourself in the closest towel. Walking over to the counter, you rummaged through your bag, trying to find your face wash, yet coming up empty handed.

You rolled your eyes, realizing you must have left it somewhere. Although, it was just a minor inconvenience, since you and Nico both used the same brand, so you weren’t worrying too much.

Squatting down to open the cabinet under the sink, you pulled out Nico’s black bag, quickly opening it to find the familiar bottle. You began to pull stuff out, before a little velvet box fell onto the tile beneath you.

Your breath caught in your throat, hoping it isn’t what you think it is. Nico knew you wanted to marry him, but not now, not during the peak of his career and your schooling. It just wasn’t what you saw for yourself. Shakily reaching down to grab the box, you stood up, scared to open it.

You almost opted to put it back, knowing that if it was an engagement ring, your relationship would never go back to the way it was. This would bring up a new wave of emotions and obstacles. It would open up a door you didn’t know if you could close.

Bracing yourself against the counter, you slowly opened the box. Gleaming back at you, in all its glory, was the most beautiful ring you could have imagined. It was the perfect ring. But this only made it hurt worse. Just picturing Nico picking out a the cut of diamond you had always wanted, or the band color, had your heart clenching with sadness.

You knew you were gonna have to talk to him about it, before he did something that neither of you would be able to walk away from unscathed.

It was the only option to save your relationship. To save Nico.

Sighing, you swiftly get dressed, placing the box back on the counter, hoping that Nico would realize you had found it. Now this may seem cowardly, but it was truly what you thought would be best. At least then, the blow would be softer than a straight out rejection.

You figured that if you prompted him to bring up the ring, the conversation would be easier. Only, he never brought it up. You could tell he knew, by the way he was so cautious with anything he did around you past 48 hours. This only caused your heartache to worsen.

Eventually, the tension came to a boiling point. Having just got home from a private dinner, you can’t help but feel as though Nico had originally planned for more to come from that picture perfect beachfront sunset. Deep down, you didn’t need to guess, you knew.

This was the night Nico was supposed to propose.

You felt conflicted as you entered the living room in silence. On one hand, you felt relieved he didn’t get down on one knee, yet on the other, you felt guilty for hoping the man you loved wouldn’t confess his undying loyalty to you. Your chest tightened with emotion.

“Can we not do this anymore?”

Nico’s voice rang out, interrupting your battling thoughts. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Not do what, Neeks?”

“Not sit here and pretend you didn’t find the ring, or that I wasn’t gonna propose to you.”

There it was. The bomb finally dropped. With those few words, the harsh truth of the situation became real. All of it did. No matter how hard you tried to remain in denial, or refuse to acknowledge it, reality always finds a way to bite back.

You bit your lip, contemplating on how to begin voicing your side, “Nico, what you need to understand is-”

He cut you off, “I do understand, Y/n. But you told me about your whole “plan” 2 years ago when we first got together.” His chest heaved with despair, “I thought you’d change your mind by now.”

“My plan? My plan was never going to change. You can’t be upset with me, when you were the one who assumed I’d say yes.”

Nico felt his heart shatter at your words, anger quickly began to boil through his veins, “Of course I’d assume you’d say yes,” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, “I mean, fuck, we live together. We do everything with each other. I’m sorry for wanting to take that step with you, truly I am.”

His sarcasm didn't get lost on you. Scoffing, you turned away from him.

“Nico, you’re not listening to me-“

“What’s there to hear?” He cut you off once more, arms flaring into the air, “That you don’t want to marry me? God forbid someone actually wants to love you.”

You spin back around, tears springing to your eyes, “You are so out of line right now, Nico.”

Yet, your shaky tone did nothing to calm him.

“How am I out of line? For loving you?”

Disbelief was written all over your face. You couldn’t even begin to comprehend the intensity of it all. Nico’s harsh comments pelted through any sort of resolve you had left. Never once did you think Nico would say something like that. Especially knowing your past. It stung worse than any pain you could imagine. 

“T-That’s not fair,” You quivered, “And you know it.” 

Nico’s tense form deflated at your meek voice. The anger that once flowed through him like hot lava, has now receded, leaving nothing but spiky coldness and depression. He felt lost, plagued by the possibility of not spending the rest of his life with you.

He gingerly walked across the room, now standing directly parallel to you, “Why?” His voice was distant and cracking under the weight of his emotions, “Why won’t you marry me, schatzi?”

The use of the familiar nickname was enough to break you. Sobs wracked through your body, knees becoming shaky. Nico immediately engulfed you in his arms, cradling you against his chest like it was the last time he’d ever feel you. You felt Nico’s own tears fall freely, the hurt grasping you both. Heavy cries left Nico’s chest, only furthering your guilt. 

“I’m so sorry, Nico!” You blubbered hopelessly, “I love you so m-much, I just,” Your sentence was cut short by the rapid hiccups in your breath. 

Nico’s hands moved to gently hold your face, pulling it to meet his bloodshot eyes. His cheeks were red and puffy, wet tracks trailing down to his chin, but you knew you didn't look much better. He tried his best to calm your breathing, even through his own unsteady gasps. After a few minutes, you found yourself composed enough to continue. 

“I don’t know,” You admitted weakly, “I don’t know why I don’t want to marry you, Neeks. I’m just not ready, yet.”

Nico took a second to mull over your words. He dropped his hands from your face, leaving you distraught at the possibility of him being even more upset. He quickly turned, retreating to your shared bedroom. You felt your throat squeeze, a new wave of anxiety washing over you. 

Finding the courage to follow him, you found him sitting on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with the force of his sobs. 

You made your way over to him, perching on your knees in front of his legs. He lifted his head, pain written all over his handsome features. Your body physically ached at the amount of hurt swimming in his doe eyes. You cursed yourself for being the cause of it. Nico reached out to slowly like he’d spook you if he moved too quickly. He pulled you to stadle his waist, big eyes drilling into yours. 

He dropped his head in shame, “I’m sorry, schatzi.” 

You swallowed thickly, having not expected an apology.

“I should have talked to you about it first. I-I just got excited when we finally started talking about the future, I thought you had changed your mind.” 

You relaxed slightly, realizing he wasn’t gonna end things, “Don’t be sorry,” You rasped, voice hoarse from crying, “I should have made it clearer.” 

Lifting his face, you forced him to look at you, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to get married eventually, Neeks. I promise, I do. Just-,” You looked at his hopeful gaze, “Just not right now.”

He nodded slightly, understanding your words. 

Your eye flickered from his eyes to his lips, before carefully placing a delicate kiss. Nico responded almost immediately, hands pulling you deeper. The kiss was slow and passionate. The days of bottled-up emotions pouring into each other's mouths. You slipped your hands into the back of his hair, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere. 

You eventually pulled away for air, chests panting. You sat for a moment, just taking in the other’s body. Nico was the first to break the silence. 

“Can you promise me something, schatzi?” Nico begged. 

You nodded quickly, “Anything.” 

“Promise you’ll marry me someday.” He swallowed, face falling into a serious expression.

You smiled slightly at his lingering worry. You kissed him once more as reassurance, before pulling away just enough to speak. 

“I promise I’ll marry you someday, Neeks.”

[professorfcknmoriarty]

@resplendeo

Admittedly, deciding spontaneously that he wanted to be six and a half feet tall meant that he didn’t necessarily put a lot of thought into the logistics of it.

Previously, Whitney Jammer had been straddling the line of only-fully-six-foot if he’s standing fully straight and upright, otherwise he’d always been just a little bit under. It’s made his chosen career and passion for basketball a little more difficult than it might otherwise be if he were taller. He’s still good. He’s still really good, but it’s the only thing keeping him from going over the edge of greatness.

So, when he’s imbued with the powers of creation magick itself, he does the first thing that comes to mind.

He makes himself taller.

It’s more normal feeling that he’d expect it to be, no great new awareness of the world around him from this new height of his, except for the fact that his friends are either actually shorter than him now - Evan - or even shorter than him than they already were - K and Sam - which is equal parts thrilling and strange.

Of course, not having a newfound awareness of the world also means that he forgets that he’s too tall for things that never would have gotten him into trouble before.

Doorframes are no longer automatic passes. He hits his head on more than a few as he’s adjusting to the change, until he finally gets to the point where he starts walking into rooms with his hand up on his forehead to automatically block any impact.

It’s a little embarrassing.

More than a little, really.

The clothes he’d been wearing when he’d completed his upgrade had grown as well, fitting his new form, but none of his other clothes fit anymore. He didn’t wear a lot of pants if he could help it, but his sweatpants are all a few inches above his ankles. All the new height isn’t stored in his legs, but based on how much shorter his shorts are, it definitely feels that way.

The shirts he had packed in his duffle bag and the ones back home all expose his midriff a little and somehow they’re a bit tighter on his shoulders, as if they’re a full several sizes too small now.

He has to buy a full new wardrobe, which gets him some looks of confusion from other shoppers when he goes to check-out, wearing ill-fitted clothes. It was this or the jumpsuit.

“Unexpected growth spurt, hon?” the kindly lady at the register asks with a look of understanding.

“Something like that,” Jammer says, a little red in the face. At least he’s found a way to keep his wings hidden from sight most of the time, so she’s not staring at them.

He has to relearn so much that he’s almost just teaching himself how to play basketball again. With newer legs and a different sized torso means slightly longer arms, the rest of his body developing as well to keep him proportional, and that means that even things as simple as picking something up and throwing it suddenly requires conscious effort.

It’s exhausting.

He wouldn’t trade it for the world, though. Not with the way Evan’s eyes darken when he stands over the man, tall enough to tower over him for once.

“Can you reach that for me?” Evan asks, the question light. He doesn’t gesture, but Jammer knows he’s referring to the box of dried noodles that are just out of reach in the very top cabinet. He’s braced against the counter, looking up at Jammer with dark, intense eyes.

“Sure thing,” Jammer says. He doesn’t break eye contact as he reaches up for it.

He hands them over. “Anything else,” he asks, licking his lips before he adds on, “big guy,” to the end of it.

Evan makes a soft, hungry noise for something more than the noodles.

Jammer obliges, dropping the box down to the counter to hold Evan’s face in his hand and tilt it up until it’s the perfect angle for a kiss.

Since he’s kissed Evan, he’s going to have to kiss K and Sam, too, or they’ll both get jealous, but that’s not exactly a hardship.

For now, he gets to enjoy how much Evan likes to be the smaller one and how much he likes being like this.

[moremaybank]

okay but just imagine rafes gf getting braces and being so worried he will think she’s ugly 😫

this is so sweet 🥹

Rafe pulls up to your driveway and makes a beeline for your front door with a carton of ice cream and a bouquet of white roses in hand. He rings your bell and the door opens within a few seconds. Before he can greet you, he notices that you're wearing a mask.

"...Why are you wearing a mask, baby?"

"Well, hello to you too," you smart mouth, giving him a teasing smile.

"Hi," he teases, granting a kiss on your hairline as he pulls you into his arms. "Now tell me why you're wearing a mask and covering those kissable lips of yours."

You offer him a shrug, "I don't know, just felt like sprucing up my look."

Rafe hands you the ice cream and the flowers, receiving a loving thank you from you, and follows you to the kitchen with a still-confused look on his face.

"Are you sick or somethin'?"

"No, handsome. I'm not sick."

You grab a vase from one of your cabinets, filling it up with water and unwrapping the meticulous tissue paper and cellophane encasing the flowers so you can place them inside. Then, you move onto fetching a bowl for the ice cream.

"Only one bowl?" He questions.

"Yeah, I mean, it's for you, right?"

"All right, what's going on? I drove all the way to get your favourite ice cream, there's no way you aren't having any," he says. He rounds the counter, and turns you by the shoulders to face him. "What's up, princess? And don't say nothing."

Your shoulders slump in defeat, and you let out a little groan. "You're gonna think it's stupid. That I'm stupid."

Rafe's pointer finger hooks under your chin, gently forcing your eyes onto him.

"Baby, I could never think that. I just wanna know what's going in that pretty head of yours."

"What if...what if you think I'm ugly now that I have braces? I don't wanna lose you to some girl with perfect teeth," you pout, though you don't think he can really tell.

Of course, it's Rafe, and he can tell because your giving him those sad Disney princess eyes that he finds incredibly adorable and completely unmissable.

"Are you kidding me, baby girl? I could never find anyone more perfect than you. I promise. I wouldn't leave you even if you asked me to. You're stuck with me."

He cups your covered cheek, and you lean into his warm palm as you can feel the heat through the protective fabric.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Now take that mask off so I can see my girl." He watches you do what he asked, albeit shyly. "Now smile for me."

You follow his orders, smiling and hesitantly showing him your teeth.

"Look how adorable my girl is," he coos as his thumb softly brushes against the tip of your chin. "Do your teeth hurt at all?"

"Yes, especially when my boyfriend makes me give him a pageant smile," you quip.

"Funny," he deadpans. "Can I kiss you now?"

"You better."

Rafe's head leans down, and he kisses you. Any other time, you'd thoroughly enjoy how much force and passion he poured into his kisses. Today, though, with your sore mouth, you wince.

Rafe instantly pulls away upon noticing your discomfort, and his brows furrow in concern.

"Sorry. I hurt you, didn't I?"

"It's okay. You didn't mean to. Blowfish kiss?" You ask, puffing up your cheeks as you pucker your lips.

"Blowfish kiss," he confirms, chuckling softly and mimicking your actions. He gives you a soft kiss, certain the two of you look like goofs. He doesn't care, though. Whatever makes his girl happy.

"I love you, train tracks," he smiles, booping your nose lovingly.

"Rafe!"

concepts

[daryltwdixon]

The Promise of Us: Chapter 29

Weapons at the ready, the group moves cautiously through the entrance of the Veterinary College, the eerie quiet thick with decay. Tyreese clutches the map, guiding everyone through the dark, abandoned halls. Your grip tightens around your knife, every creak of the floorboards echoing ominously. Empty animal cages line the walls, doors left ajar, their rusted bars a silent reminder of what this place used to be.

As you enter a classroom, the smell of must and stale chemicals overwhelms you. But hope blooms when you spot medications lining the back wall, locked behind glass cabinets.

“Anything ending with –cillin or –cin, C-I-N, grab it,” Bob instructs, urgently moving through pills and syringes. You and Michonne start filling bags as quickly as possible, the hope these little bottles represent more than you could’ve asked for with the outbreak ravaging the prison.

Sweat beads at your neck, trickling down your spine as your vision blurs, your head feeling foggy. You shake it off, forcing yourself to focus as the words on the bottles swim before your eyes. The faint dizziness tries to creep in, but you push through it, hands working faster.

“We’re good here,” you manage, your voice tense.

“Alright, let’s roll,” Daryl calls, voice low and urgent.

The group moves out into the dark, narrow hallways, the beams of flashlights piercing the shadows. You peer into the next room and your heart drops—several walkers are staggering aimlessly until they spot you. Their growls rise, a guttural chorus that reverberates down the hall. Instinct takes over, and you bolt further down the corridor.

“Up ahead,” you whisper urgently. But as you round the corner, a walker lunges at you from the darkness, its gnarled hands swiping wildly.

“Shit!” you gasp, backpedaling as more walkers shuffle into view. You spin into a nearby classroom, darker than the hallway, the room filled with the silhouettes of empty cages.

“Hey!” Bob hisses. “Door’s busted!” He taps it, the noise loud in the silent room.

Daryl's flashlight sweeps across Bob’s face, then you, him, and Tyreese press a desk against the door to hold it shut. The walkers’ snarls echo menacingly from the other side, the metal door creaking under their weight.

Michonne moves toward a door marked with a green “Stairs” sign. But as she tugs at the handle, the rattle of chains echoes sharply—it's padlocked. The sound triggers the walkers, their hands clawing at the door, arms reaching through the gaps. Your heart leaps into your throat.

“How many?” Daryl asks softly, his voice tense.

“I can’t tell,” you reply, straining to see past the flashlight’s beam as Michonne holds it steady.

Suddenly, more snarling comes from the other side of the room—the walkers from the hallway have broken through. The noise becomes deafening, your pulse racing as adrenaline floods your veins. Your body snaps into survival mode, the dizziness clearing as you grip your knife with fierce determination.

“We can take ’em!” Tyreese urges, stepping forward with his gun aimed and ready to shoot.

“No!” Bob yells, his voice sharp and frantic, making you flinch. “They’re infected—same as the prison!” His gun is raised, and for a moment, it’s almost pointed at Tyreese.

Panic twists inside you as your hand fumbles for your knife, unsure of what’s coming next.

“If we fire at ’em, get their blood on us, breathe it in—we didn’t come all this way to get sick!” Bob shouts.

“How do we know the ones in there aren’t different?” Tyreese argues, pointing toward the stairwell filled with walkers on the other side.

“We don’t,” Michonne says flatly, her eyes narrowed.

“Well, it’s gotta change sometime,” Daryl mutters, breaking the tension. He grabs a chair, snapping off one of its legs with a rough twist. “Ready?” he asks, his gaze shifting to you.

“Do it,” you say, fierce determination lacing your voice. You brace yourself, knife at the ready.

Daryl forces the door open, and you charge forward, adrenaline driving your movements. You stab at the first walker, the blade sinking deep into its skull. Gunshots ring out around you as Michonne’s blade slices cleanly through two more, clearing the way down the hall.

The sunlit stairwell offers a moment of hope as you all stumble through, just in time to see infected walkers bursting through the classroom door behind you. You dash up the stairs, the noise of clattering desks and cages filling the stairwell as Bob throws them behind him, trying to block the walkers’ path.

“No exit!” Michonne shouts, but Daryl is quick as you both look up to the large window as he hops on the ledge, “Then we make our own!”

“Move!” You hear Tyrese’s voice booms, and you look back to see him throwing a fire extinguisher, and it breaks through the window, shattering glass to the floor, giving you an opening out.

Daryl peers through, “Okay, jump to the landing on the other side,” he commands as he reaches him arm down to get people out.

He helps Michonne and Tyreese through the window, then reaches for you. His grip is strong, steady as he pulls you through with a roughness that’s both protective and desperate. You land hard on the rooftop across, feeling a momentary rush of relief as Daryl follows.

Bob climbs out next, but as he jumps, the weight of his bag throws him off balance. The bag goes flying over the edge, dangling dangerously over the edge into a pit of walkers. They immediately swarm toward it, grabbing at the dangling strap, the weight pulling it downward. In the same chaotic moment, Bob crashes into you, sending you sprawling backward. Your head hits the edge of the roof, stars flashing in your vision. The world tilts as you find yourself hanging over the side, half of your body leaning towards the dead below. Terror floods your veins as the walkers below reach up, their filthy hands grabbing your hair. 

There’s screaming from above you, and you see Daryl quickly make his way over. He drops to his knees, his hands grabbing desperately at your hips, trying to pull you back. The walkers’ grip on your hair tightens, a sharp, burning pain that makes you cry out.

Bob, still hanging onto his bag, is too focused on retrieving it. The bag slips further, ripping in the walker’s snarling hands. “Let it go!” Michonne yells at him, her voice fierce. “Get her up, now!”

“Bob, drop the damn bag!” Tyreese shouts, rage in his tone as he helps Daryl pull you upward. But Bob’s grip tightens, his eyes wild with desperation. 

Your vision blurs with tears, the pain from the walkers’ grip in your hair growing unbearable. Between being pulled in two directions, your body feels split in half. You can feel your scalp burning, the filthy hands tugging hard, the sharp, sickening pain of some of it being pulled out as they claw for more. It’s impossible to think, to do anything as panic takes over your body. You don’t even know where to put your hands, whether you hold your hair and risk being scratched but saving your scalp or clinging to help above you, you can’t think straight enough to focus.

“Bob, let it go!” Daryl roars, his voice raw, filled with desperation. His grip on you is fierce, his muscles straining as he fights to keep you from slipping further. “She’s gonna fall!”

Bob finally manages to yank his bag back from the walkers’ grasp below. The strap is tattered, but intact, and the bag makes a deafening clanking sound against the roof. You’re still hanging over the edge, though, the sound of the chorus of their snarls too close for any inkling of comfort. Panic surges through you as your brain shifts into place, and you twist your body, reaching around with shaking hands. Desperation takes over as you grab your hair, fingers fumbling to free it from the walkers' grip, their hands so close to your trembling digits. Gritting your teeth, you rip the ends free, feeling a sharp, searing pain as it tears. 

“I got ya!” Daryl shouts, his voice rough with urgency. His strong arms wrap around your waist, his grip firm and unyielding. You see Tyreese anchoring him from behind, bracing himself to help pull the two of you up.

With a final, powerful yank, Daryl hauls you back onto the roof. You collapse against his chest, your breath coming in ragged gasps. He holds you tight, the frantic beating of his heart matching yours.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of heavy breathing, but then Daryl stiffens beneath you. His eyes flicker over to Bob’s bag, fury beginning to burn in his gaze. He sits up abruptly, taking you with him, but you feel his whole body shift from concern to something darker—something dangerous. He reaches for the bag, anger seething in his movements, and yanks it open. He doesn’t have to dig far; a bottle of booze is already half-fallen out of the top of the otherwise empty bag.

Daryl’s eyes narrow, his fingers tightening around the bottle, and you can feel the tension radiating off him. His body seems to tremble with the intensity of his rage, every muscle coiled.

“Daryl…” you whisper weakly, trying to stop him. But he’s already on his feet, moving toward Bob with a deadly focus.

“Got no meds in your bag?” he asks, his voice low and lethal as he holds the bottle up. “Just this?” The words are bitten off, each one dripping with contempt.

Bob stands frozen, his face pale as he breathes deeply, struggling to find words as he looks away. Michonne moves to your side, pulling you up by the arms. Your legs feel wobbly, and you lean on her heavily, your chest tight and breaths short. You feel a hot, dizzying feeling building behind your eyes, but your focus is glued to Daryl.

“You shoulda kept walkin’ that day,” Daryl seethes, his voice so low it’s almost a growl. He turns, ready to throw the bottle into the woods, but suddenly, Bob’s hand shifts to his gun, “Don’t,” 

Your hands reach for your own gun in a fury that ignites in you. Eyes narrowing at Bob, you stare in angry disbelief at him.

Daryl’s rage erupts as he closes the distance, slamming into Bob’s chest with his own, “You’d let my girl fall into a pit of walker’s for this?” he snarls, voice dripping with venom. His face is inches from Bob’s, eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

Bob’s eyes fall to the ground, shame etched across his features. He doesn’t argue—he can’t. Daryl pulls Bob’s gun out of its holster with disgust. 

“Just let it go, Daryl,” Tyreese says firmly. “The man’s made his choice.”

Bob’s voice trembles as he tries to explain, “I didn’t wanna hurt nobody,” he mumbles, head still bowed. “It was just for when it gets quiet.”

“So you’d risk her life for a goddamn quiet moment?” Daryl spits, and gets real close to Bob’s face, his forehead pushing against the man’s, sending him backwards in shame, “You take one sip before those meds reach our people, and I will beat you into the ground.” His final words are a low, menacing growl. “You hear me?”

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

The group finally makes its way back to the car. You’re breathing heavily, your legs feeling strangely unsteady, the ground seeming to shift beneath you. Your head throbs, and you find yourself leaning on Michonne more than you’d like to admit. You pass her your bag, but your hands are trembling. She leaves you to stand on your own to continue packing the car.

“Hey, Y/N,” Tyreese murmurs as he approaches as well, his figure swimming in your vision. His eye is swollen, lip split from where Rick had struck him hard. You manage a small smile, but it’s strained, anticipation tightening in your chest as you wait for him to speak.

His large, warm hand lands gently on your shoulder. His eyes brim with a raw sorrow, and his voice is thick with regret.

“I’m real sorry about earlier,” he says, his tone low and sincere. “I lost it... didn’t see straight. I shouldn’t have hit anyone, especially someone just trying to help. I’m sorry ‘bout your cheek.”

You nod slowly, a faint, hesitant smile forming as you accept his apology. But the world still feels off-kilter, a strange heaviness pressing against your chest. You turn toward the van, Tyreese’s hand lingering for a moment longer before slipping away as you move forward. Your steps feel sluggish, like the air around you has thickened. Reaching for the side door handle, your vision blurs sharply, a dizzying wave washing over you.

Daryl is already at the passenger side, sitting with his feet up, his face still hard with lingering anger. His fingers absently play with the piece of jasper he picked up earlier, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. The green stone catches a sliver of sunlight, and for a moment, Daryl’s eyes soften as he studies it.

He looks up at you then, the hard lines of his face easing slightly as he sees you approaching. But something shifts in his expression, concern darkening his eyes. “You good?” he asks, voice low.

You manage a weak smile, trying to ignore the strange sense of dizziness and heat that keeps creeping over you as you hang onto the door handle harder. “Yeah,” you say, even though your mouth feels dry and your head is light. “Just tired. Let’s get back.”

Daryl’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer, clearly unconvinced. He watches you closely, his fingers still gripping the jasper, but now holding it tighter, as if willing it to give him strength.

As you begin to pull the door open, the ground sways beneath you. Your vision blurs, and your knees buckle. Daryl’s eyes widen, and in an instant, he’s lunging forward.“Y/N!” he shouts, panic replacing the anger in his voice. You try to hold onto something, anything, but your fingers slip, and darkness closes in around you. The last thing you feel is Daryl’s arms catching you before everything goes black.

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Somebody to Heal, Somebody to Hold (Joel Miller x dispensary! reader) 🍃 🔥 💨

Chapter 1 : Moonberry

Chapter 2 here || Chapter 3 here || Main masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x dispensary! reader, AU no outbreak Rating: none, will be changed to explicit in future chapters (slow burn, eventual smut, age gap) Summary: Joel can't rely on pills anymore for his back pain, so his doctor prescribes him medicinal marijuana. But he's not happy about it. Word count: 6.6K A/N: This is a shameless indulgence because I wanna see PEEPAW get HIGH. He needs it, his BACK needs it. He's not gonna like it at first though 🌚. A thank you to my literal heart and soul @iamasaddie who listened for hours on end to my rambles and creative word vomit about this idea, I love you forever. I will add the tag list later tonight. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

“God fucking damn it.”

Joel’s resounding growl reverberates throughout the empty house as he slams another kitchen drawer closed with a loud thud. He impatiently rifles through the drawers one by one in a failed attempt to find any pain killers, any fucking pills he can get his hands on, really. His hands flit through stale takeout menus, spare remote batteries, streamers, matches and other miscellaneous odds and ends with no avail. 

He even went so far as to look in Sarah’s bathroom cabinet above the sink and her dresser drawers too. The pieces of furniture in her room somberly coated with a thin layer of dust, marking her absence ever since she left for college a couple months ago. He didn’t have any success. No Advil, no Tylenol, not even any RUB A535 or joint pain creams to be found in any corners of the seemingly empty Miller house. 

Damn. 

She must have taken anything she had with her off to college when she moved into her dorm, Joel surmised. The dresser’s groan as he shuts it close rivals Joel’s, that rips  from the back of his throat as he feels another sharp, needling pinch in his lower back. It eventually subsides into a dull ache but he knows he doesn’t need to move in any abrupt or particular way to trigger the same said infuriating pain, sending shockwaves down his back, through his spine. He grits his teeth and rests both of his palms on the textured surface of the wood, trying to ground himself as his back rounds and he hunches over. Looking up into the mirror attached to the dresser, he grimaces. Recoiling from the image of an old man with hollowed circles under his eyes, grey hairs littering his head and his permanent scowl. 

Joel is old. He knows that much. The years on him are telling.  Aside from his physical looks, his knees are shot and there isn’t a day where he has to physically brace himself to bend down, swing his legs out of bed, or hoist anything above his head when he’s out on jobs. Even his ability to pick up jobs and swiftly finish them as if he was a sprightly 35 year old with a slightly athletic build has slowed down tremendously. It takes him twice as long to seemingly do anything nowadays, regardless of whether it’s physically laborious. 

Hell, he even struggled when it came to moving Sarah into her college dorm room. Even though she remained in state and her campus wasn’t more than a 2 hour drive away, and multiple trips could be made, Joel steeled himself to ensure he would be there to do the heavy lifting, and only have to do it once. Enlisting Tommy’s help would have made it easier as well but of course his younger brother was too gregarious for his own good. Aside from showing up 40 minutes late, with a 6 pack of Lone Star in his hand and forgetting the tools he was supposed to bring, Tommy was more easily preoccupied setting up the mini fridge he bought for Sarah, Which of course Joel scolded him for, and joking around with other freshmen in the dorm. 

The harsh reality is that the harder he tries to forget about it and ignore his persisting aches and pains, the more his body and mind humble him without fail that he is old. Broken. Might as well be, seeing as he’s about losing his damn mind without having any painkillers to pop and wash down with a glass of whiskey. 

He recalls the fruitless conversation he had with the doctor two weeks earlier which had placed Joel in his current predicament. 

“Getting older is a facet of life Joel, I’m not gonna lie to you about that. And you’re an otherwise healthy guy, aside from your cholesterol creeping up a bit high and the occasional spike in your blood sugar.” His doctor told him frankly as he flipped through Joel’s medical history.

“Unfortunately your body is just responding to the stresses of doing physically intensive work, as it does with any other person when they age.”

Joel opens his mouth, already ready to refute the doctor's next words, when the doctor holds his hands up in surrender. “I know, I know, you’ve been doing the same job for years. Nothing about being a contractor has changed. The fact of the matter is the job remains the same but you have changed Joel. Your body just can’t keep up as quickly, nor can it recover as quickly anymore. All that heavy lifting, straining the same muscles over and over in fixed positions, it’s just catching up with you now.”

Joel crosses his arms over his chest and grinds his jaw. “I’ve been managing just fine,” he grunts, not trying to hide his annoyance through the lie. 

He had been trying to take it slower in the past couple months. The key word being trying. 

Sending Sarah off to college was no easy feat financially, especially as a single parent, but Joel wanted to give his daughter the best chance at a college education, knowing how bright and determined she was. He worked hard to save for her tuition, the first two years that is, but he wouldn’t admit he was running himself into the ground trying to pick up more jobs than he could handle on his own, in order to save up for the rest. Forget the tuition, there was also the cost of residence for living on campus, her textbooks, a laptop, student association fees and a whole bunch of other crap he couldn’t wrap his head around.

“Back in my day you just went to your lectures in the same building, wrote in the same notebook, and used the computers on campus,” he grumbled as he squinted at the tuition balance outlined in the letter sent by her college. There were more zeros than necessary behind said balance that already had Joel’s mind spiraling into a panic.

“I thought you only did like, less than a year of college before you dropped out to start working in the trades Dad,” Sarah quirked her brow at him smugly. 

“It was nine months,” he corrected her, “long enough for me to realize that it wasn’t for me.”

“Not long enough for you to learn how to properly use a computer though,” she smirks as she watches Joel start scribbling numbers down onto a piece of paper, reverting to mental math instead of using a calculator. 

“It was a long time ago smart ass,” he chides her despite the warmth in his eyes. “Besides, you were still so young. I was spending more time outside of the home, working and trying to juggle school, away from you and your mother. It wasn’t ideal. The trades allowed me to be flexible with my hours, while being able to spend more time with you”

His doctor gave him a sympathetic look and sighed. “If that were the case, I don’t think you would be here and we would be having this conversation right now would we?”

He sits down in his chair and wheels over to the computer sitting on the desk, clicking this and clicking that as he filters through the previous medications that had been prescribed to Joel, before he turns to face him.

“Now in any other instance, I would prescribe you slightly stronger painkillers than what you’ve received in the past,” Joel subconsciously starts nodding along, ready for the spiel about his prescription dosages and what not. “But, because your cholesterol is a little high right now, I can’t do that.”

The crease in between Joel’s eyebrows deepen as he tries to anticipate what the doctor tells him next. 

“The side effects from an over the counter painkiller could spike your cholesterol even higher, which is what we do not want,” the doctor continues, unaware of Joel’s steadily boiling frustration. “Which is why I wanted to suggest an alternate method for pain management, something more natural.”

For fucks sake. 

He thought this would be a simple appointment. Show up, get a new prescription for whatever magic pills can help this pain in his back to dissipate, and go home. Not look into ‘alternative methods’ that undoubtedly wouldn’t work.

Joel’s gaze narrows and he huffs, leaning back in his seat. “Natural? Like what, seeing one of those hokey practitioners that read your energies and use natural herb remedies and all that crap?”

“Not quite that per say but it is natural medicine. Medical marijuana to be exact.”

Joel’s mouth goes dry as his jaw hangs open. Weed? Nope. Not the solution he was looking for. 

Maybe what he should be on the market for is a new doctor at this point. 

“Uh listen, I appreciate the suggestion doc, but I don’t think that’s gonna help me at this point. I don’t do that kinda stuff,” he waves his hand dismissively. “If it gets to that point I’ll crack open a beer.” Joel leans forward in his seat and he starts to get up.

“Just a second, hold on. At least let me write you a prescription for it today and you can choose whether or not you want to get it filled at a dispensary.”

“I don’t think-” Joel continues to protest but the doctor cuts him off.

“It’s medicinal marijuana Joel,” the doctor says plainly, as if that’s supposed to calm his nerves. “It has opiate-like properties, which means it’s similar to a pain killer, just without all the usual side effects that come with over the counter medicine. Lots of individuals, older and younger,” the doctor pointedly emphasizes, “use it to help with aches, pain, anxiety, even mental health issues. Not just the physical.”

Joel continues to eye the doctor warily, his spine now stiff as he sits up in the chair. Even now, he can feel his body protesting his upright position, the inkling of that pinched phantom pain coming back slightly. 

“Does it get you high?” he asks the older man. 

Aside from the stories he’s heard, he’s had his fair share of buddies who used to toke up back in the day. Hell, they didn’t even know what was in it back then, they just smoked as a distraction, something fun to do, to take the edge off after a long day's work. Joel tried it once and didn’t like it at all. The hazy, fuzzy feeling not mixing well with his frayed nerves, glassy eyed and out of touch with his body. No, he would much rather crack open a beer or pour himself a whiskey neat to kick back and relax when he was stressed.

“Not necessarily, some strains, or some kinds of weed have a higher content of THC, tetrahydrocannabinol, the psychoactive component that makes you feel high or ‘out of it,”’ the doctor explains with finger quotes. “Some medicinal marijuana are low in THC but high in CBD, the relaxing component of marijuana. CBD acts as a relaxer, and it can ease physical pain. So depending on what you’re comfortable with, you can opt for the kinds that have a high CBD but low THC content, which will help with any pain issues, without causing you to experience the high.”

Joel’s mind whirls around the acronyms. THC, CBD, ABC. Christ. Does it have to be this fucking complicated? 

He knows his doctor is only trying to help at this point, basically just doing his job, but this is way beyond Joel’s comfort zone. He inhales deeply and leans back against the chair as he resigns himself to this conclusion. Seeing as there are no other options.

Picking up on Joel’s internal freak out, the doctor explains. “It’s a lot of information to process, I know. But like I said, take the prescription and think about it. There’s a new dispensary in town here where you can go and take the prescription, have them fill it, chat more about the options and see how you feel. If you’re still adamant about the painkillers then come see me in a couple weeks and we can discuss it more. I want you to try a few things to lower your cholesterol in the meantime.” 

His doctor writes the prescription on the office letterhead, and hands it to Joel along with a card for the dispensary in town.

Fast forward to the present, Joel turns around from the dresser and leans back against it. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the prescription slip, the paper now visibly creased due to the number of times he had folded and unfolded it in contemplation. Of course it was near impossible to make out the doctor's chicken scratch handwriting.

Must be a requirement of all medical school grads. Step 1, learn to write illegibly, step 2, graduate

He is able to make out the other writing further towards the bottom of the slip, where the doctor haphazardly scribbled out ‘cholesterol’ and underneath it read ‘less red meat and beer, more omega-3’s (fish and eggs), and more fruits.’

“Might as well buy a fucking casket at this point,” he grumbled to himself. If there was a world where he couldn’t enjoy a juicy ribeye steak along with a cold beer anymore, well, he had pretty much resigned himself to the conclusion that that was not a world he wanted to be in.

—-----------------------------------------------------

“Alright so we have the Pink Kush Indica loose leaf at 3.5 mg, at 19.7% THC, and the Strawberry Rain hybrid pre-roll pack at 22.4% THC, a very good choice by the way. Is there anything else I can help you with?” 

You smile warmly at the customer you’re cashing out at the front till. He’s a young guy, no older than 19, maybe 20? Legal age, but with the way this kid’s eyes are nervously darting around the store, looking at everything but your eye line, you correctly assume it’s his first time buying marijuana products. 

“No, nothing else, thanks,” he mumbles as he fidgets with his coat pockets, before paying and quickly snatching up his purchases and shoving them in his pocket, briefly turning to exit the store. 

You chuckle to yourself internally and shake your head, remembering what your first time was like when you legally bought from a dispensary after the government legalized marijuana. 

Despite its legality, you were a fucking deer in headlights as the dispensary worker tried to explain to you the differences in strains, types of weed, paraphernalia that you could use to consume it. Wholly consumed by the guilt of acknowledging you were purchasing illicit (yet completely legal) drugs, you scurried out of the store as quickly as you could after getting what you needed. What would your parents say if they found out? Not that they ever would, but the ever present shame that needled and cracked through the facade of their wholesome daughter, their good girl, consuming such a horrendous drug, the devil’s lettuce, now that shame loomed over your head constantly for a long time.

You sigh and turn to go into the back storage room. Only 1 hour left until close luckily, yet somehow the last hour of your shift always seems to go by the slowest. Go figure.

“Let me guess, 19 ?” Your colleague Josh guesses with a presumptuous smirk on his face, as he continues to count the inventory of vapes in your storage room.

“Try 21! I believe you owe me dude,” you hear a chirpy voice chime in, as you look to see your other coworker Stef strolling in right behind you. 

She holds her hand out expectantly as she approaches Josh, as he slaps a $5 bill into her up-facing palm, a smug grin plastered across her face. Stef usually worked the front door so naturally she would remember the ages of most customers that walked in, after scrutinizing over their ID and making dismissive comments about their appearances and age. Sometimes she was too blunt and outspoken for her own good, but you would call her out on it, all good natured. She was your best friend from elementary school. So naturally when she began working at One Plant and a part time position opened up, she hounded you about it constantly until you came into the store with a copy of your resume, briefly chatting with the manager at the time. 

You gasp with feigned sarcasm as you cross your arms over your chest, leaning against a supply shelf.

“You guys said you would stop betting on the customers last week! C’mon now.” You reprimanded them lightly, a half hearted attempt to be the voice of reason, despite the smile on your face. Stef and Josh both outranked you in terms of seniority as they had been working at the shop longer, but it didn’t stop them from concocting new shenanigans every fucking week to make the time go by faster and make your shifts more entertaining. 

“What? The kid looked like he damn near was having a fucking seizure when I was checking his I.D.. Yeah he’s technically ‘legal,’” she emphasizes with air quotes, “but he looked like he got lost on a fucking field trip, poor baby.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head once again. Stef may be blunt and take the mick out of customers with a thinly veiled sense of self restraint, but you loved her. She made the days go by faster, as did Josh, lord knows he put up with so many of your antics. It’s a miracle he kept you both in the store at all, despite his threats to take you both off schedule because you couldn’t contain the bullshit amongst yourselves. He joined in on the fun once in a while, giving you a break and empathizing. 

“They’re getting younger and younger everyday, I swear.” Josh chimes in as he does a double count of the inventory before logging it into your system. 

“I suppose back in your day, you just bought whatever you could from the local dealer who lived in his mother’s basement, right grandpa?” Stef poked at him, as she sat down and propped her feet up on the table used to package orders, scrolling on her phone.

You snorted as you began to tidy up and organize the stock for the following day, preparing any orders that were due for an early pick up. Grabbing a pack of indica pre-rolls here, a couple vape cartridges there, putting away the bongs and pipes that were out on display.

It’s true, that despite the government legalizing marijuana over a year ago, there was still a large influx of customers who were new to consuming the herb, in the face of its notoriety as an illicit street drug. The dispensary saw all manners of people who came in seeking relaxation, calmness, appetite inducing, sensory heightening products. You almost couldn’t believe it when you started working here. 

Customers ranged anywhere from barely legal college kids, who couldn’t tell the difference between sativa or indica and couldn’t roll a joint to save their lives, to young parents needing a break between the monotony of daycare and diapers, as well as trade workers coming off a long day at the job, or even seniors looking for a mild pain relaxer. 

“Everyone’s got a vice, everyone is looking for a piece of that relaxation. Not all stoners look like typical stoners,” Josh quietly reminded you as he trained you during your first week on the job. 

You took his comment in stride and tried your best not to judge the customers when they came in looking for their vice. Everyone had their reasons, undoubtedly, and those reasons were absolutely none of your business, Stef had so compassionately reminded you, despite your bristling at her blunt words.

Today would turn out to be no different, you realized, as you went back out to the front of the store, and began locking up the display cabinets, putting the weed samples back in their glass cases. You hear the bell toll of the front door opening and you call out to Stef in the back, but it doesn’t reach her ears over the sound of her chattering with Josh. 

You glance at the clock. 4:32 pm, less than half an hour to go. Steeling yourself, you walk over to the entrance, where the double doors are that let customers into the store. An added measure for security, despite the so-called front ‘checkpoint desk’ where customers had to show their I.D. before walking into the main store that contained actual products. 

“Thanks for coming into One Plant, can I see some I.D.?” You parrot the painstakingly rehearsed greeting as you round the corner to the desk at the front. You look up to see an older guy standing there awkwardly, between the exit door, and the front desk, almost like he’s not sure he wants to really be in the store. 

He looks around suspiciously at his surroundings, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. 

“Uhm, can I see your I.D. sir?” You ask him again, mirroring his confused expression as you appraise his demeanor. You tap your knuckles on the laminated sign on the desk that states  I.D. MUST BE SHOWN, ONLY 18+ PERMITTED ENTRY to emphasize your point.

The man blinks once or twice, then shakes himself out of whatever daze he was in, as he fumbles into his back pocket for his wallet, fishing out his license for you. 

“Yeah sorry, here you go.”

You don’t pay much attention to the picture on the license, you never usually do, as bad as it is to say. As far as you were concerned, if the mental math added up in your head, and they were 18, you let them in. This time you take a bit more time to analyze this man’s ID card. You poorly attempt to hide the raise in your eyebrows as your gaze scans his year of birth. There’s no way this guy is over 40. He can’t be. You look from the stiff plastic card in your hand, back up to the man towering over you at the desk, taking in his slightly greying hair and his sparse beard. The crows feet etched on his face, and his seemingly permanent scowl gave away his years without fault. 

You look down at the card again. Joel Miller. Huh. Just as you look back up at him, he raises his eyebrows at you expectantly. Realizing you have been holding onto his card for far too long than is appropriate you hand it back to him quickly.

“Sorry, can’t be too careful,” you say playfully, but that doesn’t seem to dissuade his nerves as he puts the card back into his wallet, back into his pocket. Hands shoved into his coat pockets as he stood frozen to the spot.

“Come on in,” you gesture for him to come in as you press the button to open the interconnected door that leads to the shop.

He follows you in, continuing to look around the store anxiously, stiff as a board. 

You make a beeline for the register counter, secretly praying that this guy knows what he wants to order so that you can all clock out in time. Usually, you didn’t usually mind staying behind late most days but you had been feeling burnt out between school and the hours at the dispensary lately, and you were all too looking forward to going home, smoking a fat joint and unwinding with some drag race. It didn’t look like that would be happening any time soon though, much to your dismay, as you notice the deer in headlights expression on this poor guy. His gaze darted from the display cases to the glassware, despite his broad stature he was clearly overwhelmed by everything in front of him. 

You clear your throat in an attempt to pull him out of his current state of fight or flight.

“First time here?”

His gaze snaps back to you, and for a second you genuinely can’t remember if you asked him the question, or if he asked you something, with the way his huge brown eyes widen and soften slightly before he furrows his brows. 

“Is it that obvious?” The deep warmth of his baritone voice betrays the gruffness in his response and you chuckle. The corner of his lips curl into a lopsided, sheepish smile. 

Bless this first timer and his apprehension. You take pity on his naivete. 

“Not to worry at all. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” You match his small smile in return.

“Uhm,” he furrows his brows again and starts to peer around the store anxiously again, as if he was being watched. “Something for pain management?” He quirks one eyebrow at you, in question, almost as if he’s unsure if that’s the right answer. He fidgets a bit, shifting his weight and then sighing while pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. 

He squints at the paper briefly. “At least, that’s what my doctor has written here. I think. Can’t be sure with this damn chicken scratch.” He scowls slightly, clearly irritated he is in this predicament.

Again. Bless this first timer, old man. Well, not really THAT old, but still. 

“I can help you with that, as for the legibility of doctor handwriting, I’m afraid that’s a lost cause,” you quip. Much to your surprise, he huffs out a laugh in response.

“Yeah no shit. It’s a good thing I clocked what the doctor said before relying on the written prescription.”

“Well, you’re in luck because we have lots of options to choose from in terms of pain management. We have anything from herb, to edibles, to pre rolls, to drinks. Anything really, you name it.”

You chirp off the options, in your customer service voice. Although it doesn’t really feel like you’re trying to sell him something at this point, moreso that you’re educating him on what’s available.

It’s a good thing too, with the way his soulful brown eyes continue to get wider, and the crease between his brows deepen with each option you mention to him. 

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, “how about something to smoke?”

“For sure! If you’re looking for something for pain management, that’ll likely be higher on the CBD end, with less THC, more relaxation based.”

“That sounds good,” he gives you another small smile. You start to search for CBD dominant strains in the register database as he shifts a bit closer to the counter, resting his hand with the prescription slip in it, on the countertop. 

He has nice hands. Big hands. With nice long, thick fingers. Like really fucking thick. And his thumbs are perfectly curved. You also notice a faint tattoo that's fading, hovering just above the webbing between his index finger and thumb, of… a bullseye? Interesting.

“Alright so we have a selection of pre rolled joints as well as loose herb for CBD, depending on what your preference is. Some people like to roll themselves, plus it’s a bit cheaper to buy it loose and roll it yourself, compared to buying pre-rolled, but it’s up to you.”

Still, he looks at you with a lost expression, but ultimately says says “Let’s go with the pre rolled ones.”

“Sounds good. Any flavour preferences? Or dislikes?”

He furrows his brows again and frowns slightly. God help this man. That should not be as endearing and cute as it is.

“Flavours?” He looks downright bewildered, as if you asked him when he’s going to jetspace off to Mars, that or to sacrifice his first born child. It could very well be both at this point. This poor old man. It must be his first time buying weed in general, not just coming into the dispensary.

Understanding his predicament, you backpedal a bit. At this point you might as well be getting commission on top of the ludacris minimum wage you receive, seeing as how eager you are to assist this man. Normally you couldn’t be bothered to be so thorough and patient with customers when it was nearing closing time but this guy is so lost, you take pity on him. It had nothing to do with how attractive he is. 

“Yeah! Weed products come in all different kinds of flavours, depending on the strain. It’s more noticeable with edibles and drinks, any products you consume orally, but loose leaf herb, or the actual weed buds, have different flavours too. If you like fruity stuff there is Mango haze, or strawberry sativa, or if you like a more sour savoury palette, there is sour diesel or lemon haze. Or there are kinds that don’t have a distinct flavour profile or smell, they smell and taste pretty generic when you consume or smoke them.”

“Uh, I think those might be my best bet,” he chuckles hollowly.

“Alright, sounds good.” Going off his limited knowledge and inexperience, you pick a pack for him that is a hybrid strain, light on the THC and heavy on the CBD. Usually it’s pretty good for beginners who aren’t looking to get stupid high and not too expensive.

You turn to the back wall window behind the countertop, and knock on the glass, catching the attention of Stef and Josh.

“Hey, can one of you guys grab me the 5 pack of Moonberry pre-rolls for this walk in order?”

Stef conveniently taps her index finger on her nose and looks presumptuously at Josh, making no effort to get up from her seat, who rolls his eyes and goes over to the inventory shelf. No sooner does he walk back over to hand you the pack, does Stef tear her glance away from her phone, and peek up at the register counter, clocking the man. Her jaw drops and she instantly wiggles her eyebrows at you. Before she can put her open mouth to use and make a smart ass comment, you grab the pack of joints from Josh and pivot back towards the register. As you turn back around, you just barely catch the man’s gaze snapping back up to yours, as if he was looking somewhere further south down your body. 

No. You’re just imagining that. Your brain running on fumes as the last remnant of your shift dwindles down.

“Okay, this is a 5 pack of pre rolls. It’s called Moon Berry, it’s a hybrid, but it’s very light on the THC and heavy on the CBD. Good for relaxation and it helps with pain. Try ‘em out and see how you like them.” You put the pack in a small bag and ring up the cost for him. 

After he hands you the cash and takes the small bag into his massive hand, he hovers a bit. Shuffling awkwardly as he waits for something else.

“Uh, is there anything else you needed today?” you ask him after a beat. His hand clutching the bag twitches by his side, and his lips part slightly. 

Okay this man is cute. More than cute. He’s ridiculously attractive in an aloof sort of way. His disheveled curls, prominent nose and chocolate brown eyes have you short circuiting, as if you were the one purchasing something from him. Still, you reassure yourself it’s the delusion of it being the final minutes of your workday, not the handsome stranger. Not at all. 

Say something. Say anything. Jesus.

At this point you’re not really sure if you’re telling that to yourself or silently pleading to him.

“Need a lighter?” you blurt out in an attempt to break the silence. 

“Uhm. I-.” He puts his hands in his pockets as if he was going to retrieve a lighter. Your malfunctioning brain persists though.

“Here, take it,” you grab one of the lighters with the generic dispensary logo on it, off the 

display on the counter and hand it to him. “It’s on the house,” you state as you see him start to shake his head, “we don’t make money on these anyway, so they always end up as overstock.”

His large palm nearly engulfs your hand as you drop the lighter into his hand. He looks up at you and gives you a boyish smile again.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem, enjoy the pre rolls. If you need anything else, feel free to give us a visit again,” your customer service voice chimes in again as you flash him a warm smile. 

Trepidation sweeps across his face for a brief second before he nods and ducks his head, and as he walks out of the store. You check your phone, 4:56, thank God.

You head back into the storage room to grab your things and clock out, only to be met by your co-workers staring at you. Both with shit eating smirks on their faces.

“It’s on the house?” Josh repeats your earlier sentiment to you with a raised eyebrow. 

Rolling your eyes instantly, you sigh. “Josh, you and I both know those stupid lighters rarely ever sell out. Or sell, period. It’s not like the occasional few put a dent in the weekly revenue. Plus, there’s lots of other crap in here we sell with the store branding on it.”

He continues to look at you expectantly, his smirk growing bigger. 

“You gonna make me watch one of those ridiculous loss prevention videos from HR? Or can we let this go? C’mon it was the last customer of the day and we’re closed now.” You plead with him hoping he will drop it.

“If he wanted to cause you actual pain and suffering he would make you watch those HR videos again,” Stef quips cheekily. “We both wanna know why you wouldn’t just ask for that guy's number, it would have been a lot easier than committing theft as an employee.”

Your mouth gapes open as you look at her indignantly, then to Josh. Screw your best friend for knowing you all too fucking well. You couldn’t hide your poker face from her even if it was surgically constructed. 

“Why would I-” you begin your protest but Stef steam rolls over your words in her true form. 

“Oh, come ON, babe. I may only have eyes for women but I have to admit, he was fucking HOT and you know it. Those broad shoulders and puppy dog eyes? Probably one of the few attractive middle aged men I’ve seen come through here.” 

Josh wrinkles his face in disgust. “Seriously? The dude is probably pushing fifty. He looks like he’s never gotten high in his life seeing as how he was gawking at everything in the store. You included.”

Stef hums in agreement. “Fifty or not, he’s the hottest virgin stoner I’ve ever seen in my life. And I didn’t see a ring on his finger sooo…”

“Okay, that’s it,” you cut her off before she can blurt out any more incriminating things “Let’s implement a new rule, no BETTING on the customers, and no gossiping about how attractive they are.” You huff and grab your things, before dragging your friend towards the store exit. Josh follows in tow, locking up the entrance behind you all. 

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” Josh mutters as he fixes you with a knowing look.

“I’m just saying,” Stef keeps going as you all walk towards the parking lot, “where else and when else are you going to meet someone with all the shit you have going on right now? Don’t you wanna get out there eventually?” 

She gives you a playful shove with a bit too much force behind it. “Don’t you at least wanna get laid again? Poor gal probably has cobwebs down there,” She throws out the crass remark nonchalantly as you sputter with your jaw dropped open. Luckily, she just narrowly avoids the slap you aim at her arm.

“Alright, and on THAT note, goodnight to you both. Get home safe.” Josh shakes his head as he gets into his car.

You turn and face Stef, letting out the deepest breath you’ve probably taken all day. 

She’s not wrong. It’s been well near a year since you split up with your ex.  Ever since you started school and got the part time job at One Plant, you really haven’t had time for anything else. Despite being best friends and living close by, you rarely saw Stef outside of your scheduled shifts together. Relegating yourself to the hermit life, you kept busy with studying, writing papers, going to class and showing up for your shifts at the dispensary. 

Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do after becoming single? Better yourself? Have new adventures? Or some shit like that.

Sure, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss being with someone. Miss the companionship. But dating in this day and age was fucking exhausting. Even though things between you and your ex ended amicably, you were still very much in your ‘men are trash era’ and the thought of going on dates and getting to know someone again nauseated you.

Annoyingly, Stef wasn’t wrong about the getting laid part. Nearly a year post breakup for a relationship that consumed 6 years of your life didn’t seem that long in the grand scheme of things. But being touch starved for nearly a year? That fucking sucked. And you wouldn’t deny missing the intimacy of cuddles, forehead kisses, and feeling close to someone. That and getting railed as if your life depended on it. Toys were nice and all but fuck you missed the feeling of having someone manhandle you, the feeling of someone giving you pleasure, winding you up. You just haven’t put your focus on that very stale and dry aspect of your life.

Stef gently grabs you by the shoulders, squeezing them. “Look, you know I love you hun, I just want you to be happy. That’s all. You gotta give it a chance again.” 

Her words pull you out of your dissociation and you blink hazily a few times. You shake your head briefly and pull her in for a hug. Stef may be too outspoken for her own good but she knew you inside and out. Ater becoming best friends in grade 7, you wouldn’t expect anything less from her. But you couldn’t lie that a part of you hated when she was right.

“I know you do, and I love you for it. Even though you’re a pain in my ass. Now get home safe.” 

She squeezes you at that and tells you to do the same, before you both go your separate ways.

Finally home, you trudged into your empty apartment, the weight of day’s work finally easing off your shoulders, as you kicked off your shoes and dumped your keys on the coffee table in the living room. As was your routine, you plopped down on the couch, reaching for your grinder and papers on the table, as you started to roll your joint, contemplating on what to have for dinner.

Still, the image of deep brown eyes, and that warm southern drawl ricocheted through your mind as you densely packed the grinded herb into the joint, folding the paper in on itself and twisting off the end.  He was just a customer. You saw hundreds of them a day, he was nothing new. As you lit up and inhaled deeply, you felt the warm, molasses-like haze seep through your bones, clouding over your thoughts, as you melted into the couch. He was just a customer. A handsome stranger. 

Despite the excuses you gave yourself, you couldn’t help but feel that wouldn’t be the last time you saw that man, or the virgin stoner, as Stef had so bluntly called him. At least you hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

TAGLIST:

@xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu, @morallyinept, @atinylittlepain, @amanitacowboy, @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog, @pr0ximamidnight, @wannab-urs, @beskarandblasters, @jksprincess10

[ameliathornromance]

Blueberry Lady - Orc x Reader

he house you had been living in had seriously dilapidated after your parents had died.

Since you had little to no help, living far out and away from the nearest village – which was just under five miles walk – there wasn’t a lot you could do in the first place.

So you’d let the broken tiles on your roof, be broken and when rain came, let the water leak into your room and drip, drip with the tone of a metronome. You’d let the walls foundations crack and climb up to the ceilings of your house and let the doors hinges to each room in the house rust and stiffen open so that you could no longer close nor open them.

While you had tried to fix the problems yourself initially, they proved a lot more difficult than you would have thought.

The door hinges would not budge from the wooden thresholds, no matter how hard you tried to unscrew them, when you tried to re-plaster the walls, the thick cement smelling sludge would either become watery and the cracks reappear, or the mixture was just too thick and would take whole chunks of the wall with it, as it crashed onto your now rotting wooden floorboards.

Needless to say, you were not in the best spot. The only room that didn’t seem to be effected by the house falling apart, was the kitchen. All the cabinets worked, the sink still delivered clean water and the fire pit for cooking hadn’t failed you once.

One day, a hankering for blueberry pie got the better of you. You hadn’t made one since your parents had died and figured it would do you some good to get out of the house and then come back to make a deliciously sweet treat.

And so you’d set out into the forest, wicker basket hanging off the crook of your arm and waiting to be filled.

Once you had found the blueberry bushes deep within the forest, you began to pick and completely forgot about your surroundings. You don’t know how long you must have been there, for all you knew it could have been hours.

It wasn’t until the trees became still and the birds twittering and chittering had been silenced that you were brought out of your meditative state. Living in the woods for a long time, you get used to the sound of wildlife.

It isn’t until that wildlife goes silent that you realize when you’re in danger.

Confirming your suspicions, a low grumbled reverberated in your chest, the hairs on your neck standing on end.

You turned from your spot by the blueberry bushes and watched as a pack of wolves surrounded you, their teeth bared, hackles raised, their backs dipped as they readied their attack.

Eyes darting around, you searched for an escape route. It’s not like you could dart between them, they’d rip you apart like a chew toy.

Jumping over the bushes was a no go as well, the moment you’re in the air, they would strike and then you’d really be in trouble.

With the wicker basket still squeezed between your elbow, you instinctively gripped it as you realised that this situation was as helpless as it looked.

This was it. You were going to die here.

Just as your thought had finished, the wolf central to your vision let out a bark and lunged, spring boarding off it’s back paws, jaws open and aiming straight for your neck.

You squeezed your eyes tightly closed, threw your arms up to protect yourself, braced yourself for the feeling of teeth ripping at your flesh, the feeling of your warm blood spilling down your front.

But instead, the wolf gave a yelp, followed by a whimper.

You squinted open your eyes, ready to shut them again at the first sign of danger.

A wall of green, thick muscle stood in front of you, the pack leader clasped in this monster’s hands.

“Back!” He snarled. And as if he were throwing a baseball, he threw the creature to the ground.

If you like this kind of content, you should check out my Patreon! There, I post stories twice a week and earlier than I post on Tumblr. I also post exclusive stories there too where you won’t be able to find anywhere else.

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[wannab-urs]

Congrats on 1.5k! So deserved!! 🖤

To celebrate, I'd love a drabble. Any Pedro boy will do!

Keep rocking & being awesome, gorgeous! 🖤😘

Thank you so so so much <3 I hope you like this ahhhh

Save a Horse... Or Whatever

Pairing: Jack "Agent Whiskey" Daniels x Reader

Summary: Whiskey got hurt on a mission and he comes into your lab to get patched up.

Warnings: Jack Daniels being allowed to speak, medical shit that is completely bullshitted, one mention of blood, some talk of like digging around in a wound, etc, Whiskey calls you Soda pop and Sugar. Technically you're Agent Soda. Brief descriptions of oral m!receiving. No use of y/n, reader isn't gendered (I don't think?) WC: 900

A/N: I kind of think I'll turn this into a full one shot at some point? This is unbeta'd sorry!

Jack Daniels Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

You really did not expect to end up with Agent Whiskey’s cock in your mouth today. Maybe you’d thought about it before, maybe hoped the opportunity would present itself at some point, but certainly not today. 

–-

He left your field office this morning for what was supposed to be a simple mission. Go in, shoot the fuckers, take the briefcase, call in the clean up crew. Simple, easy, something he’d done a hundred times. But somehow it got fucked up six ways from Sunday and he ended up limping his sorry ass into your lab, carrying the brief case but also dragging his left leg. 

“Howdy, Soda Pop. Reckon you could fix up my leg?” He flashes you his trademark sideways smile and a wink, before his face crumples and his legs nearly give out from under him. 

“Fuck, Whiskey! What in the hell happened to you?” You run over to help him, grabbing his thick arm and heaving him onto your examination table. 

“Let’s just say I did not receive a Kentucky welcome.” 

“Clearly. Can you take your jeans off, or am I gonna have to cut you out?” Whiskey smirks at you again and you brace yourself for whatever is about to come out of his mouth. 

“Well now, Soda Pop, thought you’d at least take me out to dinner before you tried to get in my pants. Think I can manage to get naked for ya though, sugar.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Whiskey you’re literally bleeding out,” you chastise him as he pulls off his belt. He winces as he shucks his blood stained jeans down his thighs, panting a little with the effort.

You try desperately not to show how much it turns you on. The guy you’ve harbored a bit of a crush on for years stripping down right in front of you… Who could blame you, honestly?

“Fuck! Soda, I’m too weak to whip a gnat. You’re gonna have to pull ‘em the rest of the way.” He collapses back on the table, jeans sitting not even half way down his thighs. 

You huff an annoyed breath and roll your eyes. “Shoulda just let me cut them off, idiot.” You pull off his ridiculous designer cowboy boots and yank his jeans the rest of the way down. You head over to your storage cabinet and grab some alcohol wipes, a pair of forceps, and a Beta Gel shot. 

Stepping between his parted legs, you clean his wound with the wipes as carefully as you can. His breath hitches in what you assume is pain and he digs his nails into his palms. “Alright, Whiskey, I gotta dig the bullet fragments out now. I can give you a pain shot, but your leg will be numb for the rest of the day. Up to you.” 

He props himself up on his elbows and waggles his eyebrows at you. “Don’t need a shot, sugar. I can handle it.” 

You raise a very skeptical eyebrow, but grab the forceps anyway. As you start the process of removing metal fragments from his leg, Whiskey sucks in a breath and his head falls back between his shoulder blades. You initially think it’s from pain. “Sure you can handle it, cowboy?” 

“Oh yeah, baby doll. I can handle it.” You eye him suspiciously, before trailing your eyes back down to where you’re working on his leg. Something catches your attention though. 

“Jack Daniels,” you say sternly. “Are you fucking getting off on this?” His cock is half hard in his boxer briefs. 

“And what if I was? Pretty girl, fixin’ me up, touchin’ me all over…” He trails off. 

“That why you became an Agent, Whiskey? You got a pain kink?” You resume pulling the pieces of the bullet out of his leg, nearly done now anyway. 

“Just ignore it, sugar. It’ll go away,” his voice is raspy, rough as if he’d been yelling and so low you feel it in your gut. You pull the last bit of the bullet out, grab the beta gel shot, and stab it into his thigh. 

His cock jumps in his underwear and he falls flat back on the table, letting out a slight whimper. 

“And what if I don’t want it to go away, Whiskey?” You don’t move from between his thighs. In fact, you step in closer, trail your hands up the outsides of his thighs and press your thumbs in. 

His head perks up at that and he meets your eyes, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “Well then, Soda pop… How’d you like to ride home on a real cowboy?” 

“That’s a terrible line, Whiskey. I really hope you don’t use that often.” 

“Only once or twice, sugar.” You roll your eyes, but hook your fingers into the waistband of his briefs anyway. You pull them down and his cock springs out, hitting his belly with a thwack. “Jesus, Jack, how do you walk around with that thing?” 

“Bowlegged,” he deadpans. You snort a laugh and take him in your hand, wrapping your fingers around his obscene girth. You dip your head and lick a stripe up the underside of his cock before wrapping your lips around the tip and sliding down as far as you can in one smooth motion. 

–-

And that is how you ended up with Whiskey’s cock in your mouth today.  Next time you’re aiming to end up in his bed. 

[sleepyiswhumping]

Fucking [a] Leech

PLEASE MIND THE CONTENT WARNINGS 

Content: Blood, (Brutal) Dubcon/Noncon sex, Homophobic Slur, Mild alcohol (ab)use, Mutual Domestic Abuse, Toxic relationship (REALLY TOXIC), Violent Sex, Whumper x Whumper (they whump each other <3) 

"Biohazard fuckin yaoi. This shit ain't just toxic this is a public health concern."  

-friend who urged me to write this 

NSFW IS WELL UNDER THE CUT 

~~~~~ 

It had been a long fucking night at work, and Gare was tired. He grabbed a bottle of scotch from a cabinet and leaned on the counter, pouring himself a glass with shaky, exhausted hands. He sipped away, going through one, two, three glasses before Tal noticed he was home. Of course. It’s not like he had sent him a text or anything. Oh, wait. He had.  

He snorted as the shorter man sauntered into the kitchen and leaned on his chest, hands slipping under his work shirt and caressing his chest. Against his better judgement, he wrapped an arm around Tal’s shoulder, the other pouring a fourth glass of scotch. 

“Hey, baby,” Tal murmured as he rested his chin on Gare’s chest and looked up at him, purring. 

“Hey, yourself. I texted you I was home like fifteen minutes ago.” 

Tal shrugged and batted his eyelashes at Gare. “Sorry, but I can’t exactly drop everything for you.” 

He yawned, fangs flashing in the kitchen’s light, then snaked his way up Gare’s chest, nestling his head in the crook of his neck. 

“Mmf. You stink.” 

“Okay, rude. What the hell?” 

Tal shrugged again and Gare could feel his smirk through the fabric of his shirt. What a fucking asshole. He couldn’t remember why he stuck with this fuck, God. Insufferable piece of shit, and a vampire to boot. Couldn’t even go anywhere with him. All their “dates” had been sitting inside watching television instead of normal couple things. His “boyfriend” was a plague on his life, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave him again, for some reason. 

“Whattt? I’m just having some fun. You can take a joke, right?” Tal laughed, hands still caressing Gare’s chest. 

“Anyway, I hope you don’t mind if I...” he trailed off as he pushed himself up on the tips of his toes and pressed his lips against Gare’s neck, tongue trailing over the soft flesh. 

Gare looked down at him and tried to pull away, momentarily confused, before he felt the shorter man’s fangs poke his flesh. Panicked, he pushed Tal away, hard, and stumbled away, almost knocking the bottle of scotch over as he did. He watched as Tal slammed onto the floor, head knocking against the tile with a dull thunk, then looked up at him dazed and shocked. 

“What the FUCK, dude? What-I just got off a twelve-hour shift and you were gonna feed from me? I-you didn’t even fucking ask!” 

Gare shouted despite them being mere feet apart, weary voice raw with anger. 

Tal pushed himself to his feet, almost collapsing as he rose, holding his head with one hand, then shouted back at him with just as much fury. 

“What do you mean, what the fuck? I haven’t fed in almost a week and you fucking THROW me to the floor?! You’re a fucking piece of shit, you know that?!”  

He groaned, bracing himself on a wall. “Oh, my fucking head. This is your fault, asshole.” 

“MY FAULT?!” Gare roared incredulously, cheeks rosy from the anger and the alcohol. “You’re the one who keeps starving yourself like a dumbass! Go find blood somewhere else, dipshit!” 

Tal stood silent, frozen in both pain and thought, before spluttering angrily, searching for words. Fuck, he did have a point. Still, though. He didn’t need to throw him to the floor over it! 

“I-you-ugh, you’re the worst! You know why I won’t ‘find blood somewhere else’! I don’t want to hurt anyone! I can’t let mys-” 

Gare cut him off quickly, grabbing his jaw and squeezing it tight with one hand to shut him up. 

“Shut the fuck up. You ‘don’t want to hurt anyone’ until that ‘anyone’ is me, and then it’s fair game! You fucking liar!” 

“Mmf. Llet go’f me!” 

Tal whipped his hands up, claws digging into Gare’s wrist in an attempt to get him to release his iron grip, but to no avail. His stormy eyes were focused directly at Gare’s, refusing to look away from the rage-filled gaze. He gasped weakly as Gare lifted him almost off his feet, faces mere inches away. It was almost hot, if Gare didn’t seem like he was about to murder him in cold blood. 

“Fuck you, Tal. You’re a fucking leech, you know that? Blood-sucking bastard.” 

Gare’s face was twisted in rage as he spoke, and it seemed like he almost spat the word ‘leech’, with how much hatred he said it with. He ignored the rivulets of blood running down his arm from where Tal’s claws dug into his flesh, but his grip had lessened slightly. 

“Ghh, yea? Well, you’re the one fucking a leech, you dickhead!” he snarled, fangs jutting from his mouth as he grew angrier and angrier. Despite not needing to breathe, he panted heavily, and felt Gare do the same as his hot, liquor-smelling breath washed over Tal’s face. Of course, he’s drunk. Bastard’s not thinking straight. 

“Fucking... you really wanna go that route, Tal?” 

Oh, fuck. “Y’know what? Fuck you, Gare.” 

Tal sneered at him, knowing damn well what Gare was about to say but not giving a fuck. He was fed up with the bastard’s bullshit. 

“If you say so, leech,” he muttered, dragging Tal toward the counter. 

Tal groaned at the pain as Gare all but threw him on top of the counter, then smashed their faces together in what could only be called a kiss beyond any stretch of the word, his teeth digging into Tal’s lips and drawing blood. He flinched as one of Gare’s hands grabbed at his sweatpants, slipping under the waistband of both his pants and underwear. 

“Can you hurry the fuck up, fag? I’ve got shit to do,” he muttered around the brutal assault on his lips, before biting back, fangs slicing at Gare’s lips. 

Gare just grunted, before yanking at Tal’s pants, his immense strength ripping the fabric off his waist and legs after a few attempts, the tearing noise the only sound aside from quiet grunts from them both. 

Tal drew a quick breath in as Gare pulled the tattered mess of pants down his legs exposing his pale skin and somewhat hard dick, his bare flesh contacting the cold marble of the countertop, and tried to brace himself against it with his arms. Gare, meanwhile, fumbled with his belt and jeans, getting them undone after a few attempts and letting them fall down his legs, before sliding his underwear off, revealing his frankly massive cock. Tal loved to joke about how big Gare was; now, as Gare grabbed his hip, with it pressed against his asshole and no lube in sight, he was very concerned. 

He desperately tried to pull away, hands pressing against Gare’s chest to hold him back. 

“Waitwaitwait, Gare- you're not serious- there's no l-” 

“Shut up,” Gare muttered, before grabbing Tal’s wrists effortlessly with one hand and holding them above his head, pressing in to kiss him again, tongue forcing its way into his mouth invasively. 

Tal grunted as Gare kissed him again, then yelped as he felt Gare push his dick against his ass, trying to force his way into him. He tried to shift his hips away, but to no avail, and cried out as Gare held him steady and pushed himself in, his tip agonizingly entering Tal’s ass. No prep, no lube, just hate, as he steadily pushed himself further, working Tal open as he fucked him. Tears welled in Tal’s eyes as Gare thrust into him, slowly at first, but with increasing speed, and he could feel his flesh stretch and tear as Gare pounded mercilessly.  

As the tears began to stream down his cheeks, Gare let go of his hip and wrists and grabbed his face in both hands, kissing him angrily and possessively as he fucked him without mercy, blood beading slightly from the tears he left on Tal’s ass. Tal had given up on fighting back; he knew he was no match for Gare, so he instead used his arms to try and brace himself into a slightly more comfortable position. Despite the agony, Tal couldn’t help but feel the pressure building in his core as Gare continued to incessantly and swiftly slam into him, and release soon came, his cock spasming and twitching as he shot cum all over his stomach, but he felt no pleasure, only mild relief as the pressure faded away. Gare soon followed, arms dropping from Tal’s face and wrapping around his body as he pulled him close and thrust as deep as he could inside of the smaller man, draining his balls into Tal’s bleeding ass, still kissing him brutally and violently. He held him there, in a warm, tight embrace for a few moments as he came, before letting go of Tal, letting him slump onto the counter in exhaustion and pain, and pulled out, wiping the cum and blood off his dick with Tal’s tattered sweatpants. He pulled his pants up and redid the belt, before staring at the mess he’d made of the vampire laying on his counter for a few moments, panting heavily, then walking away, leaving Tal to clean himself up. 

The last thing Tal heard before he faded into unconsciousness was the creak of the front door opening, and then it slamming shut. Then, nothing but blissful silence.