#he IS injured on one foot. the fact that he’s been using the wrapped foot as a sturdier foothold onthe tile makes us hope that

[clannfearrunt]

This is from a bit earlier in the afternoon before we got into the Full Getup but we are test driving an anti-slip measure for Sasuke called “wrap his uninjured back foot with the like wrap thing you use to keep gauze in place (what is that called)” and lads he has been walking around the tiled parts of the kitchen (major slip hazard zone) like it’s nothing for the whole afternoon. It’s working too well. In fact I would actively like for him to stop fucking walking around and please lie down for a bit. Stop praying for my grandpa he’s become too strong etc etc dog boy sit the fuck down please you are scaring me

[mediumgayitalian]

“Oh, fuck.”

The clatter of her practice sword on the ground is almost louder than the crunch that rings out from his wrist. He inhales sharply, biting back a shout — no matter how many times it’s happened, he will never get used to breaking a bone. That shit hurts.

“Fuck, fuck fuck. Fuck, Seaweed Brain, is it broken?”

“Think so,” Percy grits out. He tries for a smile, and Annabeth matches it, small and worried. He leans into the hand she cups over his cheek. “Not too bad, though. If I just dump my water bottle on it —”

“Absolutely not. Water healing leaves you achey when it rains, you know that.” Shifting to wrap her arm around his waist, she helps him stand, shouldering some of his weight like it’s his ankle that’s broken. He lets her, reaching down to squeeze the hand resting on his hip — I’m fine. We’re good. She turns her hand to wrap clasp their hands together — Okay. If you’re sure.

They walk together to the infirmary, taking their time. Aside from the pain pulsing from his arm, it’s not too bad — camp is as balmy as usual, and the spring break energy is practically visible, it’s so potent. The Demeter cabin has plants growing everywhere, flowers and fruit trees blooming as bright as a box of new crayons, and the air is filled with shouts of laughter and teasing. Annabeth’s steps fall in time with his, and she’s a comfortable warmth at his side, pressed from shoulder to hip.

“You still okay?”

“Yep.” He catches her eye, smiling crookedly at her. “Doesn’t even make my top fifty.”

She rolls her eyes, hipchecking him. “Don’t I know it, ya klutz.”

“Not sure I would call being flung from the St. Louis Arch being a klutz. Or exploded in a volcano. Or crushed under the sky. Or slashed by giants. Or chased by —”

“You’re talking, but all I’m hearing is Annabeth, please, please pinch me, as hard as you can —”

“Hey! Get those claws off me, gods you’re worse than an empousai —”

“— and when you’re done pinching me please put me in the tightest headlock you can manage —”

“I am injured! You are beating up an injured person right now!”

“— and then please just bite a chunk out of my shoulder —”

“Cut it out or I’m telling Mom!”

“Wimp,” she taunts, finally releasing him. “I don’t go running to Sally every time I lose a fight.”

“Wha — you do so!”

She ducks through the infirmary door, smirking like she can’t hear him.

“You literally — you snitched on me last week! I got grounded for two days!”

“And you deserved it,” she says primly.

He gapes. “I did not!”

“Anytime you two are done,” Kayla drawls, shoving a clipboard at them. They accept it with matching sheepish grins, cowed at her perfectly arched eyebrow and slowly tapping foot. “I got patients to deal with and older brothers to harass. Let’s get this moving.”

She is shockingly good at humbling people for a thirteen year old. The two of them turn to their clipboard, chagrined, letting her stomp away with an exasperated He’ll be with you soon! Don’t set off the sprinklers again!

“That was one time,” Percy mumbles, ears reddening.

Annabeth pats him on the back. “There, there,” she says mockingly. “The fact that it was one time definitely negates the fact that you flooded the entire Big House because you got jumpscared by a child.”

“Harley can be sneaky, okay. Let me live.”

“Literally no.”

Annabeth does most of the paperwork for him, ‘cause she’s a nerd because his wrist is far too swollen for him to write properly, so it takes maybe half the time it normally would. The infirmary is crowded as Hell, though (he knows, he’s been), so they settle in for the wait, amusing themselves by tearing little pieces off of a blank form, balling them up, and tossing them in increasingly harder places. Percy is winning 7-4, although Annabeth might just pull through if she manages to toss her paper ball into Travis’ wide-open snoring mouth.

“Hey, guys. Sorry for the wait.”

Aw. She missed. Percy was looking forward to that.

“Hey, Will.”

He drags his attention away from the son of Hermes to greet his friend, but frowns before he can open his mouth.

“Woah, dude, you good? You look exhausted.”

Will snorts. “Welcome to spring break, man.” He holds his hand out for the clipboard, scanning it briefly. “Sparring injury? Oh, thank the gods. I could use a break. Here, face me.”

He climbs up onto the minimal left over space on the cot, tucking his legs under his thighs. Percy turns to mirror him, hesitantly sticking out his arm — A break? he mouths to Annabeth, meeting her eyes over Will’s head.

She shrugs.

“Just spent four hours putting Jake’s nose back on his face,” Will mumbles, placing a careful hand on his fingertips and his forearm. Percy flinches — his skin is blisteringly hot. Like someone just dropped a hot stone onto him. “I never want to sing a skin cell hymn again in my life.” He prods at Percy’s wrist for a moment, gentle enough not to hurt. “Okay, hold still, I’m gonna fix ya right up.”

Healing hymns are familiar, by now, but Percy will never get tired of them.

The cool thing about ambrosia and nectar is that as pleasure food for the gods, it’s pleasant. It’s whatever taste you want, whatever you need to have most, you get it. But healing hymns are intentional the way nectar and ambrosia aren’t. Ambrosia and nectar happen to be healing for demigods — healing hymns were constructed to knit you back together, like you mother smoothing a bandaid over a skinned knee. They’re warm and sweet and deeply, endlessly comforting in a way most things simply cannot claim to be. They don’t feel like a medical procedure or a hasty patch job, they feel like someone gripping you tightly and promising you’ll be okay. They feel like getting carried to bed when you fall asleep on the couch. They feel like sitting down after hours of standing, like a drink of water when your throat is drier than sand. Healing hymns draw the pain and sick and ache from your body, and they feel like relief.

But this time, Percy can’t focus on it.

With every word, Will seems to get a little duller. Nothing like the horrible ash-grey he went in the war, dragging the poison from Annabeth’s body, but like his usual sunny disposition was dialed down a few notches. Enough that Annabeth frowns in concern, drumming her hands on her thighs, watching him closely.

“There,” Will says, pulling away. Percy turns his now-healed wrist, noticing the slight pant to Will’s breath, the strain to his smile. The shake of his blistered fingertips.

“You look overworked,” Annabeth says quietly.

Will holds his hands up in a what can you do gesture. “Spring break.”

“You said.”

“It’s just busy, is all.”

“Yeah, but —”

“Guys,” he interrupts, smiling tiredly, “there are two hundred ADHD demigods at this camp right now who have been trapped in a classroom for six months. There are three of us. I’m going to be a little drained; we’re all a little drained. But I’m fine, okay?” He gives them a second to scrutinize his expression, eyebrows raised in amusement. “I have been running my infirmary for years. I know how to pace myself, and I certainly know how to make sure my siblings are pacing themselves. If something goes really wrong, Chiron is a whistle away. I can go longer than you guys without sleep, anyway. Apollo kid health.”

“If you say so,” Percy says reluctantly. “I just — I can wear a wrist brace, man. Not every injury needs to be handled when it happens. You can tell people no.”

“I appreciate that, Percy, and I’ll keep it in mind. Anyways, I’ve got more patients. Stay off that wrist for the rest of the day, okay? It might be tender for a bit.”

Percy turns to Annabeth as Will leaves, frowning. He’s has never noticed the so-called spring break stress before (his camp spring breaks are usually a blast, but now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t think of a single spring break where he spent any time at all with Will, which is odd), but it can’t be good for him. There’s gotta be something they can do to ease some of the bruising under their friend’s eyes.

“I could set off the fire alarms again,” Percy suggests. “That’ll certainly get this place cleared out.”

Annabeth snorts. “I think that’ll cause more harm than good, Seaweed Brain. It’ll just fall in him to clean it all up, after.”

“Shoot.”

Percy counts nine of the forty cots currently unused. Will, Kayla, and Austin are rushing from cot to cot, handing out nectar, wrapping bandages, rattling off hymns at light speed. All three of them look exhausted, squeezing shoulders when they pass each other, knocking hips, exchanging tired smiles. This is so clearly something they’re used to.

Annabeth’s head rests on his shoulder.

“It wasn’t always like this,” she whispers. “When it was fully staffed…”

Percy exhales heavily. Yeah. He remembers. There was a lot less complication, once upon a time. The most chaotic the infirmary would get was when Lee would challenge his siblings to Hymn Karaoke — trying to heal with pop songs. There was a lot more laughter, at one point. A lot more people.

Percy sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. It never does well to dwell, but he — gods, he wish they all had more time. To sit with it, to acknowledge…everything. Siblings. Friends. A camp that’s smaller than it’s supposed to be.

Annabeth squeezes his hand again, and he squeezes back, resting his head on top of hers.

“Hey,” she murmurs after a moment, pursing her lips at the front door. “Look.”

Slinking through the entrance like a criminal is Nico, in all his dork ass black camp shirt glory. He looks around shiftily, like he’s trying to make sure no one sees him, and when his gaze lands on Percy and Annabeth his eyes widen. Annabeth smiles at him, but it does nothing to ease the spooked look to his face, back arched like a startled cat. He turns to leave, but before he can slip back out the door —

“Nico!”

The son of Hades whips back around so quickly he brains himself on the doorframe. Percy ducks his head and bites his lip, hard, because he can feel Nico’s glare at the side of his head like the press of hot coal, and if he laughs as badly as he wants to then the infirmary is about to look like a Spirit Halloween.

Will turns back to his patient, squeezing his eyes shut and rattling a hymn off so quickly it makes a burst of light pop from his whole body, and rushes over to where Nico’s standing. He only trips over two things, which is remarkable for him. Percy would be proud if he wasn’t a little embarrassed on his behalf.

“Nico! Hi!”

“He-ey, Will,” Nico says, voice cracking badly on every vowel. Annabeth shoves her face into Percy’s shoulder, body shaking.

“I didn’t know you were coming! I thought you were in the arena all day.”

Nico shrugs, shoes scuffing the floor. “I am. I just — uh, I got hurt? So. Came to see you.”

Will’s beam is so bright it hurts to look at, a little. Percy squints and realises that’s not just the excitement, actually — he really is glowing, faintly. His hands flap slightly at his sides.

“Well, you’re in the right place, then.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them say anything for a minute, rocking back on their heels. Will watches Nico closely, biting his lip. Nico looks resolutely at the floor.

“We weren’t this bad,” Annabeth whispers, “were we?”

Percy shakes his head. “Nah, there’s no way.”

“Gods. It’s so — I don’t know whether to smile or take a dip in the Lethe. It’s embarrassing and endearing at the same time.”

“Painful to watch, but I can’t stop looking,” Percy agrees.

“What’d you hurt?” Will asks, finally. “Did you pull your shoulder again?”

A look of panic flits briefly across Nico’s face until he smooths it to something neutral, aloof.

“Yep. Totally. During — sword fighting, I swung — I did this really big thrust, actually. Just — hugely powerful, training dummy exploded on impact.” He clears his throat. “Some might say too powerful. If you can imagine.”

Percy cradles his head in his hands. “Oh my gods — ”

“Don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh,” Annabeth chants, “oh my gods, don’t laugh —”

A light flush dusts Will’s cheeks. He brushes a strand of hair behind his ear, fiddling with his earrings. “Woah, really? I’ve never heard of that before.”

Nico smirks, standing up a little straighter. “Well, it’s not the first time. I tend to go pretty hard.” Remembering his supposedly hurt shoulder, he exaggerates a wince. “Too hard sometimes, I guess. Could you do the — the energy thing?”

“Oh — gods, yeah, sorry. Hold on.” He stares at Nico’s shoulder, hesitating. “It, um, works better with skin-to-skin contact.”

“I have seen crystal vases less transparent,” Annabeth says, aghast. “In two years he’s going to remember this and try to drown himself.”

“I will be counting down the days,” Percy says gleefully.

On rare, rare occasions, the gods answer his prayers. Clearly, both Nemesis and Aphrodite are looking at him kindly today. Percy makes a note to scrape some of the good stuff off his plate for them both today. Hell, maybe he’ll skip the portioning and toss them an entire roast chicken each. Or something. They deserve it.

Will places both hands — interesting, Percy notes, his wrist was snapped cleanly in two and he only needed one hand, wonder why that was — on Nico’s shoulder and closes his eyes, screwing up his face in concentration.

“Huh. I’m not feeling much damage. You said it was your right shoulder?”

“I heal quick,” Nico says loudly. “I mean, some of the damage might have — um.” He clears his throat. His face glows a faint crimson. He clears his throat again. “Y’know?”

Will’s face is a similar shade.

“Right, right. Yeah. Um, brace yourself.”

Instead of starting to sing, Will closes his eyes, holding completely still. After a moment, the tips of his fingers begin to glow; soft, ambery yellow, flickering like lit candles. He opens his eyes again and focuses intently on Nico’s bare skin, tracing patterns around every defined muscle, leaving a trail of light behind. He lingers, for a moment, when he connects the last string of light, waiting until it has faded entirely from Nico’s skin to remove his hands and shove them in the pockets of his coat.

“That better?” he asks softly.

Nico swallows. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’m glad, Nico. It means a lot that you — came to me. When you needed it.”

“I trust you, I guess.” Nico looks away. “You know what you’re doing.”

“I think I just threw up in my mouth a little,” Percy says thoughtfully.

Annabeth laughs, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be mean.” She pauses. “Me too.”

With a sigh that can only be described as besotted, Will steps reluctantly away.

“I have patients,” he says, in the same tone of voice Percy usually says I have midterms. “So I gotta…”

“Yeah, no, go. Do your —” Nico gestures vaguely. “Doctor thing.”

“Right. Yeah. I’m gonna — go.” He turns, walking back towards a group of Hephaestus kids who appear to be tightly entangled in some kind of net. After a few steps, though, he pauses, biting his lip, then darts back over to Nico, pressing a lightning-fast kiss to his cheek — “Um, bye. Thank you for visiting. Bye,” — and then runs back over to his siblings, shy smile on his face.

Nico’s jaw is brushing the floor of his father’s palace. He stands, still as a statue, for four entire minutes.

“I think he just died,” Annabeth observes, eyebrows climbing higher and higher up her forehead with every passing second “Damn. Survived so much only to literally die because a cute boy kissed his cheek. A true hero’s end.”

Percy, because he is a kind, concerned friend, clears his throat loudly.

“Yo, di Angelo, you alive?”

Nico startles so violently he falls right over. Percy shoves his fist in his mouth to keep from cackling.

“Shut the fuck up,” Nico hisses venomously, scrambling upright. “Both of you, shut the — not a word —”

Percy and Annabeth make the mistake of looking at each other and simply erupt. Percy can’t feel his stomach. His lungs have abandoned ship. He’s glad as hell he’s in the infirmary because he is heaving for breath, tears streaming down his face, entire body convulsing. Nico stands in front of them literally shaking with rage, entire body redder than one of Apollo’s sacred cows, trying and failing to string together a threat that will ease any and all of his suffering. Annabeth screeches, almost falling off the bed as she cackles. Percy cannot even find the strength to catch her, his muscles are so weak.

“I fucking — I hate you! Both of you! You’re dead to me!”

“Your face!” Percy shrieks.

“Percy Jackson, I am going to turn you to fucking dark matter! I despise your very essence! I —” He stomps his foot. “I’m leaving, and I’m going to leave a rotting corpse in your cabin! Screw you!”

“Oh my gods,” Annabeth wheezes, digging her nails into his arm. “Oh my gods, that was —”

Percy wipes a tear from his eye. “I love being alive. I love being alive so much.”

“It really is great.” Composing herself, and biting back the leftover giggles that keep bubbling out, Annabeth looks back towards Will. He stands much straighter, now, smile back to full brightness. His siblings, too, look rejuvenated, snickering to each other and making kissy faces behind Will’s back. “So many beautiful things to witness. I’ve never seen his face go that red.”

Percy sighs. “This is genuinely going to carry me through the semester. I think his soul died a little. And Will just — gods, that kid is bold.”

“Oh says you, Mr. Do I Get A Good Luck Kiss.”

“Hey, I earned that.”

Annabeth grins, punching him in the shoulder. He grabs her wrist and tugs her towards him, chasing the curve of her smile. She laughs into his mouth and it taste like strawberries and freedom, and he presses a kiss to her cheek, to her jaw, and the side of her neck, resting there, breathing against her skin. After a moment her hands come up and slide in his hair, gently untangling the knotted mess.

“He is one thousand percent going to put a zombie in your bed, you know,” she says after a moment.

Percy snorts. “Yeah, I know.” He smiles. “Worth it.”

[obae-me]

Dumb Injuries- Pt 2

This may or may not be based off of real events that may or may not have happened a few days ago... Only I was on my own with no sweet demons, just my panic, a bloody sock, and a bunch of tissues. I bet it's going to leave a scar...

Warning: Blood, glass, injury. Note: I am not a medical professional, so do not use this as advice on what to do in a situation like this.

--

A gleeful little hum came from your mouth as you walked about in the kitchen. Today was your day to make dinner. And while sometimes you loathed these days, expecting nothing but needy demons practically clinging to you as you cooked and begging for a taste as if they were all Gluttony, today was different. Today everyone was giving you the proper space to work on your own. The peace was much needed. You’d felt like you’d been running around non-stop going from room to room, reading message after message, fulfilling your duties with hardly a chance to rest.

You loved these people, but boy did they run you dry sometimes.

However, despite your exhaustion and perhaps slight irritation, dinner was still being made with much love. You figured, perhaps, if the meal was fulfilling, they’d all be calm the rest of the evening.

Even from here you could hear them bickering.

Something had been up with all of them all week. They were picking fights with each other constantly. Or, should you say, more than usual. If that was somehow even remotely possible. In fact, they very nearly destroyed the kitchen a handful of days ago. Someone had eaten Satan’s special cat-shaped cake he was saving for himself after a day of testing. So, naturally, he went ballistic. He assumed it was Beel, but Gluttony- for once- swore it wasn’t him. After being blamed too many times, he got frustrated. Lucifer of course had to get involved. And let’s just say he wasn’t in a very good mood that day. Luckily, no appliances were harmed, but you recall how long it had taken them all to clean it up. And now they were all still on edge as the culprit had still yet to come out with their crimes.

With an audible sigh, you shook your head. Demons will be demons as some of them so often liked to say. Moving away from the stove and towards the table in the middle of the room, you reached out for the cutting board of vegetables you’d prepped earlier.

Pain. You gasped loudly, hurting your throat in the process. You stumbled, completely dropping the items that had been in your hand. They struck the ground with several noisy clangs. As you grasped for balance with support from the table, you clenched your teeth. The nerves in your body sparked, starting from the bottom of one of your feet and all the way up your back. Even if you wanted to swear, you were so stunned, you couldn’t. You leaned harder against the furniture, curling your leg up and raising your foot to spot an inch long piece of glass sticking out of your heel. While the adrenaline was still pumping through your body, you reached forward and plucked it out. It didn’t seem to have much blood on it. Shaking hands wrapped the little shard in a small wad of paper towels before it was chucked in the garbage.

Apparently, whoever had been in charge of cleaning the mess after the fight from a few days ago missed a spot… Of course you had to be the one to find it… Limping, keeping your injured foot on the tip of your toes, you headed towards the door to the kitchen. Thank Diavolo that your room was nearby. Hopefully you could make it there and patch yourself up before—

The door swung inwards, just a few inches away from smacking you in the face. You staggered back a bit. Mammon nearly barreled into you, grasping at your shoulder’s and steadying you to keep you from falling over. “You alright?! I mean… what did ya do this time, huh?” He blushed a little at his worried blurt before glancing by you and seeing the mess of scattered vegetables on the floor.

A heavy sigh from a second voice rang out behind Mammon. Your heart nearly stopped for a moment. Lucifer glared at you with narrowed eyes. “You couldn’t have waited another few weeks before making another mess of the kitchen?”

Well, at least so far, neither of them had noticed… You lowered your hurt foot a little flatter, keeping your heel just barely hovering over the ground. “I-I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I’ll get it cleaned up, don’t worry about it.”

The eldest, while usually appreciating those who fixed their own messes, was not satisfied with that answer. Exhaustion filled his eyes as he brushed past you and further into the room. “You can work on cleaning up your mess while I finish dinner. If we are even a few minutes late serving the food, Beel might go on another rampage.”

You nodded, gulping down a painful lump in your throat as your heel began to sting and throb. “Okay. I just have to grab something from my room real quick.” Lucifer just hummed at you, already pulling out replacements for everything you’d dropped. You looked up at Mammon, who was staring at you suspiciously, remaining unusually quiet. Walking as steady as you could, you squeaked past him and out into the hallway. Your hand pressed against the wall for support, fingernails almost digging into the wallpaper as you worked hard to remain quiet and upright.

Thank goodness your room was right next door…

All the sudden, the hallway flipped. Your head felt light and your chest squeezed as the floor was no longer right under you. You slipped, completely thrown off balance. You held our your arms, ready to catch the floor, but instead caught someone’s shoulders.

“I got ya…” Mammon sighed as he seemed to reach you just in time.

You leaned into him for a moment, trying to calm your wild heart. Then you straightened yourself, pulling away and looking down to see what you had slipped on.

A bloody streak covered the hard ground. Wide eyes looked down in shock, both Mammon’s and yours. You turned to look over your shoulder. Drops of blood made a pretty dotted trail all the way down the hall, stretching from your feet to—

“Lucifer…” You spoke as your gaze met his own. He no longer seemed exhausted, but now stunned, standing just outside the kitchen door.

“What the hell happened?!” Mammon shouted, his voice projecting far down the hall.

Oh great...

Like curious little mice, the Dining Hall opened as several demon heads poked out of the doorway, eager to see who was getting in trouble. You noticed Beel sniff the air and turn pale, muttering a single word to the rest of them that had all of them scurrying down the hall.

Either panicked or jealous, you were suddenly swept up into Mammon’s arms and absconded away. The House was a series of blurred colors before a door slammed open, nearly breaking in half. Mammon used one arm to sweep several items on the bathroom counter onto the floor before setting you on the empty space by the sink. You curled your leg and raised your foot again. Blood coated nearly your entire foot, steadily gushing and dripping onto the floor.

A hand ran through his own white hair as he nearly looked ready to pass out on your behalf. “L-Let’s wash it off…” Mammon whispered, his voice shaking as he turned on the sink and held his hand underneath the stream till it felt warm.

The other brothers were starting to flood into the room now, varying levels of shock, awe, and worry coating their faces. However, they were starting to learn about proper care, and how to not have a complete meltdown anytime you got hurt. But there was still a bit of a scene, the demons pushing each other aside and crawling over the others to get closer to you, reeling at the sight and smell of your blood.

Mammon cleaned your foot off, but frowned as it crimson continued to spread across your skin. Levi rushed over and placed a little Ruri-Chan bandaid across the injured spot. It bled through the bandage and started dripping again within a few seconds…

Now they were all starting to panic.

“We need to stop the bleeding!” Asmo shouted!

“Oh, do we?!” Belphie huffed sarcastically.

Satan pushed his way forward. “We need to add some pressure to stem it.”

Lucifer pulled out a first aid kit from… somewhere. You were starting to swear they had one in every room now… The eldest handed out specific items from the kit. Mammon continued to clean off the dripping blood. Asmo pressed a small folded cloth over your heel. Belphie started wrapping a cloth bandage around the injured spot. Beel gently pressed his hand down over the bottom of your foot to add some pressure.

“A-Are you okay? Does it…hurt?” Levi stammered from behind his other brothers.

You responded a little sheepishly. “It stings a bit, but… I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Probably the adrenaline,” Satan sighed, bending down to pick up the items off the floor that Mammon had thrown down in a frenzy.

“What in the world happened, hon?” Asmo wondered, coming over to pet your head in a bit of comfort.

Biting your lip a bit, you took a breath. “Stepped on glass…”

A very gentle flick struck the back of your head. “Do you remember that little conversation we had where I told you to be wary of the kitchen floors?” Lucifer shook his head at you, his furrowed brows laced with worry, and perhaps a bit of guilt if you were reading his expression properly.

“I… thought it was fine.”

Pride opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Mammon instead. “You gotta be more careful!”

Beel rubbed his thumb over your foot before removing his hand. “I don’t think it’s bleeding through anymore.” Taking a peek, he appeared right. You didn’t see anymore blood seeping through the bandages.

His twin looked over at you. “So, you’re okay now, right?”

“I think so.” A little squeak came out of your mouth as you were suddenly picked up again. Satan hardly said a word as he took you out of the bathroom.

“Hey! No fair!”

“Satan!”

Wrath ignored them all as he walked on. “Don’t worry about dinner tonight. We’ll take care of it. You stay off your feet.”

It didn’t quite sound like a suggestion…more like a command.

Well…it sounded quite like you wouldn’t be walking anywhere on your own this week…

[quintinh43]

All My Heart | Quinn Hughes

Summary: Quinn has been off the ice for two weeks, and he isn't dealing with it well.

Pairings: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Anxiety/panic (attack?), general questioning of existence. Feelings, Angst, the whole roster basically.

Notes: yall please be careful reading this one! I did not mean for it to go the way it did but here we are. Please please please keep the warnings in mind, and if ever you need to stop reading please do. Take care of yourselves first loves. More notes at the end!

Wc: 1.6 k

---

Quinn felt like he was going insane. He'd been off the ice for two weeks due to an upper body injury, and it felt as if the restlessness had buried itself beneath his bones. He currently lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with tired eyes and a mind that wouldn't relax.

His foot shook incessantly beneath the blanket as he tried to fall asleep, but the thoughts kept whirling. He had been having trouble sleeping since he'd been benched. The constant string of anxious thoughts preventing his mind from quieting down enough for him to slip into a blissful sleep.

"Quinn." You grumble, voice laced with sleepiness. His constant foot shaking had been pulling you in and out of sleep since the two of you had settled down for the night. But you had kept quiet in the hopes that he would be able to fall asleep eventually.

"I'm sorry," Quinn whispers sheepishly, his fingers start drawing soothing circles into your waist, from where his arm is wrapped around you. "I didn't mean to wake you," he murmers, pressing his lips against your hair in a gentle kiss.

"It's alright, love. But can you please please stop shaking your foot?" You mutter, still half asleep.

"Yeah, sorry baby," he murmers sheepishly. He stills his foot, and somehow, the thoughts become ten times more intense. He's going on a full week with a total of maybe four hours of sleep. It's fucking hell. He's been getting snappy during the day. Although you mostly leave it be, because he usually apologizes right after, and you know he doesn't mean when he says it, and it's just his anxiety about not being able to play.

Deciding that there is no use in trying to sleep, he waits until your breathing evens out into a quiet snore before untangling himself from you and slipping out of the bedroom quietly. Quinn finds himself in the kitchen, with no plan on what to do. It's nearly three in the morning.

He settles onto the floor in favour of stretching. Hoping that it will help calm him at least enough so that he's no longer obscenely jittery. Unfortunately, it does nothing useful for him. His next idea is to watch a movie. Maybe something stupid and mind-numbing will put him to sleep.

He makes himself a cup of chamomile tea and sinks into the couch, turning on the first Despicable Me movie. It's perfectly stupid enough to get him no longer thinking about hockey. Except, then there's a freeze-ray. And then Vector's in-house shark aquarium is reminding him of the Canucks.

He pauses the movie and puts down his empty mug on the coffee table with such a deep sigh. It feels as though his bones are rattling. He presses his palms to his eyes in desperation, wishing oh so terribly that he could be skating and playing hockey. He feels chained, having not been allowed on the ice for so long.

His second home, his freedom. Where it feels like he's flying. Where he feels invincible, like he can do anything. Quinn springs up from the couch, and he's pacing. He paces around the living room with such fervor that he might wear a hole into the floor.

He needs to get on the ice. Now. Or he's going to rip his hair out. And then, on top of being injured, he'll also be bald. Which would be the second worst thing to ever happen to him. The first being the fact that he hasn't been allowed on the ice for two full weeks.

With no coherent plan, he creeps around the apartment, throwing his skating equipment in a spare duffle bag. He's grabbing his car keys and slipping on his shoes when the bedroom door opens with a creek.

"Quinn?" Your voice is tired and confused. You're hugging your arms around your body to protect yourself from the chill of the apartment.

Quinn looks like a deer caught in headlights. His hair is sticking up in every which direction, his eyes are red from exhaustion, and his eyebags are so so dark. He's wearing two different shoes, and for fucks sake he's not even wearing a shirt.

You amble over to him cautiously, gently tugging the duffle bag from his hand. You can see the blades of his skates sticking out of the bag. "Baby, what are you doing?" Your eyes dart over to the time on the microwave. It's 3:47 am.

"Y/n" he breathes, it's desperate and pleading, and all you want to do is wrap him in your arms and take away all his pain and worries. "I need to go- I need to get out. I'm going insane." He whispers. There's a tremor in his hands as he runs them through his hair.

"Ok, my love, we're gonna go. Let's go put on some proper clothes first." You say lacing your fingers with his and tugging him towards the bedroom. He sighs, squeezing your hand tightly. Like he needs the physical reminder that you're with him. Otherwise, you'll disappear.

You successfully coax him into a hoodie and a touqe and pull a pair of sweatpants and one of Quinn's hoodies over your (his) t-shirt. Making sure Quinn is wearing the correct set of shoes, you grab the keys off the hook, sling his duffle bag over your shoulder, and grab his hand. As soon as your hands are linked again, his grip is tight. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

You throw his bag in the back seat and slide into the driver's side while Quinn slips into the passenger seat. As soon as he can, he grabs your hand again. You hold your intertwined hands tucked under your chin while you drive.

"Talk to me, Quinn," you murmur softly, stroking your thumb over the back of his knuckles.

Quinn sighs shakily. He wants to talk to you. He really does. But he's so used to burying everything down, to not be a burden. He's the oldest. He's supposed to be the leader, the strong one. He knows in his heart that if there's anyone he can talk to, it's you. You don't push. You know he'll talk when he's ready.

His leg is bouncing, and he's running his hand through his hair nervously as he formulates his thoughts into coherent sentences. "I feel like i'm going insane," he mutters. "i need - i need to get on the ice. It's my freedom. I feel chained to existence because I haven't been able to skate for so long."

Your heart breaks for him as you squeeze his hand, letting him know that you're listening.

"I'm sorry, that doesn't make any sense," he sighs.

"No baby, it does, I get what you're saying," you say softly.

"It's like, I'm being punished for something. Am I a bad person?" His voice is cracking, and if you thought it impossible for your heart to break further, you were just proven wrong.

"No, Quinn, you aren't a bad person. Injuries are inevitable. You didn't do anything to deserve this. I promise you, my love." You kiss the back of his hand, hoping that your lips can pour all your love and reassurance into him.

"Where are we going?" Quinn asks, squinting curiously at the rapidly passing treeline. You had exited onto the highway a little bit ago, with no plan or intention.

You shrug your shoulders, "No idea, I'm just driving."

Guilt washes over Quinn like a tidal wave. He tugs his hand from yours and covers his face, with embarrassment and exasperation at himself. He sighs into his hands, and all of a sudden, the emotions are too much again.

"Quinn?" You glance at him with concern. He's breathing deeply, trying to keep the anxiety from spiking again.

"I'm so sorry, I woke you up and dragged out at such an ungodly hour. And fuck- you have work in the morning. Baby, I'm sorry, I'm sorry -" he sounds like he's on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Quinn, baby, look at me." Your voice is so gentle as you wrap your hand around his wrist and tug it away from his face, "You are the most important thing to me. Forever and always, especially especially right now. Please, please, please, don't beat yourself up about it. I would drop everything for you in a heartbeat, my love."

His breathing is still shallow. You rest his hand on your chest and take deep, slow breaths. "Copy my breathing, Quinn."

It takes a minute for his breathing to match yours, "Good job Honey" you smile, keeping his hand pressed against your chest.

"Can we go home?" He whispers, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"Of course, baby, whatever you want." You take the next exit and head in the direction of your shared apartment. The drive is mostly silent, only the sounds of deep breathing and the occasional shuddering sigh fill the car.

As soon as you're back in the apartment, Quinn is pulling off his hoodie and toque, "I need you to lay on top of me," Quinn all but begs.

"Alright, lay down wherever you want." You say, stripping if your own hoodie and sweats. He lays on the floor. The bed is too soft. He can't handle the sinking feeling. You lay directly on top of him, and he let's out a relieved sigh, his arms tightening around your waist.

"Love you so much, Y/n," he murmers into your cheek.

"I love you too, Quinn, with all my heart," you say gently, stroking his hair soothingly. He falls asleep within half an hour, and you pass out right after him.

And when the two of you wake up, if you take him skating. Well, that's no one's business but your own.

---

I know I said I probably wasn't gonna post for like a week and a half cause of school, but the inspiration hit, and I wrote this in like... an hour. So if it's really bad, well...

And just cause I haven't said it before, everything I write is purely fictional! I don't know how the hughes act in real life! I am simply writing them as characters.

I might end up taking this one down, so...

Anyways. Please take care of yourselves, yall. Leave comments! And as always, Love Soph.

[celaenaeiln]

Am I interested in Dick Grayson's innovativeness and how that makes him a terrifying opponent?

Nah, not really, no, it's no- EXCEPT THAT I AM!

I love your analysis and honestly, I always surf through the dick Grayson tag once a day to see if u have posted. Pls drop the innovatiness wala analysis. I would absolutely eat it up

ADSAJHFGAJLHADJLHA YOU CAN'T SEDUCE ME LIKE THAT-MY HEART CAN'T TAKE IT!

But I am here to deliver *bows*

Let's start this off with a bang

Dick is completely naked except for a towel and with one (well defined) leg he hooks the handle of the beer bucket and sends it smashing into Midnighter to stop him from using the knife on another person.

Pure. Fucking. Platinum.

That move was so delicious, there's an ease-fluidity-grace-to that split second movement. Also notice how accurate his aim is despite swinging it with the arc of his toes. The bucket slammed right into the medulla oblongata, or more specifically the pyramidal tracts which are crucial for controlling voluntary muscular movements. Nerves from the brain cross over at that area as they go down and then synapse onto other nerves that are responsible for controlling muscles when they leave the spinal cord. The precision at which he aimed the bucket is glorious. And with what? His feet.

The only reason Midnighter wasn't injured is because he is a meta which is the point. Otherwise Dick wouldn't have aimed there unless he was fighting an enemy.

Oh that brings me to my next point.

Dick has extraordinary control of his actions

He's so right though. Nightwing doesn't need to kill because fighting is too easy for him. I swear he has some kind of messed up idea (aside from his need to be absolutely good) that killing someone with a gun would take the joy out of fighting. He loves to live life on the hardest mode only.

The rapid fire throw of the gun, calculating the distance, time, velocity of return, and angle? I mean I studied physics and calculating even half of that on paper is a headache. The fact that he did it in one second? It's extraordinary. Things that are pure, dumb luck to literally everyone else is carefully calculated at a speed faster than light, making it look like luck. Damn.

Yeah.

Forget Slade. Midnighter is my new favorite nemesister.

DO YOU SEE WHAT HE FOUGHT WITH?! WHILE DEATHSTROKE AND BLACK ADAM WERE FIGHTING WITH META POWERS AND A CURSED SWORD, HE FUCKING WRAPPED CHAINS AROUND HIMSELF LIKE A BOSS AND WHIPPED THE SHIT OUT OF THAT MAN.

Please take a moment of silence to relish in this sight.

Dick's innovativeness is a formidable skill when fighting allies.

Dick and Ras are evenly matched in sword fighting.

Wait, wait. I don't need any doubts about Dick's strength in sword fighting so I'm going to include a couple panels here:

Dick fights Azrael to a standstill which is absolutely incredible because Azrael solos. He's gone through many upgrades and skills and is one of the best fighters ever. He's even defeated Bruce.

He also defeated Jason and Tim together in Batman and Robin Eternal.

This is just another point towards the fact that Dick actually won in his fight against Bruce before going into Spyral. They weren't holding back.

Oh yeah. Ra's vs Dick panel, Dick and Ra's aren't going anywhere because Dick is a swordsman equivalent to one of the best in the world. So how do you win a draw? By one upping the opponent. He swings his foot up in midair and completely defeats him. "But that isn't a defeat...Ra's just stopped fighting!" It was complete defeat because Ra's is intelligent and knows when he can't win. Also they have been fighting for a while until they reached the breaking point in the battle. This move is a show of how Dick has that just one inch more that will lead him to be a victor.

Ra's honors Dick so much he tried to give the sword he used to fight with Batman because he thinks Dick is worthy of it. Can anyone receive a higher honor than this from that man?

He'll also use the broken glass of a car window to take down his opponent. If that's not innovation, then what is?

But one last thing since a car door cannot be considered innovative these days.

sticks. He literally took two twigs off the ground to use as weapons against his highly skilled, one of the best assassins, great-grandfather who is fighting with daggers in his hands and all over his body.

But you know the best part?

He draws his opponent to a tie. A tie? Not a win? No it was win after, considering he used his relative's falling body as a launching pad in the middle of the air when they were falling off the bridge to grab onto the bridge with the help of his friend. So it was his win but it's insane how incredible Dick's skills are.

It's really innovative because who thinks of using twigs and winning? Let me also clarify another point. Dick could've used the knives he'd gotten from his talon suit and thoroughly won because when he was brain washed he almost killed Red Condor from how skilled he was but he conscientiously chose to use twigs. In a sword fight. This man.

His improvisation is an asset that many have come to know him for and classify him as dangerous because he can fight with anything, anywhere, and win.

Something I want to end with. Dick only fights people who are stronger than him. I know he's fought mob characters and stuff but his enemies? They are all metas, assassins, skilled fighters, Russian Black Ops, and more. Essentially, people who are the top of the class in their categories and him defeating them equally and fairly is the reason why he has the respect of his enemies. He's just that good.

[hiskillingjar]

Could we get some aftercare with Strade? (Like him patching up mc and being all sweet and gentle after a torture session and mc is confused and doesn’t know how to process it)

i wrote this like five years ago and abandoned it so thanks for making me pick this back up.

2500+ words, literal follow up of strade's route in btd. it is what it is

*CLICK*

The heavy collar was fastened around your neck before you had the chance to say anything, and already, you could feel the heavy weight of it, both physically and symbolically.

He had claimed you. He owned you.

He controlled whether you lived or died, which was entirely dependent on whether you entertained him…or not. “Come on, buddy.” Amid your silence, Strade stood to his feet and dusted his hands off on his trousers, before he offered a hand out to you. “You must be exhausted. Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

An almost kind smile came to his face (his handsome face, still handsome in spite of everything he had done to you for the last three days) and he didn’t even seem that annoyed when you hesitated to reach out for him. 

In fact, he was remarkably patient, given the situation.

You blinked wide, scared eyes at who was now, effectively, your captor, half expecting yourself to burst into tears at the shallow display of kindness. 

You anticipated him whipping a knife out as soon as you reached out for him, anticipated him laughing cruelly at you for being so gullible, so trusting. 

You anticipated him continuing the brutal torture that you had survived for three days before this, until your brain broke and your body splintered into bloody shards in his hands.

But he didn’t.

He just waited for you. 

All without a snarky word or a raised eyebrow.

Maybe if others had been so patient and kind with you before this, you wouldn’t have been in this situation.

Ironic, really.

After another long moment, you eventually reached out for him and took his hand. 

“There you go,” Strade muttered softly as your hand slipped into his own. “Not so bad, is it?”

He hauled you onto your shaking feet with surprising ease, demonstrating his intimidating strength (demonstrating how you wouldn’t have won if you tried to fight back against him). 

You hadn’t used your legs in a couple of days and the searing pain still coursing through your body quickly fired up again, causing you to stumble with a weak cry and a whimper.

Falling into his arms.

In another universe, the act of him catching you would have been charming. Romantic almost.

It seemed twisted to consider it romantic now.

“Woah, easy there!” He exclaimed with a little chuckle, and not a mean one either. He attempted to support your shaking body the best he could, draping one of your arms around his shoulder, his free arm drifting downward to wrap around your shuddering waist. “Guess I should have known you’d have trouble walking right away. Sorry about that.”

He apologised and it almost made you laugh (almost made you throw up). 

Because he’s not apologising for kidnapping you, for torturing you, for putting a fucking drill through your foot, for fucking raping you while you were near comatose. 

He was just apologising for thinking you’d be able to walk properly after all of that.

His seemingly genuine kindness was enough to make your muscles clench, your stomach ache, your heart pound in your chest.

It made your head spin.

You couldn’t seem to reconcile these two very different sides of him. It couldn’t be the same man, could it?

He was apologising. Did he even know what he was apologising for?

“I’ll help you up the stairs, alright?” He offered, and you nodded quickly, not sure what else to do. “Then we’ll figure a place to put you for the time being, while I assess the new, ah, new living situation. Okay?”

“Okay,” You mumbled weakly, as he hauled you upwards (pulling you towards his cocked hip) and helped you up the wooden steps, doing his best to put as little strain on your injured foot as possible. 

It almost felt nice to be treated so gently, so patiently, to be the vulnerable one for a change, and let someone else, someone stronger, someone older, take care of the situation…even if that meant being vulnerable to someone like Strade.

He led you up the stairs of the basement, past the heavy, locked door, and into a...totally normal-looking hallway.

You almost scoffed, it was so normal (barring the lack of pictures on the wall, or any modicum of personality in what little you could see of what must have been his house) as he reached back to close and lock the door behind him.

"Hm?" He looked towards you with a raised eyebrow. You hadn't realised that you had, in fact, scoffed out loud.  He didn’t seem rushed or tense, though, not like he was dealing with a hostage. 

In fact, he seemed quite calm.

"...Nice place." You murmured, averting your eyes.

"Ah, if you say so." He chuckled, pocketing a set of keys and placing his arm back around your waist, before pulling you into his side once again. "It's a means to an end. Something that makes me look...mm, normal, you know?"

You didn't know. But you nodded your head all the same.

He didn't continue his line of thought as he led you up the second set of stairs, bare feet comforted by soft, grey carpet that was getting slowly dotted with blood from your punctured foot.

You didn't feel bad about it in the slightest.

You were relieved when he opened the door to, again, a normal-looking and plain bathroom and led you both inside, locking the door behind him and approaching the large tub. “A friend of mine says that a bath is the best way to feel better,” He said, adjusting the handle of the spout and putting his palm underneath the running water, checking the temperature. “They’re not for me, personally, but it’ll probably feel nice for you, right?”

“Mm,” You hummed, biting your lip, settling down on the closed toilet lid and holding yourself tight.

Your relief was finally starting to settle in, but, conversely, the adrenaline was wearing off, and you were beginning to feel the full, sharp extent of your injuries. Tears threatened to stream down your cheeks, and he seemed to pick up on that.

He looked at you then, amused in spite of your pain, his golden eyes crinkling fondly.

"This may sound a little intrusive," He apologised, his voice gentler, softer. "But, can I..?"

"Huh?" You looked up. 

He'd never concerned himself with not being intrusive before. Why now?

“Let me help you get undressed,” He said, taking a step closer towards you with an easy, laidback smile, the kind of smile that immediately won you over and settled you in the bar. “You’re probably too weak to do it yourself right now…right?”

You gave him an uneasy look, half expecting him to do something...expected.

"Relax," He insisted, as he reached down to untie the strings of your stained jogging shorts (why had you left your apartment in those?), his voice and touch unnervingly soft and gentle, handling you with far more patience than you were used to. "I won't hurt you more than I already have."

“For some reason, I doubt that,” You mumbled grouchily as your shorts slid down, just about grazing your cuts enough to sting.

“So cruel to me, liebling,” He asked, his voice tinged with playfulness and even a small hint of fake outrage. “Do you have any faith in your captor at all?”

“None.” 

You tried not to make eye contact with him as he tucked his strong hands beneath your (blood) stained top and pulled it off, letting it fall to your still-shifting feet and revealing your ratty sports bra. 

“Hmph,” He huffed dramatically, as if your reply had genuinely offended him. “You don’t have to be so cold.”

With a soft laugh (clearly, he wasn’t that upset with how stand-off-ish you were being), he pulled the bra off without much struggle (your arms were in no state to do any fighting anyway). 

You shivered, feeling the sudden cool air on your chest, enough to make your nipples swell.

He didn’t say anything about that, but he did look a little smug as his eyes drifted up and down your body. 

“Underwear off, then,” He then said, giving you a pleased look. “I’ll be a gentleman and leave that to you.”

You hesitated for a second before reaching for the straps of your panties, pulling them down your marred thighs and letting them fall to your feet too.

Strangely, he seemed far less interested the more you undressed, though.

“Huh…not a bad body,” He commented placidly like he was commenting on something mundane or dull. You almost scoffed again as you crossed your arms (and he let you do it). “You do look a little pale, though,” He added with a slight tilt of his head, his voice softening once again as he turned back to the bath and pushed the tap down to a stop. “I guess the blood loss is normal in your case…” “I guess so,” You replied with a little sigh, covering yourself more tightly with your arms while he dragged a hand through the hot water.

"Lie down into the bath," He instructed a little sternly after standing up straight again and wiping his damp hands down his front, his tone suddenly more authoritative. "I'll get you cleaned up."

Your legs felt like they were about to give out from under you as he spoke, but you didn't even attempt to argue with him. You just did as he said.

The water was much hotter than you expected, hot enough that steam was emitting in short wisps from the surface, making you immediately inhale with subdued pain (never mind how the hot water felt on your open wounds). 

You quickly sank down into the tub, though. settled by the heat and the comforting warmth of it, like a blanket on your aching limbs, quicksand on your shoulders. It felt…safe, in a perverse kind of way.

You were growing used to perversion, though.

“Ah, you looked like you needed that,” Strade said after a few silent minutes, and when you looked up, you saw that he was stripping off himself. “Move up.”

"Mm!" You let out a little squeak of surprise as he stepped into the tub behind you, his warm body, his tank skin pressed to yours. “H-Hey, come on, I just wanted to relax!”

"So, relax," He said lightheartedly, with the kind of commanding tone you were starting to get used to. He was going to have his way, no matter what you said, so better to just…let it be.

The bath was more than big enough for the two of you (you could only guess how much it must have cost him), but a self-conscious gnaw on your brain forced you to try and appear as small as possible against his broad chest. 

Curling your knees up to your chest, hunching your shoulders inwards, dipping your head down.

“Hmph, that’s cute.” He said, almost fondly and with an audible smile, slowly stroking up and down your back with a gentle touch. “You’re so tense…almost like you’re scared or something.”

His fingertips were calloused from years of physical labour (you didn’t want to think what that labour might have been) as they traced up and down the tattooed lines of ink in your skin, slow and almost curious. And, despite how frightened you might have been, you couldn’t help but lean back against him, relishing in his softness, his almost kindness, while he was still in a good mood.

"There we go," Strade said with a pleased murmur. "Perfect. Exactly like that."

Strade slipped a hand around your stomach, and rubbed the skin gently, before slowly sliding upwards, inch by inch, until his fingers were gliding against your ribs. without any kind of malicious intention, humming softly into your hair.

You don’t know what song he’s humming.

You found yourself sighing with a weird kind of pleasure, sinking further into the warm water that soothed your aching muscles, and relaxing against his soft chest. He seemed satisfied by how much you were relaxing and wrapped both arms around your middle, pressing his face into your hair and taking in a long inhale of you.

It felt nice.

Maybe you should just stop denying yourself pleasure and accept the good things he was offering.

Your body was so close to his that you could feel every part of him, the twitches in his muscles, the shifting of his arms and legs around you, the initial stirrings of arousal of his cock against your backside.

It was easy to forget that he was your captor now, and not...something else. 

An older boyfriend your mother didn’t approve of, a mentor you were growing closer and closer to, a cute stranger who picked you up at a bar for a consensual fucking.

The warm water of the bath, the steam fogging up every surface, his slick skin against yours, all made it easy to forget the world outside, the pain in your body, and the injuries that you had already sustained.

It felt like it was just you and him alone, in that tiny, enclosed space.

"Relax," He breathed softly in your ear, the warm breath from his every word tickling your neck and making you shiver. “Let me take care of you.”

“Mm…” You sighed as he rubbed his thumbs over your nipples. “That’s…ah, that’s nice.”

“Mmmhmm,” He echoed softly, the rumbling of his voice vibrating through his chest, making you shiver once more.

The heat of the water was inviting, as was his embrace. Strade drew his hands along your ribs and up your chest, squeezing and groping them lazily, sleepily, gently, his touch so soft now. 

He didn’t seem interested in hurting you anymore. 

In fact, it felt almost like the opposite...

But…

You couldn’t help but notice the swirling of crimson blood in the water.

How comforting the water had been, and yet, how much iit stung the deep wound in your foot, the cuts up your thighs and across your chest. 

How the person who had caused you such pain was so peaceful behind you, touching your body like he was scared you would break.

He had wanted to break you so badly before. Why was he now treating you so delicately?

You sighed quietly as his hand slid a little higher up, over your collarbone and...over your new collar. It wasn’t a particularly tight fit, but it was always there. 

Always a reminder. A warning.

The feel of his hand grazing against the cold metal of the collar was...odd.

Strange.

Unnerving.

He stopped for longer at the collar, his fingers slowly wrapping around it. You knew he felt your tension increase, but he did nothing to further provoke you.

Just the same, his fingers remained there, almost like he was waiting for something.

"What?" You murmured softly, your eyes locked down on your bloody foot.

"Just..." He murmured, his voice oddly husky and rough from the close, confined space you two now shared. “Happy to have you here. That’s all.” “Hm…” You hummed. “Thanks. I guess.”

[sethsclearwater]

hii!! Could you write something like: Paul and reader are like dancing around each other (and he didn't tell her about the imprinting), but he gets hurt in the patrol (nothing serious)and she goes over his house to see how he is, and they're are so in love and its just fluff

-🪻

i am literally OBSESSED with this cutie lil trope🥺🥺

...

after your friend embry had let you know that paul had been injured while at work, you couldn't help the immediate panic that flooded your system as your brain desperately wanted to see him for yourself to know how he was.

you weren't entirely sure what paul did for work seeing as he wasn't particularly forthcoming (and neither were really any of the boys he hung out with) but you had bigger problems at the moment. so here you found yourself, pulling up to your not-so-boyfriend's apartment to check on him.

you also weren't entirely sure what your relationship with paul was at this point but you did know that both of you hadn't been seeing anyone aside from each other. you couldn't really tell the extent of his feelings for you but you did know that you were unfortunately hopelessly in love with the hot headed boy.

as you got up to his apartment, you gently knocked on the door, suddenly feeling a bit insecure about the fact that you just showed up out of nowhere, "the door is open!" paul called and you smiled to yourself, wrapping your hand around the door handle to open the door and step in.

as you stepped over to his bedroom, you saw him sprawled out in bed with his foot lifted up by multiple pillows and ice wrapped around his ankle, "oh paul-" you murmured, frowning when you realized he was definitely hurt and it wasn't just embry exaggerating.

he looked a bit caught off guard when he saw you, just offering you a small smile when he saw you step into the room. "hi princess," paul quickly regained his usual cocky composure as he used the nickname he knew would have you a blushing mess in a matter of seconds.

he was definitely right and you quickly felt your cheeks heating up as you stepped over to him so you could sit down on the edge of the bed next to him, smiling to yourself when he immediately brought his hand up to rest on your thigh.

"are you okay?" you asked softly, hesitating for a moment before sliding your hand over his, both of you pausing for a moment as you relished in the feeling of finally being able to touch eachother.

after a moment paul gently squeezed your thigh, "perfectly fine," he reassured, "jus' a broken ankle, should be fine in a day or so," he added and you rolled your eyes, giggling at his response.

"a day or so?" you asked teasingly, eyes drifting up his bare chest to his face where he looked like a deer caught in headlights, clearly wondering how the hell he was going to explain his way out of that one.

he paused for a moment before responding, just letting out a breathy laugh as he squeezed your thigh again, "or maybe a few weeks," he added sheepishly, resulting in your letting out another series of giggles.

"'s what i thought," you murmured teasingly, giggling when he slid his other hand up your other thigh to playfully pinch at your hip.

"did you just come here to make fun of me or are you planning on staying for a while?" paul asked, a smile on his face that had you a blushing mess again. despite the fact that both of you had yet to actually acknowledge your feelings for eachother, you did regularly find yourself cuddling with him which is apparently what he wanted right now.

"i s'pose i could stay for a while," you whispered, squealing when paul immediately slid his other hand up to your hip so he could lift you up and tug you down next to him so you were smushed into his side.

you giggled, running your hand up his chest to rest on his sternum as he tightened his grip around you to anchor you close to him, "just a little while," you added with a whisper, smiling up at paul, both of you knowing damn well you'd be spending more than a little while with him.

...

extra: paul having to walk around in some stupid boot for the next 3 weeks even though he's fine after a day because he still won't tell reader about being a shapeshifter/having speedy healing and the boys think it's the funniest thing ever

[imagionationstation]

More- more gender swap Donnie? Please? Pretty please?

(No pressure)

OKAYOKAYOKAY- SO GET THIS!

There are a lot of things that stay very, very similar to canon, but obviously some things HAVE to change to make room for big adjustments like lack of love triangles, SO I was debating a couple of episodes and how they could be altered or fixed and literally rewrote an entire episode and OOPS MY HANDS SLIPPED AND NOW I’M SHARING BC YOU ASKED NO TAKE-BACKSIES!

Baxter’s gambit: Happens exactly the same except Fishface keeps doing those weird, uncomfortable, cringe flirty comments at Donnie and at one point he gets too far into her comfort zone and Raph punches his face straight into the ground and threatens to gut him if he ever tries that again ‘cause SHE’S A TEEN DUDE BACK OFF.

Then they bond, and he reminds him of the threat, but nicer.

Needless to say, Fishface leaves Donnie alone.

Slash And Destroy: After Spike is almost blown up, Raph wants Donnie punished, but it was an honest accident, and Splinter only warns her to keep her lab door shut. In a fit of frustration, Raph nabs the mutagen and shouts that “she only gets away with stuff because she’s a GIRL!” and then slams his door to lock himself away. When Slash is bragging later, he reminds Raph of what he said while enraged and insists that he “gave her what they both knew she always deserved” and also implies that Leo’s next.

This scene haunts Raph when Donnie opens up about her insecurities down the line and he realizes that he’s partly to blame.

Showdown: Shredder tries to get under his skin by challenging the false fact that Splinter ‘replaced’ Miwa and with a shelled freak, no less. He taunts him by threatening to kill Donnie, asking if he’d get over her just as easily. Splinter hisses that he loves both his daughters, dead or alive, and the fight leads to Karai’s reveal.

The Pulverizer: The brothers ditch Timothy with Donnie and she makes a halfhearted comment under her breath about stereotypes and “women getting left with the children” as Timothy destroys several beakers in the background and she resigns to her fate.

The Invasion, Part 1: During the argument over whether to use the bot, Donnie accuses Leo of not trusting her because “she’s a girl” and Leo insists that’s not why. When she demands an explanation, all he says is that he’s “the leader.” She’s visibly dissatisfied.

The Invasion, Part 2: While April wraps her arm, Donnie admits that she thinks Leo only separated from them because she was the one who got shot. That if she had been paying attention, or if she hadn’t picked a fight, it would never have happened. She asks if April thinks that it’s her fault that he’s out there alone. Before April can answer, a tremor shakes their building and Kirby freaks out.

A Foot Too Big Disclaimer: ERASE EVERYTHING YOU KNOW.

A Foot To Big is actually about Donnie being unnecessarily nice to Leo and Leo being too distracted by his own issues to really notice. Donnie gets distressed and confides in Mikey that he must be “really mad at her” and doesn’t listen when he’s skeptical. Raph tells Donnie that she needs to give him space, does the “you know what you need? Huh? You know what you need?” bit and then drags them outside. Leo’s already out there and Donnie’s too distracted looking his way to fight well. Raph sends him and Mikey out into the forest to put some distance between the two.

There, they run into a Big Foot. Donnie notices that she’s injured so they bring her home. She’s ecstatic to meet another female mutant that’s essentially a historical endangered species. There’s no weird love thing- only Donnie being her obsessive self and diving head-first into studying Big Foot. Leo notices that change from doting to basically pretending he doesn’t exist, and mentions it to Raph. Raph tells Donnie that maybe she should talk to Leo, and she fires back that it was his advice to give Leo space. Raph argues that he didn’t mean ignore him altogether, but Donnie doesn’t listen. They get into a shouting match that ends with Donnie spotting Leo walk out of the house and her quickly stomping off into the forest.

Later, Donnie’s sulking in the shadows when Leo finds her. Or, he reveals, Big Foot led him to her, hinting that she knows the forest really well. Donnie fires at comment about ‘betrayals’ and Leo sits down next to her, meaningfully saying that he’s grateful Big Foot did. Leo tries to get Donnie to open up, but she keeps denying that anything is wrong, more and more tense as he insists that she’s been acting strange ever since he woke up.

There’s a cliche “wait, I hear something” “what?” “shhh” “you’re just trying to shut me up” moment before they hear a shout.

They move to Big Foot’s aid, only to get knocked out themselves. Upon waking up, they realize what situation they’re in and Donnie gets an idea. She pleads with Leo to follow her lead and he does without missing a beat. They escape and fight The Finger, The Finger and Big Foot have their… moment, and then Leo and Donnie exchange baffled shrugs as they leave.

The last scene has Donnie supporting Leo on their way back to the farmhouse. Leo stops her on the porch and leads her into sitting down on the stairs with him. Donnie’s anger has clearly left her by then, and she hunches in on herself as he reveals that he knows that Raph and her were arguing about him. He pleads with her to tell him what’s wrong, and eventually she breaks.

Donnie pours out all the guilt that was eating away at her- how she didn’t listen and he ended up in a coma for three months, and how she knows he has every right to hate her but she’s sorry and going to try her hardest to make it up to him- only interrupted when Leo drops his crutch and pulls her into a tight hug. She shrivels in it, burying her face in his shoulder, and he assures her that nothing was her fault. He was being just as stubborn as she was. They could have found a compromise. None of his choices were hers to bear, and if he had to choose between protecting her or himself, he’d choose her a million times over. And not just her, all of his little siblings. He ends it with a light tease of “sorry, Donnie, you’re really not that special.”

He earns a shaky laugh that makes him smile. They separate and Donnie says that she’s going to do her best not to question him in the future, and he scolds her, saying that she better not let him make dumb plans just because she feels guilty. They poke fun at one another until the tension clears, and then Leo shivers, and Donnie frantically insists that he shouldn’t be out in the cool night air.

Her amused older brother lets her lead him inside and the episode ends with her shouting for someone to grab a blanket and to start up the fire, and then a black-and-white image of the farmhouse door.

YEAH YOU BET I JUST DID THAT

The Creeping Doom: Instead of chasing Icecream Kitty across the floor, they manage to calm Donnie down by letting her play with April’s hair. It ends up being a tangled mess of bows and hair clippings that April takes out on the way to the lab to check on Mikey, but she waits ‘till Donnie gets distracted, since it’s visibly clear that she both enjoyed herself and was proud of her ‘creation’.

The Power Inside of Her: When Donnie says that she’s okay after everything, Leo interrupts to say that she’s not. When Donnie stiffens, her older brother is quick to reassure her that if any of them were in her place, they would be far from okay.

After April thinks that “at least some good came out of this,” the scene transitions to just the turtles watching tv. Donnie says that she’s sore and headed to bed, but her brothers all visibly panic. Mikey’s the one to say that maybe they “should just hang out a bit longer?” and Raph insists that they should for Mikey’s sake since “he’d just wake them up later,” implying that he commonly wakes them when he has nightmares. Leo asks Donnie to “humor them” and Donnie gives in, lightly teasing her big, bad brothers as they scoff and crowd her, but overall looking immensely relieved.

I HAVE FIVE HUNDRED BUBBLING THOUGHTS, BUT ALSO THINGS TO DO, THE STRUGGLE! GAH!

THANK YOU SM FOR THIS ASK!

[summerlinenss]

I no longer believe the actor who claims abuse on the Time Bandits set. Please read this all. I did my best to explain my reasons. I apologize for any rambling.

Paramount has issues with safety on their sets. They have issues with their HR and resolution departments. That is proven fact and has happened more than once recently, even resulting in lawsuits. I don't deny they were injured as they have record of that and Paramount has stated they paid their worker's comp claim, but I would take everything else they claim with a Rock of Gibraltar sized grain of salt.

Especially since they're just now trotting out that damned letter Taika signed as "proof" he and the entire cast, crew, and production companies are all white supremacist, pro-genocide zionists.

"Taika who signed that Biden letter" is a direct quote from the actor in a comment. They shared a post from an Instagram called "Zionists in Film" that purports to "out" supposed celebrity zionists. That post is Taika with falsehoods about the letter he signed plastered all over it. I don't know about all the celebrities listed, but there are several I know are anything but zionists and are listed there for doing literally nothing wrong.

The actor said nothing about the set being packed full of zionists until six days ago, starting with a post about Apple firing pro-Palestinian workers (I don't know if that's true, but either way it's not about Apple TV). The post from Zionists in Film about Taika went up five days ago. Everything else about the incident had been up and untouched since May. There is no other "evidence" that I've seen, be it quotes from the actor or anecdotes from anyone on that set that points to anyone being a zionist. Obviously I don't know each actor and crew member's stance personally, but when all a person who was on set with them can say is that Taika signed a letter, it doesn't look very convincing.

Also, the biggest and most obvious strike against their claim that the place was chock full of zionists? They were only on set when filming began in 2022 and filming wrapped entirely in early 2023! I/P has been a conflict for decades, I know, but your average joe did not care about "zionists" or even the conflict as a whole (regretfully) until after Oct 7th. So why, after all these months and two years after they left the set, do they suddenly start claiming it was a den of genocidal zionists?

I also don't believe every single one of the hundreds of people on the TB set was out to get them specifically. The entire cast, crew, and all the production companies involved are made up of misogynistic white supremacist queerphobes who only hated them just because they're Asian and nonbinary? What about the black guys in the cast? Or the little people? Or the women? Or any of the countless other minorities working on the show in any capacity, such as the no doubt large Maori presence? It was somehow just them who was despised by everyone, including those other minorities?

So yes, the actor deserves proper compensation for their injury, assuming their claim that Paramount didn't pay enough to cover their bills is true. But every other thing they said? I don't believe a word of it anymore. I was listening and accepting until they started screaming zionist. Now they come across as nothing more than a person with a bone to pick because they didn't get all the money they wanted. They just shot their credibility in the foot.

(I'm sending this essay to you because while I don't have a twitter account and can't get one, I have still seen idiots using this actor's "proof" to hate Taika, his fans, and Time Bandits as a whole. I just needed to put some fact checking and discussion somewhere.)

i want to just start with a disclaimer that, as anon said, i’m aware of the actual claims that have been made and read through the statements both from the actor and the paramount reps and it’s clear that they experienced some form of physical/emotional distress on set. no one is denying that. so i’m in no way attempting to diminish or disregard their experience.

that being said, i’m going to be 100% honest and say this as carefully as i can, but i’ve had an extremely off feeling about this since i first read about it. not in the sense of “well they would never allow that to happen so you’re obviously lying,” but there’s just something i really can’t put my finger on about this actor’s intentions that genuinely feel rooted in something vindictive rather than actually seeking personal justice.

just for comparison for anyone who hasn’t read the statements, i’m going to leave a link and screenshots of those here:

at first i honestly tried to take everything they were saying in good faith, but it’s at the point where it feels like they’re just making accusations of every controversial thing possible and waiting to see what sticks so they can get a pay-out to keep them quiet. it was originally a costar physically/psychologically abusing them and no one on set caring or believing them. now it’s escalated to:

- alleging the set was full of open and vocal zionists spewing a “pro-genocide” agenda

- claiming in advance that paramount is going to use AI to dub over their scenes

- apparently being both mad that they were “forced to leave” the show and mad that they’re going to still be in the show at all

- claiming they were gaslit and threatened by producers to the point of becoming suicidal

- calling them all “colonizers” (which if they are referring to taika and jemaine i think that is highly inappropriate and tone deaf)

- claiming they were digitally erased from stills because the producers are too scared to show their character and address what happened

- claiming they were originally in all 10 episodes and had their part reduced out of spite

- sharing headlines alleging all little people roles were cut from the show (which they weren’t) and alleging the cast was full of only white men (from the trailer alone the majority of the cast is literally bipoc and afab people)

- implied they were specifically discriminated against for being queer/non-binary and asian (although they are seemingly nowhere near the only lgbtq+ or AAPI cast/crew member so i don’t even understand what they’re talking about)

i’d also like to point out that i noticed one of the cast members is a queer and disabled rights activist (who seems like a lovely person btw) who has expressed nothing but total positivity and gratitude towards the show and absolutely everyone involved. and yes, of course, everyone can have different experiences, but i sincerely doubt someone who dedicates their spare time to fighting discrimination would stand by and not speak up if a costar was being abused or mistreated.

like you mentioned, the zionist stuff is all pure bullshit. and people who cry “zionism” to win their own personal conflicts typically don’t have a grasp on what it actually means. i don’t know how many times i’ve said by now that taika has literally been openly opposing the israeli military’s occupation of palestine on social media for the past six years minimum. i’m gonna be blunt and say any arguments people are still trying to make that he’s secretly an evil zionist because he (or probably his publicist) signed a letter that he likely didn’t even read and just assumed said “hey let’s keep freeing hostages and stop the violence” are just rooted in antisemitism at this point. i’m not sure about everyone else, but i do know that many people working on the show have been openly and vocally pro-palestine and even signed ceasefire letters, including jemaine and rachel house (i believe madeleine sami may have a cameo as well). and as you mentioned, anon, most of the general public (including i might assume this actor in question) didn’t become aware of or actively start speaking out against the occupation of palestine until this past october, which in no way coincided with the show’s filming. so i don’t get what they’re trying to prove besides the fact that they know buzzwords, honestly.

i’m also aware that this isn’t the first time this individual has done this kind of thing. they literally have a whole subcategory of their wikipedia page dedicated to allegations and accusations of abuse and discrimination they’ve made against others. and granted, some of the claims they’ve made are valid and i hope they got some sort of retribution. but a lot are also pretty big reaches and feel much more like attempts to “cancel” people they don’t like or had a hard time working with (e.g. they went on a bit of a smear campaign calling seth rogen an abuse apologist because he’d been friends with and “enabled” james franco in the past and deserved to never work in the industry again).

i’m not gonna be that person and say “well i know them and they’re good people and would never do these things,” because frankly, we don’t know anyone and incidents do happen. however i find it extremely questionable that this is literally the first time in about a decade of following their work that i have ever heard a single person have a remotely negative experience working with taika and/or jemaine, especially when all anyone else has ever said is specifically how safe and inviting and comfortable they make their sets for everyone. it also seems really bizarre and downright out-of-character to me that either one of them would not only refuse to help a cast member in distress, but that they’d go out of their way to mock and threaten them, all for the sake of protecting some B/C-list actor on an apple tv series of all things. i know for a fact taika has fired and recast abusers/people with allegations before for bigger projects, i don’t see why he wouldn’t do it again if necessary. and as the “insider source” in that article mentioned, i understand why they said they waited so long, but it still seems awfully convenient that they didn’t make any of this public until nearly a year and a half post-filming (and just a couple of months before the show was set to be released), despite apparently being in such life-altering turmoil.

i seriously do feel awful saying it, because again i don’t doubt there was an injury and emotional distress/discomfort being on set (or that HR was probably a goddamn pain to deal with), but it truly just doesn’t feel sincere or like they actually want to find a resolution. it really feels to me like either paramount didn’t fulfill their obligations of required support/compensation (which yes is obviously fucked up) or the actor in question didn’t get what they thought they deserved in support/compensation, and now they have a vendetta against everyone involved in the production and are determined to establish martyrdom to get them all “cancelled.”

[whalesforhands]

side story i: injuries and patch-ups (satosugu x reader)

warnings: fantasy au, VERY suggestive, ultimately fluff, just geto having dirty thoughts, gojo being cute bcs i think he is, helping with their injuries after the dynamic duo fight each other (ft. shoko) 👍

“Hurrrrryyyy uppppppp!”

Gojo Satoru doesn’t like waiting. Not when he’s been cut, minor slashes all across his torso and upper body, his shirt off to better add the dramatics to how much pain he’s in.

“Satoru, Shoko is coming back with tweezers in a while… Please be patient.” You feel bad for him, you really do. But you can’t exactly help the poor man, leaving only a consoling pat to his head before turning your back on him.

His frown grows ever bigger as he crosses his arms, wincing at the pricks that dig further in.

He would have been clinging onto you, his hands around your waist and chin upon your shoulder from behind as he watched you mash up balsam from plants his cheek pressed into the skin of your neck had it not been for the fact that he was also covered in jumping cholla, the palm-sized balls of cacti clung to every part of his exposed skin, a byproduct of wrestling Suguru gone wrong.

He’s upset. You can’t touch him, can’t come near him. And all he can do it sit, pout and wait as you help Suguru first, all cute and sitting on his lap as you rub the ointment all over the admittedly, beautiful man’s bare chest, feeling up those stupidly prominent muscles of his abdomen and thick, burly arms as he sat there with an even stupider smile, pretty hair all over those broad shoulders that—

Yeah, he’s too upset. And his pout and puffed up cheeks that grew even bigger with his irritation showed that.

Geto Suguru is a very patient man. He would’ve been fine to have you deal with the pouty sorcerer first, would’ve been fine if you had him wait in favour of helping Satoru first. He’s used to it, likes seeing the look of relief on said man’s face when he’s finally out of pain, gleefully smiling towards the man once again as he hurriedly ushers Shoko to patch him up too.

He just isn’t used to it when you start fussing over both of them equally.

“How did you both get yourself like this?!”

“Sit, sit!” You’re ushering them both in, undoing their vests, unbuttoning their coats with almost zero precaution of the potential harm you might bring to yourself.

Very much unlike Shoko’s blank look-overs at their wounds.

“You’re both idiots.” She’s looking over her medkit tools before she sighs, a hand on her forehead before she turns to you, sinking into your arms in tiredness as Satoru lets out a whine at the sight.

“I’m still injured here!” He’s tapping his foot against the ground impatiently. “I wanna be consoled too!”

It’s the middle of the night, they’re both within your tent, Shoko is gone for a while, you’re dressed down in your nightclothes that are unbearably thin and you’re… Sitting upon his lap, practically straddling him as you gently clean his cuts.

(Not that he’s complaining. He’s elated.)

You are, however, testing him. The curves of your body highlighted by the shadows of the dim light, the concentrated stare on your pretty face. You don’t even flinch when he moves a hand to tuck back a strand of your stray locks, only smiling at him as you continue your work.

How precious.

He’s in two minds. Not sure whether he would prefer you to be atop of him, your body twitching as you watch him with a cute pout, your hips slamming down to take all of him in as his grip on them grows stronger, tighter— He does quite like a challenge.

Or would he like it better if he was the one controlling your pleasure, holding you down whilst your legs are wrapped around his waist. Your cries spilling into his ear as he continues to kiss up your neck, itchy hands groping at your chest.

Perhaps it would be the best if Satoru was also involved. The man’s loud voice would finally be put to good use as he laid atop of you, buried in you till the hilt as Suguru mounts behind him, atop both of you as he watches just how pliant you both could be underneath him before he decides what sort of reward you both deserve.

He snaps out of the daze when he hears the rustle of the tent entrance, Shoko making her back in, adorned with a pair of gloves and a comically large pair of tweezers in her hand.

“You asked for this.” The metal tool is clanking in her hand as a shine of mischief glitters in her gaze, her voice an impish drawl.

“I’ll be sure to make sure you’re all healed up, Satoru.” The menacing tone had yet to relent.

——

Gojo Satoru is now very upset as Shoko bandages him up, watching as you attempted to get up from your position still upon Suguru’s lap, only for that raven-haired idiot’s hands to drag you back down, a furrow forming between his brows, as his lips begin to mouth words of disapproval, only for your smile to only simply take on a confused look.

Gojo Satoru does not know if he wants to strangle you both, or join in. It’s most probably the latter. Probably. He just wants you both to shower him in some of that affection too.

“You’re good to go.” Shoko’s steady, bored tone of voice falters as she lets out a yawn, removing her gloves as her closing eyes zero in on your bedroll.

“Don’t make too much noise…” Were her final words before she collapsed onto the soft material, knocking out instantaneously as she made herself comfortable.

Good. Just what he wanted to hear. He’s making his way towards the both of you, towering his height over both of your sitting forms before plopping himself right next to Suguru, dropping his head on his teammate’s shoulder as he pouts.

He wants attention too. And you both better be prepared to give him some. Get the hint already.

It isn’t long before he feels hands pat at his bandages, fingers gently trailing them and leaving a slight shiver to his spine despite the warmth within the tent.

“Feeling better?” It’s your lovely voice that he hears first.

“He definitely looks a lot better, if he can pout like that.” Now he’s annoyed again, he closes his eyes, simply resting against the man he was just roughhousing with earlier over… Some dumb reason even he doesn’t remember.

There’s a shift, a rustle of fabric that his ears barely catch, before he feels his once empty side fill with a warmth.

“You look cold.” Your side is pressed against his own, getting in close to help him preserve warmth. (You seem to be helping a lot, it seems. His eyes are tinging red, his forehead turned inward more to bury it onto Suguru’s shoulder.)

He’s still not replying. Is this because you neglected him earlier? Your eyes flicker to meet placid purple, before they go back to the back of Satoru’s white hair.

Injuries… Suguru did mention that this white-haired menace likes being fawned over.

“Would you talk to me if… I kiss your injuries better?” A beat passes. And another. You can swear that even his neck was growing red as a giggle escapes your lips.

…

“Yeah.” His blushing face is lifted up and immediately turned to face yours as he swallows. Hard. “Do it.”

masterlist

Notes:

“You missed a spot.” Gojo’s practically glowing, a pleasant tune being hummed as you kiss the bandages on his forearm. Your lips pull back slightly, moving up as you leave another by his upper arm.

“Can you do my shoulder too?” His tone is extremely jolly, expectant, excited. You relent, bestowing another chaste kiss to his shoulder.

You kind of regret offering him this now.

Shoko awoke to 3 people piled atop of her. She does not dare to move or twitch a muscle in fear that you wake up.

She does, however, attempt to kick at the other 2 to wake them up in order to kick them out of your tent. It’s hard, since Satoru has made himself the main star by resting his head atop your stomach, whilst Suguru was on his side, huddling everyone into him with an arm stretched over your waists. (And Satoru’s snoring face.)

Breakfast was taken really late that day.

[zayne-li]

Fic Masterlist

Zanye and Siming

This is basically a thesis post I wrote about where I think Zayne's lore is going

Heat Signal (Tumblr link)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 15k

“You’re…” My instincts know exactly what it is, but my brain has a hard time reconciling the evidence in front of me, and assaulting my nose. “But you’re a beta.”

Zayne winces. He’s quiet for a long time before saying anything. “As I’m sure you can tell… I am not.”

“Who else knows?”

“Dr. Noah.”

“No one else?”

“Aside from my parents? No.”

Dessert Spread (Tumblr link)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 3.7k

This one is some Zayne/Sylus.

The only light in Zayne’s large living room comes from the moon shining through the large backdoor window, bathing the space in a soft cool tone, and the bright glow from his phone in his hand, held up by his face as he types away at an email for Akso’s administration board regarding his departments budget for the quarter. But even as he swipes between excel sheets and copies and pastes various numbers, his eyes are drooping a bit, and his fingers move slowly as he struggles to recall the way he wants to word things. It’s not something he intends on sending off tonight, but having a rough draft waiting for him when he returns to work will make things easier on him. 

Zayne yawns, and blinks as a text message pops through, distracting him enough to have his eyes opening a bit wider. 

It’s from Sylus.

Frozen Blood (Tumblr link)

Rating: Mature (for violence and blood)

Length: 3.3k

Thus far his eyes have been unable to meet yours, fixed on the ground like he’s afraid to look at you. But at your insistence, they flicker up towards you, dark and almost lifeless, with none of the spark you’re used to seeing. He says nothing, and instead tries to pull his hand from yours. You don’t allow it, tightening your grip, trying to have enough faith and determination for the both of you, because this Zayne… since you found him just a few days ago, seems like he’s given up far before he ever met you.

“I’m going to resonate with you–”

“No.” He is firm as he says it, and tries once again to pull his hand from yours.

Bloom

Rating: Teen

Length: 1.2k

“Clearly you needed it. It’s okay. You’re cute when you’re sleeping.” You respond, and he looks like he’s about to retort, but instead he yawns and rubs at his face again. 

“It’s been a long week. Month.” Zayne manages once the yawn subsides, and grunts, turning over so he can grab around your middle and press his face into your stomach. His voice becomes muffled now, rumbling against you in a way that’s almost ticklish. “I missed you.”

Heartbreaker Attacks! (Tumblr link)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 2.8k

What I expect to see is maybe a bit of frost on his fingertips or creeping up his neck, but instead, when I place my hand tentatively on the small of his back, I realize he’s burning up. Also… The moment my fingers make contact with his body, he moans. I jerk back almost on instinct, my brow furrowing in confusion. Is he injured there?

Zayne rolls his head to the side, and I can see better how he looks, red and panting. “I’m,” cough, “fine… You certainly acted quickly.”

He doesn’t look fine. His pupils are blown, and he has a hazy look in his eyes. My concern grows.

I blink at him. “Did you just…”

He looks away, blushing brighter, “… Yes, I believe so.”

Eye of the Blizzard (Tumblr link to chapter 1. Check AO3 for the rest!)

Rating: Teen (so far)

Length: 7 Chapters, 10k words

That girl, from his childhood. The one who stood out in his memories like a warm pastry, like a bright, inescapable light. The one who smiled and laughed, even when he didn’t, who saw the emotions he felt before he knew himself.

“Why are you crying?” She asked one day, finding him on the steps of her grandmother’s house, arms wrapped around his boney knees, head buried in his elbow, his cheeks red. She was bent sideways, almost falling over, balanced on one foot, just to try and catch his eye.

5 Fun Facts about the Prostate! (Tumblr link)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 3.8k

"... I don't know. I do know it's a pleasure point in the male body." 

"Zayne, you are not about to give me an anatomy lesson right now."

Exclusive Tutorial (Tumblr link)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 2k words

I grin at him and lean in for a soft kiss. “Did you know that you whimper when you come?” I ask against his lips, pulling him closer by his hips. His softening cock droops between us, and I admire for a moment the lewd image of him exposed, messy, his tie undone and his face red. 

“I do not.” Zayne scoffs, and I allow him to finally stand, backing off enough to let him tuck himself into his pants, though I mourn the sight. 

“You do. You just did.” I fold my arms, and he gives me a withering look. 

Battle Lust (Tumblr link)

Rating: Mature (No actual smut, but he’s thinking about it)

Length: 1.9k

“I know it hurts, Zayne, but I really, really need you to get up right now.” That’s her voice again, and then he can see her. Right in front of him, holding him halfway off the ground. There’s blood smeared across her lips, cheek, and eye, and her hair is ashy with dust, no hint of the real color underneath it all. 

In and out of dreams 

Rating: Teen (TW for brief thoughts of suicide)

Length: 1k

The Foreseer is unknowable, he is wise to the secrets of the universe, to the futures and fates of the people in this world around him. Except for his own. Every bit of his life, his future and past are a jumbled mess of moments that he is unable to make sense of. 

Drabbles

This is just Zayne getting another handjob. 

Rating: Explicit

Length: About 400?

"Y-you're going to kill me." Zayne gasps, his lax mouth turning up into a small smile as he huffs and puffs. "I'm suing for medical malpractice." 

Kitten Zayne!! (Someone please write this for real for me, I'll love you forever)

Rating: Teen

Length: 200-ish words

"Ah... Right. So that's why everyone's been looking at me funny all afternoon. I forgot."

[stararch4ngelqueen]

A Helping Hand (18+)

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x F!reader

Warning: Smut. Fluff and smut. Shower sex, unprotected sex. Light foot injury. Use of pet name Bunny. Word count 2.8K

Summary: Kyle was the first friend you made, and still remained your closest friend to this day. You believed nothing could ever change that, no matter how many times you both found yourselves crossing barriers friends shouldn't cross. Maybe their was always something more hidden underneath the flirty jokes, especially after a single ‘incident' a week prior.

Thanks so much to @mutuallimbenclosure for helping me recover this!! As well as @glitterypirateduck 💕

And also @baufraus just cause 😅

~~~~~~~

"How're you feeling?" Kyle asks once he enters the rec room, seeing you lounging on the old, dark brown corduroy couch, a bland navy colored book in hand.

"Bored, bored and bored." You replied, closing the book after failing to register reading a sentence of the page you've been stuck on. Nothing else was really new for the past week.

Being stuck on base for your "minor" leg injury was the most ridiculous thing you've ever had to deal with during your time in the military.

It wasn't like you couldn't walk, but you were prevented from attending missions for a reasonably fair while.

"Brought you something to cheer you up, love." He extends his hand, offering you small wrapped bundles of pineapple candy.

"What kind is it?'

"Same flavor of sweet I offered you the first week you arrived here. Remember?"

Of course you remembered the first day you arrived, especially recalling the kindness Kyle Garrick offered you to feel comfortable in your new setting. That very day you learned that pineapple was his favorite flavor of candy, to which you made it a priority on a good behalf to always share that flavor with him when you had access.

"Aww, thanks." You smiled, moving aside to give him some space to sit. Taking a candy for yourself, you tossed your book to the table ahead of you, lounging back onto the couch, being mindful of your wounded leg as he stepped by.

You've been tackling that novel for three hours now, not that big of a story." He sat back on the couch, resting his arm back over the top of the cushions behind your shoulders. "Must be very interesting, yeah?"

"It's dreadful," you sigh, popping the candy into your mouth. Despite the captain's orders, as much as it warmed your heart that Price cared, you downright found it annoying just how much he did, preventing you from going out and doing what you actually signed up for.

"Oh believe me, must be tough going from a bloody fine sniper to simple couch bunny." Kyle commented, gazing on ahead after using his teeth to yank the candy from the wrapper into his mouth, chewing down after a few seconds.

Smiling at his comment, you get a little more comfortable, sinking further back against the cushions, aware of his sleeved forearm slowly settling along the back of your neck.

"Couch bunny? What happened to potato, huh?"

"Eh," he shrugged, "You don't look worthy of being called a spud. Too simple."

"Too simple??" You huffed in utter amusement. "You could do a million things with a potato."

"Yeah," Kyle smirked. "But they aren't as cute as you are Just trving to be honest here."

What a flirt he was.

"Calling me a bunny is just ironic, telling how I'm supposedly too injured to run out into the field." You rolled your eyes, chastising again at the fact that a sprained ankle was considered more than enough to hold you back from doing your job.

"Whatever you say, bunny." Gaz snarkly mutters, growing amused at your annoyance.

Instead of irritated by any means, you could only get yourself to smile bigger at his relentless teasing.

Is he in love with me?

You can't help but question this silly, innocent little thought you had. A quiet one, one he didn't need to know of just yet.

Despite the countless times the both of you shared throughout your friendship, via amused, not-so-subtle glances and snarky jokes tilting on the border of friendly and flirtatious, ranging from silly at first towards downright mischievous.

The stares drew a little longer, the accidental touches roamed a second further, the brush of his hand along the back of your shoulder now left your skin tingling.

His new pet name for you did much more than make you blush, but thinking things such as these...

Not to mention what had happened in the armory between you both merely a week ago.

You would've brushed it off as merely all in your imagination, purely out of boredom, but it even occurred when you weren't injured, long before that even, when it was just the both of you in the privacy of your friendship. The word alone being the most polite one you could think of to describe whatever occurred between you both.

Not only that, Kyle played along so willingly, no risky comment bothering him in the slightest, yet always remaining so respectful on your behalf making you wonder if it truly was all in your head.

"Why're you being sweet on me lately, Kyle?" You curiously question, watching a small smile stretch across his face as he peered at you.

"Because you're my fellow comrade, fellow Sargeant, an' my friend. There's no harm in helping you out when you're hurt."

You giggled again, finding your cheeks tingle with a comforting warmth.

"Keep talking like that, my heart's gonna melt."

"As long as it's in my hands, believe you'll be alright."

You meet his gaze, utter surprise stretched across your features. As quickly as so, your brows softened the longer you looked into his eyes, adoring the beauty of their rich, natural brown color, marveling in the lost message he shared to you without saying a word of it.

He is in love with me.

You proceed to sit up, making Kyle's brows raise in surprise, concerned that his comment may have taken things a little too far. "You alright?"

"Yeah," you nod, wincing slightly as you move your leg. "Yeah, just need to get out of this room already."

"Need to be carried somewhere, bunny?" He questioned with a hint of a tease, watching you immediately look back to him, an unsuspecting glimmer in your eyes.

All the plethora of not so innocent teasing, the brush of his hands along your hips as he helped you to your room, your hands lingering too long along his broad chest and biceps, led up to you gently being supported against your bathroom door the second it shut behind you, looking Kyle in the eye as he supported you in his arms, becoming the wall of security you needed.

He admired your body as he helped you wash it, His eyes following the curve of your natural physique; your arms, your plump hips, the curves of your ass. He truly believed he could spend hours in this tiny shower just taking you all in, if it weren't for the battle of arousal the two of you were quickly losing.

You found Kyle still, somehow, managing to be a gentleman, helping you wash along your chest, sudsy calloused fingers halting before the valley of your breasts. He would keep mindful while roaming along your waist, though his eyes weren't so hidden in their longing glare, convincing his hands to settle along your hips, encouraging you to press yourself against the Sergeant.

He hesitated for a moment before hooking his arms under your knees, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

He carefully balanced you, leaning you back slightly against the tiled wall for leverage.

You let your hand explore his chest, stroking the muscles that decorated his chest. Broad, toned and well sculpted like a greek god, glistening with warm water and residual steam.

You feel his abs brush against your stomach, your hands taking in every curve of muscle along his back, feeling yourself tingle in delight from running your fingertips along his exposed, hot skin.

Your mouths were merely inches away from each other by now, a loving warmth flushing your cheeks, sprinkling heat against his face in utter excitement and nerve wracking love budding like a rose between you both.

"You could have just told me if you wanted to take a shower with me, Kyle. You teased softly, watching him smile and keep his gaze on you alone.

"Trust me, this doesn't even scratch the list of things I wished to do with you, love." Your lips hovered just slightly over his as you spoke. You waited to hear him suck in a sharp breath as you finally kissed him, reveling in adoration from the familiarity of his lips from last time.

His cock, throbbing impatiently against your thigh, was difficult to wrap your hand around, you noted as your fingers dipped lower passed the V-Line of his pelvis.

Brushing against the flushed, weeping tip with your thumb, your fingers curling against the almost velvet-like skin, reveling in the obvious fact that he was hard.

Really hard.

"Christ's sake." He murmured, kissing down the side of your cheek softly as his arms resecured their hold on you. The underside of his cock stroked deliciously through your folds, rubbing directly against your clit once he guided you properly against him, creating an uneven, eager dance between you both, fueling the urge you so desperately wanted to satisfy.

You kept your arms secured tight around him whilst moaning your sighs of delight in his ear, the man refusing to even allow the soles of your quivering feet to touch the tile ground.

"Fuck, You like that, yeah?" His lips stuck to your neck, sucking marbled bruises into your skin. What do you want from me? Want me to take what's mine, love?"

Saying this, he bucked himself hard against your core, restraining a grunt against your skin as you whined.

You cling to the back of his head, tangling your fingers through his coarse, wet hair.

"All you gotta do is ask." He states before waiting for your answer, providing gentle reassurance, proving he wouldn't once judge you for saying otherwise.

"Please, You exhale breathlessly in between hushed breaths of air.

His hands slipped lower, squeezing handfuls of your ass in his palms.

"Please What?" He carefully asks.

"Please Kyle," you look at him with the sweetest of pleading eyes, speaking his name like the richest of honeys dripping from your tongue. "I need you."

You sounded absolutely gorgeous, his heart aching his chest with every beat, still in awe that this was happening.

"Are you sure?" He asked with caution in breaking this daydream as his forehead pressed to yours, water dripping off his chin down to your chest as you cradled his face in your palms.

"Kyle, please. I need you.”

You needed him. He couldn't count how many times he imagined you saying such simple words in his head, genuine with their grand meaning.

At this point, you weren't sure if Kyle was playing dumb on purpose just to get a rise out of you, or if he was relying on that genuine reassurance as the final push.

He gave a soft grin, stealing your lips in yet another sweet, passionate kiss while guiding the tip of his cock against your slit, having you both wince at the contact.

Your walls were soft, hot and slick from pure arousal and utter need, encouraging him to slip inside with such ease.

Severe chills shot down your spine, despite the temperature of the shower remaining the usual lukewarm. Your mouth remained open as you tilt your head back, forcing yourself to relax as he willfully slips inside.

He resecured his hold on you while his cock stretched you open, encouraging your walls to invite him in until he slowly, but almost bottomed out inside, remaining as still as he could, battling against his own patience to fuck you agsinst the tile walls until each piece shattered.

You rolled your hips the best you could in this position with a needy little whine. You drew his earlobe into your mouth, suckiling softly there before whispering for him to not hold back, to fuck you like he always wanted.

To take those fantasies of him claiming you in the unlikeliest of places, to pretend it was the two of you alone in the privacy of a hushed corner in the armory, to imagine that the simple, innocent kiss you both shared there continued further than that, revealing to him how you wished he fucked your sanity out against the very table you had leaned against, recalling how he cradled your chin with such a featherlight, caring touch before squeezing your throat as your nails scratched down his back, raw lust threatening to cloud your heads both then and there.

"Please." Came your soft, guttural plea. The cherry on top of the filthy, sugary sundae.

There was something about your tone of voice, or maybe it was just feeling your warmth throb around him that made him buck his hips into you with a low groan before proceeding at a frantic pace, the fat beads of water clinging to your skin bursting upon impact as skin hit harsh against skin, nails digging through muscle as your cries drew even louder.

You squealed in response, digging your nails into his back as your head settled back against the wall. It didn't take long for both of you to fall into a steamy, eager rhythm, the air between you quickly being filled with soft little pants and moans, greatly mixed with sharp, nasally grunts and muffled moans against your neck. You pressed your face against his shoulder in a vain attempt to quiet yourself, wrapping your legs around his waist to hold him as close as possible, feeling your own release approach quicker than you would've wanted.

You raked your nails down his back as his thrusts began to slow, making up for the pace via bucking into you harder, hearing the hitch in your whines as his cock hit against your 9-spot, quickly adjusting his grip on your hips so you wouldn't slip.

"That feel good, love?" He purrs against your neck, feeling you frantically nod.

"Yeah-fuck. Please, don't stop." You reply through quick speech slurred in between multiple whines, scratching down his back as he thrusted repeatedly inside you.

"God, you feel-" his deep tone cuts off with a sharp, throaty groan, "-So fucking good."

He grunts against your neck, his nails digging into your hips as he bucks deeper into you, encouraging you to break through your self inflicted chains of restraint to moan louder.

"Christ, once you're better, you're gonna be bouncing in my lap like a true little bunny, y hear me?" He grunts low in your ear while guiding your hips along, feeling you clench with his words. "You're gonna take my cock real nice and deep, like a good girl, an' you're not stoppin' till you're well fucked an' full."

Never in your life would you have expected such unique speech from a soft speaking, well-mannered man, but you absolutely adored it. Everyone had a different, hidden side to them, one that he gladly revealed now, one you'd revel in and sink your claws into for as long as possible.

Your fingers find hold of his dog tag chain, drops of water rippling off the steel as you give a light tug. This alluded him into kissing you once more, tasting the remnants of sweet pineapple on his tongue.

"You gonna do that for me?" His hand reaches up to hold your face, guiding you to look him in the eye via caressing your cheek, leaving you to admire his handsome face contorted in pleasure, dripping with residual water.

"You gonna become my little fuck bunny, love? My little doe-eyed sweetheart? Fuck- you gonna take my cum like a good girl, yeah?"

Frantically, you nod to every single word, your end teaching you faster with the mix of his words and change of pace.

To guide you further, his hand went lower once abandoning your cheek, giving your breast a delightful squeeze.

To guide you further, his hand went lower once abandoning your cheek, giving your breast a delightful squeeze before pressing his thumb against your clit, rubbing light circles to feel your hips buck against his.

It didn't matter if this went too fast, you both had each other now. The time for longer sessions would come later, but for now, Kyle had to see you come. He had to see how your brow furrowed as your orgasm rattled your body, to feel your back arch against his palm, to experience the impossible squeeze of your cunt gripping him for dear life, providing him a sensation he'd work tirelessly to feel again and again.

Seeing you now, your furrowed brow releasing as your lips parted to exhale the most beautiful cries he's ever witnessed, made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

"Oh-Goddamnnit. Shit." Kyle grunted lowly, his voice cracking towards the end of his tone from the feeling of your walls squeezing his throbbing cock, groaning the moment rich spurts of his hot, white cum splattered across the insides of your soft, gushy pussy.

His head settled against yours, groaning richly through his nose as his orgasm washed over his shoulders, clutching you close as you rode through yours, clinging to him for that security you craved.

Not once did he drop you, or show any signs of loosening his grip. Even in the love sick, honey sweet haze that fogged both your minds, he was sane enough to not set you down, not wishing to risk harm to your injury any further.

[silvercap]

maybe 24? :3

Sure!

24. "You're not supposed to be up and about."

"Piers," Leon says in exasperation, "that can wait until tomorrow."

"My mother's coming at noon," Piers continues, ignoring him entirely. His eyes are slightly wild as he drags the wrapping paper from the closet. "And I haven't even wrapped my dad's gift yet! I have the turkey thawing in the garage, but---"

His crutch wobbles beneath him as the paper pulls free with sudden ease, bare foot brushing the carpet where it sticks out from the cast wrapped around most of Piers' shin. He staggers, nearly losing his balance---if not for Leon's steady hand on his back, he would have crashed to the floor in a heap. As it is, he huffs in frustration and pushes himself upright, wincing visibly as his sore muscles are strained. His most recent mission had been a hard one, bruises still dotting his skin that hurt to look at.

"You're not even supposed to be up and about," Leon says. "You're supposed to be on near-bedrest, in fact."

"It's Christmas Eve! I don't have a choice!"

"We didn't have to host," Leon says. "Your parents were perfectly willing to---"

"I know." Piers turns on him with a blaze in his eyes, irritation seeping into every pore. He scowls darkly and leans his forehead into Leon's chest, crutch propped against his side. "I just want things to go well for us, for once," he mumbles, sounding upset. "We never get to just... just be."

Leon pulls him into a tight hug, planting a kiss directly on Piers' forehead. He ruffles his already wildly disheveled hair with his fingers. "I know," he says. "I get it. You can't hurt yourself worse trying to chase it, though. I'm not going to let you."

That prompts a broken laugh, Piers tilting his head to nestle into Leon's collarbone. "Should I be worried that you of all people is saying this?"

"I'm not that bad."

"You are." Piers scoffs and pulls back slightly, flinching when he puts weight on his injured leg. "Okay, okay, you win. I'll sit down---but on one condition."

"And what's that?" Leon asks, already shifting to escort Piers back towards the living room.

"You'll have to wrap your present from me, too."

[tsarisfanfiction]

The Wrong Brother

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: Teen Genre: Angst/Family Characters: Michael, Will Michael isn't the brother Will needs, but he's the one that's there. Whumptober day 2, "I'll call out your name, but you won't call back" and delirium! More of an emotional/angsty whump this time, as the prompts might suggest. Also Michael&Will, because there isn't enough of that in the world (there will never be enough!)

The raid on the Kronos supporters had been a success, technically.  Michael hadn’t enjoyed deferring to Clarisse, who had taken command as the head counsellor of their main war cabin, but capturing the flying chariot had had up for it – or would have done, if Clarisse would admit that the Apollo cabin had the claim to it because they had been the ones to seize it.  They’d disrupted the titan’s forces and gained something useful out of it, but Kronos’ supporters were good fighters, and the monsters were cold, ruthless, and numerous.

Unfortunately, the chariot hadn’t been the only thing they’d brought back with them.  No-one from the raiding party – the entire Ares and Athena year-round campers, almost all of the Apollo year-round campers, most of the Hephaestus kids, and several of cabin eleven – had come back unscathed, and in several cases the injuries had been severe.

Will was the only year-rounder from the Apollo cabin that was more than simply passable at healing, and he’d pushed himself too hard patching everyone else up.  Chiron had helped, but there were some things only Apollo kids could do, and Will had borne the brunt of the responsibility, much to Michael’s frustration.

He carefully didn’t think about why Will was the only skilled healer in camp all year around, or about the yawning gap where an older brother with healing at his fingertips should have been.

Michael had done what he could, but despite his own accelerated healing, he’d been part of the casualties and it was a lot harder to force people to not overwork his brother when he was covered in bandages himself.  Even if he hadn’t been injured himself, there wouldn’t have been much he could’ve done to lessen Will’s burden.

But perhaps Will would’ve been okay, if exhausted, if they hadn’t somehow ended up with an illness passing through the camp – one of them must have caught it on the raid, and while most campers were shrugging it off without much difficulty, Will’s exhaustion combined with being in close contact with several infected had eventually resulted in a very ill younger brother.

Chiron had isolated him in a small room off of the infirmary, both for his own protection and to make sure there wasn’t a more violent strain about to break through the rest of camp.  Most of the demigods were banned from visiting, to be safe, but after a few arguments, Michael had forced his way in.

Will might be the camp’s top healer, but Michael was the head counsellor of cabin seven, for all that fact hurt if he thought about it for too long, and technically that put him in charge of the infirmary, even if his bedside manner was shit and he couldn’t do much more than administer the basic medicines or wrap up open wounds.  He was also Will’s big brother, and refused to leave him alone while he was sick.

Unfortunately, Will didn’t seem to register his presence at all, barely reacting when Michael tipped nectar down his throat or changed the cool cloth on his forehead.  It hurt, and it was worrying, but there was nothing more Michael could do except try to keep him comfortable, and send agitated prayers their father’s way.

The second day into Will’s quarantine, Michael nudged the door open with his foot, arms full of cloths and worried siblings behind him.  Just like the first day, Michael didn’t let any of them follow him in to the room, and was immediately glad when he entered to find Will crying.

“Will?”  The cloths were discarded at the foot of the bed with no ceremony as Michael hurried to his brother’s side.

"Lee?" Will sobbed, hand reaching out for empty air, and Michael’s heart twisted.

"Lee's not here, Will," he said, ignoring the way his voice broke on their brother's name.  He caught Will's reaching hand with both of his, hooking a foot around the chair he’d left in the room to drag it close enough to sit on without letting go.  "It's me, Michael."

"Lee!" Will protested, and Michael had to tighten his grip as his younger brother tried to reach out again, muffling a curse when Will started to reach out with his other hand instead.

"Lee's not here," he repeated, hating that he had to say it at all, that it was the truth, that Will was too sick to remember - or maybe sick enough to hallucinate.  Lee had always sat bedside vigil whenever any of them got sick, even before he became head counsellor, and Michael could understand why Will was calling for him.

Gods knew he might have done, if it was him sick in that bed instead.

"He's not here," he said again, shifting to catch Will's other hand with one of his and trying to place it down on the bed again. Will fought him, tears seeping down his face, and Michael’s own eyes were prickling with poorly-buried grief, too. "It's just me, Will. Just Michael."

Illness sapped Will’s strength enough that his hands couldn’t break free from Michael’s grip, but that didn’t stop him from trying, or from getting more and more agitated when he couldn’t.  “Lee!”

Fuck if it didn’t hurt, hearing Will call for Lee so desperately.

Michael had always been awful at the bedside manner thing, but he’d been Will’s big brother for five years now.  Hugs weren’t really his thing, but they were Will’s, and various siblings had dished them out at various points during Will’s time at camp.  Michael had, on rare occasions, been one of them.

Clearly, one was needed now.

He dropped Will’s hands and wrapped his arms around his younger brother instead, leaning awkwardly onto the bed as he pulled Will half-upright and guided his head to rest in the crook of his neck, leaving one hand buried in tangled blond waves.  The old cloth that fell from Will’s forehead went ignored.

“Lee,” his brother sobbed again, quieter, and Michael found himself being hugged back, Will clinging to him like a limpet.  “Lee, don’t leave me.”

The quiet plea tore into Michael, not just because Lee was gone, had left them for good, but because Will was talking to him like he was Lee, and Michael could never be Lee.

“It’s Michael, Will,” he repeated again, and fuck, his eyes stung and there was salt trickling into the corners of his mouth.  “Lee’s g-”  His throat closed up entirely, stifling the word gone until it felt like he would choke on it, or throw up.  “Not here,” he amended, and if he buried his face in Will’s hair, well no-one else was allowed in the room to see.

Will didn’t get the message, more tearful pleas for Lee assailing Michael’s ears, and Michael felt completely useless.

Lee would’ve been able to do something.  Lee would’ve got Will’s attention, had enough healing skill to bring down his fever and break whatever was making Will think he was still there, still with them.

Michael could do none of that, assaulted by grief he’d tried to bury because he was head counsellor, he didn’t have time to break down and grieve when everyone else needed him to be strong for them.  Quiet sobs dragged themselves out of his throat, muffled in Will’s hair.

“I miss him, too,” he admitted to blond locks and unhearing ears, his words drowned out by Will’s increasingly desperate cries.  They raked through Michael’s chest, a reminder that he wasn’t a healer, couldn’t even comfort his little brother properly.  “Fuck but I wish he was here.”

He hiccupped and hid his face further into Will’s hair, hating himself for it because he shouldn’t be using Will as a shield from the world but he was, because it was the loudest he could be without worsening his siblings’ grief and it was obvious that Will wasn’t registering anything he said.

“Lee,” Will whimpered, and Michael couldn’t even tell any more if he was being somehow mistaken for their brother or if Will was just begging Lee to come back.  “Lee.”

Michael pulled him tighter.  It wasn’t like there was anything else he could do; he wasn’t a healer, couldn’t magically get Will’s fever to break if the medicines weren’t already working on it.

He wasn’t a necromancer, either.  Lee was gone and never coming back, and Michael was absolutely shit at everything Lee had been good at – listening, comforting, helping.  He was Will’s big brother but right then he was the wrong big bsicrother and that wasn’t something he could even try to fix.

All he could do was hold Will as he cried, and try to pretend he wasn’t breaking in the process.

[dancingwiththoughts]

Medwhump May Day 16 (Alt. Prompt): Broken Bone(s)

Hello! So I've had the worst migraine all day and couldn't do anything. I've gotten just enough energy to figure out something to post for today's prompt, and I had no ideas for comas. So, I decided to use the Broken Bone(s) prompt because I had a work in progress that I could use. So without further ado, here it is!

He had managed to hide it for a little while.

The limp.

He had gotten into a small scuffle with Vox. It hadn’t been too bad; Vox was definitely more injured than he was. But his ankle was killing him, no pun intended.

He was fairly sure it was sprained, if not broken. But he couldn’t wrap it or anything, and risk drawing attention to himself. He didn’t need to be fawned over. So far, no one had drawn attention to the fact that he hadn’t been walking around nearly as much. He would almost always teleport anywhere he needed to go.

But unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.

He had been in the kitchen, working on dinner, when he took a step- and his leg gave out. He gripped the counter letting out a sharp hiss of pain.

Okay, so it was definitely broken.

He attempted to place a bit of weight on it, but it was no use. He would just have to manage. Oh well. Nobody was in the room; he didn’t like people in his space when he cooked. So for the time being, he simply hopped around. But when it was actually time to eat, well…

Alastor would simply not join them. He set all of the dishes on the rolling cart, and leaned heavily on it. Hopefully, he could mask for a short while longer. He opened the doors, forcing his grin sharp.

“Dinner’s finished and on the table,”He called.

Vaggie was already chilling in the dining room, and she looked up when he entered.

“Charlie’s going to be in in a sec, she was just finishing up with some paperwork.”

Alastor nodded, setting the plates down on the table. He looked up to see Vaggie frowning at him. “Whatever is the matter, dear?”He crooned.

Hopefully she didn’t-

“Why are you hovering your foot above the ground? Did you hurt yourself?” She moved to get up, and Alastor’s eyes widened slightly.

“Oh, I’m perfectly fine darling. Just a small scuffle, nothing I can’t manage.”

“Yeah, yeah. Look, I know you won’t admit anything; but I was a nurse, and I know what it looks like when someone’s hiding an injury. Just sit down and let me look.”

Alastor sighed,”Fine, but this doesn’t leave this room.”

He limped over to a chair, sitting down. Vaggie bent down, reaching for his shoe. He wanted to protest, but let her anyway; She left his sock on, thankfully. She began to press her hands against it, and he winced.

“Sorry, this part hurts a bit,”She apologized,”Can you move your foot at all?”

He did his best, but he really couldn’t. Vaggie stood back up.

“Yeah, that’s definitely broken. You’re gonna need at least a splint, if not crutches.”

“No, that won't do.”

“Well, if you don’t it’ll probably heal wrong and you’ll have permanent damage.”

Alastor groaned. He really didn’t need this.

“Fine. Meet me later and we’ll sort it out.”

He dissipated into the shadows without another word.

[incognitajones]

A while ago I mentioned that I could use some short & sweet smutty prompts to distract me, since I’m in the middle of three longer projects that won’t see the light of day for a few months. @anghraine said they’d love to see something after pulse to pulse... this is only spicy by implication, but it is definitely set after that story!

[ read on AO3 ]

Cassian tried to focus on the holomap projection glowing in the dim room. Draven turned its brightness up another notch and he blinked, ignoring the ache pressing into his temples and tightening across his forehead from eye strain—and the fact that Jyn had been light years away for three weeks.

In the months since their Force bond had settled, they’d learned to trust in its resilience even while they were apart. But a prolonged separation could still throw them off-balance, especially when one of them was hurt.

Jyn was injured—not severely, but bad enough that her pain had woken Cassian up six hours ago, in the middle of Hoth’s long night—and it was distracting. He thought she was on her way back now; something about her presence within the bond felt closer. But she was also deliberately holding herself apart, shielding him from the full sensation of what had happened.

“Did you hear me, Andor?” Draven asked.

Cassian opened his mouth to offer a well-rehearsed argument for taking more time to gather intelligence, but Draven cut him off. “You’ve been staring at the screen without seeing anything for ten minutes,” he pronounced. “And frankly, you look like shit. There’s no point in you continuing this work until Erso gets back. I can analyze the data myself.”

Instead of taking the out immediately, Cassian hesitated. Yes, he should quit, based on the migraine throbbing behind his eyeballs, but he had to have something to do other than pace around Echo Base and wait for Jyn.

The pain dissolved and the tension in his muscles washed away. Cassian took a deep breath, able to hold his shoulders straight for the first time in hours. “She’s back, sir.”

“Go.” Draven sighed and dismissed him with the flick of a hand. “I don’t want to see you for the next two hours.”

Cassian nodded and went. Without having to think about which direction to go in, he set out for the north hangar, hurrying through the low-ceilinged corridors and around tight corners, dodging the flow of pilots and droids with ease. His headache had vanished. Only the nagging sense that Jyn was hurt worse than she’d let on was still disturbing him.

The shield doors were open and a frigid wind from the glacier scoured his face. He pulled up his hood and scanned the cavern until his eyes locked onto a small figure in a dark green parka talking to the deck officer. He headed unerringly toward her, though there were several others who could have been Jyn—he knew which was her.

When he was three metres away she turned to face him, scowling. “I could feel you being cranky at me all the way from Pantora.”

But when he came to a stop in front of her, she took the last step forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. Their bond surged, flooding him with a rush of calm contentment and filling places he hadn’t realized were empty. Jyn sighed and rested her forehead against his chest. The core-deep rightness that locked into place between them erased the last of his own pain, but he could still feel a faint itch of hers.

Cassian looked down at her left foot, noting the walking cast on it. “I’d be less cranky if you weren’t trying to hide things from me,” he pointed out.

“It’s not that bad,” Jyn argued.

Cassian didn’t know whether he was more annoyed with her stubbornness, or relieved that she was at least in one piece, or—

He bent his head and pressed his lips to the crown of her head. To anyone who might be watching, it was only a swift, light gesture. But he let every atom of what he was feeling pour through the bond, all of the pent-up longing and want that had risen while they were apart, everything he remembered of her taste and scent and the feel of her in his hands...

Jyn’s arms tightened around him and her fists clenched at the small of his back. She blinked up at him, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted. “I missed you too.” And the bond flowed back, carrying a rush of her own desire, redoubling his need. “Can we skip the medbay and go straight to our quarters?”

“It’s on the way,” Cassian said inexorably. “Come on.”

She sighed and went with him, letting herself lean on his arm wrapped around her—another tell that she hurt more than she wanted to admit. “That’s not playing fair,” she muttered.

He couldn’t keep the corner of his mouth from lifting. “Does that mean I should stop?”

“No.” She looked sidelong up at him and her fingers slipped under his parka, tracing an arc around his hipbone. “Just be prepared to take some of your own medicine.”