#it's meant to look like the pills are coming out of his body like rings from a Sonic enemy

[klaipeda-witness]

Best quality version here (you get weird artefacts and colour shifts in the downloaded gif)

I threatened to do this concept ages ago and I finally made good.

From the moment in Covenant when Kira jumps over the railing on the Empok Nor promenade and tackles Dukat's ass just before he's about to pull a Jonestown type situation.

[noctiva]

Inspired by this comment on the first part:

Couldn’t stop thinking about it lmfao so thank you

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Clouded By The Smoke [Pt. 2/Epilogue]

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!]

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Part One

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WC: 3.4k

Summary: Snapshots in time as you try to convince Toby he’s worthy of being loved. A chronological breakdown of his willpower.

CW: 18+ content, sort of detailed sexual content, biting and marking, dealer!Toby, he’s an ass but he’s aware and feels bad about it, drugging, recreational drug use, addiction, drugs other than weed, toxic relationships, codependency, denial of feelings, angsty angst, hurt + sort of comfort, ‘I can fix him’ ass mindset, but it kinda works, reader deserves better

Reminder to separate reality from fiction! Acts written here aren’t meant to be endorsed or romanticized - be kind to yourself!

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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

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“Do you remember what I said to you, last time I was here?”

It’s a Monday, or maybe it’s a Tuesday - you’re not quite sure. Days seemed to blur together into one big pile of thoughtless mush ever since you met Toby. But, one thing was certain; you were here again. In his room, swaddled in a blanket as you sat curled up on some lumpy old beanbag chair - staring up at him where he sat at his desk.

It was an old thing. Paint flaking off and chips in the wood, stickers plastering almost the entire thing, burn holes from cigarettes littering the spaces in between. He’s busy, listening to you absently, a cigarette dangling precariously out of the corner of his mouth as he works.

It’s a sight that had made you gut twist the first time you sat close by and witnessed it, but now it was just something you had grown accustomed to. Sometimes, it’s weed, sometimes it’s pills. Right now, he’s sat with a scale in front of him, the hood of his sweater pulled over his head as he measures out scoop after scoop of white powder. One gram each, exactly, and then he’s transferring it into a little plastic baggie - sealing it, then tossing it into the little pile he had accumulated next to him thus far.

You watch as he wipes the excess powder off of the scale with his finger, cringe a little when he swipes it across his gums before brushing his hand off against his pants. So casual with it. Like you were the crazy one for abstaining.

“What you s-said to me?” Toby murmurs back to you softly, raising an eyebrow though he doesn’t look at you. “I dunno. You say a-a lot of stupid shit, hard to keep track.”

“Don’t be a dick.” You scoff, lips twitching down into a frown as you tug the blanket further over yourself. You had only smoked a little bit today, not enough to cloud your mind over, certainly not enough to put your thoughts to bed.

“Not being a d-dick.” Toby snorts, before letting out a soft sigh and finally directing his gaze over to you. He leans back in his chair, the beat down furniture creaking under his weight, eyes half lidded where they hone in on you through the strands of his messy hair. “I also say a lot of d-dumb shit. That’s why we’re so g-good together, eh?” His lips stretch up into a lazy little grin, one hand reaching up to adjust the hood of his sweater. “Just t-two fuckin’ idiots.”

Any other time you would’ve laughed and agreed with him, but not right now. Not when your thoughts were so loud that it made your ears ring.

”Toby.” You let out a soft sigh, your eyes tired as you look at him. Really look at him. The freckles that stain the bridge of his nose and trickle down his cheeks, the scars and blemishes, the bags under his eyes - drooping lids with dilated pupils. Hidden under his hood his hair is knotted and unruly, but it's soft, you know it is. “I told you I loved you.” You don't even try to beat around the bush. There’s no point. You feel like ignoring it would hurt just as much as coming clean.

And you’d swear you stopped time for a moment, with the way he froze completely. His body stiffening, jaw tensing up. Eyes going wide in shock for a moment as he stares down at you. Silent for a few moments before he’s raising an eyebrow, eyes narrowing.

”You re-remember that?” He snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m surprised. You were puh-pretty fucked up.”

”I remember because I meant it.” You insist, sitting up a bit, leaning forwards to get closer to him. Or maybe, you were just drawn in by the sweet raspiness of his voice - like a fish snared on a hook, ready to be reeled in. “You know I meant it.”

“No you didn’t.” Again, denying you so easily. Breathed out without an inch of sorrow, like he was just discussing the weather - not the tribulations of your heart.

”I did.” You frown, eyebrows scrunching together. “You can’t just keep denying it like that’ll make it true.”

”Yeah, I can.” Toby shoots you a pointed look out of the corner of his eye before stretching his legs out and using them to roll his chair back closer to his desk. “You d-don’t love me.” Said as a fact. “You wouldn’t even fuck with me at all if I didn’t keep you l-loopy.” He fishes into the front pocket of his hoodie, pulls out that same old grinder he’s had for years, and you let out a soft breath through your nose.

”I would.” You tell him, watching as he unscrews the lid and sets it on his desk. Eyes tracking him the entire time he reaches down to grab the bong that lay in rest on the ground next to his desk. “I’m barely even high right now.”

”Uh huh.” Toby doesn’t sound convinced, his fingers trembling as he scooped up a pinch of herb and packed it down into a bowl. “Well, you should be.”

He doesn’t take the hit himself, just packs the bowl right to the brim then extends the bong out to you - his other hand tossing a lighter into your lap. “Take that, a-and just shut up about it would you?”

And you do.

-

A week later you’re sprawled on his couch. Head on his lap, one of his hands lazily carding through your hair while the other one fiddles with a remote for the game he’s playing on his console. Something low energy, you watch with hazy vision as he places block after block in the Minecraft world he’s been curating for quite a bit now.

There’s a joint between his lips. Puffing on it every now and then just to keep the cherry lit, his eyes focused on the screen before him even as the wisps of smoke obscure his line of vision. He’s shirtless, scars and bruises on full display - things that he never gave you a clear explanation for whenever you asked.

’D-Deal gone wrong.’

’Snagged myself ho-hopping a fence.’

’None of your business.’

You sometimes wondered if he’d ever fully let you in. You always wonder if you’ll ever care that you’re pretty sure the answer is ‘never’.

”Toby.” You murmur to him softly, gazing up at him with hazy eyes. His fingers twitch against your head at the sound of his name on your tongue, before he’s back to moving them through your hair - blunt nails scratching soothingly against your scalp. “I love you.” You try again, wondering if he’ll accept it this time.

And he doesn’t, but close.

”Yeah?” He doesn’t look down at you, just lets out a little hum as his free hand fiddles with the joystick on the controller. The cherry at the end of the joint crackles when he takes a drag, smoke slipping out of his nostrils when he exhales. “What do you l-love about me?”

”You’re sweet.” You hum back to him. “Strong, caring, funny.�� His fingers still, and you’d swear his breathing is shakier next time he breathes out. “You take care of me.”

”I make you w-worse.” He corrects you. “I drag you d-down to my level. I don’t know who you th-think I am, but I’m not some fuckin’… Prince Charming.” When he reaches up to pull the joint from his lips, a spot of ash falls right onto your cheek. You don’t even flinch. “It’s bad e-enough you’ve stuck around this long.”

”I like being around you.” You murmur back to him, eyes tracking his every movement when he reaches down to wipe the ash from your cheek, his calloused thumb smoothing against the softness of your skin.

And he chuckles. Soft, mellow, amused.

”You shouldn’t”

But you do.

-

“I love you- Toby, I-“

His fingers dig deep into the soft flesh of your hips, fingernails leaving crescent shaped indents behind now, and surely bruises in the future. His body curled over yours, his chest flush with your back as he presses you down into the mattress. Sweat dripping off of his hair and onto your neck, lips parting in a moan that vibrates against your shoulder.

”I know, I know.” Gritted out like it pains him, his eyebrows furrowed together every time his hips snapped into yours. Actions desperate, needy, selfish in the way he took your body like he owned it. “F-Fuck- I know-“

Your jaw drops slack as drool seeps from your lips and stains his pillow, joining the marks from your mascara that was already smeared there. Sniffling, whimpering, sobbing as his body all but suffocated you - just bordering on the edge of being too much to handle. Overwhelming, disorienting, but he always was. Like those qualities were ingrained into his very essence. “Stupid- So fuckin’ stupid-“ Muttered under his breath, strained and shaky - just barely slipping past your foggy mind. You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe, his words were falling on deaf ears.

But maybe that was a good thing, because you probably would’ve taken it the wrong way.

His teeth scrape against your shoulder before they’re sinking in deep - snarling in a bite that has you choking out a broken cry and jolting beneath him. A stinging ache that made your gut twist, and yet it was welcome. You arched into it, fingers curling into his bedsheets. Grip so tight you might just rip them.

Your body feels like its floating, his body heat melting you into a puddle beneath him. Breaking you down like he always did, reducing you into a mess of sweat and tears he’d have to mop up when it was all over. “S-Say it again-“ Gasped out as he feels you twitch around him, clawing at your hips as he pins you down against the mattress. Near punishing in his actions, not giving you even a second of reprieve even as you struggle to breathe through moans and cries. “Again-“

”I love you-“ Right as you cum. The confession dripping with desperation and desire as you tremble and twitch beneath his scalding hot form. Stars in your eyes, vision blurry, tears wetting your skin as you bury your face in his pillow.

And he just knows you mean it.

-

“C’mere.”

You barely even have a second to respond before Toby’s greedy hands are already grappling at you and scooping you up from where you sat on the floor beside him. Pulling you onto his lap so easily, because your body was still so limp and pliant from whatever he had fed you earlier. Your chest is heaving, breathing ragged and uneven, eyes unfocused and hazy when they drift upwards to look up at him.

And for once in his entire life, he feels bad. “T-Too much?” He asks you softly, lifting both hands to cup your face and try to steady you - his eyes honing in on the sight of you. Flushed and incoherent, your pupils pinned right out when he looks into your eyes. You can’t even focus on him, staring through him rather than at him - like you’re not even there. “Fuck, baby..” He’s muttering out softly, smoothing his thumb across your lower lip, wincing when your mouth drops open and drool wets his fingers. “Hey. T-Talk to me.”

”S’fuckin’…” You sway in his hold, lips stretching into a goofy grin as you lean into his touch. “Can’t- Can’t feel my fuckin’ face.” You snort out a little giggle, wriggling out of his hold to press your face into his neck. So loose and sloppy, like you were melting in his lap.

”Y-Yeah, I bet.” Toby hums softly, reaching up to pet your hair softly as you murmur incoherencies against his skin. It’s gibberish. Just a whole lot of nothing, spit out between snorts of laughter and little hiccups. He can feel your heart beating against his, absolutely slamming against your rib cage. “You-You’re alright though, right?” His other arm wrapping around you, cradling you against him - like he was trying to protect you from the world. Though, he was the real danger, and both of you knew that. “Just re-really fucked up?”

“Really fucked up.” You repeat back to him, words slurred and laced with laughter. Skin sticky with sweat, your hair matted to your forehead.

”Let’s get you s-some water then.” He hums, before standing up and bringing you with him. Easily, letting you cling to him like a koala as his hands slip down to cup the backs of your thighs. Through his apartment he walks, kicking a few empty solo cups out of the way as he makes it to his kitchen.

Grabbing a mug out of the cupboard before setting you on the counter, one hand on your waist to keep you steady while his free hand fills it up at the tap. “Open.” As he presses it to your lips, his eyes soft and fond as he feeds it to you. One gulp after another, his other hand cupping your jaw to keep you from swaying. “Atta girl. Th-There you go.”

“Toby.” You slur out once you're finished, nudging the mug away with your face as you gaze up at him. Glassy and unfocused, but they don’t drift from his face. “I love you.”

Toby lets out a sigh, his expression melting just a little bit more. You thawed him. Chipped and cracked at the ice day after day, never giving up on him, even when he put you in situations like this. Looking up at him like a saviour, even when he was the serpent in the garden.

”I love you too.” He only says it back because he’s sure that you wont remember it at all. Something he could get off of his chest, but easily deny if ever confronted. And it hurt him to say, like pulling teeth the way he had to force the words out of his lungs.

Not because he didn’t mean it.

But because he did.

-

“You-You should stop c-comin’ over here.”

Not inside, but on his front porch. The cool evening air tickling your bare skin each time a breeze ripples past. Toby sits beside you, fiddling with a lighter as he toys with a cigarette between his teeth. “S’not g-good for ya’.” A breath, and then; “I’m not good for ya’.”

”I know.” You don’t even try to fight his words. Try to assure him that he’s not nearly as horrible as he seems to think he is. Because he is, and you both know it. “I still love you though.”

Toby lets out a soft sad laugh. Pained, broken in the way it cracks and shakes. It’s not the sweet, honey-smooth sound you’ve grown accustomed to. It’s hollow and strained. It’s sorrow wearing a disguise of nonchalance.

“You’ve g-got to stop saying that shit.” He breathes out, casting you a sidelong glance before taking a drag. Pulling the smoke into his lungs like the burn might just overpower the ache in his chest. “You’re not benefitting anyone.”

”No?” You watch him, chin resting on your palm, eyes tired and yet they still glitter with adoration. “Then why haven’t you kicked me to the curb, if it annoys you so much?”

Why hadn’t he? The answer was easy. He had told you when you were fucked out of your own mind, too stubborn to let it grace your sober ears. Stubborn, or scared? The more he thought about it, the more it was starting to seem like the latter. You were a comforting constant to him. Someone who was always around, even when he didn't ask for it. Never chastising him, never trying to steer him away. onto some better course of life. Just silently accepting. Picking up all of the flaws he laid out for you and cradling them close to your chest.

You were scary. Terrifying. Because you had done what a lot of people had attempted and failed at. You made him want to be better.

And maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad if you had tried to shove the notion down his throat. Act like everyone else, call him a failure and a waste of space. You didn’t do any of that. You didn’t even try. Just you being around had brought it out in him.

He saw what he was doing to you, what he was doing to this sweet precious life. Tainting it, ruining it. Dragging you down into his depths and drowning you, stealing the air from your lungs while you wore a blissful smile.

It made him want to repent. To ask a god he didn’t even believe in for forgiveness.

Not you, because he knew you’d give it to him in a heartbeat and he didn’t deserve that. He deserved to grovel at your feet, to kiss the ground as you walked out of his life.

“You d-do realize that you could do so much b-better, right?” He asks you softly, his voice low - knowing that if he raised it anymore it would crack. “You shouldn’t settle f-for this. Shouldn’t w-want this. No one should want his.”

”You don’t get it.” You hum back to him, hair blowing him the wind. Soft and feathery. His fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and touch it. “I don’t want this, I want you. Just you. No matter who you are or what you do.” You watch as his fingers tighten their grip on his cigarette, looking damn near close to snapping it in half. “You could be who you are right now, or you could be some fuckin’ big shot CEO and I’d still feel the same. It’s not what you give me, its who you are.”

And how is he supposed to fight with that? How can he argue when you’ve laid it all out clear as day? Spelling out your devotion in a way he could only ever dream to. Eloquent. Brave. And yet he sat beside you with a lump in his throat, rendering him mute.

It takes him a few moments, a stretch of silence settling down over the two of you as his gaze drops down to his feet. Trying to figure out what he could say to even come close to what you had just told him. Wracking his brain, filing through his thoughts and finding the exact same thing spelled out in every single folder.

So eventually, he has no choice but to spit it out.

”I love you too.”

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Hi lmfao im back at it with this mess. I just could not get this thought out of my head, angsty dealer!toby has my heart and im forcing you all to partake in this with me 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[cami040405]

Pleeeeeeeeeease 🙏, a oneshot of fem reader going with her friends and stops for gas, our girl is on her period, but it ain't the usual one. It hurts a lot, and there's no paracetamol to ease the pain cause Luda sells none. When Thomas comes to hunt them down, he finds her delirious from the sunlight and pain to the point she doesn't even run. So when he's about to haul her over his shoulder, she accidentally grips onto him, and Thomas ends up carrying her in bridal style. She clings and snuggles him for comfort, which makes Tommy second guess himself, in the end, he decided to keep her cause he liked the feeling of her needing him for comfort and protection.

Oneshot: Crimson Sun - Thomas Hewitt x Future S/O with Intense Period Pain

Summary: While on a road trip with friends, you struck with intense period pain and heat exhaustion during a stop at a remote Texas gas station. As your friends mysteriously vanish, you're too weak to run when Thomas Hewitt appears.

Texas heat had a way of swallowing the air whole. Thick. Suffocating. The kind of heat that crawled under your skin and sat heavy on your chest. It made the world feel slower, like the hands of time had melted alongside the asphalt.

You could barely keep your eyes open as the station wagon rumbled along the gravel path toward a rusted-out old gas station. Dust clouds rose in the rearview mirror like smoke, blurring the fading stretch of road behind you.

In the passenger seat, Bree was flipping through a dog-eared map with the kind of irritated energy only someone lost in Nowhere, Texas, could conjure. The other two girls were bickering softly in the front about a weird turn back at the last fork in the road.

You weren’t listening. You were curled up in the backseat like a dying thing, legs pulled tight to your chest, arms wrapped around your midsection. Sweat dotted your forehead, sticking strands of hair to your skin. Each heartbeat sent a pulse of sharp, relentless pain straight through your abdomen like a blade twisting inside you.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t your normal, anyway.

You were on your period—sure—but this wasn’t the dull, manageable ache you were used to. This was something else. A tidal wave of pain that left you breathless and shivering despite the triple-digit weather. Your limbs ached, your spine throbbed, and your thighs trembled from the effort of not crying in front of your friends.

When the car rolled to a stop outside the gas station, you didn’t even lift your head.

“I’m gonna ask if they have pain meds,” Bree said, swinging open the door with a groan. “You look like hell.”

You meant to mumble something back. Maybe a thank you, maybe a half-hearted insult. But the words didn’t come. Your jaw clenched as another cramp seized your body, curling your toes in your boots.

God, make it stop.

The metal roof of the station shimmered under the sun. The place looked like it had been abandoned for years, except for the faint movement inside—a shape behind dusty windows. No signage, no air conditioning humming. Just a screen door swaying in the breeze and a few cracked gas pumps that looked like they hadn’t seen real fuel since the seventies.

The minutes passed in a blur. Bree came back empty-handed, muttering curses under her breath.

“The woman inside—some old hag with a cigarette—said they don’t stock anything like that. No pills. No vending machine. Just homemade soap and pickled vegetables. What kind of gas station is this?”

You swallowed thickly. “A cursed one.”

“Seriously. I don’t even think she had a register.”

The car grew hotter. The windows trapped the sunlight like a greenhouse, and your skin started to prickle from the heat. Your lips were chapped. Your vision, spotty. Distant voices became muffled—like hearing underwater.

You caught fragments of a conversation.

“The tire’s low.”

“Go check the back.”

“…something’s off here.”

But your ears were ringing now. Your body was a traitor. You couldn’t sit up. Couldn’t focus. Every breath was effort. You slid sideways onto the seat, lying down, the cracked upholstery sticking to the sweat along your back. You barely noticed when the first scream split the silence.

It was high-pitched, frantic, and short-lived.

You blinked. Was that—?

Then came another. This time deeper, masculine. A grunt. A thud. A wet sound. You blinked again, sluggish and confused. The door beside you opened.

“…Bree?” you croaked.

No answer.

You saw a shadow move across the gravel. A shape—wrong, too broad for anyone you knew. The edges of your vision pulsed red, swimming in heat and nausea. You tried to sit up, panic threading through your chest like wire.

Something was wrong. Something was really wrong.

Then you saw him.

At first, he was just legs—thick, trunk-like legs wrapped in filthy jeans and caked boots. Then the apron. The stained, leather apron. Your gaze drifted upward, inch by inch, past heavy arms to a massive chest, rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Then the face.

Or the mask.

It was patchwork—skin and leather, stitched and fused over a large, square jaw. One eye visible through the hole. The other hidden in shadows. Dead, dull, silent.

Thomas Hewitt.

You didn’t know his name. Not yet. But the moment your eyes met his, your body knew.

Death.

You should have screamed. Should have run. Should have fought, clawed, anything—

But your limbs were jelly. You were so tired. So hot. The pain in your stomach flared violently, and your mouth fell open in a silent cry.

He reached for you.

You tried to push away, but it was like moving through concrete. Your hand slipped on the door. Your knees buckled as you stumbled onto the dirt. 

Thomas loomed over you. Tall as a tree. Silent as a grave. The chainsaw wasn’t in his hand. Not yet. Instead, he crouched beside you, giant palm reaching down to haul you up like a sack of meat.

“No—wait,” you whimpered, but it came out as a breathless rasp.

His rough hand closed around your upper arm, lifting—

Your hand shot out, instinctively. It grabbed a fistful of his shirt. Not to fight.

To cling.

Your body betrayed your mind. Some part of your subconscious—swimming in pain and heatstroke—recognized something in him. Not safety. Not really.

But strength. Warmth. Your cheek fell against his chest. And then—you snuggled.

Thomas froze.

Completely.

You didn’t scream. Didn’t sob. Just held on, weak and shivering, face pressed into the fabric of his apron, nuzzling blindly for comfort like a sick kitten.

A soft sound escaped you. A tiny, pitiful sigh.

“…please…”

Thomas blinked. He looked down at you, dazed, stunned. He’d lifted hundreds of people in this spot. Dragged them kicking and screaming. The usual routine. And yet here you were, curled up in his arms like he was the only stable thing left in your spinning world. For the first time in years, Thomas hesitated. He could feel your fevered skin through his gloves. The way your body trembled in his grip—not from terror, but from weakness. Your breathing was shallow. Your legs were trembling.

You needed help.

Not to die.

His jaw clenched under the mask. Slowly, gingerly, he adjusted his grip—one arm beneath your knees, the other around your back. He picked you up, not like prey, not like cargo—but like something fragile.

You didn’t fight it.

Your arms wrapped around his thick shoulders, half-conscious, and your head lolled against his collarbone. You mumbled something soft, incoherent. Words soaked in fever and confusion.

He held you tighter. 

And then he walked.

He didn’t toss you over his shoulder.

He didn’t carve you open.

He carried you—through the brush, past the dirt path where your friends had fallen, their blood soaking into the cracked earth.

You didn’t see them. And maybe that was for the best.

When you woke, the light had changed. Dim. Orange. The inside of a house. Warm, but not from the sun—from low lamps and old wooden walls.

The room smelled like herbs and must and something cooked long ago.

You were lying on something soft. A cot, maybe. There was a wet rag on your forehead, and a heavy quilt wrapped around your lower half. You groaned softly, shifting.

Pain still lingered in your gut—but dulled now. Fading.

Your eyes fluttered open.

And you saw him.

Thomas.

Sitting on a chair in the far corner of the room. Looming, unmoving. A beast in the shadows.

But he was watching you.

Not with hunger.

With something… almost tender.

Cautious.

Afraid to move and scare you.

You licked your dry lips. “...where am I?”

No answer. Just the sound of his breathing.

You blinked. “You… didn’t kill me.”

A slow nod.

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, wincing. “Why?”

Thomas’s hands clenched on his knees. He looked away. There were no words. Not really.

But there was the memory of you clinging to him in the sun. The way you nuzzled against him like you’d known him for years. The way his chest had ached after, missing the warmth of you curled there.

You were still sick. Still soft. Still needful. And maybe… maybe Thomas had never been needed like that before.

He didn’t understand it.

But he liked it.

And that was enough.

.

[humanrindswrites]

codeine

summary: bill looks after reader after she’s had surgery

pairing: bill skarsgård x female reader (reader is only referred to by pronouns bc i hate writing in second person)

warnings: fluff, mentions of surgery (appendectomy), pain, medicine use, hurt/comfort? (maybe?)

word count: 1045 words

a/n: not my first fic ever, but my first bill fic so excuse me if my writing is a little unconfident. plus, this is basically a dream i had one time. soft and sweet is my usual flavour and i wasn’t finding anything so here you go! let me know if there’s anything you want to see from me 💕

“If I were a cat,” she said, her words slightly slurring together. “What kind of cat do you think I would be?”

It had been two days since she’d had surgery, and yet she was still feeling the effects of the anaesthetic. Luckily, she had Bill to take care of her, even if it meant that he took a week off from filming and delayed the shooting schedule. 

When she’d first told him that she needed an appendectomy, she’d felt guilty about dragging him away from his work due to a minor surgical operation, and fought against him insisting that he come home to look after her. But now that she lay on the couch with him, a blanket over them and her back resting against his chest as he played with her hair, she completely forgot all about it.

The painkillers certainly helped too in that regard.

“If you were a cat..” he started, lightly tracing his fingers across her ribs, making sure to keep away from her bandages lower down on her stomach. “The little white kitten from The Aristocats, what was she?”

“Marie. She’s a Turkish Angora,” she said confidently as she angled her head back to look at him upside down. “Why?”

“Well, because you’re small and cute.” He moved his hand from her ribs to stroke her face gently, before lightly pinching her cheek. “And you’re a spoiled brat sometimes.”

She gasped playfully and tried to sit up, her bandages tugging at her skin as she moved.

“I’m not a spoiled brat!” she said through a wince. “If anything, it’s your fault for spoiling me. And besides, you should be nice to me, I’ve had an organ removed.”

“Okay, okay,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll be nice, just come lie down.”

“Nah, I need a glass of water.” She winced again as she braced her hands against the sofa and tried to push herself up to stand. “And some more painkillers.”

“I’ll get it, you just stay here.”

She watched him as he sat up, folding his long legs up as he tried to avoid bumping into her. He briefly and softly kissed the top of her head before standing up.

“Do you want something to eat while I’m up?” he called to her as he made his way to the kitchen.

She briefly considered eating something, but a fresh wave of nausea shoved the thought of food out of her head. 

“No,” she called back. “I don’t think I’m ready for solid food yet.”

She closed her eyes and waited for her ears to stop ringing and the room to stop spinning around her, only to be brought back by him placing the glass in her hand. Slowly, she opened her eyes again and took the pills from him as he sat down next to her.

“You need to eat something eventually,” he said as he watched her pop the pills in her mouth and drink the whole glass of water in one go.

“I know,” she said, biting back another wince as a dull ache spread through her abdomen. “I just feel like I’m going to throw up all the time.”

“You’d better eat real food when I go back. I don’t want to find out you’ve just been eating crackers everyday.”

Her heart sank a little at remembering that he was only home for a week. She’d gotten used to him being away for long stretches of time and learnt how to be comfortable with her own company, but that was before she needed surgery.

She reached down to put the glass on the floor and sat back up to stiffly lean against him, wishing her body would let him hold her.

“When do you go back?” she asked in a small voice. She felt his arm move to circle around her and she shivered a little when he pulled her closer to him.

“Saturday,” he said with a soft sigh. He didn’t have to say it, but she could tell that he was nervous about leaving her at home alone while she was recovering.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“It’s just a few more days, then you can have me all to yourself.”

“I’m just worried, is all,” she said as she turned her head to look at him.

He gave her a soft, reassuring smile before gently stroking her face with the backs of his fingers and leaning down to kiss her. She eagerly returned his touches, throwing her arms around his shoulders as she clumsily crawled into his lap, not caring that her stitches pulled.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, his lips brushing against hers. “I’ll call every day, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered as she rested her forehead against his.

She moved her head to rest on his shoulder and closed her eyes as he stroked her back, letting him soothe her and forget about the pain. She could have stayed in his arms like that forever, if not for the fact that her wounds were starting to ache again, making her whine into his shirt.

“How do you feel?” he asked her after they were both quiet for a while.

“Sore. Sleepy,” she said, her words starting to slur together again as the meds kicked in.

“C’mon, let’s lie down again,” he said as he gingerly manoeuvred her out of his lap and shuffled back to the arm of the sofa with his legs stretched out.

She bit her lip as she stood up and took a couple of shaky steps, her hand grasping his as small pains hit her. He helped her to lift her legs onto the cushions and pulled her to sit between his legs before gently pulling her back to lie against his chest again.

“Thank you,” she said, trying to keep her discomfort to herself.

“That’s okay,” he said as he stroked her hair and pulled the blanket over them. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“Yeah I do, you’re being nice and looking after me while I’m sick so you deserve to be thanked.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he said before kissing the top of her head again. “Okay, my turn. If I was a cat, what kind of cat would I be?”

[ollieolliewrld]

Hi!- do you perhaps do HSR angst or smth. Maybe a Blade angst where he gets nightmares/flashbacks of his past life as yingxing in his sleep, but is woken up by reader (his lover, can be gender neutral, whatever u prefer). He refuses reader's comfort, yet still secretly feels grateful (This is my first time requesting smth so i hope u dont mind!)

Thank you for the request, my love <3 I hope you enjoy this!

Bladexgn!reader

angst!

0.8k words

The area is dim, shadows overtake the land as Blade walks down the street. Booths of vendors are left empty, their goods left out to be taken. All the lanterns meant to light the walkway have long since burned out. Blade walks trying desperately to remember why he is here, why he is alone. 

“Yingxing!” a small voice calls out.

His strolled pace comes to a stop and a chill covers his body as he turns to face the voice.

In the darkness, he struggles to find any semblance of life. Failing at this, he decides to move closer, investigating a storefront that has left their window ajar.

As he gets closer he sees the inside of the store has been ravaged. Marks of a sword scar the walls and broken glass is thrown across the floor. His ears start ringing as he is overcome with a sense that he has been here before.

A pit forms in his stomach, and his eyes widen as the palms of his hands begin to sweat. This is fear. Something he has not felt in a long time. 

Blade turns quickly to get away from this place but he is stopped by a female figure, it’s impossible to make out her features in the dark.

“Yingxing, I told you to be home by dark. Sweetheart, did you get lost again?” The figure says as she brings her hand to his cheek, wiping away a tear he didn’t know was there.

Furrowing his eyebrows he places a name to the voice, “Mother?” His voice is shaky unsure of what he is saying.

“Let’s go home now, your dinner is getting cold,” she says leading him back to the street. 

As she turns into the moonlight the indistinct features of her face disappear leaving a flat white mask. 

Stuck in place Blade is frozen with fear.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Yingxing? Don’t you trust your mother?” The figure says extending her hand back to Blade.

Sick to his stomach, he feels a tightness form in his chest making it impossible for him to breathe. The world starts to spiral around him as he loses his footing. Just as he feels himself falling into the chaos around him, he is brought back to reality feeling your hand on his chest.

As Blade opens his eyes he wakes with a jolt immediately moving to sit up and back away from you. His eyes dart around the room and he attempts to gain his bearings back. You watch as his chest heaves, his breath unstable. 

“Did you have another nightmare, my love?” You ask placing your hand lightly on his leg.

Taking a deep breath, he meets your eyes and pushes your hand off him. 

Without saying a word he gets out of bed and leaves the room. 

Worridly you follow after him, giving him his space but watching that he is ok.

Blade ends up on the living room couch with his head in his hands attempting to push away the pain that he felt. How could he not remember the face of his mother? Why did he remember that street? The questions just pilled up until he felt your presence behind him. 

“Your eyes burn holes into my back, I can feel you there,” He says not removing his head from its position, “Go back to bed, this does not involve you.”

Silently you nod as you turn to go back to your shared room. 

When Blade hears the door close and knows that he is alone, he moves so that he is lying on the couch looking up at the ceiling. His thoughts start to slow as the broken memories of his past are mixed with the remembrance of your presence. 

The care in your eyes as you looked at him, knowing that he is capable of killing you and everything around him. Even with that you still stay to care about him, trying to help him out of the darkness of his past. He stays there in thought for some time before returning to bed. 

Blade knows that you are only pretending to sleep, as you always do, waiting to ensure that he is ok before you drift off to sleep. Silently he gets into bed, carefully wrapping his arms around you. When he falls asleep this time he is at peace being able to leave his past behind him.

[lulurhythm]

Three Supporters' Specials Sneak Peeks!!!

For Fey_Clearwater:

   “Wiseass,” the man spit venomously, limping a little from the birdarang cut as he wrestled Robin to his feet. “Little half-ass punk-ass BITCH---”

   Robin wheezed as he was slammed up against a metal support, choking. “Y’r mom has… b’tt’r cursing… th’n that.”

   The hands around his throat tightened. Faintly, beyond the kicking of feet and the feeling for pressure points and the throbbing of slow-moving blood in Robin’s head, he heard a skylight open. Desperate, he expelled the last of his breath in loud, short, explosive bursts of whistling. Male on male aggression; engaged with hostile; help, help, help.

   “Wha’ d’ya know,” the bastard growled, meaty fingers tightening. “The little birdy CAN sing.”

   Robin hit his feet as the hands suddenly disappeared, coughing. It took a ringing eternity for his gasps to bring in enough air, and by then, his red night vision revealed more than a few bodies on the ground. The warehouse was completely silent.

   A gloved hand rested on his shoulder. “Let me see.”

   Robin tilted his neck back, wincing, and grabbed the idiot’s arm for balance as the threat of falling the fuck over became more likely. “Y’ came.”

   “Of course.” Gentle fingers prodded his throat for a moment before the white lenses moved up to his face. Impossibly, the mask--- and the voice--- both softened. “I will always come when you call me.” For CindersapSecrets:

   “Sit,” Wilson told him, and Tim sat. He rested his forehead on the cool countertop, but it sorta shocked his already cold-warm-cold nerves, so he forced himself to sit up instead. Everything was a little bit fuzzy. Why was he here again?

“Call your brother,” Wilson ordered quietly, dropping two charcoal pills into Tim’s limp hand.

   Tim squinted at them for a moment, decided they were probably just meant to soak up the suppressants and acid and whatever other shit shouldn’t have been in his twisting stomach, and accepted the juice box to swallow them with. “Deathstroke buys himself juice boxes?”

   “Kid… your brother.”

   “He’ll freak out.”

   “Your other brother.”

   “Oh.” Tim thought about that while he sipped on his juice. WOULD Jason pick him up? Would Jason even care? “Don’ think he likes me all that much.”

   “Neither do I.” Wilson bent over to give Tim a truly unamused look at eye level. “Guess what I’m doing?”

   Tim scowled stubbornly. “Not bein’ helpful.”

   “No, saving your life surely doesn’t fall into that category.” Deathstroke pulled Tim’s phone from his pocket, planting it in his hand. “CALL him.” For Carmine67:

   “Nightwing, secure the perimeter. Talk to Gordon,” Father’s voice rasped. His cape swished past the young Al Ghul’s shoulder, causing him to flinch. “Robin, secure Crane. We did good work tonight.”

   “Was that an actual compliment?” Robin’s grating voice piped up, scraping with a crackle across the Al Ghul’s eardrums. “Guys, I think that was a compliment.”

   The young Al Ghul scooped the commlinks from his ears, straightening as Father’s looming shadow turned toward him. Piercing white eyes bored through his bones, quickening his heavy, thundering heartbeat. “Shadow?”

   Shadow… The temporary alias they had given to him. It was so very demeaning. An insult they perhaps did not think him smart enough to place.

   There were millions of shadows. They meant nothing without the actions, without the light, that caused them to be. He was nothing without the patrons that allowed him to exist.

   You are a disappointment to your reality, Grandfather’s voice echoed strangely off the walls. Do remember that.

   “Yes, Father,” he managed to respond. His mouth felt full of mud, but he must have retained the skill of lying, because Father turned away with a grunt. All was well.

   All HAD to be well. They would send him back if he did not prove himself worthy. They would send him back to the unending war with pain.

[blueberryarchive]

Jimin from Hollister (pjm)

The first time Jimin saw you was at his old job at Hollister. It was a quiet Monday, and the blond had a hangover throbbing in his temples, pills, and several empty water bottles next to the cashier waiting for someone to enter. His co-worker was on break, and the store was all to himself, which meant one thing: he was in charge of the music.

Give It Up To Me by Sean Paul echoed in his poor ears as he walked among the T-shirts arranged on the hangers, running his hands over the cotton. His head moved along with the bass. Even though the hangover was deteriorating him, he couldn't miss the moments when could play music for him.

Walking down the men's jeans aisle, there you were: the shortest skirt he's ever seen, a coat that hugged your tits deliciously, and the most delicate earring dangling from your navel. You looked at the pants, moving your waist slightly, looking at the prices. Jimin wanted to reach out slowly, grab the belt loops of your mini skirt, and move you gently, pressing his now hard-on on you.

"How come I haven't seen you here before, doll?" He said, getting closer to your ear.

You opened your eyes, and the boy in front of you was chewing gum and wearing a white T-shirt, a small metal ball in the center of his tongue. 'Hello, my name is Jimin,' read a small card on his exercised chest. You smiled.

"What did you say?"

"I asked if you need help," Jimin spoke louder, once again having an excuse to get a little closer.

"Will you do it?"

The bubble Jimin was making exploded in his mouth when you dared to look him up and down. He nodded, a smile appearing on his features.

"I need a gift for my boyfriend."

Boyfriend? No surprise, you were a little piece of molded heaven. It's not like he cared, either. Jimin knew that he could take what he wanted, he had done it before and had no regrets.

"What does your boyfriend do?"

"He's a law student."

"Boring."

Surprised by his bold response you could only laugh with him. You hadn't realized but his body was so close to you that you didn't need to shout over the music.

"Is this part of your job?" You asked.

"What?"

"Giving opinions about customers."

"If I'm interested, yes." His responses were quick, he grabbed the gum from his mouth and threw it down a hallway. "Now, where do you work? Juicy or Spencer's"

"I study." You responded.

"Interesting, smart girl. I haven't been with one of those before."

"My friend warned me about Hollister employees." You mumbled, earning a chuckle from Jimin.

"And what do you think of them now?" 

You liked what you saw, a lot.

Your boyfriend was a sweetheart, seriously. But he was so stupid, thought he could change the way you dressed, how you put on makeup, or who you went out with. Like you were a project or something.

Jimin from Hollister, though, was ogling you. Eating you. His eyes staring at your waist uncensored, Daddy Yankee's 'Impacto' was ringing in your ears, and the lights were low enough to make you feel like having a little fun.

You raised your hand and Jimin took it without a second thought. You turned around and approached his baggy jeans. Jimin bent over until his head was resting on your shoulder, both of you moving with the music, his hands guiding your waist with agility.

The smell of strawberry perfume had Jimin on the verge of kissing your neck, your delicate hair, and the pink lipstick. You were like those Barbies his sister played with.

You turned around again, still moving. Jimin lowered his eyes to where you both pressed. He could see your nipples standing up and prayed they were pierced, too. His tongue passed over his lips just thinking about it.

Your diamond belt falling apart on his fingers without him realizing it out of nowhere.

"Like that, baby, slow. Let me see you." He whispered as your waist began to move slower.

You hissed as both of his hands squeezed your ass, you saw him bite his lip before moving closer to you.

"What flavor is the lipstick?"

"Cherry." You laughed as he pulled you closer. His sly smile had you melting.

"Will your little boyfriend mind if I try it?"

You denied and he wasted no time. His quick footsteps pushed you into a changing room, your back arching at the chill of the mirror behind you. His hands went to your hair, roughening it and undoing your high ponytail. Your Juicy glasses fall to the floor next to your pink bag.

"Won't he mind if I use you either?"

His hand guided you until you had your face resting on the mirror, you moaned as you felt your thong break on his fingers as if they were made of paper.

The rings on his fingers marked your skin as he squeezed the soft, inviting skin on your ass.

"You have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen in this store."

That made you blush, the juice falling to your thighs. You loved being told how pretty you looked, how adorable your tits were in that top, how long your legs could be in your favorite shorts, how you were prettier with cum on your face. What a shame you had to look for your boyfriend's friends and other men to tell you.

Jimin licked his hand with his pierced tongue and rubbed the tip of his cock, red and ready. The sting of feeling his thick member wanting to enter your tight pussy made you see stars, your legs failing.

"No, no, princess. Don't fall yet. Come, I'll hold you." The murmurs were tender as he grabbed your hair tightly and his forearm under your belly.

"B-big, too big."

"I know, sugar, I know. Just take it like a good little slut."

Penetrating completely, Jimin hissed, letting his skillful hips touch that spot inside you to make you wetter.

"You look like a bitch in heat, princess. Has it been long since you felt like this?" He cooed, leaving pecks on your cheeks and neck.

"You have no idea," You whimpered, creating a mist in your reflection with each moan.

"You had to come with a stranger to put it deep inside you, make you a mess," Jimin growled, grabbing your hands above your head, your manicured nails searching for something to clutch. You felt like you were going to explode with every crash against your ass.

Jimin wanted to leave you without panties and let your pussy spill his milk while you walked through the mall that afternoon. That you thought of him every time the inside of your thighs felt slippery.

When he came, he was so hard with your poor little body that he marked the sides of your meaty thighs so you wouldn't move, his cock throbbing and pumping cum until you were overflowing.

"Oh, fuck me. Fuck you, God, this pussy-mm" He mumbled incoherently.

Your used doll face was so sweet, with your drooping eyelashes and your mouth red and swollen from biting it so much. So heavenly.

Jimin zipped up his jeans, fixed his hair in the reflection next to you, and kissed your neck. Your Fliphone vibrated in your coat pocket, and he grabbed it.

"Yes? Yes, this is her phone. I mean...she's a little busy in the fitting room. My name? Jimin." Jimin frowned as the call closed. "Your boyfriend is not very happy. You lied to me, I think he does mind that I used you a little."

You tried to get up but were still weak. The information Jimin told you didn't faze you, your dad would probably get mad, but you didn't care.

"Come tomorrow at five, I'll buy you another one of those thongs if you're good. Yes?"

You nodded and received another grateful kiss. This time soft, sweet, a see you later.

If you want to read more about this couple here is another drabble about them ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ and ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡

[orphicdreamers-wp]

Calgary — Ethan Edwards

Summary: You find yourself slipping into old habits and only know one person who can help you. The one person who won’t talk to you. So you turn to music

Content Warnings; Drug addiction, mentions of a previous overdose, angst, mentions of oxycodone.

Pairing; Ethan Edwards x Reader

Based on Calgary by Tate McRae

You stared at the bottle of oxycodone pills on the floor in front of you. You were sitting in the middle of your dorm room floor in tears. This past term had been overly stressful for you, you knew double majoring in criminal justice and political science wasn’t going to be easy for you but you were determined to turn your life around when you changed majors from visual communications. You’d changed your major once you were welcomed back to UMich following your overdose. You had been suspended for 4 months for not following the student conduct policy. You were graciously welcomed back the following academic year, you decided to turn your life around then.

Mostly because your overdose cost you everyone in your life’s trust and support. You also lost more friends than you would like to admit. You wanted to be upset about it but you knew it was your own fault for the ending of your friendships. The biggest loss would have to have been the fact that you lost all the friendships you had with the UMich hockey players. You had no contact with your best friend since you were 3. You felt guilty for him finding you, you felt worse for the words you said to him in the hospital.

You finally caught your breath and shoved you phone and the pill bottle in your pocket as you walked into your private bathroom in your dorm room. You placed your phone on the floor besides the toilet bowl and dialed Ethan’s number. Your heart clenched with every ring, but even more when his voice mail played, “It’s Ethan, don’t leave a message that’s what texts are for.” You sighed after the beep, “Hey Eth, I know I shouldn’t have called but I’m not doing too well. I’m alone in my dorm right now packing to head home for break. I found a bottle of pills. I won’t lie, I thought about taking them. I thought I had my shit my together. I can’t take these though they look tempting. I can’t do that to you guys again.” You let out a sob as you dumped the bottle into the toilet and flushed the toilet. “I miss you E. I’m really sorry.” You hung up as another wretched sob wracked through your body.

Ethan let out a yawn as he sat down at his locker and opened his skate bag and tucked his skates into them neatly. He changed in record time, Mark was going to his girlfriend’s house for the weekend so Ethan had their apartment all to himself, which meant blasting Phoebe Bridgers during his shower in peace. He was sliding his hoodie over his head when he felt his phone in his sweatpants pocket. He hadn’t checked it since he’d come off the ice after practice. Not that he was expecting anything but out of habit.

He slightly panicked when he saw he had a missed call and a voicemail from you. He connected his headphones before pressing play to be met with your sad voice, “I found some pills.” Ethan’s heart rate spiked, he couldn’t lose you again, “I didn’t take any, I miss you E.” He had to sit down in order to not lose his balance. She didn’t take any, she’s okay. That was what Ethan was repeating to himself the entire drive back to his apartment.

—

A good 8 months had passed since you left Ethan that sad sob story on his voicemail. You took a 90 day leave from UMich and admitted yourself into a rehabilitation program. You also started NA and AA immediately after leaving the program. You returned to school and made the deans list and you had taken up songwriting. You also changed majors again to Entrepreneurship and opened a coffee shop.cYou still had a lot of forgiveness to ask for, but you were mending a lot of broken relationships. You hadn’t had any contact with Ethan or anyone you knew around that time. Currently you sat on a barstool holding a acoustic guitar in your coffee shop off of campus. You had expected to see Ethan around campus and in classes, definitely not here and definitely not with a handful of other UMich hockey players.

You tore your eyes away from him and adjusted the microphone in front of you, “Hi guys.” The usual Thursday night crowd, who all had their stories and songs or poems they shared greeted you back. You cleared your throat, “For anyone who doesn’t know how this works. Welcome to Thursday Tunes here at Blessing UnDisguised. I am the owner of the coffee shop and my name is Y/N and I am a recovering alcoholic and addict. I opened this place as I like to call it around 3 months ago. I had my struggles with my recovery and wanted to give myself and others a safe place. And many of my regular costumers here know I write music now, so I have a song I’d like to share if you don’t mind.”

Your eyes held a glimmer Ethan hadn’t seen in years and it almost brought tears to his eyes. He hadn’t heard from you or seen you since before you left him that voicemail. He didn’t reach out, mainly because he didn’t want to hurt you by not being what you needed. But in this moment he could see you had finally gotten the help and stability you needed. A proud smile formed on his face as you tuned your guitar, “Okay so some backstory to this song, I wrote this about 8 months ago. I wrote this while I laid on the floor on my room in rehab. I had realized the night before that I still needed help. Admittedly I called my ex and dumped some of my problems on him. Which I shouldn’t have done. But I checked myself into rehab the next day. I wrote this about a time in my life where I didn’t have anyone because I had drugs. I’ve struggled with drug use since I was 15 years old. I’m now 21, as of 2 days ago. So here’s a song I wrote about being 20 and just feeling alone.”

Same bar, same street. I’m 20 but I still feel 15. Sane fears, same dreams. Still tryna get my brother to like me. You said I always seemed to land on my feet. But I got problems hanging like a chain around my neck. Trying but I’m barely seeing past 23. And the best of me, right now, is lookin a lot like a mess.

I thought I had my shit together. Can’t lie the pills are looking tempting. I thought I was hettting better. No I got better at pretendin.

Old friends, downtown. They didn’t like me then and don’t like me now. Im drunk, oh, wow. My old habits came back around. ‘I’ll figure it out’ that’s what I say. Figure it out and take a break. I’ll figure it out, maybe one day.

I’ll finally get my shit together. Can’t lie, the pills are looking tempting. I thought that I was getting better, no I got better at pretendin.

And I do it again. I’m a creature of habit. The moments gone but I’m still tryna catch it. Everyone left and I never got past in. Never got past it. Same bar, same street. I’m 20 but I still feel 15.”

Ethan felt a pang of sadness in his chest upon hearing his own words he’d used against you in the hospital after you overdosed. Something that stuck with him for a day, but had stuck with you for a year. He felt guilt for abandoning you when you needed him. Mark felt the guilt in his stomach, you’d tried to stay in touch with him, shooting him congratulations messages when they won games, liking his instagram posts and congratulating him on his engagement to his long time girlfriend Zoe. But he ignored you.

You exited the small stage and went behind the stack of books acting as a divider between the customers and workers. You bend down to grab a bottle of water from the cooler and when you stood back up, you were met face to face with Ethan, Mark and a few other players. You felt like crying when you saw the way they were looking at you, “So what do you think? You guys like Blessings UnDisguised or what?” Mark smiled, “It’s beautiful Y/N.” Seamus Casey and Rutger McGroaty were too engrossed in the hockey posters on the walls to reply. Zoe and a red headed girl you knew to be Luca’s girlfriend were flipping through the box of old love letters in the middle of the room to reply.

Ethan stood in front of you with an unreadable expression on his face, “You used it as decor? Here?” He was staring directly behind you. There were two(awfully made) pottery cups on a shelf behind you. They held tea bags and sugar packets. You and Ethan had made them at some pottery shop on a date your freshman year of college. You looked at him, “You always told me I’d find my calling and be amazing. I guess sometimes I still need a reminder.” Ethan smiled, “I’m really proud of you Y/N.” You smiled, “Thanks E. I’m really happy now. I’m proud of you too.”

[astroyongie]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Heaven and Back

Parings: Sunghoon x Reader

Warnings: slight smut, mentions of drug and alcohol intake, poor mental health, sub intendo of auto harmful behaviors.

Read with: https://open.spotify.com/intl-pt/track/1JdQibdvxgcrB8Rv1KFndw?si=0a3f35afa0414d89

It was ringing. The loud sound of the music bombing against your earbuds and people punching each other to get inside the club made you a little too alert. It had been your idea really. To come clubbing, in a pathetic attempt to numb the feeling inside your chest due to your breakup. You had exaggerated your makeup, done your hair nicely, asked your nail tech to give your hands a second life and your short dress glued to your curve like a glove.

You were self conscious. But at this particular moment, you would have traded your soul with the devil if it meant to feel anything but the hurt that was consuming your being. Your friend had warned you, this club was different, it wasn't the type of club one would come to just have fun.

You knew it. Yet, you wanted to know what it felt like to go hell and back. 

“Are you sure you wanna do this, y/n?” 

Your friend yelled at your ear which only made you laugh. You had drowned your 3 shots in less than half an hour, still not tipsy enough to join the crowd dancing. Laying before you on the countertop, was your half drunken drink, vodka with coke if you remembered well. What you hadn’t expected was the bartender to slip in front of you what seemed to be a yellow pill with a smiley face on it. A pill of ecstasy. 

Honestly, if anyone said to you that you would one day be in one of Itaewon's most renowned nightclubs, drinking to your heart’s content and getting high, you would have laughed at their face.

But shit happens. And right now, your heart was too broken, too foul to even rationalize the danger of your actions. No, you weren’t sure. Probably mixing alcohol and this type of stimulant was a terrible idea, but you were past the curiosity. You just wanted the pain to stop. As long as you could numb these feelings on your chest and forget about that prick that broke your heart, you would be fine.

“C’mon, don’t think I would puss out of this!” you said with a loud voice, almost like you were trying to reassure yourself. The music was resonating loudly, the atmosphere of the club humid and thick in smoke. The scent of alcohol and cigarettes was heavy, it made your eyes cry but it also emptied your mind of any feeling. 

Without a second thought you popped the pill inside your mouth, using the vodka to wash it away. Your face scrunched at the bitter taste before you yelled in excitement. Taking your friend by her arms you dragged her to the dance floor ready to allow your mind to turn into nothing putty. 

“Hey, are you sure you are alright?” Your friend asked, their worried features making you want to get violent. You hated when people took pity on you.

“I am fine, geez stop asking and just let me have fun!”

“Fine, just don’t get yourself in trouble!”

You ignored them, proceeding with your sloppy and most certainly, embarrassing dance moves. The music was loud, the beat hitting your eardrums as you danced to the sound, laughing. Sticky bodies danced around you, and you tried to blend in with their mouvements, allowing yourself to release the pressure on your shoulders. You could feel the effects of ecstasy hitting your body. You felt lighter, not worried about the thoughts of others. It felt euphoric. You closed your eyes, allowing the music to take possession of your body as you moved without a care of the world. 

Feeling a soft hand on your smaller back, you open your eyes. Behind you, a young man stood there, his light brown hair falling gently over his eyes. He looked amused by you, a soft smile on his lips as he leaned into your ear.

“Sorry, but you have been sticking on me.” 

“I was?” You asked, turning around to face him before leaning to answer, talking over the music. He smelled like vanilla. “Sorry about that”

“It’s fine,” The stranger boy said, locking eyes with you for a moment, before adding “You okay?”

“Shit, yeah sorry!” you said, almost stumbling on your own feet. His hands gripped your waist tighter, not allowing you to fall. “What’s your name?” You asked, obvious of his actions, your own brain functioning way slower than usual. 

The boy smiled wide. “Sunghoon”

“Well, Sunghoon, you are gorgeous!”

“And you are drunk” 

You shrugged, not caring. In another context you would have been ashamed of yourself and ask forgiveness for your shameless behavior, but with the drug in your system you couldn't care less. You felt way too satisfied. 

“Sunghoon, wanna dance with me?”

You asked, grabbing the boy by the collar of his white shirt. He didn't struggle, instead he offered you a nod, his hands lazily going to your hips, without putting much pressure in case you changed your mind. 

You smirked, the foreign feeling of having someone else touching you, making you elated. Dancing with Sunghoon proved to be way easier than what you thought. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you swung your body left and right at the rhythm of the music. He followed your movements easily, a little smile plastered on his face. 

His eyes watched you attentively and you grinned. This was so much easier when the drug and alcohol were in your system and you didn't care about the dumbass of your ex anymore. Your heart felt light and for a moment, you wanted nothing more but to enjoy this. You felt Sunghoon’s lips travel close to your neck, without totally touching you. The ghosting feeling makes you tighten your grip around him. 

“Stop teasing me”

You groaned, pulling yourself closer to him, directing his face to your own lips. The kiss was subtle, yet needy. Sunghoon wasted no time in licking your bottom lip before slipping his tongue inside your mouth. The sinful sound you made was muffled by the loud music in the background, your bodies still moving together.

You kissed him back, until you were forced to break apart from the lack of air. You licked your lips flashing him a smile before you turned your body around. This time, Sunghoon’s hands gripped your waist firmly as your body grinned against his, your hips moving sensually against his bulge. You couldn’t hear him but you felt his body rigid against yours. This felt way more nice than what you were expecting.

“What’s your name?” Sunghoon asked, his hot breath against your ear making you shiver. You turned your head slightly to answer him

“Y/n” 

He hummed in response, capturing your lips in the process. The kiss was slower, more passionate and wet. He moved his tongue slowly against yours, his hands shamelessly traveling from your exposed thigh, up to your waist. You could feel everything, from his breath and his taste and it was driving you crazy. You needed more. You needed him more, that was a certainty. 

“Wanna go somewhere quieter?” Sunghoon asked against your lips, planting a few light ones along between his words. 

You agreed with a nod of your head. Parting away from you, Sunghoon held your hand before pulling you away from the dancefloor. At this point, you didn't even remember your friend and honestly, you didn't care at all. The people started to be less and less, and the moment you got more air to breathe, you felt your legs weak. A crashing wave of sickness making your body shiver in cold sweat.

“Hey, you okay?” Sunghoon asked as you both reached the bottom of the staircases, that led you to the lounge. It was not a private space, but it provided comfort for those who needed a breath from the euphoria happening downstairs. You nodded your head. “Yea, I just want you” You murmured, trying to reach on your tiptoes to kiss him. When your lips were on his earlier, you didn’t feel this awful. Sunghoon leaned down, kissing you once again. The kiss was this time softer, almost caring and you felt your whole body shake in need. Or perhaps it was the effects of alcohol and drugs finally catching you up for your mistakes. 

When he broke apart again, Sunghoon helped you up the stairs until you both reached the lounge. His hands were still on your body, leading you to one of the empty red couches. When you finally sat down, you felt your head turning, the dizzy feeling making you nauseous. You felt Sunghoon sit next to you, but you could barely see him. The strong scent of vanilla was the only thing stopping you from dripping into unconsciousness. 

“You okay?” Sunghoon asked once again, his hand on your exposed thigh burning your skin. His voice was worried, but when looking at his face, you couldn't even process his facial expression. You nodded, your hands searching for his warmth as you tried to pull him into yet, another kiss. His lips moved gracefully against your, and you were aware of how pathetic you might look, the boiling feeling reaching your stomach.

A bad trip? you thought. The drug was making you feel sick, and even the sweet taste of sunghoon wasn’t erasing that unsettling feeling of guilt inside your mind. Your 3 years relationship had just finished and you were coping miserably. Instead of facing your emotions, you were in a club drugged, drunk and kissing this nice stranger. 

You wanted to throw up. No, you didn't have the energy for that, you were just feeling yourself slip away. Were you going to die in the arms of a stranger?

Sunghoon pulled away, his gaze watching you. You faintly noticed his seriousness. His hand caressed your cheek and you felt your skin wet. Were you crying? 

“You lied, you are not fine. You are terrified.”

The graveness of his voice made you break. Without controlling your body anymore, you sobbed in shame, hiding your face in your hands. Sunghoon gently held you, pulling you close to his body. 

“I don’t want to die. But I feel like I am dying, why everything hurt so much”

“It 's okay.. I am here.”

Sunghoon held you, the warmness of his body calming the waves of shivers running down your spine. This was beyond sad. Grinding on a stranger and crying on his arms like you have known him all your life. 

“I wanted to feel heaven. But why am I feeling like hell?.”

“Y/n?, hey y/n”

The sound of Sunghoon’s voice became muffled, as if he was meters away from you. The lights were getting dim and you felt your ears rigging. And then, nothing. The darkness you had tried to run away from, crawling back to you and swallowing you whole.  

You were finally doing it. Going to Heaven and back. 

[whispersleo]

The Wolf - Aren x Oz fic Words: 3,568

Relationships: Rook/Rook (Dragon Age)

Additional Tags:  Blood and Gore, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy After Violence, Blood and Tenderness, Devotion, Trauma Bonding, Alcohol

Summary: Oz saw the truth in Aren’s eyes. Not fury, but something far worse. Something that had been waiting a long, long time to come out and play.

Read here or in AO3!

Note: This fic takes place in the Modern Apartment AU setting made by @dragonagegayz , basically everything's the same but takes place now, in his own words <3 So we all wanted to see Aren finally breaking and acting as the loyal but nervous attack dog he is, right? Kisses en la cola, Leo <3

[ 'Cause I can feel how your flesh now is crying out for more. ]

Oz didn’t find it hard to enjoy the circus spectacle. After following Aren so many times to watch him perform, he’d thought he might get bored—but the truth was, it was always entertaining. Especially if his boyfriend made sure to score him some drugs before the show started. Nothing too strong, of course; things could go south fast if they mixed pills and alcohol while watching a full-blown circus performance; clowns, acrobatics, fire, and dizzying lights that stunned as much as they mesmerized.

Besides, he was still recovering from his injuries. The long-sleeved shirt clinging to his body with a jacket on top was just for that, to avoid unwanted stares. But it didn’t matter now. He was having a good time, munching on popcorn, half-drowsy from the pills and alcohol. He’d be fine. Aren would come get him when the show ended, and they’d probably crash in the trailer before heading back to the apartment in the morning. Or, if there was a party with the circus folk, they might stay. It was tradition. Oz wasn’t about to argue with his boyfriend after everything that had happened. He was ready to say yes to anything Aren suggested. 

Calypso had left just a few minutes earlier, leaving the seat beside Oz empty. They were in the front row but tucked in a corner, the best free seats Aren could secure for his guests, which meant they were shrouded in near-total darkness. Oz thought he sensed movement beside him, but he was too drowsy to care. Not until a hand slid up his inner thigh, just beneath the hem of his shorts, did he finally look. A man. Big, even for a human. Bulky, with a stench that hit Oz like burnt butter. Between his heavy eyelids and the dim lighting, he couldn’t make out much else. Oz wanted to speak. To shove him away. But he realized—he couldn’t move his mouth. Shock, sluggishness from whatever he’d taken—his thoughts were fog smothering his brain.

The man was saying something, Oz was sure of it. He could feel the heat of his breath against his cheek, the smell worsening as it crawled into his nose. But he couldn’t understand him, only the movement of that hand, sliding higher. Oz froze as the man touched him. The popcorn bag slipped from his fingers and hit the ground, and the stranger laughed, a disgusting sound against his skin. Bile rose in Oz’s throat. Then the man grabbed his wrist and dragged his hand toward his own pants. Oz’s stomach dropped when he felt the erection.

He was a slut. That’s what people called him, what they whispered. Even Aren called him a whore. Oz liked that attention, the thrill of being wanted. He took pride in it, didn’t he? But this, this wasn’t what he wanted. What the fuck was wrong with him? He should’ve hit the guy, screamed, at least pushed him away. But he was paralyzed, locked in place as the man undid his zipper and—

Suddenly, flames erupted in his vision. The man yelped in surprise, the crowd roaring, and in the burst of light, he finally let go, as if the qunari burned him worse than the fire.

Oz blinked, vision clearing, adrenaline snapping him awake. The source became clear: Aren had stepped out of the spotlight, moving toward the edge of the ring. He was still meters away, but the fire he’d spat was close enough to terrify, not scorch. Normally, Oz would’ve loved seeing him like this; sweaty from the effort, his hair glowing even more red under the torchlight, swallowing oil and roaring fireballs one after another. But tonight, at this exact moment, Aren’s eyes weren’t alight with their usual playful glint. They were dead. Fixed on Oz.

That look was all it took. Oz stumbled out of his seat, nearly tripping as he fled the tent. The night air hit him, cold and sharp. Outside was quiet, dark—a maze of parked cars and performers’ trailers making it impossible to see. He reached a car and slumped against it, arms wrapped tight around himself. He dragged his hands through his hair, then slammed his fists against his skull, a sob clawing at his throat. Goddammit. Goddammit. What the hell was that? He staggered deeper into the maze of vehicles, unsteady. His ears were muffled, the alcohol and the fucking pills he now regretted clouding everything. This wasn’t him. He should’ve hit the guy, knocked his teeth out, made a scene. A quiet sob escaped as he curled forward, hugging himself. Fuck. He’d just stood there like some helpless victim. No. Not him. Never him.

Oz’s legs gave out again. He slumped behind a parked van, the cold asphalt biting through his shorts as he pressed his back against the tire. His breath came in ragged bursts, too loud in his own ears. Move. Get up. Run. But his body wouldn’t listen. The world tilted, the edges of his vision blurring, alcohol and whatever the fuck Aren had given him turning his limbs to lead.

Then he heard it. Footsteps. Multiple. A gruff voice, the same one that had whispered against his cheek in the tent: "Check behind the trailers. Little shit can’t have gone far."

Oz’s stomach lurched. Fuck. Fuck. He wasn’t alone. Peering around the van’s bumper, he saw them: four figures fanning out across the parking lot. The man from the tent, broad-shouldered and smirking, led the pack. Two others flanked him, one cracking his knuckles, the other holding a length of rope like it was a joke. The fourth lingered near the circus tents, blocking the path back to safety. Oz’s fingers dug into his own arms hard enough to bruise. Think. Move. But his body was betraying him, sluggish and heavy. He tried to push himself up, but his arms trembled, his knees buckling. The world swam, colors smearing. Headlights? Voices?

"Over here," someone called. Too close. Oz lurched forward, staggering between two trucks. His vision tunneled, the parking lot stretching endlessly. Behind him, laughter. "Look at him, fucking wasted." A hand grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around. The man from the tent grinned down at him, breath reeking of cheap beer and something rancid. "Thought you could run, pretty thing?"

Oz swung. Or tried to. His fist connected with nothing but air, his balance giving way as the man shoved him backward. He hit the ground hard, the impact jolting through his tailbone. The others closed in, their shadows swallowing him. Oz’s mouth was cotton. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t scream. The rope guy looped a length around his wrist, yanking him upright with a laugh. "C’mon, let’s take him somewhere quiet."

They dragged him toward the edge of the lot, where the pavement gave way to a dead-end alley—dark, lined with dumpsters, far enough from the circus that no one would hear. Oz’s pulse hammered in his throat. This isn’t happening. His feet scraped against asphalt, but he couldn’t get traction. Couldn’t fight.

The man from the tent crowded him against a brick wall, one hand fisting in Oz’s hair. "You like attention, right?" His free hand tugged at Oz’s shorts. "Let’s give you a real show."

The qunari squeezed his eyes shut.

A wet snarl split the night. Not human. Not even close.

The men froze.

Oz knew that sound. Knew the way the air itself seemed to vibrate with it.

Aren wasn’t just angry.

He was here.

The first man died before he could turn around.

Aren moved like something unstitched from the world—all coiled violence and shuddering breath, his circus dark silks with the pink decorations flaring under the flickering lot lights. His fist connected with the back of the rope-holder’s skull with a crack that sent teeth skittering across the asphalt. The man dropped, twitching, and Aren didn’t stop. He wrenched the corpse’s head back by the hair and slammed it into the brick wall. Once. Twice.

Brains smeared like wet paint. Oz gagged.

The other three men stumbled back, but Aren was already on the second—the knuckle-cracker—grabbing his throat with one hand and squeezing until the man’s eyes bulged. His free hand found the man’s wrist, twisted, snapped. The scream was cut short as Aren drove his knee into the man’s ribs, collapsing his chest with a sickening crunch.

The third man pulled a knife. Aren didn’t flinch. The blade sank into his shoulder, deep, blood soaking the simple sleeve. Aren laughed, a jagged, broken sound, and yanked the man closer by the knife handle. "Wrong move," he rasped, breath hot against the man’s face.

He bit him. Not a warning. Not a scrape of teeth. Aren tore out his throat. Blood sprayed. The man gurgled, clutching at the ruin of his neck as Aren spat the meat onto the ground. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing crimson across his cheek, and turned to the last man. The one from the tent.

The man was already backing away, hands raised. "Fuck—fuck—I didn’t—"

Aren lunged. He tackled him to the ground, knees pinning the man’s arms, fingers digging into his jaw. "You touched him," Aren hissed, pupils blown wide, voice fraying at the edges. The hallucinations flickered behind his eyes—shadows twisting, whispers only he could hear. "You dirty, filthy piece of shit."

His thumbs found the man’s eyes. And pushed. The scream was unbearable. Oz retched, bile burning his throat as Aren worked, methodical, slow, peeling the man apart like he had all the time in the world. Fingers in his mouth, ripping teeth loose. Nails down his chest, peeling skin like a fruit rind. The man sobbed, begged, but Aren didn’t stop.

Not until the body stopped twitching. Not until the alley was painted red.

Aren swayed, blood dripping from his fingertips, his shoulder a ruined mess. He turned to Oz, blinking like he was surfacing from deep water. "Oz?" His voice was small. "Are you hurt?"

Oz couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. This isn’t happening. Aren staggered toward him, hands outstretched—gentle now, careful—but Oz flinched. His hands hovered in the air between them, trembling. Blood dripped from his fingertips onto the asphalt, each drop too loud in the sudden silence. His face did something terrible then; all the animal fury draining away, leaving behind something young and wounded. "Oz," he whispered, voice cracking.

The knife still protruded from his shoulder, the poor fabric below it gone dark and sticky. In the flickering lot lights, with his hair coming loose from its performance bun, he looked like a kid playing dress-up in a gory costume. Oz's body moved before his mind caught up. He reached out, fingers brushing Aren's wrist. The contact seemed to startle them both. "We need to—" Oz's voice came out shredded. He swallowed, tried again. "Your shoulder."

Aren blinked at him like he'd spoken in another language. His knees buckled. Oz barely caught him, the deadweight sending them both to the ground. Aren's skin burned against his, fever-hot even through the blood. "Fuck, okay—okay—" Oz hooked an arm around Aren's waist, ignoring the way his own hands shook. The trailer wasn't far. If they could just make it there before, before someone caught them in this mess. With the bodies. Oh, the bodies.

Aren made a small, wounded noise against his neck. The sound went straight through Oz's ribs. "Shh, I've got you," he murmured, half-dragging him forward. The words tasted strange in his mouth, but in his clouded mind there wasn't even room for the context of the last time he said them to be reproduced. Aren leaned into him, breathing ragged, and Oz realized with a jolt that his boyfriend was scared.

The trailer door slammed shut behind them, sealing out the world. Oz guided Aren onto the narrow bed, the springs creaking under their combined weight. Blood smeared across the sheets, bright against the faded floral pattern.

Oz's fingers hovered over the knife handle. "This is gonna hurt."

Aren's laugh came out wet and broken. "Already does."

The blade came free with a sickening slide. The redhead didn't scream, just went very still, his breath hitching. In the dim light, Oz could see the wound pulsing, the edges ragged. "Fuck, we need—"

Aren caught his wrist. His grip was weak but insistent. "Look at me." Oz hadn't realized he'd been staring at the blood. He forced his gaze up. Aren's eyes were glassy with pain, but clear for the first time since the tent. "Are you okay?"

The question punched the air from Oz's lungs. Four men were dead in an alley because of him, Aren was bleeding out, and he was asking, he was asking if he—

Oz's vision blurred. A hot tear splashed onto their joined hands. Aren made that wounded noise again, reaching up with his free hand. His thumb brushed Oz's cheekbone, smearing blood and tears together. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to—"

Oz caught his hand, pressed it harder against his face. "Don't."

The trailer smelled like copper, weed and sweat and the vanilla air freshener dangling from the ceiling. Somewhere outside, a generator hummed. Aren's breathing was getting shallower. Oz pressed a wad of fabric to the wound, watching his boyfriend's face tighten.

"You're an idiot," Oz said, voice thick. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched. Aren's skin was clammy. The reality of what had happened pressed down on them both; the bodies cooling outside, the knife wound, the way Aren had looked at him in the alley like he'd tear the world apart with his teeth. For him. For Oz.

Oz exhaled shakily. "We need to clean this."

Aren's fingers tangled in his shirt. "Stay."

Like Oz would be anywhere else.

The first aid kit in the trailer was a joke. Some band-aids, expired painkillers, and a half-empty bottle of vodka. Oz stared at it, hands hovering over the contents like they might rearrange themselves into something useful. "Fuck," he muttered, fingers brushing the vodka. "This'll burn."

Aren's laugh was thin again. "I eat fire for a living."

Oz uncapped the bottle with his teeth. The smell hit him first, sharp, medicinal. He poured it over the wound before he could think too hard. Aren hissed, his free hand fisting in the sheets. Blood and alcohol dripped onto the mattress, soaking into the fabric.

"Sorry, sorry," Oz pressed a cleanish t-shirt against the wound. His hands were shaking. The drugs and alcohol still hummed in his veins, making everything feel slightly unreal. Like this was a bad dream. Like those men weren't really dead in the alley. Like Aren hadn't—

Aren's hand covered his, warm and sticky with blood. "You're doing good."

Oz swallowed hard. The praise sat strangely in his chest. He wasn't the careful one. He wasn't the one who patched people up. That was Aren's job. Always Aren's job alone to help himself with the wounds he caused to his body. Alone. Not this time, though. The bleeding had slowed, at least. Oz wrapped a length of bandage around Aren's shoulder, his fingers clumsy. The white fabric turned pink almost immediately.

"Need to..." Aren's voice was slurred. He blinked slowly, like he was fighting to stay awake. "Need to clean up. Outside. Someone will see when the show finishes."

Oz's stomach twisted. The bodies. The blood. The fucking teeth scattered across the pavement. "I'll do it," he said, too quickly.

Aren's fingers tightened around his wrist. "No. Not alone." He tried to sit up, then grimaced, his face going pale.

"Stay the fuck down," Oz snapped. He pushed Aren back onto the mattress, harder than he meant to. Aren went easily, boneless. His hair was a mess, the bun completely undone now, red curls sticking to his forehead with sweat.

Oz grabbed his jacket from the floor, black, oversized, the one Aren always said made him look like a drowned crow, and draped it over Aren's shoulders. It swallowed him whole.

"You're shivering," Oz muttered.

Aren blinked up at him, pupils blown. "Did I... did I really...?" Oz didn't answer. He didn't need to. The blood under Aren's nails was answer enough. The older qunari stared at his hands like he didn't recognize them. "Oh."

Oz grabbed the vodka bottle and took a swig. It burned all the way down. "We need to move. Before someone finds..." He trailed off.

Aren nodded, slow and dreamlike. He let Oz help him to his feet, swaying dangerously. The jacket slipped off one shoulder, revealing the edge of the bandage, already seeping through. Oz swallowed another mouthful of vodka. The world tilted slightly, but it helped. It always helped.

Outside, the lot was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt like it was holding its breath.

Oz's shoes stuck to the pavement as they approached the alley. The smell hit him first, copper and something fouler already. Four bodies. Aren made a small, wounded noise behind him. Oz didn't look back. He couldn't. If he looked, he'd see the way Aren's hands were shaking. The way his eyes kept darting to the shadows, like they might reach out and grab him. Instead, Oz grabbed the nearest corpse by the ankles. The skin was still warm.

"Help me," he said, voice rough. Aren didn't move. Oz tugged harder. The body slid a few inches, leaving a dark streak on the pavement. "Aren. Help me. Now."

Something in his voice must have snapped Aren out of it. He moved forward, slow but steady, and grabbed the other end. Together, they dragged the first body toward the dumpster. Oz's arms ached. His head spun. The vodka sloshed in his stomach, threatening to come back up. One body. Then two. Then three.The last one, the one from the tent, was the worst. His face was... gone. Just red pulp and white bone. Aren made a choked sound and turned away, pressing his forehead against the brick wall. His shoulders shook. 

Oz stared at the body. At what was left of it. At what Aren had done. For him. 

He grabbed the ankles and pulled.

The motorcycle ride was a blur of wind and pain. They tried not to leave anything in the trailer, although there was no promise that it would have been a perfect job. Aren's grip on the handlebars kept slipping, his bandaged shoulder leaking fresh blood with every bump in the road. Oz clung to his waist, face pressed between Aren's shoulder blades, breathing in the metallic tang of blood and sweat. The bike swerved dangerously as Aren's vision blurred, but somehow they made it, skidding to a stop outside their shitty apartment building with rubber burning on asphalt. Inside, Oz guided Aren to their stained mattress, hands shaking as he peeled away the blood-soaked bandages. The wound was ugly; a ragged tear where the knife had gone in deep. Aren watched him work with glassy eyes, his breathing shallow.

"I think you're gonna need stitches," Oz muttered, fingers hovering over the torn flesh.

Aren shook his head. "Just wrap it." His voice was hoarse, like he'd been screaming. Maybe he had. Oz couldn't remember.

The first clean bandage soaked through immediately. Oz pressed another against the wound, his hands trembling. Something hot and wet dripped onto Aren's bare chest, in the black ink and scars. Tears. Oz was crying. He couldn't remember starting. "Aren, I—" His voice broke. The words tangled in his throat, knotted up with all the things he couldn't say. Thank you. I'm sorry. What have we done? What have you done?

Aren's hand came up, fingers brushing Oz's cheek. His touch was surprisingly gentle for someone who'd ripped out a man's throat with his teeth moments before. "Hey. Look at me." Oz forced his gaze up. Aren's eyes were clearer now, the gold of them almost glowing in the dim apartment light. There was something terrifyingly soft in his expression, something that made Oz's chest ache. "I'd do it again," Aren whispered. "A hundred times."

The younger qunari choked on a sob. He leaned down, pressing his forehead where his horns began against Aren's, their breath mingling. "You're fucking insane."

Aren's laugh was warm against his lips. "Yeah." Then Oz was kissing him, desperate and messy, tasting blood and vodka and something uniquely Aren. His hands fisted in Aren's ruined sleeve, pulling him closer even as Aren hissed in pain.

"I love you," Oz gasped between kisses, the words spilling out like a dam had broken. "Fuck, I love you so much, you stupid, violent bastard—" Aren kissed him harder, his good arm wrapping around Oz's waist. They fell back onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and bandages, Oz careful not to jostle Aren's injury even as he clung to him like a lifeline.

Eventually, Aren's breathing evened out, his grip loosening as exhaustion pulled him under. Oz stayed awake longer, watching the rise and fall of Aren's chest, counting each breath like a prayer. Outside, dawn was breaking. The world kept turning. Four men were dead in an alley. And Oz… Oz had never loved anything as much as he loved the monster sleeping in his arms.

[ciaossu-imagines]

So, I used prompt 7, number 14 from Day 17 of the event for G. from Katekyo Hitman Reborn! I don’t often get to write about the Primo Generation characters, so this was fun!

Does the character take any sleeping aids (ex: pills, melatonin supplements, etc.)?

So, obviously there weren’t many sleep aids available during the Primo generation’s time period so we’re going to modernize this generation a little, just because sleeping aids are more plentiful and available now.

Now, overall, despite being a night owl by nature, I don’t see G. as having a really hard time sleeping. Most of the time, he sleeps pretty well. It takes him a bit to fall asleep but once he is asleep, he’s pretty dead to the world for at least a good four to five hours.

It’s why G. can’t really nap. Once he’s out, he’s solidly out for hours on end. He can’t just sleep for little amounts of time and honestly, the half-hour he meant to spend napping is just enough time for him to fall asleep.

Like I said – getting to sleep is the hardest part for him. He lays down and tries to relax and go to sleep. However, there’s something about this relaxed state that really fires up his brain and he gets preoccupied with whatever’s in his brain and it takes him a while to sort out his head and shut his brain down enough to fall asleep.

The only time this doesn’t ring true is if he’s sick or physically just absolutely exhausted. If he’s sick, G.’s someone who needs a lot of sleep to heal up and feel better and after injury or spending a lot of time fighting or staying up, he’s out like a light when he finally does get the chance to sleep.

The only time G. really has serious sleep issues other than this is when he’s really stressed about something or really excited about something. He’s so impatient when it comes to things he’s looking forward to and he’s so eager to get to them that he finds it hard to unwind enough to sleep. And, of course, stress does the same thing for him, where his brain won’t shut down and his body is tense, and he can’t unwind.

It’s at those points where he really does have an almost impossible time falling to sleep, where it can take him two to three hours to even fall asleep and his body doesn’t actually conk out like he normally does.

At those points, I think G. would try to suffer through it rather than take sleeping aids. If it got really bad, he would rather use melatonin than an actual over the counter sleeping pill or a doctor prescribed one. He doesn’t want the risk of drowsiness or grogginess the next day because it could seriously impact his work.

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

Seeking Comfort in Persuasion

Summary - Part 32 in the Comfort series

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader, Reader x Sam (platonic), Reader x Bobby (father-figure), Andre (OG Character) x Reader (best friends)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist 

He has his gun drawn as he opens the door cautiously. His body is tense. The second he sees you sitting there on his bed his face falls. He dumps his gun and keys on the table and uses the back of one of the chairs to steady himself as he calms down.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says stiffly.

“Your note said I should find a man that makes me happy, provides for me and protects me … I’m just doing what you asked.”

“I can’t protect you. I just keep putting you in danger.”

You stand up and walk over to the table where he’s standing. You put one hand on top of his. “Everything you do is to protect me. You came here, to a fancy beachfront hotel in Miami to protect me. You and I both know this isn’t your scene, and that’s exactly why you’re here. It’s the last place I would’ve looked.”

He pulls his hand away from yours and paces around the room, his hands running through his hair. “You know exactly why I’m here then. And exactly why we can’t be together.”

You know he’s not going to give in easily. You can see how hard he’s trying to resist you and push you away. “I know what the demons said and what they want.”

“And what? You’re willing to just hand them exactly what they want?”

“No. But I am willing to let you get a certain procedure.” 

He spins around and gives you a confused look. “You’re willing to give up your dream of a family for me? You know how that makes me look and feel?”

You walk over to him and take his hands in yours effectively stopping his pacing and fidgeting. “For us. I don’t need a baby to be happy, Dean. I want a family, I have that already with you and Sam. And if we eventually do get out and want a family of our own then there are other ways. Plenty of couples can’t have children.”

“I won’t raise a child in this life.”

“I know, so you get the snip or whatever and we look into adoption when and if we ever get out.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “You can handle a little pain, right? Condoms and pills aren’t safe enough. If we agree on this we need a more permanent solution and it’s your blood they want.”

He starts to nod and then tries to pull away again but you tighten your grip. “Y/N …”

“You asked me a question once, did you mean it?”

“I’ve asked you a lot of questions.”

You slowly let go of his hands and take a step back and strip out of the flannel to reveal your white dress. He instinctively checks you out and he can’t hide his appreciation of this look on you. You step forward again and take his hands back in yours. 

“Dean, my love, I know how well you know me. So, I know that you know that I’m a romantic at heart. Despite my ability to hunt and kill things, you know that when I come home at night all I want is someone to cuddle up to and talk to about it all. No other man is ever going to understand what I’ve seen, what I’ve done … no other man will ever be able to understand me the way you do. You’ve been through everything I have and more, you get it. You know the mark it leaves. But you also know how to make me feel better. Even without words you know how to make me feel loved and like everything is gonna be okay.”

“Baby…”

“Dean Winchester, you asked me once, so now I'm asking you. Did you mean it?”

A tear slips down his cheek so you reach up to wipe it away, but as you do he catches your hand and brings it up to his lips. “Sweetheart, I can’t.”

“Just answer the question. When you gave me this ring, did you mean it?”

“Of course, I meant it. But…”

You can tell his resolve is breaking and you start to feel a little guilty for pushing too hard, so you change your approach. “I love you. You’re it for me, Dean. But I won’t force you into this if it’s not what you want, it’s not fair. You trying to break off our engagement in a letter wasn’t right or fair, but two wrongs don’t make a right. So, if you truly don’t want this … me … us … then I’ll respect that.” 

“You’ll never be safe as long as you’re with me. There’ll always be angels, demons and a whole array of other monsters trying to get to me and they’ll keep using you. I can never have children. How can you want this life? How can you want me?”

“You knew exactly what words to write. You know exactly the man I want. Someone I can depend on. There’s no one I depend on more than you.” You bring one of his hands to your waist as you hook yours around his neck. Even in the heels you have to get on your tip toes but you do as you bring your lips to his in a soft kiss. You feel his hand bunch the fabric of your dress in his fist as he pulls you closer deepening the kiss.

When he pulls back so you can both get air he takes the opportunity to make you take a step back and spin you around so he can fully admire your outfit. Then he pulls you back to his chest. “You’re absolutely stunning by the way.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“Just that you’re beautiful. I know this isn’t exactly your look or your comfort zone, but I wish it was. I wish it could be. You know I think you look sexy in anything, and nothing at all, but this look is really something. All white too, this is all deliberate isn’t it? You’re serious? You still want to marry me?”

“I do.”

He closes his eyes as he presses his forehead to yours. You can tell he’s trying to be strong and find another reason or way to push you away. Knowing he’s so close to giving in, you stay quiet in his embrace hoping that he’ll give in. 

“But I can’t do this to you,” he says eventually.

“I know you think you’re putting me in danger, but what about everything else you do to and for me? The love, the protection, the comfort, the support, the pleasure,” you say winking at him as you say your last word.

He throws his head back sighing. “You’re not gonna take no for an answer, are you?”

“Not when you’re saying it for the wrong reasons. Not when you don’t really mean it and you’re trying to torture both of us.”

“It’s a terrible idea.”

“Maybe. But does this really feel that terrible to you?” You ask as you hug him tighter and lean up to kiss his chin. “I do get a say in my future, don’t I?”

“Like I can stop you. I wish I could, but trust me to fall for a powerful woman that knows what she wants and how to get it.”

“How much longer and harder are you gonna make me fight for what I want? My hair, makeup and mani-pedi are going to waste here. Will you agree to marry me already?” When he doesn’t reply you continue, “you know I’m not some damsel in distress. I’ve been looking out for myself for a long time before I met you and since. I love knowing someone else has my back always, but I don’t need you to protect me and choose my battles for me. I just need you to love me. Can you do that, baby?”

With tears running down his cheeks he nods. You reach up and wipe away his tears and kiss his lips again. 

“I’ll never stop protecting you. No matter how much of a badass you are,” he says through his tears.

“I can live with that. What d’you say we go get married?”

Much to his dismay, you pull away. You go to the bathroom and wet a cloth and bring it back to him. You gently dab it along his cheeks and under his eyes cleaning up his tears.

“Look at you, always looking after me. Don’t think I didn’t notice you cleaned this place up too.”

“Purely selfish, I plan to consummate our bond in a pizza-grease-free bed. Plus I couldn’t risk staining this dress before our wedding.”

He pulls you close and kisses you. “I imagine you’ve got some big plans planned then … if you’re sure there’s definitely no talking you out of it.”

“Just tell me you want this. I want this … you more than anything but I need to know you’re actually onboard, Dean. Please, tell me you -“

“That I want you? More than anything, Sweetheart. Especially in this dress. You know I love you more than anything. But you promise, no kids. I know you're too stubborn and will always get your way, it's one of the reasons I fell in love with you in the first place, but I can't bring a child into this life. I need to know you're okay with that."

You nod as you pull him in for another kiss. "You have my permission to get the snip. And I even bought condoms for tonight."

"You're so perfect. Let's get to the consummation part already. I'm so ready to be down with this chastity thing."

You peck his lips once more before grabbing his hand and leading him towards the door.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A/N: What do we think? Are we ready for a Winchester wedding?

Tag list: (Leave a like or comment on this post or let me know below if you want to be added to the tag list for this series)

@bitchwitch1981, @muhahaha303, @justrealizedimmascifygurl, @mcdowell-123, @leigh70, @marvelsmarauder, @losa12308, @tapedeck-hearts, @luvjaida, @peachtxa, @ambearsstuff, @shadow-of-a-cloud, @slut-for-buck, @iprobablyshipit91, @sassy-pelican, @fallenlilangel99, @heavenlyhopeful0, @nelachu2423

[sexslip]

My husband made me fond of other's penis- 6

I saw the doctor's big penis when I went to his flat. He was sleeping and his penis was sticking out of his shorts. I liked the penis very much.

Previous part of the story: Trying to make place on the doctor's penis

After bathing, washing and cooking food at home, I took the pill given by Doctor Atul with water before 12 o'clock and took lunch for me and Doctor Atul and then left for the hospital.

Raj's food was given from the hospital itself.

I knew that Doctor Atul would not have returned from home till then.

Atul had taken a single bedroom apartment very close to the hospital.

I had his home address.

His flat was barely five minutes away on the way to the hospital.

I was so restless to meet Atul that the thought of Atul was dominating my mind throughout the journey.

I felt that I don't know what kind of magic Doctor Atul had cast on me that I was not able to think of anything else except him.

Last night I could not sleep properly as I was dreaming about Atul.

My condition was such that I was going crazy to go into his arms and love him right then.

And going into his arms and loving him clearly meant that he would fuck me.

What could not happen in the hospital, could happen at home.

I had never experienced such madness to get fucked by someone before.

Last night itself I had decided that whatever happens, however it happens, I have to get fucked by Atul as soon as possible.

I was very desperate to know what a handsome man like Doctor Atul would have a penis like.

Will his penis be long, thick or small?

Looking at his attractive well-built body, I was sure that like Atul, his penis should also be long, wide, full, hard and strong.

Will I be able to take it?

So many such thoughts were coming to my mind and disturbing me.

One thing was certain that whether the penis is small or big… I had to get fucked by Doctor Atul, I had no doubt about this.

There was a strange tingling sensation in my pussy and love juice was oozing out of it so much that not only my panties but even my Ghagra was getting wet.

On one hand, I was crazy to get fucked by the doctor and on the other hand, I had also promised Atul that I would settle his ruined home.

How can both these things happen together?

This thing was bothering me.

I prayed to God that he will find some way or the other.

When I was getting my name written in the register at the security gate of Doctor Atul's society. Then a woman who was coming from outside, seeing me entering Doctor Atul's flat, started asking about me, who am I, why do I want to go to Doctor Atul's house, how is he related to me etc.

When that woman went ahead of me, the guard told me that she was Doctor Atul's neighbor and a close friend of the doctor's wife.

On my further enquiry, I came to know that she was the same woman who had seduced the doctor's wife and had created trouble in Atul's married life.

Anyway, I entered the security gate and reached the doctor's floor.

As soon as I reached the doctor's door, I found that woman strolling there again.

I felt as if that woman was waiting for me to come.

She went to her flat in front, looking at me with a sharp look while making a face.

I knew that Doctor Atul must be sleeping at that time.

So I did not think it right to ring the bell.

I knocked lightly on the door. When there was no response from inside, I knocked again after a while.

When the door still did not open, I thoroughly searched the flower pot kept beside me, found the key, slowly opened the door and hid the key in the pot again.

Going inside, I saw that it was a flat with one bedroom, hall and kitchen.

Things were lying scattered here and there in the drawing room.

Two tea cups on the table in which the tea stains had also dried.

A half-filled bottle of water, two-three glasses, some books were lying scattered here and there.

Atul was not in the drawing room.

I heard the faint sound of his snoring coming from the bedroom.

The bedroom door was open.

I peeped inside and saw that the entire bedroom was also scattered like the drawing room.

All the stuff was scattered somewhere on the table and somewhere on the bed.

A laptop was open on the bed.

The laptop's extension cable was going here and there on the floor and reaching a plug.

Doctor Atul was fast asleep on the bed with his legs spread.

He was not wearing anything on top.

The black hair on Atul's muscular chest looked very handsome showing his manliness.

His fit muscular body, muscular chest muscles and muscular biceps were enough to distract any woman's mind.

A sheet was scattered below Atul's very thin waist covering his thighs.

He was wearing only a underwear and the sheet was covering only a small part of it.

The rest of the sheet was hanging below the bed.

Seeing Doctor Atul in that condition, I felt like sleeping with him, removing his underwear, holding his penis in my hands and then sucking it a lot.

But I had to control my madness.

The entire flat was in a bad condition.

I had a habit of keeping my house very tidy.

I remembered my husband Raj's words that I should make sure that Doctor does not get tired of sex in any way possible.

I should take care of Dr. Atul.

I believe that Goddess Lakshmi does not reside in a house which is not decorated properly.

The house should be decorated properly.

I immediately started to set the house right.

First I arranged all the things in their place in the drawing room one by one.

In no time I cleaned and decorated the drawing room and later the kitchen.

Finally I tiptoed to the bedroom and first put all the books scattered here and there in their place and then removed and cleaned some medical books scattered on the bed, a glass, a half-filled bottle and kept them decorated in the cupboard.

Doctor Atul must have fallen asleep while working on his laptop, half lying and half sitting on the bed.

The laptop was on the other side of Dr. Atul lying on the bed.

I had to remove it, close it and keep it on the side table.

I could not reach him standing outside the bed.

Then I climbed on the bed.

Standing half on my knees, I bent over Atul without touching him and started picking up the laptop lying open on his other side with one hand, when I lost my balance while holding the laptop high and fell on Atul with a thud.

Dr. Atul woke up startled by my falling on him.

Luckily, the laptop did not fall on the floor but fell on one corner of the bed.

The sheet placed on Dr. Atul slid from over him and fell down.

When the sheet cover was removed, I saw his thick, sturdy and long, erect penis protruding out from inside one of the legs of Dr. Atul's shorts, and I felt as if my life was about to end.

Due to the leg of the shorts being loose, when Dr. Atul must have lifted one of his legs in his sleep, his thick and long penis must have come out from the loose leg.

It could be that as men have a habit of taking their penis out of their shorts and fondling it, they fell asleep.

I was surprised to see that even in such a deep sleep, Atul's penis came out from his large testicles and looked somewhat erect, fair, long and thick.

Let alone my husband's, such a big penis can only be found in a porn video.

I had not seen such a fair and strong penis till then.

I was scared and confused as to what I should do!

On one hand, I was feeling so much love for Atul who was lying on the sofa in a deep sleep, half awake, looking very cute and innocent, that I felt like holding Atul in my arms at that very moment and requesting him to fuck me in such a way that I could never forget it.

On the other hand, seeing his huge, lovely white penis, I felt like loving Atul a lot and holding his lovely white penis in my hands and caressing it and putting it in my mouth and sucking it well.

But how could I do that?

On one hand, the itching of my pussy was forcing me to go ahead to get fucked and on the other hand, the bond of shame was stopping me.

But Atul's body and especially his huge lovely penis was not going away from my heart.

I was now badly trapped.

I looked towards Doctor Atul in panic.

Doctor Atul woke up from his deep sleep when I fell on him.

His eyes were half open and he was looking at me with blurred vision in surprise.

Maybe he had not yet fully woken up from his deep sleep.

I was stuck on Atul's body in such a way that my head was on one side of him and my legs on the other side and my stomach was in the middle over his stomach.

Seeing me lying on him at 90 degrees, Atul suddenly stretched his long strong arms and pulled me, turned me around and easily laid me on top of him, feet touching each other and face to face.

Holding me in his arms, he spoke as if he was drunk and trying to look into my eyes with a stammering tongue in his half sleep - How did you come out of a dream? Am I dreaming or is it true?

My face was right above Atul's face, my nose above Doctor Atul's nose and my lips above Doctor Atul's!

I don't know what came over Atul, he held my head in both his hands and pressed it on himself and pressed my lips tightly with his lips.

Parting my lips with his tongue, he inserted his tongue in my mouth.

With the brutality and intensity with which Doctor Atul started kissing me at that time, I felt that if he kept kissing me like that for a long time, I would automatically take off my clothes and beg Doctor Atul to fuck me.

This was a doomsday for me.

My husband had clearly indicated to me that if I got a chance, I should not show any hesitation in getting fucked by Doctor Atul and neither should I go to ask my husband's permission.

Today, God did something such that I did not have to do anything.

Atul pulled me from the front and took me in his arms and started kissing me passionately.

This clearly meant that he too had started loving me and wanted to enjoy me.

Atul was fucking my mouth with his tongue by repeatedly putting his tongue in and out of my mouth.

Atul was driving me crazy with his actions.

I too was failing to have any kind of control over myself. Rather I was helping Dr. Atul in fucking my mouth with his tongue with full readiness.

Sometimes I was sucking his tongue and the juice of his mouth, sometimes I was teasing him even more by sucking his tongue going in and out of my mouth and swallowing his saliva.

Atul was also licking my tongue and swallowing my saliva.

His passion was worth seeing.

So I was also kissing him with the same passion by sticking my lips to him due to excitement.

I was getting so excited by Atul.

While kissing him, I had to lie down on my knees to maintain my balance, for which I had to raise my sari and Ghaghra up to my thighs.

I was lying on top of Atul in that position, keeping his waist between my thighs.

Atul's naked penis started rubbing between my thighs as I moved here and there.

When Doctor Atul realized that his penis was trying to rub my pussy over the panty, he also got very excited and pressed my mouth harder with his mouth and started kissing me very eagerly.

I felt that it would not be long before Doctor Atul would strip me naked and start fucking me.

No one could stop me from getting fucked by him that afternoon.

Next part of the story: My husband made me fond of other penises- 7

[more-than-a-princess]

But there was a need to thank her, no matter how difficult it was to say the words. The Future Foundation was meant to acclimate them back into society after the conclusion of the simulation: their personal welfare was not at the forefront of their concerns, particularly when it was self-imposed harm to such welfare, even more when it was due to a broken heart and personal desires. It was even difficult to admit thanks in general for such a thing, particularly when she was in such a pathetic state. But it was necessary, something she felt compelled to do. Not like she'd ever have a clear conscience for the duration of her life, anyway: Sonia couldn't explain it, and she was too tired and in pain to try.

"But I need to-" She rasped, just as Mikan entered the room with several medications, a glass of water, and a relieved look that she was awake. A sentiment Sonia didn't share: while her friend assured Yaguchi that she was fine, checked the monitor and explained that Sonia's stay would be less than pleasant, Sonia only whimpered in response. Already her head was pounding, her stomach churning, and she desperately wanted to vomit before going back to sleep. Except there was nothing in her stomach to rid herself of, and the sleeping medicine she'd been given had worn off. The lights, the cloying smell of saltwater, concern that she didn't deserve: even the beeping of the vital signs monitor made her head throb and belly ache. She might as well have swallowed knives, something she was sure the taste of rum or vodka could rectify: it could help with it all, and leave her in a state of nothingness. Where she could feel nothing at all: not quite dead but close to it, where every thought and sense was dulled to a simple state of existence. Waiting for it all to have been just a dream, something that would never come.

Sonia heaved at both of their negative responses. It's like they wanted her to fucking suffer: did they have no idea how painful this was? How every sense was far too alive, how everything in the room and the island and her life was so goddamn intolerable? No matter how much she tried, there was nothing she could rid her body of in order to cope with the unbearable pain: she curled up into a fetal position instead, shutting out the people and the room and the light. All of it, into a darkness of her own making. She could blame Junko all she liked, but this...this was her fault. His desertion in the end, how nothing she said or did could open his heart again...her fault.

"Tea, then. Please." She uttered through gritted teeth. Maybe caffeine would be a temporary balm, though she was in no danger of caffeine withdrawal: just alcohol.

"A-after you take your medicine! You can have your tea and go back to resting," Mikan assured her, before easing Sonia into a sitting position and handing her the cup of pills with an annoyed grunt from the former Princess. But she helped her bring the glass of water to her lips before allowing her patient to settle back into her bed. "I think it might better if you make Sonia-san her tea and then get some rest too," She whispered to Shinobu, "She will be grumpy and irritable due to the pain and there's not much we can do besides give her medication and have her wait it out. I can call your room from here there's any changes to her health."

Sonia accepted the tea with little fanfare, choosing to drink it before pulling a blanket up and over her head to help block out the light. And with Mikan kindly turning off the lights in her room and closing the curtains, it left her in a preferable state of darkness and solitude. Enough that she was able to drift off to sleep until she heard the scraping of metal rings on the curtain rod, shoving them open before the blanket over her head was pulled aside with equal force. Tired blue eyes met a familiar pair of lapis blue eyes, hidden behind silver-rimmed frames and his usual state of disapproval. Wonderful, the last person on Jabberwock Island she needed to see, Gundam notwithstanding.

"Wake up," Byakuya Togami greeted her with an order. As he usually did, though it was often along the lines of 'sit down' and 'stop drinking from that flask when I'm talking to you.' "You missed our meeting this morning."

"There were some complications in reaching your office," She replied, a tiredness in her tone that couldn't entirely be attributed to the withdrawal and the stitches. "I stepped in glass."

"Which is your own fault," He pointed out. Usually their form of part-therapy session, part-future guidance counseling had a desk between them to keep them apart. So Togami could remind her precisely who was in charge of allowing her to stay as long as she'd had. And when she'd be dismissed from Jabberwock Island, to take her place on the Novoselic Throne and fulfill her promises to the Future Foundation and the World. And that patience, without the desk and without a willing Gundham Tanaka, was now wearing thin. "Does it not occur to you, Sonia Nevermind, that there are people here, people in Novoselic, people around the world who are depending on you to rectify the many mistakes you've made and provide some actual leadership?"

"Every day of my life," She grumbled, easing herself into a seated position. In her sleep, Mikan must have changed the bandages: they were tighter and stiffer than before. She rubbed at her tired eyes, hoping it would diminish the glare he shot her. It didn't.

"And yet you've chosen to turn your back on all of it, when they need you, in favor of waiting for Gundham Tanaka to wake up, decide he's hopelessly in love with you and sail off to Europe by your side," Byakuya huffed, not making an effort to hide his disgust. "And instead of realizing what a completely idiotic plan that is and preparing for your own departure, you act like an irresponsible child. Living in squalor and drinking in excess. It's almost as if you want the little respect you have, that your family name still brings, to be entirely lost so you can be a leech to everyone on this island. It isn't as if you contribute anything of use here-"

"Oh shut the FUCK up, you arrogant prick!" Sonia spat, without thinking and without any patience or sense of decorum left. Not while her head felt so heavy and hot, while she shivered beneath the blanket. Somehow she took a nap with medication and managed to feel worse in the end: she deserved it. "You do not have a goddamned clue what it is like to be responsible for a mass genocide, for destroying everything you ever loved in your life because you listened to one insane bitch who killed your best friend in front of you and promised to take the pain away! No, you only know what it is like to be loved, to be the fucking hero alongside Makoto Naegi and his bullshit hope for a future where we are wanted and accepted back into society! You and I know fucking well that will never happen where you want to send me!"

"And if you want to even begin making amends to the catastrophe you caused, you will do it and without complaint!" He seethed in return. "You are procrastinating, wallowing in your own self-imposed misery instead of being the Queen of Novoselic that you are. Waiting for Gundham Tanaka to give you his approval and companionship before deciding to help the very people whose lives you destroyed! You are pathetic, Sonia Nevermind, and I can't believe that once I saw us as equals. Maybe the only person at Hope's Peak Academy who was worth befriending back then."

"I appreciate the words of encouragement," She replied dully. Between her arrival at Hope's Peak years ago and the hospital bed she currently occupied, Sonia had learned something of the language of sarcasm. "Maybe it would be prudent to let my foot heal enough to put on proper shoes and then we may discuss my extradition home. Whether it is made of stone or sand, a prison is a prison regardless."

Outside, Mikan held Sonia's next dose of medication, shaking. She'd stood by Sonia's door, resisting the urge to clamp her hands over her ears: she didn't do well with yelling, and even after contacting Miss Kirigiri for assistance, she couldn't bring herself to enter Sonia's room alone. Even if it was time for her next dose of medication, Byakuya Togami was utterly frightening in Sonia Nevermind's company. He was imposing to begin with, but the former Ultimate Princess was perhaps the only Remnant of Despair in his charge who didn't agree to his every order. Instead, she had the power to challenge him, a title and wealth that he could respect, if only she fulfilled her directions without protest.

Sitting at Sonia's side, it had been a struggle to stay awake. They'd worked through the night, and now committed to being awake for her should she need them, there had been no time for sleep. Instead, Shinobu sat with her book, eyelids heavy, head occasionally drooping forward before she caught and straightened herself. If something happened, if Sonia awoke and Miss Tsumiki wasn't there, if something was amiss, if something was wrong, she might need help. She might need Shinobu. What a nice thing to be, needed.

But hours passed without Sonia stirring from her rest - something Shinobu knew was for the best, even if it made her continued presence there more and more useless as the clock ticked onward. When Miss Tsumiki inquired about the tea, Shinobu had simply drunk the cold beverage herself, hoping that a small shock of caffeine, even if not in her preferred form, would help keep her eyes open. For Miss Tsumiki, only a fresh, hot cup, with the additives prepared as she liked, would do. Between Miss Tsumiki and Shinobu herself, it was clear who deserved a cold cup prepared for someone else, and who deserved the care of a personally-prepared drink.

"Mm," Shinobu answered, a gentle nod that nearly turned into another lurch as the weight of exhaustion crashed against her neck and shoulders. She really was so tired, wasn't she? Of most things that could be called 'living,' and all that came with them. Anzu was yelling at her, as usual, so typical and expected as to not even warrant a response. At least her fractured cognition had captured her persistence well enough - they'd already made an agreement, but it was rather like Anzu to want more, to badger and twist and try and squeeze more blood from the stone that was their promise.

Not that Shinobu had any intent of accelerating the accepted timeline. For now, her focus needed to be with Sonia, and what came after that was for the future Shinobu Yaguchi to contend with. "There's really no need to thank me, Miss Nevermind." Personal feelings aside, was she not only doing her job? It would be difficult to say otherwise, so hopefully there would be no tedious conversations with certain other Future Foundation members. "I was worried about you, and once I saw the state you were in, there was no possible way that I could have left you alone."

Perhaps she would have said more, had Miss Tsumiki not made her appearance, and thus reminding Shinobu of the difference in their roles. "Good morning, Miss Tsumiki. I hope you're well this morning." Miss Tsumiki, and the other remnants, were Sonia's support and her care, while the Future Foundation administrators were the ones responsible, in the end, for her recovery and her reintegration back into society. Shinobu Yaguchi was just a helpful ghost setting its affairs in order so as to pass on with no regrets or unfinished business.

"Mm." Shinobu nodded first at Miss Tsumiki's suggestion that she could make Sonia another cup, and then at Sonia's lack of interest in anything in her stomach. "The offer stands, though, Miss Nevermind. If you change your mind, I'd be happy to make a cup of tea for you." I remember how you like it, and I won't make mistakes. I can be reliable for at least that much. For a moment, they thought about asking Sonia directly if she would like them to stay - for now, of course, and for the days to come, being in that they fully intended to stay at the hospital as much as their work allowed. But no, she decided, she'd simply come along and leave if asked.

As Miss Tsumiki explained how the days to come would work for Sonia, and how her recovery might proceed, Shinobu found herself fading - both into the background, as befitting her status, and towards sleep. Again, she lightly shook her head and patted her cheeks, forcing wakefulness upon herself. No resting, upon laurels or otherwise. "Mm, I agree with Miss Tsumiki." It was what she'd decided for herself already, after all, with how she'd managed her detox. A gradual lowering, or attempting to medicate with what had made her sick already, would only prolong the effects.

"I don't believe you should be drinking in your current state, Miss Nevermind." Even if the opportunities to step upon glass or destroy something were far fewer here, it was something Shinobu couldn't abide. "Miss Tsumiki has informed me that it might be quite difficult, as far as recoveries go, but more alcohol seems to me not to be the answer." They kept their tone of voice soft, not wanting to seem as though they were chastising her. "Of course, Miss Tsumiki will be here to assist you in any way she can, I'm sure, and I intend to stay for the duration, as well. If there's something else I can do for you, you need only ask."

[katsukikitten]

A zombie apocalypse au for @medusashima collab! Find the collab master list HERE! Be sure to give the others a read too!

Warning: graphic, violent, and sexual content intended for adults 18 or older.

Synopsis: Shelter isn't hard to come by in the End but good, untouched, shelter is. When you find paradise in the middle of a dead field in the shape of a 900 square foot home you start to break a few of your important rules. Always keep moving and don't help anyone. Especially if that anyone is a hot headed blonde bounty hunter sent to settle score you'd rather forget.

Peachy Keen Master List

Chapter One - Never overstay your welcome, keep moving

Winter

It scares you at first, the mummified body facing the door in the cramped living room of the home you found tucked away in a field of corn long past it's harvest. 

Petrified you, like the farmers that sat facing one another. In wooden rocking chairs, gnarled fingers slack around the handles. Coming closer to inspect and seeing no signs of teeth marks or infection. Letting loose the held breath you kept as deft eyes looked over every liver spot and wrinkle in the leathery skin. No fluid on the hardwood floors beneath their rocking chair or in the blankets around their shoulders. 

And by some miracle, the cold, the house didn't smell like rot. 

You figure they must have died earlier this winter, it lasted damn near since October as the Earth naturally cooled in the fall of the human race. 

With critical climate change hitting irreversible levels and long lasting damaging effects in just a few short decades, Mother Nature took matters into her own hands. Doing what she does best. 

She evolves, she changes and grows, makes a deadly cocktail of pathogens and fungi that rids her realm of blight. 

Humans. 

You were just surprised a nuclear war didn't wipe humanity off the map first. 

You hadn't meant to live this long, six whole years in the apocalypse, honestly you were one of the many who'd rather take their own lives. Least then you had a say in how and when you went. 

But the body has a funny way of forcing you to survive. To dissociate in some feeble attempt to keep the body going for an organ that tortured itself daily with endless, grueling tasks and for what? 

So you could experience your first kill? Watch your friends and family die when the Feds bombed cities instead of trying to quarantine sections? Of you walking until your feet bled, fleeing the city just to live in the outskirts to hear the screaming and wails as the undead met the living? Tied to a tree limb with your worn belt to sleep or maybe it was so you could loot the dead man for his tent but not without putting a bullet between his eyes as a parting gift first. 

No longer does Grim accept the coins laid upon the eyes of the dead. Now payment for a safe travel down the river Styx is paid with the bullet lodged into the third eye of the deceased.

A tradition sure to be passed down to the generations to come.

Despite the rage you've aimed at yourself for still living, the home was a welcoming sight. The old farm house made of gray cinder block, stout in the field of the tall stalks that you yearned to see each sweltering summer when you were stuck in the city before the world went to shit.

Now the sight of the dried crop makes the nostalgia coat your tongue thickly, like the bitterant of a large pill.  

You think you choke when you swallow. 

Still even with the two harmless corpses it was an amazing find. The shingles of the roof are all in tack and the old wood stove holds the reminiscence of a charred log and ashes. 

Logs lining either side that would last through the winter and then more still kept under an open awning out back. Plenty of birch wood to burn white smoke making you sigh in relief. 

First things first and with the few hours of sun you had left you needed to get to work burying the couple. Half debating over taking their rings that were about to fall off before thinking better of it. 

Grabbing the shovel from the makeshift shed and going to the edge of the corn field out back. Only you were stubborn, stupid enough to fight the frozen ground as you shoved the sharp spade into the Earth. Moving it to your will as sweat collects on the inside of your thermal undershirt making it stick to your back and the nape of your neck uncomfortably. 

Your calloused hands protect you from the biting wood as you spend the better part of your day light going six feet down. Using the height of the shovel as a measuring stick.

I wonder if their kids and grandkids will visit. I'll have to make a good marker so they won't miss it. 

And then it hits you. The realization of what you're thinking. Fat droplets blurring your vision as you chide yourself over wasting quickly dwindling time. 

You hadn't even cried when you watched your friends being torn apart from the force of the bomb but here you were crying over two strangers and their imaginary family.

Except they weren't imaginary were they? They were hung neatly throughout the home. 

Ya know the multi generational home that you planned to squat in. The one with the warped photos in warm senpia of when the family first arrived and built the modest country home to the vibrant color photo of the grandparents smiling ear to ear as their kids and their kids' kids stood on the still sturdy porch with corn cobs in their small hands. 

Another sob racks through your body forcing you to take a break from carving out your last foot hold so you could climb out of the grave you'd just dug.  

Should you start digging your own now too? 

Since no one else was going to be around to do it. 

Once you're back in the house you try to think of the logistics of bringing the pair out. You start with the wife, taking her delicately preserved body with the blanket around her shoulders. 

"’Xcuse me." You murmur to her as you lift her up, surprisingly light compared to the other corpses you've carried or moved. Careful to avoid banging her up against the door jamb accidentally before you make it out the few yards to the edge of their little property. 

Easing her down into the hole using the long and strong quilt that she must have made until you could slip it from beneath her to bring the fabric back up. 

"Sorry." Another involuntary pleasantry as you scoop the husband and his quilt up. Repeating the same action until he rested beside her as much as he could be. Dropping the first and second quilt over them as if tucking them in. You just hoped they wanted their holy matrimony to be reflected in the after life as well. 

Rooting around in your pocket for the few spare ammo you've got left. 

"For the toll." You murmur dropping a bullet each before tackling the grueling task of shoveling dirt back into the hole you half killed yourself to dig. Returning to the house only to place their wooden rocking chairs at the foot of their grave before heading inside for the night. 

Telling yourself not to look for their names, refusing to and that the wooden rocking chairs would have been enough. 

But it gnaws at you as you move around their furniture to better suit you, as the old wood stove fills the home with a warmth, with a luxury, you've long since forgotten.

Knowing full well she would have been the type of woman to have a farmer's log. 

A handwritten one or a more accurate family log written in the old bible that sat on her night stand. 

You left it alone, thankful they hadn't died in their queen sized bed as you moved it into the living room frame and all. 

The moon shining bright over head, peering in through the kitchen window over the sink as if to check on you. To see if you were still awake. 

And of course you were, when was the last time you've ever had a restful sleep? 

Your mind back to the "holy book" specifically the one with the worn leather and cracked spine. Even to the end the wife was a woman of faith, a bible open on the coffee table that you quickly used for kindling. 

Because what has God ever done for you?

He sure as fuck wasn't as merciless as he claimed to be.

Although he'd given her and her husband an easy enough death hadn't he? 

You were sure the rest of her family didn't meet the same gentle fate. 

In the end there was only one true God and that was Death. 

Ever waiting and watching, coming to steal you away before you could even blink with nothing to show you ever existed at all save for your own headstone, least til that crumbled away.

You jolt out of bed, rushing towards the book as if it whispered your name all this time and now it was shouting. 

Screaming, demanding your undivided attention until you flip open the front cover. Old cursive greets you as the pages sigh, rolling over birth and death dates until you're forced to flip to the back, finding the first two names without death dates but plausible birth dates that would line up to their age and the End. Slamming the generations old book as you rise. 

Finding yourself outside, bare foot. Knife in your hand and your breaths coming out in ragged puffs. 

Scrapping along the tops of the wooden rocking chairs like a woman possessed, carefully carving the letters into the headrest of the rocking chairs.

Stepping back in a fever to admire your work, feet numb from the biting cold ground before you turn on your heel. 

They echo back to you as if you'd carved each curving letter into your psyche instead of the smooth stained grain. Unsure if the haunting was that of thanks or scorn and you were sure a poltergeist was the least of your concern.

Even as you drift the names burn your retinas as if to remind you whose home you spent the night in. 

ASTRID     EMROY 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning you find yourself trapped in the house by deep snow so you poke around the home. Rearranging some things here and there but not to disturb the personal belongings just yet. 

Even though you know you won't stay long, never breaking one of your many rules that lead you to survive this long. But why not disturbing their belongs matters to you, you aren't sure. 

Maybe it's the way that this home is untouched. Truly loved and lived in, while the other houses you've squatted in were long since looted. Ransacked and trashed, taken back by the unforgiving weather and those desperate enough to defile what was once someone's home.

For others, their Hell within four walls and maybe the big End meant nothing to them anyway. Besides, it wasn't like you weren't one of the many who rooted through homes and hissed when you found nothing of use, just fading photographs and old DVDs and CDs. Shit that didn't matter now.

Right now you were mostly looking for a good pen with a plan to roughly guess the year so you could add the rough date beside their names and put their bible up somewhere. As if compelled to end their chapter properly so that they may live on despite, their bloodline most likely having died long before them. 

The couple really didn't have much and you were sure if you tried you could dedicate one small wall and bookshelf to their personal belongings to honor them. The thought makes you suck your teeth, so easily you cling to sentimental bullshit, out of spite now their things would be lucky to be stored away in a box. 

On the dusty coffee table are two sets of coasters, tops well worn from sweating drinks, a black leather book and a copy of The Great Gatsby with a broken spine. 

The book peaks your interest, hadn't read it since highschool and even then that felt like a foreign memory. Of harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed loud enough you were sure you'd go deaf to them after having lived in silence for so long. Tossing the tattered paperback onto the old wood top before your fingers grab for the worn leather spine, flipping the pages to see dozens and dozens of entries.

You settle into the old couch, the fire in the wood stove keeping the place warm as the sun lazily bleeds in through the windows to provide you with just enough light to read as you flip it open you're met with a threat.

If ya settle here ya better watch over our goddamn farm. 

The cover page makes you snort, flipping the thick page to consume what you could, hoping there would be some hints on where they stashed their canned goods and supplies. Even if it didn't provide you with anything, at least it helped past the time.

Jan 31 20XX  Six years after the "Rapture" 

It's ain't all fucking peachy keen as I'm sure ya can see and I'm comin to realize that I ain't built to live forever.

And if I was, I couldn't imagine a worse hell than this. 

If ya settled here in our little house I've got some rules. 

No drinks on my damn coffee table without a coaster. I got plenty of 'em. The ones from my birthday (they got cats on em but the paint'll be rubbed off by now I'm sure) or the ones Emroy made outta small trees. Hell use a book if ya gotta. 

Two, you best sweep this home. I don't care where ya came from or who ya came from, what god you do or don't worship but there is one thing for certain, house as old as this has a spirit and ya best keep it happy. Open the front and back door (good cross breeze in the sweltering summer) and you sweep my damn house. 

Or I just might be the spirit that haunts ya. 

Reckon that's it. So I'll quit my belly achin and step down from my soapbox to learn ya a thing or two.  

Now if you're a country folk and from 'round these parts y'all'll know two things. When snows a coming, or rain, y'all can smell it real easy in the air. Can't tell ya the smell but if you know ya know. And the second being it always snows heavier in the next coming weeks before spring than it will in the dead of winter. 

Now if you're from the city or just can't smell like ya used to, Bets the cow will be able to tell ya. She won't come out, simple as that and by the next day snow'll be up to your knees and Bets will look at you like she told you so.  

Hopefully she'll live that long, seems this disease ain't affecting the animals like it is us folks. Reckon we didn't pray hard enough or some preachy shit Gran would've said. Now if the cow ain't there to tell ya, the farm log will. Use yer head, you'll see the pattern even with the blasted greed fueled heat spikes. It's best to prepare for the worst. We've enough canned rations to last us a lifetime in the cellar but Emory and I are old as dirt, it won't last forever but as long as these hands can can, they'll can what he grows. 

Emory, my husband, says hello. Wants me to tell the "stranger" that's you I reckon, that the Great Gatsby is worth the read and that if ya find yourself with nothing to do, which ya will eventually, you should read it. 

Go on now, get back to surviving and be sure to dust my damn picture frames too. 

Yours truly,

Astrid & Emory. 

Pushy. You think to yourself but relish in the fact that old folks like to ramble, even in written form. Quick to explore the home to find the cellar doors in the fading short lived light of winter before realizing the age of the home. 

Shit, it's probably buried under a whole foot and a half of snow, you could exhume it now but you and twilight always seemed to have bad luck. 

It's when you've been raided most and almost bitten more times than you can count and after finding this place you don't wish to push your luck. Even if the undead were few and far between in bumfuck nowhere. 

Flipping open the cabinets in the kitchen you find a few manufactured canned meats. Fingers smoothing out the old label for any sign of denting or damage that could lead to botulism. Finding none makes you pop open the can to sit atop the old black wood stove, glass casting the room in a soft orange that rivals the sunset. It makes you pull the blinds closed in caution, not wanting any light to attract unwanted guests and when the wind howls you wrap tighter in one of the many blankets lying around. 

Three days pass and there is only so many times you can study the farm logs and widdle wood into pitiful shapes with your dull knife before you drive yourself mad. Still avoiding the books for now in some sort of spite or rebellion to God knows who before you're outside and bundled up. Shovel in hand as you scrape the metal spade all along the foundation of the house until you hear a satisfying tink. 

Your luck would be to start in the wrong direction and have to walk all the way back around the house just for the damn thing to be on the left side of the back porch instead of the right. Shoveling away the icy snow before coming across the wooden cellar doors. You wonder if you'll have to replace them soon but your curiosity of the future dies when you spy a combination padlock. Sucking your teeth pull a bobby pin from your hair, straightening it out and wiggling it between the rusting dials, scraping it around before feeling the soft give of the locking mechanism. You jab roughly and the lock pops open making you smile as if you hadn't picked anything ten times as hard. 

Taking the steps into the deep cellar where the air was cool yes but warmer than outside. As if it were deep enough in the Earth to stay a balmy fifty degrees even in summer heat. Flash light paints the darkness in harsh white when you spy a candle and a box of matches into an enclave built right into the old cobblestone. 

Once the fire flickers to life you switch your flashlight off, pocketing it as the candle washes the old glass jars and few metal cans aglow. 

Jarred jerky catches your eye first as you snatch for that, then a small jar of syrupy looking strawberries, as bright red as when they were first picked, making your mouth salivate. The place neatly organized and labeled, the metal cans of all of those beef stews that were upstairs despite there only being enough of those left to last through this winter. Even if you stretched them out with water. Finger following the shelf lining to try to find more sweet fruit coming across the word peaches under a layer of dust. 

Delight you look up, just to find the shelf empty and the sight of it makes you snarl. 

But at least you had your strawberries. 

They taste like late spring, like your childhood when you'd pick the berries at the local farm. How the sun beating down on your back made them taste that much sweeter in the field. A little reward paid by the sweat on your brow and the money your mother would toll out for the fresh fruit. 

Well, well worth the price. 

Spring is coming like her book says and you sweep and dust her house.

[eddiemunsonswhxre]

Can I request something with Eddie munson where his SO has a heat stroke and faints? Poor boy just freaks out.

summer heat / eddie munson

one shot

cw: genderneutral!reader, passing out, pet names, fluff

--

  “this yard work is not gonna do itself,” eddie says sassily towards you after you ask to take a break. you were already hot and sweaty with a headache but you knew eddie wouldn’t let you out of gardening again. you begged for the garden, so you had to take care of it.

  eddie fired up the weed eater and began getting the areas too close to the trailer that he couldn’t get with the mower. you got on your hands and knees and began pulling weeds from around your carrot plants as sweat quite literally dropped off of you. damn did you hate the heat. 

  your breathing was becoming more labored as you pulled more weeds and put them in your bucket. you sat back on your heels and wiped away some sweat from your face. you felt gross and would definitely need a shower after this. eddie had made his way around the trailer with the weed eater and was now gathering his spray that was meant to kill bugs. 

  you stood up so you could go grab your water bottle that was sitting on the steps but you stumbled. “eddie,” you called out, ears beginning to ring as your vision started to blur.

  “we’re not taking a break,” eddie laughed before turning to look at you. his smile fell when he saw how pale your face was and the fact that you were swaying. “babe, you okay?” he calls, sitting down the spray. your vision begins turning from blurry to black surrounding the edges. you put your hands out, but they weren’t going to help.

  your eyes rolled back into your head and you lost consciousness. eddie bolted towards you, catching your body right before you smacked against the ground. “baby?” he asked, shaking you slightly but you just laid limp in his arms. his eyes began to water in panic as he hooked his arm under your knees to hoist you up. “i’m sorry,” he mumbled to you, trying his best to support your head as he rushed you inside. he kicked the door shut behind him and ran you to the couch.

  his two fingers found your pulse, allowing him to calm down ever so slightly. his lip trembled as he made sure the fan was on high and he began grabbing frozen food from the freezer. “i’m sorry, baby. wake up, please,” he begged, placing a frozen bag of mixed vegetables on your chest. a couple tears fell from his eyes as he used ice packs and frozen fruits and vegetables to cover your chest, wrists, and thighs. he sat on his knees, stroking your hair as he called out to you.

  you finally let out a groan, your head rolling from side to side. “hey, y/n, hi hunny,” he said softly, stroking your face delicately. you hummed in response to his touch. “we’re inside now, i’m sorry, hunny,” he said, wanting you to open your eyes.

  you felt the coolness on your body bringing you back to the present. eddie’s comforting touch making you feel better. your eyes barely open, finding your boyfriends glossy eyes staring back at you. “hi, beautiful. you know where you are?” he asks.

  “home,” you mumble, closing your eyes again as you feel the pressure in your head. eddie nods, continuing to stroke your cheek. 

  “how do you feel? what can i get you?” he asks.

  you open your eyes again and give him a look. “advil, and a lot of water,” you say. eddie nods dutifully and gets you both things in a record time. he helps you hold up your head so you can drink and take the pills while nervously watching you.

  he purses his lips as slowly a bit of color starts coming back to your cheeks. “i’m sorry for making you stay outside, baby,” he apologizes, voice cracking. he felt horrible. like… worst boyfriend award level horrible. you shake your head no and go to say something. “it’s not okay, i shouldn’t have made you stay outside,” he interrupts, knowing you were gonna dismiss it.

  “no, it’s really okay,” you say with a nod.

  eddie shakes his head no as more tears fall. “no, because it’s hot as fuck outside and you told me you were overheating. i still made you keep going though and because of that you got hurt,” he blabbers.

  “eddie, stop it. if i thought it was this bad i would’ve come in anyway,” you say.

  eddie pouts. “but you could’ve gotten really hurt,” he says sheepishly. 

  you take your hand out from under some peas and take ahold of his. “no, you can’t get rid of me that easily. now, can you help me sit up?” you joke. eddie does just that, taking much more time than necessary to nurse you back to health.