#to i fucking hate writing i’m in agony i’m in pain

[mearchy]

Sometimes when I’m writing it’s like this

But the rest of the time it is like this

Can someone uuh. send help. Can someone sedate me

[peachesofteal]

Idk if your comfortable with writing this but how do you think the boys would be when darlings on her period?

So, so soft 🩵

I self indulgently based this off of my pre-medication periods… where I would get violently ill from brutal cramps and bleed like a stuck pig.

Mentions of blood, female reader having her period. Caretaking. Comfort. Fluff.

“Darling?” Johnny’s hand squeezes your hip, and you blink from where your face is half resting in the pillow.

“Mmmph.” You groan.

“It’s nearly eight. Si and I have to go across town for a meeting, you’ll be alright?” You nod lazily, knees curling up close to your chest. Your abdomen is on fire, and your entire body throbs with the pressure of your muscles working.

Johnny kneads your skin, trying too soothe you, bring you comfort. You can feel the strength in his fingers, the firm flex of his muscles against you and you sink into it, into him as much as you can, trying to curl into his body and let him take away your misery. Your pain.

You hate your fucking period.

Johnny’s lips ghost along your cheek, and you managed to catch a glimpse of him before he pulls away. Brow furrowed, eyes creased in concern. He murmurs something to Simon, who stands in the doorway, shrugging on a jacket.

“Another round of advil?”

“Too soon.” He answers, and crosses the room to lean over you. “Darling, will you be alright while Johnny and I are out? Or do you want us to stay?” Stay. You want to ask, want to cry over it, your misery making you feel weak and needy, the sharp pain in your lower belly radiating down through your legs.

But you can’t. You know that. Or rather… you know you could. You know they’d make new arrangements, that they’d move their schedules if you only said stay… but you won’t.

And if you can’t, if you won’t… well. Then you won’t feel like burden. Like an added weight. A responsibility.

Simon’s watching, the entire time you hem and haw in your mind, too keen eyes peeling back your layers, like he’s rooting around in your heart to find the truth.

“We can-“

“No! No, I’m fine. I’ll be alright.” You assure, meekly, and try not to watch as they exchange a look.

“Are you sure?” Johnny asks, and you nod.

“Yeah. ‘M just gonna go back to bed anyway.” He fidgets with a cord, the one to your heating pad… before the blankets are lifting and he’s pressing the palm of his hand against it to ensure it’s working.

Simon moves, foreboding lines of his body swift and calculated when he bends to press a kiss to your hairline before saying they wouldn’t be too long, that they’d call on their way home.

You fall asleep quickly, after Johnny lowers the lights in the bedroom and the door clicks shut, 3 locks sliding into place and keeping you safe, secure in the flat.

Three things wake you, hours later:

1. You’re in agony. Your lower body is practically seizing in pain. Your stomach is trying to claw its way out of your throat.

2. The guys are home. The lights are dim, and you squint when you realize they’re both in the room, by your side, Simon stripping the blanket off your body and Johnny trying to gently lift you into his arms without waking you.

And… 3. The worst thing to wake up to, the blood. You’ve bled through the super plus tampon and the pad that was in your underwear… leaking all over your thighs, and the sheets beneath you.

“It’s alright.” Johnny coos when he realizes you’re awake, softly reassuring you, arms coming under your shoulders to pull you forward and cradle you against his chest. “We’ve got you.”

“The sheets.” You moan and he shushes you, quick fingers swiping over your brow that’s slick with sweat.

“Don’t worry about the sheets.” Simon responds, and then he’s patting your thigh, a signal to move. You do so, weakly, swinging your legs to the side so they dangle over the bed while Johnny keeps you tucked into him.

“Bath.” You mumble.

“Shower. Then soak.” Simon corrects. Johnny lifts you free from the mattress while you watch Simon strip the sheets, and then he carries you into the bathroom.

“Poor darling.” He hums, still holding you close while he turns the shower on.

The water gets hot, quickly, and you melt into the wall underneath the spray, letting it run over your body and warm your muscles. Johnny and Simon both come in and out of the bathroom while you use an excessive amount of body wash, the lavender one, until you’re soaped clean.

When you step out, the bath’s already been running, and Simon’s got a water bottle with a handful of pills, waiting. He helps you into the tub, where Johnny already sits, and you settle between Johnny’s legs, molding your back to his chest, Simon half leaned over the edge of the tub. The water is hot, not as hot as the shower, but warm enough that steam rises in the bathroom, twisting along the white tile, filling the air with foggy white vapor. Simon rubs your neck, urging you tip your head backwards against Johnny’s shoulder. You breathe through your nose, trying to push away the pain, trying to expel it on your exhales, biding time until the naproxen kicks in.

“Mmm.” You moan, tension and stress leaking from your body. The heat does wonders to soothe your overworked muscles, gradually calming the storm that’s brewing beneath your belly button, and Simon chuckles softly.

“Better?”

“Much.” You pause, taking a deep breath. Johnny’s fingertips trail water over your skin, and he kisses you sweetly. “Sorry for the mess.”

“No, darling.”

“It’s alright.” They both reassure you, words soft and full of love, and you sink into them, sink into Johnny’s embrace, his skin against yours, and Simon’s hand flexing on the back of your neck, pushing you closer and closer into a more sublime, subdued state.

[j0eyj0rdis0n]

heyyy i know this is weird but i need some creeps angst in my life so could you write the general creeps finding you dead?

thank youuuu i love your writing sm!!

You know honestly me too. I live for creeps angst/angst in general so I’m happy to give it to you! Angst writing is actually strangely comforting to me too.

THE CREEPS FINDING YOU DEAD

JEFF THE KILLER

Finding you dead wasn’t on Jeff’s bucket list at all. It hadn’t crossed his mind that he could come home one day to find you slaughtered just like he did today. Your blood ran through the grooves in the tiled kitchen floor as he stood above you.

Jeff had felt rage before, but nothing like this. Nothing so burning, nothing so strong. He knew he was hated, but that had nothing to do with you. Nothing.

He stormed out of the house, going house by house, neighborhood by neighborhood. Murdering, killing, slaughtering, torturing. One by one. Person by person. Each time leaving at least one alive to witness, to feel the immense pain that he did. The agony of losing the one you loved.

All of this was for you. A final way to show his love.

“TICCI” TOBY

Coming home late from missions was a common occurrence. He often found you curled up in your blankets sound asleep. And honestly he couldn’t tell the difference until he took his place next to you in bed. He felt something wet against his neck, feeling around further to find a majority of the bed to be just as wet. Toby quickly turned on the light, turning to find your blood staining the sheets.

“N-no! Y/N fuck!-“ He tried doing CPR like EJ had taught him. But his mind was running a million miles an hour and the cracking of your ribs as he tried the compressions quickly deterred him.

Toby felt his heart shatter as he realized this was it… You were gone and there was no way to save you…

He turned from your lifeless body, clutching his head and breathing heavy. He felt like he was dying too. His chest tightening and his hands shaking. He felt tears running down his face as he fell to his knees, rocking back and forth while trying to calm down.

“No- n-n-no- no-“ was all he could repeat to himself as he tried his hardest to self soothe.

TIM/MASKY

“Honey I’m home!” He called as he shut the front door. Tim had just come home from getting the groceries you asked for. You had told the creeps that you’d make dinner tonight if they felt like coming over.

When no response came he felt a wave of worry rush over him. He swiftly dropped the plastic bags of groceries and began looking through the first floor of your shared house. He climbed the carpeted stairs with heavy anxious steps from his hefty work boots, pushing open your bedroom door he found you. You lay out on your large bed, your dress soiled in crimson blood. He didn’t even dare enter the room, he couldn’t.

His body was frozen in place as he stared… He felt his hands tremble as he looked you over from afar. Your skin had gone pale, your chest unmoving… Every part of him wanted to lose it. He wanted to scream, yell, break down and cry, smash everything in sight. But his body remained frozen. Even through the whirlwind of emotions going through his head he stood still. All he could do was stand and stare.

It felt like seconds but hours had long passed and he felt a hand on his shoulder. Only then did he slowly turn his head to see Jeff. He had never seen him look so somber.

“Let’s go man… They’re gone…”

BRIAN/HOODIE

You’d been on a mission together, get equipment from the hospital nearby and get out. It had seemed like an easy job, you both walked into it with full confidence. But running out in your partners arms, you didn’t feel confident at all.

Your side burned from the bullet lodged deep in you. Holding back tears was a battle you couldn’t win as you writhed in pain in Hoodie’s arms. Only when he deemed you two were far enough away did he let you down, laying you gently on the grass. The bleeding was worse than he had first thought. He watched as your movements slowed, your eyes fluttering. The masked man worked quickly to try to stop the vicious bleeding. Applying heavy pressure against your wound, barely whispering words of assurances as he tried his best to keep you alive.

He was glad his mask was on because underneath it all he was freaking out. His gaze was crazed, his eyebrows upturned in worry as his gloves soaked up your warm blood. It wasn’t long before your chest fell one final time and your heart stopped beating.

His hands shook as he pulled them away, rising from the ground and running as fast as his legs would carry him.

EYELESS JACK

As soon as he heard your heart stop beating from the other room he went running. Scrambling to get to you, to save you. He started compressions immediately, hands precise as he worked to bring you back. He knew you were seriously ill, he had been doing everything he could to heal you, to make you better. He didn’t realize all he had done was prolong your pain.

If he knew it was this bad he would’ve made you as comfortable as he could. He would’ve let you go…

Right..?

He was selfless enough to let you go wasn’t he? He wouldn’t keep you around selfishly…?

He worked for close to fifteen minutes, working up a sweat. Hoping, praying that you’d open your pretty eyes to him. His chest sunk when he realized there was no hope for bringing you back. Taking off his mask, Jack climbed into bed and curled into you. The demon stayed next to you, inhaling your sent until your warmth had disappeared. Even after you’d gone cold he stayed. He growled when anyone dared take a step into the room, snapping when anyone even got close.

Only on his terms would he prepare you for a funeral.

[indiestsnake]

holy shit the vengeance saga tied the knot on all of epic the musical for me HOLY FUCK

I was always a big fan of epic since I found it. I found it decently early on, right before the Circe saga released, but only really got into it right after the thunder saga came out. And I always thought the music and use of motifs was really, really good, but the lyrics and writing came off a bit on-the-nose.

It was by no means a dealbreaker. The writing is good, the story is wonderful!! but the pacing and characters always felt a bit inconsistent to me, and overall it suffers from being a bit too fast moving at times. And a fanbase that is convinced grey morality is nonexistent and the whole odyssey was Eurylochus’s fault, despite the fact that Odysseus was the one who pissed off Poseidon. But regardless.

The vengeance saga makes it work.

It’s not flawless! I think its writing is wonky in some spots, like where Ody uses the wind bag as a jet pack to beat the god of the sea. But I can forgive. Because the end of six hundred strike makes it work.

Silly me! I thought ol’ quick witted Odysseus was gonna use his big ol’ brain to outsmart Poseidon’s storm, or maybe even convince him to chill out!

No.

He takes the god’s trident and impales him. To make him call it off.

And they hold on it.

For a while.

This isn’t some “raise the weapon, cut away” torture scene. This is Odysseus stabbing Poseidon with his own trident as he screams in agony. Over. And over. And over. He yells and shouts, “HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE HELPLESS?! HOW DOES IT FEEL TO KNOW PAIN?!”

“LOOK WHAT YOU TURNED ME INTO!!!”

He doesn’t even think about stopping when Poseidon begins to beg. He screams, “Stop, enough, stop!!!” And he doesn’t even flinch. If Poseidon hadn’t put his entire soul into that “ALRIGHT!”, I’m convinced Odysseus would’ve put the trident right through his skull.

This is a man mourning what he was, and hating what he is. This is a man who is broken. Who is convinced that ruthlessness truly is mercy, and there is no point in greeting anything with open arms. A man who is prepared to collapse into Penelope and never greet the world outside her with anything but a scowl, and spend his nights in hell as the ghosts of the people he’s murdered sob at his feet. It ties the Monster arc up better than Scylla or different beast ever could, and honestly now I doubt they were supposed to.

I don’t even think he believes Penelope can take the suffering anymore. I don’t think he believes she will make him alright.

He just has to see it through.

It makes everything that’s happened since monster work perfectly. The character arc is fucking magnificent. From a man dropping an infant from a wall to save his family…

To a man convinced there is no point in showing mercy to Poseidon.

Because… you know the line.

[bullet-prooflove]

Hi I just discovered your blog and I’m so happy to see someone writing fic for the FBI show!

Can I request Scola + Stealing kisses at the break of dawn?

Tagging: @trublu2u@burningpeachpuppy@upsteadlogic@noxytopy@kmc1989

Companion piece to Little Changes - Stuart notices when you start to make little changes.

You aren’t in bed when Stuart wakes up, your side is vacant, the sheets cold. He sighs because this is the third night in a row he’s woken up alone and he’s concerned it’s going to become a habit.

He finds you in the living room, curled up under the couch blanket, a cup of tea clasped to your chest as the TV plays in the background.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks you as he sits down on the couch alongside of you.

“What’s the point?” You ask him, your gaze fixed on the TV as your palm rubs over the nape of your neck. “It doesn’t change anything.”

You’ve been like this since the appointment with the fertility doctor, since you found out you’re the reason that the two of you can’t have kids. You’d been trying for over a year before you decided to see a specialist. You thought she’d tell you it was just stress, that you needed to cut down on your hours, relax a little more instead the news was worse.

You were in menopause, early onset.

Apparently there’s a history of it in your family. You’d had no idea because you don’t speak to your mother and your father hates discussing ‘women’s things’.

You’ve become withdrawn since then, burying yourself into your work, staying out late. A couple of times he’d found you at the bar alone, drinking whiskey and studying your phone. He knows you’ve been looking up ways to reverse it, researching, he also knows you’ve come up dry. There’s nothing you can do and that’s the part that’s got you twisted up in knots, you’re used to fighting your problems and this is something you can’t.

“Sasha…” He says softly, his hands cradling your face between his hands. “This is not your fault.”

He can tell you don’t believe it, he can see it in your eyes. He wishes there was something he could do to take away the pain but the agony you’re feeling, he feels it too. The difference is he’s pragmatic, he knows there’s other options, he’s open to them but right now you’re not. The anguish, it’s too raw, too recent.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” You say quietly as you climb into his lap and begin to undress. “I just want to forget.”

You fuck him hard, the light from the sunrise cascading over his bare skin as you kiss him like it’s the last time, because for you it is the last time. This is your gift to him, your final goodbye because tomorrow you’re leaving him.

You’re going to set him free so he can have the family that he wants, the one that you can’t give him.

Stuart? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[akystaracer22]

Let’s Make a Deal

Synopsis: Let's go back a moment, how exactly did Adam end up joining the hotel? And how was the graveyard created? Lucifer makes a deal with Adam, but not for what Lucifer thought it would be.

Notes:

I’m feeding you Papa Adam fans. This one’s for you.

So… remember how I mentioned Lucifer catching Adam back in Distrust Fall?

As Adams getting dressed, he’s resolutely not processing the fact that he fell and more thinking over the events before he died. Which leads to him remembering the dead exorcists.

Here’s how Adam fell: He broke the first commandment! “You shall have no other gods before Me” and in doing so landed earned Gods ire. Combining that with Sir Pentious’ redemption, Adam was pulled from death and fell to hell.

It’s so fucking funny to write this being used to Lucifer and Adam being on good terms because I have to step back and say, “Okay but now they fucking hate each other with an undertone of romantic tension and desperation and what ifs.”

I’ve had this idea FOR FUCKING AGES.

Word Count: 1640

Fic under cut!

Lucifer was falling.

Unsurprisingly, it hurt a lot less than last time, especially since he wasn’t the one burning.

When Nifty mentioned a shooting star, his blood had frozen as he threw the window open to see the falling angel.

Hell never had stars to fall.

He’d taken off from the hotel, shooting through the sky to try and catch the fallen, partially to keep Pentagram city from being destroyed by the force of the fall, but mostly to try and lessen the pain of the impact.

He didn’t want another to fall like he had.

The burning agony magnified by the brimstone’s crushing hug.

If nothing else, he could stop that.

The fallen morning star threw out his magic, forcing it against gravity as he twisted the two of them, so he was on top, spreading his wings to catch the air. He couldn’t make out the details of the fallen angel under the blaze of hellfire, but it was definitely a man.

Disappointing, in another life it could have been Adam.

The king shut the thought down immediately, Adam was dead and for good reason, that wasn’t something to even begin to address when there were bigger issues.

He was able to change their trajectory, bringing them closer to the land surrounding the hotel. It was still ruined after the battle, which made it a perfect crash-land site.

The landing, while not graceful, was definitely softer than it would have been otherwise. Lucifer shoved the man to the ground immediately, stepping back and using his magic to mend his own mostly wrecked clothing as the brimstone and volcanic rock devoured the unholy flames and completed the fall.

The first thing Lucifer could see was the wings, great broad things that should carry the angel well, yet the king only wanted to throw up staring at the left wing. It was in ruin, most of his secondaries and half his primaries were gone. The smell of burning feathers left Lucifer wanting to gag. What the fuck. What the fuck did this man do to deserve that.

His eyes drifted down towards the angels face, and suddenly Lucifer could guess what the angel did to deserve his fate.

His horns curled over his head in a hauntingly familiar way, the tips streaked with gold. Shards of horn dotted his cheeks and decorated the base of his horns. Ash grey hair that used to be brown so long ago. His skin colour reduced to monochrome grey that would have never hinted to once being tan. The angels hands were dipped in that same golden colour of his horns, Lucifer could laugh at the irony.

Of course, Adam’s hands would be coloured the same gold of the angels who died under his command. And of fucking course he’d somehow manage to find a way to cheat death.

Lucifer stepped back and narrowed his eyes into a sharp glare as Adam groaned and came to, watching his wings twitch in pain as he struggled into a kneeling position, he didn’t see Lucifer yet, that much he was sure of.

The king just watched Adam catch his breath for a few moments before clearing his throat, grinning at the way Adam froze before scrambling to his feet. His wings moving despite the pain in an attempt to obscure Adam’s bare body.

“What the fuck.”

“Wow, is that how you greet the person who just saved you?”

“Fuck you!”

“Careful,” Lucifer bit out, his tail lashing behind him, “Remember who’s realm your in.”

Surprisingly, Adam seemed to have enough braincells to realise that picking a fight with the literal king of hell after just having fallen wasn’t the best idea and held his tongue for once.

Lucifer’s eyes raked over Adam’s form, noting the way Adam’s feathers bristled as the king’s eyes roamed. Huh…

Oh.

“Get dressed, Being naked isn’t exactly a good thing nowadays,” Lucifer summoned some clothes that should fit the first man and threw them at the fallen angel. Keeping him in his peripheral as the man quickly got dressed.

“Alright now get the fuck out of here, I can’t have you around here when Charlie gets down here.”

“Wait-”

“I’ll even be kind and I won’t tell deer boy you’re traipsing around hell now! He’s still angry about losing to you, good job by the way-”

“Lucifer!” The seraphim turned back to Adam who was standing with his wings spread, chest heaving at using energy he didn’t have for the outburst, “I’m not fucking leaving.”

“Oh no you don’t have a choice on the matter after what you did!” Lucifer snarled, wings flaring out in his own display to match Adams, “Get the fuck out of here before I make you.”

Adam froze up, his wings folding slightly under his hesitation which gave the king confidence. The first man was going to turn tail like the cowardly sack of shit he was. He turned around, satisfied that Adam wouldn’t be a bother for at least a little while.

“How about a deal.”

Lucifer paused before whipping around to stare at Adam, who stood his ground and held his head high despite the weight of his words.

“What.”

“You fucking heard me; I know you fuckers like making deals. So, let’s make a deal.”

“Oh, I heard you, but what could you possibly give me that I-”

“Whatever you want. Even my soul I don’t give a fucking shit,” Adam spat, “Whatever it takes to get you to take this deal.”

Lucifer paused, shocked by the audacity but intrigued nonetheless, “And what exactly do you want? Protection? Supplies?”

It wouldn’t matter anyway; not like he was actually considering the deal.

“I want you to help me bury my girls.”

…

What?

“My girls, the exorcists. I can’t-”

Adams voice cracked.

Immediately the first man locked up, his jaw snapped shut with an audible sound and he looked every part horrified.

Surprisingly, it didn’t stir any sense of satisfaction like he thought it would. Instead, Lucifer only felt a deep pit of dread.

Adam seemed to recover quickly, swallowing past whatever lump he had in his throat to continue, “I can’t recover their bodies fast enough. Not like this. I can dig as many graves as I can, but I need you to gather their bodies. I need to lay them to rest… please.”

Lucifer was flabbergasted, after everything he had the audacity to ask Lucifer to help him with this. To help bury the same damn angels who hunted hells denizens, who hunted his daughter?! Framed as a deal or not why the fuck would he ever think-

What if it was Charlie.

Lucifer froze at the thought, that tiny part of him as old as Eden piping up to tear down the devils rage with ease.

Shit.

Lucifer closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, shit. He couldn’t get the image out of his head. Charlies body broken and beaten like the corpses of the exorcists, Charlie-

Fuck. The angel of the Morningstar suppressed a flinch at the images.

But…

It wasn’t just his nightmare scenario he was dealing with now. It was Adam’s reality.

…

Damnit.

“You’re going to go to the hotel and give redemption a good shot.”

“What?”

“That’s my terms of the deal, if I do this, you’re going to walk into the hotel and work towards redemption. I’m not going to own your soul; this is a one-time deal. Take it or leave it.”

Lucifer’s hand glowed gold with his magic as he held it out, binding magic twisting through his fingertips.

Gold met gold, and the deal was done.

[----------------]

It took several hours to recover all the bodies.

Some of which was spent with Lucifer convincing the denizens of the hotel to stay inside, claiming that the fallen angel was a special brand of dangerous that only Lucifer could handle. He wasn’t exactly wrong.

Including Adam, 48 exorcists died in the extermination. And almost none of them were intact when Lucifer found them.

Broken, half eaten, or worse, hell wasn’t kind to the dead.

The corpses that were dragged back to Cannibal Town were the trickiest to acquire, the cannibals were never known to abandon their food and with them now be armed with angelic weapons… He needed to remind them who exactly was in charge to get them to surrender their meals.

He really needed to deal with the outbreak of the angelic weapons information. That was going to get a lot of attempts on his life.

With every corpse Lucifer teleported back to Adam, there was a sharp crackle of opposing magic, broken in it’s divinity but still potent.

That was going to be troublesome.

He should probably find a way to suppress Adams magic, untamed as it was now without heaven to temper it, it was going to be dangerous until his soul calmed down. However long that would be.

Lucifer sighed when he dropped the final body off at the hotel. Several of them were already gone and buried under blank gravestones, a last-minute addition of Lucifer’s to the summary, it’d be up to Adam whether or not he wanted to add any information on who was buried.

Lucifer watched silently as Adam carefully removed the helmet of the final exorcist, resolutely not looking down even as his feathers shook with rage. The first man and third fallen gently lowered the body into the grave before going to grab the shovel. Once the burial was done, he placed the helmet gingerly on the soil, marking the graves identity in a way Lucifer would never be able to know.

Then the moment was over, and Adam stood up, turning to look at Lucifer with a stare that would scorch bone if it could.

“Alright let’s get this fucking over with.”

[klausinamarink]

saw a post from @flowercrowngods asking about steddie going through chronic pain and i thought to give it an attempt. Just a quick disclaimer though I do not personally have chronic pain but I did my best to write it respectively!

Edit: now with part 2!

— —

Eddie should get out of bed.

He’s all too aware of how much of the day he’s wasting and losing by lying down, but his leg is in pain again. And not in a “my leg is full of TV static and I can’t move it for a minute” way. His leg was in the state of fine until I moved to get up and now it feels like the bones are dissolving and my skin is having that falling apart sensation and it’s making this a problem for the rest of my body, which is becoming frustratingly common these days.

It’s totally unfair because he was supposed to start the Hellfire oneshot he had kept promising this afternoon. Eddie had been feeling fine the past three days aside from the usual leg static and itchiness from his scars. He had been getting more good days! He should be outside and interacting with his friends again! 

But that wasn’t going to happen. Not with the agony making its slow travel to his back and the left side of his face now twitching, which created a headache.

“Jesusssss.” Eddie groans aloud. He tries to move further into his pillow, but now the pain is rushing to his torso and pressing against it. Another agonizing spike in his right ear right down to the eardrum. Again, the pain zigzagged to his left foot and his right hand. 

He stayed in bed. He might have wept but Eddie had always been good at crying quietly. He knew he can’t call for Wayne because he was at work and his arms now hurt to even pick up the bedside phone. 

The pain went to the back of his neck, reopening his scars and cracking his ribcage. Maybe not literally, but at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised.

He soon falls asleep at some point, considering there’s really nothing else to do. Then he’s slowly brought back to consciousness by a soft humming and careful fingers brushing through his hair.

“Steve?” He croaks out, opening an eye carefully to see his boyfriend (oh sweet heavens he actually has a boyfriend!!) right next to him on the bedside. Steve smiles  softly at him.

“Hey, Eds, another day?” 

Eddie gives the tiniest of nods, swallowing down a wince from the bare movement. 

“Is it your leg, your hand, or all over?”

“All over. My fucking body hates me.” 

Steve gently tugs one of his locks. “You mean our bodies hates us.”

“Get out of here.”

“No way. I can’t be a shitty boyfriend if I’m leaving you to die alone.” Steve moves to stand up but pauses. “Do you want the towel treatment or-“ 

“Please.” Eddie nearly chokes out.

“Alright, be right back.” 

A few minutes later, Steve is back at his side, carefully and deliberately wiping Eddie’s face with a soaked towel. It’s a weird and probably nefficient method, but Eddie had found that in these days where his body is torturing himself, he needed some sort of coolness for his skin. He couldn’t take off his clothes but the damp towel on his face and hands was enough to ease it.

Steve, on the other hand, couldn’t stand the Wet Towel even if his muscles ached and his arms burned. Mostly, Eddie would lay on top of him and his body weight would provide Steve much needed ease.

Maybe their own coping methods for the flare ups were weird by medical standards, but they’re both still alive.

Mostly.

“I was supposed to start Hellfire today.” Eddie mutters as Steve brings the towel to his right hand. “An oneshot. Short and fun.”

“I know.” Steve says kindly, “the kids felt that you weren’t coming so Dustin radioed me to check on you.”

“Sweet of him.”

“Yeah, everyone is.” 

“Not as sweet as you, big boy.” Eddie sticks his tongue out playfully. 

Steve smirks, pressing the towel back on Eddie’s forehead. “How’s it now?”

“Not as horrible, but I can’t trust myself to move.” The pain is traveling less but now his ears are thumping weirdly and his leg is practically vanishing with the other parts of his body, numb and barely unaffected. 

“That’s okay, Eds, I’m still here.” Steve gives him a light peck on his cheek where there’s another demobat scar, but smaller than the one overtaking his left side. “I’ll finish soon, but I’m not leaving anytime soon.” 

He says it with a soft squeeze on Eddie’s hand. He smiles back and closes his eyes, relishing on the dampness on his bare scarred skin, trying to ignore the rest of the pain that’s forever settling underneath and deeper. 

[lovejosephquinn]

Hello hello :))

For obvious reasons I’m in need of new smutty fics for Joe and just the mere thought of him putting him hand over my mouth in missionary gets me goin’ man. I will pay you a smooch and some big bucks if you can write sumthin like this for me :))

For obvious reasons I'm going to write this for you and I hope it fit's your needs.

A little bedtime reading for you all.

Under 18's DNI 💀

Joe had his dominant head on, he'd fucked you raw for the last hour. It wasn't through lack of trying, he just wanted to get every last orgasm out of you he could before you begged him to stop. By the fourth time it was causing tears to sweat from your eyes, your mouth dried up from lack of saliva through your squeals and hefty moans. You'd said his name like a prayer, uttering it out in several tones that made you sound desperate for the man placed above you, the only thing still wet was your gaping and sore cunt from the amount of time spent being rammed by his length. Missionary was a basic position in most peoples eyes; but it got you off more than any other.

His hips rut fiercely between your thighs, his skin chafing against the soft parts of your inner leg, his foreskin being dragged back and fourth by your clenching walls, the tightness making him hiss, his cock covered in your slick and his past climaxes making it easier to pound you. The way you whimpered in both pain and pleasure urged him to continue and when you breathed a simple please or I can't take it anymore, Joe's hand would either be wrapped around your throat, squeezing slightly in an attempt to show you who was boss, or at least bring you closer to the edge. It even turned to covering your mouth with the full palm of his hand, pressing down to shut you up whilst he concentrated on both your releases just one last time.

His growls, the way he fucked you like you were his worst enemy, like he hated you more than anyone else on this planet, turned you on more than you'd ever known possible. The way his cock fit perfectly inside your cunt, dribbling his seed inside of you, leaking several amounts of pre-cum, singing your praises, bellowing profanities when his cock throbbed inside of you, calling you a good girl, letting you know how perfect you were in taking his cock for so long, being his little slut. Practically breeding you over and over. He had you a fucked out mess, a body just being used like a rag doll for his own personal pleasure by this point.

You squirmed all over the sheets, his back red raw from the way you'd clawed your nails down it, bruises relished all over both your necks and collar bones. Lips swollen from overheated and passionate kisses. From a birds eye view, it looked like you'd both been attacked by wild animals, ravenous for each other, eating each other alive.

The way his vocal chords strained when he exploded inside of you one last time, flopping onto you, his entire body consuming you. The sound alone made the knot in your stomach erupt, nausea hitting you in a disgusting way through your final orgasm, his balls completely emptied and over stimulated, your core in agony yet still sensitive to touch from his now slow movements.

Joe being Joe afterwards, as soon as he'd got what he needed out of his system for the time being, he'd sooth you completely, giving you the aftercare you deserved. Taking you into his arms and swaying you like a baby, cooing soft sweet nothings into your ear, letting you know how much he loved you and how good you make him feel (in more ways than one), giggling at the marks all over you stating he'd marked his territory. Stroking his fingers through your hair, tickling his fingers lightly on your arm and down your back, small squeezes of reassurance checking that you were ok, loving you so deeply and contently like he'd not just been abusing your cunt minutes before.

It wouldn't be long until he was caressing you in the shower, washing you down and massaging your head. He'd still be horny for you and one way or another he'd convince you that he'd need to eat your pretty little pussy to apologise for his actions, no matter how much you couldn't take anymore, you couldn't bare the doe eyes staring back at you, begging to take his obsession further, surely enough in a mere moment, he was on his knees, your legs wrapped around his neck, holding you up in position whilst his mouth latched onto your clit, his tongue flickering onto the new aching sensation.

It was true you were his addiction.

[thejujvtsupost]

hiiii, i just wanna say i love your writing!

is it okay if i request a Gojo fluff of him coming out of the Prison Realm and seeing Y/N? a lil bit of angst and a lot of fluff if you please.

thank you!

have a cookie 🍪

and a lil bit of love <3

byee

-anon :)

The Return

Hi anon! You’re so sweet 🥺💗 here’s a cookie for you too! 🍪 hope you don’t mind but I also added some Nobara copium since her dreaded episode comes out this week. She deserved better tbh.

Notes: F!reader, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, Gojo needs a hug and gets one. Just something extra fluffy for the copium we all need. Also since Nobara’s status is technically ‘unknown’ I decided she’s in a coma for the foreseeable future to make myself feel better. 🤗 I also didn’t know how to end it because I had too many ideas.

He looked like a mess.

You, Shoko and Yaga were the only ones unsealing Gojo, you had no idea what he was going to be like and all the kids had been through more than enough. If something tragic happened, they didn’t need to see it.

The way looked at you, some meters away from where he was unsealed, broke your heart. “Baby?” His scratchy voice was barely audible, likely dehydrated.

His hair was in complete disarray, dirt, dry blood and filth all over him, clothes hanging off of his frame- he clearly lost some weight. He’d been through hell.

None of that deterred you from immediately running into his arms, kissing his cheek and clutching his body close, tight but trying to be mindful of his frailty. His reverse curse technique could heal injuries, but it couldn’t sustain him alone. Especially not for over two weeks.

“God ‘toru never scare me like that again!” You were choked up and overwhelmed. “Are you okay? Of course you’re not- you need water and a fucking meal.”

A look over from Shoko while informing him of the lives lost went by in a blur for you both. You could tell he was having a hard time processing everything. “Nanami? Really? And Nobara’s in a coma?” He refused IV fluids so you were nearly drowning him with water he had to drink. As soon as you got him home he’d eat too.

His sadness was palpable when it was confirmed. “I always thought he’d be able to live through anything…”

“He died protecting Yuuji, Maki, Megumi and the others. He fought bravely til the end. Unfortunately Yuuji saw it happen, he’s been… struggling… but he’s very resilient.” You squeezed his hand and he squeezed it back- the best he could anyway. He was shaky and weak from the toll on his body.

Getting him home was a relief. You got him sat comfortably on the couch, still in dirty clothes (minus his uniform jacket you helped him out of) but you’d deal with that after he ate. You hated the grunts of pain exiting his lips from the ache in his muscles.

“Relax as best you can, I have some leftover chicken takeout I’m gonna heat up and I’ll be back.”

He caught your wrist in a panic. “Don’t leave- need to know you’re real. ‘Haven’t even properly kissed me yet.” He brought some humor and a smile into the room like always, you appreciated that about him no matter how weak it was this time. Even in the darkest moments he made you laugh with his charm.

“My apologies.” You leaned down with a giggle and kissed him gently.

Being alone was painful for anyone, and for Gojo, where he couldn’t even keep track of time, it was agony. He would dream, or perhaps hallucinate about you only for you to disappear when he wanted to touch you. Agony.

Pulling away from him after so long was difficult too. “I’ll just be a few minutes, I promise.”

Gojo let you leave and you talked to him from your place in the kitchen. He never valued being able to see the kitchen from the living room so much until this moment.

You made sure he ate as much as he could before pulling him to the bathroom connected to your room. A shower was next on the list and you had a feeling you’d end up in there with him. He needed some help but he disguised it as being needier than necessary (he was naturally needy and affectionate with you anyway.)

“Turn and lean down a little, you’re a billion meters tall and I can’t reach your hair” he complied and bantered with you lovingly. Not to his usual standards, but you didn’t care about anything other than him being right there under your fingertips. He was real, his voice was real.

And when he finally broke down, his head on your shoulder and arms around you, he couldn’t stop. He sobbed the ugliest of cries that ripped through your own heart and you didn’t stop him, didn’t shush him, just kissed the side of his head and rubbed his back. Encouraging him to let it out. It was a matter of time before his emotions caught up to him.

You spent more time holding him than washing him. Happily.

The water eventually ran clear and sobs turned to sniffles. Only then did you turn it off and help him out with the mutual understanding that his heart needs time to heal before he can talk about the tragedies he let out in the shower.

And finally, getting into bed and cuddling close, he had a death grip around you.

“I missed you so, so much Satoru. Don’t ever do that to me again or I’ll kill you.”

“I missed you too doll, you have no idea how bad I needed to see you and just feel you.” He kissed you just as sweetly as he did gently.

Falling asleep without tears for the first time in weeks, exchanging quiet words of love, was bliss.

A miracle, actually.

Thinking about making a request? Check my bio to see if they’re open! <3

[sathanasslut]

Hello, Ghost fandom :,)

I don't use this app nor do I write fics, but goddammit for swissdew I will do anything. So here we are-

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Dewdrop / Swiss

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Trans Dewdrop, Gender Dysphoria, Period pain, Bathing/Washing

Word Count: 1,290

Read on Ao3 or below the cut!

Dew’s fingers curl in his own hair, tugging hard. A distraction from the other pain, the worse pain. Another groan slips from between his bitten raw lips, smothered by the pillow at his face as he curls further into his bedsheets. It hurts.

Tears well in his eyes, and he doesn’t even have the energy to chastise himself for his vulnerability. He needs a hug, but he knows he’d flay anyone who dared to see him in such a shameful position.

Dysphoria claws at his stomach as the cramps only seem to intensify. Even worse, his mind slips to the dampness of blood between his legs, staining his boxers. He wants to gouge his nails into his stomach, anything to distract from that pain.

“Fuck. Off.” He sobs into his pillow, his arms wrapping around his abdomen in a futile attempt to self soothe.

“But I just got here…” A soft voice teases, his tone a mockery of disappointment. Dew tenses, his head whipping around to face the apparently open doorway.

“Swiss.” He growls, trying to feign anger as the humiliation of being caught in such a vulnerable situation grasps at his throat.

The multi-ghoul doesn’t respond verbally, only pushing the door shut and pointedly clicking the lock as he steps over to Dew’s bedside. Every one of Dew’s base instincts is screaming at him to grab ahold of Swiss’ hand and drag him onto the bed, force him to spoon him and cuddle him and pander to him until the pain goes away, but he restrains himself. It’s humiliating enough as is, no need to make that even worse by giving in to such ridiculous urges.

“Dewdrop,” He hates the way Swiss says his name, like’s actually concerned about him. “Stubborn bastard. What are you doing suffering alone like this?”

If he wasn’t preoccupied by the sensations of his reproductive organs dismantling themselves, Dew would have clawed Swiss’ face off for that kind of comment.

“Fuck you mean?” He hisses, a snarl curling at his lips. “Can’t you leave me fucking be for a moment, let me deal with my shit before you come in here and bitch at me?”

Swiss rolls his eyes, his larger frame leaning over Dew’s bed. A part of Dew keens at that, the sight of someone he cares for towering over him not as a threat, but as an emblem of protection.

“Dew.” Swiss’ voice is more stern than usual, that usual teasing tone almost entirely eradicated. “I could smell the pain in your scent from the hallway. Either you talk to me and let me help you, or I’m telling Papa.”

Dew bristles at that. Swiss finding out was enough, he’ll do anything to prevent any more people getting involved in this horrendous situation of his.

“Fuck you.” He spits out, but the anger he’d intended in his tone is eaten up by the agony in his abdomen. “Shithead. Fuck are you even gonna do, growl at my period until it goes away?”

That makes Swiss pause, his movements stilling for a moment. He knows how sensitive of a topic this is for his little bandmate, and it’s not one he’s all too helpful around. Rain has always been the most understanding of Dew’s struggles with gender, and only the girls would understand how to physically help something like menstruation. But in the name of Satan that was not going to stop Swiss from at least trying.

“What do you want?” Swiss asks, cutting in again before Dew even has a chance to answer. “Other than to be left alone, because we both know that’s not happening.”

Dew huffs, rolling his eyes. It doesn’t distract Swiss at all from the obvious signs of distress the fire ghoul was displaying, especially the way Dew’s claws curl into his oversized sleep shirt more and more at every new cramp.

“...A bath.” He answers, finally. Swiss feels a small sense of relief, at least Dew isn’t kicking and screaming and physically forcing him from his room. It’s progress, Swiss remembers how closed off the smaller ghoul used to be even only a couple of years ago, this sort of intimacy would have been entirely out of the question then.

“A bath.” Dew can’t help but feel a little comforted by the genuine relief in Swiss’ voice, as if he’s truly happy he gets to help Dew. “I can do that.”

As quickly as he entered, Swiss is once again out of sight, scampering around Dewdrop’s ensuite to find all of the things to make a bath for the little ghoul. He runs the water until it’s nearing hot enough to scald his skin right off the bone, just how Dew likes it, then plugs the drain and waits for it to fill up as he fumbles with clean towels and cloths and bath soaps.

Finally, the bath is filled, bubbles are swirling, and candles are lit. Swiss walks back into the room, cooing Dewdrop’s name.

“Sweetheart, do you want me to carry you?” He smirks a little, unable to resist teasing the little ghoul at least a tiny bit. The adorable glare he gets in response makes it worth it, but he does feel a twinge of guilt when he sees a small wince of pain cross Dew’s face. “Seriously, you don’t look in any state to walk.”

Dew simply looks away from him, avoiding eye contact, and that’s all the answer Swiss needs. He scoops the little fireball into his arms and spends every step to the bathroom revelling in how perfectly Dewdrop fits in his arms.

He props Dew against the edge of the bathtub, deftly removing his clothes with the precision of a man that’s dealt with this exact shirt and boxers combination hundreds of times already. Dew pays no mind to being stripped by his fellow ghoul, but feels a twinge of humiliation when he sees Swiss’ eyes catch on the blood coating his thighs.

“Poor thing.” Swiss murmurs, without any kind of teasing or condescension to his tone whatsoever. “Let’s get you all cleaned up, hm?” He smiles softly as he lifts Dew into the bathtub gently. Dew’s heart twists at the genuine concern evident in Swiss’ eyes.

There’s a moment of silence as Dew acclimates to the temperature of the water, trying to push away the thought that Swiss had found exactly the right temperature for him, even better than he usually can himself.

He sinks a little deeper in, watching as strands of his blond hair turn to a soft brown at the touch of the water. Then, he feels an all too familiar touch against his shoulders, massaging softly.

“You don’t… have to do that.” Dew almost whispers, his voice almost swallowed by the flourish of emotions he was trying to tamp down.

“I want to.” Swiss’ voice is almost equally as soft, compelling him to lean back into the touch and embrace the comfort wholly. Soon enough, Swiss’ hands wander. Though, it’s not in the way Dew has become accustomed to.

There is no roughness or desire within these touches, just gentle massaging and lathering soap into his skin. Dew’s mind goes blank at the unfamiliar sensation, letting his head rest against the bathtub and his eyes fall closed as Swiss’ hands caress his chest and abdomen, the pain from before reducing to nothing but a hum under his skilled fingers.

Swiss indulges himself and allows his hands to span Dew’s chest as a small purr rumbles through his small body, feeling the vibrations ever so clearly and being filled with a sense of pride knowing that it was entirely him that drew the purr from the little ghoul.

“After this, I’m spooning you to sleep.”

[becauseplot]

I don’t usually do October prompt challenges, but Inktordem exists and I miss writing! No promises on the length or quality, or that I’ll do every day, or that I’ll write them in order, or that I’ll use exclusively the prompt list (I have a list of alt prompts in my back pocket), but I’m gonna try.

I wrote this yesterday but it was 20 minutes to midnight and I was sleepy so I’m posting it now.

Spoilers for lore revealed in OPD ep 18!

DAY 1 — SANGUE

Agatha runs her tongue over the front of her teeth, feeling the pinch of her fangs, and licks her lips. She presses herself a little deeper into the corner. Hands fisted at her sides, she watches as the tall fucker—it’s always him nowadays; she hates his stupid face—makes a show of looking through the instruments on the table. She can see him in the sickly yellow light of the single bulb: picking up the pliers, setting them down, picking up the hammer, setting it down, picking up the knife, setting it down.

He does this every time. Trying to wind her up, trying to thicken that chilling fog. She hates that it works. The anger bubbles up inside her just as quickly as the fear does, a violent, roiling boil that she swears spills around her like her blood that’s spilled all over that stupid, shit-fucking symbol painted on the floor. She can feel it sticky on her skin.

Finally, the fuckhead makes a choice. He picks up the skin rake. God, Agatha hates the skin rake.

He turns towards her, quick. She flinches. He chuckles, mocking. Agatha snarls, and swallows, and sucks in a breath, and grinds her jaw, and heart pounding in her ears, she presses herself further into that corner, as if she can mold her body into the wall by force, ache of unfeeling bricks against her back, grating the skin through her threadbare shirt, bursts of pain against the knobs of her spine and ribs and elbows and shoulder blades, and—

—she hates that fucking skin rake. She hates it so much. She hates this fucker so goddamned much she wants to throw up. She wants him dead. She wants him more than dead, she wants him flayed into sad, disgusting pieces all over the floor. She wants him screaming like she’s screamed all these days, weeks, months until his vocal cords snap into a gooey glob in his throat and he chokes on it and—

—he reaches for her—

—NO NO NO NO NO NO NO—

—she throws her whole body with the motion, chest and and legs and arms and head and grabs his arm and bites with everything she is—

—blood bursts in her mouth. Coppery and thick. It splashes up her cheeks and her nose and even into her eyes. Her fangs hit bone, easy, and there’s an audible crunch.

And he screams.

Agatha lets his arm go laughing. Her whole body trembles with it. Even as bile creeps up her throat she laughs, satisfaction at the sight of him screaming and scrambling away from her crashing and swirling with the hatred and fear, fear, fear.

She’s fucked, she’s so, so fucked, but for now she howls in sheer delight as he howls in agony, the skin rake dropped on the ground.

Agatha runs her tongue over her fangs. Metallic tang. Bright red vengeance, all over her lips. She grins at him, all teeth. See who’s laughing now, dickface. See who’s laughing now.

[somber-sapphic]

AheM 🌸 Im a secret lover for hugs so I’ll gladly accept and reciprocate :) and yep sorry I just fuLLy fully read the whole post :’) that definitely goes out to them and you and whoever gets unnecessary stupid hate. Heheh well if you don’t mind I’ll ask for something under this and it’s more than okay if you took like months just take ur time🤭 naw I’m sorry you didn’t have a great day, that’s really shit, but I’m super happy you feel better and hopefully today and tomorrow is a better day! And remember I’ve got two shoulders in case and anytime🫡💪 how’d you know? I’m like always dehydrated, dehydration is scared of me ahaha. But hey most if the time it’s always the people giving advice aren’t following it… so you better be drinking plenty of water too!! And as for the request, would it be possible to ask for a WandaNat with like pregnant reader or reader already recovering from a bad injury with prompts like ‘Ill timed’ and ‘ it’s nothing’🫣 if not that’s okay but ily thank you thank you your amazing eat drink SLEEP, take care of yourself please :)) <3

Are You Staying

⧽ Notes: Hi! So, I don't write anything for pregnant anyone, but here's a sick and hurt reader for you!

⧽Summary: Reader is injured badly after a mission, leaving them with an infection.

⧽Word Count: 1665

〔 Masterlists 〕

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You were so, so tired of laying in bed, but your girlfriends wouldn’t let you get up. Apparently, when you ignore an injury for so long that the infection turns into sepsis you are no longer allowed to make decisions for yourself. Who knew? 

Well, there you were, laying in bed, struggling to focus on the book that you were holding in slightly trembling hands. The large gash along your side was beginning to throb again, indicating that you needed another dose of pain medicine, but it made you groggy and you didn't like it. 

You were already feeling sort of fuzzy, your mind blurring in and out. Your head ached and you were starting to wonder if this was more than just the damn lingering infection. Bruce had finally taken you off the IV antibiotics but you were warned that it was vital for you to take the oral ones on a strict schedule to ensure that you didn’t get worse again. 

You rubbed your throat gently and cleared it, trying to get rid of the tickle that had taken up residence there in the past hour or so. It was when the first sneeze came that you finally connected the dots. 

The pain in your sinuses, the slightly runny nose that had required you to wipe it every few minutes, the inability to get warm, the overwhelming feeling of fatigue. It wasn't the infection. You had a cold. You had a damn cold. Of all things, you had gotten yourself sick. Your girlfriends were going to kill you. 

Deciding that it was probably best to keep them out of the loop, you put the book aside and curled up under the blankets in a last-ditch effort to sleep the bug off. Maybe if you’d noticed earlier you would’ve had time to get ahead of it, but for now, you would at least sleep. Putting off rest had probably not helped the situation. Fuck. This was going to be a very long few days. 

When you woke you were incredibly disoriented. The pain in your side was so bad you felt like you wanted to throw up and for some reason, you couldn’t move. This was wrong, this was not okay. 

You managed to sit up with a lot of effort but your head was spinning, the room tilting around you in a way that made you wonder if you should call your girlfriends. They probably wouldn’t mind, they weren’t doing anything important, they just had a lot of busy work to do. You were also supposed to be doing busy work if you felt up to it, but there was absolutely no way you could read, much less hold a pen.

A harsh fit of coughing wracked your body, your lungs burning in agony as your side screamed at you that you needed to stop, that you needed to sit still and never move again, but you couldn’t stop coughing. 

You doubled over despite the protest of your body and hacked until you finally managed to cough up a glob of something green and absolutely disgusting. You leaned over the side of the bed and spit into the trashcan with an agonized groan. 

No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t get a full breath of air into your lungs. Everything hurt, everything was miserable, and the world was definitely ending. Tears rolled down your cheeks which you were sure were flushed with fever and you were regretting not taking the pain medication earlier. Now you were in too much pain to get up and find the pills. 

You managed to roll over and grabbed your phone, gasping aloud as you pleaded with the world that your stitches stayed intact. You really didn’t want to stain your bed with any unnecessary blood, the girls would probably be upset, they loved this comforter. 

With pain blurring in your vision you managed to click on the icon for Wanda’s name and hit speaker, absolutely no way that you would be able to hold the phone up to your ear. 

“Hi sweet girl, what’s up? Are you alright?” The woman’s voice lilted over the phone, immediately calming you down. She had a way about her, her mere presence, whether in person or over the phone, always served to make you feel safer. 

“I-I need…Wanda…Wanda it hurts…” You said through quiet sobs, your words punctuated by a particularly harsh sneeze that made you cry out. 

“Okay, okay love, give us five minutes. I’m going to stay on the phone with you. Are you bleeding? Can you check for me?” She asked, you could hear that she was running, another set of footsteps behind her. 

“No.” You whimpered, desperate for them to be back. You wanted them to fix it, you wanted them to make everything stop hurting, you wanted them to magically cure your sickness, which Wanda may actually be able to do. 

“Alright baby, just stay still. Wanda and I will be there soon. Keep breathing.” That was Natasha, her voice rushed as footsteps pounded in the background. You coughed and let out a sob, curling into a ball as your eyes and nose streaming. Part of you wished that the pain would just take over so that you could pass out and stop feeling it. 

You had almost slipped into that unconsciousness when the door slammed open and you felt gentle hands on your cheeks, one of the girls pleading with you to open your eyes. You obeyed, but mostly because of the harsher tone that you were sure came from Natasha. 

You stared at their blurry figures, wondering how much of this was the fever and how much was the injury. 

“Hey baby girl, there you are. Here, just want you to take this, okay? Swallow for me.” Wanda slipped a pill into your mouth and Natasha followed it with a cool bottle pressed to your lips. You took a little sip, but the cold water grated against your throat in an incredibly uncomfortable way. Every molecule in your body was ordering you to just stop. Your body was done. 

“Oh Y/n, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you say something sooner?” The witch cooed, wiping away tears as quickly as they could. 

“I-it’s nothin’, s’nothin. J’st hurts.” You breathed, already feeling the effects of the strong cocktail that was whatever Bruce had prescribed for you. 

“Do you think the infection’s back? We’ve been making sure that they take the antibiotic, should we call Banner?” Natasha asked, speaking to you as if you weren’t in the room, literally sitting right there. Of course, you were so out of it that you may as well have been in space, floating away from reality. 

“Y/n, love, Nat’s going to check your side,” Wanda said, well aware that you weren’t listening even in the slightest as the drug kicked into your system. She could feel the heat radiating off of your skin and was absolutely panicking, but doing a good job of keeping it under control. 

Natasha very carefully lifted up your shirt and peeled back the bandage to reveal a thankfully clean, not bleeding cut with all of the stitches still intact. She let out a sigh of relief and kissed your stomach right next to the injury. 

You sneezed pitifully into the pillow and whined, looking up at Wanda with big, sad eyes. She grabbed a tissue and wiped your nose tenderly, her whole body relaxing as she took in the situation. 

“You’re sick, aren’t you?” Natasha shifted and frowned at the two of you, sitting right by your head. You shifted into her lap and nodded, muffling a fit of chesty coughs into her leg. The assassin rubbed your back while the brunette by your feet hummed her disapproval. 

“Okay, Y/n/n, let’s check your temperature and we’ll get you some medicine.” The thermometer was still there since they had been monitoring your temperature for infection reasons, but now you had a fever for a whole new reason! Your body was trying to kill you for something new!

“Open.” You glanced over at Wanda and pouted slightly, nuzzling closer to your other girlfriend, the one who wasn’t going to make you do something that you didn’t want to. You didn’t hurt anymore and you weren’t about to stay awake until the pain came back. 

“Just listen to her,” Natasha ordered, poking you in the face to get you to open your mouth. Your first instinct was to bite her, but she was too quick for that. The witch placed the thermometer under your tongue and you let it stay there, not in the mood to fight either one of the women. 

The redhead you were sitting on stroked your hair as you waited for the stick to beep, unknowingly lulling you closer to sleep. 

“102.4, that’s not great. Y/n, why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Wanda murmured, scooching up on the bed so that she was laying beside you, still wearing relatively comfortable clothes. You rolled over and pressed your head into her chest, mumbling some excuse that no one could make out under your breath. 

“Okay babe, take some more Tylenol and you can sleep.” You lifted your head and opened your mouth, not caring enough to take it yourself. If they wanted you to be medicated, they would be medicating you. Natasha rolled her eyes while Wanda chuckled and she helped you swallow the pills before laying you back down. 

“You stayin’?” You slurred tiredly, cuddling up against the Sokovian. 

“Of course, we’re staying, dummy. Apparently, you can’t be trusted by yourself.” The redhead grumbled, laying down on your other side. She pulled the blankets up over the three of you and kissed your shoulder blade. Wanda kissed your forehead and you sniffled, snuggling deep into the blankets. You could deal with the cold later, for now, you just wanted to be held. 

[omegasimpsstuff]

Jealousy

Requested by @ladyshipwildrose

Special thanks to @captainsarahscratches for giving me advice on writing

Warnings: smut, angst

(I’m sorry I’m such a bad writer)

You had just walked backstage after your match on dynamite. Your body was hurting, every step was agony as you made your way to catering.

Once you got there you saw one of your friends, Darby Allin, walking towards you.

“Hey Y/N!” He said as he wrapped you into a hug, causing you to wince at the pain of his arms worsening your pain.

“You okay?” He asked concerned

“Yeah, just really sore after that match” you replied

“Here sit down, I’ll help you”

Before you had time to even question it he pushed you into the chair and started massaging your shoulders. Getting at every painful knot in your shoulders. It felt like heaven.

You opened your eyes and saw Kenny Omega staring daggers at us. We weren’t dating, but we’ve been talking for the past 4 months. Nothing crazy has happened between us besides simple quick missionary.

“Sorry Darby, I gotta go” you said as you rushed out of the chair and ran to the locker room.

————————————————————————

You were laying in the bed In your hotel room, the warm shower you just took really helped your shoulders and back.

You were watching tv as a knock at the door grabbed your attention. You walked over and opened the door and saw Kenny.

“Let me in” he said, angrily. You stepped out of the way to allow him to come in.

“Are you and Darby a thing?” He asked, not wasting any time as you had barely even shut the door.

“What?” You asked taken a back at the question.

“I really like you and I want you to be apart of my life, but I would hope that you’d give the the courtesy of not wasting my time if your with Darby”

“No we’re not a thing” you replied now starting to getting angry.

“Well then what was that backstage I saw?”

“He gave me a shoulder massage because I was in pain from my match!” You replied trying not to yell. You could see his eyes soften, he felt bad.

“Oh…. I’m… I’m so sorry” he replied with a soft voice. You could tell he felt bad, making you forgive him instantly.

“It’s ok… do you get jealous often?” You asked, not knowing if this was gonna be something you have to deal with often.

“I’ve never been a jealous person before, but something about you does something to me, I hate seeing other men talk to you, I want to be them.” He said looking you in the eyes as he sat next to you on the bed.

“I get it, i’d be lying if I said I haven’t felt the same with other woman over the last 4 months” you replied as you placed your hand on top of his.

“Let me make it up to you” he said as he started leaning in as our lips connected. His tongue licked your bottom lip asking for entrance. You of course let him, deepening the kiss.

He laid you down and got on top of you

“Feel what you do to me” he said as he rubbed his erection on the fabric of your shorts, causing you to moan at the friction.

“Please Kenny, I need you”

He pulled down your shorts as you pulled down his sweatpants. Wrapping your hands around his dick instantly.

“Fuck” he groaned out.

“As good as this feels, and believe me… it feels good, that’s not what I wanna be doing right now” he said right as the thrusted into you.

He gave you time to adjust to his size as you nodded, he started thrusting faster.

“Oh my god Kenny!” You yelled out

“God I love the way you feel, it’s like you were made for my cock” he whispered into you ear.

Your hands made their way to his hair and tugging it unknowingly due to the pleasure. But he seemed to love it because he started pounding into you harder, practically pounding you into the mattress.

“Oh my god I need to be deeper” he yelled out as he threw your legs on top of his shoulders getting deeper access, hitting that spot exactly right.

“Fuck right there!!” You yelled out, not caring how loud you were. The knot in your stomach about to explode. You could feel his cock twitch inside of you right before he came, causing your orgasm to crash over you.

He continued thrusting slowly to drag out both of our orgasms as we both began to come down from our highs.

“That was amazing” you said quietly.

“Yeah… it was..” he said cautiously

“Are you ok?” You asked as you looked over at him.

“Y/N, I want this all the time, I want you 24/7, will you be my girlfriend” he asked hesitantly worried you might say no.

“Of course I will” you replied.

[victimeyez]

Levels

Professional//Victim

masterlist: x Prev: x Next:

taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter @whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery @thembology @2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds @morning-star-whump

Please read content warnings in the tags.

LEVELS

Tommy woke up to his door shutting hard behind Caius, who re-locked it behind him before pocketing the keys. 

Tommy startled at the sound, and clutched his sheet to his chest for a moment, trying to calm himself. 

Caius wasn’t holding any food or medications. That wasn’t a good sign. He had that serious look on his face, the one where he pretended he didn’t enjoy his pain. Damnit. 

“You’re in trouble.”

Tommy’s stomach dropped. He started to sit up against his pillow, but hissed with the pain his movement inspired. He sank back down and pulled the sheet up over his nose.

“Why?”

Caius sighed, disappointment clear on his face.

(Fucking prick.)

“You can’t try to talk to me when you’re with a client, Tommy. You know that.”

(Oh.)

It all came back to him then. Lisa’s hair framing a face his mind had already blurred. Mark’s hands on him - no. Stop it. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. Stop. Stop the thoughts.

Tommy turned from him and stared at the ceiling. He hated that his eyes prickled, threatening tears. Was it not enough?  Was living like this not a punishment on its own? He felt like he couldn’t go any lower than how he felt after last night. 

“I’m sorry.” Tommy said, and his broken voice sounded sincere. He was sorry he ever tried. He was sorry he still thought there was hope. His apology was just a weak attempt to shield whatever was left of himself. 

“No meds for a week.”

He shot up in bed at that, grimacing at the pain. 

“A week?!”

“Could be longer,” Caius offered with a raised eyebrow. Tommy sucked in a breath and became silent. 

“Antibiotics?”

“You’ll get those. Nothing for the pain.”

“But- but,” He scrambled for some defense.

“Pain - pain management is an important part of the healing process, you’ll delay my recovery and it’ll be that much longer before I can - before I can go with another client.”

It was technically true. A plea to Caius’s logic was his only possible bargaining chip.

Caius pretended to chew it over for a moment. This logistic hadn’t slipped his mind, and he had already made peace with it. He stepped back to the door and unlocked it once more.

“I can wait.”

He didn’t give Tommy a chance to reply. The door locked behind him, and Tommy slumped back to his mattress. Helpless tears finally spilled from his eyes and he wanted to scream and scream. 

He hadn’t even had a chance to take inventory of the damage yet. His ass felt like he’d been sitting on hot coals, it still radiated heat like a particularly brutal sunburn. His wrists and ankles felt swollen and sore to the slightest touch. Trying to move his hands only made the muscles spasm, and they were too weak to lend him his usual control. 

A whole week without painkillers. He’d taken them away before, but never that long. It meant he could count on sleepless nights up with the agony. Even though he rarely broke rules anymore, his punishments got worse, not better. 

He wanted to scream and curse Caius, but “throwing a tantrum” would only land him a harsher sentence. He rolled over and shoved his face into the pillow and punched the mattress until he was exhausted and hurt enough to slump back down to rest. 

He clenched his eyes closed, begging his body for sleep again. One week without drugs would last an eternity.

—

He’d made it through four days. For four days, Caius made him take daily walks to keep his body from seizing with pain. The rest of the time, he laid as still as he could and wallowed. He wanted to be left alone, but Caius suddenly had all the time in the world for him. 

“Go,” Caius instructed, gesturing to the basement steps. Standing at the bottom, Tommy could not imagine making his way up them, just as he had every other day. He didn’t want his sentence lengthened, but he swallowed hard at the prospect of another arduous journey up.

Caius’s hands found his shoulders and he guided him to the first stair, his touch agitating the wounds on Tommy’s shoulders. 

“Could you - I could follow you? I just - need a minute.”

“You can do it. One step at a time.”

He was already trembling on his feet. His ankles pulsed with a dull, merciless pain. His legs hurt, his ass hurt, his thighs were still sore to the point of weakness. 

“I don’t think I can do this, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, can we just - I can walk a few times around the basement maybe? I-”

He was cut off by a hard shove between his shoulders, sending him sprawling onto the stairs. 

“If you can’t walk, then you can crawl.” 

Caius moved up onto the stairs, and leaned down to grip a generous handful of the prone boy’s hair. He started to ascend the stairs, dragging Tommy close behind by his hair. Tommy had to start scrambling up the steps on his hands and knees to try to keep up. His hands fluttered around Caius’s grip, wanting to wrench his fingers open, but he didn’t dare. The cement was cold and gritty under his palms and his knees, but he dragged himself up each step, desperate to end the pain. At the top he was released, and he crumpled to the floor, breathless with the strain. 

Caius let him lay there for a few minutes until he bored, moving again and beckoning to Tommy to follow. Tommy pulled himself onto trembling legs, leaning heavily against the wall. Caius coaxed him forwards, taking him a different path than they usually took for these walks. 

Tommy grit his teeth and walked.

He was so focused on trying to stabilize that he didn’t realize where they were heading until he was led to the bottom of the upstairs stairwell. The stairs there were carpeted and clean, with an elegant banister slithering up the side. When Caius directed him to take the stairs, he balked.

Looking into Caius’s face was like trying to read a mask, but Tommy searched for a clue if this was some kind of sick test. He had never been to the upper floor. He assumed that’s where the others lived, or worked, or whatever they did with most of their time. 

Caius waved him on, one eyebrow quirked expectantly. 

“Caius…I don’t think I’m allowed up there…” 

(What fresh hell is this? A trick? He played those sometimes…)

“I’m telling you to go up, so you aren’t allowed to go anywhere else.”

Tommy held his hands to his chest, squeezing them to console himself. The stairs looked endless, curving to the side and out of sight after an already arduous stretch.

“Please Caius, I’m trying, I am, but the stairs, I really don’t think-”

He was interrupted by the sharp snap of Caius’s fingers in front of his face, followed by a sharp finger pointing up the stairs. 

“Three more days.”

Tommy gasped, his hand rising to touch Caius’s arm for just a moment before he remembered himself. He didn’t know what he was trying to do, he just - wanted to do something, anything. He wanted to hold onto him. He had nothing more to comfort himself than the very source of his misery. 

Judging by the murderous glare Caius was giving him, he was out of time.

When Caius got in this kind of mood, Tommy knew to shut up and put his head down. In the moment it took to register consciously, he was already stepping up the stairs, his hands reaching out to the carpeted stairs ahead of him tentatively. His back felt agonizingly stiff, but being able to support himself more comfortably on all fours helped a little. 

(Ignore the pain. Put it in the back of your mind. Move. Just keep moving.)

He made it to the top and froze, unsure of what to do. Caius was only a step behind him, and his fingers hooked the back of his collar. He guided him by the back of the neck over to a tall white door. There was a skylight above them casting soft, bright light down, and Tommy’s eyes watered with the change from his dim basement room. Tommy pushed himself onto his feet and stood uncertainly in the hallway. Caius quickly moved to corner him up against the door, and Tommy blindly grabbed for the handle, finding it locked. Caius was too close, so suddenly, and Tommy could smell him, could feel his breath on his face. The warmth of his body pressing him against the cool wood, reaching beside his hip to unlock the door and turn the handle.

He released his grip on the collar with a grin.

Tommy stumbled backwards as the door gave way, sprawling on the floor in a defeated heap. He groaned and covered his face with his arms, trying to shield his face. Some days, Caius just wanted his pain. It was starting to look like one of those days. 

Caius padded in behind him and closed the door. From between his fingers where he laid on his side, all Tommy could see were his feet. 

He shivered there, for a moment, anticipating the blows. (At least the carpet is soft.)

(Fuck. Really, really soft.)

He forgot how nice a good carpet felt. The one in his “bedroom” was old and ground into a thin mat over the cement. The carpet beneath him was a clean cream color with padding beneath him, making it cushier than his mattress. 

Moments passed and there was no strike. A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him up until he was sat against the side of an enormous bed, a rich blue comforter spilling over the side. He looked blearily up at Caius, who crouched before him. He pinched his chin and turned his face from one side to the other, looking at his eyes. 

(Why am I in your bedroom?)

He didn’t say anything. He’d already switched gears, resigned to whatever Caius fancied doing to him today. The new environment and the big bed put him ill at ease though, and he felt nauseous. His brain was in low power mode, trying to forget what was happening as soon as it did. He wanted to walk far away from his mind and stay somewhere where the carpet was always so soft and clean.

His eyes accidentally connected with Caius’s for a moment. He always forgot what he looked like somehow, and it was so hard to look him in the face. The clear rim of his glass, the chestnut strands that cradled his face. Those dark brown eyes. 

He looked like the devil to Tommy.

“Stay.” 

He nodded numbly, grateful when Caius turned away and broke eye contact. For some reason, he couldn’t make himself look away first.

Caius pulled a long chain lead from the top drawer of his nightstand. Tommy leaned his head back and submitted his throat to him, accepting the lead locking onto his collar with nothing more than a nervous swallow.

(Better than being dragged by my hair…I think.)

When Caius rose, he pulled the leash, and Tommy struggled to his feet. He was afraid to support himself on the comforter, the fabric too fine for his calloused touch. 

Caius coaxed him onto the bed with a tug of the chain. The moment Tommy made contact with the bed he whimpered, his muscles turning to jelly in fear of retribution. But Caius joined him on the bed and sat up against his pillows, winding the chain around his fist to gather Tommy closer. He reluctantly crawled to him, the nausea growing stronger.

(Don’t do this. Don’t open that door.)

Caius settled him on his side though, and drew his head down to his lap. One hand curled possessively in his hair again. Tommy braced himself, but his fingers gently combed through, soothing and untangling the strands. Lately, he could get whiplash with how fast Caius’s moods came and went. Shocking, blinding cruelty would be followed with unnerving gentleness

. A book was fetched from his nightstand and rested open on his cheek, one wing of the hardcover supported balanced on his face. 

“Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the British Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the library regarding Transylvania; it had struck me that…”

The bed was cushy, and sank in generously at his touch. It unnerved him, a gnawing feeling plaguing him that the mattress might sink like quicksand beneath him. In spite of himself, he began to relax to the soothing cadence of Caius’s voice, slowly relinquishing the tension coiled in his body. With his face covered, he didn’t have to focus on making his expression acceptable to his unpredictable host. The fingers in his hair didn’t pull or punish, and their rhythmic caresses started to lull him to sleep.

Caius smelled…he smelled like sandalwood. He smelled clean. He smelled warm. He felt warm, his legs beneath him radiating a comforting warmth. 

Tommy’s heart suddenly ached fiercely. Desperate to soothe it, he nuzzled into the warm body beside him. Caius paused as it upset his book, but he let Tommy cuddle closer without correction.

 It had just started to overwhelm him, this odd moment of domesticity. He’d been alone for so long, and the gentle touches were few and far between. He just wanted to embrace the feeling while he had it, before it could slip through his fingers. He’d spent so long just trying to numb the world out, it felt so good to be here and pretend he wasn’t prey in the arms of a predator. 

Caius held him, and it felt good.

“I never used to be able to keep a relationship.”

Tommy tilted his head to look at Caius. Their eyes met, and Caius looked into his face so fully and honestly that it paralyzed him.

“It wasn’t a problem getting them, but they never stayed. They wanted me until they saw all of me and then they left.”

Silence hung between them. Tommy was wordless at the sudden admission. 

“I guess my longest relationship is you, huh?”

A chill ran down Tommy’s spine. Caius’s hand touched his cheek and he stared at it, enraptured by the contact with his ward. There was something wrong in that look. He didn’t look at him like a lover, but like a doll. Like a muse. 

Tommy shrank away from his touch, but Caius’s hand caught him and pushed his head down to his lap. Suddenly his touch didn’t feel so warm and so gentle. The ache came back to Tommy’s chest, as the warm feeling drained from his face.

(You can’t always play pretend.)

“You know I used to do insurance? That’s how I met Rory. We just clicked, he was the only good thing about the job. One day he tells me that his tech whiz friend has got this start-up….that was Michelle. But he wanted us to relocate to Quebec. Can you imagine living in Quebec? Working for some french freaks?”

Tommy wondered if they would have taken him at all. If some boy up north was spared being in his place because of a sliver of francophobia. 

“Once he moved here, it all kinda fell into place.”

Tommy missed the other story.

“You know, I never let my licenses lapse. I’ve renewed them three times. I just kept thinking, this is too good to be true. Something’s going to happen and I’ll be back at a desk.”

His position no longer felt comfortable, and Caius’s hand was fully pushing down on his head, seemingly without noticing. He could feel his heart start to pound.

“I think I’ll let them go this year. All in, I guess.”

Anger burned suddenly on the back of Tommy’s neck. 

(Are you committed now? Finally into it? I’ve been in it all along. You took away my choice and locked me in a basement and let people torture me for money. You took my life away…but now you finally want to take the reins and invest? I hope Hell exists just so there’s a place for people like you.)

“Hey. I know you hurt. I know it’s been really hard to get through the last few days. How would you like to make a deal?”

Tommy turned his head at that. He was weak for Caius’s deals. He could never manage to turn them down, no matter how many times he paid for it. But sometimes it wasn’t so bad, so he always fell for the bait.

He stared at Caius’s chest, unable to meet his eyes again.

“That’s what I thought you might say,” Caius said with a smile, to Tommy’s obviously piqued attention. 

“You take another punishment now, and I’ll count it for the rest of the week.”

(Oh, no.)

(He had to take it, right? What’s a little more pain in the short term? He could just get his drugs right after, right?)

(No, don’t get ahead of yourself. At least ask.)

“What punishment?” he murmured. 

“You’ll get the cane,” Caius answered. He said it in that humiliating way, as if he was explaining something in a caring voice.

He mulled it over briefly. Canings were fucking agony, but it might be worth it to cut his time short.

(Fine.)

“Okay.” It came out in a whisper. 

As soon as he said it, it started to really sink in. He was suddenly stunned in disbelief that this was happening, As Caius moved him to the side and slipped off of the bed, making his way to his closet. When Caius returned, holding a long, thin whip of a stick. He suddenly remembered sobbing underneath it the last time Caius took him to task. He couldn’t even remember what he had done. Sometimes he didn;t have to do anything at all. 

Caius directed him on the bed like a trainer handling his dog, putting him in the same position his last clients had whipped him in. His face down on Caius’s soft sheets, his chest pressed to the mattress. On his knees, and Caius reached between his legs to take his hands. He pulled his hands through and coaxed him to grip his ankles, holding himself in that humiliating position. 

Caius’s hands brushed over his ass before slipping his fingers into his waistband and tugging them down. 

Tommy whimpered as he was exposed, the fabric feeling like sandpaper as it slipped over the raw skin there. 

“Wait, Caius, wait, I take it back, I don’t want to do this.” It came out in rush as the panic properly started to set in, realizing how bad this was going to hurt. He was already covered in wounds, the bruises fully ripened, the skin starting to itch and crack. He let go of his ankles and tried to pull his hands back before Caius could stop him.

He didn’t succeed, and Caius’s hands on his wrists gripped like claws. 

“No, that’s not how this works. You took the deal.” Already having anticipated this, Caius grabbed a roll of tape he had secreted onto the bed.

“You’ll keep your hands right there if you want to be forgiven the rest of the week. Otherwise, you’ll get both.”

Tommy held onto his ankles as hard as he could, until his hands hurt as much as his feet. He felt like a great weight was coming down on him as Caius wound the tape around his fists, mummifying him there as he bound the limbs together.

Tommy was already crying when Caius finished wrapping him. He felt a hand on his hip, a curious thumb tugging at the edges of his pain. Getting a good look at him in this state. He told himself he had only imagined it as soon as he heard the soft click of the phone camera behind him. 

“Caius please, please Caius, don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me anymore,” He begged, but there was no answer to his prayers. 

He heard the soft whistle through the air before Caius struck him. It lit up a long slash of pain on his backside, and he panted under the blooming pain. Whip. Whip. Criss-crossing over and over on the backs of his thighs, down nearly to the backs of his knees and up to the swell of his ass. The blows were quick and merciful, reducing him to a sobbing mess of trembling flesh. It burned so bad and he pulled frantically on his bindings, trying to escape the steady battering. Caius started to hit harder, or maybe it just hurt more and more, or maybe both. Sometimes Caius just needed to work something out tanning his hide, and the pain was horrific. 

(His own, personal whipping boy.)

The soft mattress beneath him felt like less of a comfort as his face sank in, and he struggled to catch a breath as he wailed into the sheets. At least his knees didn’t hurt. The give of the cushion underneath him let him rock very slightly back and forth, the best he could do to ease the desperate need to move away. 

The steady hits sped up and plateaued, finally slowing and stopping. It could have been a hundred strikes. It could have been five, but it took centuries until he was satisfied. He was sweating frantically, and the salt stung his welted skin. 

“There we go, that got us there.” Tommy felt like a quivering slab of raw meat on a platter before him. Caius left for a while, letting Tommy cool off and finish his crying jag. When he returned, he had a pot of ointment in his hands. He worked the thick salve into his skin slowly, working an agonizing massage across the bloody strokes. Tommy whimpered and whined with the pain, but the intimate touch stirred unwanted tingles of pleasure in him. He pressed his thighs together firmly, but he couldn’t keep it up with how weak his legs felt.

Finally Caius was done molesting him and cut away the tape holding him in place. Tommy rolled over onto his side and dry sobbed until Caius decided to put him back. Mercifully, Caius helped ease him down the stairs, and took him over his shoulder to carry him the last few yards to his room.

Tommy laid on his bed and shivered. His bed wasn’t more comfortable, but it was familiar. His whole body pulsed with pain. Caius tethered him and Tommy struggled to keep his eyes open, he was so tired after the whole ordeal, though he doubted he would be able to sleep.

(Wait. The meds.)

“Can I please have my medicine now?” The idea of getting some relief from the pain made his teary-eyed all over again.

“Yes, after the three extra days you earned.”

(No)

(No)

(No.)

“Caius!” he moaned, but then his breath caught in his throat.

“I’ll be back after tea,” Caius promised as he locked the door behind him, leaving Tommy to burn in his bed. 

[lunarmoves]

every time i read ‘who i see, looking back at me’, it’s like i’m getting shot point blank over and over. I mean that in the best possible way, btw. You write grief so well, i can FEEL it.

I can’t describe how much i adore this series already <3 I’ve always wondered how his partner would feel if he did get out and i think you nailed the hysteria and the feeling of renewed agony from finding out he was alive this whole time.

No only that but you write Seb so well! I love all the relationships you gave him and the snarky personality. Everything that he says in the fic, I can imagine him saying.

sorry for gushing, your series does something to my brain

thank u for ur kind words omg!! admittedly i was worried about sebastian’s characterization LOLL. cant tell u how much i poured over his dialogue in the wiki trying to grasp at his personality 💀 and even then i was like…. bro is TIRED he probably won’t completely be the same/mean to his literal partner. im firmly on the “sebastian hates everyone except the love of his life” train loool. as we progress with the other two chapters he will be letting more of his walls down so he’ll be softer. in his own way pfft

and yessss i am trying so hard with writing the whole grief aspect ngl. i wanted it to be palpable yk? like— it’s sad!! his backstory is sad!! not knowing he was alive and then he comes back all mutated is difficult stuff to come to terms with, both for sebastian and his partner. he wants to sleep in his partner’s arms, yet he cant bring himself to be touched just yet. he stays awake all night. he disassociates. he has phantom pain from the experiments. he feels too large especially when he’s next to his partner. he can hear everything on the surface and it’s so fucking loud and bright and he hates that he thinks like that. he’s a murderer. he can’t ever let them know. and it’s sad!! he wants to be normal again but he’s stuck as he is and it is so so devastating. all that time he missed out on, all the opportunities…. truly heartbreaking stuff! and i eat that shit up like it’s dinner LMAO

taking it all from his partner’s pov is even more interesting bc like— half of his issues arent that noticeable unless u REALLY pay attention to him or catch him at the right time. and then they’re here grappling with the fact that suddenly their cottage has this massive fish man in it who’s their missing husband and like… it smells like fish in there. there r shedded scales littering the floor. they have to scoot around him to reach their couch. he’s hiding something from them. he’s pretending he’s fine when he’s not. he keeps rejecting their touch. he eats more than they do and they arent even the richest person out there to afford buying massive meals all the time. they can’t go out together in public. he snaps at them more than he used to. there are so many issues!!!!!!

but they still love him. and he still loves them. they’ll both make it work✨

[yellowsugarwords]

Hi! I was the one who requested the Twdg cabin group love confession request and I wanted to say thank you so much for doing my request! I absolutely loved it, I really love the cabin group so it makes me really happy to see someone writing for them 💜

If you don’t mind me asking for another request, could I request some scenarios of the cabin group reacting to their S/O being kidnapped by Carver? Like a scenario similar to what happened in episode 2 where the S/O gets taken by Carver while they’re watching Sarah, and when the group returns back to the cabin Sarah tells them all what happened? (Or something similar to this, doesn’t have to be this exact scenario if you’d like to change it up)

I hope I worded this in a way where it’s not too confusing or anything lol

OOOOOH BOYYYYYY the angst is real here. Ima go with that: when they return and Sarah has to fill them in.

Luke: Luke could feel his heart sink - more so crash - into his stomach. He almost felt as though his legs were going to go weak. “What do you mean ‘took them’?” He asked, voice strained yet soft. Luke turned, staring out the still ajar front door, staring into the trees, wondering where on earth they could be out there. Were they scared? Terrified? Cold? Soaked to the bone? Were they lonely? With Carver, any of those things - or even worse, all of those things -  could be true. He felt his knuckles clench and his jaw tighten. “Grab your gun.” He scoffed under his breath. It was raspy and hoarse. “What?” “Luke, you can’t--” “I said,” Luke said, snapping around and cutting Carlos off. His hands had been ruffling through his hair, causing it to be stressed in every which way. He held out a hand - it was shaking - and sighed. He tried composing himself. “I said grab your gun.” He paused between each word. “There’s no damn way I’m about to let Carver take Y/N. Hell no.” Luke seldom became this aggressive. The group knew, as he stormed up the stairs to pack a bag for the trek, that he was dead serious.

Nick: Nick felt the chaos surrounding him, and someone he was numb to it, and feeling it, all at the same time. “No,” was all he could say, staring out of the ajar door, into the woods. “That fucking asshole.” he cursed under his breath, his fists tightening and his gaze averting to the ground. If he was able to get his hands on him, he would rip him to shreds. “We have to go.” “Nick,” Luke said, voice defeated and pained. He knew Luke was pitying him, and he hated it. “We need to think carefully about this,” “We can’t just let them stay there!” Nick countered. Luke’s shoulders deflated, seeing the agony in Nick’s eyes. “Who knows what they’re doing to them right now. And while that happens we just,” he waved his arms frantically, needing to release some of his anxious energy. “Stay here? Until he comes back?” Nick scoffed and shook his head. “No.” He stormed out of the front door, snagging Pete’s gun off of the front porch, and starting away. He could hear the yells and scolds behind him, but kept going. Not long after, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and there stood Luke. “We’re not letting you do this alone.” Behind him stood the rest of the group, bags packed and hiking on their way. Nick nodded, unable to smile, too focused on saving Y/N.

Pete: Pete didn’t say anything, he stood silently as the others asked questions. He couldn’t bring himself to speak or move. All he could think was ‘how could he?’ He wasn’t surprised Carver would stoop to such a level. He was just furious. Without a word, he grabbed his gun from by the front door and started outside. “Pete?” “Pete, stop!” He could hear the group calling after him, asking where he was going. Before he knew it, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. “I’m going.” He was firm when he flipped around, spitting the phase into Nick’s phase. Nick didn’t react at first, just nodded. “That’s why we’re coming with you.” Behind him, Pete spotted the others slowly gathering their things, trying to prep. He said nothing, but he could feel the love swell in his chest. “I’ll get ahead.” And with that, Pete started off.

Carlos: Carlos’ heart flipped, going weightless for a brief moment, as if he was having an out of body experience. “What?” He leaned in, as though he was having trouble hearing. In reality, he just wanted to deny that he’d heard anything at all. “He took them.” Sarah said again, voice trembling more this time. Carlos attempted to comfort her as best he could, but he felt numb. Every fibre, and every inch. Sarah drew close, clinging to his jacket and crying. He placed a weak hand on her back, his gaze drifting out the door, mind in a million places other than the cabin living room. He gulped hard, trying to force back the pain, but he knew everyone was staring at him. They could tell. Pete placed a hand on his shoulder “We’re going after them, alright?” he said softly, hoping to encourage him without further panicking Sarah. “This isn’t over. We won’t let it be.” Carlos could feel a tear escape, but just nodded, biting the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the crushing pain.

Rebecca: Rebecca could feel herself ready to faint. Just as she could feel her knees start to give way, Carlos and Luke grabbed her, steadying her upright once again. “You can’t be serious,” she said weekly, voice threatening to break. She couldn’t tell if she was angry, devastated, grieving, or all of the above, crashing into her head all at once. “We can’t let him.” She urged, standing upright, attempting to regain her stability. “We can’t let Carver win again.” She could feel tears clambering up in the back of her throat. “Not like this. Not with Y/N!” Her voice broke more and more with every word. Luke tried to keep her steady, hoping she would remain as calm as possible. Rebecca finally lost her grip, fell to her knees, and sobbed. It was certain death to go after them, but definite torture if she didn’t. She couldn’t win. Every fibre of her being ached.

Alvin: Alvin could feel his stomach tighten and his fists clench. “No way,” was all he could manage to force out. “Alvin,” Carlos said lowly, “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.” Alvin spat back, turning around. “I’m bringing them back,.” “What?” Luke asked, stunned. “You can’t do it alone.” “Then join me.” Alvin seldom ever spoke this directly. He seldom ever spoke so intensely that you could hear the gruff in his vocal chords. He was livid. He was fuming. Luke relaxed his shoulders, watching as Alvin stormed deeper into the brush. “If you’re coming, pack your stuff.” He said, darting after Alvin. “I can’t lose them, Luke.” He said, so quietly Luke almost wasn’t able to hear. “I can’t.” Luke said nothing, just walked silently beside him and nodded. Alvin had the floor. Alvin made the rules. And when Alvin was angry, no one should ever dare cross him.

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 💌☕️♡