#FUCK YOU HAVE JOINT PAIN FLARE UP NOW

[coffeefromvoid]

POV: u wanna work on your patches for your battle jacket and patch pants but the sudden allergy outbreak fucked up your skin and your limbs feel heavy as fuck

[dinogoofymutated]

Hello, I love your writing!! And the Kurt taking care of an overworked lover really melted my heart 🫠💕 could I ask for a similar prompt with Logan? He's my #1 X Men man. If this ptompt is too specific no worries, feel free to make it work within your own parameters- but I live with chronic pain/illness, so maybe it could be someone with a condition that flairing up and they refuse to rest/ask for help, making things worse, and Logan finally steps in, maybe scoops them up in his big arms and lovingly forces them to take a break? Logan has such a big protective heart under all his gruffness, and I think we need to see more of it in the Fandom.

💖 Love and Bless You 💖

Wolverine/GN!Reader UGH I love this request!! I hope it's okay that i didn't write about a specific illness, but describe a general chronic pain/mobility difficulty due to it. I need to write soft logan like this more often UGH- also, I was picturing the flirty Logan from Wolverine and the X-men here. He's infected my brain and I need more versions of him like that lol. TWS: Chronic pain/illness. flareups.

If there's one thing anyone knows about Logan, it's that's he's crazy observant, especially with that sniffer of his.

Sure me might not be able to smell when you're in pain, but I 100% thing that he just -knows- when something is off. It's like a sixth sense. Like you move in a particular way or eat your "fuck I hurt" food and he's on you like a goddamn bloodhound.

It doesn't matter how much you protest, or how much you fight him on it, he's not willing to budge when it comes to letting you rest- and if he can sneak in a few extra cuddles, or more time in bed with you, it's just a perk.

    Today has been a rough day since you woke up, and you knew it would most likely get worse. 

    You were having a bit of a flare-up. Well, you say a bit, in all actuality, it was an uphill battle from here. There was just something off the moment you woke up. Your joints were stiff and painful, everyday actions became a chore, and you were hurting much more than normal. But, if there was one thing about you everyone knew, it was that you were certainly stubborn. 

    You’re in the kitchen currently, resting at the table after popping a batch of cookies in the oven. Jubilee had been begging you to make her some sweet treats, and with her coming home from a rather long mission tomorrow, you decided to surprise her. Your body’s timing was… unfortunate, but there was no stopping you now. You were exhausted after making the dough, and rolling it into balls. After you had popped them in the oven you had painstakingly walked to the fridge to put the rest of the dough inside, muscles protesting each and every step. You had collapsed into the nearest chair, leaning your head back with a sigh, which is where you are now. You let your eyes drift closed as you wait for the timer to go off, relaxing into the seat.

    “Hey~” You jump at the sound of the voice, opening your eyes to see a smirking Logan, his arms draped across the back of your chair. You let out a huff, smiling at him. 

    “Hi Logan.” You say sweetly. One of his hands reaches down to run through your hair, and you feel like a cat as you eagerly lean into the touch.

    “How are you feeling?” He asks. You hum, grimacing at the question.

    “Fine?” You respond, an unsure tilt in your voice. Logan raises an eyebrow at you.

    “Don't bullshit me, sweetheart. I know somethings off.” Logan rumbles. You make a face, sitting up from the chair as normally as you can as the timer for the cookies goes off.

    “It's just a minor flare-up. It's fine, I'm fine. I have to finish baking these cookies for tomorrow anyway, so I don't really have a choice.” You say. If he sees the way you stumble a little, he doesn’t comment on it. Logan watches as you take a moment before you open the oven, resting against the counter. You realize that you may have gotten up from the chair just a little too fast as stars spot your eyes. After a minute of rest, hyper-aware of Logan’s eyes on you, you go for it. You barely crack the oven door open before Logan grabs you by the waist.

    “Alright, that's enough.” He says. You yelp as Logan drags you away from the oven. He takes the cookies out quickly before he turns around and immediately throws you over his shoulder. Your yelp is more of a screech this time.

    “Logan! Let me go- what are you doing?!” 

    “I'm not gonna stand back and watch you do this to yourself. I'm taking you to bed.” Logan huffs. He’s already walking you out of the kitchen and into the other parts of the mansion as you hit your palms against his back, trying to convince him to put you down.

    “But- I- the cookies!” You cry out. Logan has already gotten to your door opening it as he carries you inside.

    “I got it. Now just- relax.” He says, plopping you down on the bed. The action has you a little dizzy, and Logan leans in to kiss you on the forehead before he tucks you under the covers. 

    “I'm going to go get you some water and vitamins. Stay. Here.” You don’t have time to protest before he’s gone, having shut the door behind him. You want to get up and chase after him, tell him that you don’t need any special treatment and that you were fine on your own, but you’re not sure you can really run right now- and the comfort and warmth of your bed and covers are calling you like a goddamn siren song. 

    You drift in and out of consciousness in bed until Logan is back, with a glass of water and vitamins as promised. He hands you a flintstone gummy as he sits on the bed, and you can’t help but snicker. Logan rolls his eyes, still having delivered vitamins as promised.

    “What did you do about the cookies?” You ask as Logan peels back the covers to lie in the bed with you. He pulls you close as he settles in, rubbing his hands soothingly across the parts of you he knows tend to ache the most. 

    “I put a new batch in the oven. I’ll smell them when they’re ready.” He says. You roll your eyes at him, resting your head against his chest. 

    “Thank you, you know. Not just for the cookies, but… for caring.” You whisper. He huffs a laugh, leaning down to kiss you on the lips this time.

    “You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. Just rest.”

[impala-dreamer]

You Only Want Me When You're High

A Story from The Boys Universe

~ As the newest and most useless recruit to The Boys, Y/N is tasked with keeping an eye on Soldier Boy while Butcher sorts things out. Annoyed to be given such a ridiculous job, she tries to keep the defrosted supe at arm’s length, but there’s something in the drugs and in his eyes that makes him hard to resist…~

Soldier Boy (Ben) x F!Reader, Hughie Campbell, Billy Butcher

5,426 Words

NSFW, Sexual Acts, Excessive Drug Use, Just NSFW all around… 

“I’m going to put my clothes on before you say anything else” for @jacklesversebingo

JacklesBingo Masterlist ~ My Full Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Sunlight illuminated a cloud of bluish-gray smoke and Ben took another hit. He breathed deeply, willing the drugs to seek out every cell in his preternaturally powerful body and corrupt them long enough to give him a little buzz. 

It wasn’t easy. It would take enough drugs to kill a mortal for him to feel that sweet high, but excess was a word he wasn’t familiar with.

Eyes closed, he exhaled another stream of musky vapor into the rented room. He felt his brain shift to the left for a quick second as a faint bit of dizziness struck him. He grinned, leaned back against the headboard, and stretched his long legs over the hideous bedspread. 

“There it is…” 

Another hit boosted his mood and Soldier Boy sighed happily, momentarily at peace.   

He cracked open an eye when the bathroom door opened. 

He licked his lips when Y/N walked out with a dingy white towel wrapped tight around her damp body; her hair pinned up and safe from the shower. 

He whistled when she crossed the room, heading for her duffle bag. 

“Fuck off,” she snapped, rolling her eyes as his grew darker and more locked on her form. 

Ben chuckled under his breath. “Hey, sweetheart, you can’t walk around naked like that and expect me not to get stiff.” 

He shifted on the bed, tugging at his pants to accommodate the growing length against his thigh. She stared at his hand as it teased the shadow creasing the fabric, and swallowed hard. He was gorgeous but the price of a quick romp wasn’t worth the pain in the ass. 

He winked. 

She groaned. “Asshole.” 

“Oh, come on-” Ben took a long pull on the blunt and held it in, voice tight on the inhale. He grabbed his cock. “You know you want some of this.”

“The weed yes…” She turned her back on him, grabbed the bag, and tugged open the noisy zipper.  “Your dick… no.” 

He scoffed. “You’re shit at lying, Y/N.” 

Her cheeks burned but she tried to ignore him as she searched the bag for her clothes. “Am I?” 

The wide tip of his pink tongue flashed over his lips and Ben sat up, focusing on her. “Sure are,” he replied, tracing her spine with his gaze. “You’ve been acting like you don’t want to get on your knees, but I know you’re hot as hell for me. You’d suck my dick in a second if I whipped it out right now, wouldn’t you?” 

He watched the muscles in her back tighten as she struggled to hide the shiver that slid from head to toe. 

“You’re a pig.” 

“Maybe.” He shrugged and leaned back again, bringing the joint to his lips. “Don’t mean I’m not right.” 

Y/N glared at him over her shoulder. “Butcher should have left you on ice.”

Ben grinned. “I’m still a little chilly,” he teased. “Why don’t you come warm me up?” 

“In your dreams, Grandpa.”

He patted his thigh. “Come on, Sweet Cheeks, hop on up here and show me those perky tits.” 

Arousal and anger swirled in her gut and Y/N grit her teeth. “Things don’t work like that anymore. You can’t just snap your fingers and have women swoon over you. This isn’t the ‘40s.” Her glare cut through him as sure as Homelander’s laser eyes could and his nostrils flared in annoyance. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to put my clothes on before you say anything else.” 

She turned to head back to the bathroom, but he moved like lightning, blocking her path. She gasped when his big hand locked around her arm. 

“What are you doing?” She twisted her hand to break free and the bundle of clothes fell to the floor. “Let me go.” Her voice was shaking but as firm as she could make it. 

He laughed and tightened his fingers around her wrist. “Your pulse is racing.” 

She looked up and sneered. “That’s because you’re annoying the crap out of me.” 

“Or maybe, it’s because you want me to do this-” 

Soldier Boy tugged her arm and she crashed against his firm chest. She inhaled quickly, sucking in the heat of him, the dark woody scent of his body, and the stink of the drugs. Her head clouded and he took advantage, pressing his lips to hers in a rough kiss. Unconsciously, she opened for him and his hot tongue snaked against hers. She couldn’t hide the way her heart pounded- he could hear it. She couldn’t conceal the flush of her skin- he could feel it. She couldn’t obscure the dampness between her legs- he could smell it.  

When he let her go, Y/N stumbled back and shook her head to clear her vision. 

Towering over her, Ben smirked proudly and licked her taste from his lips. “Told ya.” 

Her palm cracked hard against his cheek and he cringed for her benefit. 

“Fucking asshole!” 

Staring up into his emerald eyes, she felt herself weaken but refused to give in. She hit him again.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!”

Another slap made a soft smile pluck the corner of his mouth and Y/N raged, giving into the rushing arousal that swarmed her thoughts and pushed away her common sense. She raised her hand again, but instead of a slap, she clawed at the nape of his neck and drew his lips down to hers, kissing him hard. 

Ben sucked in a breath, shocked by her aggression. He hummed when she licked into his mouth; slipped his free hand down her sides when she bit his bottom lip. His fingertips dug into the meat of her hips and she pulled back, looking up into his freckled face.

The end of the joint smoldered between his fingers, crumbling to ash like a pillar of Pompei. Y/N wrapped her delicate hand around his wrist and brought his fingers up to her mouth. 

Holding his gaze, she puckered her lips and sucked in a deep breath, pulling the drugs into her lungs. She shuddered and coughed, senses overtaken by the strength of the bud.

“Fuck…” 

Ben bent down to take a final drag and the cherry died. He dropped the dregs and pulled her close, slowly exhaling the smoke through her parted lips. 

She inhaled and her eyes rolled. Her balance skewed and she swayed against him. 

“Now…” He cleared his throat and slid his hand against the back of her head, holding her there. “How about you get on your knees and show me what a good girl you are.”

Y/N laughed and shook her head. “I have a better idea.”

He cocked a brow. “Really?” 

“Mhm…” 

Taking a step back, Y/N released the knot in the towel and let it fall to her feet. Immediately, Ben reached for her, but Y/N caught his hand, shoving it away. 

“I told you, things are different now.” 

Reaching up, she dragged her fingertips down his cheek. He leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering slightly. 

“It’s not just take, take, take anymore…”

Her hand moved slowly down his throat, tracing the thick muscle down to his shoulder. 

“Sometimes, you gotta give.”

His forehead creased in confusion, and Y/N explained without words, pressing his shoulder down and urging him to his knees. 

In awe of her suggestion and high as a kite, Ben slid to the floor and looked up with full-blown pupils and wet lips. As he watched, she ran her hands over her breasts, plucking each nipple until the flesh darkened. He swallowed hard. Her right hand dipped down between her thighs, carrying his gaze to her pussy. She spread her legs and rubbed gently, slicking her fingers with arousal. 

He parted his lips, ready to shoot another one-liner her way, but Y/N silenced him quickly. She pushed her wet fingers into his mouth and rubbed her juices on his tongue. 

His eyes closed and he moaned around her fingers. “Fuck…” 

She spread her legs and grabbed a handful of his thick hair. “Time to give, Soldier Boy…”

Y/N forced his face into her cunt, but he needed little prodding. As soon as her flesh hit his face, he started to lick and her body arched back in mounting pleasure. She tugged at his hair as he sucked on her clit; bucked her hips against his mouth when he pressed two hot fingers into her. 

He came up for air, sitting back on his heels and craning his neck looking up at her. His face glistened and his lips were swollen. He pressed his palm down over his cock and groaned. 

“Wanna fuck you,” he breathed, roughly stroking himself through his sweats. 

Y/N smiled devilishly and shook her head. “That’s so sweet,” she mocked, “but no.” Again, she grabbed his hair and yanked until he fell forward. “This is all you get.” 

Ben sank into her pussy, driving her wild as lingering smoke faded around them.  

He watched her through the car windows, staring as she walked down the street with Hughie by her side. They were arguing about something he couldn’t hear. Hughie’s lanky twig arms were waving in the wind as Y/N stood with her arms crossed and a hip popped in annoyance. Ben couldn’t give less of a shit what they were fighting about, he just wanted out of the damned car. He wanted to stretch his legs and wreak some havoc on that bleached blond, cape-wearing dickwad Homelander. 

Instead, he crushed another pill in his strong hand and snorted it back, humming loudly as the jolt hit his brain. “Goddamn, that is good shit.” 

Again, his eyes flew to Y/N and he licked his lips, remembering the sweet taste of her pussy and the noises she made while cumming on his tongue. 

As if she could feel his eyes on her ass, Y/N suddenly turned and met his gaze. She shuddered a bit but didn’t look away, staring into his eyes from across the street. 

Hughie waved a hand in front of her face, drawing her attention back. 

“Hello! We’re not done here,” he snit; baby face screwed up in anger. 

Y/N tilted her head and shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Hughie. I’m not in charge of this shit. I’m just a babysitter.” 

She looked at the car again and found Ben still admiring her form. He had his right arm on the window ledge and his forehead against the door. She couldn’t see his left hand, but she could imagine where it was as he pressed his tongue against his top teeth and dropped his eyes down her body. 

Y/N sighed out a delicate moan. 

Hughie gagged. “Are you serious?” 

“What?” 

He grabbed her arm, turning her back around. “Are you fucking him?” 

Y/N startled and dropped her arms. “What? Who?” 

Hughie’s face reddened. “Who? Soldier Boy!”

Shaking herself, Y/N cringed. “Ew. No! Why the fuck-” 

“Well, you’re staring at him like he’s a fucking vibrator.”

Y/N laughed. “First off- that’s disgusting. Do not insult my vibrator like that. She’s one of my best friends.” She rolled her eyes. “Secondly, if I was gonna fuck anyone around here, it would not be that sexist junkie.” Hughie held his breath and stood up a little straighter. She laughed again. “Calm yourself,” she advised, turning away. “It wouldn’t be you either…” 

Ben slowly rubbed his cock through his pants, eyes glued to her curves. He laughed when she threw her hands up, obviously annoyed with Hughie and his problems. The twig man cowered slightly and his face blushed hot red. 

Soldier Boy laughed. “What a pussy.”

Three hours later, Y/N was half asleep in the front seat of the busted Lincoln, desperate to stay awake 

Night had fallen as they waited in the woods, trapped in a car by her sharp-tongued, bearded leader Butcher. Y/N wanted to get into the fray and stab something, but she had been bound to Soldier Boy’s side, tasked with keeping him content and docile until needed. 

She hated it. 

He was humming to himself in the backseat, happily learning how to access porn on her smartphone. It had taken some time to get him to understand the mechanics of the swipe, but once he did, he was off like a racehorse, Googling the most depraved acts he could think of. 

“Holy shit-” 

Y/N rubbed her tired eyes and looked at him in the rearview mirror. His face was lit by the screen and his green eyes were wide; his plump lips stretched into an awed smile. 

“What now? You find Hentaied yet?” 

Ben looked up, confused, but immediately went back to his discovery. “No. What? No. There’s… well, there’s two girls… and one cup… and-”

“No! No. No.” Reaching into the backseat, Y/N grabbed the phone from his hands and quickly shut it down. “You’re not watching that crap on my phone.” 

He laughed. “Crap.” 

“Ew.” With a heavy sigh, she tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. “You’re gross.” 

“It was on your phone.” 

“Because you looked it up- I- It doesn’t matter. Just shut up. Please. My head hurts.” 

Ben watched as she rubbed her temples gently. “Ya know… I have something that’ll cure your headache.” 

Y/N glowered at him. “Don’t you dare take your dick out.” 

“Not yet.” He chuckled and produced a prescription bottle, quickly popping the top. “This.” 

She leaned over to look at the three white tablets as they tumbled into his palm. “What is it?” 

He grinned. “My old friend Bennie.” 

“Um… pass.” 

“Oh, come on. You’ll feel better… it’ll… wake you up.” Ben winked and closed his fist, crushing the pills to powder. Unfurling his fingers, he offered the drugs again. 

Y/N declined with a simple shake of her head. 

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” With a loud snort and a flip of his long hair, the pills were gone, launched up into his brain like a rocket ship. “Fuck!” He shook himself and laid back, pupils wide and skin tingling. 

Y/N couldn’t look away. He looked normal for once. The grumpy, disgusting aura was gone, replaced with a relaxed yet wired look that was more appealing by the moment. 

She huffed. 

He tapped a single tablet into his open hand. 

She held his gaze and nodded. 

“Good girl.” 

The drugs flew up her nose and instantly shook her brain. A bolt of lightning struck her head and every part of her came alive. Her pulse rose, her skin prickled, her pussy throbbed. She felt elated and wild. She wanted to rip her clothes off and run through the trees, feel the earth beneath her bare feet, howl at the half-moon. 

“Nice, right?” 

Ben smirked and her attention shifted from the fantasy of a naked nature waltz to a dream of him. 

Y/N bit her lip and reached over the seat to grab the collar of his shirt. The cotton rumpled in her tight fist and Ben fell forward, pulled by her lustful tug. 

She kissed him. 

He hummed and shifted closer. 

She pushed her tongue between his soft lips. 

He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her delicious neck. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he growled, pressing his lips to her pulse. “I wanna eat you alive.” 

Y/N moaned and dipped her head to look into his eyes. The move pulled her hair harder and the pain spread like concupiscent fire through her system. “Maybe later,” she teased. 

Her tongue shot out and lapped at his lips. 

He sighed lustfully. “For now?” 

Y/N bit down on his bottom lip and let it fall slowly from her teeth. His eyes rolled and she kissed his deeper. 

“For now…” Her lips slid across his cheek and settled by his ear. “... I want you inside of me.” 

Ben growled and grabbed her waist, easily lifting her over the seat and into his arms. She fell into him and went back to tasting his lips, moaning with every electric kiss, every twitch of his fingertips over her skin. 

He snuck his hand beneath her shirt, pawed at her tits, and teased each nipple in turn.

She pushed down on his lap, shivering when she felt his erection poke through the layers of fabric between them. 

“Please,” she moaned. “Please fuck me.” 

Her hands fell down his big chest and Ben’s breath grew ragged and heavy. He kissed her one last time and then shoved her away. She gasped at his strength as she ended up on her back with her jeans tugged away. He moved with lightning speed, removing her panties and kicking away his clothes. 

There was no hesitation when he was ready, no need to warm her up. Y/N was wet and tight, ready for him like she’d been edging herself for weeks. 

The moment his cock pressed against her cunt, she was gone, clawing at his arms and letting out wild curses of pleasure. 

He fucked her hard, pushing in deeper with every thrust. He watched her eyes roll and her muscles clench. He heard her heart struggle and the blood flow to her pussy. He knew her then inside and out and used every bit of his power to bring an orgasm crashing down upon her. 

“Fuck!” She dug her nails into his shoulders while the pleasure wrecked her body. “My god!” 

A cocky smirk played on his lips and Ben grabbed her hips. He lifted her like a doll as he settled back against the seat. Her legs spread around his trim hips and she instinctually sank on his cock, impaling her still throbbing pussy. 

“Fuck, fuck!” She bit her lip and locked her tiny hands around his thick neck, holding on as she began to ride him. 

The threat of her fingers on his pulse was enticing and Ben bucked his hips hard, fucking up into her as she struggled to stay upright. When she crumbled, he held her up, his big hand closing around the nape of her neck and keeping her spine straight. She was truly a ragdoll in his hands: a wet, hot, sexy toy for him to use. 

Y/N shuddered with another orgasm and Ben let go as she tightened around his cock. With a rumbling growl, he came, shooting up into her with a powerful spray that she could almost feel going deep into her core. 

Butcher had one foot out the door. He would have had both out and halfway down the motel hallway if not for Y/N’s hand fixed around his elbow. 

Her fingers dug into the soft leather of his sleeve and he paused, looking down at her. 

A strange mixture of anger and pathetic innocence filled her eyes and Butcher laughed. 

“You’ll be fine, kid. He ain’t gonna bother you none.” 

Y/N groaned. “Please. Just give me something else to do. I can’t stand it anymore. He’s such an asshole. He spent forty minutes this morning talking about Susan Summers and how good the ThighMaster was at tightening her pus-”

Butcher held up a hand, silencing her. 

“I gotcha, but ya need ta realize I got a lotta balls in the air right now and I need that ball under lock and key.” He pointed behind her to the bathroom. The edges of the closed door were glowing as smoke and steam escaped, leaking an odorous marijuana and Old Spice vapor into the room. “And you, darlin’,” he continued, poking Y/N in the chest, “are the lock.” 

She shook her head. “And where’s the fucking key so I can get out of here?” 

Grinning, Butcher shoved her back a pace. He grabbed the door and stepped into the hall, pulling it behind him. “That’d be me.” 

Her fist hit the door and her knuckles bruised instantly. 

“God- fucking- damn it!”

One door closed and the other opened. 

A naked Soldier Boy emerged from a dense fog of spiked steam like Jesus descending back to earth on a cloud. 

Y/N caught herself staring at his dick and shook herself, turning quickly away. 

“You can look,” Ben said, planting his bowed legs wide apart and setting his fists on his hips. “I don’t mind.” 

She gagged dramatically. “No thanks.” 

“Come on,” he urged proudly. “Take it all in. Bask in the glory!” 

“You really are a tremendous piece of trash, aren’t you?” 

With a shrug, he broke pose and went in search of pants.  

“You didn’t seem to mind it last night,” he mused, bending over a bag of random clothing articles. 

Y/N tried not to stare but his tanned skin was glistening with wetness from the shower and the muscles of his back were tight and twitching as he searched. Her eyes fell down his spine, lingered on his ass a moment, and then sank into the thick muscles of his legs. His thighs looked like tree trunks, his calves like branches she could entangle herself in and dangle forever. 

“Yeah, well… I’m an idiot sometimes.” 

Ben fished a pair of soft white boxers from the bag and turned, eyeing her as he toyed with the elastic hem, finding the front. 

“Sometimes?” 

She cleared her throat and narrowed her gaze, pushing every bit of annoyance into her stare. “Fuck off.” 

Ben smirked and tugged on the shorts. “You know, you’d get a lot more attention if you were nicer. Smile more. Be respectful. Put some damned makeup on.” 

Anger sizzled in her gut. “You didn’t seem to mind last night,” she echoed. 

Pressing his tongue between his lips, Ben nodded. “Touché.” 

Time passed slowly. 

Y/N sat at the head of the bed, leaning on the headboard with a bottle of Jim Beam slowly emptying into her.

She stared at Ben despite herself, always looking away, arguing with herself, and then looking back, getting stuck on something about him. His hair was so perfectly long in all the right places, and somehow gorgeously always in place. His beard was thick but soft like he’d been grooming himself for the last forty years. His eyes cut right through her resolve anytime he looked at her. At times she wondered if he had x-ray vision or could see into her soul. 

Still shirtless and refusing to get dressed, Ben paced the room. His bare feet dug into the thin carpet as he walked back and forth, seething with energy. 

“Sit down already!” Y/N yelled. “You’re making me dizzy! You’re like a fucking pendulum going back and forth.” 

Pausing by the door, he grit his teeth and glared. “Give me something to do, then.” 

Y/N shrugged. “If we had anything to do, do you really think I’d be sitting here? With you?” 

Giving up his worn route, Ben took a seat at the little round table in across from the bed and grabbed a wrapping paper. 

“Why do you hate me so much? What’d I ever do to you? Kill your grandmother?” 

“What? No.” Y/N scoffed. “I hate you because…” 

Her thoughts trailed off when her eyes fell on his broad shoulders. They moved languidly as he rolled a giant spliff, muscles rippling under her gaze as if her world had switched to slow motion. 

“Uh…” 

He brought the joint up to his lips and Y/N gasped slightly when his tongue jutted out to wet the seam. 

“You…” 

Green eyes locked onto hers and Y/N felt her pussy throb. 

“I, um…” 

Ben chuckled to himself and twisted the ends of the paper tighter. He sat back in the chair and clicked the lighter Butcher had left him. 

“You know what your real problem is?” he asked, letting the flame grow high before setting it to the end of his cigarette. 

Her heart was pounding, her skin on fire for wanting him. “What’s that?”

“You only want me when you’re high.” 

It was so absurdly true that she laughed out loud. Y/N shook her head and tipped the whiskey back, taking a deep drink. “You’re incredible, you know that? It’s like everyone has to love you but when they don’t, you make some shit up. Nuh-uh. You’re… shut up. I hate you.”  She took another sip for good measure and huffed in his direction. “You suck.” 

Ben licked his lip and took a drag. The exhaled smoke haloed his gorgeous face and Y/N hated every drop of booze in her system. They were all dragging her mind to nasty places that she’d rather not go. 

“It is true,” he argued, blowing a smoke ring high about his head. “And I think you like it.” 

She stiffened. “I do not.” 

“I think you do.” Ben sat forward and pulled in another hit. The drugs flooded his brain and he smiled happily. A few moments of bliss before trauma struck again. “I think you need it.” 

“Need what?” 

She watched with building lust as Ben stood up and walked to the foot of the bed. With the fag balanced on his thick bottom lip, he crawled onto the mattress and moved towards her. 

“You need the release,” he explained, hand over hand moving closer. “You need to be high so you can forgive yourself for wanting me.” 

Her heart skipped when he reached her feet. He was right and she hated it. He was terrible and she loved it. He was right there and she wanted him. 

“And honestly, toots- if that’s what you need, that’s fine with me.” Sitting back on his heels, Ben offered her the joint. “Go on. Smoke the guilt away.” 

As if moving in a dream, she took the pot from him and pressed the wet end to her lips. He held her gaze as she inhaled, set his hand upon her ankle while she closed her eyes, and slid it higher when the smoke billowed around them. 

“There’s a girl…” 

Whiskey and cannibus swarmed her senses and Y/N ran a finger down the middle of his chest. He was smooth and firm and covered in constellations of pale freckles. She leaned forward as he bent down and her lips caught his left nipple. He hissed when she sucked hard. 

“Damn…” 

Y/N looked up innocently while dragging her hand down lower. It brushed against the base of his cock and he sucked in a quick breath. 

“Another,” he urged, pushing the joint back up to her mouth. Her lips parted and she breathed deeply. “So fucking hot…” 

Eyes fluttering and thoughts swimming, Y/N gave in and reached into his shorts. She fit her fingers into a tight circle and stroked down the length of his cock, waking him up fully and making his chest expand with heavy breaths. 

“Fuck…” 

She grinned when he cursed; drooled as his head fell back with a pleasured moan. “More?” 

Ben dipped his chin and chewed at his lip, nodding. “Oh yeah.” 

Another hit did her in and Y/N shifted onto her knees. She pressed up against him and licked at his lips before shoving the joint between them. Ben breathed deeply and the cloud rose around them as she kissed her way down his body. She opened her mouth and lay it over his erection, breathing out, hot and heavy. He shuddered and his ass clenched. 

“Fucking hell…” 

Feeling somewhat outside of herself, Y/N looked up with hungry eyes and hooked her fingers into his waistband. “Oh, just wait,” she whispered, tugging his shorts down to his knees. “It’s my turn to give…” 

She licked at the tip of his cock and sucked a wet kiss over the groove underside. Falling fully onto her hands and knees, Y/N teased him with her lips, running her mouth up and down his shaft until he was bouncing on her tongue, fully engorged and leaking. 

“We need to keep you stoned off your ass twenty-four-seven,” he mused, halfway between a moan and a whimper. 

Y/N pulled back and gently rubbed his sack. “Why don’t you get more comfy?”

Ben cocked a brow and grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

He turned and fell onto the bed, taking up her old spot against the headboard. She fit perfectly between his knees and went right back to work, shoving her hot mouth down his cock. She gagged and he groaned. She slurped and he yanked at her hair. She swallowed and he pushed her face down as far as she could go. 

“Now this- this is fucking fantastic.” 

Ben took a deep drag and blew the smoke down into Y/N’s face. She inhaled and her eyes rolled back, deeply aroused and stupidly high. 

She used her whole body to pleasure him. She scrapped her nails down his sensitive inner thighs, swirling her tongue over his sack, rubbed his cock between her tits. Her ass wiggled and her pussy dripped, throbbing and so close to cumming from simply sucking him off.

When she slowed, he bucked his hips. When she choked, he pushed her down further. When she shuddered with an unexpected orgasm, he egged her on with gravelly moans and curses that stunted her thoughts.

“Gonna drown you in cum, sweetheart,” he grunted, straining to hold still while she worked her magic. 

Y/N hummed rapturously, daring him to do it, to murder her with his release.  

Ben lay his hand flat on the back of her head and gently held her there. He was ready to explode and he wanted her to stay and swallow every single drop. 

When the door opened, he was mildly surprised, but unwilling to stop. He jerked his hips up into her pliant mouth and Y/N squirmed between his legs. 

“Holy fuck! Come on!” Hughie quickly shielded his eyes, but the damage was done. Y/N was sucking Soldier Boy’s dick like a porn star while the hero smirked like a moron. 

“Hey! It’s Baby Hughie!” Ben tapped Y/N on the head, but she refused to stop. She was enjoying the slick slide of his cock over her tongue too much to give it up. 

Hughie shook his head and turned away. “Y/N! What the fuck!”

Ben laughed before a tight groan worked its way through his chest. “Don’t get pissed at her,” he warned. “She’s a fucking expert cocksucker.” 

Y/N swallowed hard and his thighs shook. 

Hughie gagged visibly. “I’m gonna- this is- gross.” 

Taking one last hit of the dying joint, Ben narrowed his gaze on the lanky man shadowing the doorway. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said honestly. “Did you wanna get down on this?” He held out his hand, offering both the drugs and Y/N’s ass. 

Shocked, Hughie shook his head. “What? No!” His cheeks burned bright pink and Ben laughed. 

“Come on, ya pussy. I’m sure she won’t mind…” 

Y/N voiced her opinion with a harsh scrape of teeth down his cock. 

Ben hissed at the pain and shrugged at Hughie. “Sorry. It appears she does mind.” 

Taking a deep breath, Y/N pushed her face into the soft patch of hair around his pelvis and Ben lost his mind. He gripped her hair tight and pulsed his hips in quick, short thrusts.

Hughie gawked at the scene and then struggled to leave. He spun in place and grabbed the doorknob, unable to turn it and escape with quaking hands and blurry eyes. 

Y/N could feel Ben’s need throbbing on her tongue and she pulled back for a second to scold her friend. 

“Get out already!” she shouted, shooing Hughie off with a wave of her spit-soaked hand. 

Ben called her back, grabbing her cheeks in one big hand and pinching her lips into a tight circle. “Oh, he’s leaving,” he told her, guiding her mouth back to his throbbing cock. “Or he’s gonna see some things he can’t forget.”   

Hughie slammed the door behind him and braced himself against the wall. His head fell back with a thud and he struggled to wipe the memory clear. He didn’t care that Y/N had lied about fucking Soldier Boy, but seeing her blitzed and working his cock was more than Hughie could take. An old “Say No To Drugs” poster from grade school flashed through his thoughts and he cringed. 

When Ben’s orgasmic roar flooded out into the hallway, Hughie booked it, strangely looking forward to spending the night alone in the car. 

[galacticgraffiti]

⋆☾⋆ Big Love Ahead (2) ⋆☽⋆

!!! NSFW ⋆ 18+ ⋆ Minors DNI !!!

Summary: After you start to get better, feelings start to grow - and you find out Halsin's secret. Or: Halsin is the softest man and I want to live the cottagecore fantasy with him so bad.

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 6k Descriptors: The first two chapters are fairly genderneutral. Reader's physique is not really described aside from being quite a bit shorter and smaller than Halsin. CW: Fluff, softness, building up some feelings before we get to fucking, pet names, oblivious pining, Halsin in bear form, thirsting for druids is hot, talks about feelings, resolving the tension.

✦⋆ « Chapter (1) ⋆✦⋆ Main Masterlist ⋆✦⋆ If you prefer AO3 ⋆✦

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Chapter 2: The Bear

The morning brings… surprises.

You wake up, your legs sore and your functional arm sorer, but you feel clean, and your hair still smells of Halsin.

You stretch, clenching your teeth at the pain that flares up as your muscles contract and your joints crack into place. New bandages cover your deeper wounds, and oddly enough, the sight of them makes you smile. Halsin must have dressed the wounds after you had already fallen asleep.

The thought of leaving the bed seems terrible, except that the last thing you remember is Halsin telling you he sleeps right outside. It may just be worth it to leave the comforts of your sheets to find him. You can imagine him now, his large form curled up by a fire, watching the stars in the night sky move with his impossible patience as he falls asleep, and seeing the sun rise in his golden eyes when he wakes.

You wrap yourself in your sheet and try not to collapse as you limp towards the entrance. It is only a few steps, but the way seems entirely too long, even if you can lean against the cave wall to prop yourself up. The outside is already bright with the light of dawn, and you squint into the sun, taking in the newly familiar sight of the grove and meadow, feeling the grass underneath your bare feet for the first time.

At first glance, you don’t see Halsin anywhere. There is no campfire like you thought there might be, no tent or even a bedroll. You look around, a little lost for what to do. This has never happened before - you have not been able to walk by yourself for so long, and you have never left the cave before yesterday’s bath. You had never needed to before - Halsin was always there whenever you required anything, and most of your time has been spent sleeping, reading and recovering.

You look around, taking in the fresh morning air and the beauty of nature before you, when a noise catches your attention. It comes from the shadows beside the cave, right behind a big boulder covered in moss. It sounds… almost like a snore. Except no person could ever produce such a noise, not even one of Halsin’s size. It’s much too loud, much too… animalistic. But Halsin would never let you sleep anywhere where you were at risk of being attacked, right? Surely not. He wouldn’t leave you alone if he was not sure that you were safe.

Carefully, though your entire body is screaming DANGER, you make your way around the boulder. And you are met by the sight of…

A really large fucking bear.

A bear. Next to your cave. Sleeping, curled in on itself, its giant head resting on huge paws with sharp claws. You can see its chest expand with deep breaths, and if it weren’t right there in front of you, you would find it fascinating. The bear shifts, huffing as it moves, it’s nose scrunching up.

You nearly scream.

But its eyes are closed, and you press your hand to your mouth just in time that all you utter is a muffled “hmph”.

You stare and stare. Your eye twitches. Your legs shake, as if the new effort of keeping yourself upright was not enough already.

You press your lips together and try to breathe as quietly as you can. And then, you move. Slowly, ever so slowly, you try to make your way back towards the cave, away from the animal that sleeps right next to your resting place. Then, a thought comes crashing in: Halsin. Where is he? Did that bear do something to him? What happened to-

In your panic, your silly feet miss a step. It’s like you are falling in slow motion, the world blurring around you. You hit the ground with a dull crack and a cry of pain escapes from your throat. The bear grunts, its head raising.

Your spine aches and all the air that has been pressed from your lungs when you hit the ground floods back in, but you don’t scream. Instead, you close your eyes and… give up. What else is there to do?

You can hear the bear shift, and you can almost feel its breath on your face, sharp fangs glittering behind your eyelids as you wait for the worst; wait to be mauled to death, to be ripped open and devoured in a bloody mess of bones and cartilage.

The worst does not come.

When you are brave enough to open your eyes again, the bear is staring right at you. With Halsin’s golden irises glowing in its face.

*****

You get over it.

Maybe that’s the wrong way to put it.

You… find out. And you accept it. As soon as your mouth has stopped screaming in terror, as soon as paw turns into hand and fur into skin, you accept what has happened.

Halsin’s explanations make sense, and his voice calms you. You feel so stupid- you should have connected the dots ealier. But your mind is still reeling, and your heartbeat still much too fast. You might have collapsed if you were not already on the ground, but… you are oddly fine with it.

It’s just him. For a moment, the relief that nothing bad has happened to him cuts through the surprise, and that is enough to ground you. You pull yourself together and snap your mouth shut. You stare and stare, not moving, but not moving away either, as Halsin carefully approaches you, both hands raised in the air.

He sits down next to you with a sigh, far away so he won’t touch you. You watch him, watch his profile. And all you can think is: you should have known. A wood elf with his build? Of course he is a fucking bear. Of course this happens. You should have expected it.

Once the panic starts to fade, you are just ashamed at your reaction, which is not helped by Halsin apologising way more than he should.

“There’s nothing wrong,” you hear your voice say, eventually, though your mind is still somewhere else entirely, but he keeps on saying sorry for something nobody should ever have to apologise for. “You are just… a bear. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“I should have told you.” He sounds so broken that you shatter at the sound of his voice. “I should have-”

“You should have nothing,” you interrupt him. “This changes nothing. I’m fine, I promise. I was just… surprised. I’m sorry I reacted so poorly, I should have made the connection sooner, but I swear I’m alright.”

“You were screaming for about ten minutes there.” His voice is so dry and matter of fact that you nearly burst into laughter.

“I… I mean, yes.” You take a deep breath. “Was this the ideal way to find out? Absolutely fucking not. But… Halsin. Nothing could change the way I feel about you.”

“You… feel about me?” He seems genuinely confused.

You roll your eyes, and everything you have been keeping inside for weeks now, all the feelings you tried to shun and suppress, bubble to the surface.

“You are incredible,” you whisper. You push yourself closer to him, your fingers finding his and holding tight. “I…The way you took care of me- I should have guessed you were a druid. I should have known-”

“-you couldn’t have-”

“-and even if I had known earlier, or even if I hadn’t found out just now, nothing would have changed. I love staying here, with you.”

His fingers squeeze yours gently.

“I am glad I found you, you know? This summer has been one of the best I have had in many years.”

You smile quietly, but you don’t push him. There has been a sizable surprise already, you are not sure you could take another one. You are happy just sitting next to him, his large palm covering your hand entirely.

You limp back into the cave eventually, holding onto Halsin’s thick forearm for stability, and curl up in bed again.

“I won’t ask any questions,” you say as he sits by your side, peeling berries from a twig. “But you can always talk to me. You know that, right?”

There is a small smile in his eyes.

“Thank you.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, you lay back, your lids shutting all on their own.

You dream of a bear with Halsin’s voice and Halsin’s eyes, leading you through a forest with thick trees and sweet smells. He never leaves your side and you are never lost.

*****

The next day, you ask Halsin if he can carry you to the meadow that lies before the cave.

“I cannot bear another day of being bed-ridden,” you complain. After a moment of hesitation, you add deviously, “...no pun intended.”

Halsin’s face freezes, then he bursts out in laughter, so loud it makes your ears hurt in the small space of the cave. You watch his shoulders shake with joy and think to yourself that you have never been happier.

You could probably walk to the meadow by yourself if you had a walking stick or something similar. After all, you made it nearly all the way yesterday. Neither of you ever mentions that, not when he scoops you up into his arms, and not when he kneels on the softest patch of grass he can find to put you down. You like being taken care of. You like being taken care of by him. And you get the feeling he likes taking care of you, too. One day, you’ll return the favour.

You spend the whole day there, watching Halsin go about his day, enjoying the sun on your face and the birdsong around you. The meadow is beautiful, and your eyes keep finding something new every time you look around. When Halsin carries you back to your bed that night, you can barely sleep thinking about what the next day might bring.

He carries you to the meadow every day from then on, and lays you down, as gently as if you could break, to rest in the summery sunlight. You ask him if he has anything you could help with, and he shows you how to weave baskets, how to skin an animal so you can use its hide, how to whittle and sharpen your knives and so much more. You get the feeling he just enjoys teaching you things - none of this is actually directly helpful to him in any way. 

But when his deep voice calmly instructs you and sings your praises when you manage to get things right, how could you ever complain? And it’s nice to see nature through his eyes: not scary and strange, but familiar and comforting, providing all anyone could ever need.

A week passes like that, and then another. Halsin spends more and more time by your side, brooding over scrolls, helping you hone your new skills. He fishes so he can stay close to you - or at least, you hope that is why. And one day, he asks you something unexpected.

He is sitting next to you, checking the rod of his fishing pole. You watch him as you always do - out of the corner of your eye, fascinated beyond measure by everything he does and the way he moves. He clears his throat suddenly, and you are startled from your daydreams.

“I want to ask you something. The bear… did I scare you?”

You consider this for a moment, your hand resting next to his on the damp grass.

“No,” you answer finally, and truthfully. “It- it scared me that I didn’t know it was you. But once I found out that you were the bear and the bear was you… you have never scared me. Never made me feel unsafe. Why should the bear be any different? He is just another part of you. Is there… Why do you ask?”

“Well,” he grumbles, shifting beside you, and putting down the fishing rod. “You haven’t seen me in that form since then, and… I didn’t know if you would mind.”

He sounds so cautious it makes you think that someone before you did, in fact, mind. But you don’t- and you tell him so.

“Good.” His sigh is one of relief, and a broad smile appears on his features. “I will be honest, I was getting tired of using a rod to catch our dinner.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he is saying. When you realise, a shiver runs down your spine - excitement more than anything else. You are way more excited to see his bear form again than you probably should be.

“Do you… usually catch fish as a bear?” you ask, trying to sound casual. Halsin turns to you, and your heart stumbles. His features are illuminated by the light of the afternoon, soft and glowing, and a strand of hair sticks to his cheek. You want to brush it back, you want to-

“I do, yes. It’s… easier. Less time consuming. And it’s not fishing - it’s a hunt. It is fun, and it helps me… keep control while I am human. The hunt relaxes me, but it also gets my blood pumping - it can be hard to control the beast if I don’t let it out every once in a while.”

You swallow thickly. You could imagine some other situations that would get his blood pumping-

“Ah,” is the only response you can utter without sounding like a desperate fool.

A moment passes. Halsin’s fingers play with the grass, pulling and weaving. You clear your throat.

“Well, I don’t think we have any food left for tonight.”

He looks up at you, his eyes shining. You know full well that there is a basket full of smoked meat in the cave, and a whole collection of berries, weeds and flowers to eat. He must know it too.

“Well, then,” is all Halsin says. “I’d better get you back inside and go hunting, wouldn’t I?”

He gets up, towering over you in all his glory. You bite your lip.

“Actually… I was thinking I could stay here,” you mumble.

Halsin cocks his head.

“You want to watch me hunt? I promise, it’s not nearly as exciting as it sounds.”

“I don’t mind,” you admit quietly. “I just… like watching you. I would like to learn more about you - and about the bear. If that is what you want as well.”

“Hm.” He glances across the meadow, over to the river, where the water gurgles and the fishes leap. “I suppose… this should be far enough away.”

Excitement floods you like fire in your veins. You smile at him, squinting into the sun.

Halsin flashes you his teeth in a short smile. You try not to stare as he stalks over to the large boulder next to the cave and starts shedding his clothes. You try really, really hard. And you fail miserably.

You have never seen an elf with his build, the bulging muscles, the soft belly, the thickness of his thighs and the roundness of his broad shoulders. It gets you every time.

He wades into the water, and you watch as a golden shimmer flashes across his skin, bringing fur and claws and wildness with it. It makes you think of that time he built a bath for you - how his eyes flashed, how you told yourself that the spark in the water was just an odd trick of the light.

Now you think it might not have been. 

The beast is hard to control when my blood runs hot.

Your belly tightens when you think about the implications of it. Was he- when he got in the pool with you… how close had he been to losing control? What would-

A triumphant roar interrupts your budding inappropriate thoughts. You watch as the bear - large and imposing, the water parting around its mighty hind legs - scoops one fish after another from the river. The thought that this wild animal is Halsin- that he is actually in there, with all his careful attentiveness, all his gentle touches- makes you feel things you cannot describe.

The whole thing cannot last more than a few minutes, but you feel like you watch the bear forever, in all his wild golden-brown glory. Every once in a while, his head turns to you as if to make sure you are still watching. Eventually, the bear wades back to shore. Only as he comes closer do you realise just how huge he actually is: Round belly, soft fur and deceptively cute ears.

A sudden flash of panic surges through you when you realise that you have no way of escaping him.

Your arms start to shake and you have to remind yourself to take deep breaths. It’s Halsin. This is Halsin, he would never hurt you. You press your eyes shut, then hastily open them again. The bear’s steps have slowed, he watches you with careful eyes. With Halsin’s eyes.

Your heartbeat calms.

With some effort, you heave yourself up from the ground, and stretch out a hand towards the bear. With steps that make the ground shake, he approaches, ever so slowly, until his wet nose bumps against your palm.

Carefully, you run your fingers up his flat nose, slowing your breath when the bear plops down next to you with a deep huff. He seems so… gentle. The wildness of the hunt is gone, evaporated along with the water of the river he stood in. 

You don’t fool yourself- you have seen the damage a bear’s claws and fangs can do, and Halsin would be no different. And yet, nothing about him seems threatening or dangerous. 

Your hand follows the outline of his fur-covered ear, and you smile when he twitches. For a while, you let yourself stay very still, until your legs start to tremble with exhaustion from standing up. Finally, you give in, sinking to the ground. Your stomach makes an absolutely inhuman noise as you do, and you realise how hungry you are.

The bear’s ears prick up. Languidly, he rises to his feet, shaking his fur like a wet dog.

“Hey!” you giggle when the droplets of water hit you. The bear’s head whips around, and the baring of his fangs seems almost like a smile.

He trods off, towards the boulder, and in a shudder of golden light, his form contracts and fur gives way to skin once more. Halsin smiles at you softly.

“You are a miracle, little flower.” His deep voice carries across the meadow, and you wonder if he meant for you to hear it. Heat rises to your cheeks as Halsin unabashedly dries himself off before stepping back into his trousers and pulling his shirt over his head.

He never seems to care about these things: him or you unclothed before one another. He never seems to notice it in the same way you do, though you think you have caught him looking at you a few times. You always tell yourself you must be mistaken - certainly, he would have acted upon it by now.

But to see him like this, to get to be part of his world so entirely- to be able to gaze upon the bear and see the man… Well, your blood certainly runs hotter, that’s for sure.

Halsin crouches down next to you, his finger stroking your cheek.

“You really don’t mind, do you?” His voice is full of wonder. You shrug and smile at him.

“I told you that I don't.”

“Many have told me. Few have ever truly meant it,” he mumbles. There is a pause, his face so close to yours that all you want to do is grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him in for a kiss.

Halsin clears his throat.

“I should get the fish.”

As he wanders off, you are left to stare after him, wondering if maybe, he does not feel the same way about you as you do about him.

*****

That night, you have a nightmare.

It’s the worst one since the battle, and you wake up in tears, screaming until your lungs give out. You are only half-awake, thrashing in your bed, the smell of blood in your nose, when Halsin is already by your side, in human form, pushing your flailing arms down to the bed and talking over your cries.

“It’s alright, little flower. You are alright, you are here with me, alive and well- you are fine, I’m here with you, I’m here…”

You bury your face against his chest and sob, haunted by the faces of your dead companions, by knives slashing at you and the sharp agony of an arrow through your shoulder. Halsin holds you through the pain, his arms tight around you, the warmth of his body the only thing tethering you to the presence.

When your head hurts and you have no more tears, you gently unwind yourself from his embrace, staring at him through swollen lids. The question slips out of your mouth before you think about it.

“Will you sleep here tonight? I don’t think I can fall asleep again on my own.”

“Of course, my love.” There is not a moment’s hesitation, he just crawls into bed with you and opens his arms. You bury yourself in his strong embrace, feeling small and fragile. You are so relieved that he is here, his mere presence providing much needed comfort.

“No harm will ever come to you again,” Halsin murmurs into your hair. “I shall see to that. I will be there to protect you, little flower.”

The tears you cry now are those of an affection you cannot put into words. Exhausted by your nightmares, you fall asleep wrapped in him. You wake up a few more times that night, scared and shaking, but Halsin is always there, stroking your hair and telling sweet stories until you fall back asleep.

When you wake properly in the morning, your bed is cold where Halsin used to lay, and your sheets are stained with sweat and tears. With eyes still swollen from last night, you scoot to the edge of your bed and test the waters. Your legs carry you - hesitantly, but they do carry you. You stumble through the cave, dragging your sheets with you, intent on washing them so they can dry during the day. You will not make Halsin clean up your mess again. He did enough last night.

When you reach the outside with trembling legs, Halsin is nowhere to be seen, though you find a note at your boulder:

I am sorry if I have not returned and you must find me gone. I did not intend to leave you alone, but you looked so peaceful I did not want to wake you. I am on a hunt - I shall be back before you know it, little flower.

You grumble, but fold the note up neatly to put it in your pocket.

Little flower. He makes you smile even in his absence.

The few steps to the river seem like an eternity, but you need to wash the sweat off of yourself and your sheets. In the shallows, you can sit, though the water is ice cold and even less comfortable than it was in the little pool Halsin once made for you. However, the feeling helps you wake up, and as you are hanging your sheets from the tree branches, hurrying to rest your burning legs, you spot the bear on his way back towards your little camp.

Your heart beats faster at the sight of him: Halsin is back. You knew he would not leave you alone for long - you wondered that he left at all. Then again, you have seen the amount of food the man eats, so maybe it was hunger that drove him out of the cave.

The bear lumbers towards you, bumping your hand with his snout.

“Hey there,” you smile. Sometimes, you find it hard to connect the animal and the man, even though rationally, you know they are the same. But the bear makes it so much easier to touch him, to not feel like you are asking for too much when you let your fingers glide through his fur. He nuzzles against you so hard you nearly topple over and you laugh.

“Oy! Careful there, I’m still not too well up on my legs.” You smile to soften the blow of your words, then point towards the little hollow in the meadow where you usually sit. “Will you come lay with me? I could use the warmth after my bath.”

The bear snuffles and nods his head. You hold onto him, using his sturdy form as a crutch as you wrap yourself up in a clean sheet and make your way over to your usual spot. There are some leftovers from last night to snack on, and Halsin has left you a scroll or two with some stories about the forest. You grow curiouser and curiouser how he has accumulated all that knowledge. You know he is a druid, but he seems to know so much about the forest and all its inhabitants that you want to learn more as well.

The bear curls up next to you, sniffling and groaning quietly as he does. You carefully lean back against him, buried in a living blanket of fur and warmth. He is so comfortable, his breath quiet and steady, his belly expanding against you whenever he inhales.

You have some food while you read, but soon, your eyelids grow heavy and you close your eyes. Just for a moment, you tell yourself. You will just rest for a moment.

Sleep has you faster than a net catches a fish.

When you wake up, nothing has changed apart from the light - it has become the light of a late afternoon, the sun already low in the sky. You stretch slowly, hearing your joints crack with the movement. The bear next to you huffs and shifts. You turn around to face him, raising a brow.

“Seems we’re both having quite the lazy day, aren’t we?” You chuckle to yourself. Your stomach is growling, though, and as much as you wish you could curl up against the bear again, you should probably cook something. When you tell this to Halsin, the bear rises to his feet and trods over to the boulder where Halsin’s clothes are strewn about.

The familiar golden shimmer rises from his fur, and a moment later, Halsin in his human form regards you with warm brown eyes.

“I’ll help you,” he says.

*****

It becomes part of your ritual after that: You, curling up against the bear whenever you grow tired and he is there. Every day, Halsin seems to get more comfortable changing shape around you, and you are happy about it. The bear, oddly enough, is an excellent listener. Telling him things feels easier than telling them to another person, even though you think to yourself that telling Halsin things is already easier than telling anyone else.

Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t speak, or the comfort of being able to touch him without implications. Still, your heart beats faster at any shape Halsin is in, and you slowly come to realise that it’s not only lust that moves your heart. You like him. You care about him - a lot more than you realised.

Sometimes, as long as the nights are still warm enough, you sleep under the stars, curled up in the bear’s warmth, talking about the vastness of the universe or the flavour of the berries you had that day. Sometimes, Halsin the man sleeps in your bed, thick arms wrapped around your body which always seems so tiny in his embrace. He always makes you feel so safe, and he never asks for anything more. He just crawls into bed with you and opens his arms, and you slot against him like you were created to fill that space.

The only time you are ever really apart is when Halsin the bear goes hunting. Sometimes he comes home with his snout covered in blood, but you don’t mind. That is as much part of him as your violence is part of you, and you know he never kills without reason. The forest is about balance, and Halsin would never disrupt that. He starts bringing you wild game to cook and brine. Under his guidance, you learn more and more about the forest and its plants and creatures.

The leaves are almost turning when you are finally fully healed.

You never talk about it - not really. One day, Halsin just takes the bandages off and puts no new ones on. One day, you can make it all the way across the meadow by yourself, and then you venture into the forest, and beyond the cave; in the beginning always with the man or the bear by your side, and after some time, you go on your own, picking berries and mushrooms while Halsin hunts. And you never talk about leaving.

It is a quiet and peaceful and happy life. You have become closer than you ever thought you would, but still, he has never indicated that he wants anything more - nothing, aside from the sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you. You are not even sure him sleeping in your bed is any indication that he likes you… in that way. That his affections are of the same kind as your own.

You try to be quiet in your love for him, afraid of disrupting the harmony, afraid he might leave if this is not what he wants anymore. You don’t press too close, you don’t bat your lashes, you don’t make any jokes, afraid it might all get too much. The thought of losing Halsin is more than you can stand.

One day, you are laying in the tall grass next to each other, your fingers interlaced as you look up at the clouds.

“That one looks like a bear,” you say, squinting at a particularly round accumulation of clouds and pointing.

“Do you say that to tease me?” Halsin laughs. “Have I become so fat and lazy in your presence, my love?”

You frown, sitting up on your elbows, unhappy that your silly joke could have made him think that way about himself.

“You are neither of those things, Halsin. You are perfect.”

“Perfect…” he muses. “It is not in nature to be perfect, and yet all of nature is.”

You watch him, the softness of his profile, the tree trunks of his arms, the lines all of his sunshine smiles have left on his face. And before you can overthink it, you roll over and clamber into his lap.

Halsin’s eyes are full of surprise, but his hands grab your hips immediately, slotting right into place as if he has been waiting for centuries to touch you. You look down at him, anxiety and excitement mixing in your belly.

Halsin looks back, his eyes warm and soft and hungry, mirroring your own.

You lean forward, tentative and slow, giving him time to stop you, to pull away, to lift you off his lap as if you were a feather. But instead, Halsin straightens up, his lips meeting yours in a sweet relief of tension.

You close your eyes, your hands burying in his hair, his fingers digging into your hips. The kiss is sweet, but there is something  simmering just beneath the surface - a hunger that is hard to describe but which consumes you whole. Your lips are swollen when you break apart, and your heartbeat is fast in your throat.

“I’ve been meaning to do that for so long,” you croak out, your hands fluttering nervously to his shoulders, his jaw, his chest. Halsin smiles, and it’s the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

“If I had known, I would have encouraged you more.” His eyes roam your body unabashedly, and heat rises to your cheeks. “All these times I slept in your bed, I could have done so much more to help you… relax.”

You choke on your own tongue, surprised by how forward he suddenly is.

“I-” you need a moment to make your brain function again. “I’m sure we will find some time for that still, my love.”

“Mhhm, I hope so.” Halsin’s fingers stroke your cheek. “I was so focused on making sure you would feel better- I should have noticed- I should have told you that this was always an option.”

“Always?” Your brain is spinning and you think you may have lost control of your limbs. Halsin’s eyes sparkle with amusement.

“Always, little flower. There is nothing under the sun that is not beautiful, and you may be the most beautiful of all of nature’s creations I have ever witnessed.”

You have never fancied yourself a particularly romantic kind of girl, but his words make your heart flutter and your breath hitch. Halsin’s eyes flash golden and he grimaces, his hands tightening on you for just the fraction of a second. The shimmer reminds you of something, something that seems so long ago now.

“The way your eyes just- that time in the pool, when you made a bath just for me-”

“I wanted you,” Halsin interrupts you. “I wanted you with every fibre of my being, but you had never given any indication that you had thought about me that way. I was worried I might scare you away if I was too forward- that you would not feel comfortable in my presence anymore. You were not well back then, and I… I could not risk losing control. The bear would have destroyed you.”

“The bear-” your mouth hangs open at the implication of his words. “Do you mean- I-”

“I told you, it’s hard to tame the beast when blood runs hot.” Halsin’s eyes are golden again in the light of the sinking sun. “Being around you so much has made things easier in some senses, and harder in others. I only want what you want, be it man or bear.”

“Or both,” you whisper. His eyes widen just a fraction, but that is enough. You kiss him again, with all the desperation, all the desire and yearning you have kept inside for the past few months. The groan that escapes him is animalistic, and before you know it, Halsin has picked you up and risen from the ground.

You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you, your back slamming against stone when he presses up against the entrance of the cave.

“Do you know what you are saying, my heart?” Halsin’s voice is hoarse. His breath is hot on your face and you shiver at the look in his eyes - pure desire that sparks liquid fire in your belly.

You tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, lost in the feeling of his strong, warm body against yours, trying to somehow get even closer, to feel even more of him.

“I do,” you confirm quietly. “Though for tonight… maybe I’ll stick with you in this form.”

Halsin laughs, the sound rising into the air like smoke from a campfire.

“A wise decision, little flower.” His mouth descends onto you again in a swift motion. “We’ll have to make sure I fit as it is.”

⋆༻༺⋆༺༻⋆••●••⋆༺༻⋆༻༺ ⋆

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I am once again in tears over him, come and be soft with me my loves. If you would like to be added to my taglist, follow this link please.

@purgetrooperfox @ashotofspotchka @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @ulchabhangorm @queen--kenobi @samspenandsword @rescuethewretched @pinkiemme @baba-fett @witchklng @ladykatakuri @certified-anakinfucker

[villain-enthusiast]

Hi Hello!! Would you please continue the snippet of villain finding hero dying? A lot of whump and caretaking would be great! (By the way.. just wanted to say this...I love your work!!)

so glad u enjoyed! hope this is also to your liking ☺️

part one

.

The hero came to with a start.

They shifted, groaning as their stiff muscles and joints ached. But they noticed that their body was comfortable, sinking into a soft mattress and swaddled in thick blankets—

Wait, what?

They blinked several times as fragmented memories flashed through their head, The blinding pain of the stab wound. Their broken comms. Blood, too much blood. They were going to die without help…

The villain. The villain finding them in the alleyway, gathering them up in their arms—

“You’re awake.”

The hero jolted, head whipping to the bedside, where the villain had apparently stood up from the chair behind them.

How long had they been waiting there?

They moved to prop themselves up, but the villain’s hands were immediately on their shoulders, gently urging them back down onto the stupidly comfortable bed.

“Don’t move too much. You’ll break the stitches,” the villain warned. They pulled the blanket covering the hero’s torso away to examine the bandages wrapped around their side.

It was then the hero realized that they had been scrubbed clean and given a new pair of sweatpants, every cut and scratch from their recent altercation carefully dressed.

Their eyes met the villain’s in silent questioning.

You did all this for me?

“I swear I didn’t look,” the villain blurted suddenly. “When I was bathing and changing you. I didn’t—.” They cut themselves off awkwardly, cheeks a little pink.

Oh, that’s not… Despite themselves, the hero smiled, or what they could attempt as a smile. Their jaw was incredibly sore from being socked twice in one day.

They opened their mouth to speak, to tell the villain that it was fine and that what they really meant was thank you—

The villain shushed them. “You have some bruising on your neck. It’ll hurt to talk. You should just rest.”

The hero scowled at them. “I—,” they attempted, and immediately regretted their choice as their swollen throat flared up.

The villain gave them a "told you so" look, and the hero leveled another glare at them.

It suddenly occurred to the hero how helpless they were. Can't move, can't speak. If the villain wanted to kill them, now would be the chance. Luring them into a false sense of security, giving them one last taste of comfort before—

“I just saved your fucking life. Stop looking at me like that.”

The hero frowned. Like what? they mouthed.

“Like you think I’m gonna kill you or something. I can be a half-decent person sometimes, y’know," the villain said. Their expression softened. “I’m not a monster.”

The villain's gaze flickered with something the hero couldn't quite place as they watched each other in comfortable silence. It was an understanding, in that moment, that the villain was not going to kill them, and that they had meant everything they said and more.

I couldn’t just leave you to die in that alleyway.

The villain sighed and turned to leave the room. Panic shot through the hero—they needed to say something to the villain, damn their throat—and before they could think twice about it, they reached out and took the villain’s hand in their own. Rough calluses from what was likely decades of training scraped against their palm.

The villain stared at them, but they didn’t pull away. Their fingers wrapped gently around the hero’s, cautious. Expectant.

“Thank you,” the hero croaked, “for saving me.”

The villain was silent for several heartbeats, watching the hero with those dark—so beautifully dark—eyes.

They took a breath, as if readying themselves for whatever they were going to say. “You mean too much to me," they finally said, voice low. "I'm not ready to let you go." Their hand lingered on the hero's, as if to seal their statement, to make a promise and keep it.

Then they released their hold, and the hero wished they could tell them to stay—that they wanted them to stay—but the villain was already closing the door behind them, and fatigue overtook them before they could process anything else.

When the hero awoke the next morning, the villain was nowhere to be found. But in the chair by their bedside, they found a fresh set of clothes, a cup of water, and a note:

Be back soon. - Villain

And though their jaw still ached, the hero smiled, fully and wholly.

[breaking-binary-system]

So, especially with it being disability pride month, I've noticed something more and more: A lot of people, disabled and able-bodied, give a TON of hate to us ambulatory wheelchair users. So, I decided fuck it let me tell people a story about one.

There was this boy. He grew up with a disabled father and a mother who had a ton of chronic pain. He could see the effects. By the time this boy was 5, his father walked full time on a cane.

When he turned 11, he started suffering from severe debilitating leg pain. To the point he would miss school for days and would spend all day every day sobbing his eyes out from how severe it took, even after taking the max amount of ibuprofen and Tylenol he could. He eventually got into seeing a rheumatologist out of fear it was something rheumatology related.

For 6 years, the boy was constantly in pain and the most he would get told is "well your double jointed that's why you have this much pain, just go do physical therapy". That never helped him. When he turned 17, everything changed.

He went to go see a different doctor at this office, one he had to wait years for since she saw adults and, well, 17 was just close enough to be tolerated. She looked at his blood tests and did a physical and came to a realization.

"It's not that you're double jointed, you have rheumatoid arthritis. It's why your shoulders grind, they lack cartilage now from years of this disorder. Let's do our best to treat it"

That started a year's worth of trial and error before she finally decided to give the boy an immunosuppressant that had worked for his father who also had the disorder. He wasn't cured but, quickly, his symptoms started to go away more and more.

This boy, from the age of 15 on, had to use mobility aids frequently if not all the time. It started with a simple cane and while it helped, his hands couldn't take the pressure on his nerves. So, he tried a walker. And that helped too. Forearm crutches were best to get him still able to have some ability to walk. He found something that made his life a lot easier however.

His grandfather had a multitude of issues, many of which required him to have a wheelchair before he passed. So, his grandfather made it known that any mobility aids the boys father didn't use, the boy was more than welcome to have. So, he decided one day to try and use the wheelchair.

Suddenly things were so much easier. He couldn't walk all the time yes and he didn't need the chair 24/7 but it meant that when his POTS was acting up or he was in a arthritis flare up, he could use a wheelchair and still be mobile. It changed his life. However he wasn't free from shame and hate on how he shouldn't use one.

He was told repeatedly it wasn't that bad and he was being dramatic and was taking away from people who actually needed them. This boy was 18. He had a disorder that was seen as an "old person" disorder. His body was literally attacking itself. And here was a ton of people attacking him for needing a wheelchair or, if he was in a store with them, a mobility scooter.

This boy took months of steady therapy to be willing to even go in public with the wheelchair again. A lot of it took support from his boyfriend and his father who encouraged him and reminded him that it was OKAY to use a mobility aid, even if he didn't need it 24/7.

If you haven't caught on now don't worry, I'll just say it. I am that boy. I still need reminders from my boyfriend or my father that it's okay to need my wheelchair and I'm not stealing anything, my body has day's of different intensities. Take today.

I thought all I would need is forearm crutches and I'm typing this in my wheelchair and I feel a lot better now that I've used it since, due to the fact this chair is meant to be sat in for someone with a disability not just a regular every day chair, my legs are feeling a shit ton better.

My left knee has been in an awful flare up for about a month and a half at this point. Today it got unbearable so I just sat in the wheelchair my dad keeps at his job for me. I can move now without wanting to cry.

This is a really long post and I'm not entirely sure why i started it to be honest, blame the whole "oh yeah I have a CDD" and the fact that, well, I've been diagnosed with ADHD, specifically attention deficit part.

Something I wanna end this long post on. Don't think just because you saw someone walking yesterday or even 10 minutes ago and now they're in a wheelchair that they're faking or something. Shit can change in a matter of MINUTES.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Request: Hellfire night is happening post spring break from hell, it's at the apartment of Steve & Eddie. Steve has an intense migraine & chronic pain flare ups. He can barely make it through the door. Eddie has to bring Steve but Steve is in pain and wants to stay close to Eddie. So they play dnd with Steve essentially curled up on the couch near Eddie.

MY DARLING!!!! STEVE SUFFERING TIME!!! I know I shouldn't make him suffer so much, but it's just that he's so easy to make suffer. But this one is so so soft, and so comforting. Steve is loved so much, it makes the hurt not so hurt-y. As a migraine sufferer myself, there are times when I genuinely consider just laying on the floor and hoping I pass out so I don't have to feel it anymore. I do base a lot of Steve's experiences off of my own (though mine is less head trauma and more genetics), but I hope other people can see themselves in it and get some comfort, too. I also used a new little cute term of endearment inspired by one of my favorite regular customers at my last job who called his wife of 64 years sweet love from the day they met, even when he was talking to other people about her. - Mickala ❤️

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

If he’d gotten his shift covered at work today, he probably wouldn’t be in so much fucking pain.

But he needed the money, and when he first woke up, the pain wasn’t that bad. He’d had worse.

After hours of customers asking him to reach the top shelf, screaming babies and children not getting the ice cream or candy they wanted, and a few too many old men complaining about the prices of bread, Steve’s headache escalated from minor pain to unbearable, and had spread throughout his body.

He’d gotten somewhat used to the aches he sometimes woke up with, the throbbing pains in his joints when he spent too long on his feet or tried to do too much exercising. Some days were less tolerable than others, but today was the worst he’d had in a while.

Every breath stung, his lungs pushing against his ribs, his ribs pushing against his skin, his skin on fire.

And when he arrived at his apartment, he knew it was about to get worse.

He could hear Eddie, his booming voice painting a picture for all of Hellfire. He didn’t need to see him to know he was probably standing on his chair or, more dramatically, the table.

Any other time, Steve would be endeared, would walk in and say hi to everyone, give Eddie a kiss on the cheek before he made his way to the shower and then make snacks for the group.

Tonight, though, Steve didn’t even know if he could make it past the couch.

Or to it, for that matter.

Maybe he could just use the rug at the door as a pillow for the night. Everyone could step over him as they left, or maybe they could all just stay the night so he wouldn’t get woken up.

He was shaking with the effort to make it through the door, the key missing the lock the first couple of tries because his hands kept wobbling.

Eventually, he got inside.

He leaned back against the door, his body screaming at him to be horizontal instead of vertical. He let out a groan, which hurt more than he planned.

The dining room area got quiet.

“Stevie? That you?” Eddie’s voice sounded concerned, even without seeing his face to confirm.

He couldn’t answer. It hurt to even think about answering.

He let his eyes close, the pain in his head dulling for just a moment with the light from the living area being extinguished. It wasn’t even that bright, just one lamp in the corner and one on the table by the couch, but it still felt blinding when he opened his eyes again.

Eddie was standing in front of him now, hands reaching towards him but hesitating to actually touch.

“What’s hurting, sweet love?”

All Steve could do was let out a small whimper, and even that was more pain than it was worth.

“Everything?” Eddie whispered, getting closer, but still not touching. Steve could almost feel the heat coming off of Eddie’s constantly too-hot skin.

“Mm.”

“Alright, you wanna go to the couch?”

Yeah, he did, but he didn’t think he could make it. But as always, Eddie read his mind.

“I’ll carry you if it’s okay to lift you,” he suggested quietly.

“Mm.”

“Okay, assuming that’s a yes,” Eddie responded at the same volume as before, though Steve knew he was smirking, could hear the way his mouth was curled up at the corner, amused.

Before Steve could even try to form a response, Eddie’s arms were under his legs and back, lifting him up and cradling him against his front.

Pain shot through his entire body, but he bit his lip so he wouldn’t make a noise. He didn’t want Eddie to feel bad about something outside of their control.

“‘S okay, angel. Let it out.”

He let out another whimper, louder than the last. He heard footsteps coming into the room and assumed everyone here for Hellfire had decided to check in.

He opened one eye, but immediately regretted it, inhaling sharply as he squeezed his eyes shut again.

“Can someone shut off the lamps?” Eddie asked as he managed to set Steve down slowly, gently on the couch.

Eddie’s fingers were barely brushing along his forehead, moving his hair away from his face with the lightest possible touch.

Steve felt a tiny bit of relief from laying down, though his head decided to start pulsing as it lay flat against the cushion.

“Lap?” Steve asked, forgetting for a moment what he’d walked home to: the weekly D&D campaign.

Eddie needed to be a DM for them, he couldn’t sit out here with Steve.

“Alright, everyone grab the stuff, we’re using the coffee table. I don’t need my notes or screen so leave it, and so help me, if I suspect any of you looked at them, I will kill you all in a trap,” Eddie said from the floor next to Steve.

Steve could hear light footsteps moving out of the room and then Eddie’s whispers in his ear.

“Gonna lift your head for just a minute while I sit. Want you to turn so your face is looking at me, it’ll block out the light when we turn them back on. I can rub your shoulders and back that way too.”

Steve couldn’t really nod, but he tilted his head up just a bit to show he was okay with it, though they both knew it would be painful.

Eddie was fast though, didn’t want him to suffer a single second longer than he absolutely had to.

Before Steve could process the zing of pain through his head and neck, he was already situated as comfortably as possible on Eddie’s lap, face turned into his stomach.

One of Eddie’s hands gently cupped the back of his head, holding him steady so he could completely relax.

He did, or as much as he really could with the level of pain he was at.

“You take anything?” Eddie asked as his other hand started slowly rubbing his shoulder, just a light pressure to ease him into more touch.

“Mhm.”

He’d taken something at lunch, and then again when he got off of work and didn’t think he’d be able to drive home without something in his system.

It seemed like it was actually kicking in now, though that could also be Eddie’s practiced attention to all the worst areas of pain.

The kids were slowly coming into the room, Steve could hear them setting things on the coffee table as quietly as possible, whispering amongst themselves.

It was suddenly extremely hot in the room, and Steve knew that was just part of the crash as the medicine kicked in further. Normally, he was alone or only with Eddie, and could strip and lay on cool sheets with a fan blowing on him, but he couldn’t with the kids here.

He knew if he asked, they would go. They were good kids, and they’d understand, and Eddie could reschedule for the next day since he was off.

But he didn’t want them to have to rearrange everything because of him, not when Eddie was so excited about a new character introduction for tonight.

“Alright guys, gonna have to keep it to a whisper,” Eddie said, the rise and fall of his stomach as he breathed lulling Steve into a calm state, though not quite sleeping.

Eddie continued to run the campaign, everyone being as quiet as possible, only Dustin having to be reminded once to keep his voice down when he got a bit overexcited about getting past the guards surrounding the water they had to dive in to get to some kind of map.

It was all very complicated to Steve, and he couldn’t keep on a good day.

Eddie’s hands rested on his body the entire time, slowly rubbing circles into any part they could reach, fingers running slowly through his hair.

Steve drifted at some point, and when he woke up, the room was pitch black and Eddie’s hands had stilled, resting on his arm and head.

Steve blinked up at him, moving his head only enough to squint up at Eddie’s face.

He was passed out, mouth wide open, head leaned back along the back of the couch.

He had no idea what time it was, or how long they’d been like this, but he wasn’t going to wake him up.

He noticed the pain in his head had dulled to just the occasional sharp pinch in his forehead and most of his joints seemed like he could move them without wanting to crumble to the ground.

He slowly rolled onto his back, but Eddie let out a loud snore and immediately opened his eyes when he felt the movement.

“You okay?” He rasped.

“Better,” Steve smiled up at him, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek. “Thanks for taking care of me, baby.”

“Anytime, sweet love. You wanna move to the bed?”

“Can we take a bath first?”

Eddie looked over at the clock.

“It’s past midnight, are you sure?”

“Yeah. Just wanna relax in a bath with you for a bit.”

Eddie leaned down to kiss him.

Sometimes he did that; Just kissed him instead of using words to reply, showing him instead of telling him in the best way.

These kisses were different from his other kisses. They were softer, less hungry, loving in a way that Steve didn’t think words could even say.

“Let’s go relax in the bath, then.”

“Did the game go okay?” Steve asked as he slowly sat up.

“Yeah. Kids were worried about you.”

“I’m okay. You told them I’m okay, right?”

“I told them you’d be okay. They just love you,” Eddie said, standing up and stretching his arms above his head.

“I love them, too.”

“You’re kind of our north star, Stevie.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. We’re a bit lost without you. That’s why it’s hard to see you hurting like that. Not just for me, but for all of us.”

“I’m fine now.”

Eddie didn’t respond, left a kiss on his forehead, and started walking towards their bathroom.

“Come be fine in the bath with me!” He said over his shoulder.

Steve obliged. He’d be fine anywhere as long as Eddie was there to take care of him.

[its-time-to-write]

I AM RUSHING TO GET THIS IN!!!

Friends to lovers maybe with a disabled reader?? Maybe she's someone he knew from back home who he runs into at a diner she's working at now. Maybe she feels like he abandoned her and her life fell apart when he moved away?

ANyway love you lots!!!

warning: there’s a lot of parentheses (it’s a choice) and a lot of swearing (I do what I want)

reader’s dialogue/feelings are based off my own experiences so if u read this and are like ??? don’t worry about it. i’m just projecting. the chronic illness is unspecified.

LOVE U BABE

you’ll probably date her

It’s hard enough growing up in a council estate in a shit part of Manchester (although you’d staunchly defend there’s no such thing as a shit part of Manchester) but it’s harder with fucking chronic illness. It manifests is clumsiness (joint pain), fidgeting (widespread pain), and bruising (skin problems).

Not to mention the fucking tiredness.

School is complete shit all the time, and life is complete shit all the time too. 

Okay fine, not all the time, but a lot of the time.

There are bright spots in between flare ups, bright spots that consist of learning how to bake with Simon (Jamie’s stepdad) and petting Roy (Jamie’s cat) and watching horribly cheesy movies with Georgie (Jamie’s mum).

Oh, and Jamie. 

You’ve known Jamie since birth, probably, when your mum brought you home and Jamie sat down on the saggy couch, aged two, and asked, “When does it open its eyes?”

He took it upon himself to look after you, magnanimous in a way he would not have been if you were actually related to him (thank god). When he starts to get tired of you, he can go back home to his own room and his own mum and hug her tight without having to share her with anyone else.

When you’re three and he’s five, you get a diagnosis. Jamie says, “That’s shit,” when your mum tells him you can’t play, and you’re told that you echo him with your first swear. 

“That’s shit,” comes your tiny voice from the sofa, face down and covered in bags of frozen peas.

Your mum is too surprised by the first words you’ve said all day, that she a) doesn’t scold you and b) doesn’t catch Jamie as he slips by her into the house. He sits on the floor and starts to tell you about primary school and helps your mum when it’s time to put the peas back in the slightly-broken freezer.

It goes like that for years. 

When you’re feeling well, you kick a football around with Jamie. When you’re feeling poorly, he climbs the steps to your room and tells you things, anything at all to distract you from the pain ripping through your body.

It’s nice. It makes you feel, like, someone cares, almost? Or someone understands? Or maybe the world isn’t carrying on without you, that a piece of it does stop when you do, and maybe you aren’t entirely alone.

You first realize you like Jamie (like-like) when you’re twelve and it feels like ice-cold water has been poured on your head, but not exactly in an unwelcoming way.

A shock, sure, but a soothing one.

You don’t tell him, but you think he probably knows. He’s not an idiot, he’s had girls swooning all over him since he was eight. 

(And your mum knows, and she and Georgie talk, and Georgie tells Jamie to be extra nice to you and maybe a little bit careful not to be mean about it.)

He carefully slips on your small bed when you’re fifteen and he’s sixteen (almost seventeen, but it’s the one time of the year when you’re only a year apart) and balances on his side so he can look at you.

“You’ll be alright?” he asks, and you don’t have to ask what he’s talking about.

He’s going to play for Manchester (City, not United, and not the Premier League Team), and it’s all you’ve been able to think about.

You don’t say anything, so he gingerly pats your head. It messes up your hair, but it also feels like tiny electric sparks are shooting through your body (not the pain kind).

He lays there for a long time, whispering about secondary school and football and making enough money to buy houses for everyone he’s ever loved, you included.

(He promises he’ll call all the time.)

—

He does call, until he doesn’t.

Some days are good, some days are bad, and now the bad days feel like they’re your fault.

“You’re overdoing it,” your boss says, “You need to slow down or you’ll be out sick tomorrow.”

You bite back the words I’m doing my fucking best, and just nod. Fuck him, and fuck this. You can work just the same as everyone else, pain be damned. There are fucking bills to pay and yeah, this shit hurts, but what the fuck are you supposed to do. Benefits aren’t enough at the moment, and it’s been a solid two years since you’ve given up on waiting for a knight in shining armor (even if that knight is in the Premier League now, just like he always swore he’d be).

Your boss is fucking right the fucker, but you push through on Friday (it’s fucking shit) and crash on Saturday (it’s even more fucking shit).

Your mum places bags of frozen fruit on your joints, rearranging the pillows on the floor. You’ve long since outgrown the couch, instead needing more space. Your dad moved the coffee table, saying, “It’s on its last legs anyway,” and the space you called a living room now became a treatment room of sorts.

Georgie and Simon come over all the time for family dinner (potluck-style) and they are comfortable enough step over you or sit down on the floor to talk.

It sounds worse than it is, but when they’re in the flat it feels better, all warm and glowy, like things are right.

Nights are the worst, with the moving around trying to get comfortable, so you’re awake bright and early on Sunday morning. Early enough to sit on a bench in front of the estates, bundled up in your duvet and puffing cold air out into the sky.

You hear footsteps splashing down the tunnel, someone on their way home after a long night. Or maybe it’s one of the many kids who like to sneak out to play footie in hopes that they’ll be the next Jamie Tartt.

He’s not that great, you want to tell them, except you don’t even believe it yourself. He is that great, he’ll always be that great, and you should have fucking known that he was going to fuck off and fuck a gorgeous, carefree model and not you. 

(Not that you want to fuck him. Well, you do, but you also want to, like, hold his hand.)

It was always going to end up this way, you should have known not to actually have real feelings for him, you should have left it at a childhood crush and not let yourself believe something could actually happen.

The footsteps pass you by, and it’s a man in a baseball hat and an awful silk-print tracksuit carrying a Gucci travel bag.

He’s out of place here, and you wonder if he’s lost. But no, he strides up to Georgie and Simon’s door like he owns the place, pulls out a key, and walks right in. It’s only after the door swings shut behind him that you realize it’s Jamie.

“Oh shit,” you whisper, clouds accompanying the words.

(You won’t admit it, but the surprise has rebooted your system a little bit, aching limbs forgotten for a moment.)

—

“This is shit,” you say as you lean on your fucking cane of all things. “It’s one thing if it’s Simon and Georgie, it’s another fucking thing if it’s Jamie fucking Tartt.”

“That’s a lot of fucking fucks,” your father says sagely, ignoring the glare you send his way and saying ow as your mum swats the back of his head.

“It’s only two fucks and one shit,” you tell him. “And I’m not going.”

“Then I’ll tell them to come over here,” your mum says placidly. 

Absolutely not. Also-fucking-lutely not.

“I am going to my room,” you say with dignity, turning to go back up the stairs.

Your dad waves, the prick. “Have fun,” he says helpfully. You flip him off without looking, and you know for a fact he’s doing it back. You know he’ll be up in an hour with a plate of dinner and sneak you early desert.

There is no fucking way you’re seeing Jamie after two years like this.

The cane is a relatively new development and sure, it’s helpful with walking sometimes, but a cane? The fuck were the doctors thinking when they suggested this? You’re barely twenty, not a damn convalescent. 

By the time you make it to your room, the doorbell’s ringing and voices are filling the flat. You reach for your bottle of pills and carefully tap the right amount into your hand (even though you know there is no drug on earth to calm down your traitor heart).

You lay down flat on your back with no immediate plans to move. You find your playlist and slip an earbud in, letting the music take you somewhere else. Somewhere where you don’t hurt for no reason, where you can focus like you’re supposed to, where you aren’t so damn tired all the time.

There’s a tap on your door.

“Come in,” you call to your dad, except the door opens and it’s Jamie, no longer in his stupid outfit from earlier, but in a nice jumper that you think might be Simon’s.

He smiles like he didn’t abandon you and sits down on the floor. You hand him the other earbud (it’s better than talking) and let Stevie Nicks croon in your ear.

“How’ve you been?” he asks (the prick) and you have half a mind to ignore him. 

“It’s been two years,” you remind him. “Try again.”

Jamie looks stricken. “Right, yeah, I know, it’s just- I’ve been busy.”

“Yup,” you reply. “Me too.”

(The cane is leaning on the wall by the door, and you need Jamie to not notice it.)

Jamie points to the cane. “That’s new.”

“Yep,” you say because it’s not the same as yup. It has a different vowel. It’s a different word, you’re having a civil conversation, your brain is making sentences just fine.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He sounds like he means it, which is worse. “I went through some shit, you know? It don’t excuse it, but… got a new gaffer, Keeley dumped me, then I got sent back to City right when I were getting better. It’s been shit. I’ve been shit,” he corrects.

Your arm’s falling asleep so you shift, trying to stifle a groan.

Jamie’s up in a moment, all concern. “You alright?”

“Clearly,” you gasp out as savagely as possible. “Fuck off, alright? I don’t need your pity, not now, so go find some other charity case.”

Fucking flare-ups. Fucking Jamie. Fucking chronic illness and its fucking lack of a cure.

Jamie looks like he’s been slapped. To be fair, you would if you could get in the right position.

“You’re not charity,” he says, and unfortunately (and again) he sounds like he fucking means it.

“Okay,” you say. “That’s fucking mint. Thanks for staying such a good friend all these years, it’s been real fucking fun. I’ve got to lie here in discomfort, so I imagine you’ll be leaving now. Goodbye.”

Jamie stares at you a moment, then leaves.

—

It’s a good day. It’s a good day and it’s raining and you don’t even care because it’s a good day. Nothing can ruin it (this isn’t a premonition) not even stupid Jamie showing up out of nowhere.

(It’s a little bit of a premonition.)

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says when he turns up in his mum’s kitchen, an hour before he’s supposed to be home. You’re supposed to be long gone by now, but you and Simon have cheese pinwheels in the oven that aren’t done for another twenty minutes, so now you’re stuck here until then.

“Fucking mint,” you say, just like the night before. Simon freezes but Georgie just rolls her eyes. 

“We’ll be in the other room, loves,” she says. “Jamie, don’t be a fucking idiot.”

You tell him, “I’m having a good day, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t fucking ruin it.”

“You’re not a charity case,” he says, and you think maybe he is broken, but like a record is broken, not like a teacup.

Jamie says, “I weren’t lying about going through shit,” and you snap (like a rubber band, not a bone).

“Big fucking deal, Jamie, you’ve been going through shit since you were six years old. I’ve been going through shit too, in case you didn’t fucking notice. It’s not an excuse to be a shitty person or a shitty friend,” you burst out.

“I didn’t say it as an excuse, it’s just a fucking reason,” Jamie shouts back. “Jesus Christ, you’re not the only person with fucking problems! You’re allowed to be mad shitty sometimes, I didn’t ever complain, so why’s it fucking different for me?”

You open your mouth to tell him why it’s fucking different, except you don’t actually have a reason. How many times did you sit with him as he iced his knee, or his face, or his arm while you iced your back, or your chest, or your legs?

Pain is pain, your fucking government-issued therapist had said. And shit if she isn’t right.

“You abandoned me,” you reply, voice small. “You left me for Keeley and I wouldn’t have minded, I really wouldn’t have. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Jamie rubs his face with a sigh. “Didn’t know how to talk to you, after. I knew you liked me since we were kids and I liked you too, so it felt fucking… weird. Dunno. But, I was with her because it was what I was supposed to do and she was mad fit and fucking funny. I’ve had a crush on her for fucking… ages.”

“Right,” you say, feeling one millimeter tall, “I get that.”

Jamie shakes his head and says, “Nah, you don’t.” (The fuck does he mean? He can’t read your mind).

“You don’t get it,” he continues. “Had a crush on her, didn’t I? Not the same as you. You were proper in love with me, and I…” he trails off.

“He was proper in love with you too,” comes Georgie’s voice.

Jamie turns bright red and you do too, and it’s like you’re kids again and he’s in your bed and you’re trying not to think about how close his lips are to yours.

“That’s… well, that’s…” You try and fail to come up with the right words.

“Yeah,” Jamie says, still blushing. “Yeah, suppose I was. Couldn’t do anything about it, then. Could do something about it now. If you’ve forgiven me.” He says it casually, like he won’t mind if you tell him to go away out of his own mum’s house and never return, when in reality he’ll burn up and die if you do.

“I will. I do,” you say. “I’m sorry too, I am. I can be a prick sometimes.”

Jamie shrugs, but he’s smiling a little. “I’m a prick all the time, love. Fucking… fucked childhood or some shit.”

“Some shit,” you echo. “So, proper in love with me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says. “Proper. Wrote my first name with your last on every bit of paper I could get me hands on, didn’t I?”

“Fuck off,” you say with a grin.

“It’s true,” Simon shouts from the sofa. “Found some bits when I was cleaning one day.”

Wait. Simon didn’t move in until Jamie was a teenager. That means… 

“Oh my god, were you fifteen when you were writing that? You weren’t even a kid anymore! What the fuck Jamie, you had it bad!” you tease.

“Fuck off, it was just a stupid joke,” he says defensively.

“Uh huh, sounds like,” you say as you go to wrap your arms around him. “You liked me.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, leaning down to kiss your head. He’s never going to fucking live this down.

[atimeofyourlife]

Drenched in my pain again

Written for @steddiemicrofic

prompt: rest | rated:t | wc: 387 | cw: minor emetophobia | tags: Steve has chronic pain

Steve trying to push through an awful chronic pain flare-up, Eddie has to convince him to rest. Title from Wake Me Up When September Ends by Green Day.

Somehow, the migraines weren't the worst thing to come out of the hell Steve's body had been put through over the years of fighting the Upside Down. No, the worst thing was the pain. In his sides, his back, all of his joints, in the muscles and deep into the bones. Some days, he could ignore the pain, it staying at a low level that almost faded into the background. Most days, it was present, but at a manageable level. Over-the-counter painkillers, gentle stretching, and a swim in the heated pool being enough to ease the pain. And then there were the worst days. Less frequent, but always awful. Unable to move without wanting to scream in pain, any touch sending sharp, stabbing pains through his joints. Crying and throwing up with the pain when he inevitably pushed himself too far, beyond his body's limits.

Which is how he found himself on the floor behind the counter at Family Video, curling around the trash can. He'd felt how bad the pain was that morning, but knew he couldn't call out sick again. He'd taken too many sick days with migraines, and Keith was looking for any excuse to fire him. So he'd pushed through, picking Robin up on his way in. He tried to get on with the job, but everything made the pain worse, standing still, pacing, reshelving tapes, or perching on the stool behind the counter. There was no position that could ease the pain. Then Robin caught his arm as she reached past him, causing the pain to spike even further. Steve let out a strangled cry, dropping to his knees. Tears spilling over as he reached blindly for the trash can as his stomach rebelled.

Sometime later, Steve unable to say how long it had been, he became aware of someone's presence next to him.

"Stevie?" Eddie said softly.

"Eds, why're you here?" Steve mumbled.

"Robin called me, said you needed to go home and she didn't think you could drive. Is it a migraine?"

Steve shook his head.

"What hurts? Is it a bad pain day?"

"Everything hurts." Steve whimpered.

"Let's get you home to rest, okay?"

"But-"

"Baby, it's okay to rest when you're in pain. You don't want to make it worse."

"Okay." Steve agreed, desperate to stop the pain.

honestly, steve is me in this, the inspiration came from me currently being in the worst chronic pain flare up of my entire life. (i would love to say im exaggerating, but i have had broken bones that hurt less than whatever the fuck is going on in my joints right now.)

[theotherbuckley]

Fuck it Friday 💜

ITS 911 DAY GUYS ONLY 2(ish) MORE HOURS!!!!

Here’s a snippet of my new WIP which is chronic pain!Buck. Chronic pain!Buck is everything to me so I wanted to write this. Despite not having a flare up in a month (touch wood) I just got beans for this so here you go:

He manages to get himself in a seating position, legs dangling off the edge of the bed. He stops for a moment to catch his breath, clenching his fists to distract himself from the pain that radiates from his joint. Buck turns to the window and is not surprised to see it grey outside. It’s probably going to rain, he thinks. It’s like those “Will you press the button?” questions — you get the ability to predict the weather except your knee wants to kill you everytime you guess right! He has to remind himself how lucky he is again. He’s alive. He can work. He’s alive. He can work. He’s alive— a sharp pain stabs through his knee and he closes his eyes, a tear escaping through his lashes. Maybe now he and the sky can cry together.

Thanks for all the tags through out the week, tagging you all back for Fuck it Friday (whenever that may be for you guys):

@disasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @jeeyuns @wildlife4life @honestlydarkprincess @eddiebabygirldiaz @spagheddiediaz @jesuisici33 @your-catfish-friend @ladydorian05 @giddyupbuck @eowon @elvensorceress @watchyourbuck @steadfastsaturnsrings @housewifebuck @thewolvesof1998 @king-buckley @rainbow-nerdss @cal-daisies-and-briars @evanbegins @diazsdimples @wikiangela @bucksbirthmark  @underwater-ninja-13 @daffi-990 @fionaswhvre @aspecbuddie @lover-of-mine @nmcggg @tizniz @monsterrae1 @smilingbuckley @loveyouanyway @hippolotamus @incorrect9-1-1 @buckdefencesquad @actualalligator @pirrusstuff @actuallyitsellie as always let me know if you’d like to be added or removed <3

[kiiwiigii]

Night-Time Reading

Alec x Fem!Reader

Summary: You are having a rough day managing your POTS/CFS. All you want to do is relax and Alec is there to help.

Warnings:

Fluff! Nothing but tooth rotting fluff.

Word Count: 400+

Requested?: Yes!

So I'm going through a really rough time, I'm disabled (pots and CFS) and my cfs is acting up badly cause school started and I've been so busy I haven't had a break period, constantly walking and running and being busy. now I have a three day weekend so my body is letting myself feel the consequences of pushing myself too far, so I was wondering if I could suggest some comfort? Alec with a mate that either has cfs or just has some symptoms and just him keeping them as comfortable as possible while they're in pain Common symptoms (including the ones I'm going through) - joint pain (I can barely go up stairs and walk -extreme temp fluctuations (really hot to really cold quickly) -brain fog (brain is foggy. I'm too weak to open a bottle of coke so I left it open and while talking I tipped it over and forgot it was open) -migraines/headaches -sore throat -trembling -really tired but can't fall asleep and/or sleeps for a really long time Thank you for listening 🫶🏼 -🦊

A/N: Hey nonny! I am so, so sorry it has taken me this long to write this. Honestly, I was (and still am I suppose) intimidated to write this, simply because these illnesses are not something I am not even remotely familiar with. But I also want to thank you because it's a good writing exercise for me. I'm also sorry that you're having such a rough time. I can't even imagine. So here's a fic, just for you, darling. I hope you're feeling better.

Another A/N: So the wonderful and amazing @alecvolturi did an amazing edit of Alec reading the first bit of The Hobbit. Please give it a listen as you read. It's PERFECT.

Miserable.

I was fucking miserable.

It began just by sitting up. I could feel the migraine building, and I was already in the throws of a hot flash. It didn't help that the pain in my joints was flaring up again.

It was 3 a.m. and I was already this close to crying. I couldn't remember the last time that I had a proper nights sleep. I just wanted one day, one day where I didn't have to be in pain or worry that any movement I made would set off a whole other series of symptoms, all of which almost all of them were painful.

"Darling?" Alec was next to me, his cold hands running over my heated skin, trailing goosebumps behind in his wake.

His hands were a sweet, cool balm on my flushed skin. It gave me a little relief. I leaned into him, enjoying the cold. His lips pressed to my forehead.

"Scale of 1 to 10?"

"7 to 8." I mumbled.

One would think with how long that I've lived with this disease that I would have a high pain tolerance. That couldn't be further from the truth. I could already feel a few tears slipping from beneath my lashes. I just wanted something to make the pain go away.

I whined as Alec disappeared, only to reappear with my meds and a bottle of water a moment later.

"Here, drink." He handed me the pills and water, and I took them gratefully. He pulled the comforter from the floor where I had kicked it off, bundling it back up on the bed for us to lay down on. He then grabbed my phone, pulling up my favorite playlist, the one he made for me to help me calm down when I felt like shit. The music started flowing through the speaker near my bed at a low volume.

"What book, darling?" His eyes were already scanning my bookshelves.

"Uhm…" I blinked back at him slowly, trying to process what he said.

"How about The Hobbit?"

"Perfect." I rasped with a small smile.

He was next to me again in a flash, his back against the headboard as he pulled me gently to him, a pillow already ready in his lap.

"In the hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit." His voice lilted over me, and I felt myself begin to relax as his hands gently ran through my hair and along my neck.

The fine mist that signaled the use of his gift began to unfurl from his fingers and I felt myself begin to numb. The first time he had done this it had been disconcerting, but now I welcomed it with relish. A small reprieve from the pain. I smiled to myself, letting my eyes slip closed as I listened.

Then finally, sleep came for me.

{Masterlist} // {Request Guidelines}

Taglist: @alecvolturi @lack-lust-3r @rosedpetal

Wanna be notified when I post a new fic? Ask to join my taglist!

[a-b-riddle]

What makes me feel like a loser: I’m disabled. But I also am medicated enough that I can work 30 hours a week and do some part-time grad school stuff, but any more than that and I fall apart (somewhat literally since I have a connective tissue disorder). Everyone else is capable of being more, and I’m not and I may never be and I may be even worse eventually. It also limits my social and romantic circles, because I’m never gonna get better (chronic/lifelong conditions) and people can only be empathetic and understanding for so long before they get frustrated.

The way chronic pain reader and Simon or Price would go hand in fucking hand.

For Simon, his heart would not break because plans fell through due to a flare up. The man is already putting on his comfy clothes again and ready to spend the day inside tending to you. You would be upset not being able to make it to see his friends because today was just a really hard day, whereas Simon didn't want to go out in the first place. He has no guilt in telling them things came up or even taking the blame for it. The man has traveled the world. All he wants now is to be home. Even better when he has you to share it with.

For Price, he knows all to well how it's not just a myth to feel a storm coming in your bones. The injuries on the battlefield left more than just scars. His joints ache. So when the barometric pressure drops, although the both of you are feeling a little bit more worse for wear, it's nice being with someone who understands. That even though you can't see the pain, it's still there. How debilitating it can be. How hard it is to miss out on stuff you were looking forward to.

[charcuteriecrab]

all it takes is a snap

A Resident Evil Fanfiction

Tags: established chreon, blood, injury, broken bones

Whumptober Prompt: "How many fingers am I holding up?"

RE:TOBER prompt: Virus

For @wisecrackingeric-2 !!

Leon huffed, sucking in sharp breaths quickly as he ran through the forest underbrush. Chris was ahead of him by a few paces, his harsh breathing audible even over the roaring of blood in Leon's head. They had been running for so long, yet if the agent turned his head to glance behind him, he knew for a fact that the zombie hoard was still right on their toes.

He didn't need to see; he could hear their loud moans, growls, and howling wails. The mission they were sent on was a disaster, the lab turning out to be completely overrun by t-virus infected—too many for just the two of them to handle. They gave their best effort, but in the end, they had to run to the evac point, which was still so far away and the hoard wasn't showing signs of slowing down.

"We have to keep going, Leon!" Chris yelled, pinched from exertion and adrenaline, and Leon swore he could hear an air of despair trying to come out. "We can't stop, we're almost there."

Leon didn't know what to say to that, but he knew if he didn't say something, Chris was going to worry, and he didn't want to do that. "Yeah," he said simply, out of breath.

He lamented that they hadn't retrieved the virus sample from the lab, knowing that once they returned, they would have to admit failure. At the BSAA it wasn't so bad, but he still retained his DSO training, not quite able to shake the fear of disappointment away completely. He wondered if they would send a larger team in next time.

They ran for who knows how much longer, and the hoard finally slowed down slightly, not able to keep up with the two BSAA operatives, as old as the two were getting. Leon was nearing 40, and his joints definitely felt it. Each breath coming out of his mouth sliced at his throat due to the force of his inhales and his vision was starting to waver. He could last a long time, but this was starting to reach his limits. Chris was closer now as well, having slowed down enough that they could hold hands, not that they could while running, but it eased Leon's nerves regardless. It seemed things were looking up for them.

Until it wasn't.

As if the universe had a vendetta against him, Leon's foot caught on a tree branch and he went tumbling forward in a shallow ditch. His vision swam, turning a swirling black and green mess, and he couldn't regain his balance before his head slammed against the ground. At the same time, Leon heard a sickening crack and his ankle flared in pain. Fuck, fuck. That was a break—

"Leon!" In an instant, loud footsteps raced to him, leaves rustling and sticks snapping, and Leon knew it was Chris. 

He kneeled by his side and grabbed at his torso, trying to flip him onto his back to see what was wrong. Chris' face twisted with concern, moving a hand to brush back Leon's fringe and prod at his hairline for some reason. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he then asked, and Leon ignored it, frowning.

"Ankle's busted," he slurred, trying to get up, and when Chris wouldn't let him, he scowled, desperation taking over. "Leave me behind. I can't outrun them like this—"

"No. Not happening," Chris interrupted, pulling him into his arms bridal-style in one swift motion, Leon's head resting on his shoulder.

"Chris—"

The man scowled, starting up a pace again before sparing a glance at the infected. "We're in this together. I'm not leaving you behind."

Leon was quiet after that, the pain in his ankle flaring at the movement, and he suddenly realized that his head hurt too. Now staring up into the sky, the sun's rays sent daggers through his head and he whined, closing his eyes. Soon enough, he felt something warm dripping down the side of his face, and he immediately knew it was blood. Why was he bleeding? Oh yeah, he hit his head. Maybe there was a rock on the ground or something.

The rocking of Chris running was making it harder and harder for Leon to contain his cries of pain, and he could hear the zombies closing in on them, a flare of fear for Chris rushing through him. He should put him down—Leon was a dead weight, only slowing him down. He would never forgive himself if he was the reason Chris Redfield died.

"Chris…" he murmured.

"Stay with me, Leon. We're almost there."

He was trying , but for some reason, he didn't understand he was losing grasp on consciousness. He didn't think he was injured that badly, not enough for him to pass out in Chris' arms. Leon's throat turned thick, tasting iron on his tongue, and it became harder to breathe. Humming, he fell more limp against Chris's chest, guilt racing through him.

"I'm s'rry, Chris," he slurred again, this time worse, and this seemed to distress Chris, for he went faster then, saying something that Leon couldn't discern, his tone terrified.

The beeping of medical equipment was what woke him, Leon opening his eyes to a dark hospital room, a figure sitting in a chair next to his bed, resting their head next to Leon's thigh. It was Chris. The agent sighed, relieved that his boyfriend was okay. Leon lifted his arm, limb heavy and shaking, to brush his fingers through the man's hair, the touch seeming to wake Chris up.

Then everything became a blur

~o~

The man let out a confused hum, and he opened his eyes groggily, gaze locking with Leon's and he sat up straight, wide-eyed. "Leon! You're awake," he exclaimed, smiling wide. His eyes were bloodshot and dark bags hung underneath.

Leon smiled back and hummed. "What happened to me?" he asked, not remembering how he was injured, assuming he was. He could feel drugs coursing through his veins, dulling the pain he was supposed to be feeling.

Chris' smile faltered. "We were running from some infected through a forest to evac during our last mission two days ago. You fell bad—split open your skull and snapped your ankle in two. I carried you back to the helicopter, but you passed out on the way." He looked away, staring at the thin blanket on the hospital bed, and Leon's gaze softened. "I-I thought I lost you."

"I'm here," he replied, grabbing one of Chris' hands with his own and giving it a squeeze. "You saved me."

"You could have died."

Leon shook his head. "But I didn't."

Chris still looked torn up, eyes glassy, and Leon tapped the bed, gesturing for him to get in with him. "Come here."

His boyfriend looked at him, conflicted, before giving in and helping the agent move to the side enough for him to fit. Leon sighed contently, leaning his head on Chris' shoulder as the man held him close. He could hear his heart in his chest, the rhythm soothing him, and soon enough he drew drowsy, eyelids falling to half-mast and breathing evening out. Leon could feel tears falling onto his scalp and squeezed Chris' hand again, letting him know he was there.

Leon hummed, concerned, and Chris pressed a kiss to his head. "I'm fine. You go to sleep. I've got you."

He nodded in response, leaning in more. "Love you," he murmured.

"I love you too, Leon."

[bougiebutchbitch]

yk i haven't been able to get hyper mobile Izzy out of my head all day... maybe they hit a storm and he manages to dislocate something while they all are doing their best to keep the ship going and once the crew botice they all are all ??? and worried and all while Izzy's just there like. 🙄 same old bs, stop fussing ):<

omg yes! I imagine he's full of arthritis too after a lifetime of constant sublux/dislocations........ and I'm agressively giving him my current bugbear of 'hips keep coming out'. So like, after a fight his non-prosthesis leg'll be stuck in internal rotation, shortened, immobile and completely unable to weight bear.

Poor dude is balancing on his hoof and nub which, as he did NOT give that residual limb anywhere near adequate time to heal.... owie.

Fang puts a hand on his back to steady him, thinking his leg got cut or whatever. That hand strays lower when Izzy wobbles, and - oh, woah. He can feel a whole damn femoral head sticking into Izzy's scrawny li'l ass-cheek.

Which - well. That's nothing new, really.

"Need a hand, boss?" Fang asks, real cheerful.

Izzy, white with pain, grabs Jim's shoulders for stability and nods. Hips don't go in easy without help, after all. But while he's needed assistance before, he's always been a total ass about it, worrying at Fang and Ivan the whole time like an injured, untrusting dog, even as he clings to them, high off his mind with the pain.

Now... now Ivan's not there to help (a hurt Izzy can't examine too closely, in case it supersedes the one currently eating away at his hip). But when he raises his wavering vision, he sees the whole damn crew arrayed before him, still bloody and sweaty from the fight, panting as they stare with... worry?

Ugh, thinks Izzy, though he has to duck his head real quick to hide the smile.

"Gimme a Captain Morgan," he says.

As Pete blurts 'what, like the rum?' Fang obligingly tucks his beefy arms under Izzy's armpits and helps Jim shuffle him over to lay on a nearby pair of big barrels, sword clattering to the deck. The pain has dulled from the awful fire of his major weight-bearing bone stabbing into his sciatic nerve and soft tissue, to a constant gnawing ache. Like his hip joint is full of acid.

"Happen a lot, then, huh?" mutters Jim, as they arrange him at Fang's direction, knee raised at ninety degrees over his screaming pelvis.

"Fucking - fuck - fuck - "

"I'll take that as a yes." Jim glances at Fang. "You better show us all how to fix it, then."

Fang shrugs, pointing to Izzy. "Eh, he's the boss."

So, as Pete returns with the promised rum - which Izzy grabs without a 'thank you' and swigs from the damp bottle neck, blunting the pain to the point where he can concentrate - he gives 'em a tight-lipped, breathless lesson on how to apply axial traction and use your knee as a fulcrum, until you feel that satisfying clunk.

As soon as it's back in, the pain flares brutally, then shrinks away, leaving him wracked and shuddering. Izzy shoves at the bottle when Pete next tries to raise it to his mouth, sloshing liquor everywhere (but he shoots the man a harried nod of gratitude, which, judging by Pete's grin, he treasures). He waits for his racing heart to settle. Then makes to sit - only to pause at the big hand splayed over his chest.

"Uh," says Oluwande. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"I'm first mate," argues Izzy. "I give the orders."

But he lets himself sink back as Olu pushes him, and when Lucius gingerly picks up his bloody sword from where it fell and starts to clean it (pulling faces the whole time at having to touch blood and goo), he doesn't snap for him to leave his damn weapon alone.

"What helps?" he hears Roach asking Fang, all matter-of-fact - the man's taking notes, Izzy bets. "I've pulled a leg back in a coupla times - different method, but same principle, y'know? But I've never stuck around for what comes next. Cold first, to stop the swelling?"

"Good luck finding that in the Caribbean, babe," says Frenchie, to which Roach dips him a wink as he vanishes below deck.

"Do not doubt my power!"

Izzy rolls his eyes - but Roach returns soon enough, carrying a cool glass bottle from the hold.

"Get him in the shade," he orders Fang and Jim, waving to the slightly cooler area below the great cabin's overhang. "Lay him out, and fetch him a new one of these every time it warms up."

Frenchie and Lucius readily volunteer for the task of wrestling Izzy's trousers down, with much eyebrow waggling and wolf-whistling apiece, but Izzy, for once, doesn't have the heart to shove them off. He just snorts, helping them shove the blood-crusted leather to his knees, modesty maintained by his smalls and the long drapes of his oversized shirt.

"Oh yeah," says Roach, snapping his fingers as Frenchie rolls the cool bottle against the outside of Izzy's hip - how he'll react when Izzy caves and asks him to put it on the inside instead, Izzy doesn't know, but he kinda wants to find out. "Don't let him get up."

The whole damn crew nods. Izzy lets his head fall back on the planks with a thunk.

"It's really not that big a deal," he grumbles (though the lingering ache of abused tendons begs to differ). "S'back in. I can walk. S'fine."

"Sh-sh-sh," scolds Archie, leaning on Jim's side a few feet away. "No need. I've heard you yell, little guy - we'll all be able to hear you bark orders from here."

Jim nods, smile thin as their knives. "So, you'd best get shouting at us and telling us what to do, so we can be away, huh?"

And, well, Izzy can't argue with that. He relaxes into the comforting cool of the bottle (and, loathe as he is to admit it, Frenchie and Lucius's hands, both of which press gentle on his skin), shirt clinging to him with blood, none of it his own. Or that of his family.

Then he raises his voice.

"Alright, you lazy twats! Show's over! Back to work!"

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

@whumpbump Okay I know you probably meant Whumper pushing Whumpee down the stairs but I couldn't resist my love for stairwells and chase scenes so --

--

You slammed your shoulder into the metal door, crying out in frustration when it didn't immediately give to your frantic pounding. The alcohol in your veins still dulled your coordination, making it all the more difficult to pry open the entry down to the stairs. There was no time to wait for the elevator. No time to wait for the cops that surely had to have been called by now from someone else on this floor, at least to file a noise complaint against those rowdy, drunk kids making a ruckus all night.

"Open, open," you begged into the air. You rammed against the metal again and again, each hit making your shoulder throb, the last one threatening to dislocate the joint if you abused it much long. "Fucking open!"

The weight on the other side finally gave way, allowing you to shove the blockage just enough to slip through the gap. You prayed your pursuer wouldn't be able to fit in the narrow opening, though you doubted he'd have much trouble fully slamming the stuck door wide open. Betraying your moment of reprieve, you dared to look back and gauge the distance between yourself and the stalker, kept safe only by a doorway and several flights of stairs.

Instead, what you saw was the body of the building's janitor hastily shoved between the wall and door. Blood drenched the entire front of his uniform, his head angled down to hide the near decapitation of his neck. Instantly, your hands flew to your mouth to catch the scream clawing up your throat, or perhaps the stifle the gag that risked you vomiting on a poor man's already desecrated corpse. You stumbled backwards in an attempt to get away from yet another victim of a psychopath.

Perhaps that wasn't your best move on such a narrow landing. The concrete had become slick from the cooling pools of blood that lazily spread out and dripped to the stairs below. You felt your heel catch on the lip of the step, causing you to stumble, but the sudden shift in your weight made your foot slip in viscera and send you careening backwards. Another yelp was muffled in your chest, the air in your lungs being stolen before you could utter a sound.

The concrete steps were unforgiving in their beating. Sharp angles dug into all the tender spots of your flesh as you landed on each one, rolling from your back to your side and back again. Your knees and elbows sent tingling pains through every limb as the nerve was struck. No matter how desperately you threw out your hands to catch something, they would always instinctively pull back and try to protect your head from being split open. They didn't do much good when your chin smacked against the edge of a step, making your teeth painfully crack together and slicing your lower lip on an incisor.

The taste of blood was hot and bitter in your mouth, welling up in the back of your throat like bile. As much as you wanted to spit it out, another hit to your stomach left you wheezing, trying to suck in air that refused to stay down. Your world was a dizzying view of white stained walls and grey concrete, spinning round and doubling in vision with each bump to the head and chest you endured. When you finally came to a sprawling stop at the bottom of the story, it took a moment for your surrounds to cease their moving as well.

Finally, you coughed, pulling yourself onto your side so that you didn't choke on the globs of blood that splattered by your cheek. A sharp ringing deafened you, helping to dull the pain that pulsated through your body in tandem with your heartbeats. The relief didn't last long, agony instantly flaring in every muscle when you tried to roll onto your stomach in a foolish attempt to crawl onto your knees. One sharp ache in your hip refused to settle into a throb like all the others. With clumsy hands, you felt around the area until you brushed against a hard, jagged piece of glass that been impaled deep into the tissue. You pressed your other hand onto the ground in an effort to gain so leverage, only to yank it back with a hiss. More glass shards, thankfully smaller, had been imbedded in your palm. Litter that the janitor had probably been in the midst of picking up.

Despite being able to breathe now, as labored as it was, the only sounds you could muster were whimpers for help. The sound was pathetic and keening; you knew no one would be able to hear them, let alone think to check the stairwell for an injured tenant on the run from a madman. You couldn't stop, you had to keep going, you had to get away and warn everyone and find refuge. You had to survive.

But luck was not on your side, as evident by the splotches of red and purple on almost every inch of skin. From above, you heard two heavy bangs against solid metal following the sound of something dropping on the floor. The reverb in the stairwell made your throbbing headache scream louder, screwing your eyes close to ward off any tears that risked blurring your vision worse than what it already was. When you opened them again, you could see the janitor's head peaking between the railing his body having been toppled over onto his side. Thick streams of coagulated blood dripped to the landing below, mere inches from your nose.

You were more concerned by the looming figure that observed you over the same railing. Unbothered by the body he had shoved out of the way, he tilted his head with faux fascination at the sight of you sprawled on the ground and struggling to move. There was no telling what kind of sadistic joy was hidden behind the gaping black eyeholes of the madman's mask, or perhaps he was disappointed that his prey had taken the fun of the chase away due to their own incompetence. A shot of adrenaline kickstarted your heart into overdrive, worsening the pain that beat from your skull to your feet.

There was no time to recover any longer. The man begin to descend the stairs one leisurely step at a time, letting the stomp of his boots echo like a warning siren as he grew closer. You both knew there was no need to hurry, it wasn't like you'd be going anywhere any time soon, enough so that the knife was sheathed back into the pocket on his thigh. Every fiber of your being urged you to flee, anything to save yourself from a miserable death that probably wouldn't even be remembered in the stalker's kill count. As much as you would have loved to scramble up and sprint down the remaining five staircases, then best you could muster was an agonizing crawl towards the next flight of stairs.

You hoped gravity would be kind and swift carrying you down on your belly to the lower levels. It couldn't be any worse than what you were sure to experience otherwise.

[initiala]

I am very tired, but I did it. I graduated from physical therapy today!

Three months ago, I got diagnosed with osteoarthritis. That’s the joint degenerating kind, not the swelling kind, so my bones are just grinding themselves into dust and I have to… deal with it? Anyway, it hurts! Especially because it primarily is affecting my hips, lower back, and spine—which is many bones!

So after spending most of April with a migraine and not being able to sit up for longer than 10-15 minutes, my doctor put me on some medicine (which didn’t really do anything, so we stopped that), got me some X-rays to figure out why my bones hurt that much, and then ordered me into physical therapy.

Well, the arthritis explains the bone-hurt, so my physical therapists have been putting me through my paces since May to get me back into a full range of motion. I can look to the left for the first time in two years without my neck hurting. I can actually offer resistance when someone pushes down on my legs, instead of sinking immediately. I…can still not vacuum without my hip hurting after a while but I have exercises that I still have to do to try and mitigate that.

Anyway I went from a chronic pain level of about a 6-7 to today being at a 1-2. Some days are flare up days and that’s fine. Tylenol helps and the exercises I can do at home help move things around and loosen up the muscles and joints—and things being too tight have been by and large the worst culprit of why it’s been so bad.

Basically, not only do my bones grind together, I need to actually like. Do some light exercise and stretching. Because it’s good for me or something. UGH.

Anyway. It’s not something that’s gonna go away ever, because that’s not how a degenerative joint disease works. Someday it’ll get to the point when I need my hip joints replaced or need to have some crazy injections to lubricate the bones or whatever. But for now I’m happy to at least feel like I have tools to help me on the days when it starts to feel bad, or even just when I sleep weird and need to get the kinks out.

Yay PT. If your doctor tells you to do PT, actually do it. It helps, I promise. Also if your therapist is chill they’ll usually be fine if you’re like “I hope you know how mad I am at you for making me do these, they fucking suck” and it’s like the most baby of baby exercises. Mine would just cheerfully go “yup! Now do them anyway!”