#THE LEAST PATIENT IVE EVER FELT IN MY LIFE

[johnslittlespoon]

OKAY ITS HAPPENING. THE BOYS HAVE ARRIVED AT THE EMMY EVENT. WAITING FOR THE GROUP PICTURES C'MON.

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Bandage To A Broken Heart (Simon 'Ghost' Riley)

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Fem Medic!!Reader

Summary: You're a medic assigned to the 141 task force, Ghost is particularly fond of you and after an injury, he comes straight to your door. This is in Ghosts point of view (still second person, just from his perspective)

Warnings: explicit content, minors dni, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, praise kink, size kink (mans 6'4 whaddya expect), choking, dirty talk, language, mentions of injuries, mentions of reader being much shorter than ghost and has tattoos, no other physically descriptions

WC: 7k I'm so sorry

A/N: FINALLY, ive been writing this fic for like 3 weeks now and I finally got to finish this and omggg, Im down so fucking bad for this man, so naturally I wrote filth for him. I hope my ghost girlies enjoy this

You can also read this over at Ao3

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

Ghost was no stranger to pain. Not in the slightest. Pain was second nature to him. He had spent his entire life experiencing and learning to manage his pain to the point where he no longer felt it. But he'd be lying if he said that your touch didn't take away his pain better than he ever could himself. 

Always so careful and gentle, and always willing to help anyone that walked into your infirmary and in the field. He couldn't understand how someone so sweet and caring could've ever ended up in the military, but then again after the things he had seen you do in the field, he'd be a fool to ever doubt your capabilities. 

He was no stranger to you either, afterall, the 141 had become your main patients after you were assigned to their task force as their physician a year ago. And for one reason or another, Ghost always ended up at your infirmary, whether it was for an actual injury or to ask about your day under the excuse of  needing some painkillers he probably didn't really need through grumbles and that particularly dry humor of his that always made your day. And truly, he'd be lying if he said it didn't make his day too. 

Simon Riley was down bad for you, and he didn't know what to do about it. 

He had lost track of time. He wasn't sure if it was from the crash or just the overall shit show that his latest mission had been, but everything was an absolute blur to him. All he knew is that there was only one thing he wanted to do and one thing only. He wanted to see you. No, he needed to see you. 

Price had insisted Ghost joined the others at the infirmary, but he knew it wouldn't be you stitching up his wounds. After a very disastrous previous mission, you were left with pretty severe injuries yourself, ones that left you at your own infirmary for a few days. And while you assured them you were ready to go back to your duties, which included accompanying the 141 to their latest assignment, Price and Ghost himself insisted you sat this one out, and took a couple more days to fully recover. After a good fifteen minutes of protesting, you were outvoted. There were medics on base after all. But they weren't you, so naturally Ghost refused to go to the infirmary. He didn't trust anyone else but you. He'd rather bleed out, he said. 

Price wasn't one to question anything Ghost did, he could take care of himself. And he knew you were the only one he trusted to take care of him.

Before he even realized it, Ghost was dragging himself to your quarters, unsure if you'd tell him to fuck off and to go to the infirmary instead, or if you'd honor the idea that he only trusted your hands to fix his wounds and take away his pain, for a little while at least. He was hoping it was the ladder. 

He knocked, once, twice and a third time, and with a pained groan he leaned his body against the door, trying to take some weight off his sore legs. He waited, his mind racing and thinking that maybe you weren't at the infirmary for a reason, that maybe he should leave you alone and let you take some well deserved rest. 

But he needed to see you, right now.

He lifted his head only a few inches to find you, for the first time not in your usual uniform, but instead a plain dark green tee that left the pattern of black and colored ink on your right arm on full display, and sleeping pants. But you didn't look like you had been asleep, you looked wide awake. Though that quickly turned into what Ghost thought was a mixture of worry and relief on your features. He knew because he had that same look when you woke up after he had carried your unconscious body to the medivac. 

"Will you ever learn to take care of yourself out there?" Were the first words out of your mouth as you scanned his slouched body, taking particular notice to the hand glued to his right shoulder.

He let out a dry chuckle and the way in which his entire body relaxed, his shoulders dropped and was no longer on high alert the second he saw you was more than obvious. Whether or not you did notice that or not was beyond his people reading skills. 

He didn't have to ask or say anything, you simply moved out of the way and walked back. He followed you in, his heavy but surprisingly quick steps following close behind you until you eventually came to a stop. He stopped, standing to his full height and his dark eyes were fixed on you as he waited for you to grab your medical supplies, which he knew you always kept around just in case. 

"I can't check for injuries with all that gear Simon." You motioned your free hand to his tactical vest strapped with just about every weapon he could carry and most likely a bullet covered plate underneath his jacket.

He stood silent for a long second, just taking in the way you said his name. You only ever called him Simon in private, where you both knew you were safe from everyone else, where your protective armors could come down for once. He liked it when you called him Simon, it reminded him that he was still, in fact, a human being, that he was still Simon Riley, not just the ghost of a dead man that hid behind the mask of a killing machine.

He gave you a nod and his hand went towards the clips that kept his harness and vest together. Slowly, minding the throbbing pain in his shoulder, he dropped his vest on the floor, his black jacket quickly following the same fate. This, though, earned a groan of discomfort when his shoulder moved, he closed his eyes momentarily as he pulled the sleeve from his injured shoulder before dropping his jacket to the ground as well. All that was left was his clinging black shirt leaving the black ink of his arm on full display, and of course, his balaclava and the skull plate stitched to the thick fabric. 

You were already gloved up by then, your tools already laid out on a desk behind Simon. So once he was free on his gear, you looked up at him, now seeing the trail of dry blood that ran down his right arm, starting at his shoulder. You stared at him for a few seconds as he stood there before you spoke. 

"I can't stitch your shoulder if you're all the way up there Simon, sit down." You rolled your eyes, forcing out an exasperated sigh and exaggerated motion for him to sit down by your desk.

"It's not my fault you're all the way on the ground down there. Would it kill ya to grow a few?" He said with his usual lack of emotion, but under his mask, his lips tugged up just a tiny bit at the glare you gave him as he sat down in front of you, because even with him sitting down, he was still half a head taller than you. 

"I'll remember that next time you come to my infirmary asking for pain killers after you get shot or stabbed again." You shot him a nasty glare, but you both knew you didn't mean that. "Speaking of getting shot, how did this happen?"

He hissed barely loud enough to be heard through his mask when he felt you lift the sleeve of his shirt and scrunched it up to his shoulder to reveal a gash from a bullet just above his bicep. You glanced at him, eyes meeting his own for a second in a silent apology before you turned your attention back to his wound. 

"Bastard shot me at close range, bullet must've grazed through my jacket. Good thing he was a shit shot though." He answered, his eyes watching you as you cleaned the dried blood around the wound, more focused on you than any pain he could be feeling in that moment. 

"Y'know, had you let me go on that mission I probably would have cleaned this up hours ago." You muttered, swiping the wet cotton around his skin, giving him a minute or two to breathe before actually cleaning the wound. 

"Had you gone with us you would've probably ended in the infirmary for another week." He quickly shot back, his naturally gruffly and raspy voice turning just a bit more so at the idea of it and you could feel his shoulders tense under your fingers. "Better me than you, eh?" 

"That's not funny." Your eyes flickered in his direction and you narrowed them at him, only to find his brown eyes staring deep into you, not once looking away. Until you swiped a soaked cotton over his wound and he exhaled deeply and unevenly, his eyes closing momentarily as he felt his skin throb and burn. 

"I'm not laughing," He eventually responded in a quiet tone, eyes finally opening to meet yours once again. 

"Do you ever?" You asked with a tiny smile, earning the typical dead eyed glare Ghost gave everyone that annoyed him. 

"No."

You looked away from him, lips curved up into a smile as you covered his clean wound with a gauze, not really needing stitches. You weren't looking at him then, so you missed the way he looked at you, his head slightly tilted and his eyes hooded as he memorized every detail of your face. He always did this, just in case it was the last. 

"Anything else hurts?" You asked after a minute, taking your gloves off and throwing them on the desk and leaned on your left foot, head tilted as you looked at him again. 

"Mmm," He half pointed to the left side of his face, "I hit my face when the heli crashed. 'm afraid I did some irreparable damage to that side of my face." 

You stared at him, you blinked a few times and your eyebrows furrowed with confusion at his request. He knew you were trying to understand his request, he was giving you permission to see his face. For the first time and you weren't sure if he was being serious or not. 

"I can't, y'know, the mask," You pointed to the thick fabric covering his face, noticing the tear on the left side but you made no effort to actually look, let alone touch.  

You stood still, hands glued to your side, itching to remove his mask yourself, but you were afraid, afraid to cross an irreversible boundary. He could see it, he could see the way your hands shook and your teeth nervously dug into your bottom lip. And he wasn't much better, he could feel his heart pound in his chest and his breath pick up. But he wasn't scared. 

He trusted you. 

Simon watched you intensely, brown eyes watching every detail on your face, every expression as he reached up to the front of his balaclava and with a deep exhale he pulled it off his head. Your lips parted and your eyes slightly widened. He could hear how your own breath picked up in an instant. But you weren't scared or disgusted, not at all. All he saw was awe. 

You slowly licked your lips as you stepped closer, until you were standing over his knee with your parted legs. With a shuddered breath you leaned down, eyes lingering on his own before they flicked down to the cut on his left cheek. Your hand ghosted over his face, but didn't quite touch him, for some reason, this felt like another boundary you didn't want to push unless he said so. 

He noticed your hesitation, and he didn't blame you. But he didn't need to say anything, he simply nodded. 

He shuddered when he felt your soft fingers graze his skin and he momentarily closed his eyes, before opening them again to watch you bring a wet cotton to clean the dried blood on his face. 

“What happened to your face?” You asked quietly after a long silence, brushing the cotton over the cut that appeared to be a couple inches long right across his cheekbone.

“Enemy missile, the heli crashed. I dunno how I got out of there. I blacked out and next thing I knew I was being dragged out of that heli by Soap.” He explained, the memories of it all still being too blurry to remember clearly. But he did remember one thing; the thoughts going through his head in that moment. “We lost a lot of good soldiers.” 

“You’re lucky all you got out of that was a cut on your face and probably a concussion. You could’ve died.” Your throat nearly closed up then, your fingers stopping to rest on his face. You were both used to this idea of death, of going on an assignment and never coming back, but that didn’t make your heart ache any less.

He turned his head to look at you, his eyes searched for yours, but you weren’t looking at him, “Well I’m alive aren’t I?” 

“Yeah, and you’re one lucky motherfucker for that,” Your voice was close to breaking, and your hands were shaking. Was that anger he heard in your voice? Or was it panic at the idea of him dying? “I could’ve helped, I just wish I had been there.” 

His gaze turned hard and his jaw tightened, “I don’t.” His tone shifted, there was nothing lighthearted about it, he was being dead serious. And you actually looked at him this time, and you found his eyes. But you didn’t respond, you couldn’t, so you stayed silent as you gave yourself the time to actually take him in. 

"So what's the diagnosis Doc, am I gonna make it?" The low timber of his voice startled you after a long minute or two, but not because it was loud, he barely raised his voice above a whisper, it startled you because you were so focused on taking in each and every one of his features, the unique shape of his nose, his sharp jaw, the three day stubble that scratched the pads of your fingers, his light eyelashes that contrasted the dark paint smeared over his eyes. You memorized all of them in case you never saw them again. 

A small smile eventually tugged at your lips and you chuckled softly, nodding, "Looks like it, you'll have a scar though." 

He chuckled, and this time, you could see the tiny curl of his lips when he did so, "I can live with that." 

His lips fell back into a flat line and instead, his eyes locked onto yours for a long second and he could swear he could hear your heartbeat. Or maybe it was his own. He wasn’t sure, all he knew was that he was this close and he couldn’t stop the thoughts in his head.

Something was different. Something in the air felt different. The careful touches of your hands, they were different. And he felt different too. 

He leaned in, stopping only when he heard you take a small breath. One of his hands rested on your hip then, and when you didn't tense or shoved him away, he pulled you closer with a tight grip

“Tell me to stop, right now.” His voice was low and quiet, but you heard him loud and clear. And you didn't want him to. He didn't want to either.

"Simon…" 

He didn’t have to hear anything else, he heard all he needed to hear. The way his name fell from your tongue, the shakiness in your voice and the way you also leaned in, like your body was gravitating towards him. He knew. 

His large hand found the back of your neck and he pulled you in, lips capturing yours into a kiss that left you without air. His other arm sneaked around your waist to pull you closer and forced you down on his thigh. You gasped softly at the sudden movement, but you welcomed it nonetheless and you threw your arms over his neck as his mouth covered yours. He took it slow, much to your surprise. For a man known for his brutality he was surprisingly gentle. He kissed you slowly, his tongue eventually slipped into your mouth, but it never felt messy or rushed. You honestly didn't know how long he held you like this, but eventually he let you go to breathe when he started to feel you panting. 

"This okay?" He asked barely above a whisper, the raspy ring of his voice filling your ears in a way that made your thighs unconscious clench against his leg. Which he definitely felt, but he kept that to himself. 

"Yeah, more than okay." You answered with a breathless laugh.

"Good."

Both of his hands were on your waist and he was on his feet in an instant. He completely forgot about the pain shooting through his arm when he hoisted you around his hips. It caught you off guard and you were wrapping your legs around his torso instinctively. 

"Simon your arm—" 

"I don't give a shit about my arm." He had his uninjured arm holding your thighs and he was looking at you with this look in his eyes you had never seen from him, but you liked it. 

You leaned down, lips crashing against his own with an urgency that made him want to find the bed even quicker. He eventually figured it out and your back was hitting the mattress before you even realized it. He held himself above you, your legs still wrapped around his waist. His lips left yours and attached themselves to your neck. He wouldn't leave a mark knowing everyone would see it, but he still took his time finding that spot that made you squirm under him while his own hands were making work of exploring. He ran a cautious hand into your shirt, calloused fingers grazing your skin until he found your breast, and he squeezed. You shivered under his touch and an unconscious moan escaped your lips. He could himself twitch against the constraint of his denim jeans at the mere sound. Fuck, if that's what you sounded when he barely touched you, he could only imagine what you would sound like wrapped around him. And he wondered when was the last time someone touched you like this. Probably as long as him. 

"When was the last time someone touched you like this?" His words caught your ear in a haze, it took you a minute to register them, but when you felt him pitch your covered nipple you answered. 

"I don't—” You swallowed, blinking a few times as you tried to clear your foggy mind, “A long time, years I think." You eventually answered, eyes glued to the ceiling as you tried to keep your head straight. 

He gave you a quiet hum, his hand moving down to your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your pants, and he lifted his head to look at you, "Did you ever think about me touching you like this?" 

The way his words left his mouth, the raspiness in his accented voice and coated with arousal, it made your throat close up, and the way his intense and dark eyes were fixated on you didn't help either. You felt so small under this mountain of a man and his gaze, all you could do was nod. 

"Words love, use 'em." 

“Yes.”

A subtle smirk tugged his lips, the confirmation that you had wanted him as much as he had wanted you igniting a hunger and need that could only be satiated with one thing. You. 

He lifted his head to capture your lips in a feverish kiss that was so rough it made you gasp into his mouth. You snaked a hand the back of his head, one that quickly took a hold of his messy short brown strands, a motion that didn’t go unnoticed by him. The growl that came from his throat was otherwise muffled by your lips, but what he did next, however, didn't go unnoticed either. His large hands found the collar of your shirt, and without hesitating, he tugged and ripped the fabric right in half. The moan that ripped from your throat at his manhandling was anything but subtle, and he swallowed it happily. He pulled back, tugging your bottom lip as he did so and his dark hungry eyes fixated on the newly exposed skin once he laid eyes on you. He took a hard swallow as his hands traveled to your chest and much like he had just done with your shirt, he ripped your bra open by the thin fabric that connected both cups. 

“Fuck, look at you,” He breathed out, hands brushing over hardened nipples as he took in the sight of you in front of him, chest completely exposed, your hair loose and pooling around your head and arms now sprawled above your head, expectant and ready to do as he asked, “You’re absolutely perfect.”

“I could say the same about you,” You replied, breathless and reaching to tug at the hem of his own shirt with urgency. “Please Si.” 

Fuck, how could he ever deny you anything? And more so when you ask him like that? 

With a short nod, he moved his hands from your chest and grabbed the back of his shirt, quickly pulling it over his head. And fuck, the amount of gear this man wore definitely didn’t sell him short. His muscled chest was covered in various scars, ones you had seen, and others you hadn’t. And from his neck hung his dog tags, ones you had never ever seen him wear. Lord this man was going to be the death of you just as you were going to be his.

“Listen to me,” He said through a heavy breath, pulling you from your frenzied state for just a second, “If you want me to stop you tell me, no fancy words, tell me stop and I will. Is that understood?”

It took you a couple seconds to respond, your mind already foggy with the need to feel his touch, but you nodded at his words regardless, “Yes sir.”  

Your hands found the back of his neck and you crashed your lips against his with a newly found urgency that made him groan into your mouth. His calloused hands found the waistband of your pants, and he tugged them down without hesitation. With a hard swallow you lifted your hips off the bed, allowing him to pull them down, your panties quickly following. He tossed them behind him somewhere to join his previously discarded vest and jacket. 

He brushed a long finger through your folds, swallowing the choked out moan that came out of your mouth. You shuddered under him, your thighs unconsciously closing around his hand as he drew circles around the bundle of nerves. You didn’t even remember the last time you were touched by hands that weren’t you own, and fuck, his felt so much better already. 

“No, no,” He tisked, pulling back to glance down at his hand practically disappearing between your thighs before he gave you a stern look, “Keep those legs open for me.” 

You did as you were told, you shakily spread your legs apart, and you were rewarded with a thick finger dipping into your entrance with ease. He took a deep breath as he felt your walls clench around his finger and he could feel himself twitch in his pants, wondering just how you would feel around his cock instead. 

With a hiss of pleasure, you threw your head back and your hips slightly lifted off the mattress as he filled you with two of his long fingers. He drew them in and out until he could feel you start to drip on the palm of his hand. 

“Shit, shit, fuck.” Your lips fell open, silent cries leaving your mouth as he began to scissor you open with each snap of his wrist. It wasn't long before you could start to feel that delicious burn in the pit of your stomach. 

His thumb eventually found your nub, he pressed it and rubbed circles around it as he buried his thick fingers to the knuckle each time. He could already feel it, the way your walls clenched around his fingers, your shuddering thighs, your hands fisting the sheets. His lips found the shell of your ear, and as he curled his fingers against your most sensitive spot he spoke. 

“You’re doing so good,” He coaxed, his thumb pressing your clit with enough force to make you twitch and roll your eyes into the back of your head, “This what you need love?” 

“Yes!”

“Yes what?” He slammed his fingers knuckles deep, his palm rutting against your clit. He could have you screaming anything he wanted and he knew it. 

“Yes Lieutenant!” 

“Good. Good girl.” 

He knew you were close, he could feel it. He was slamming his fingers in and out of you, burying them knuckle deep and crooking them against your most sensitive spot over and over. Until you were nothing more than a shaking and whimpering mess, begging for release. And he was gladly going to give it to you. 

“O-oh fuck. Fuck Simon please!” 

He nearly lost it when he heard you scream his name, your voice shaky with pleasure, and your own body overwhelmed with pleasure. But if there was anything he had a lot of, it was self control. He had a mission to accomplish. And he wasn’t going to stop until he had you falling apart under his touch. Which happened soon enough. One of your hands flew to grip his wrist, the lewd sound of his palm slapping against your dripping core filling your ears in the most delicious way possible. And in a quick flash of a blinding heat, you tossed your head and buried your face in his shoulder, your toes lifting from the mattress and curled as your juices coated his hand. 

“Goddamn,” He cursed under his breath, the sound of his name leaving your mouth in a quiet whimper filling his ears as his fingers slowed, but never quite left you, “My name sounds so good when you say it like that.”

You barely caught his words as he spoke under his breath, but you did, and all you could say in response was a high pitched hum as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes were still screwed shut and your legs were still shaking when his fingers left you. With a quiet hiss, your head fell to the side as you brought a hand to your burning face, trying to compose yourself. 

“You still with me Doctor?” Simon spoke, amusement coating his tone. You chuckled softly and gave him a nod. “I need verbal confirmation love.” 

You wanted to roll your eyes at him because you knew he was teasing you, but you indulged him regardless. You turned your head in his direction and opened your eyes to find his own glued to your face of course.

“Solid copy Lieutenant.” You finally said with a small eye roll. He looked amused, and he nodded. But what caught your attention was the growing smirk on his face as his eyes eventually landed on his hand as he held it out of your eyesight. “What’s so funny?” 

“This,” He brought his hand closer to your face, and even through your slightly blurry vision, you could see it glisten. You opened your eyes more and your jaw dropped, your face burning with embarrassment. With a low chuckle, he rubbed his fingers together and then spread his index and middle finger apart to show the extent of the wetness you had left on his hand. 

“Oh my god.” You threw your hands over your face, effectively mortified, you weren’t sure why, but it made you feel pathetic. Simon, on the other hand, was quite pleased. 

“Gettin’ shy are we?” His lips brushed against your ear, and you couldn’t help but shove him slightly. 

Both of your hands eventually fell to his chest as your eyes found his brown ones, and the look he found behind those eyes of yours made him want to take you over and over until you were nothing but a shaking and whimpering mess. 

“Lay down Simon.” You eventually said, both hands flat on his scar littered chest. He took a deep breath and he nodded slowly. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

He was on his back in an instant, eyes never leaving you as you threw a leg over his hips and sat just above his crotch. Your thighs burned with ache as they were stretched out over his massive body. His hands held your hips as he watched you through hooded eyes, very tempted to shove you down on his cock, but he let you take your time, this time. 

“Let me ride you, please.” Your words were quiet, pleading and desperate, and they shot straight to his cock. He honestly didn’t know where this side of you came from, pleading and so eager to please him, but fuck he wanted to explore every inch of it. His fingers dug into your hips, but he remained still, only nodding.

“Permission granted.” He replied with a quiet hiss, his patience growing thin the longer he had you on top of him, your wetness coating his lower abdomen. “Go on.” 

He didn’t have to tell you twice. Your shaky hands fumbled with his belt, the buckle ratling a few times as you tried to undo it, the button of his denim jeans quickly following. He momentarily closed his eyes when your hands brushed against his clothed erection. He blew out an exhale through his nose as he lifted you up just enough to be able to pull himself from the confines of his boxers. He let out a long breathy groan as he freed himself, his cock slapping against his stomach. With a hard swallow, you held yourself above his cock, hands resting against his lower abdomen to brace yourself as he lined himself up at your entrance, coating himself in your slick. 

He was expecting you to take your time, to take him slowly, so when you sank down on him, his length slipping inside a few inches before being met with resistance, he had to take a deep breath. 

“Easy..” He coaxed, easing a hand up and down your stretched out thighs, watching closely the way your eyes closed and your face twisted with a mixture of slight pain and pleasure.

“Fuck you’re so big..” You blurted out between breaths. Simon opened his eyes in surprise at your remark, he knew he was significantly big, but he wasn’t expecting to hear you say it. But he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his cock twitch the slightest bit.

“You’re doing good. Slow.” He spoke lowly, guiding your hips little by little, hissing softly each time you took another inch of him, until you sat fully on him, and even then you couldn’t fit all of him. He allowed himself to close his eyes as you sat still, your hips only rolling ever so slightly as you adjusted to the massive size of him. “There ya go, atta girl.”

When he felt you were ready, he guided your hips up, lifting you off his cock inch by agonizing inch, his eyes stuck to where his cock left your soaked cunt, and when he was almost all the way out, he pushed your hips down without a warning. You let out a quiet cry, you dug your nails into his abs and your thighs tensed. His eyes shot up to your face with concern and he sat still, but you were quickly shaking your head.

“I’m okay Simon, please.” Your eyes found his and you nodded reassuringly, teeth digging into your bottom lip eagerly. He squeezed your hips and nodded.

You were rocking and rolling your hips, your walls clutching his length with a bit of resistance. And you could tell he was fighting the urge to thrust up each time you rolled your hips. But he stayed still, only his fingers dug into your hips, surely to leave bruises in the morning. His eyes were closed and he was muttering under his breath as you moved at your own pace. For now.

“Fuck, come on love,” He encouraged, voice restrained as you eventually moved with more ease. His words gave you a new found confidence, and with such, you lifted yourself up and sank back down on him, and again, and again, until your whimpers turned into moans. “That’s it. Fuck that’s it, take what you need.”

You’d be damned if you didn’t do as he said.

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest as you bounced on his cock. His eyes moved from your face to where your bodies connected, he watched with glazed eyes as his cock disappeared inside your walls, only to appear again covered in your juices. He focused on it, the sound of his belt buckle clicking each time you bounced filling his ears.

“You’re taking my cock like a good girl, aren’t ya?” His words came out through breathy groans as he guided your hips again and his own hips involuntarily lifted every once in a while. 

“Please Simon, more, I want more— Fuck—”

He had to take in the way you whined his name, the way you begged, it was so fucking intoxicating and he never wanted to stop hearing it. 

“Yeah? You want more?” 

You were nodding frantically, your movements only doing so much to give you what you both needed and he knew it. 

He sat up, his chest now pressed against yours as he sneaked his tattooed arm behind your back, holding you upright as he thrusted upwards. He found a pace quick, and even faster and deeper than the one you had made yourself. He had you twitching and shaking in his grip as cries ripped from your throat in a matter of a minute or two. And you definitely weren’t complaining, his cock was pounding deeper, hitting that perfect spot better than you could ever get it there yourself. 

“Yes! Fuck, Simon please, please don’t stop.” You were begging frantically, your hands landing on his back and your nails dragged across his scar littered back and shoulders. He took in the way you pleaded, the way you moaned, and took particular note of the squeal you gave when his thick cock hit your g-spot with ease. And he did so, over, and over, until all you could say was his name between cries. 

“Yeah, like that?” Again, and again his cock brushed against the perfect spot. You couldn’t even hold yourself up anymore, your face was buried in his shoulder and tears slipped from your eyes. 

“Yes!” You sobbed into his shoulder, your walls clenching around his cock in the same way you had around his fingers a little while before. 

“Shit, come on, come on. Be a good girl and come for me.” He muttered, not once faltering his pace, only bringing you closer to the edge with each delicious drag of his cock. He slipped a hand into your hair, fingers fisting around the strand a as he pulled your head back, making sure you were looking at him, “Look at me, that’s it, keep those pretty eyes on me when you come.” 

His name slipped from your tongue over and over as you came, somehow managing to keep your eyes open as your whole body shuddered violently. Tears slipped from your eyes as you sobbed his name and you brought your forehead to rest against his, one of your shaky hands resting on the back of his neck. The hand on your hair moved your face, and his fingers brushed against your cheek, catching your tears. 

“Fuuuck, that’s fucking it. That’s my girl.” He groaned out as he fucked you through your orgasm. 

He felt your wetness coat his cock even more, allowing him to slip just ever so deeply until he was nearly rutting against you, the patches of hair at the base of his cock brushing against your oversensitive clit. With a guttural groan, the hand on your face slipped to the base of your neck and he held it between his long fingers as he fucked into you with a new urgency, like he was chasing his own release. He fucked you like it too, his thrusts were sharper and shallow, and they faltered. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” He muttered, droplets of sweats rolling from his forehead and mixing with the already messy grease paint covering his eyes. His forehead fell to your chest as held your neck in place, “I’m right there… Fuck I—”

He was about to pull himself out of you, but you slipped out from your drunkenly euphoric state for just a second to slam down on his cock until your hips met, hands on his shoulders as you sank down on him with enough force to slip a breathy moan from him. 

“I have an IUD. I-I want you to, please.” You said shakily into his ear, your words barely coherent, but you knew what you meant, and he did too. 

A low growl ripped from his throat as he gave you a few more thrusts before his hips faltered, his other hand found your ass and he held you down on his cock. His fingers squeezed your throat and a guttural moan left his lips as he spilled himself inside you. 

“Bloody fuckin' Christ,” he panted into your chest, most likely smearing his war paint on your chest, but you honestly didn’t give a fuck. “You’re fuckin’ perfect.” 

You gave him a weak hum, eyes closing as you tried to breathe once he let go of your neck. “I’m guessing your arm doesn’t hurt anymore?” You laughed weakly, brushing a hand under the gauze you had placed there earlier. 

He lifted his head, brown eyes as intense as ever as he slightly tilted his head, “What arm?”

You shot him a playful glare and shook your head as you unwrapped yourself from him and with a long breath of exhaustion, landed on your back next to him, your mixed releases dripping down your thigh. He chuckled quietly to himself at the sight of his jeans, mixed releases pooling at the front of the denim. With a sigh, he tucked himself into his boxers, catching a glance of you, chest still glistening with sweat, hair messy and pooling above your head as you lied with closed eyes. He shook his head, about to stand up to find something to clean his mess with when you spoke. 

“Simon?” His eyes found yours on him and he nodded, allowing you to continue. You bit your lip and sat up with a sharp exhale, your sore muscles already screaming at you for your reckless activities, “How long have we known each other?”

The question hit him unexpectedly, his eyebrows slightly furrowed but he answered quickly, not even having to think about it, “About three years.” 

“Why did you take your mask off now?” You dared to ask, the curiosity of what suddenly changed eating you up. 

His lips fell in a flat line, his eyes opening as he remembered that he had, in fact, taken his mask off, he had felt so comfortable that he had forgotten he wasn’t wearing it. He didn't answer right away, he sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving you as you watched him expectant. You brought the sheets up to your chest, bringing them with you as you moved closer to him, until your shoulder was touching his. You looked up at him, but you never rushed him, you simply waited patiently. 

“When the heli crashed,” He began, “I knew I was going to die. And I was ready to die. And then I thought..” His lips fell in a flat line again as he turned his head to look at you. Your eyes were glossy, but you didn’t cry, you simply nodded for him to continue, “All I could think about in that moment is that I was going to leave this world when the only woman I had ever cared about didn’t even know what I looked like.”

Your lips fell open and your eyes widened with awe. He didn’t have to say the words, you knew what he meant.

“Simon…”

“Either of us could die at any moment, I realized that when I carried your unconscious body through that field, and I realized it when the heli crashed, didn’t make sense to pretend I don’t give a shit about you.” 

Your hand found his face and you pulled him down into a deep kiss, one that said everything you both needed to say, everything you couldn’t say with words. 

You were the remedy to all his injuries and the bandage to his damaged heart. You were all he needed and he’d be damned if he let that go.

[steddieas-shegoes]

moments filled with everything

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is wanting to do everything together' AND for @starryeyedjanai's birthday! Happiest of birthdays to you! there's no spice this time, but i hope you enjoy anyway!

rated t | 1,369 words | cw: mention of injury/hospital | tags: soulmate au, getting together, love confessions

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

The inconvenience of finding your soulmate when he’s on the run from the law and citizens of the town is pretty annoying. Especially when said soulmate insisted on trying to protect everyone and almost dies in the process.

The problem is that when you touch your soulmate for the first time, the connection becomes unbreakable, and the first few weeks are usually spent constantly touching in some way.

The problem is that they don’t have that option during the end of the world.

The problem is Eddie is under close watch of doctors and nurses, and Hopper, while they sort out his health and clearing his name, and that means Steve can only stop by during regular visiting hours.

The problem is that everyone else also only visits during normal visiting hours and they agreed not to tell anyone about their soulmate situation until he was home and safe.

Steve could feel the constant pull to touch him, to comfort him when the pain started to get to be too much. It was almost painful to have distance between them, but with the kids constantly fighting for Eddie’s attention, and Wayne sitting right next to him most days, Steve could barely get a quick brush of their hands.

They hadn’t even kissed yet.

It’s been 11 days since they touched. 11 days since Steve’s entire life became ‘get him out of this so you can love him.’

The loving him part was easy; only took a couple of days of watching him with the kids and with his uncle and with Robin for Steve to know he loved Eddie. But he wasn’t stupid, and he knew that Eddie probably didn’t feel the same yet. Why would he? He barely knew him, barely saw who he was outside of emergency mode.

And Eddie had made a passing comment right before he almost died, something Steve couldn’t quite get out of his head.

”A soulmate is someone you wanna do everything with, and I just don’t think I’ll get that.”

He didn’t know Steve could hear him, and probably wouldn’t have said it if he did, but if that’s how he felt after knowing Steve was his soulmate, then he didn’t think the love was going to be returned anytime soon, if ever. He could be patient. He was trying to be. But he wasn’t that hopeful.

Sometimes Eddie’s eyes would land on his across the hospital room, and they’d settle there for far longer than was considered normal for friends. They’d search Steve’s face for long enough that Steve could feel the warmth of a blush across his cheeks. He’d look away, but he’d feel Eddie’s gaze remain, sometimes for a few more seconds, sometimes more.

The pull got worse by the day.

By the two week mark, Steve was literally itching to be closer. He paced outside the door for ten minutes while he waited for Wayne to leave, grateful that the kids had all been brought up to volunteer at the school for the day and he would have at least a minute alone with Eddie without interruption.

Wayne opened the door and smirked at Steve. “Surprised you’ve been this patient. He’s about ready to pull out his IV in there, so you better hurry up and hold his hand or somethin’.”

Steve didn’t reply, just pushed through the door and rushed to Eddie’s bed.

Eddie was, in fact, picking at the tape around his IV, like if he was given enough alone time he would tear it off and escape out the window.

“I know I’m not what you wanted-” Steve started, his hands balled into fists to resist reaching out before Eddie was ready. “But I promise I’m gonna try to be what you need. I don’t know how to yet, but I want to. And I desperately need to touch you. Like, just holding your hand is fine, but I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t so-”

“What do you mean you’re not what I wanted?” Eddie interrupted, casually sliding his hand into Steve’s. Both of them gasped at the spark, but the tension seemed to drain from both of them at the same time. “Why do you think that?”

“I mean, I’m sure I’m not really your type. And I mean, I know I’m not like I was in high school, but I let my friends do some shitty things to you then.” Steve looked down at their joined hands, perfectly fit together in a way he’d never had with anyone he’d been with before. “And I know you don’t think we’re a great match or whatever, but I think I’d like to do stuff with you all the time. If you’d want to.”

“Why do you think I think that?”

“Because you said you didn’t think you’d wanna do everything with your soulmate.”

Eddie seemed to realize what Steve was referring to as soon as Steve started to pull his hand away. His grip tightened and he shook his head.

“I didn’t mean that.” Eddie bit his lip. “I was scared that I would wanna do everything with you and you wouldn’t wanna do everything with me.”

“Eds, I love you. I wanna do everything with you, always.”

“You love me?” Eddie whispered.

Steve hadn’t meant to say it, but it’s not like he didn’t mean it, so he doubled down.

“Yeah. I do. I know it’s probably stupid, but I watched you give everything to protect us, I brought you back here almost dead, and ever since you woke up from surgery, I’ve watched you light up the room. I see how smart you are and how funny you are and how kind you are, even when you’re teasing someone. And I just. I love it. I love you.”

“Stevie-”

“I know you don’t love me. It’s okay. Maybe someday you will, maybe you won’t. Sometimes the soulmate shit is stupid, right? Fate gets it wrong or whatever.” Steve shrugged, tried to pull his hand free. He felt too vulnerable like this, standing by Eddie’s bed waiting for him to reject him. “But I just need you to know that fate got it right for me.”

“You don’t plan on following that up with a kiss?” Eddie finally asked after too long with just silence.

Steve’s mouth opened, closed, opened again as he tried to think of what to say or do.

“C’mere sweetheart. I think I owe you something,” Eddie smiled up at him as he tugged on his hand to get him closer.

Their first kiss was a lot like that first touch: overwhelming and scary, but electric and intense.

Filled with love.

When they broke apart, everything had shifted.

“I can’t wait to do everything with you, Stevie,” Eddie said before a knock on the door pulled them further apart.

Steve didn’t go far, just held his hand while the nurse looked over some of his bandages.

*****

When Eddie finally got out of the hospital, the first thing he did was tell everyone that Steve was his soulmate.

Wayne had already known, but went along with his dramatics because it’s what he was used to.

Robin had already known too after walking in on Steve sitting in Eddie’s lap, carefully braiding his hair while Eddie read to him. She didn’t even say anything, just sat down in the chair across from the bed and listened when Eddie started reading again.

After, she slapped Steve on the arm and told him to never hide shit from her again.

The kids took it well, though Mike and Dustin were pretty surprised they managed to hide it for so long.

Eddie still had a lot of healing to do.

But he did it with Steve by his side.

He did everything with Steve by his side.

When he made a sandwich, Steve was next to him, slicing the tomatoes.

When he was taking a shower, Steve was in it with him, or sitting on the toilet lid talking about his day.

When he was folding laundry, Steve was using dish detergent to get oil stains out of his jeans.

Every day was filled with moments together, and each moment was everything.

[heartofwritiing]

home is wherever you are tonight

paring: cc!wilbur soot x fem!reader

summary: its your birthday, a day you dread every year due to bad memories, and wilbur manages to change your mindset.

authors note: this has been sitting in my drafts since march and i forgot about it oops. this is completely self indulgent. Ive dreaded my birthday for the past five years because of personal reasons… i thought maybe writing a non-shitty fake birthday would make me feel better so, it did lol. enjoy!! :)

warnings: self indulgent, mentions of childhood trama, negative past events, mentions of toxic family, fluff, Wilbur being the cutest-best boyfriend, hurt-comfort, yes the title is a lyric from a lizzy mcalpine song.. unedited!

The day had come. the day you dreaded every year for as long as you could remember. it was your birthday.

Most people would be elated about turning another year older, to celebrate but not you. Instead, it filled you with utter disinterest and resentment. To you, it was just another day on the calendar.

Ever since you could remember you’ve just hated your birthday. Each year just felt like they got worse and worse with the number of times You had been let down. Whether it was by family drama or people just forgetting. It was the same every year. So when you finally moved away from your toxic relatives you pretty much forget about it. Only remembering when you'd get a text from your parents to wish you a happy birthday. At least they remembered now that you were gone...

You were relieved when no one at work had brought it up. you never really talked to your coworkers about your personal life, you weren't that type of person. Still, you were grateful the only attention you got today was from one of your peers Matt, asking about the printer in the office not working right.

When you walked into your flat, what you weren’t expecting was too see your boyfriend standing near the door waiting for you.

“why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” Wilbur asks in a slightly offended tone.

The front door hasn’t even shut yet and he’s caught you completely off guard with his question. Your heart drops in your stomach.

“hello to you too,” you snort, putting your bag down and sliding your jacket off. "And how'd you even know?" Avoiding the question. Cause that will make this better.

he sighs.

“Answer the question please, love,”

You’re toeing off the uncomfortable shoes you were required to wear at your job as you blankly bink back at him.

You can tell by the frowned expression on his face that he wasn’t just gonna let you drop this anytime soon. His arms are crossed over his sweater, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as his curls fall around his eyes.

“maybe because it's not a big deal,” you shrugged. Wilbur stops you with a hand on your shoulder before you can escape to your shared room. It wasn't forceful but gentle, his eyes asking you to stay, talk, anything. You just wanted to go to bed and sleep until your shift tomorrow and just forget about this whole day.

"What do you mean by that?" he asks. "I don't particularly like my birthday but still celebrate with friends, family, and loved ones."

There it was.

You wanted to avoid this.

"Look, I don't want to pressure you into talking about this, you can tell me when you're ready. I can tell how uncomfortable you got when I asked you outright why you didn't say anything about it being your birthday, I'm sorry..."

You could tell he was just confused and who could blame him. You had only been dating for about a year and finally moved in together last month. He didn't want to pressure you into anything you weren't ready for, which was one of the many things you adored about him. Always so patient and thoughtful about your feelings and well-being.

There was no avoiding it now as he asked the question. Your heart beating in your ears.

“Why don’t you like your birthday, love?”

“well…” you began, but you could feel the lump in your throat forming as you thought carefully how to put it. You clear your throat and take a deep breath. “I just, have a lot of trauma revolving around today,”

Wilbur has moved slowly towards you now, almost like you were a spooked animal and he was trying to calm you. He listened carefully as you spoke slowly.

“my parents fought a lot growing up, and even on my birthday they just didn’t seem to care, even for one day, so i mostly spent my birthdays alone.”

The look in his eyes says it all. He feels so heartbroken for you. You collapsed into his chest and he wrapped you in his arms, squeezing you firmly and you felt the weight in your chest fading.

"Well listen, I got you your favorite type of cake, a good bottle of wine, not that cheap shit, the really nice one we liked. we're gonna sit on the couch and eat, and you can tell me all about your day." he pauses only to bring your face out from his chest to look you in your eyes. "and then, we're gonna cuddle and I'm gonna tell you how much I love and appreciate you."

With that, he strokes your cheeks with his thumbs and kisses your nose softly. You swear that press of his lips was what made you cave. You began to break down in front of him.

Wilbur's hands seem to be the only thing keeping you upright at the moment. If he wasn't holding you, you were sure you would have fallen to your knees by now. You sob silently as you take his wrists in your hands but don't remove them from your cheeks. The intensity of the long work day and all the recurring memories this day brought you every year, combined with Wilbur's sweet gestures and words made you break.

You felt everything come down on you all at once, yet there Wilbur was, always waiting for you at the end of the day. Always there to comfort you and support you. So these weren’t sad tears no, they were happy tears. Finally, you found someone who cherished you and cared for you enough.

-

@trashcanduck @merakiwi @addxms @ax-y10 @highstonedcat

[yeowangies]

dangerous - chapter IV

❧

Chapter I I Chapter II I Chapter III | Chapter IV: New Routine

PAIRING: Vegeta/Reader RATING: Explicit CONTENTS: Explicit sexual content, Canon typical violence WORDCOUNT: 4327

Summary:

You missed connecting with other people, other humans, so much it hurt. You missed your parents, your friends, your pet; you missed sleeping on your own bed, that was ten times more comfortable than the mattress you had in that room in Frieza’s palace. You even missed sparring with someone who you knew could give you a good punch but would still worry about your well being afterwards.

Training. That’s what you needed then. To let out some emotions.

Notes: Hello! It's been a while since I updated this fic, but it's been on my mind for a while. I have the outline of it written down, so I hope I can release a new chapter fairly often? And since this is a work in progress, I hope you can bear with me if there are any inconsistencies 😭 This story has a point, and I know where I wanna go, so please be patient!

I'm surprised of how popular this fic is among all my fics, and it remained the one with the most hits on AO3 until recently, so I hope yall stay with me until the end 💕

Vegeta was not the same man he was years back. Having destroyed planet after planet without actually meeting someone who could match him in strength had led him to a certain feeling of boredom and numbness that had engraved into his soul. 

For all purposes, he was still the same, however. He was still working under Frieza, with a silly plot in mind to overthrow him someday, but at the same time knowing he wasn’t nearly strong enough to do it. His bloodlust had decreased along with his interest in purging planets, but it changed nothing because that was still his job in the Frieza Force. He trained whenever he was staying on-planet, in between missions, like he always did. 

That loop he was trapped in made him wonder over the years if the time when he could overthrow Frieza would ever come. Vegeta had calculated how much stronger he needed to be to defeat him, but it seemed unreachable. Especially if his sparring partners were Nappa and Raditz, who were still incredibly inferior to him. 

At least, you showing up in his life had been a pleasant surprise. 

Your presence hardly changed anything. It’s not like you had some hidden power that would prove to challenge his own strength. You didn’t have any information regarding the legend of the Super Saiyan; you weren’t even a Saiyan, though your species resembled them physically, but only physically. Every time Vegeta touched you, he got the feeling you might bruise. 

And you did bruise, especially the first few times he had lay with you. Vegeta was restraining himself whenever he shared a bed with you, but in retrospect, he probably wasn’t doing that much the first couple of times. He had a lot of pent up energy, anger and lust for things he couldn’t have, and it didn’t help the way you enticed him. It was a strange feeling that invaded him when he noticed the marks he’d left on you, almost like he felt bad. Almost. In any case, you seemed to like whenever he hurt you, though. 

What would such a feeble being mean to him, though?

Vegeta didn’t really understand the feeling that invaded him as he got to spend more and more time alone with you. It was pleasant, that much he could tell, even the words he exchanged with you before and after sex. He had never entertained himself with any feeling that made him feel ‘warm’ like then. Violence and battle had never awoken something like this in him. 

He felt vulnerable. 

Which was stupid, because who could hurt him? You? Certainly not. Your power level was puny, even when you claimed not to be as weak as you looked. He could kill you with a finger if he so desired. 

That was what was scary, though. He didn’t want to kill you. 

Maybe not yet. Vegeta told himself that he didn’t want to kill you yet. You were a good lay and a nice distraction from the stress and ire he had whenever he was alone, or surrounded by his subordinates. He had spent over thirty years under Frieza’s wings and he was nowhere near as strong as he was, and your presence made everything else fade to nothing. 

Even through all that, he sometimes still didn’t understand you. 

“Vegeta, how old are you?” You asked him, as you lied beside him.

It had been a few minutes since you both had reached your peaks (you had gotten there twice, and he was proud that he knew your body so well, he could make you orgasm with simply his fingers), and you were still trying to catch your breath when you turned your face to look at him. You stared at him too often, and he felt bothered by it at times.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I’m curious?” Vegeta quirked an eyebrow in your direction, and you rolled your eyes. “I just want to know if I’m sleeping with a 100 year old man, or if it’s someone younger. Am I not allowed to know?”

“Do I really look like an old man?” He chuckled.

“Well, no. But I mean, I know a lot of species that don’t age, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Saiyans don’t reach adulthood until they reach their fifties. I will still look like this for a couple of decades.”

“Oh…” You remained silent for a few seconds before repeating your original question. “So, how old?”

“I’m thirty two.” Vegeta said, at last. The wide smile on your face made him frown. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m twenty nine.”

“So?”

“So I’m glad I’m younger.”

Vegeta didn’t understand you at all, most of the time. 

When you carefully nuzzled closer, and trailed a hand down his abdomen, he did understand that. He kept his eyes on your face, staring at you with desire as you wrapped your hand around his erection. It had only taken him a minute for his cock to stir back to life after he had already spent his load; it was something that happened all the time when you were around. 

Vegeta kept his eyes open even when you leaned to chastely kiss his lips before trailing lower down his neck and chest, slowly moving your hand over his length. He tried to keep his gaze on you when you licked up the underside of his dick, staring right back at him as you kittenishly lapped at the head. When your lips wrapped around his cock, Vegeta couldn’t focus on anything else, except the sensation of your warm mouth as it engulfed him entirely, almost like it was easy, like it belonged there. 

He remembered the initial small fear the first time you put your lips on him. Not that you could ever really hurt him. But after he had given in that time, he couldn’t get enough. At least he never had to ask, or worse, beg, for you to use your mouth on him; you seemed more than eager and willing to pleasure him.

Shame on him. He had actually given you power over his body. 

But Vegeta couldn’t care less in that moment, when you were bobbing your head up and down, humming contently as the tip of his cock grazed the back of your throat. He groaned, hips jerking upwards, seeking more of that wet heat. You gazed at him through glossy eyes as you sped up your moves, trying to hold him inside for longer, as the muscles in his abdomen tensed.

The heat inside him unraveled, making him growl as he spilled cum down your throat, feeling the intense burn of release pulsing through his veins. You swallowed all of it, and he heard you gag around a mouthful of cum as you slowly pulled back, pumping his cock with your hand to help him ride out his orgasm. He opened his eyes to look at you then, sporting a playful smile as you licked your lips clean of every drop that might have been there as you crawled back over him. 

You let go of his length to wrap your arms around his neck as you kissed him, nice and slow. Vegeta returned the affection, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. He had gotten used to ‘kissing’ after the first few times he had sex with you, even when he had rarely done that with whoever he had fucked before. But you seemed eager to do it every time, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. 

Your heartbeat was going fast again, he could feel it when you pressed closer to him. You had told him it had nothing to do with fear, something he had associated with it before. Seemed like your heart was always beating that fast every time you were with him. He wondered why, what kind of emotion provoked that in you?

It must have been something good, as it did not slow down when he reached your entrance with his fingers. He was pleased to know that you were still wet, obviously from sucking him off, but also due to the previous load he had spilled inside you the first round, his cum and your slick mixing in and making it so much better for him to slide in again. 

Vegeta had not expected your brash and lewd attitude to be so attractive. 

If he had to be honest, he hadn’t had sex as often as his two henchmen probably had. He wasn’t as experienced, but it’s not like he knew nothing. However, he wondered how much he did not know when you were with him. You hadn’t mentioned his lack of experience at all, he tried his best to hide it and so far, you seemed unaware of it. But the things you did to him sometimes left him wondering how many things could be done in intimacy. 

The first time you gave him oral sex, it intrigued him, but when you had taught him something called sixty nine, it fascinated him. And apparently sex wasn’t exclusively reserved for the bedroom. He knew that, but doing it in the shower had been pleasant. 

Vegeta didn’t dwell on anything when he pushed his cock inside you, grunting against your lips as you started rocking your hips. He was overwhelmed, not only by how tight and warm and wet you were; your sweet scent invaded his nose, making him feel drowsy, and your moans were music to his ears, and even his name sounded so honeyed every time it spilled from your lips. It was like being in a haze, drowning in bliss, as he came inside you, holding tightly onto your hips, afraid you might disappear. 

You were exhausted afterwards, and fell asleep minutes later. 

Vegeta took that opportunity to leave. Most of the time he usually waited for you to fall into a deep slumber before taking off. He never spent the night. He already felt weak for having sex with a human more than a handful of times, but it was difficult sometimes to leave that warm bed of yours at times. 

He was getting softer. He was aware, and he had no one to blame but himself. You had given him a small sense of purpose, but it was frail. He only liked to fuck you, what good would that do to him? 

Grumbling in annoyance, Vegeta gathered his clothes, putting them on before leaving your bedroom.

*

You were used to waking up alone the morning after having sex with Vegeta. You were used to it, but it didn’t make you feel any less used. You could understand why he wouldn’t spend the night, but you were still human enough, and not sleeping together at least once made you feel disposable.

Whatever. Vegeta wasn’t your boyfriend. 

Running your hands through your hair, you took a shower, getting rids of the remains of your activities from the night before. 

It had already been almost two months since you got back to planet Frieza 80 (was it 80? 81? You weren’t sure). Over three months since you met Vegeta, Raditz and Nappa. Vegeta kept showing up at your door occasionally. More often than not, actually. It surprised you; it had been a shock the second time he knocked your door when you were on that spaceship months ago, it was still a surprise that he actively had been visiting you even after that mission was over. He didn’t show up every night, but he did it so often, he might as well have. The only time he didn’t were a few weeks in between when he had been on a mission God knows where along with Nappa.

You tried to keep a lot of your emotions in check frequently, but seeing Vegeta intimately so often made it difficult. You knew he wasn’t close to being emotionally invested in you, he showed it every time you interacted with him outside the bedroom; he treated you like he treated everyone else, like shit. But his ability to be somehow soft with you in private confused you. He obviously just wanted to get laid, as much as you did. 

You were just lonely. 

It had nothing to do with Vegeta or anyone else. You simply missed being in contact with someone who had the emotional depth of an actual sentient being, and not just slaves of Frieza’s army. You couldn’t blame anyone; being under a tyrannical reign would make you distrust your own shadow, it was only natural no one revealed anything about themselves to anyone else. It was a miracle the three remaining Saiyans even trusted each other. 

And if you were honest with yourself, as much as you liked Vegeta, you weren’t sure if you trusted him at all. Sex meant vulnerability, but you couldn’t show it with someone you knew was always on guard, even when you were being intimate. 

You felt like you were turning into one of those soldiers without emotional depth.

You tried not to tear up as you put on your clothes after your shower. You missed connecting with other people, other humans, so much it hurt. You missed your parents, your friends, your pet; you missed sleeping on your own bed, that was ten times more comfortable than the mattress you had in that room in Frieza’s palace. You even missed sparring with someone who you knew could give you a good punch but would still worry about your well being afterwards.

Training. That’s what you needed then. To let out some emotions. 

The training rooms used by the Saiyans were reserved for only them, and other high ranking officers that might want to use it, but you knew Vegeta was the one who visited it the most (you had to repair it often because of him). You also knew he wasn’t going to be there so early after spending the night with you, so after grabbing something quick to eat, you headed to the training room. 

You didn’t expect to see Raditz there, however. 

“Hey, doll,” He greeted you with a grin, and you rolled your eyes. He kept calling you that and it just stuck. “What brought you here?”

You stared at him for a long minute; he had been training too, wearing only his trunks and boots as sweat ran down his body and settled in places that made you want to look at him for longer than what should be allowed. 

“I wanted to warm up a bit,” You averted your eyes quickly, focusing on the wall behind him. “But if you’re using the room, I’ll come back later.”

“Warm up, huh?” Raditz asked, obviously mocking you by the way he was smiling. “I want to see what you got.”

“You wanna spar with me?” You blinked, confused. 

“Yeah, or am I too much for you, human?”

He was provoking you, you knew it, but it was working. Your power wasn’t low, but you weren’t sure if you could actually match Raditz in a one on one battle. But this could be a good way to find out. His power was the lowest among the three Saiyans and he had been the nicest to you, so maybe he wouldn’t kill you if your power proved to be puny compared to his. 

“Alright, I’m game.” 

“Sweet!”

You took a step back to get rid of your armor, and you felt his eyes scanning your body as you adjusted your skin tight suit. He and Nappa never stopped leering at you any chance they got, and every time you had to remind yourself it had to do with the fact that you looked a lot like a Saiyan. They only seemed to like it more when you tell them to stop anyway. 

Raditz changed the gleam in his eyes when you faced him; he obviously didn’t see you as a threat, if anything he seemed to be mocking you by daring you to fight him. 

You launched at him, and he saw it coming easily, no matter how fast you were, grabbing your fist with one hand when you aimed it at his face, then grabbing your leg when you tried to kick him in the face again. And so on and so on with any physical attack you tried to pull off. 

Raditz didn’t even flinch with any attempt you made at connecting with him, and it was starting to piss you off. You were only just getting started, but he obviously wasn’t taking you seriously, remaining on his spot with a smirk as you tried to actually deck him. 

There was no point in holding back if that was how it was going to be. 

Taking a few steps back, you threw yourself at Raditz, aiming to hit him in the chest with your feet. You barely touched him when he grabbed your legs with both hands, a wide smirk on his face, and you couldn’t help but smile back as you got your hands up in his face, firing a ki blast in a split second that made him stumble back. He groaned loudly, the grip he had on you loosening, giving you the chance to actually kick him in the face this time, and swiftly wrapping your legs around his neck to throw him to the ground. 

A loud thud echoed in the room when his body hit the floor, and you stared down at him with amusement. 

“Fuck!” Raditz grunted, a few drops of blood dripping from his nose as he pulled his hands towards his face. 

“You could have easily avoided all those attacks if you had taken me seriously from the beginning.”

You took a step back as Raditz stood up again, smirking as he wiped the blood off his face. 

“I won’t make the same mistake again.”

And he didn’t. 

You supposed Raditz was going easy on you at first, but at least he took your attacks seriously, and once you had thrown him to the ground twice (being small and flexible in comparison was a great advantage against him), he’d seemed to have enough. He actually started to hit you back, throwing punches and kicks that left you breathless with the sheer force he was using. 

Fuck it. You started this a warm up or a spar, but he was fighting for real. 

Ki blasts flew from both sides until it basically looked like a firework show, and dodging them got even more difficult for the both of you. Raditz had more stamina, his body was built for that, but this confrontation had been dragging on for a while, you could tell he needed a break, and so did you; the places he had managed to connect with ached like a bitch, and you’d end up with bruises all over your body if you didn’t end this quick. 

Gathering what little energy you had left in the palm of your hand, you threw a ki blast right in his face, which he avoided easily, only to be met with your fist. He grabbed it swiftly like you expected, and you consequently held onto his arm with your other hand. Using it as leverage, you lifted yourself up to land a kick on his face with both of your feet, making him fall on his side. You barely had any strength left, so you let yourself fall beside him, groaning in pain when you hit the floor. 

“Time up…” You panted, struggling to even speak. “You win…”

“How the fuck is this my win? You knocked me down.” Raditz grunted, sitting up and glaring at you. 

“I don't have energy left, you could easily give me the final blow…”

“I’m not pleased to ‘win’ like this against a human.” He said, and you could feel in his tone he was genuinely frustrated. 

You remained quiet, unsure of what to say. Strength, battles and discipline was viewed differently in this world than it was in your planet, and you didn’t blame him. You didn’t have to actively fight for survival when you lived on Earth. When Earth still existed. 

You jolted when the door suddenly opened, and Zarbon walked in, followed closely by Vegeta and Nappa. You sat up, staring wide eyed. You had only seen the guy a handful of times, but he was looking straight at you, and trepidation quickly bubbled up inside you. 

“You, human girl,” He addressed you with a loud, imposing voice. “You’re a mechanic, aren’t you?”

“Yes?”

“Not anymore. You’re similar to the Saiyans, you'll be joining them in your next mission.”

“What?!” You complained as you stood up on shaky legs. “Why?!”

“Quit your whining.” Vegeta said, glaring at you. “It’s been decided, so shut up.”

You faltered, his words settling in your brain. You didn't even whine that much. 

“I had no idea you had that kind of power.” Zarbon kept looking at you, scanning every inch of your body, and you felt the need to cover up, even though you were fully dressed. “Puny, compared to mine, but enough to make yourself useful.”

Your eye twitched but you said nothing until he finally left a second later. 

“What is going on?!” You asked, screamed, eyes flickering between Nappa and Vegeta.

“Your little fight caught the bastard’s attention.” Nappa grumbled, annoyed. “He saw the whole thing.”

You sighed, frustrated. All training rooms had two way mirrors, though you’ve rarely seen anyone actually using them. 

“You’re going to train with us starting tomorrow.” Vegeta said. You knew him enough to know how angry he was, though you weren’t sure why. 

“Fine.” You grumbled. 

Vegeta glared at you and Raditz before he turned to leave, followed closely by Nappa. You sat on the floor next to Raditz as he turned to look at you with curious eyes. 

“Pleased to make yourself useful?”

“I am useful even if I don’t fight.” You scoffed, stretching your arms. 

“The real fun starts now.” Raditz grinned at you. 

You wanted to return the smile, but you couldn’t. You weren’t looking forward to the torture that was going to be training with beings who were genetically designed to fight endlessly. You were just a human; you had trained enough to achieve a level to be on the par with Raditz, but you would probably never get to go that much higher. 

“I had fun training with you.” You said after a while, as you both got up. And this time, you did smile. “I think I needed it.”

“I enjoyed it, too.” Raditz replied, smiling faintly. “Let me know when you want to do it again, girl.”

You watched him walk out the room and down the corridor before you turned to leave in the opposite direction. You needed to get some painkillers and hopefully something that would make the bruises fade away quicker, if there even was such a thing, at the medical unit. 

After picking up food in the dining room, you took the rest of the day off. You showered and applied ointment on every visible bruise you could find on your body (and there were many) before settling down on your bed. Tiredness settled in quickly, but it would take a while for the painkillers to kick in; both of your sides ached with every move, so you could only lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until you dozed off. 

After a couple of hours, Vegeta’s ki moving towards your room woke you up. You hoped to God he wasn’t thinking of actually fucking you that night; you didn’t know how much of your fight with Raditz did he see, but it must have been obvious that you weren’t capable of moving too much that night. Not to mention that it had pissed you off that he had told you to shut up the way he did. 

Vegeta stood outside your door, you could feel his ki flickering (nervously maybe?), but given that you were a little pissed at him, you waited; you wanted him to actually knock. And he took his damn time, only knocking once after a few minutes. 

“Open up.” His voice ordered from the other side, making your annoyance increase.

You opened the door just enough so he could see your face and part of your body in your sleeping clothes, visible contusions tainting your skin. His eyes scanned you quickly and when he tried to push the door so he could walk in, you stopped him. 

“What do you want?”

Vegeta raised his eyebrow at your tone, and you could see him struggling to find the right words to say. 

“Let me in.”

“No.”

“What’s wrong with you?” He frowned, obviously irritated as well. 

“What's wrong with me? You really expect to just walk in here like every other day? Like you don’t see the bruises all over my body?!” You yelled, making Vegeta scoff.

“Humans are so fragile-”

“Well, too bad you’re sleeping with one.” You interrupted him, earning one of his most heated glares in return. He obviously hated being interrupted, but you were too annoyed to care. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else to entertain yourself with.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Vegeta asked through gritted teeth. “You were begging me to fuck you the first time!”

“And now I’m saying ‘no’ because you’re a jackass. Who do you think you are?! You will never tell me to shut up like that again!” You seethed, pushing him with a hand on his chest. He did not move an inch, but he was staring at you with eyes wide open, evidently surprised about your reaction. “Goodbye, Vegeta.”

You closed the door swiftly in his face. His ki spiked briefly, and for a second you thought he might burst in. He never did, and some minutes later, you felt his presence get further away as he retreated. 

[wardsbackpoet]

THE MUSIC YOU HAVE IN TWEEKS PLAYLIST IS SO 🤭🤭🤭 LIKE IVE NEVER MET ANYONE THAT KNEW BLOOD FOR BLOOD

I honestly don't remember when I discovered Blood for Blood, but I think I might have my former boss (he'd get annoyed and say he wasn't my 'boss' 'cause he doesn't like 'bosses and never wanted to have nor be one; For context, he wasn't really my boss, I was self-employed, but working at his tattoo shop) / fill-in father-figure for a bit, a longtime friend of mine, to thank for that. That man is honestly 100% self-made and has an ethic and ethos I can really look up to and respect. We're also both into Madball, and I recently went to one of their shows. He couldn't go, due to ongoing cancer treatments.

Me and another friend of my former boss (actually, the co-owner of that shop I was working at), spoke with the band, got them all to sign a shirt for him and we brought it to his house the next day. He was super touched. Great group. We'd only asked one band member to sign as the rest were busy packing up gear, and he suggested he could go and get the rest to add their autographs, we were super grateful.

Also, I 100% get that frustration of never meeting anyone who likes/knows what you like and know. When I was a teen, the definition of 'hardcore' had slipped, and to me, it was still bands like Blood for Blood, Madball, Biohazard, Agnostic Front, Fugazi originating from the movement started by 7 Seeconds, Minor Threat, Black Flag, Sick of it All, etc. I saw Terror (which I like) as like, the band bridging how I defined hardcore to how kids of my generation defined it.

To the kids around me, it was this stuf with like, a lot of 'Woah-oh-oohs', in the midst of screaming. My whole view of it was 'it's a'ight, but that's not my scene', and I was often disappointed (and eventually disillusioned) when kids were like, "oh, I like hardcore too!". Over the years, my follow-up question changed from an enthusiastic "Oh awesome! Wanna go to a show? Wanna obsess about this Bad Brains album with me" to a bored, "Oh yeah? So like, what bands?" To which I'd hear Stick to your guns, Underoath, Silverstein or whatever else was popular at that time.

I ran into the same problem with kids saying they liked punk too. They weren't talking about Discharge or Subhumans, or Thulsa Doom, or Conflict, Descendants or NOFX. They meant The Used and Blink182, Rise Against and whatnot. I was utterly confused and felt born 20 years too late for real.

I was just...well, I longed for a more precise vocabulary to become more widely-used so I'd stop getting my hopes up/getting frustrated about the fact we really weren't talking about the same thing. I was a teenaged musical elitist, yup. A real fuckin' snob. I'm more open-minded today but it was disappointing and disheartening, only really finding like-minded musical peers among people at least a decade older than I was.

So, in contrast, meeting people who actually liked what I liked was always so exciting and felt really validating at a time when I felt as though there was always a barrier to being understood by my peers, and to connecting with them on a less than superficial level.

You didn't ask for that full analysis and I regret having overthought and rambled, but I typed it so you're getting it, I guess. Sorry?

& Thanks for reading the fic & I promise to update soon. Life's just been kicking my ass recently but it's okay, 'cause I just remembered I can kick back.

Also, I just realized maybe I rambled so much because the upcoming chapter explores some of those themes with Tweek finding it hard to find common ground with kids his age as well. So, maybe?

Anyways. THANKS FOR READING IT AND BEING PATIENT ON UPDATES.

& HMU if ever you wanna chat music or whatever else.

[bruhstation]

the dreamfish and the caulerpa prolifera

Kind of funny that an accident is all it takes for Gordon to realize how different things really are now.

CW: dereality, hallucinations, body horror, talks about death

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

December 13th, 1995.

2:11 am.

Gordon sits alone in the hospital room by an occupied hospital bed, head hung low, eyes still fixated on the patient in front of him. The strong scent of disinfectant and antiseptics flood his sense of smell to the point where he’s grown accustomed to them. At the moment, his only company besides the brown-haired man resting on the bed that remains unstatic is the overwhelming slow beeping from the heart monitor standing tall beside the bed.

Gordon picks on the hangnails sticking out of the edges of his nails. If he’s not trying desperately to ground himself in reality right now by occupying his brain with meddlesome, mundane activies, he would’ve thought that the room is stretching in and out, and the monitor is looming over him, mocking him for not being able to change this situation he couldn’t control in the first place.

It’s been 2 days since he asked to take his leave from work. It’s also been 2 days since the last time he went home, combed his hair properly, changed his clothes, fixed his tie, buttoned his suit, wore his big cape, and got a decent good night’s sleep.

What a repulsive, loathsome situation he’s gotten himself in.

Gordon’s not the one lying motionless on the bed, so why does he feel incredibly sick?

He lifts his head to look at the man resting in front of him. His brows furrow on instinct.

Even after the days that passed, Henry still looks absolutely horrible. Covered head to toe in bandages and plasters (around his forehead, around his arms, around his neck, on his cheeks, most like in every inch of his body dear god), ventilator over his mouth, IV lines of various kinds sickeningly decorating his scarred right arm… such an unflattering, horrific sight. It’s like he’s trying to hang onto any semblance of life left for him, his chest going up and down ever so slightly. It’s dreadful, and Gordon hates it.

He hates how different Henry is now. He still refused to believe that the person injured in front of him is Henry Stanier, the driver of the NWR 3, who always complained about the smallest things yet still gets the job done, who loves talking endlessly about the many types of succulent and how to treat them properly, who’s been the most familiar man to him aside from Edward in his years in Sodor.

At least some things still remain.

His long, unruly brown hair that's usually tied back with a red tie is now splayed all over the teal pillow and bed (Edward made sure to lift the strands that stuck to his back out of the way), his dark eyes are closed shut, his hands, his nose, his mouth, his ears, they’re all still there. Still there. Even though Henry’s scratched here and there

What’s taking Edward so long? It’s been 10 minutes. The corners of the room is starting to darken and the tiles beneath him are slowly moving and

So Gordon decides to do something he’s always been good at.

Speak.

“You might be wondering,” Gordon starts, his voice understandably hoarse, “why my clothes are a mess. I’ve, uh, I haven’t gotten the time to go home and properly fix them.”

Silence, sans the beeping from the machines.

“My suit? It’s making me uneasy and uncomfortable. I’ve thought of forcing myself to wear them because folding it is troublesome, but Edward kept insisting I take it off. I think he doesn’t like seeing me uncharacteristically restless. Hmph, so I did. I’ll fold it later.”

Another silence, sans the beeping from the machines.

“Thomas called. James too. Several times, even. It took me seconds to hang up after picking up the calls. Hopefully they don’t think I hate them or anything, otherwise convincing them will be a hassle.”

Yet another silence, sans the beeping from the machines.

Gordon sighs.

“It’s been 2 days, but, it felt like forever.” he says, voice showing some kind of loneliness he’s never expressed before. “I’ve never told you this before, but…”

Gordon scratches the back of his head and sighs.

“It’s awfully lonely without you.”

He pauses, trying to find the right words.

“And…”

I’m sorry. I wish us three can make things better.

“... and I missed hearing you talk. About things. Things you like, things you dislike. It’s kind of lonely not hearing you complain about heavy workloads over at lunch break, or talk about the old lady living at the house across yours who’s not taking care of her plants correctly… or listen to you rant about some bad Indian soap opera with excessive video editing.” Gordon says, his words coming out as if a dam has been destroyed inside his brain. “Edward’s missed you a lot, too. He’s not as cheeky or cheerful as usual.”

He pauses again.

So far, this one sided conversation might be enough to keep him stable. But without anyone to reply back, or someone else’s voice chiming in, it’s not doing very well for his brain.

So Gordon decided to call it quits.

“I’m going to sleep.”

Gordon lifts his head to look at Henry’s face properly–

“See you tomorro–”

–and is immediately greeted with a puzzled face looking back at him.

2:13 am.

…

He smiles.

“I could say the same to you as well.”

It can’t be.

He’s awake.

His eyes are now open – sunken, but still have that characteristic clarity to them – and looking at him with such fondness. Even though he’s not wearing his dark brown button-up, and his red scarf isn’t wrapped around his neck, and he’s not adorning his usual green coat with red outlines, and he’s wrapped in bandages and plasters and a bright blue hospital gown, it’s still Henry. Still his Henry, still Edward’s Henry.

“Good morning.”

Gordon couldn’t bear to look at his face properly. His eyes are glued to his figure, but his brain couldn’t seem to process anything his sight picks up.

Warm arms wrap around him. He’s secure. He’s safe.

Gordon’s eyes well up with unshed tears.

With shaky arms, he hugs back and buries his face on the crook of Henry’s neck.

Finally.

Took the world long enough.

Things can finally come back to the way they used to be. Things will definitely be okay now, and everything will be fine and dandy and absolutely bright and lovely.

Henry can be discharged from the hospital. And he and Edward and Gordon can finally be together again just like they were back in their golden days and things will finally be back to the way Gordon has always wanted it to be and they can do dumb things as a group and they can finally be toge–

“Oh, you poor thing.” Henry cooed.

The arms wrapping around Gordon tightens. Henry harshly pulls him closer. The fingers on his shoulder and side digs themselves further.

It hurts.

Henry?

“What are you without us, Gordon Gresley?”

Wait. This isn’t what’s supposed to happen.

“Henry…?” Gordon says, flabbergasted. “Why would you say that?”

“Are you even going to miss me if I’m gone, Gordon?”

“Of course…?” Gordon answers, a familiar feeling of dread starting to settle in. “Wh-what kind of stupid question is that, Henry?”

Henry’s face contorts into a sickening scowl.

“Liar.”

With that one word alone, Gordon immediately pulls away.

“Liar, liar. You big, boastful, arrogant scum.”

He couldn’t think straight now. He can feel the walls of the room melting around him. He can see the tiles underneath his feet dancing, moving forwards and backwards.

Henry continued his barrage of words.

“Where were you at Polly’s funeral? You didn’t even come, you monster.” he sneered. “What makes you think that you won’t do the same to me when I’m finally 6 feet under?”

3:54 am.

“H…how did you…?”

“I know a lot of things about you, dear Gordon,” he speaks again, the “dear” part coming out laced in poison. “Even though you rarely ever talked about yourself other than your flat accomplishments, people are bound to figure out sooner or later–”

Henry’s hands reach out and cups his face. His thumbs rest on his cheekbones, and he can feel them slowly digging into his skin.

“–especially me.”

The thumbs shift and the sensation of Henry’s cold fingertips is replaced with even colder nails.

5:26 am.

His touch is not comforting in the slightest. The things that usually bring Gordon warmth and comfort is now forcing bile to rise from the depths of his stomach and threatening it to spill out of his mouth.

Gordon feels so, so sick. He hated this indescribable feeling. What’s going on?

Henry?

The blinding sight of steam and nauseating smell of tar engulfed the two of them.

1:34 pm.

“You’re different.” Gordon stammers, his heart beating fast, the terror inside his stomach growing bigger and bigger. “You’re different from all of them. You’re–you’re not Pollyanna, or Marcus, o-or–”

“Yeah, right.” Henry (?) spat. “I’m lower.”

No. No that’s not what I meant, you–

“The words that come out of your mouth are downright abhorrent att times, you know?” he opens his mouth again. “Speaking to you is a chore. An obligatory one, in fact.”

At this point, whatever that thing is barely resembles Henry.

The outlines of his face, his body, his everything is swirling around, horrifically obscuring his face, his shape, his lines and dots. All of his orifices starts to melt and drip, followed by his head – the once-endearing curls of hair are now wilting like leaves on sidewalks – then his body melted like candle wax.

His voice is barely recognizable. Barely comprehensible. It’s garbled and messy and unclear and there’s so many white noises here and there, his ears are ringing, static fills his hearing, there’s insects crawling underneath his skin and over his skin and all over his face and and and a

“Why did I even bother? Why did Edward even bother, after how you easily casted him aside and appointed that annoying, tiresome James as his stopgap?” the barely Henry-shaped thing says with such venom. “His patience is bountiful, Gordon. And you dare be ungrateful for that? For at least having someone to support you and put up with your constant boasting? For us, the people who were there for you while your troublesome siblings are busy dying one by one?”

The heart monitor displayed three flat lines.

?:?? ??.

His heart stopped.

As the screen displays the cold, harsh truth, his voice becomes incredibly clear. All the white noises are gone.

“There you have it.”

Shut up. Please.

“Have fun looking for my replacement, Gresley.”

No, no. No. No, you’ve got it all wrong.

I can never, ever replace you. Or Edward. I’ve never replaced Edward, and I will never ever do that. I can never. James was merely there. I can never replace Edward, or you, or anyone. Anyone but you. Anyone but you should be saying those things to me.

So please.

Why is it so hard for you to understand me?

The figure grows, and elongates, and grows again, as if it’s in the brink of exploding and imploding at the same time, then it looks exactly like Henry and then not and then it barely resembled him but he feels so different and distant and unrecognizable now and and 

Make it stop. It doesn’t make sense anymore. It’s not making sense anymore. Why would you say that? I’m sorry. I already said I’m sorry. Stop. Make it stop. Makeit stop make it stop dosomething someone help help me help do something DO SOMETHI

“Gordon?”

NG SOMEONE WAKE ME U

“Hey, Gordon?”

Gordon wakes up with a jolt. He nearly fell out of his seat. His heart is racing like he just ran a mile, and he is drenched in sweat and terror and a very disgusting sense of horror.

He looks towards the source of sound.

There, Edward stood by the hospital room’s doorway, his right hand holding a cup holder with two drinks and his left hand trying to loosen the scarf around his neck. There’s also a plastic bag hung by his right wrist. His grey hair is disheveled and his eyes are sunken with extremely noticeable bags underneath them. The first few buttons of his black shirt underneath his blue blazer are undone, and so is his red tie. Nevertheless, there’s a smile on his face – however at that point Gordon knows that it’s nothing but a display of reassurement for him despite Edward’s own exhaustion.

Gordon looks at the clock on the wall in front of Henry again.

2:13 am.

Ah.

With half of his body obscured from Edward’s view, Gordon pinches his own arm and moves his legs, the sensation of his sock-covered feet sliding back and forth on the cold hospital floor.

Good. Okay. It’s all good. Edward’s here. Henry’s here. He’s also here.

They’re all together again, just like usual. Just like how they always are.

Or used to.

“You could’ve knocked.” Gordon’s words come out harsher than he wanted them to.

“Sorry, I thought you’re not asleep yet.” Edward says, offering a tired grin.  “I must’ve taken quite a while, huh?”

Edward, it feels like someone grated my brain with sandpaper.

“My head hurts. Really, really bad.” Gordon says, digging the palms of his hands on his eyes.

Do not appear panicked.

His shoulder shakes, and he shifts his arms, trying to hide his absolutely devastated expression.

“I’m not crying, just so you know.” Gordon sniffles, furiously rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. “I’m saying it before you assume outlandish things.”

“Hey, I’ve never mentioned anything of the sort.” Edward chuckles. “You’re a strong man.”

Gordon flinches at Edward’s words.

Of course you’d say that.

Without the expected answer from Gordon, Edward opens his mouth, about to say something, but is then interjected with Gordon. At this point, he knows what he’s going to ask.

“No, Edward. He hasn’t woken up yet.”

“Ah, I see.” Edward replies, seemingly not surprised with Gordon’s answer. “Must be a really wonderful dream, huh? Haha…”

Silence.

“Sorry for making you worry.” Edward gives a thin smile. “You must be hurt and distraught as well… having to see him like this.”

“I could say the same to you as well.” Gordon blurts out.

Edward winces at those words.

Real smooth, Gordon Gresley, he mentally slaps himself. What a way to make him feel better about this situation.

The silence – only broken with the beeps from the machines surrounding Henry – is making Gordon increasingly uncomfortable. He has to do something, say something, before his mind goes blank again and the walls start boiling again and the room starts elongating again.

“You, uh,” he finds his voice, slightly less hoarse from before, “how’s the trip to the supermarket?”

An idle chat. Okay. Good idea for once from him.

“It was nice, I suppose,” Edward says, trying to sound cheerful. “Still really cold outside. Good thing I’ve got Henry’s gift wrapped around my neck, haha. There’s lots of snow too. I think the weather forecast yesterday said that today’s snow is going to be quite thick, yeah?”

Gordon looks out the window. He can see little puffs of white begin to fall from the dark sky.

“It seems so.”

Another silence.

“You bought anything for me?”

Edward’s eyes lit up at the mention of the groceries.

“Definitely! Got your favorite.” he replies, handing out the cup holder towards Gordon. “Coffee. With cream and sugar. The left one.”

Despite his tiredness, Gordon tries to offer his best appreciative smile.

“Why, thank you. You know me well.”

“Of course.” Edward says. “That’s what friends do for each other.”

Friends?

Yeah, Gordon would like that.

“I’ve also bought some food.” Edward says, placing the cup holder on the drawer by the bed. “Just realized we haven’t eaten anything decent in 2 days.”

“Of course you would.” Gordon comments, shifting on his seat. He crosses his legs and puts an arm behind his chair. Sensing a lack of response from Edward, he realized that his words could’ve been interpreted in two ways, and so he decided to quickly clarify.

“I mean, uh, of course you would buy some food. What else did you buy?” He says quickly, trying to hide the panic in his voice.

“Haha, I know. Don’t worry.” Edward chirps, trying to stifle a laugh as he rustles through the plastic bag. “Let me see… cup noodles, Trader Joe’s, some cans of Red Bull, oatmeal bars–”

“Oatmeal bars?” Gordon smirks. “Pah, that’s just so you.”

Edward just laughs softly. 

Good, good. This is just what he needed – an air of comfortable familiarity to ground himself after whatever he just went through. It’s all natural.

“You want one?”

“Nope.

Edward laughs, but not loud enough to deter the man sleeping at the center of the room.

The sound of a hot drink being sipped slowly intertwines itself with the beeping noises of the monitors. Another beat of silence follows after. A bead of sweat trickles down Gordon’s forehead. 

“Can I sit beside you?” Edward says, breaking the silence.

Please.

“Sure.”

And so Edward drags the chair beside the drawer over to Gordon’s side. And there he sat, staring at the man in front of him.

Hey, Edward. Can I ask something?

“Hey, Edward. Can I ask something?”

Edward’s ears perk up. “Sure.” he says.

Do you think it’s possible for us three to… go back to how things used to be?

“Do you have any interesting stories to tell?”

Edward blinks. This isn’t… very uncharacteristic of Gordon. Still, the request came quite out of the blue. There’s something about the creases at the edges of Edward’s eyes that reflect understanding, however.

“Something interesting, hm?” Edward muses, tapping his finger against his chin. “Ah, let me think… what kind of story, Gordon?”

“Any. I don’t really care.”

“Any, you say?” Edward smirks mischeviously. “This is quite a scary one.”

“Oh nooo, nothing’s scarier than the suspense you’re producing by not telling the story.” Gordon rolls his eyes.

Edward laughs again. Gordon tries to hold back a smile.

Good. Great. It’s all becoming more and more familiar. More comfortable. More homely.

“So there’s this one story involving a man and a rocky mountain.” Edward starts. “I couldn’t remember his name to be exact. But he always wore purple overalls and a puffy worker’s cap. He also had a twin.”

“Mhm.”

“He’s very boastful, you see.” Edward leans back on his chair, sipping his hot beverage. “Always getting into trouble with his coworkers. Always trying to prove that his small engine is the fastest, strongest of the whole island.”

“Looks like someone didn’t get his ego checked.”

“Hm, that’s one way to put it.” Edward looks down at the ends of his scarf, idly feeling the sensation of expensive fabric against his fingertips. “He’s just… very proud of himself. And his engine. He kept thinking that his engine has more worth than it actually does. You know, like an… uh…”

“An overzealous mother and her golden child?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I guess so.”

“Except the golden child doesn't have anything to say in the matter, literally instead of metaphorically,” Gordon comments lazily, folding his arms, lying them on the side of Henry’s bed and resting his head on top of them, “because it couldn’t talk.”

“You always have the funniest things to say, Gordon.”

“I know.” Gordon closes his eyes and exhales. “Continue, will you?”

Edward nods.

“One day,” he continued, “he decided to take trucks along a rocky mountain. Despite his colleagues offering him a hand, he declines all of them to prove that his engine, indeed, is the strongest in the whole island. So he was about to make his way down the slopes of the mountain…”

Lulled by Edward’s soothing voice, Gordon drifts off to sleep. His head is facing away from Edward, and the man who’s telling him stories about some unfortunate soul must’ve had to move Gordon’s chair forwards to support his weight.

It’s been a long while since he’s felt this comfortable. Maybe not genuine, maybe won’t last forever, but at least the feeling’s still there.

Hm.

Maybe things won’t go back to how they used to be.

Maybe Edward still secretly holds a grudge against him.

Maybe Henry will never wake up.

But even so, Gordon decides to put those thoughts aside and focus on the presence of Edward and Henry near him. The closest they’ve ever been in a long while, and the closest they’ll probably ever be. A moment that’s most likely temporary, but a very, very desperately welcomed one.

And so that night, Gordon Gresley sleeps a dreamless slumber.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Unintentional 22

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As always, beta-read by @alittlewhump <3

CW: BBU, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization. Explicit language. Surgical/medical whump and subsequent side effects and trauma. Victim self-blaming. Blood, IV mention, vomiting/emeto. Hospital setting.

He came to with a cry that tore all the air from his lungs and had him sucking in the next breath like he was coming up from diving all the way to the bottom of the pool. 

Or maybe he’d been dreaming of it.  

Sinking down, down, down, into the deep end. 

Water enveloping him. 

Pressure grounding him in his own skin. 

Until it felt possible that before, above the surface, he’d been at risk of slipping or falling free and hadn’t even realized it. As if, in the air, the anatomy was simply too subtle, too delicate. 

Down here there was no question of what was him. 

No separation, no feeling of extra space between the layers of tissue. No doubt that this was his place to belong, his span, reach, home, fingers and toes. 

How had he ever managed to stay in one piece before without being held together so tightly?

The next lungful of air came out in sobs.

Now he’d done it. 

Stupid head and memories and mind of no bounds or control.

He should keep calm and quiet.

Harrison wasn’t there. 

Yet. 

Leo could only be so patient. 

Leo. He was sitting in a chair beside the bed, watching. Hands resting on the arms of his chair. 

Aiden held his breath, searching Leo’s face. 

Had he been wrong before? Had he been dreaming before? 

“Buddy—” Leo leaned forward and even though it was slow as anything, Aiden still flinched because he knew Leo was about to stand up. 

Stand up to come and get him. 

But some part of him wanted that. It was just Leo, wasn’t it? He couldn’t remember Leo putting him back in the bed, maybe he’d dreamed all of it, everything…

He wrapped his arms around himself and curled forward.

Be still and obedient. He needed to control his breathing, rasping in and out of his chest. He must have been crying but he couldn’t feel any tears. 

He would lie on the table. He would accept the restraints. 

There weren’t any now, just the gauze and bandages and whatever else underneath them that tugged on his skin. It hurt when he tried to hold himself tighter.

He’d acted so badly before. 

And he couldn’t stop.

Behaviors, punishments. Actions, consequences. 

Awareness made it worse. 

Made him feel even less like he had any choice or control because maybe he really did.

Maybe always had. 

And all along he’d only ever been asking for it. 

Hadn’t he? 

His whole life he’d been the type to just bite the bullet.

It’d been the same at home, the same at practice, the same during training.

He’d rather take one good hit and go down hard than take a whole beating because he’d tried to fight back. Headache over broken ribs. Do the painful drills to avoid running laps until he puked. 

Except when one hit sent him tumbling down the stairs. 

Except when one choice had ended his life. 

Except when he had wanted it to end, of course. 

Please let Harrison kill him right away this time or at least the—

“Aiden? Aiden.” Leo hadn’t moved but his voice sounded closer. “You’re right here with us. Look, hon. It’s me, Leo. You remember my sister, Delia. It’s just us.” He was taking pains to stay completely still as he spoke. Easy, gentle. Soft. 

But hurting. 

Maybe if Leo held him again, he’d be able to tell if he’d only imagined everything from before. He didn’t know how to ask. 

He couldn’t ask. 

Aiden bit his lips together. His back felt itchy, the rough fabric of the gown sticking in places like he’d been sweating, except that he felt a clammy chill instead. Even worse. 

Leo was still wearing a blue paper smock over his clothes. And he had on that expression where he’d just watch Aiden, wait for Aiden. 

But for what? 

Aiden wanted to writhe under that gaze. Scream under that gaze. He hated the feeling that he was being tested and had no idea what it was on. 

Didn’t he realize that Aiden would just do anything he asked? That all he wanted was for Leo to tell him. 

Tell him with words. 

Tell him with actions, consequences, punishment, pain. 

Anything. 

Please just fucking tell him. 

Neither Leo nor the doctor moved or said a word while he sat there crying. 

No control, no discipline. No idea what to do. 

They just kept testing him and he didn’t fucking know the answer. 

He reached up and tugged at the central line under his collarbone. 

It took more effort than he’d imagined and his grip was useless but he somehow managed to pull it free fast enough. Blood trickled down his chest under the starched fabric. 

“Aiden!” They both jumped to their feet at the same time. 

And then Leo stumbled back, knocking the chair against the wall before he collapsed into it.

Aiden froze, dripping tubes dangling from his fist. He hadn’t meant—he didn’t—He wanted to take it back. He should have been cooperative and good and well behaved and—

The doctor spun to catch Leo’s shoulders before he could tip forward out of the chair. “Christ, Leo!” With a grunt, she helped him to sit upright so his back was against the wall. 

He dropped a hand on her shoulder and brought the other to his forehead. “M’fine.” 

The doctor pulled a penlight out of her pocket and checked his eyes. “Bullshit. You haven’t slept and you wouldn’t take so much as a sip of water let alone anything else. With all that blood loss? Bullshit, Leo.” 

Blood loss? Had he hurt Leo? 

That hadn’t been part of the plan. He hadn’t meant to.

Why couldn’t he do anything right? 

He needed to see Leo’s face but the doctor was in his way and he was afraid of this finally being the time that Leo really was angry. 

Or maybe he’d see something else. Something worse? 

What had Aiden just done to fuck it all up?

He pulled his knees up to his chest. He wanted to hide. He should just stay still.

“Yeah, okay, okay. I’ll drink your fuckin’ orange juice,” Leo grumbled. 

She clicked her tongue. “Oh, you bet your ass you will but we’re way past just that. You’re getting an IV now.” 

A sound escaped Aiden’s throat. Something between a whimper and a gasp. He looked above his shoulder to the bag of yellow liquid hanging there. The one that had been seeping into his veins moments before. He didn’t know what that color did. 

“Aiden, sweetheart—” Leo leaned to look around her but just as soon as Aiden was able to see his eyes, he leaned back to the wall with a moan, squeezing his eyes shut. 

His chest tightened. This was his fault.  

The doctor turned, looking him up and down. “I know you’re scared. I know this is a lot.”

He wished he could disappear completely. He couldn’t even pull his legs tight enough to his chest because of his arms. 

“You’re not in any trouble. You’re doing very well.” She watched him for a beat before adding, “Leo’s going to be just fine, I promise. How about you both have some juice now? That will help you feel better.”

Somewhere inside him, he recognized the fluttering response to the reassurance, the praise, but it felt far away compared to the fear, the certainty that this would all come crashing down at any moment. 

He still didn’t fucking know how he was supposed to be.

It was confusing. She was confusing. 

He only watched her for a moment as she crossed to a table with a few bags on it and started rustling. He didn’t want to hear the sounds he recognized.

After the crinkle of sterile packaging always came the clang of surgical steel. 

Of that, he was certain at least. 

Leo still had his eyes closed, hands gripping the arms of his chair.  

Aiden bit his cheek. He wanted to apologize but he knew that would only make things worse. 

But hadn’t he wanted to make things worse? 

He was so terrible. 

Harrison should come skin him alive. 

He could taste blood in his saliva. 

“Aiden, buddy?” Leo had managed to focus on him. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Just a little dizzy is all.” 

It looked worse than that. What had Aiden done to him?

“Mmm…mmm’sorry,” he said. He had to say something right?  His voice trembled and it was all wrong and didn’t sound remotely sincere or deserving or—

“I’ll be good as new in no time.” And Leo gave him the smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. 

Aiden tried to let it wash over him. To let that conditioned void be filled even though he knew how much more it would ache and gnaw when it was empty again.

It didn’t work. 

He didn’t deserve it anyway. 

The doctor was standing between them again and Aiden flinched when she moved toward him. He tore his eyes away from watching her gloved hands to check Leo’s reaction but he had his eyes closed like he was trying not to pass out again.

She held up a plastic bottle of orange juice with a bendy straw sticking out of it. “This one is for you…” She waited for him to take it with both shaky hands before turning. “And this one is for Leo.” 

“Cheers, kiddo,” Leo said with a weak chuckle. He lifted his juice and put the straw between his lips but then paused. 

Aiden hesitated for too long. 

Almost like he was ungrateful and wanted them to take it away. But he’d been doing that for weeks at Leo’s house and Leo never did. He only ever looked disappointed. Aiden didn’t think he could face that now. Not with how guilty he felt for everything he’d done, for being such a complete failure, for whatever was wrong with Leo that was most certainly his fault indirectly (but probably directly).

He caught the straw and took huge sips, draining the juice in just a few gulps. That earned him a smile from Leo, who started drinking his own, and raised eyebrows from the doctor.

Aiden tried to relax a little but his arms were starting to hurt even more which made him wonder if for some reason they had been giving him painkillers. He didn’t want to think about the IV again. 

“You look better already,” the doctor said to Leo. “See? There’s a reason they give blood donors snacks. And that’s when it’s not done in a moving vehicle.”

The orange juice turned sour in his stomach. 

Blood donors? 

The heart monitor hammered insistently against his thoughts. 

Faster, faster, faster. 

His mind couldn’t be trusted. 

There was no way he was understanding any of this correctly. 

He was just wrong. 

He was all wrong. 

Whatever the doctor said next, he didn’t catch.

Leo stood to pull his arms out of the gown and shrug off his sweatshirt before sitting back down. 

And there it was. 

A square of gauze taped to the inside of his elbow.

Leo noticed his face and followed his gaze to the site in question. Where the blood had flowed out of his artery and into Aiden’s veins. “Aiden—”

He didn’t get to hear what Leo said next because the orange juice was coming back up. 

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[jlilycorbie]

Didn't See Any of This Coming

Late at night on Thursday, October 19, I drove myself to the emergency room. I fully expected to be treated and released, and after I saw triage just barely after midnight, it looked like exactly what would happen.

Instead, my entire life changed.

I went in for an abscess in an embarrassing location, which shouldn't have stopped me from seeking treatment earlier, but absolutely did. I figured they'd open and drain it, put me on some IV antibiotics, then send me on my way with a prescription for oral antibiotics. And for a while, that looked like exactly what would happen.

At least, until someone came into the room to ask me, "Are you diabetic?"

"Not as far as I know," I said.

"Did you know your blood sugar is 330?"

I've known for a long time things weren't great with my health, but I didn't see that one coming. Honestly, I was hoping whatever was wrong would kill me, preferably painlessly and in my sleep, within the next five to ten years.

That was already my first trip to the ER as an adult. What followed were a lot more firsts.

First IV.

First person who has seen my butt as an adult (a number that unfortunately kept climbing).

First CT scan.

First minor surgery (lidocaine is weak, I felt almost all of it).

First admission to a hospital.

First time taking insulin.

First major surgery under general anesthesia.

First time receiving fentanyl (or any opioid). After all the hype on the news, I thought that should be good, and instead it did absolutely nothing. Found out afterward that my dad and grandfather both got morphine a few times after surgery or in the ER for injuries and it did nothing for either of them. Just my luck to come up with chronic pain and a resistance to opioids.

I've suspected for a while that I have an autoimmune disorder, though I don't know which one. And a collagen disorder, probably EDS, but not sure which one. I've heard all the nightmare stories about fighting for diagnosis, so it was a little unsettling to mention autoimmune disorders and have every single medical professional say, "Yeah, that sounds right." Or to do my stupid human tricks (bending fingers and moving my trachea only, I never got far) and have people immediately go, "Yup, that's a collagen disorder."

Also, surprise! I have a heart murmur.

Shout out to my liver and kidneys, apparently the only organs in my body quietly doing their jobs without any drama.

The following days were frustrating. Everyone was eager to explain what diabetes is to me, but not what I needed to do. People kept mentioning that I had a sliding scale for my insulin, but no one would tell me what that meant. A diabetes educator would be coming to my room to explain it to me, so they didn't need to tell me anything.

After surgery, I never saw the surgeon again. No followup of any kind. Also absolutely no pain management. Before surgery, someone would occasionally offer me Tylenol. Afterward, I didn't even get that. It's apparently acceptable to leave a patient in so much pain she doesn't sleep for more than 36 hours, and after the 24 hour mark, you can offer melatonin.

Honestly, I don't think Tylenol would have helped, but a few throat lozenges would have made a huge difference in my world.

No one ever really explained or showed me how to care for the open wound left after surgery. The wound is located somewhere that is very difficult for me to see or reach, especially both at once. One person told me, "Just take a corner of gauze and poke, poke, poke it into the hole, but not too far, because you don't want to make the wound worse." When a nurse pointed out the difficulty of seeing the location, wound care sent a hand mirror smaller than my palm.

The doctor gave discharge orders, but the nurse at the time didn't want to let me go because the diabetes educator still hadn't come. I didn't know exactly when to take my blood sugar or insulin or how much to take. Because no one would tell me. So the nurse talked me into staying an extra night.

The doctor and several nurses also said someone with the hospital's social services would come talk to me about handling the bill and about getting a primary care physician because after 12 years without one, I can't keep not going to a doctor.

Neither the diabetes educator nor anyone from social services ever came to my room. I finally got a frustrated nurse to explain the sliding scale for insulin to me and when I should take my blood sugar and when I should take insulin. The next nurse diligently avoided me at all times until she announced I was getting discharged, better get ready. I stayed an extra night for literally no reason, for help that never came.

A pharmacist called me to tell me the doctor had ordered a glucometer and some other supplies for me, but my insurance had a really high copay on them, and she wanted me to know that I could buy them way cheaper on my own if I'd like to do that. When she found out that no one had explained most things to me, she was outraged. She spent a long time on the phone with me, explaining everything that she could. Bless that woman. I've told everyone who would listen her name and that she was so helpful when I was desperate and alone.

I got discharged just like that. I didn't get any written aftercare instructions from my surgery. I still don't know if I'm caring appropriately for my wound. I have a followup scheduled for three weeks after my discharge. I have since reached out, and people will apologize, but no one will give me the information I need.

I left the hospital terrified and confused. I'm used to figuring things out on my own, but the repeated promises of help that never came almost broke me completely.

I got two different types of insulin in reusable pens. No one had shown me that type of pen or how to use them. I had to figure it out by myself after I was home.

After I got home, someone from social services did call me. I had an appointment for the next day with a diabetes educator...who heard about me for the very first time after I was discharged, when social services called him and he immediately arranged an appointment for me.

Also, no one ever told social services they needed to talk to me about anything. They arranged an appointment with a primary care physician. It was written in my discharge paperwork, but no one told me.

The diabetes educator was actually pretty helpful. Turns out I'd gotten about half the information I needed about when and how to take my insulin. Since he gave me a different sliding scale and more instructions, I've actually kept my blood sugar consistently under 150, and mostly between 110 and 135.

I did tell him that the last time I saw a doctor, he dismissed all of my concerns to pressure me to join his high intensity weight loss program. At the time, I weighed around 300 lbs. I figured before I could get real help, I needed to wait until I was old enough, thin enough, or sick enough for people to take me seriously, and in the 12 years since then, I've done my best to take care of myself. When I arrived in the ER, I weighed 208 lbs. I was the sickest and most miserable I've ever been.

He told me he expects me to lose at least 20 lbs by the next time I see him.

[tigorrrr]

𝗗𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗯𝗹𝗲 || prompt::running hands through their hair + pushing hair back behind the other’s ear

Ship(?): Rain & Lilly

Rated: hurt/comfort

Warnings: mentions of drug use and drug poisoning, this is a little follow up to what happened to Lilly after "Glittercrash"

          It was the end of his 24h shift when he recieved some hot news at the front desk, call it intuition for he usually doesn't pay the eldery nurse a visit on his way home. It felt like he should check in that night, and he was glad he listened to his gut.

           "Your sibling was enlisted just two hours ago, doctor."

           All what doctor Zeffeero needed is a room number and where the doctors placed his sibling and he ran towards the elevators, stairs, and short-cuts. It took about twenty minutes or less.

           He first stopped by the nurse office, to hear the damage and see the file before doing a personal interrogation himself.

           "Ah, mister Zeffeero, thought you already headed home." called out a younger nurse the second he stepped in after discreetly knocking on the milky doors. A doctor, one of the few that is close to Zeffeero's age, an old classmate and not necessarily a friend, perked his head over a white monitor screen.

           "I was about to..." Zeffeero casually walked over to the stack of drawers and began to look through them.

           "Are you looking for your brother's file? I didn't took care of Lyosha but I saw the folder in the hands of another doctor, she just left twenty minutes ago..." Josef appeared by his side, indolent to get up from his rolling chair. "Said she needed to double check some things at the reception."

           Zeffeero tsked indifferently, rough and dry fingers gave up separating file after file and idly hanged onto the drawer. "Actually, she's my sister, Lilly, Mr. Vata."

           "Ah," Josef straightened in his chair and sheeplishly rubbed at his nape. "I see, I see... Well, now I know."

           "Which room?"

           "Ten. She's in 24/7 surveillance, is all I know"

           Zeffeero nodded his head as a gratitude before leaving his colleagues' office.

           As walked through the quiet hall he began to think what he should say to his sister. They don't talk much but they have been very close since, well, ever. Lilly only calls him once or twice a month, her work keeps her busy. They haven't seen each other for at least half a year despite living in the same town, during that time of them separated Lilly went though quite a number of plastic surgeries and Zeffeero is both excited and anxious to meet the new her.

           It's not that he wasn't supportive of her choice, quite the opposite, but he was always a little dry when it came to praising anyone but himself. But he always did try to sound as genuine as possible.

           He didn't expect for his world to go still. His breath, his thoughts, the air, the world... The silence was... almost loud.

           His sister dear laying in that pale room on that salient bed, IV connected to her wrist, the beeping monitor is the only 'alive' thing in the room.

           Zeffeero almost hated that he was a doctor. He knew how to help people to a certain extend, as much as he's able to, but the rest is mostly depending on the patient's body and how it would deal with the mess their fleshy cage is in.

           People sometimes forget that doctors and nurses alike are human too when they, the responsible ones, have to sometimes turn down all the emotions to be able to pull through their day at work.

           Health workers feel more hopelessness than a person feels in a day/week.

           Zeffeero, one of the best doctors of this city, felt that hopelessness. But make it five times worse.

           He felt his world crumble and his near and distant future felt fatally bleak and empty.

           A sight no one wants to see, their loved family member as a corpse that is still holding onto that speck of life within them with machines as their life support because their bodies had failed them.

           Whatever poison it is that got into Lilly had unboubtedly damaged some organs, if not irreapearably.

           A step forward.

           Is what took Zeffeero to bring himself back to reality.

           A wretched reality.

           He didn't bother with closing the door. All that mattered was that in two big, leaping steps he was by his sister's side.

           Zeffeero took her cool hand, gently as if it was porcelain, caressed it, held it to his forehead when his legs finally felt like collapsing. But Lilly was still unresponsive.

           He wanted to scream, cry, and hit things all at once. Get that sleazy fella who had comatosed his sister. But he can dream and have nightmares about it later.

           Lilly didn't wake in the next hour of his stay. Her older brother sat by her side, talked to her albeit awkwardly, petted her head, pulling long locks from her dust-speckled face.

          And Zeffeero could only hope she would wake up soon.

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[driaswrld]

hi dria!! you don't need to answer this ask, just wanted to check in and wish you luck and send you good feelings🥺 dunno if you're in school or uni or anything else but studies are hard, even more so when others are involved :(

sooo please take care and remember to breathe in and out (it probably sounds annoying when it's from someone else but it does help. mostly?). take breaks and drink water !!! (not coffee, or at least not as much. maybe green tea if you want to keep things going, apples are also good)

lemonbalm tea is good for relaxation (but it can cause sleepiness, so be mindful of that!)

give your mind and eyes a few seconds of resting (eyes are also v important if you don't want to get a headache or see blurry :( )

that's it!! i hope you have a nice rest of the weekend ♡

- 🫧

p.s: i feel like there's a bigger amount of broken english in this ask compared to the others but oh well–

oh hello my love !!

tysm u always have the best tips and the kindest words (i fear you're my lover from a past life yk me too well😭) it's like you've read my inner frustrations vv well but you're always so perceptive aren't you?

i had milk tea this morning n some amazing pastries i waited so long for while i worked on a few of my papers (ive been surviving off water since then since i haven't rlly felt hungry yet) i have takeout in the fridge rn but ive never tried lemonbalm tea (im trying to be a tea connoisseur but i haven't gotten far😭) so i'll be sure to try!!

i was actually about to take a nap but i saw your ask and remembered that a previous anon asked me to ask you if you could send the links for your poly stsg bots since they were searching n couldn't find them

(idk why my replies to ur asks are always so long pls be patient with me😭)

and please, your english is perfect as ever no worries, i hope you're having a restful weekend too (also how are your studies going? and do you have any more reading to recommend?)

I FORGOT TO SAY- i read the poems you recommended and they were so beautiful, if you want i could tell you my thoughts abt it later <33

[wheel-deal]

do you ever realize by selling yourself short. and thinking little of yourself. is actually an insult to your loved ones. I am disabled and sitting in bed. my house has covid and im sick and fatigued. i sulk all the time thinking about how im not doing anything with my life. i think i am a waste and have left no mark on the world. but it kinda just hit me that.... thats not true. sitting in my room. in quarantine, with a life of a lot of sitting in my room and isolation. its hard to see the big picture. but i have a big family. and i have a few good friends. and good deal of people i dont know well but have met. maybe even if just in passing. But i have made impacts. even if tiny to me they spread beyond me i just cant always see and so its hard to remember.  But i was a sickly child. and I know of at least 2 people who became doctors from being my friend. i donate my hair so there are a few people out there who i hope wore wigs that i contributed to that felt happier and were able to be more confident and go out into the world. Ive cosplayed while in my chair and inspired others. i do crafts, publicly, and know several people who have taken up crafts for the first time, or for the first time in a long time who were inspired by me. and some of those people made gifts for others. think of that. there are strangers in the world with handmade gifts they will treasure for a lifetime bc i inspired someone else to make something.  i may sit in my room with my crafts and disabilities and sulk. thinking i am and have done nothing. but thats not true. there are doctors with patients and cancer survivors and cosplayers and artists out there. and i played a part in their lives even if seemingly insignificant. i played a part in their lives. 

[piggybonez]

my dad called me tonight to tell me happy birthday and ive gone my whole life feeling like i don’t really have a dad bc when he wasn’t physically absent he was emotionally absent but we literally talked for an hour and a half and i didn’t feel like I had to pretend the whole time. I told him that I have autism, that I’ve been struggling in school my whole life, and he’s still proud of me even though I dropped out. It feels good to be able to have a conversation with my dad for the first time. My heart hurts for him so bad. When he was 21 his brother died at 23 from drugs and I can’t imagine dying this soon. I also can’t imagine losing one of my siblings this soon. My family has been through so much. But I know the more I heal and break generational patterns the more I can have hope for my dad. He may be an alcoholic with problems but he at least has a better grip on reality than my mom ever will and for that I’m thankful. I’m just thankful I got to talk to him tonight, im thankful we actually had a good conversation and I could enjoy his company over the phone. I’m thankful he could listen to me talk and I could also listen to him.he may not get everything i have to say and I may have to have patience when it comes to getting him to understand me but I’m going to try my best. I’m going to try to not only be patient but also to be kind. Even when I get mad or frustrated with him I can’t give up. I don’t have much for family but I do have something, and that something means something and I don’t want to just abandon it or throw it away because it’s not perfect or stable.…and maybe as time goes on we can be closer and I won’t feel like such an orphan. I love my dad. I really genuinely love my dad. He works harder than anyone else I know. He’s had a hard life. He doesn’t have anyone besides his kids. I think it will be healing for both of us to have a relationship with each other. I have to appreciate the present for what it is and try. I have to be hopeful for the future. I don’t want to waste what years I have left being angry and disconnected from someone who loves me, even if I haven’t always felt loved by him. Even if a part of me is angry and resentful for the lack of presence throughout my childhood. I was convinced that my parents knew nothing. Nothing about me, nothing about the world, nothing about themselves. But sometimes my dad does know a thing or two and sometimes he does say things to me that feel like wisdom or advice. Like learning how to let go and move on with the future. I’m hurting a lot for the life my family never got to live. I feel so much guilt for being in the place I am now and for saying the things I’ve said to my parents. I told my mom to k!ll h3rself once. And even though I do think she’d be better off that way sometimes I regret it so much. I feel guilty and bad because she’s had such a hard life and I don’t want her to do that and I do admire her for still being alive through it all but she traumatizes everyone around her so bad she’s just fucking unbearable to even speak to for more than two minutes. Anyway I needed to express that I love my dad and that I’m thankful I have at least one parent in my life that can wish me a happy birthday and remind me that I’m loved. I love you dad and I’m proud of you and I’m thankful for all the ways you’ve provided for me and worked so hard…I am thankful to be alive. I am thankful to be loved. I am thankful for my dad. I don’t want to lose him ever.

[amateurasterism]

love to win !

synopsis ; you hate him, but the feeling isn’t mutual.

pairing ; tsukishima kei + gn!reader featuring nishinoya yu

notes ; acedemic rivals to lovers is tsukki’s thing istg. fluff, crack at the end, tsukki is down bad, a bit of blood but its just his injury from the shiratorizawa match. this is lowk the most self-indulgent piece of writing ive ever made lmfaoaoo but its my first haikyuu fic so yay!! i hope the fandom isnt dead lol

word count ; 1.3k

You hate Tsukishima Kei.

You hate his slightly curly blond hair that hangs disarray over his forehead, his boxy glasses and observant hazel eyes underneath. And you especially hate his smirk after every test when he shows you his paper, the 100% loud and standing tall at the top, taunting the 98% on yours.

He snickers down at you, still irritatingly taller even when sitting down, “sucks to suck, y/n.”

“Try hard,” you reply hastily. It’s a lie. You both know it—he doesn’t even try all that much. And you hate that he doesn’t even try to score so high, he’s just naturally…perfect. 

“Heard Karasuno lost to Aoba Johsai in a match yesterday,” you taunt, grinning at him. If he won a battle in your ongoing war of test scores and class debates, at least you can rub in his loss in his sport.

“Do you even know how to play volleyball?” Tsukishima looks at you with a tired expression, although his eyes are suddenly a bit brighter, soaking in the light of your taunting grin.

“‘Do you even know how to play volleyball?’” you repeat his question in a mocking tone, rolling your eyes upwards.

“Wow. How mature.” He sends you an identical eye roll then pulls on his headphones, occupying himself with his volleyball magazine. Though you notice he doesn’t turn the pages at all. His eyes are dark and lost in thought.

What you don’t know is that those thoughts are you.

Tsukishima Kei hates you.

He hates you because he loves you. Because you’re too dumb to realize the feelings he’s too scared to act on. Even if he’s terrible with emotions, he’s known it for a while. Seeing your teasing grin when you score higher at a test is the same feeling he gets when he blocks Ushijima’s spike: the feeling of undeniable love for something—or someone. He knows he’s in too deep when he compares the small number of things he loves to you because you’re what he loves the most.

Tsukishima could feel national’s on the tips of his fingers. If he could block Ushijima’s insane spikes once or twice more, Karasuno would have the ticket in their hands.

He had never felt so confident in his life, jumping even higher with the thrill of newly realized love for volleyball, until—crack!

Shit. The smallest hint of pain show in his widened eyes. The pain in his fingers was searing, but nationals was right there. He could tough it out until the end of the set.

But turns out he couldn’t, and everyone on the team could tell. So Tsukishima now finds himself in the nurse’s office, pain momentarily forgotten as he finds you sat at the nurse’s desk.

“Why are you here?”

“Maybe because I work here,” you reply hastily. He isn’t sure if he imagines the flash of worry in your eyes as they glance over his crippled fingers. “I could ask you the same question.”

“Hurt my fingers while trying to block a spike,” the blonde says, realizing how weak it made him sound to you. He had the sudden urge to explain to you that he was better than that, it was just that he was blocking the best spiker in the prefecture.

You grin like the fact is a winning statement, “looks like the perfect Tsukki isn’t as tough as he says he is.”

“Don’t call me that.” What a lie. He loves when you call him that—it never fails to make his ears turn embarrassingly pink. “Now hurry up, I have an important game to get back to.”

Rummaging through the health supplies, you scour for some bandages and tape as Tsukishima sits on the patients bed. “Wow, Tsukishima, I’m sure the game is really important if someone like you is so determined to get back in.”

“It’s our ticket to nationals, moron. Anybody would care,” he states, trying to use faux annoyance to layer over his rapid heart as he watches you start to dab on the injured fingers.

He hopes you don’t notice his initial hesitance when you touch his skin; he dislikes physical touch. But the more you work the more he realizes he could stand it with you. If only you didn’t see him as a rival. The hesitance is soon followed by a softening in his demeanor from the feeling of your fingers so comfortably and easily touching his. Like they’re meant to be intertwined. The feeling eases him too much that he tries to look away, but can’t find himself able to when he watches your skin on his, concentrated eyes unmoving.

You reach over to the bandages and scissors, using one free hand to cut pieces of it. Wordlessly, Tsukishima grabs the scissors with his free hand and cuts the bandages for you.

He’s so quiet you can barely hear him, almost like he’s scared of his own words, “Using scissors like that is dangerous.”

“Why do you care so much?” you say teasingly, hoping it covers how obviously red you are.

“Because I just do.”

“But why?” You’re moreso asking to distract yourself from his eyes so intensely focused on you than for an answer.

“Because I fucking like you, idiot.”

Tsukishima was one of the quietest people in school, but nothing beat the dead silence that followed. All the noises in the noisy sports center transferred to his head, pounding in a chaotic tumble of thoughts that all sprialed down to “why the hell did I say that.”

He can barely string together a sentence, but he’s so scared of your response, so scared of the rejection he knew would come out of your mouth, ending all the stupid interactions and rivalry he loved between you, that he blurts out the only thing he can hope distracts you from what he said.

“I think you’re bandaging that wrong.”

“I think I’m going to smash your face in.”

“As if you could reach me.” Tsukishima smirks, thanking everything you decided to ignore what he said.

Or not.

“Try me,” you mumble, thoughts a mess as you lean higher and pull Tsukki by his jersey to meet your lips together.

Every panicked thought left both your minds, replaced by that infatuation of having someones lips on yours after wishing for it for so long. This was more than the victory of getting the higher score on a test, because for once everything between you didn’t revolve around a dumb percentage or class debate. Now, it was you, him and nothing else.

You pull away before you can get caught up in the feeling of his slightly chapped lips on yours. “Don’t you have a very important game to win?”

Hazel eyes take a moment to travel from your lips to your eyes, and in a flash he stores that lovesick expression for later. His signature smirk and newfound determination replaces it, and you can’t help but feel proud as you watch him get back on the court.

When he wins, you’re the first person his eyes lock with. You’re hidden behind the stadium doors where nobody can see so he escapes his teammate’s hugs and runs to you. He kisses you harder than he did earlier, a kiss full of real feelings and adrenaline from winning, wearing that same lovesick expression from earlier.

“This is the first win I’m proud of you for having,” you say jokingly when you pull apart.

“And there are many more to come,” he replies.

“Don’t get cocky, Tsukki. Your fingers are still crippled—” a loud voice echoes through the hallway, cutting you off.

“Tsukki, where are you? It’s time for awards—WHAT THE FUCK?”

You turn around to find Nishinoya with his jaw on the ground and eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.

“WHO? HOW—”

Tsukki cuts him off by grabbing the second-year by his shirt and going back to the courts.

“If you tell anyone about this, you’re dead Noya.”

Noya didn’t have to tell the team, because they found out on their own from Tsukki’s victorious smile—something none of them had seen before—wasn’t coming from the medals, but from you in the stands.

one reblog = one academic rival

[roll-da-credits]

oooo!!

could i request 5 with bakugo x reader? and uhh hmmm how about angst with a happy ending ?

"I'm trying so hard to be strong"

Bakugou // 700 words

LAV! Thank you for joining this event thing! ilysm! This was fun to write! I'm sorry if this wasn't what you wanted and that it took a while to do!

"Kacchan."

"Shut up damn nerd."

Bakugou scoffed, not wanting to hear anything from the green-haired boy. He didn't want to hear any pity coming from someone like him.

But as he looked around the room, seeing as how most of his classmates were looking at him, he stood up and left the room, chosing instead to go to you.

Taking a deep breath Bakugou knocked on the door, he didn't expect an answer, after all, you couldn't even if you wanted to. It was just a habit of his. When he went in the room the sounds were almost defeaning.

The slow beeping of an ECG fills his ears, softening his features ever so slightly. He knew no one could see him like this so he let his guard down.

Other than the sound of the machine though, there was nothing else. None of the useless banter or chatter that usually filled hospital rooms whenever any of the 1A students got admitted.

No.

There was none of that. Because there'd be no reason to joke around in a situation like this. Not when the person admitted to said hospital room was fighting for their life.

Bakugou sat down on one of the chairs beside the bed, his eyes never leaving your body, hooked up to a bunch of machines, a tube inserted in your throat to help you breathe.

One of his hand trembling as he took your hand, the one without the IV going through it. His brows furrowed as he remembered the events that transpired beforehand.

It was a mission gone wrong, a simple internship, at least that's what UA had told you. What they didn't account for was the villains who knew of this internship and targeted the students because of that.

You had just been in the wrong place and the wrong time. The hero you interned with in a similar spot, room just beside yours.

"Hey dumbass." Bakugou hadn't meant his voice to shake. "When are you going to wake up huh? Remember you haven't kicked my ass yet. Wasn't that the thing you promised to do?"

He wasn't expecting a response, not when you had been brought in hanging on a string. But the reality that you wouldn't be responding any time soon had crashed on him.

Seeing as how no one was around, he let himself go. It started with one tear. Then another. And another.

And eventually he started sobbing into the bed right beside your body. There was no guarantee that you'd wake up, no guarantee that the medics got there just in time. No guarantee that you'd continue living.

And that fact, broke the usually stoic man.

"You know," he bitterly chuckled, "I remember telling you to be stronger when you were crying over the damn nerd when he got hurt. Now look who's crying."

He looked up, half expecting you to somehow chuckle and poke fun at him. It's what you'd usually do.

"You'd probably tell me to be strong right now in that annoying fucking teasing tone. Well guess what idiot?" He paused, "I'm trying." His voice cracked, betraying his angry expression.

"I'm trying damn hard to be strong right now, you think it's easy?" He stood up in his burst of anger, "Easy to watch you like this?! I love you God damnit, I love you so fucking much that it's hurting me to see you like this and I hate it!!"

Bakugou stopped, realizing he shouldn't raise his voice too much. There were other patients in the hospital after all, and you'd probably hit him over the head when you wake up and get told how his yelling woke other patients.

You were always so caring about other people. So caring, so selfless. He hated it. Why hadn't you run when you realized it was a losing fight. Why had you put yourself in danger just to make sure others weren't hurt???

Why.

Then he felt it.

A soft squeeze in his hand.

Bakugou's eyes widened as he slowly looked towards you. Your eyes opened, eyebrows furrowed. Your hand squeezed his again when more tears left his eyes. You looked at him with worry etched through your features.

Even now, you were so caring. Thinking about him instead of yourself. The one literally on the hospital bed.

"I love you."

He kissed the palm of your hand before briskly wiping his tears away and calling in a nurse.

[kenj1sl0v3r]

EJ headcannons

(warning: i’ve never written on here before, so i really don’t know what the hell i’m doing, but since your reading this, it’s your problem, not mine)

(this shit is all over the place, i’m sorry-)

General-

so i hc him to be at least 6’5

when it comes to his voice, i definitely see it as low and raspy.

mans is immortal, he’s done everything at least once.

probably smoked for a couple decades, and then switched to vapes just for shits and giggles

did crack once but completely lost his mind, so he doesn’t fuck around with drugs anymore

in the beginning, he wasn’t as good with his victims as he his now

in his free time he studies medical journals and text books and that’s how he’s gotten so good over the years, and became the main doctor at the manor if y’all fw the manor! au

and the kidney thing-

ive heard lots of different fucking story’s about how it came it be, but since none of it is cannon i get to make up my own back story for him :) (bc i obviously make the rules)

am i going to tell you said backstory? absolutely not :) I’m insecure okay

anyway

pre-demon mans probably kept to himself throughout his life. always being an introvert even before the accident.

jack is a pretty patient person, stalking his victims days or weeks before he goes in for the kill. unless he hasn’t eaten in a while, then he might get a bit jittery

the only time his patients yeets itself is when he’s stressed. when the accident first happened, he didn’t understand his thirst completely, so he kind of raged out and did whatever the fuck he felt compelled to do.

through the years he’s learned to control his rage.

insecure™️

he hates his face, hates seeing the gaping holes where eyes should be.

he wears his mask around even when he’s alone, and has broken all the mirrors in his safe house (the mirrors have been broken for years, he just can’t bring himself to get new ones, or fix them 🤷‍♀️)

Romantic-

okay, being honest i don’t really see Jack as the type to go out and socialize, mingle with the singles, that type of shit.

if jack develops romantic feelings for you, it’s either because you are a fellow creep, or you are someone that he admires from his past life.

like i said, jack is one insecure demon boy. it would take years of building his trust for him to feel safe with you.

and that’s what romance is to him, or at least from what he’s known it as.

lowkey super fucking yandere

the demon part of him is just like, “protec human, luv human, no eat human”

and there’s also the part where it’s like, “my human”

so uh, good luck having other friends or hobbies besides demon boy jack if the both of you ever tie the knot <3

no but like seriously. if jack ends up showing you how comfortable he is with you, like taking his mask off around you, things like that- you are absolutely, 100% his.

after that if you feel like you don’t want to be with him anymore, maybe something happens and you no longer feel safe with him, etc. then you either are held captive or killed.

jack doesn’t want to hurt you. you’ve just seen too much <3