#h/c

[save-the-villainous-cat]

“Oh, Christ—” the hero cursed. They tried to laugh but this time, they couldn’t conjure the energy for it. Usually they laughed off most things but this was a little too serious.

“Stop moving,” the villain hissed. They pressed their palm into the hero’s side and although the hero wanted to pretend it didn’t actually hurt them, it burnt. It burnt a lot.

The hero had never experienced this kind of pain nor had they ever had the slightest idea how mortal they actually were. To be fair, they had never ripped open most of their torso either.

With the villain putting more pressure onto the wound each second, the hero could only pray that they wouldn’t pass out.

“And stop smiling, this isn’t funny,” the villain added.

“I’m nervous,” the hero explained. “And this fucking hurts.”

The villain slammed them back against the tiles when their hips moved up. It made the hero whine and beg like a dog but the villain didn’t seem to care about that. Eventually, they sat down on the hero’s hips and kept their hands on their flesh.

In other circumstances, this would’ve promised a good night. The hero was already without a shirt and the villain was, indeed, certainly attractive.

However, the hero was quite sure they had never seen this much blood in their entire life. If they had had the energy, they would have apologised for the bloody bathroom. The sink and floor especially.

“You won’t die on me. I know how to fix this.”

“Wouldn’t the bleeding stop if you pushed your fingers into the wound?” the hero asked. They felt light-headed. They had heard something like this in training. A sort of last-resort-thing.

But their thoughts already blurred together. They took in deep breaths as their body pumped blood through their torso. They were delirious, tasting blood. Oh God, the villain would kill them for ruining the bathroom.

“Do you actually want that?” the villain asked. The hero looked at the villain’s fingers move towards the cylindrical wound. Two fingers were on the raw and bleeding flesh, dipped in thick blood and nearly digging into the messy wound.

“Ah, maybe not—” It had been a screwdriver. The hero had been attacked with a screwdriver and their nemesis tried to save them from bleeding out.

It was so pathetic, so embarrassing, the hero could only laugh weakly. On their patrol the hero had been a little too confident, a little too cocky and now they turned the villain’s white bathroom into a red nightmare. This damn bathroom.

“Smart choice.” Instead of pushing their fingers into the wound, they used their palm again. Without much thought, the hero grabbed the villain’s arm but they couldn’t swallow the scream this time.

By now, tears ran down their cheeks and they could feel the wound pulsate. They wanted the villain’s soft touch and their sweet smile.

They wanted to fall asleep on their chest and forget about this stupid thing.

Longing for someone was something the hero loathed.

“Just let me die, please, this is torture.” They whimpered the last words. With one last rush of energy, they pushed themselves up to talk some sense into the villain but the villain only pushed them down again.

“I’m afraid this isn’t your decision anymore. I will save you and I’m sorry you’re hurt.” They grabbed the bottle of pure rubbing alcohol and the hero nearly managed to crawl back a little. “You need to survive.”

“Please, there is so much blood…”

“I am not going to let you die.”

“Then please be gentle.” The tears made it difficult to see them but the villain stared at them and the hero could feel something shift. Something was changing behind the villain’s eyes. They hesitated. “What?”

“Here.” The villain took their hand. “Squeeze as hard as you can when it starts to hurt.”

“You’re too kind,” the hero joked. Exhaustion took over them quickly. They were sweating. They felt disgusting. They were trembling. They waited for the alcohol to burn their skin.

“Oh, darling. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” The hero frowned but the villain slapped them immediately without an explanation. The hero was so confused, so offended that they didn’t expect the following pain of the alcohol on their raw skin.

They supposed it was better this way but they still cursed the villain with every single insult they could come up with.

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Then & Now (M, cold)

Hiii, hope you like A LOT of hurt followed by 2-3 sentences of comfort lmao. This is Greyson fic - Grey is sick on a day he and Reed are supposed to have a date, and he's sure Reed is going to be angry with him because Trauma(TM). It's told in a flashback sort of format which I really enjoyed because I love writing blurbs of colds at different times in life lol. I hope you guys like it, please let me know what ya think, good, bad, or otherwise :)

CW: Male snz, cold, pneumonia mention, coughing, contagion mention, lots and lots of whump lmao. A little over 4K words under the cut.

Then & Now

Now

“Morning, Chef.”

“Huh-! HhITSZHH-ue!”

Elijah turned towards Greyson, who was doubled over into his hoodie sleeve, and gave him a sympathetic grimace. “Cooks finally pulled you under, hmm?”

“Ugh, like way fuckin’ under,” Greyson muttered, rubbing his eye and sucking in through his nose. “I feel like ass.”

“Sorry, dude,” Elijah said, tossing his counterpart a box of tissues. “Sucks.”

Greyson caught the box and pulled out a few just in time. “HITSZHZH-uhh!” This one, he managed to catch in the handful of tissues. He wiped his nose and shrugged. “Yeah,” he said, tossing the used tissues. “Mbostly because I was supposed to have a date tonight.”

Elijah smirked at his friend, who was pushing past the GM into their shared office. The two of them sat in unison. “Do you guys still call them dates? You’ve been official for, like, six months.”

“It’s our six-month anniversary,” Greyson said, his voice flattened by congestion. “We were going to do EMP.”

“Awww, now I’m depressed,” Elijah said. “Also, why didn’t you tell me earlier you were going to Eleven Madison? I still know people there.”

“So does Reed,” Greyson said, massaging his temple. “That’s why we were goigg. Fuck, mby fuckin’ head is pounding. Do we have any -?”

Elijah placed the ibuprofen in front of the chef before he could ask, along with a bottle of cough syrup and a decongestant. “You know we have it all,” he said, pushing an old cup of water across the desk for Greyson to swallow his arsenal of pills. “And fair enough. Well that fuckin’ sucks, dude, I’m sorry. Hey, at least you can leave early, right? Matt’s closing?”

“Yeah,” Greyson said, unwrapping a cough drop and popping it in his mouth. “I’ll head out once the rush is over. I still have to text Reee – hh...hhNTSHH-ue! HGTSHH-uhh!” Greyson doubled over, sneezed into his arm, and groaned. “I’mb gonna kill the guys when they get in,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Don’t do that,” Elijah said, placing a hand on Greyson’s shoulder on his way out of the office. “Then you’ll have to stay all night.”

Greyson huffed out a laugh and pulled out his phone. He clicked on his conversation with Reed, sighing. He did not want to have this conversation.

Greyson

9:31AM

hey babe. gonna have to cancel tonight, the cooks infected me w their plague :( im rly sorry.

The chef set his phone on the desk, prepared to either be ghosted or gaslit – two of Collin’s favorite pastimes whenever Greyson had had to cancel their plans during their relationship – and was shocked when the phone buzzed with a text almost immediately. He was almost afraid to look at his boyfriend’s response.

Reed

9:32AM

Oh, baby don’t be sorry!! what time are you off? I’ll pick you up and take you home :) we can do a sick day little date night instead!

Greyson stared at the phone, stunned. He couldn’t help it; he read the message again, then out loud said, “What the fuck?”

Then – Ten Years Ago

“Chef?”

The Executive Chef looked up from his paperwork at Greyson and sighed. “What is it, Abbott?”

“I, um – hh! HTSHH-uh! HGXTSH-ue! Snf. Umb, I just wanted to see if it was okay if I… left a little early today?” Greyson asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His chef raised his eyebrows and put his clipboard down. Oh, no, Greyson thought.

“Leave...early? And leave your clean up and prep to whom, exactly? Me?” The Executive Chef huffed out a laugh. “That’s rich, Abbott. Why the fuck would you need to leave early?”

“I…” Greyson started, but his voice gave out on the single syllable. He attempted to clear his throat. “I just… I really feel like shit? I was hoping I could, like… sleep it off, I guess. I mbean, I wouldn’t want to get anyone else sigck.” Greyson felt a cough bubbling to the surface; he tried to quell it, to no avail. The younger man collapsed into a coughing fit that felt like it lasted a lifetime.

The Chef remained unmoved. “My guys,” he said, placing a hand on his chest as Greyson attempted to compose himself, “don’t get sick, Abbott. And if they do, I don’t fucking hear about it. Understand? Because I really don’t give a shit. If you’re here, you’re here. If you decide to leave early,” he shrugged, uncaring, “then you leave for good. And Abbott, if you try to get a job after walking out of my kitchen, I promise you I will make it impossible. I know you’ve only been here a couple months, but here’s what you need to learn: put your head down and do your fucking job, and you can work anywhere in the world after this. Be a whiny piece of shit who tries to walk out on his shift, and you’ll be working at McDonald’s for the rest of you life. Got it?”

Greyson, too shocked to rebut, just bobbed his head up and down.

“Let me hear you say it,” the Chef said. Greyson cleared his throat.

“Yes, Chef,” he said. The Chef nodded.

“Now get the fuck out of my office.”

Now

“Elijah. Look at this text.”

The GM looked up slowly from the iPad where he was going over reservations for the evening. “...Why?” he asked, taking the phone from Greyson’s hand.

“Just look. Tell mbe that’s ndot weird,” Greyson said, crossing his arms over his chest. Elijah looked down, confused, and read the text. He pinched his eyebrows together just a little, and read it again. “See? Isn’t that weird?”

“Greyson…” Elijah said, handing the phone back. “That’s not weird.”

“Seriously?” Greyson asked, reading the text yet again. “It’s bizarre. He’s ndot even a little mad? C’mon. That’s weird.”

“He’s being sweet,” Elijah explained, slowly, as though he were talking to a toddler. “Did you want him to be mad? Because that’s bizarre.”

“Ndo I don’t want him to be mad. I jus – HTSZHH-ue! HRRSHH!” Greyson wrenched to the side to sneeze, which sent him into a fit of hacking coughs. “I just figured he’d want to, like, yell at mbe or something. For canceling,” Greyson finished, his voice strained against another cough. Elijah didn’t respond, not at first, and instead pressed a hand onto the chef’s forehead.

“I think you’re sicker than we thought, because you’re acting fucking delusional,” he said as Greyson slapped his hand away. “Greyson, normal people don’t yell at each other for getting sick, or having to cancel a plan. That’s, like, really twisted.”

Greyson rolled his eyes. “It’s ndot twisted, Lij you fuckin’ drama queen,” he said, then held up a finger. “Onesec – hh! Hh...hnn.” Greyson sniffled, a let out a little irritated cough. “Lost it.”

“Go back to the kitchen,” Elijah said, pointing towards the swinging doors. “Sit down. Rest. Let your medicine kick in. I don’t want people seeing this -” he gestured to Greyson, as if to allude to his entire being – “when they walk past the restaurant. Alright? Text your boyfriend something nice. Not something unhinged.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Greyson muttered, turning toward the kitchen, his phone still open to the conversation with Reed. He turned towards Elijah again before pushing through the kitchen doors. “I still say that this is the unhinged thing.”

“Go to therapy, Greyson,” Elijah said, not looking up from the iPad. Greyson rolled his eyes, pushed into the kitchen, and regarded his phone once again.

Greyson

10:07AM

thanks, babe. it’s ok, I can take care of myself. it wont be a long day, ill just grab some nyquil omw home and sleep it off. ill reschedule our rezo too, don’t worry about that. im really sorry again for canceling. if I could taste the food id still go lol.

Figuring that sounded at least relatively normal, Greyson hit send. He sat down at his desk once again and placed his head in his hands. No way he’s not pissed, Greyson thought, and he really believed it. In all his years of dating, he’d never met anyone who would respond that way; they’d at least have a snippy remark about the last-minute nature of the cancellation.

Greyson’s phone pinged once again, and he couldn’t help but grab it right away to assess the damage.

Reed

10:08AM

honey, please don’t apologize, seriously. youre sick, it happens, its no biggie :) I already moved the reservation to next week but if we need to ill move it again. james at emp said to tell you feel better btw.

Greyson blinked, dumbstruck. He started typing without thinking.

Greyson

10:10AM

you REALLY arent mad? seriously?

Reed

10:10AM

im really not mad. who gets mad at someone for being sick…? is someone at work mad at you? am I supposed to be mad..? lol

Greyson

10:11AM

I mean its a last minute cancellation. id understand if u were mad.

Reed

10:11AM

welllll….im not. is that ok? haha

Reed

10:15AM

grey…? you believe me, right?

Reed

10:21AM

greyson..?

Then – Seven Years Ago

He was moving through molasses.

Greyson placed a sluggish hand to his own forehead – you can’t check yourself for a fever, dumbass – and blinked painfully. He’d made it to work, he’d made it through the day, and he’d made it back home, against all odds. Now, he was stuck on his couch, unable to even crawl to the bathroom for a thermometer.

It had all compounded on him, was his guess. The endless fourteen hour days for the better part of two years at his thankless sous chef job. The shitty Chicago-suburbs apartment with no heat, where he froze for the few hours a week he slept. The near-constant drinking. Sure, he was only twenty-five, but what was it they said about this industry? It ages you in dog years. Yeah, that was it.

“Hh-! Hh...ITSZHH-ue! HTSHHH-ue!” Greyson sneezed helplessly into the blanket he’d wrapped around himself, and groaned. This was not what he’d imagined when he moved here from Minnesota. He’d thought it would be glamorous, working as a sous chef at a high-end hotel in a big city. He thought he’d have friends, or a girlfriend, or something. Instead, he was trapped on his couch, benched by a sinus infection and seasonal depression that seemed to last the whole year round. Fuck this, Greyson thought. He couldn’t get off the couch, but he could reach his phone; Greyson pulled up Indeed and changed his search parameters.

Actively searching for work. Location: Any.

Now

“Um… Chef? What’s, uh… what’s going on?”

Greyson paused for a moment, a crate of spoiled food held on his shoulder. He turned towards Matt, keen to answer, but instead held the crate tighter and wrenched to the side. “HRTTSHH-uh!”

“Bless you,” Matt said, an automatic reaction. Greyson nodded, turned towards the dumpster, and dumped the food in before beginning the cycle anew: pick up crate. Turn to sneeze. Dump old food. Matt wasn’t sure if he should help his boss, or go inside for backup.

He chose the former, picking a crate filled to the brim with rotten tomatoes off the ground and hoisting it into the trash. “You gonna tell me what’s up?” he asked as the two of them continued gathering and tossing.

Greyson sighed, pulled a hand down his face, and shook his head. “I thingk Reed and I are over,” he said, voice soft and throaty. Matt’s eyebrows shot up.

“What? Seriously? What did you do?” Matt asked, prompting a stuffy laugh from his boss.

“I just don’t thingk it’s going to work,” Greyson said, shrugging. “I… I don’t want to, like, play gambes. I can’t do that again, ndot after Collin.”

“Chef,” Matt said as he gathered and tossed the last milk crate, “what are you talking about? Reed is, like, the most straight-shooting guy I’ve ever met. How is he playing games?”

Greyson, left without anything to occupy his hands, just shrugged and pulled out his phone. He handed it to Matt without explanation, and the sous quickly read through the text conversation Greyson and Reed had going. Matt furrowed his brow.

“I don’t get it,” he said, handing the phone back. “He wants to take care of you, what’s the problem with that?”

“He doesn’t want to take care of me, he wants to have the upper hand,” Greyson explained, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and sitting on the step just outside the back door. “Want one?”

“Sure,” Matt said, sitting beside his boss. “I mean, you shouldn’t be smoking if you’re -”

“HTSHH! Hh-! ITZSHH-ue!” Greyson turned into his elbow, taking a long moment to gather himself before handing Matt his cigarette.

“-sick,” Matt finished. The older man shrugged, and Matt plucked the lighter out of Greyson’s hand to light both of them up, not daring to push his boss any closer to the edge. For a moment, they smoked in silence, only Greyson’s sniffles and coughs interrupting the quiet.

“Boss,” Matt said, finally, “I think you need to talk to Reed.”

“I did,” Greyson said, stubbing out his cigarette. “You saw.”

“No, I mean actually talk to him,” Matt said. The two of them stood, looking at each other – a face-off without the malice. Matt continued. “Not ignore his texts and clean out the walk-in.”

Greyson scoffed. “Matt, just because you have sombe fairy-tale love story doesn’t mbean everyone else does, too. Okay? If it’s over between me and Reed, it’s fine. I’mb better off alone, anywaa – hh! Hh… Hhhii-!” Greyson stood with his elbow poised at his face, stuck in pre-sneeze agony for what seemed like an eternity. While he was incapacitated, Matt took his phone and typed out a message that his boss couldn’t see. Finally, Greyson lowered his arm and sucked in, fruitlessly, through his nose. “The fugck are you doigg?” he asked, snatching his phone back from his sous.

“If you’re not going to talk to Reed,” Matt shrugged, unapologetic, “I will.”

Greyson looked down at his phone, which buzzed twice in his hand. Reed’s face popped up on the screen. Call from: reed <3

Then – Three Years Ago

“HTSHH! Huh! ETZSHH-ue! HRTTSHH-ue!”

“Bless, bless, bless you. Allergies?” Collin asked, not looking up from his phone. Greyson sniffled in vain, and coughed painfully.

“Ndot exactly,” he croaked from the doorway to Collin’s living room. “Baby, do you thingk you could drive mbe to urdent care, actually?”

Collin looked up and slowly raised an eyebrow. “For what?” he asked, obviously annoyed. Greyson swallowed as best he could and placed a hand on his throat.

“I thingk… I mbight have strep. Or bronchitis, or sombething. I, uh… I’ve had a fever for like. A week.” Greyson had to stop to close his eyes and grab onto the door frame, a sordid attempt to keep from hitting the floor like a rotten sack of potatoes. Collin rolled his eyes.

“You’re such a drama queen. You seemed fine when you came over last night.”

“You were asleep whend I came over,” Greyson said, his eyes still closed. “Did you ndot notice that I haven’t been over in like five days?”

Collin shrugged. “I mean, yeah, but I figured you were busy with work. You’re always busy with work,” he said, the venom in his voice making clear that he wanted to fight.

Greyson, physically incapable of fighting at that moment, just slid slowly to the ground and nodded. “Yeah. You’re right,” he said. “Ndow I’m paying the price. Please, baby. Can you please just take me? I… I really don’t feel well.”

It was pathetic. He knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself; he was fairly sure he was moments from passing out. Collin turned and made himself comfier on the couch.

“I’ll call you an uber,” he said, pressing some buttons on his phone. “You barely make time for me, and now you’re asking me to be your chauffeur? Please, Greyson.” He showed his ailing boyfriend the phone. “He’ll be out front in five minutes. Better make your way down.”

“Okay,” Greyson said, pulling himself slowly to his feet. “Thangk you.”

Collin didn’t say a word as Greyson let himself out of the apartment. He made it downstairs, and into the uber, and into the waiting room at urgent care. He made it out by himself, too, with a laundry list of prognoses – strep, sinus infection, walking pneumonia – and a handful of prescriptions. When he texted Collin later to fill him in, his boyfriend didn’t text back.

Greyson fell asleep on his shower floor and awoke to freezing water pounding on him, and a courier pounding on his door. When he toweled off and answered it, chicken soup from the local bodega and a note that read feel better -c sat at his feet. Greyson breathed a sigh of relief; at least he had been forgiven.

Now

Reed had dated plenty of men is his thirty-five years of life, and had found that there were two general categories when it came to sick men: there was the Baby, and there was the Don’t Look at Me.

Greyson though, an enigma since the moment they met, seemed to fall into a third category, a category that was, to Reed, yet undiscovered: the You Hate Me.

Reed was good with the first two categories; the Don’t Look at Me, you left medicine outside their room and texted them funny memes. The Baby, you laid in bed with them and spoon-fed them soup. Easy. Understandable. Truthfully, this was one of his favorite things about men: they were easy to crack. He figured Greyson would likely fall into the Baby category, which was fine by him – there was nothing he’d like more than to look after an ailing Greyson, to be honest. This third category he seemed to embody, though, was not something Reed knew what to do with.

“He didn’t answer when I called him,” Reed said into the phone receiver. “I just want to know what’s going on, I mean, did I say something wrong?”

On the other end of the line, Elijah sighed. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. This is just… it’s just Greyson being Greyson.”

Reed wasn’t about to take this lying down. “Hey, are you guys super busy tonight? I mean, I don’t want to be that boyfriend, but, like, can I come get him? We really need to talk, and if what Matt said is true he probably shouldn’t be, like, working anyway, right?”

While Elijah paused, Reed pulled the phone away from his ear and once again re-read the text Matt had sent from Greyson’s phone: hey reed, it’s matt. grey is sick as hell, so DO NOT take any of the crazy weird shit he says seriously, k? his temperature needs to lower by like 5 degrees before you do this, but u guys need to actually talk. he’s being stupid.

“Please,” Reed heard Elijah’s tinny voice on the other end and put the phone back to his ear. “Please, come and collect him. I’m begging.”

Reed stood from the couch and grabbed his keys. “Give me twenty minutes. I’m on my way.”

Then – Two Years Ago

“Heyyy, baby, cand I buy you a dringk?”

The girl leaned back, her face marked by disgust. “No, thanks. Save your money and get yourself some NyQuil,” she said, disappearing into the crowd. Greyson huffed out a sigh and coughed into his hand – a long, crackling sound that made the other bar patrons inch their chairs away.

“She’s right, you know,” the bartender – Skip, Greyson had learned his name was a few weeks back when he had started coming in every night – said, filling Greyson’s shot glass yet again. “You need to go home.”

“And yet you pour mbe another drink,” Greyson said, knocking back the shot. “The duality of mban. NGTXSH! HTSHH! Huh-! HRRSHH-ue!” Greyson covered his mouth lazily with one hand, wiped it on his pants, hand held the glass up to indicate ‘another’.

“Bless you,” Skip said, not pouring the shot. “Greyson, seriously: go home. You sound fucking awful.”

“Are you cutting mbe off?” Greyson asked, his rheumy eyes meeting Skip’s over the bartop. “Because unless you are, I’mb staying.” He coughed again, into his elbow; the cough was quickly becoming a problem. He’d had a cold two weeks ago; the symptoms had been mild, but the cough had hung around. When he caught whatever-the-fuck this was two days ago, the cough had turned from an annoyance to a pressing issue; he should go home. He should go to the doctor, he should take a day off, he should, he should, he should.

But he wouldn’t. He would stay, and he would drink until he was kicked out, then he’d pass out on the train and not make it home to sleep. He’d go to work at seven AM and stay until midnight and do it all again.

“I’m not kicking you out,” Skip sighed. “I’m just saying… you should take care of yourself.”

Greyson blinked slowly. He could feel his lungs, heavy with fluid, gearing up to cough again; his head, pounding in spite or because of the alcohol; his heart crushed into a million, Collin-sized pieces. Take care of yourself. It felt impossible, when you’d never been shown how.

“This is mbe taking care of myself,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll have another.”

Now

Greyson rested his head on a case of lettuce in the corner of the walk-in. He knew he should be continuing his madness of cleaning, but he’d accidentally sat down on his fifth trip into the refrigerator, and now he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get up again.

Fucking Reed, Greyson thought as he allowed the cold salad box to sate the fever he had burning in his brain. Why can’t he just be up front with me? If you’re mad just say it, don’t fucking torture me.

Perhaps deep down, he knew he was being ridiculous; Matt and Elijah were most likely correct. The simplest answer – that Reed truly was just a good guy – was probably the right one. But he just couldn’t get out of his mind all the times he’d reached out, needed help and asked for it, and been shot down. He certainly couldn’t allow himself to believe that the person he was dating was truly good; he knew he’d never deserve that.

“Greyson?”

Speaking of Reed, that sounded a lot like him – was Greyson hearing things? Had he, in his fever-addled state, conjured a hallucination of his boyfriend to have a fight with? Bizarre, Grey, he thought to himself. That’s really fucking bizarre.

“Grey? Elijah said you were in here but I don’t – oh!”

Either this was a really crazy hallucination, or that really was Reed standing over him, in the walk-in. Greyson blinked hard, then blinked again, and suddenly Reed was on the ground next to him.

“Babe...it’s really cold in here. Do you think we can, um, leave?”

Greyson furrowed his eyebrows together. “Leave… and go where?” he asked, his voice cracking. “I have to… work. What are you doigg heeee...HRTSHH-ue! Huh -! HTSHH! NTSHH! IGXTSH!” Greyson attempted to stifle over and over, until Reed gently took his hand and pulled it away from his face.

“That has to hurt,” Reed said, his voice quiet and calm. “You can just… sneeze, you know. Like, regular.”

“Tryigg ndot to get you,” Greyson croaked, his eyes glazing over once again. “Youbettermov – HRRETSZCHH-ue! ITSZZHH-ue! Fuck – NGTSHHZ-ue!” Greyson sneezed into his lap, then coughed until his lungs felt sore. Reed didn’t move; he came closer and rubbed Greyson’s back.

“Bless you, baby,” Reed said, eventually.

“Thangks. Sorry,” Greyson murmured, pushing his hair out of his face and turning to look at Reed. “Why are you here?” he asked, levity out the window.

Reed let out a little laugh. “Umm, why do you think?” he asked. “You’ve been ignoring me since this morning. I got worried, since Matt said you were super sick – no lie detected, by the way, you sound truly awful –”

“Sorry,” Greyson said again, wiping under his nose. “I kndow, it’s gross.”

“Please, Grey,” Reed said, taking both sides of his boyfriend’s face in his hands and looking him in the eye. “Please. Stop apologizing. It’s okay to be sick. I don’t understand why you think I’m angry at you. I’m not.”

Greyson swallowed, painfully, and gave a little nod. “Okay,” he said, finally.

“Okay,” Reed repeated. “Anyway. I called Elijah. He said to come and collect you.”

At this, Greyson couldn’t help but cough out a laugh. “Collect mbe?” he asked. Reed smiled a little.

“Yeah,” he said. “His words, not mine.”

They both laughed, softly at first, then ramping up to near-hysteria. They only stopped when Greyson started coughing again and couldn’t seem to stop.

“Let’s go get you some water,” Reed said, helping his boyfriend to his shaky feet. Greyson allowed himself to be pulled out of the walk-in, and given a bottle of water that was sitting on his prep station. Greyson drank until the fit subsided, then regarded Reed once again.

“So… you really aren’t mbad?” he asked, rubbing his goosebumped arms up and down. Reed shook his head and shrugged off his windbreaker. He draped it over Greyson’s shoulders.

“I’m really not mad,” he insisted. Greyson nodded, seemingly satiated. Reed sighed through his nose and slipped his arms around the chef.

“Life’s done a number on you, huh?” he asked, quietly enough that it could’ve just been to himself. Greyson huffed out a sad little laugh.

“Like you wouldn’t believe, baby,” he murmured, pressing his hot head into Reed’s hair. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

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[helenedraws]

see? they're alright and together always

[thinkingofausername]

can yall imagine the giddiness you'd be feeling if you were with astarion? cause like... i'd never digest it, i just couldn't settle down.

imagine having that gorgeous gorgeous man, so very charming and special and attentive and fun and sweet as your partner. sometimes he seems unreal, an eternal and divine being with starlight in his hair and passion in his eyes. underneath the snarky, flirty, uncaring performance is a person so unique, so enduring, so unfalteringly strong in his persistence. amidst the horror and abuse he didn't go crazy, didn't lose that innocent and yearning spark. you'd look at those vivid and expressive eyes, hear that wavering and genuine voice, feel those tentative and soft hands and you'd be undoubtedly sure of the goodness in him; the goodness within his capability.

imagine looking at a person so deeply precious and knowing he's been hurt and used so much. imagine feeling nauseous at the thought. imagine knowing that despite that he's still brave enough to seek and receive affection and companionship - the things he's never known and yet he has enough courage to trust you to show it to him. you're his first and only experience with softness and boundaries and a person who has never had control of himself has given himself to you - given you the chance to teach him.

you get to look at that inhumanely beautiful person, so very clever and appreciative, and you know that he chose you. he holds you so tightly because you're the first thing he's had. you're the refuge, the kind word and hand he never thought he'd have. sometimes you look at him and get struck with the potential and power in him, and not the materialistic, ugly power. the power that lies within a person who has emerged from agony and given the world a chance to treat him differently instead of giving up entirely.

he's all that and despite his bravado, you know he doesn't see it. you know he feels a phantom rot within himself. you know that he could be the most beautiful person in the world, and he will - with time and love and healing. and you get to watch it happen. and he cherishes every second you spend by his side.

[whumblr]

Sleepy

“Welcome back.”

Whumpee blinked a couple times and stared into the amused eyes of Caretaker, who was smiling at him from behind his desk.

“I didn’t go anywhere?” he muttered. Whoa, his voice was all gravelly. Weird. He shifted on the sofa where he’d been splayed out for the afternoon, helping Caretaker finish some work. His body felt all heavy, his movements sluggish… actually, everything from his thoughts to his limbs all went on a slower pace.

And when he couldn’t stifle a yawn, the gears clanked into place.

“Wait, I fell asleep?!” he bumbled, mouth still mid-yawn.

“You were even snoring.”

He gaped at Caretaker, pushing himself up to a slightly more dignified reclining position. The silence between them broke by the slither of paper slowly sliding from his stomach and scattering over the floor.

“Oh shit.” He startled up, hand reaching out in a half-hearted attempt to catch the files.

“Given the content of what you’re reading… not very surprising," Caretaker said, no scorn of judgment in his voice whatsoever.

If those legal documents were indeed the cause of him nodding off, Whumpee swore he’d find a way to smuggle all the confidential files out of the building and use them that very night. But somehow he doubted the dry sentences were the reason.

“How long did I sleep?”

A quick glance at the clock. “Over an hour now.”

“Why didn’t you wake me? I promised I’d look this over for you.” He waved with the papers he now tried to put back in order.

Caretaker shrugged. “You looked like you needed it.”

Whumpee wiped a hand over his face and sighed into his palm. “God, I do. I did. I haven’t slept like this in…” Months? Not since— He shook his head. And to feel groggy, like this? Usually when he woke up, he could feel he wasn’t rested but his body and mind shot to alert as soon as he would open his eyes and wouldn’t go back to sleep again.

To actually feel his body begging him for more sleep now, just to turn over and close his eyes again for a minute. Gods, it felt like heaven.

He gave in and closed his eyes again. Everything turned heavy, but not in a bad way. It was comforting. “Of all places to finally get some sleep,” he mumbled, “it’s in your bloody office.”

“Maybe you feel safe here.”

Whumpee smiled, eyes still closed. Yes, safe. With you.

-

General whump tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan

[licorice-tea]

You’re An Angel When You Sleep

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: angst, drowning, a little “off-screen” violence, hurt/comfort, near death experience

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: literally wrote this in between classes so hopefully it doesn’t feel too rushed! not edited super closely yet, the grammar might be a little off. inspired by the song “Around The Bend” by Pearl Jam, specifically the last verse <3

Edited 2/28/24

Law is sinking, and there’s nothing he can do.

People call it “The Curse of The Sea.” They say that “she” turns her back on you when you eat a devil fruit. It’s simply the price to pay for such immense power.

And he has never had to worry about it before. His devil fruit ability affords him the security of being to prevent trips into the ocean. Not that he ever would fall- Law is far too careful a man- but he has plenty of crewmates and friends/allies that could somehow knock him overboard.

How sickening, that the first time it actually happened was at the hands of an enemy. And how disappointing, that it had only happened because of his own pride. A foolish disregard of taking caution while standing close to the railing on the enemy ship, when one of his opponent’s underlings threw something that didn’t even really hurt, but sent him overboard. In the midst of a battle where everyone was expected to hold their own- Law could expect no help as he plunged into icy waters.

It’s cold enough as it is, and his curse does nothing to help. He tries his hardest to stay conscious- perhaps he can still use his power if he thinks hard enough. People awaken their devil fruits all the time, so there’s no reason why he can’t do it now. But, no matter how badly he wants to simply teleport back to the deck of the ship, he can’t. The feeling of impending doom only serves to weaken his resolve, and soon enough Law is unwillingly giving up and giving in to the sea.

He’s about 10-12 meters down now. The weight of the water makes it feel nearly impossible to hold his breath for longer, so he lets out an exhale ever so slowly.

But no one is coming, and it’s time to accept his fate. “This is it,” he thinks, “just another pirate lost to the sea. That’s how it ends for me.”

He takes a moment to reflect on life up until now. So much pain and suffering, but in the end he just can’t stop remembering what little good there has been. His crew, who, no matter how much they bothered him, were his family. His blood family and Corazon, who he hopes to see again soon if there is any sort of afterlife. Then there’s you- with your uncanny ability to make him smile and laugh, your clever personality and friendly nature, all your strength and intelligence, and seemingly unwavering good morals. Law feels he barely deserves to have known you in this life, let alone fall in love with you as he has. Which is why he never shared his feelings with you or anyone, in all the time you’d been on his crew. Before this moment, he’d at least had the comfort of knowing there would always be the future, and therefore more time to open up to you figure out his feelings.

“How foolish.”

Law is just about to close his eyes- at least then it might be a more peaceful demise- when there’s a splash that breaks the surface of the waves. His eyes shoot wide open as he tries to figure out what it is, as it’s rather difficult to see clearly with his vision blurring and on the verge of losing consciousness.

All he can be sure of is that it’s a person. The light from above the waves surrounds their silhouette giving them an angelic halo, but simultaneously blocking out all their features from his view.

Law wonders, “Are you here to seal my fate? To ensure I don’t find some way out of this?” If he could, he’d ask that they do it quickly. Still, that painfully hopeful little part of his mind can’t help but come out in what are more than likely his last moments alive. “Or, are you here to save me? Are you gonna give me a second third chance at this? I don’t deserve it, but I will accept it. I’ll use it to do more; work harder, fulfill every goal. Confess to y/n.”

And that hopeful streak seems to take over his body as he uses his last iota of strength to reach upwards. Law’s angel continues swimming downward, but he can’t hold his breath long enough to see them reaching out to him, too.

His last thought is of you. He swears he can see your face on this mystery person as they get closer; your pretty eyes and lips, your hair swirling around your form underwater. Could it actually be… No, he doubts you’d even seen him falling overboard. But maybe he’s already dead, and you really are an angel. Law doesn’t get the chance to fully consider either reality though, as he finally blacks out.

-

“Gimme gimme gimme… a man after midnight…”

This is how Law taught you to do CPR on someone whose heart had stopped. Years ago, when you were struggling with keeping count of 100-120 beats per minute, he told you to “think of a song with the same count.” Most everyone’s go-to CPR song is “Stayin’ Alive.” But, you prefer the classic ABBA song. You pause every 30 compressions to administer 2 breaths, and as you remove your lips from his, a thought crosses your mind. “He looks so peaceful like this.” And even while unconscious, he’s handsome… angelic, even. Nevertheless, you’d much rather have an alive and annoyed looking Law than a dead and calm one.

“Is there a soul out there… Someone to hear my-”

Law coughs suddenly, and shoots up into a sitting position, gasping for breath.

“Law!” You throw your arms around his neck, nearly knocking the man back over.

And though he’s still catching his breath and coming to his senses, he lets you, and puts an arm around your back. “Y/n,” another cough, “what happened?”

You release him (much to his disappointment) and explain how the fight had ended soon after the crew lost sight of him; their captain. And, while the others quickly overtook the enemies, you dove overboard where you’d last seen him. It was pure luck, though guided by your intuition, that you found Law beneath the surface.

“Then I swam over here-“

“Which is where?”

You nod in the direction behind him. “Just around the bend from the harbor. The Polar Tang and the enemy’s ship can be seen from there, so I thought it’d be best to hide while you…”

“While I was dying.”

“Don’t say it like that,” you scold him with a frown, “you’re alive.”

“But I could have died.” Law says with very little pride. He sounds a little out of it, which makes sense considering the circumstances. “I could have died, and you saved me.”

“Well, any one of us would’ve, Captain-“

“Thank you, y/n.”

You shake your head bashfully. “It was no problem, really.” That’s a lie, and you both know it. The water in this part of the ocean is freezing, but through some incredible resolve that you hadn’t been aware of before, you pushed through it. For him. “So… We should get back to the fight, yeah?”

You move to stand up from your place on your knees, but Law stops you. With his hand on your shoulder, he pulls you back down to his side. “You said the fight is over?”

“Mhm.”

“Then let’s just… stay here, for a moment.”

He leans toward you hesitantly, though you’re not sure if it’s because he feels weak or he just wants you to hold him again. Either way, you wrap your arms around him and rest your chin on his shoulder. You hold onto each other with gentle force, and you feel him exhale deeply.

“I need to tell you something.” Law mutters.

You pull back enough to see his face. “Right now? Can’t it wait, Law-“

“I can’t want any longer.” And he really can’t. He’d tell you about how he had mistaken you for a living, breathing angel another time. For now, he just needs to fulfill his promise to said angel (to you?), and confess his love for you.

“Ok… What is it?”

Law is very straightforward as he says it. “I’m in love with you.” And he makes it impossibly hard to return to the battle when he asks that you never leave him in this life, like so many others have. Which you promise not to, of course, though it’s not exactly your decision. You tell him that you love him too, and in turn demand that he doesn’t die on you, either. Law nods against you.

The two of you stay there a while longer, in each other’s arms around the bend.

[againsttheskull]

feel like robot whumpers are very underutilized !

+ constant pressure of surveillance. whumpees are not only constantly monitored, but robot whumper has unique insight into their micro expressions, heartrate, nervous tics, and so on

+ whumpees seen as just a statistic, a part of a checklist. sadism has nothing to do with it. it’s all routine.

+ no opportunity for bargaining or begging. robot whumper has as little control over their own actions as the whumpee

+ makes for a really good reluctant whumper. they physically cannot disobey their programming. they’d have to follow through, even if it means hurting someone they care about

+ android whumpers, being made of metal, tend to hit very hard. they often injure more than they intended to, more than they know.

+ additionally, little if any touch sensitivity. can’t tell when they are grabbing or choking too hard.

[elvenfforestydd]

Whumpee to Caretaker: "“Lie to me. Make it believable.”

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Selfless hero gets kidnapped and tortured, and the first thought that comes to their mind is “is this punishment for all the things I’ve done..?” even though the worst thing they’ve ever done was something along the lines of beating up a villain for slaughtering dozens of civilians

Then enter their villain love interest who rescues them and showers them with comfort and warmth and hero doesn’t know what to do or how to react since they’ve always been the one to care for others, not being the one being CARED OF by others 💔 (also bc it’s supposed to be their nemesis, so they’re like “why tf are they saving me rn”)

You reap what you sow.

The hero stared at their broken fingers through their blurred vision. Their hands were shaking. Their throat hurt. The rain was cold and uncomfortable as it seeped through their torn clothes.

For the first time, they felt like a child again, getting bullied and beaten up at school. All of it had been so quick. They'd been kidnapped and tortured. They'd been thrown into an alley. But despite the broken bones and the open wounds, the fear was worse. They had slipped back into that terrified kid who couldn't even raise their hand in school.

They knew they deserved it. They deserved all of this. Violence only answered violence and they had beaten up enough people to be a criminal themselves.

When they saw the headlights, the hero closed their eyes laboriously. Would running over by a car be a painless way to die? They could tell bleeding out wasn't their biggest problem. It was the cold.

The driver's door opened and at first, the hero couldn't even tell that it was the villain who was approaching them.

"Shit..." the villain cursed. They didn't look amused.

Although the hero couldn't believe the villain was here to save them, they prayed in secret that it was true.

When the villain was close enough, they kneeled next to them.

"What happened?" Their eyes had dark circles under them and as the rain soaked through the villain's perfect hair, the hero understood that they truly weren't here to kill them.

The villain's hand found the hero's forearm.

"Talk to me, what happened?"

"I don't know, I really don't-" Suddenly, the hero's throat closed and the tears followed promptly. Their nose was running and anew, they were teleported back in time. So many times, they had blamed themselves for the abuse, they had protected their abusers and now, they could feel themselves do the same thing all over again. "I messed up."

"You went missing for two days," the villain said.

"What!? No, that can't be true. I was gone for a few hours, I swear." The hero felt more pain crawl up their throat. How on earth were they going to explain that to their boss? "Shit, what am I doing?! I have to go home."

They tried to pull themselves up and stand but their ankles had been smashed with a pipe. That they could remember. Embarrassingly, the hero struggled and almost fell to the ground again.

"Alright," the villain said calmly and before the hero could say anything, they picked them up as if the hero didn't weigh anything at all. "That's enough."

At first, the hero wanted to protest. But they didn't have the energy to fight nor did they think it would get them anywhere. The villain was warm and gentle, their hands were soft and their voice was calm. The hero knew this was dangerous. They were walking into a trap, into a comfortable and safe trap.

The villain was probably waiting for the right moment to end them.

However, when the villain put them on the backseat, they weren't sure what to expect. Although it was a big car, it was surely not designed to fit two people on top of each other in the back.

"What are you doing?" the hero asked. They were getting tired. "Why are you helping me?"

"Remember that time you pulled me out of the river?"

"Oh."

"Yeah," the villain said. They took off their coat and put the coat on the hero, attempting to cover them. "Now, let's start over. What happened?"

"I told you, I messed up..."

"I don't believe that. Please, in your own time." They held onto the driver's seat and reached for all the buttons in the front. Suddenly, the car got warmer and the hero grabbed the villain's hand. Their broken fingers didn't want to cooperate but at this point, the hero cared little for the pain. The villain turned again and all of their attention seemed to be on the hero.

"I got kidnapped and then tortured; I thought I was going to die there. I was so scared. I froze and I didn't put up a fight. I couldn't..."

"Okay," the villain said. Their eyes didn't leave the hero's face and the hero almost thought they had said something wrong. "Easy..."

The villain gently rubbed the hero's thigh.

"You're safe now, okay?"

The hero nodded.

"It was bound to happen. You reap what you sow. I am not a good person and I was selfish, I-"

"No," the villain said. "Don't do this to yourself. You didn't do anything wrong."

The hero could feel the tears again. God, they were such a mess today. They couldn't hold back anymore.

"Please," the hero whispered. "What are you doing to me?"

"I'm bringing you home," the villain said. The hero's hand was still around theirs.

"No, what are you doing to me? What are you doing to my brain? Why are you so nice? Why do you care?" At this point, they were exhausted. Exhausted from crying, exhausted from the pain. The hero craved a long hot bath but the villain so close to them came pretty close to that.

"Someone has to, don't you think?" Something in their expression told the hero this wasn't the whole truth. "We have to go now, okay? You seriously need some medical attention."

Their gaze lingered on the hero for a little bit longer before they got into the driver's seat.

[spicycinnabun]

@galladrabbles for cuddles

“Could you watch where you’re sticking those bony fuckin’ elbows?”

“If you’d quit squirming,” Ian muttered. He frowned when he realized how shallowly Mickey was breathing, his forehead sweaty. “We’ll be over the border soon, Mick.”

“Yeah, not fucking soon enough.”

The car hit a pothole, and they groaned. Then, on a sharp turn, Mickey rolled. Ian caught him before he banged his head, locking his arms around him securely. “I got you.”

It said something about Mickey’s state of mind that he didn’t immediately accuse Ian of cuddling him. Instead, he let out a shaky breath and slowly relaxed.

[nakurumok]

Hurt and comfort

[whumblr]

Whump prompt #64

"That's my mark on them," Whumper purred as Caretaker stared at the scar on Whumpee's shoulder. "They're mine. And you're not taking them anywhere."

"Oh yeah?" Caretaker snapped back. Blazing eyes found Whumpee's, who looked away in shame. But Caretaker wouldn't have it. He grabbed their face, both hands, looked them deep in the eyes.

And he kissed them full on the mouth.

Whumpee sputtered, utterly confused, embarrassed even, a hand shakily reaching up to touch over their lips as Caretaker pulled away. They stumbled lightly, but an arm snagged around theirs and pulled them against Caretaker.

"That's my mark on them," Caretaker snarled. "I can easily plant one right over yours. And they're coming home. With me!"

[whump-captain]

oh sweet i have polls

[againsttheskull]

following up on the previous post about non-captivity whump, i wanted to list some of the other ideas i had about it

+ someone in the tags suggested it as a form of paying off a debt. i think understanding each’s motivation for the arrangement is pretty important. whumpee owes some debt to whumper? whumper has blackmail over them? whumpee has other goals that only whumper can achieve and this is the price that comes with it?

+ alternatively, does whumpee have some past trauma that draws them to continue on with this? were they previously in full captivity with whumper or with someone else and falling back into old patterns? will the current situation escalate into full captivity? the possibility definitely keeps whumpee up at night

+ long distance whump! of course they have each other’s numbers saved. whumper is capable of giving orders to whumpee from however far away and trusts that whumpee will fulfill them (because if not, they know they’ll be punished for it when they do see whumper face to face)

+ how much do whumpee’s friends and teammates know about their friend’s situation? do they accept it as a given that whumpee will suddenly disappear for days at a time and know better than to question it? Does whumpee get resentful that none of their friends even notice the bruises? Or is whumpee glad to keep it a secret?

+ whumpee has trouble codeswitching around people. their friends think its strange how whumpee will sometimes become overly polite and deferential to them, then switch back to their normal self like nothing happened. 

+ or worse, when whumpee accidentally gets too casual while in close proximity to whumper, then has to frantically overcorrect themselves.

+ casual interactions with whumper. do they keep the act up in public or does whumper also like to keep a low profile? 

+ when/if whumpees friends do catch on, how do they begin to separate them? do they confront whumper about it in person? how do they get the truth out of whumpee, who is already so used to hiding this part of them?