#antiseptic and skin care cream

[smalls-words]

Assessment

Summary: Natasha is assessed by her favourite doctor. Multiple times, unfortunately.

Pairing: Natasha x Fem!Doctor!Reader

Warnings: Blood, glass, Hulk. Nothing else, really.

A/N: This is my attempt at writing after spending countless hours with AI Natasha and avoiding my inbox :') for the fear of not answering everyone. Also, I'm dead tired so i'll come back and edit this in the morning/a later point in time. Maybe.

*gif not mine*

Amidst all the chaos of the Helicarrier being downed internally by an angered Hulk and a world-thirsty god with daddy issues, you were tidying up your medical room before you heard a knock on the door. 

“Assess her.” Fury asked as he closed the door behind Natasha. You were about to stand up before you noticed her body language - she was holding her arms together, her head slightly bowed down, and she shook ever so slightly. 

“Natasha…” You gently cooed, trying to get her attention.

She looked up at you jerkingly and you raised your hands, showing her that you meant her no harm. “It’s okay, angel. You’re with me, nobody else. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Natasha’s mind was soothed by the soft name you held for her, even when she had never thought it would be associated with her. She calmed down slightly at your soft tone, taking deep breaths before realising you had come close enough to put your hands on top of hers.

“Can I assess you?” You murmured, wanting to make sure she was alright.

“I have to get to Clint. I need to check if the mind control stopped properly.” She murmured back, trying to excuse herself but you grabbed her hand gently before she could shut the door behind her.

“Nat… Stay.” You whispered and smiled ever so softly, the gentleness in your eyes astounding to Natasha. Why would someone ever look at her with so much care and respect?

She sighed, letting the door close as she came to sit on the bed that you then stood by. “Fine. Assess me please, Y/N.” 

You nodded softly and prepared some gloves onto your hands after rolling up your sleeves. “Okay, Nat - where is it sore?”

Natasha didn’t want to answer that question. She hated being looked after, hated the attention, but at the same time, craved it like an alcoholic for the daily afternoon glass of wine. When your glove-covered hands came into her view, her eyes previously staring at the floor, she sighed again.

“Hulk backhanded me into a wall.” She muttered. “And I think I have some glass in my suit.” 

Your brows furrowed twice at her words, nodding gently. “Okay. Do you feel comfortable enough removing your suit top for me?”

Her head jolted up and you closed your eyes, stepping back. “I’m not here to hurt you, Natasha. I know your mind is fading between present and past, but I’m here. I’m here and I’m not leaving.” 

She took a few deep breaths and nodded, slowly unzipping the front of her suit before she unpeeled it from her body, including her arms. And in the softest voice ever, she murmured. “Okay, I’m ready.” 

When you opened your eyes, you were unsurprised by the sight of bruises on her right side and some glass just below the neckline of her suit - another reason you were thankful for the skin-tight suit. 

“What do you want me to treat first?” You asked. “Neck or bruises?”

“Neck, please.” She replied.

You grabbed a sterile set of tweezers and a bowl whilst setting up some sterilising alcohols for the wounds after. You carefully set about removing the eight pieces of glass, one even measuring almost a centimetre and she audibly winced for that one. 

“Done.” You whispered, putting down the shards of glass whilst grabbing your sterilising alcohol and applicators.

She winced at the stinging of the alcohol in her wounds, small droplets moving down her chest before you would wipe them up above her cleavage. Finally, you placed little dots of antiseptic cream and band-aids, smiling at your handiwork when you were done. 

“There we go. All better.” You chuckled quietly to yourself as you packed everything up. 

“We’re done?” Natasha asked.

“Yes, we are done… Agent Romanoff.” You sighed, turning around to find her gone. 

----

Later in the day, you found yourself packing up your workstation to head home on the last Quinjet to the Triskelion, until you heard another knock at the door.

“Fury, I told you, I’m not going to do that Coulson-” You cut yourself off at the state at which Natasha appeared in front of you.

Dust covered her body in different layers, blood dripping from her mouth and her head. Her body said exhausted in the loudest scream you had heard, as did her mind and soul, but she didn’t let it show. 

“Y/N… hey.” She winked.

“Natasha.” You stated, folding your arms whilst raising an eyebrow. “You are a reckless little redhead.” 

She chuckled sheepishly. “What can I say? It’s the agent in me.”

You sighed, looking at the time before slumping your bag down onto the floor. “Guess I’m sleeping over.” 

Natasha looked confused but you shook your head.” Don’t worry about it. Come here.” 

She waltzed over and sat on your desk, dust shaking off of her slightly. She looked proud of herself as she folded her leg over the other, grinning at you. “What are you planning to do?”

You stood and walked over to your drawer of trinkets. “I’m going to fix you.” 

She lifted an eyebrow. “Fix me?”

You sighed, evidently tired. “Your head? Your lip? And I can't even imagine what that bruise looks like now.” 

She looked like a kicked puppy at your tired tone, her bouncy playfulness slowly diminishing. “Oh. Yeah, forgot about that.” 

You sighed again, yet Natasha was happy to hear the apologetic tone to it. You walked over with a bunch of butterfly strips and stuff similar to what you had earlier in the day. “Suit top off, please.” 

Natasha smirked. “Usually I get asked out on a date first, but okay.” 

“You didn’t seem so quippy earlier. Feeling better, are you?” You asked with your own smirk.

“I was a little bit out of it earlier. Plus, I’m on a battle winning high right now.” She chuckled.

You looked at her with a gentle smile as you began to clean her face with general wipes, getting rid of the dust as much as possible before going to clean up the blood. However, beneath you, the agent was watching you intently.

Simply through your eyes, she could tell you truly cared for her. The nights she had laid awake, unable to sleep? You seemed to be drawn to that, knocking on her bedroom door and asking if she wanted company. 

Obviously, she did. But maybe it wasn’t quite as obvious as she thought.

“You said you were sleeping over - what did you mean?” She asked.

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I missed the last transport Quinjet out for the night when you knocked on my door, so I can’t get home tonight.” You answered, getting a Q-tip to wipe up the next bit of blood.

“Oh. Really?” She looked confused. “I can fly you home if you want.” 

You looked at her incredulously. “You are in no condition to pilot anything. I suspect a concussion, possibly a broken rib and a busted lip. I think I would rather take my chances with Stark.” 

She chuckled at that little ramble of yours, her hands fidgeting in her lap. She noticed the shirt you were wearing and a split second later, how close you were to her. Yet, when she tried to lean back, you grunted in annoyance. 

“Don’t.” You warned her shortly. 

She jolted to a grinding halt, keeping her entire body still except her fidgeting hands. You noticed, smirking to yourself, before you felt her hands being placed on your waist. 

“Natasha…” You raised an eyebrow and looked at her through the gap between your chest and her eyes.

“What? You’re warm and my hands are cold.” She shrugged, smirking slightly as her hands went underneath your shirt. 

You flinched at the coldness of her fingertips. “At least you’re not lying about that.” 

She chuckled.” I don’t lie to you, malysh… Not often, at least.” 

You humphed. “Mhm. I know.” 

She chuckled again at your expression, your pursed lips nodding with your head. Eventually, as you worked, Natasha was about to lean her head on your chest until you stepped back to grab a new Q-tip.

When you came back to her, she watched your eyes focus narrowly on her lip and begin to sterilise it. “Alongside this, I’m going to give you a balm to put on your lips to help it heal.” 

“Okay.” She muttered, her eyes eventually ignoring the ‘fascinating’ ceiling and floor tiles to look into your eyes. 

And all of a sudden… you could feel her relax. And you smiled. 

“What?” She asked.

“You’re relaxed.” You stated, putting on a teasing smirk. “About time.” 

She rolled her eyes playfully, her hands still under your shirt and gently beginning to rub circles on your skin. You weren’t phased by it, either - Natasha took note of that as she pulled you in closer. 

“I’m tired.” She whined grumpily, listening to you chuckle.

“I know you are, bambina, but I have to finish this.” You cooed softly.

When Natasha began to close her eyes, content at holding you close to her whilst you cared for her, you smiled gently. “Is somebody ready for bed?”

She jolted awake, shaking her head away from your chest. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” 

As you stepped away to tidy up, the slip of her hands over your jeans’ waist hem made a slight slap against your skin. Natasha watched you tidy quickly but precisely and then grabbed your bag before you could. 

“Let’s go.” She slung your bag over her shoulder and took your hand, leading you to a Quinjet.

----

You were a diligent and perfect passenger to Natasha, keeping quiet to let her do her work and land in a field near your apartment complex. She watched you buzz in your code and followed you up the stairs, getting a nice view from behind before you led her into the apartment loft. 

“Nice place.” She chuckled.

“Thanks.” You yawned, pointing to a chair in the kitchen. “You can put my bag there.”

She did so, and inspected your apartment further. There was a comfortable lounge area hidden beneath the staircase and subsequently, your bed and bathroom, whilst there was a fireplace to the right and a balcony to the left.

“Wow.” She muttered to herself before she saw you moving to the lounge, the couch turning into a beautiful pull-out rather than a crappy motel one, with sheets already fitted.

“There’s pillows and blankets in there.” You pointed to a cabinet underneath the staircase.

“Will I find a little boy in there too?” Natasha quipped, making you chuckle. 

“Hopefully not. I’m going to go to bed now, so make yourself comfortable.” You murmured. 

She listened as you made your way upstairs, shuffled into bed and began to breathe evenly. Natasha smiled to herself and set up her bed just how she liked it before falling asleep herself. 

Yet, her mind did not give her the same peace yours did. 

A few hours later, she jolted out of the bed, her fleeting memory of the dream having Hulk’s hand smack her across the face - which would have happened fourteen hours ago had Thor not intervened. 

She shook in her bed as the sweat from the night had made her sheets ice cold, debating to turn the fireplace on before she remembered - her hands had warmed almost instantaneously on your skin a few hours ago. 

What if…?

Her feet pattered against the stairs bolted into the wall and she found you sleeping peacefully with your sheets wrapped around you. As she moved to stand at the foot of your bed, she could almost feel the warmth radiating off of you.

“Y/N…” She muttered, just loud enough to stir you and open your eyes.

“Nat?” You murmured.

“I… I had a bad dream about today. And now my sheets are freezing.” She excused, her hands fidgeting. 

You frowned softly before shaking your head and opening the cocoon around you, expelling a wave of warmth over Natasha that pushed her over the edge of temptation. She climbed into the bed and sighed happily at the warmth, surprised when you wrapped your arms around her. 

“Nightmares are not fun.” You whispered, holding her close but not tight.

She nodded and leaned her head onto your shoulder, almost nuzzling into you like a cat, trying to soak up your warmth. “Mm-mm.” 

She could hear you falling asleep before she moved her hands back underneath your shirt, surprised to feel only the line of your underwear. “No pants? My my, how you tempt me.” 

“Don’t make me kick you out, pervy.” You warned her playfully.

She chuckled and shook her head, intertwining her legs with yours. She sighed, beginning to fall asleep herself.

“Thank you for today.” 

You hummed quietly and kissed the skin of her neck. “You’re welcome, bambina. Now sleep. Your concussion needs it.” 

She nodded, a small blush on her cheeks at the feeling of your lips on her skin and the nickname again. “Okay. Goodnight, malysh.”

“Goodnight, Natty.” 

Well, that one was new. 

#smalls words #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst

[thebearer]

nothing between my ears except me and my little marble of a brain rolling around thinking of carmen holding you in his lap after you cut your finger open, bandaging it up for you.

he told you to be careful, to pay attention to what you were doing. you huffed, rolling your eyes at him, continuing to chat, eyes flicking from the carrots back to carmen until. you felt it, your hand immediately going to apply pressure, eyes cutting to carmen's to see if he noticed.

of course he did. he heard the hitch in your voice, the knife falling on the board, before he looked over. "let me see." he muttered, taking your hand in his, turning down the heat on the stove.

your lip wobbled, the burn setting in now when you showed him, pearls of blood blooming and spilling out of the sliced skin. carmen shook his head at you, giving you a stern look. "you weren't looking were you?" he asked.

you pouted, refusing to respond, reaching for the paper towels instead. carmen shook his head, a hand on your back to guide you away from the sink, grabbing the first aid kit underneath.

"c'mere." carmen nodded, pulling a chair from the small dining table. you climbed into his lap, still holding your hand, while carmen opened the kit.

"do i need stitches?" you asked, looking at the long gash.

carmen shook his head. "no. i'll put a butterfly bandage on, it'll be alright. might scar. but you gotta keep it clean alright?" you nodded, letting him press the paper towel to it firmly, opening the antiseptic.

"this is gonna burn." carmen warned, eyes cutting to yours. you squirmed on his lap when he poured it in, watching the blood bubble to the top while you squealed gently at the sting.

"'s alright." carmen shushed, hand running down your back. "that was the worst part, promise."

you watched him, so gentle and purposeful, placing the gauze and wrapping it after he put the cream on. your head on his shoulder, legs on the outside of the chair, carmen's arms around them to keep you in place. he seals it with a kiss, sweet and goofy, leaving you blushing before his hand cradles your jaw, pulling you closer, lips slotting over your own.

#thebearer #carmen berzatto #bearblahs #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #thebearerblurbs #carmy the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear fx #the bear #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fluff

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Gonna ask for fluffly cute shit, GentleGiant!Jason hanging with readers family? Attacked by nephews? Maybe realizing kids are weird?

Or him asking reader to move in with him. Either way. feeling fluffy today.

When you pick up the little boy, Eddie, who's sniffling about a skinned knee and have him giggling hardly noticing that there's antiseptic on his leg, Jason feels himself melt.

"Y/N can we go ice skating again tomorrow?" Jeremy," the oldest asked, licking his ice cream.

"With your dad, sure," you grunt as you heft Eddie over to Jason- tossing him like a sack of potatoes into his arms to make him giggle and squeal in protest. "I'm working tomorrow," you explain, carding your fingers through unruly red curls.

"So-" Jeremy frowned up at you, "For Christmas-"

"I'm gonna work Christmas Eve for your dad on nights- He's gonna cover lunch so I can come make candy with you," you hum, taking his icecream free hand and passing Jason some money from your flannel pocket for Eddie- only to scowl at him when he waved it away and shoved it back in or pocket- smirking when his fingers brushed your nipple. "Jay-"

"Are you gonna spend Christmas with us?" Jeremy demanded, shooting Jason a distinctly annoyed look.

"You're gonna be with your mom's people, remember?" you remind him.

"But-"

"Baby," you tell him, kneeling and chucking him under the chin. "I know-"

"You always spend Christmas with us," he protested, stomping his foot.

"Yeah," Eddie added, pouting.

"No," you laugh softly, "I don't. I work so your dad can spend Christmas with you."

"But you just got home and you're gonna leave-"

"Jeremy," you sigh, pulling him to you. and kissing the side of his head, "I know, dude. It sucks but-"

"And you keep spending all your time with him," he shot Jason a look and Jason felt his heart clench uncomfortably.

"Jeremy-"

"I like him," Eddie said helpfully, awkwardly patting Jason's shoulder.

"Thanks, buddy," Jason said, hefting him over to come stand closer to you, trying to help you- and not sure how.

"Traitor," Jeremy said, scowling at his brother. "They're gonna have kids and then she's not gonna give a shit-"

"Listen," you say sharply, "Stop right now. Who said anything about kids? Sure as hell wasn't me-"

Jason felt his cheeks heat. He'd thought, when he came to talk to Charlie. Trying to respect you and respect the fact that your brothers were protective of you, that he'd heard little voices whispering. And he hoped that Jeremy would stop. Stop right now. He didn't want his careful plans to fall apart- he wanted to give you a fairytale worthy of his lady fair.

"Well he wants to marry you," Jeremy said, "he told dad-"

"What-"

"So you're gonna get married and have kids and then you won't have time to-"

"I moved to the other side of the country and still made it to your soccer finals," you snort. Trying not to let off that he just gave away a secret.

"And my spring concert," Eddie piped up.

"Yeah but-"

"Even IF I have kids," you tell him, getting to your feet, "I'm not just gonna stop caring about you."

Jeremy scowled at you and Jason can tell he's not buying it but. Even if he didn't, when you picked him up to hold him, he went. Clinging to you like someone was going to snatch you away.

#Jason Todd #Jason todd x reader #gentle giant!jason #ask answered #minors dni

[be-with-me-so-happily]

Chapter 10

Series Summary: There are moments in our lives that have a major impact. The interactions, the adventures, and the love, all make up who we are. But when Harry can't remember those moments with YN, they are both left wondering what that means for themselves and their relationship.

Chapter Summary: Well, I think some of you wanted this, a version of it anyway, so here it is! It's a shorter chapter because I didn't want to stretch things out with unnecessary filler. Plus it's the lead-up to the next (and potentially last) chapter.

If it sucks, I blame it on being sick.

~~~~~

Chapter Warnings: Some explicit language, cut on hand, mention of blood and glass, mention of ex-girlfriend, airports, and angst

~~~~~

"Fuck!"

The sting of the wound on your hand just accompanies the pain in your heart. As you begin to wash the blood away under the water of the kitchen sink, you hear a knock at your front door. Frustration instantly fills you, wishing Adhira would just give you some space that you want tonight, but knowing she won't. Only because she cares. It just isn't convenient for you at the moment.

You look up and notice that you, yet again, left the door unlocked, so you relent.

"Come in…" You grumble, loud enough for her to hear from the other side, turning your focus back to cleaning your hand. You hiss at the sting again as you hear the door creak open.

"YN…?"

Your body freezes instantly as you hear that beautiful, deep, British voice that once disintegrated every ounce of pain you had ever felt. But now your cut isn't the only pain you feel, and the one person who could usually take it away is the one who caused it.

Your eyes shoot up to see him, and as he slowly takes a few more steps inside, you see his gaze drop to your hand.

"Shit! Are you alright?"

Before you can respond, he rushes over to you, narrowly missing the pile of broken glass on the floor, before appearing next to you at the sink.

He gently grabs your hand and assesses your wound, his brows furrowed with concentration. Every fiber in your body instantly reacts to his touch and your heart begins to race. You haven't felt it in so long. You've missed the warmth and tenderness. All you can manage to do is stare.

"Stay right there." He states, swiftly moving into the bathroom and almost immediately showing up right beside you again.

He takes your hand into his and squeezes the antiseptic cream onto your cut, causing you to wince in pain.

"M'sorry. You alright?" He asks as he reaches over to the counter and grabs the bandage he brought from the other room.

"Harry-"

"Almost done." He interrupts, full concentration on his task. The task of taking care of you. Of your wound. If only it were that easy for the rest of the hurt you're feeling.

You have become frozen in a daze, still unable to comprehend what he is doing here and why he is tending to the slice in your hand that seemed to also be the final cut to your heart. If ever there was a sign to leave, that was it, literally penetrating your skin wide open.

With the bandage secured, still holding your hand in his, he runs his thumbs gently over your palm. His eyes flicker all over your skin and he twists your arm and then switches to the other.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" He asks quietly, his voice alone being soft enough to cuddle into.

You shake your head as his eyes shoot up to yours, seeming to wait for words that you know won't come. Not yet. You're empty.

"What happened?" He straightens up his stature, turning towards the remnants of what was once your water glass.

You follow him around the kitchen to see the remaining evidence of your most pitiful moment.

"I… uh… I tripped." You manage to reply.

He motions you to the couch, walks right over to the hallway closet, and grabs a broom. He carefully makes his way around the broken glass, making sure to get every visible piece

And your eyes remain glued on him. What is normally considered such a simple, thoughtful gesture has caused you to become rigid. You still don't know why he is doing this. Or why he is even here to begin with.

Of course, the unusual reaction just strengthens the confirmation that everything has changed. Your normal with Harry is no longer normal, and is no longer with Harry.

The sound of the closet door closing finally snaps you out of your daze and anxiety ripples through every ounce of your body. He saw and cleaned your hand, then saw and cleaned your mess. You still do not know why he arrived at your apartment in the first place, and every muscle tenses. That's what is left for him to do. To tell you. And whatever it is, you are sure you would rather not hear it.

"Alright. All clean." He states, casually washing his hands in the kitchen sink, as if it's any other normal day together. He dries them off and places one hand on his hip, running the other through the curly locks you wish you could twist between your fingers one more time. "So, you're alright?"

You nod, eyes fixated as you watch his expression transform from calm and caring to chaotic and concerned. His chest begins to rise and fall frantically. You could swear yours has already matched its rhythm.

"What happened tonight, YN?"

"I-... I told you… I tripped." You stutter, attempting to gather your thoughts. Why is he here? Why does he care? What does he want?

"That's…" He pinches the bridge of his nose, his expression, with the undertone of frustration, softening with every rapid breath he takes. "That's not what I meant."

"Harry. Why are you… here…?"

His eyes shoot up to yours, and his expression is indiscernible.

"I wanted to talk to you."

You figured as much, though your emotions begin to run high. There's only so much more you can take, and if this conversation is going to go the only way you can assume it will, it might actually, fully, break you.

"But you left the bar so quickly." He adds. You notice he takes a few steps in your direction, and that is when your body stiffens. Your emotions, however, are still unclear. Everything about Harry is mesmerizing. You know your heart still loves him, and clearly your body is not aware of the pain you've been through, because as he steps closer, the beating of your heart increases dramatically.

Maybe the fact that everything is changing is a good thing, at least in part. If you can't be around each other anymore, your throat won't get dry and your hands won't get shaky. You won't feel dizzy, in that fun lustful way, and you won't want to be held by him forever.

You'll be able to reset and not react with yearning whenever he is in the room. Because you can't feel any of that any more. You won't. He didn't choose you. He doesn't want you. Not his heart, his mind, or his body wants you. And every part of you needs to remember that.

You shake your head to shake out your thoughts and regain your gaze only to find him staring back at you. You haven't responded and he seems to be waiting.

"I didn't want… I mean, you…" You sigh, knowing that it is all coming down to this moment. The moment you get the confirmation that this is over. The thought, and the hope, that you'll be together is about to truly be destroyed. Therefore, you might as well lay it all out there.

"I didn't want to stay!" You exclaim, watching as his eyes widen.

"I was hoping you would-" When a subtle smirk appears on his face, shock shoots through your veins.

"Are you serious?" The reason for your rapid heart rate transitions from desire to anger almost immediately. How could he think you could stay? And just be okay? How could he possibly think you'd want to listen to him sing about the ex-girlfriend he has now chosen over you? You understand his memories are compromised, but his logic isn't. At least, you didn't think it was.

"Well, yeah, I just-"

"You walked out on opening night…" You grit your teeth, no longer feeling timid and flustered. Now you feel anger. And the pain you've been feeling for over a month. You want to get this over with. "Listen. Clearly, it's better if we aren't around each other. I walked out because…"

Harry's eyes close and his head drops down as he crosses his arms across his chest. From everything you know about him, you know that stance means he's bracing himself. But you can't understand why. You cannot fathom a reason as to why he cares that you walked out.

"Because it's too much for me."

He steps even closer, lifting his eyes back to you, and you curse your body for still reacting in such a flustered way. You are right, it's better if you aren't around each other.

"What do you mean?" He asks with a soft tone. He is infuriating. He can't be that clueless, but he also shouldn't be getting this close to you either.

"Harry…" You swallow down the lump in your throat as he sits down on the coffee table in front of you. It causes you to shift in your spot, moving over a few inches so that your eyes aren't directly opposite of his.

This isn't fair. How he's acting isn't fair. Of course, he isn't the one who is left broken-hearted, so of course he's acting so casually. He got what he wanted. It's just not you, and you're the one who is left with nothing.

"I think you should leave." You mutter, bringing your thumb up and placing the nail between your teeth. His breath hitches, as if surprised by your statement.

"YN-..."

"I don't understand why you're even here! You chose Tabitha! I get it! You don't remember me, you don't remember us. But I do! I know you, I know us. And it's too much for me to be at a bar with our friends and watch you sing songs about her! Watch you sing songs that used to be about me! It's too much! And I can't do it. Okay? I can't."

"Just let me-"

"I can't watch you kiss her, Harry. I can't watch you love her. I can't watch you have the life with her that you wanted with me! It's too much. And…" You sigh, only hurting yourself with this decision but feeling it's the best thing for you. "I have to put some distance between all this."

"Wait, what?" His breath becomes shallow. You can just see from the corner of your eye that his leg begins to bounce and he starts fidgeting with his rings.

"I'm gonna move away. Be closer to my parents."

Suddenly, the warmth of his palm is pressed against the top of your hand, and you close your eyes for a moment to dwell in his touch once again. One last time. Your eyes meet his and see pain. And sadness. A deep sadness you don't know if you've ever seen before.

"Please don't leave, Cupcake, plea-"

"I can't stay here Harry! I need to-..." You sit up straighter and your eyes go wide. You can't determine if your mind is playing tricks on you, but if it is, it's the most evil thing you've ever done to yourself. "What did you just say?"

"Please don't leave."

"No… not that…"

"Cupcake." He quickly responds, a subtle smirk appearing on his face. Your eyes lock on his, attempting to gather more information just from your stare alone, since only heavy breathing fills the room

"Do… do you… you used to…" You stumble through your sentence, still in complete shock and confusion. Maybe you bumped your head when you fell. It's possible that this is all just a dream. A very, very cruel dream. A single tear runs down your cheek and Harry's finger quickly moves up, grazing across your skin with a gentleness that could solve any problem that came your way.

"I used to call you that." He states, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, matching the tenderness you felt against your cheek. "I remember."

"What?" You respond with breathiness. "What… What do you… remember?"

"Everything." He smiles, grazing your knuckles again lovingly. "I remember that your favorite color is blue, but specifically a Caribbean blue that only you can pick out. I remember how you ask to pet every dog we pass by, making me think we will need one someday. I remember how we met, I remember kissing in the rain, I remember how loved you always make me feel. I remember everything, Cupcake. You, us, everything."

You stare blankly, all ability you had to function properly has been wiped away along with that recent tear. You have thought about this moment since he first asked if you were the one to hit his car that night. So many nights you cried yourself to sleep, wishing this moment would come, and dreamt every night of the possibility. Every time you saw him, or heard his name, or did something that even remotely reminded you of him, you had hope that he would love you again.

So why, once you have received exactly what you have been longing for, does no happy and relieved expression display across your face? Why are your arms not flinging around his neck, and your mouth not passionately pressed against his? Why have your eyes dropped their gaze down to where he touches your hand, and a subtle frown appears between your brows? Why do no words leave your lips?

"YN?" Harry asks, scooting closer to the edge of the coffee table and your knees touch his.

"So you're not… with Tab-"

"No! Definitely not! No!

"Did…" You wince at the thought that pops into your head, and your heart prepares itself to drop back down from the spot it began lifting up to. "Did you… sleep with her?"

"No!" He instantly exclaims again, his eyes wide, making his green irises shine in shock. "YN, no. I promise. No."

You manage a nod.

"Did you do… anything… with her?"

His gaze now drops and your heart begins to sink back down. The moment at Tasty Palace, where your heart shattered at the sight of him with her, replays almost as clearly in front of you as Harry is now. He had his arm around her. He was whispering in her ear. He was making her giggle. His answer could be yes.

"We, umm, went on a date… well, it was just dinner…" He runs the back of his neck, and you almost wish you couldn't read him like a book. "And, shit… we sort of… kissed afterwards."

You let out a gasp, small enough that Harry may not have even noticed, but he clears his throat and squeezes your hand tighter.

"It was nothing, YN."

"Except it wasn't." You utter, another tear trickling down your cheeks, this time not for a potentially good reason. It hurts. It still hurts to think about. Even though Harry's memory was gone, and even though he was confused, it still happened. It still meant something to him at that moment. You saw it, and you felt it. And that meant something to you. That meant heartbreak.

"I was confused!" He exclaims, placing his finger under your chin to bring your eyes up to his. There's still sadness in them. "I love you, YN. Only you. I promise."

"I love you too, Harry." You utter, without hesitation, and you see a grin begin to form across his face. "I never stopped loving you."

The grin disappears, and he closes his eyes, letting a tear escape just as you had moments before.

"I know you didn't… know… or mean to hurt me. But now I know how that feels…" You clear the lump in your throat, attempting to hold back the sobs that are threatening to burst out. "I know what it feels like… to lose you."

You can't hold back, and the sobbing starts. Warmth wraps around you as Harry's arms do, now sitting right beside you and pulling you into his chest. You so desperately wish that you could feel all the pain melt away in his embrace.

"I'm here, Cupcake." He whispers, kissing your head, and leaving dampness from his own tears in your hair. He pulls back and grabs your cheeks with his palms, his gaze flickering between your eyes as they stare back at him. They move to your lips and instantly you feel the pressure of his against them. A whimper escapes you, but as your lips are still connected, you frown. Was it out of passion, or pain? It didn't feel perfect, like it usually does. Then thoughts flash before you, yet again, and you pull away.

"I… can't." You utter, being tortured by the image of Harry leaning in to Tabitha, and looking at her longingly. You would do absolutely anything to erase that from your own memory. You would do anything to make the pain from the past several weeks be healed by this moment. It should be. This is everything you've wanted. But maybe your heart is too broken to receive it. "I love you. But I can't."

"YN, please." He whimpers back, and you recognize that both yours and his have been out of pain. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll do whatever it takes to make this right. I love you. I love you, YN. Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you!"

You stay silent. You had not even thought it would come to this. This moment was supposed to be a lot different. You don't even know what you need, because you didn't prepare for this. You didn't think you'd need to. And now, you gain a little more sympathy for Harry. He was so confused, as you are now. You, in fact, may be on an entirely other level, since you actually know that you love Harry but can't seem to agree to be with him again. At least his excuse was that he didn't remember you.

"Time." You reply. You hate that word was your response. Harry needed time and look where it led you. Heartbroken. "I need time. To clear my head."

"Are you… still leaving?" He mumbles, causing your heart to squeeze tight. You hate that this has become so complicated, so painful.

"Yeah. Just for a bit." You respond, suddenly more conflicted than you've ever been before. But this will be good. You need this. "I just need… time. I'm sorry."

"S'okay, YN." He answers immediately, throwing you off guard. He really meant it when he said he will give you whatever you need. He didn't fight it, which is actually the reaction you need at this moment.

He kisses your forehead one last time and stands up from the couch, and you quickly join as you walk him to the front door. He stops as he grabs the door handle, a familiar action of hesitation that you've become accustomed to doing recently.

He turns around slowly, gently grasping your hands into his and kissing the knuckles of both, going over each more than once.

"But I won't give up on us." He whispers, sending a once distant feeling sparking through your body. "You're the love of my life, Cupcake. I won't give up unless you tell me to."

•••

As you lay on the couch, curled up into Harry's body, with the last episode of 'Friends' playing on the television, you look up and see his index finger over his lips.

"I think those airport scenes are a bit cheesy."

"What?" You pull back and gasp. "You're, like, the biggest fan of rom-coms and romantic gestures!"

He shrugs and looks down at you with a smirk, rolling his eyes.

"Dunno, just seems unreasonable." He shrugs, kissing your lips and hovering just in front of them as you feel his warm breath breeze against your skin. "But I'd do it for you, if I had to."

"Well, you won't." You whisper back, brushing the tip of your tongue against him.

He lunges forward, pushing you down onto the couch as he hovers over you, his cross necklace dangling down like a hypnotizing pendulum. Even though he is mesmerizing all on his own.

"Good." He replies, a sultry tone to his voice. He bites his lips and softly runs his hand up from your hip, pushing under your shirt, and stopping just at your ribcage. Your breathing becomes rapid, and a heat rushes to your core, as his fingertips graze your skin.

Suddenly a tingle ignites and your body begins to squirm as he tickles your most tender spot, causing you to squeal out giggles between labored breaths.

"Harry! Stop!" You laugh, doing your best to push him away, aware that your attempts are wasted. "Stop or I'll change my mind!"

"Don't you dare!" He growls, and you open your eyes to see a mischievous smirk on his face. He picks up the pace of his motions as you writhe under his body. Not that you mind too much. To be honest, it's one of your favorite places to be, besides in his arms. "Please take it back."

You manage a nod, catching your breath as he props himself up on his palms.

"Harry…" You breathe out, running your hands over the strong arms you can only ever feel safe in. "I can't picture a time that I'd ever want to leave you."

It's been a week since your talk with Harry, and as you look at your plane ticket, and the faces of your closest friends, you wonder if you're doing the right thing.

"Just leave already, Didi! Fuck!" Adhira snaps, crossing her arms and rejecting your attempt for a hug.

"Harsh." You respond, knowing full well that she isn't actually trying to be rude.

"Yeah, well, I feel abandoned." She replies, scoffing as the words leave her lips. You grab her arms anyway and pull her in, smiling as you feel hers wrap around you anyway.

"You're acting like I'm headed to South Africa or something!" You exclaim, looking around to see the solemn gazes of Steven, Gemma, and Anne as well.

"You're joking, right?" Gemma growls. "You're moving away! Doesn't matter where. We won't see you!"

"I'm going to visit… to… test it out. I haven't decided yet…" You quietly reply, unsure if your words were heard through the busy airport.

"Yeah, but we know that once you put your mind to something, it's most likely gonna happen." Adhira argues, crossing her arms back in front of her chest like a toddler who has been told not to eat cookies before dinnertime.

You let out a deep exhale and try to keep your composure among the thousands of people bustling around you. You thought being without Harry would be the hardest thing you'd have to do, but this is definitely competing for that spot. At least a close second.

"I'll be back in three weeks. Okay?" You open your arms up for a big group hug.

Once you let go, Anne pulls you in again, kissing your temple and resting her chin on your shoulder.

"You always have us, YN. Alright?" She whispers in your ear, and you rest your face in the crook of her neck. "And I'm sorry."

"For what?" You whisper back, pulling yourself out of the embrace closest in resemblance to Harry's.

"I couldn't find him this morning." She replies, momentarily dropping her gaze. She looks up to you with sadness in her eyes, almost as if it's for both you and Harry. It makes sense, and you're just so grateful for all the love she's given you throughout the years, especially these last couple of months. "I thought he'd come."

"It's okay Anne." You reply, making the statement more for her comfort than your own, considering you're not sure how much you believe it.

You give one more round of hugs, assuring Adhira you'll be back, encouraging Steven to draw up some of his own designs for new clients while you're gone, promising Gemma you'll keep in touch, and thanking Anne for everything she's done.

As you make your way up the escalator and to the security checkpoint, you turn back around, scanning the blurry faces of your loved ones through your tear-filled eyes. Your heart sinks a little and you realize you did have some hope that Harry would come. Even if it wasn't to convince you to stay, you thought he would at least say goodbye.

Maybe he didn't want to give you time. Maybe he did give up.

~~~~~

Series Masterlist

~~~~~

If you like what I post, and want to just send some extra support, I have a ko-fi account. Even the smallest amount is greatly appreciated. There is no obligation or expectation to donate, because I am honestly just so grateful that you're here! 💗 Bee xx

~~~~~

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#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles series #harry styles writing #harry styles concept #harry styles story #harry styles au #au!harry #music teacher!harry #teacher!harry #memory!harry #harry edward styles #harry fic #harry angst #harry fluff #harry smut #lovers to strangers #lovers to friends #strangers to friends #friends to lovers #mwbh series #my way back home

[mlmxreader]

Humans & Their Weak Flesh | Corinthian x m!reader

@satan-incarnate-666 asked: ok i am so ready for these corinthian fics

all x m! reader pls!!

"Don't pick at it, you'll make it worse"

summary: it's not in his nature to be a carer, it's not in his nature to patch wounds, he's a killer and he likes it but... not when it comes to you. Never when it comes to you.

tws: injury, blood, swearing

Nightmares weren't exactly the type to provide care, to be the caretakers, to patch up their boyfriends; they weren't made for that, and it certainly wasn't something that the Corinthian ever saw himself doing. Patching up a nasty wound on your bicep that went down to the dermis, patching up another nasty wound on your forearm that went down to the fat layer; humans and their fucking weak flesh.

If anything, he should have been the one to have caused such wounds, he certainly enjoyed inflicting much worse on others, but you... oh, you were different; you were the man he always returned to. You were the one he protected from Morpheus, from other nightmares, from that fucking raven.

He protected you, even though his nature told him to do otherwise, even though he would have sought out any reason to take the eyes out of someone who so much as looked at him; you were his boyfriend, and even in his one hundred and thirty years, he had never known a mortal man to capture the attention of a nightmare so effortlessly, so much.

He patched those wounds up when they were fresh, expecting them to heal eventually the way humans always did with little injuries.

It hadn't even been a week until he caught you; sat at the breakfast bar in the flat he owned and picking at the flesh. Some of it cracking as it came off, strings of thin flesh coming away and tiny puddles of blood forming. He let out a harsh sigh and shook his head, snatching your wrist in his hand gently and tilting his head to the side, his voice a mere growl.

"Don't pick at it, you'll make it worse."

"It's itchy," you snarled, but in your eyes he could only see pain. "It's itchy and the fucking texture pisses me off."

Corinthian dropped your wrist, and searched through the medicine cabinet; humans and their fucking weak flesh. He grumbled as he searched for it, yanking out the antiseptic cream that was supposed to soothe wounds; he could smell it as he held the pot in his hands and he gestured for you to lay your arm on the breakfast bar for him. He tried not to smile when you so obediently did as you were told; he thought about how if you were anyone else, he would have killed you by now, he wouldn't be taking the lid off of fucking antiseptic cream and grabbing a paper towel to dry the skin of blood.

He would have been ripping their fucking eyes out and he would have been wiping his knife of a handkerchief; but it was you, his stupidly mortal boyfriend, and he winced a little at the sight and smell of your blood. That wasn't usual. He liked the smell of blood, he loved to draw it.

But yours was... it smelled bad. It looked awful.

Shaking his head, he dared to get a little bit of the antiseptic cream on the tip of his finger, using his free hand to hold your arm steady as he sighed. "This might sting."

"Worse than the vinegar?" You asked, but he shook his head. "Good... worse than the vodka?" You waited, and he shook his head again. "Then we'll be fine."

Corinthian grumbled, his hands steady as he smeared your skin with the white antiseptic cream, daring to gently rub it into one wound until it had been absorbed by your skin before he copied the action on the other wound; he cleared his throat, and put the little grey pot back in its place. "I think we should cover it again."

"Do we even have any more dressing?" You asked with a laugh.

Looking in the cupboard, he found just enough. "We do... do you want me to cover it?"

You nodded, licking your lips. "Yeah, go on."

Like with the antiseptic, Corinthian was careful to be gentle with you, careful not to cause damage to your weak mortal flesh; he almost laughed, knowing that he would and could cause so much damage and pain to others and yet he couldn't even bring himself to be rougher than velvet with his boyfriend.

He smoothed down the dressing when he got it into place.

"Too tight?"

"Not really," you told him, shaking your arm a little just to prove it. "Bout right."

"Leave it," he almost barked it like an order, a command. "Don't pick at it again. You'll get it infected."

"I won't," you said gently.

Corinthian nodded, moving to fix himself a drink, but he paused and headed to the fridge; always prepared, he grabbed a large energy drink can, opened it with a crack and placed it in front of you. "Your favourite, right?"

You looked at the can, then back at him, nearly grinning. "How'd you know?"

"You mentioned it a couple of times," he shrugged. "I got your favourite for tea, as well."

Sure, he could have killed you at any given moment, he could have taken your eyes and made you feel pain like no one had felt before, he had done it a thousand times before; but you weren't just anybody.

You were his boyfriend, and if there was one thing he never wanted to see or smell again, it was your blood. Your pain. Not you, never you; anyone else was fair game, as far as he was concerned, just not you.

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

#mlem writes #corinthian x reader #the corinthian #the corinthian imagine #the corinthian x reader #Corinthian imagine #Corinthian #sandman x reader #the sandman imagine #the sandman x reader #the sandman #the sandman netflix #sandman imagine #sandman

[sphylor]

Mountain ghoul with strawberry arms (keratosis pilaris). also, Mountain ghoul who has a bad habit of skin picking (trust me this is such a bad combo jfhdhf). he does try to keep himself busy and calm and he has it under control but whenever he gets stressed he instantly starts searching his arms for things to pick for stress relief. all of the other ghouls always make sure to be on the lookout for if this and always distract him whenever they see his hands make their way up his arms. whether thats Swiss taking Mountain's hands and pulling him in to dance with him, or Cirrus asking to hear about any cool birds he's seen in the forest lately, or even Rain the princess that he is asking Mountain to fetch him a glass of water or carry him somewhere. Mountain appreciates it all even if he doesnt always realise that he's being distracted from picking at the bumps on his arms fhdbfbdb. at the end of the day if he or Dew find any spots on his arm that he has accidentally scratched and they've bled, Dew takes so much care cleaning them and applying antiseptic cream and a plaster if needed even if the marks are only a millimetre big. Dew kisses each and every one of them as well of course and it makes Mountain blush so hard dhfhhshfh

#cw skin picking #cw dermatillomania #also in the summer when Mountain's skin goes pretty tan all of the little scars from skin picking stand out and it is kinda pretty in a way #also a nice reminder that he hasnt obsessively picked his skin bad enough to make it scar like that in a while #mountain ghoul #Sphy's mountaindew posting

[calamity-unlocked]

Sometimes your zip line park isn't doing well and you have a shift of 4 hours without any people so instead you sit in a tree and write fanfiction on your phone.

Anyways this little thing is based on @manitapaleta 's GORGEOUS art piece, link here if you haven't been graced with it yet.

~

841 words - Nark

CWs: mentions of boldily harm, blood, injury

~

The touch of Lark’s hand was cold on Nick’s face, methodical in the way it moved, but lingering every so often, causing Nick’s breath to catch in his throat.

They were quiet, Lark focused on his task, Nick focused on trying not to wince.

Were the circumstances different, they’d probably be screaming at each other until their throats were torn raw. But Lark was apparently concussed – how he’d managed to achieve that he had refused to disclose – and Nick’s sympathetic nervous system still hadn’t completely calmed down after a full minute of believing his son was dead and then reliving multiple traumas at the same time.

Neither of them were at their best right now, and wanted to prevent getting into a fight that was sure to dredge up painful memories they’d both rather leave locked away alongside the skeletons in their closets. There was plenty of time for fighting later. Right now, the soft, tentative silence between them was being held in place with a mixture of bone-aching tiredness, the desire to keep their children safe, and an all-consuming hatred for Willy Stampler which made their personal feuds pale in comparison.

Willy was still out there. In their fight, Nick had wounded the bastard enough that afterward his semi-light-hearted ‘you should see the other guy’ hadn’t fallen flat. Lark, bleeding from his face and about as talkative as a gravestone, got stuck on demon-sitting duty while the others were chasing Willy, trying to make sure he didn’t get away.

Lark had gruffly asked if Nick was okay with him treating the wounds Willy’s magic knife had caused, seeing how Nick wouldn’t do a great job at it in his armless state. Why he’d offered, Nick couldn’t fathom. Why Nick had accepted was even more of a mystery.

Now, after his arm had been reattached and he’d regained a bit of agency, Nick’s gaze trailed over Lark’s toned arms which were so steadily tending to his face, to the look in his eyes that was too concentrated to be tender, but nevertheless devoid of the burning tenacity that used to always be present there.

Okay. So maybe it wasn’t that much of a mystery.

Nick was holding a bloodied cloth rag he’d previously used to keep pressure on the cut, gripping it tight like a stress ball, betraying how tense he was. He was shirtless and vulnerable, and he shouldn’t trust the man who’d loved him and betrayed him, but for some reason, he did.

Lark had cleaned the long cut running diagonally over Nick’s left cheek, and was now gently applying a layer of antiseptic cream that smelled vaguely like cranberries.

“‘S probably gonna scar,” Lark mumbled, sounding as tired as Nick felt.

“Figures,” Nick said, trying to make his tone light. “Fate’s really trying to turn me into a full-on action hero.”

“Fate’s a bitch.”

“Yeah.”

Lark pulled his shoulders back a bit when he seemed done with the scream, but not his hand. His fingers lingered on the line of Nick’s jaw and he applied a tiny bit of pressure, like a barber moving his head to see the final result. His thumb brushed over Nick’s lips – accidentally? On purpose?

Whatever the intention, Nick’s breath went shallow. Every inch of his bare skin felt hyper-exposed.

Lark’s focus was still on the lower side of Nick’s face, specifically on his lips, as though those also needed his soft-touched care– nope. Cut that thought, Nicky, bad idea. Don’t go there.

The thing was, Nick was pretty sure he could.

He could lean in. He could lean in and close his eyes and pretend that they had both forgotten the past ten years, ignoring how those lonely years had fundamentally changed them as people. He could throw caution and sensibility to the wind, just to feel that spark again.

He wouldn’t. But he could.

He wanted to.

Lark looked up at him, finally. Hesitance and regret swirled in those dark-brown pools, or maybe that was just Nick’s hopeful imagination. He didn’t remove his hand. His thumb stilled on the corner of Nick’s mouth, while his other fingers had trailed down to his neck. His heartbeat pulsed against Lark’s pinkie, betraying the way his body was reacting to their closeness much in the same way as how Lark had seemed to stop breathing altogether.

“Nicky, I…” Lark started.

The door of the med bay slammed open, startling both of them.

“He fucking got away,” Grant sighed, the others coming in behind him, looking bruised but not too worse for wear.

“Shit,” Lark cursed, the hand that had been on Nick’s face a few seconds ago clenching into a fist. The familiar ice-cold determination that left no space for warmth returned to the look in his eyes, and he abruptly stood up and joined the others, muttering in hushed tones about their next course of action.

Nick remained seated on the bench, trying frantically to get his heartbeat under control again, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted iron.

Fuck.

#dndads #nark #nark nation #calamity's writing #lets see if this stays up this time #thanks eri for rbing the art #i totally would have forgotten to post this otherwise

[liaromancewriter]

Day One (5/6)

Series Premise: What happened when Cassie met Sienna? Small moments that defined their friendship.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Characters: Cassie Valentine (F!MC), Sienna Trinh Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 1,050

A/N: I'm using @choicesflashfics week 33, prompt 3 (in bold). Submission to @choiceschallenge-may2023 prompt "shower"

Cassie Valentine was sure of one thing. Being an attending physician was much more challenging than she had anticipated. In a few weeks, she went from being a senior resident and diagnostics fellow that relied on others to mentor her to the one everyone expected to have all the answers.

How on earth was she supposed to be the Oracle of Edenbrook? Cassie griped as she got off the T and trekked home.

Soon, she’d take over from the Dr. Ethan Ramsey as head of Edenbrook’s famed Diagnostics Team, consulted by billionaires and the downtrodden alike. How was she supposed to follow someone like that?!?

Cassie breathed a sigh of relief as she neared the building that had been home for three years. She waved to Farley, who was tinkering with the outside lights but didn’t linger.

She wasn’t in the mood to socialize unless it was with a pint of chocolate cookie dough ice cream hidden at the back of the freezer.

Once inside the apartment, she followed her post-work routine: a long, hot shower and slathering her skin with scented lotion. It was fragrant enough to make her senses forget the astringent, antiseptic smell permeating the hospital’s four walls.

Later, dressed in comfortable sweats and a tee shirt, Cassie parked herself on the living room couch and grabbed the TV remote. She dug her spoon directly into the ice cream carton while scanning titles on the streaming service.

She was in the mood for the trashiest reality show she could find. Strangers stranded on a deserted island for love. Hot couples in a multi-million dollar yacht sailing the Caribbean while chaos rained around them. She didn’t care what the plot was, or lack thereof.

Cassie wanted one night where interns, residents and the nursing staff weren’t chasing her for wisdom and answers. She was tapped out. Empty and running on fumes.

Gone fishing. Come back tomorrow.

Spoon hovering near her lips, she looked up when the front door slammed open. Sienna marched inside, muttering under her breath and looking even worse than Cassie felt. Her hair was sticking up in clumps, and there were odd splashes on her scrubs.

“What happened to you?” Cassie asked by way of greeting.

“Stupid, fucking leprechaun,” Sienna grumbled, eyes snapping in frustration.

Cassie paused in concern at the very un-Sienna-like response. “Say that again … I don’t think I heard you right the first time. Did you say leprechaun?”

Sienna threw herself on the couch and huffed.

“I was crossing the Commons, and some idiot decided to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day early by dressing like a leprechaun,” she explained. “At first, it seemed harmless, but then he started splashing people with some kind of sticky slime. I got caught in the crossfire. It was already a hellish day, and this just capped it.”

“Did the police arrest him?” Cassie said, curious.

“Of course not,” Sienna said with an eye-roll. “By the time they showed up, he was long gone, probably cackling all the way to a rainbow for his pot of gold.”

Cassie burst into laughter. “You know it’s witches that cackle, not leprechauns, right? Besides, it was a clear, sunny day and not a rainbow in sight.”

Sienna pouted for a second, but then her face cleared. “I’m going to grab a shower and get this grime off me. Is the bathroom free?”

“Yeah, it’s just you and me tonight. Elijah has a date, Aurora’s having dinner with Harper and Jackie’s at….” Cassie paused. “Hmm. I have no idea, but I guess we’ll see her when we see her.”

Sienna started to slide off the couch but stopped midway. Her gaze sharpened as she regarded Cassie.

“Did you have a bad day at work?” she asked in a sympathetic tone.

“Not bad. Just tedious,” Cassie said. “I’m going to polish off this ice cream, pour a glass of wine, or several, and then let a group of ridiculously gorgeous people in a Miami beachfront mansion entertain me with their contrived attempts to find fame and love.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Nope,” Cassie quipped, licking her spoon. “Want to tell me about this hellish day?”

“Pass.” Sienna smiled. “Want some company instead?”

“Go get cleaned up. I’ll have wine and popcorn waiting,” Cassie smiled back.

An hour later, they were sprawled on the couch, a large bowl of popcorn between them and a half-empty bottle of red wine on the coffee table.

“What on earth is Derek thinking?” Sienna moaned at the television. “Doesn’t he know Charity trash-talks him to Melody?”

“There’s nothing charitable about Charity,” Cassie murmured companionably. “Anyway, Derek’s no peach. He’s been eye-fucking Kali since the hot tub wardrobe—” she put her fingers up in air-quotation marks “—malfunction.”

“Men are such pigs,” Sienna scoffed.

“Sing it, sister,” Cassie cheered, not taking her eyes off the TV.

“Of course, Dr. Ramsey is the exception,” Sienna said carefully, flicking at crumbs. “He’s much too dignified to be swayed by a skinny, oh-so-obvious…uh…floozy. Right?”

Cassie caught Sienna’s furtive glance at the phone lying face down on the cushion. She thought back to Max’s last Picta post from Singapore, the flirty comments left by his colleague, and hid a smile at Sienna’s somewhat catty tone.

Absence might make the heart grow fonder, she thought with a sigh. But it also brought out the green-eyed monster when the one you had feelings for enjoyed a particular reputation.

“You’re right,” Cassie began, collecting her thoughts. “M…uh, he is the exception. You don’t have to worry about him. Ethan, I mean.”

Cassie quickly glanced down at the phone and then back at Sienna. She kept her face neutral, holding back the smirk when she saw recognition dawn in Sienna’s eyes.

Sienna nodded wordlessly and turned back to the TV. A few minutes later, she grabbed her phone, settled back and started typing, her smile widening at the rapid succession of back-and-forth pings on the phone.

Like a good friend, Cassie pretended not to notice when her best friend retreated to her bedroom to FaceTime with Max. She’d let her besties play this will-they, won’t-they game a while longer. There was no hurry, after all. They were meant to be.

And that, as they say, was the Valentine Way.

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

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Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

#open heart #open heart choices #choices open heart #open heart fanfics #open heart fanfiction #playchoices #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choices fanfics #sienna trinh #sienna trinh x mc #choices fanfiction #friendship #writers on tumblr

[acapelladitty]

Whole Day Off: The Change (fic)

Pairing: Jonathan Crane / Female Reader

Summary: Having survived your experience of Crane's toxin/pheremone hybrid, you remain with him in the basement to enjoy a slight shift in your shared dynamic as you make him an offer he cannot see fit to refuse.

(warnings for: mentions of drugs and experimentation, hand jobs, groping, mild cum play, d/s elements, nipple play)

Running your finger along the edge of the psychiatric journal which you have been attempting to read for the last five minutes, the article on hemi-spatial neglect is nowhere near interesting enough to draw your attention fully from the sensations which are afflicting your body.

Your fingers drift to your neck as you run your pointer finger over the small injection site which Crane had earlier chosen for his pheromone/toxin hybrid. In the few hours which have passed since the drugs had taken their hold of you, the majority of the effects have worn off to almost nothing and now all that remains is the aftereffects of the evening’s activities.

Crane’s insistence that you spend the night had proven to be an inspired idea and the various pains and aches which knock at your flesh as you stretch leisurely on the familiar couch make you wince in position.

After two more solid rounds of drug-laced fucking, the ache of your sex is borderline distracting as every subtle movement creates a fresh wave of discomfort which mixes with the pains that are emitting from your upper half. The wax has also done a fantastic job of leaving your skin reddened and, despite your shirt being left open, any slight rubbing of the fabric against it felt rough and raw.

However, these pains are almost easy to ignore compared to the ache of your chest. His fascination with your breasts and their responsiveness never failed to entertain him and, bolstered by your enhanced reactions due to the toxin, he had been diligent in the wicked care he had shown them.

Slipping a hand towards the floor, your fingers root around in the small bag which you had saw fit to bring with you until they wrap around the small bottle of cooling, antiseptic cream you had thrown in there in a moment of clarity. Pulling it free, you squirt a small amount into your palm and drop the bottle to your bare lap. Your movements are gentle as you push your shirt fully open to expose your naked chest; the shuffle of your covered ass against the couch making you wince as the lace of your panties draws across the abused flesh.

The cream is cool in your hands as you rub it between your palms before applying it to your chest with a delicate grip; fingers gliding across the pained flesh to spread the cream evenly as your thumbs brush across your nipples, the ache there particularly intense due to his fondness of those bastard clamps. The effect is instantaneous as the cooling effect causes a fresh, relieved sigh to escape your lips.

Glancing over at the man in question, you are surprised to find that his hawk-like gaze has left whatever is laying atop his workbench and is focusing on your gentle actions.

Unable to help the slight tease, you meet his eyes with a tilting head.

“See something you like, good doctor?”

At the mild accusation, his expression does not waver but his body shifts slightly as he returns his focus back to his work.

After you were both completely spent from the effects of the drugs, he had taken the time to check your vitals as you lay recovering from the overstimulation of his actions. His typical clinical countenance had been solidly in place despite his obvious exhaustion and by the time you had set yourself up on the couch with a stack of journals to read until sleep gripped you, he had returned to his usual position at his workbench as he threw himself back into his-

You pause as you realise you do not actually know what he is working away on.

Going to sleep felt somewhat rude but the sense of curiosity gnawing at your consciousness is difficult to ignore and you decide to take advantage of his good mood to satiate at least a little of that curiosity.

Standing from the couch, you quickly smooth out the edges of your opened shirt and fix the waistband of your panties. You briefly consider buttoning the material, but it seems like a waste of energy given the hours you have just spend writhing beneath him with every inch of flesh on show. Even your thigh highs had been torn and removed as part of your game and the ripped fabric still lay in a discarded pile next to the gurney.

You cough lightly to announce your approach and the sound rewards you with a cursory glance from him as he watches you pad over to him slowly. Unlike yourself, he had elected to remain fully dressed with the only exception to his usual appearance being the lack of lab coat, the white coat folded neatly on the back of the chair where he currently sat.

In his grasp is a short pencil, the nub of which is almost worn away as he frantically scribbles across the lined paper which is spread across his desk. Sometimes it is easy to forget that he’s a chemist as much as a psychiatrist and your eyes rove across the complex chemical formulas which are scattered around the yellowed pages in some unknown system without comprehension.

For all you understood, it may as well have been in Dutch.

“I remember finding balancing equations difficult in the chem lab,” you offer quietly, leaning over his shoulder to peer more closely at his work, “back in the old high school days. This is incredible work.”

“It is.” His answer is not prideful, but fact.

“Is this your latest formula?”

“Yes.” Never looking up from his work, his tone is flat. “This is a proposed batch which will also create a state of paralysis within the subject. The difficulty is in trying to create a targeted paralysis which will not prevent vocalisations while keeping the body prone.”

“Why?”

“You are no fool. You know that my test subjects assist me with my work under duress and sometimes it would be preferable for their physical capabilities to be limited. Fight or flight is a natural response to terror and the risk of violence is always present.”

“Why not use a separate drug to paralyse?”

The words slip free before you think too much about them and a vague sense of guilt settles in your chest as you recognise your betrayal of your fellow Gothamites.

“My toxin does not generally behave well with other compounds unless specifically designed to work together. To paralyse a subject and then administer a dose of toxin would most likely cause organ failure on a massive scale and, despite what people may think, a dead subject is of very little use to me and is better avoided.”

Unsure of how to respond to that, you settle your fingers on the sharpness of his shoulders and the tension in his frame is as taut as a bowstring as you press against his skin gently. As your fingers weave into a particularly tight spot, surprise catches you once again as he issues a low grunt at the contact.

The noise floats between you for only a moment before he jerks his body free of your grip as he hunches closer to his workspace.

“Leave me to my work.” He growls, expression hidden as he refuses to turn to face you, his fingers quickly grabbing the lab coat from his chair as he pulls it on once again.

Straightening your spine, you ignore his demand as you move closer to his position and place your hands on his shoulders as your head dips closer to his ear.

“You should let me help you.” You mutter into his ear, allowing your earnestness to shine through your tone. “Please? Consider it a thank you if it makes you feel more accepting.”

“A thank you?” He asks, body relaxing almost imperceptible into your hands as he allows you to make your argument.

“For your excellent bedside manner in making sure that your toxin didn’t kill me.”

That nets you a chuckle which could be mistaken for a grumble as he seems to think over your offer.

“What do you want from me?” He asks.

“It’s a massage. I can feel how tense your back is and that’s not a good thing for either of us.”

“What possible benefit could my comfort bring you?”

Thinking over your answer, you tilt your body to the side enough to ensure that your abused chest, still fresh with his markings, is on perfect level with his gaze.

“I would be very poor property of the Scarecrow if I didn’t show him a little of my appreciation for his delicate care of me.”

Standing in one smooth movement, he towers over you as he peers into your face: searching for any sign of deception. However, whatever he sees there seems to pass his unspoken test as he grunts once more and strides towards the couch which you had recently vacated.

Following him like a shadow, a thrill of excitement beats in your chest as he pulls the lab coat from his body and drapes it over the side of the couch, his fingers deftly moving to unbutton his deep brown shirt.

As each button is undone, your eyes greedily take in the small patches of skin which are slowly being exposed to the cool air.

This was the unknown; his previous lack of undress being an unspoken power play between you as you lay nude and vulnerable to his whims while he remained clothed, only exposing the parts of his body which were necessary for his own gratification.

It was a heady thought and the significance of it is not lost on you.

His dark slacks remain untouched as he spreads his shirt open and shuffles free of the material, again draping the fabric across the back of the couch.

Standing tall once more, silence passes between you for a moment as you take a tentative step towards him.

You knew his body was on the leaner side but as you observe the thin rivulets of his ribs which are visible through the skin and the defined dips of areas such as his hips and collarbone, you have to give some credit to how well his chosen clothing fills him out.

You want to touch him and your breath comes in short, shallow inhales as you realise that you are going to get your wish.

“If you lie down and make yourself comfy then I can start.” Your words are breathier than you would like but the enthusiasm seems to amuse him as he quirks a brow at you before dropping himself to the couch. His great height makes the couch too small for him and you bite back a smirk as you watch his legs stick out from the end of the couch as he tilts his head to the left to allow himself to breathe.

Rolling up the sleeves of your opened shirt, you quickly move atop him before he can change his mind, your ass balancing on his own as your knees clamp down on either side of his hips to keep you in place. The thrum of your pulse as your heart beats erratically is thrilling as you observe the wide expanse of the skin before you.

The first thing to catch your attention is the abundance of scarring which litters his skin. Thin white lines, faded with age, are criss-crossed around the heft of his back and the sight of them sends a shudder of understanding down your spine. Those were the marks of abuse, a visual confirmation of suspicions which your mind had long since harboured, and you drag your eyes from them to investigate some of the other marks on the marred skin.

A pointed cough causes you to blink in surprise as Crane questions your hesitation to begin.

Humming out a soothing noise, you tilt your body down to snatch up your small bag, once more pulling free the bottle of antiseptic cream. It wouldn’t benefit his skin in any way but it would provide a little lubrication to make the massage easier and you squirt a liberal amount onto the palm of your hand before dropping the bottle back into the bag.

Taking the cream into both hands, you rub them together to warm the cool cream up a little before applying it to his skin. Dropping your hands to his shoulders, you spread a thin coat of the liquid across the pronounced bones of his shoulder blades and admire the way in which the tautness of his skin seems to give way to the soothing cream.

Below the skin, your fingers gloss over the juts of bone and tension which seem to be littered across his muscle and you press your fingers into one particularly hard area as you begin to massage him. Each stroke is meted with a practised rhythm which starts off soft but quickly grows more intense as a rumble of encouragement issues from Crane’s lips.

The scarring of his skin makes for an interesting sensation below the soft pads of your fingertips as you graze across the various markings without paying them too much attention. A knowledge that focusing on his scarring and paying it special attention will not go down well with him knocks at your consciousness and your fingers glide across his skin without hesitation.

Spreading the remaining cream a little lower on his back, you use the palm of your hand to run a rough pressure down the curve of his spine, each nodule easily detectable due to his thin frame, and the unexpected sensation draws something between a grunt and groan from the prone body beneath your own.

“Careful, Witty Girl.” Crane warns, and you can hear the tension within his voice as much as you can feel it within his muscle.

The vulnerability of his current position is not lost on either of you and the feeling that he could lash out at a single wrong movement causes a subtle anxiety to lodge itself in your chest. However, with that anxiety came a flush of arousal which made your panties feel uncomfortable against your skin as you wriggle in place for a moment, your wetting core pressing against his ass gently enough to not disturb the pained flesh there.

Sliding your hands back up his spine, your thumbs carve rough circles into the flat space between his shoulders and your breath hitches as the ministrations force a loud sigh from him; one which is accompanied by his fingers latching on to your calves as his stretched-out arms seek some purchase against your soft skin.

Invigorated, you work over his thin frame while ensuring that every press and pull of his skin is rhythmic and rough enough to garner a reaction while not causing any real pain. It is almost hypnotic, the way in which his fingers flex and dig in to your calves as he takes pleasure in your work, his own inaction strange to you both.

“Happy with my work, Dr. Crane?” You ask, the calm of your situation making you bold as you tease him lightly.

“Somewhat satisfactory.” A deadpan response. “Had I known of your skills I would have saw fit to employ them earlier in our arrangement.”

“If you flip over then I can do the front of your shoulders too,” you lean down to offer into his ear, “but only if you want me to.”

Grunting his agreement, you push up onto your knees to allow him the space to awkwardly turn in place until his position is flipped and his back is pressed against the couch.

Immediately drawn in by the analytical look in his piercing blue gaze as he pins you into place, you bow your head submissively as you offer him a soft smile. Dropping your body back down with a tactful gentleness, a sharp gasp escapes you as your groin brushes the hard tent in his slacks.

Unashamed of his bodily response to your ministrations, he tilts his head at you, daring your next move with an unspoken challenge.

Shuffling back slightly so that your ass is perched on his upper thighs, your fingers do not hesitate to travel up to his chest, palms rubbing across the sparse dark hair which litters the skin there and is only disturbed by the odd line of scarring here and there.

His chest is less marked than his back but no less interesting to touch as your fingers glide across his pronounced hips before running along the jut of his ribs. The grip of his hands returns to your knees as he allows you to sate your curiosities.

The sound of his zipper as you unlatch his slacks is the only noise to break through the steady breathing of you both as your hand slips within his boxers to wrap around his hard length. Pulling it free of his slacks, his expression is unchanging aside from a slight inhale as your warm hand moves along the shaft before slipping to lower to cup at his balls.

“If you tell me to stop, I will.” You mutter, enjoying the weight of his velvety skin in your palm as your fingers glide across his cock.

“Why would I do a foolish thing like that?” He responds, one hand breaking free of your knee to reach for your chest, his thumb brushing across the hardened nub of your nipple. “Your insistence on repaying my kindness is understandable and I would not deprive you of your simple wishes.”

Grunting as the subtle manipulation of your chest makes your core clench around nothing, you refocus on the task at hand as you allow him free access to your sensitive nipples.

The pace of your hand as you stroke it along his shaft is consistent and gentle, only pausing to run the pad of your thumb around the head of his cock to spread the gathering pre-cum there; a move which makes his chest rise and fall more rapidly with every small rub.

A temptation to tease him, to bring him to the brink and deny his release, knocks at your thoughts but you quickly brush them away. This slight shift in dynamic, his allowance of your wishes even if they are only to suit his selfish desires, is intoxicating and you do not want to bring it to an unexpected close. Not when his mood was so quick to shift and punishment was never too far from his mind.

The familiarity of his cock in your hand is welcome and you make a good show of ensuring that every inch of his hard length is treated just as thoroughly as his back. His fingers, skilled as ever, roll and pluck at your nipples before alternating between gripping the flesh of your breast. However, unlike his earlier abuses, his touch is almost gentle as he manipulates the skin, admiring the marks from earlier as soft gasps fall from your lips like a waterfall.

So worked up from his earlier massage, it does not take long before you can feel the tell-tale twitching of the cock within your grasp as his orgasm hits; rough grunts escaping from his throat as his hips buck into your hand, his release arcing high and coating the tip of your hand as a few stray drops splash onto his lower stomach.

Humming with contentment as your eyes refuse to leave his expression, the open pleasure there one of the most erotic things you think you’ve ever seen, you resist the temptation to drop your fingers within your panties and provide some relief to your aching clit.

Instead, you let go of his cock and run your finger along his lower stomach, picking up the small droplets of his release before bringing your finger to your mouth; cleaning off the digit with a lewd moan of satisfaction as his heated eyes pierce your own.

“My little mouse, so desperate to please.” He states and the words are almost like a purr as they rumble free of his chest. “Your subservience has made the Scarecrow very happy indeed.”

At the unexpected praise, a flush of pleasure laced with embarrassment causes a blush to appear high on your cheeks as you tilt your head to him, accepting the compliment silently.

Slipping free of his body and ignoring the uncomfortable arousal which is coating your thighs, you stand to your feet. Immediately, a wave of dizziness overcomes you and you stumble in position as an undeniable sick feeling lodges itself in the base of your throat- your mouth filling with saliva as you swallow it away quickly.

As perceptive as always, Crane notes your sudden change in disposition like a hawk as he tucks himself back into his slacks.

“You are nauseous.”

“Yeah.” Nodding as your fingers wrap themselves in the hem of your shirt, your breathing is steady as you answer. “It just came over me there lik-.”

“When did you last have something to eat?”

“A few hours before I arrived here. I picked up some noodles for dinner and ate about half of them.”

“Hmm.” A noise of consideration. “You need to eat. My toxin, plus our other activities will have exhausted your energy reserves.”

“I can grab an energy bar from the draw-” You make a move but are quickly cut off again by his head shaking.

“The drawer is empty at the moment.”

Glancing at the nearby clock, the time showing as just after 1am, a sense of uncertainty settles in your chest.

Thankfully, Crane is the one to break the silence.

“Dress yourself appropriately and I will take you to a nearby eatery. It serves throughout the night and the food is of a passable quality.”

Uncertainty gives way to pure shock as your mind wraps around his offer. To leave the basement together was a concept which seemed almost taboo; a concept which had been long since relegated into the realm of ‘unrealistic at best’ within your mind.

Realising that you had been silent for a moment too long, you met his eyes once more to find his intelligent gaze fixated on your own and you offer a shy smile of acceptance of his suggestion.

“That sounds good to me.”

Also posted on AO3

#less intense than other parts but still delicious nonetheless. i love describing cranes body #jonathan crane #scarecrow #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x you #dc comics #gotham rogues #batman villains #scarecrow smut

[sirthisisa-wendys]

to be more specific, him saying something like “we’ll make it fit” or by any chance,,,, cockwarming 👉👈

THIS CAN BE DONE

Rough and Tumble: Keizo Arashi x Fem!Reader

wc: 569

tw: smut

masterlist

The front door creaks open slowly and then shuts, sticking to the door frame before it gives way with a pop against the frame.

A gentle sigh greets the night, and the old fabric couch creaks under the weight of someone much bigger than you, someone you can't see.

You slip out of bed in your stolen t-shirt and open your door a little more, watching the light of the TV flick on and play chicken with the shadows. Another deep, languid sigh permeates the silence. Your feet carry you from the comfort of the bedroom and into the living room, where a giant rests his head in one hand, eyes closed.

You retreat back to your previous station, flicking on the bathroom lights and grabbing a couple of washcloths for your purpose. You wet them liberally - one cold, one hot - and return to your crusade.

Without speaking, one of your hands presses the giant's face upward, gently tilting his chin. A cut here, a scrape there. You'd seen worse; this is light work. Keizo doesn't talk as you press the hot rag to his cheek and the cold one to his chest, where you can see the reddened skin from his rapid exhalations.

Keizo hums softly, eyes fluttering closed once more. "Better?" you wonder, getting up to retrieve some antiseptic and cream for the scrapes.

"Much better," he replies, though this is the same reply you get every time. Nothing new here. When you return with both items, Keizo allows you to remove both washcloths, then tend to his wounds one last time.

"Everything went okay?"

"Mmm-hmm." You don't ask specifics - those aren't important. All you care is if Keizo comes back home, no matter what shape he's in. You can fix anything. "Come here, babe." Keizo pulls you into his embrace, your legs straddling his lap as you tap the q-tip to his bruised skin. You kiss his lips once, then go back to your task.

"You need to relax a bit," you muse. His hands roll the fabric of the shirt up and then dip below your hips to undo his own pants in response to your advice. This, too, isn't unusual. You're almost unphased by how Keizo fishes out his cock and rubs your slit, the tip collecting your juices before nestling into your core. You slide down slightly, then lift back up, still focused on a cut above his eye.

Keizo's hips buck slightly, and he breathes "all of it" before you sink back down, filling yourself with his cock. He hisses softly, frowning before relaxing and letting your hips rest in his lap. Cockwarming's a lazy tactic, but it keeps him still as you finish your work. It's almost like you're pacifying him, but to the satisfaction of both of you - and then some.

"Just relax," you purr. "I've got you tonight." You kiss his neck twice, rubbing circles into his skin with your thumbs, and then rest your head on his shoulder as you both sink into the couch. As the last movement - which is not normal - Keizo turns, he's laying beneath you on the sofa and placing your head on his chest, slowly succumbing to some form of sleep as he rests inside you.

"I love you," you whisper. "Glad you're home."

"I love you, too. Don't know where else I'd be, baby."

#keizo arashi #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #keizo arashi x reader

[blazingstar29]

Ron notices at first in their lecture. A soft huff of air, scarcely audible, then a quick wiggle of his fingers. Later in the library he notices it too. When Tom can move with more freedom, he notices his roommate blow briefly on his dominant hand. Tom Kazansky, his roommate and fellow freshman is only a year younger but Ron feels a strange fondness kindling. Like a kid brother. A kid who’s about to get chewed up and spat out by the world. He’s not stupid, Ron knows that. But whether he would have recommended the Navy for someone like him? He isn’t so sure. 

The younger man has admitted that it was his father’s wishes. A good man at heart, Tom had said. Just very fixed in what he thinks the best career is. Hearing this only strengthened the protective feelings growing inside of him.

So he finally addresses it later in the empty common room of their dormitory. Tom lies on a couch, book in one hand whilst he holds an ice block in his other. 

“What happened to your hand?” Ron finally asks in privacy. 

“Took the skin off of it in volleyball yesterday,” Tom admits. He lifts his hand to the light and winces at the discolouration. Ron stands to have a look. The skin is pink and peeling across the centre of the palm. He huffs a small laugh. Tom was taking no prisoners in the game. In fact, Ron’s pretty sure the guy on the other team copped a ball to the face at least twice. 

He disappears back to their room but comes back quickly with a tube of savlon. Taking Tom’s hand without warning, Ron squeezes some of the antiseptic graze cream onto his hand and smears it without much tact. 

“Thanks,” Tom says quietly. Without further discussion, they return to their respective tasks.

The next time they wind up at the courts playing volleyball, Ron tugs him aside and over to the bleachers.

“What are you doing?” Tom asks indignantly.  His room mate, scarcely a year older than him, is more act first, explain later. He watches as Ron rummages in his duffle bag and before producing a bundle of bandages. 

“Your hands are soft, trust fund,” says Ron. But then he looks up at Tom with a smile and he doesn’t take the name to heart. Carefully, he wraps Tom’s right hand; diligently and with care. He explains how to wrap it to support the tendons, then how to get it to cover the palm for just a little bit of protection. 

Ron shrugs when he finishes. “You can get gloves as well. But the wraps make you look cooler.” 

Wiggling his fingers, Tom holds his hand in front of him to examine it. It certainly makes him feel tougher than he’s been feeling. Not that he’ll ever admit it but his first semester at college has felt like a train wreck and way out of his depth. But Ron’s words ring in his mind. Reassuring, rejuvenating. He smiles. He feels cooler; ice cool

#the hand wraps are gender ngl #ron slider kerner #tom iceman kazansky #top gun 1986 #drabble #kind of #ron kerners home for wayward pilots and their rios

[crows-home]

Agh, I feel bad that the next chapter of You are at your lowest, I am rising higher is taking me longer than I want, so here’s a 2k sneak peak of when everyone first gets word of Sonic’s death :’))

.

There’s an analogue clock on Amy’s wall.

It’s hung just above her fireplace, in her living room, black hands displaying the time- 10:35 P.M. At least, Silver thinks it’s somewhere around 10:35? Reading those things are difficult and he has little practice with them.

It’s old, Silver thinks, even for this time period. It’s a clock he’s only ever seen in ancient books and torn pictures unearthed in rubble. It’s shaped like a box, but crafted to look… fancy. A fancy box. Red paint peeling and chipping away to reveal the brown wood underneath.

It’s nice. Silver can admire the details and the fancy swooshes at the corners and the bronze swinging thing in the middle behind a glass barrier. Blaze would have better words to describe it; she’s always been the more knowledgeable about these types of things. Too bad she’s handling responsibilities in her own world right now.

Tick tick tick.

When he walks through the threshold, it’s the first thing his eyes go to. A nice clock, really, Silver isn’t one to criticize his friends’ furniture and home- but he could do without the subtle noise that it makes every second. Each second, the thin red hand moves, ticking and ticking in a way that gets under his skin after too long.

Silver cringes as he sits down on Amy’s couch, next to Knuckles. The scrapes on his elbows hurt and the back of his hands burn like they always do whenever he overexerts his powers.

[Amy’s called a meeting with everyone at her home at the edge of town. Knuckles, The Chaotix, Silver, even Sticks.

Well, almost everyone. Rouge and Omega have already been contacted, and Tails and Sonic are nowhere to be found. It’s deathly quiet when she sits them all down in her living room and passes out the first aid supplies. She hangs her head low, and Knuckles thinks the battle must have shaken her up more than usual.

She looks like she’s been crying.]

Silver hisses while applying an ice pack to his bruised leg.

“Have all the evacuees made it out of town?” Espio asks. Silver turns to look at him. He’s to the right, sitting down in front of the pink loveseat where Charmy and Vector are. Right in front of the fireplace, right below the clock.

Amy nods, putting the first aid kit on the coffee table in the middle of the room. She takes a seat in front of them, in a peach chair that looks like it needs serious upholstering.

“Good, we should focus on our next move,” Espio dabs antiseptic onto a scrape on Charmy’s knee. The bee whines. “Eggman’s not wasting any time.”

“Yeah,” Vector gripes. Silver sees him flinch when he presses an ice pack to a bump on his head. His headphones and gold chain have been tossed to the side. “And he’s got a real bad team with him this time. I mean, did you guys see that masked guy?”

They did. It was fast. Silver couldn’t get a hit in no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t even keep him still with his telekinesis. He’s still sour about that. He glares at the floor like Amy’s cream carpet will give him forgiveness.

Tick tick tick

Besides Silver, Knuckles removes his gloves roughly. Silver wisely chooses to tilt away from Knuckles before he elbows him without thinking. “Chaos was there,” Knuckles says while applying a heart patterned band-aid on his palm. He frowns ruefully at them. “But I don’t get how or why. He’s supposed to be on Angel Island.”

“What the heck was Zavok doing here, too?” Sticks calls from the floor somewhere to Silver’s left. “I thought Sonic took care of him and his goons months ago!”

Zavok isn’t someone Silver has any real personal experience with, but he was a formidable opponent.

“Metal Sonic was mean…” Charmy whines.

The ice pack he’s pressing on his knee doubles as a balm to his aching hand. It’s white and nothing much, but Silver frowns at it all the same.

Metal Sonic was his usual fast and unflinching robotic self. Was that other guy, the one with the mask, a robot too? They shared similar traits…

“…We saw Shadow as well,” Espio mumbles.

There’s a pause in the air- a tense silence that hangs and goes on for too long- almost overpowering.

Tick tick tick tick

Silver chances a glance around the room and sees that everyone else is looking at the floor, at the walls, at their own hands, like that will give them any sort of answer. No one really knows what to say about their friend who turned enemy again.

[Knuckles knows what he would say, but he’s been told he can’t say those words around Charmy.]

When Shadow had first teleported beside him in the middle of battle, Silver had expected assistance. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of Shadow being a threat! That’s why he was completely caught off guard when Shadow grabbed him by the quills and flung him meters away.

This isn’t his time period, he’s so out of his element again, he doesn’t know. It’s frustrating that he doesn’t. Frustrating that he hesitated before engaging in battle against a former ally. He would fist his hands in anger if they weren’t aching so much.

Silver flinches when Knuckles balls his fists and growls. The hearts on his palm bunch up and wrinkle.

“Forget this!” Knuckles says. “We don’t have time to wonder why Shadow’s bad again or why so many of our enemies are back. Whatever’s going on, it’s nothing some good old-fashioned force and teamwork can’t fix. I mean, how strong can they be? We’ve beaten them once already!”

[That has them lifting their heads a little bit. Knuckles sees Vector smile, and Silver sit up just a bit straighter. Good.]

Silver feels himself smile, despite everything. Right. They just need some time to reorganize, is all. Even after that rough battle and loss, Knuckles still looks tough; ready for the next fight. He’s a good person, Silver thinks. He’s grateful he has these people now. Grateful he has someone like Knuckles to rely on.

Tick tick tick.

[Amy still seems down though. Hm.]

Probably feeling bold, Knuckles smirks and raises a fist. “So they got the upper hand today. Big deal! Just some luck on their part that we’re a little rusty. I, for one, can’t wait to head back out there and show them that no matter how much muscle they bring, we’ll always be stronger.”

Sticks sits up. “Knuckles is right-”

[Heh, as always.]

“-for once-”

[Wait what?]

Sticks [rudely] ignores Knuckles’ indignant growls, and Silver has to hide his laugh behind a cough. Charmy doesn’t hide his at all. “-But we’re gonna hafta decide on a plan fast, because with Shadow on his team, there’s no telling how much time we’ve got! That guy will cover so much ground like nobody’s business!”

Speaking of fast…

Switching the ice pack from one hand to another, Silver looks at Amy, who’s sitting on her armchair and staring resolutely at her hands folded in her lap. “Were you able to track down Sonic and Tails?”

Amy’s muzzle moves with a thick swallow.

“I-” she begins, and then glances to one corner of the room. “I- found Tails. He’s, um- he’s in my room right now. Resting.”

Tick tick tick tick

Had Tails been a part of the battle without them realizing? Silver feels a pang of worry go through him thinking about young Tails, going into battle against such powerful foes, completely unprepared. At least Amy’s taken care of him now.

[She keeps blinking. She’s trying to keep her eyes from watering. Knuckles stops paying attention to everyone else in the room, focusses solely on her. His own heartbeat is loud in his ears.]

“What about Sonic?” Charmy’s high voice pipes up.

They need Sonic. Silver frowns and thinks. Where was Sonic during the battle? Taking care of Tails? He’s always been pretty protective of him.

Once they get Sonic and the rest of the team here, they can figure something out. Like Knuckles said. Nothing they haven’t done before. Silver lets himself feel a little bit of hope, lets the ball of anxiety in his chest turn into anticipation.

Keep a cool, level head. Just like Knuckles, who’s not saying anything and is looking at Amy. Looking for the next step.

[Knuckles doesn’t think anyone else is watching Amy as intently as he is, he feels like he’s the only one who sees how unnaturally stiff she’s become. Sees how she fiddles with the tassels of her throw pillow.]

“We didn’t see him anywhere!”

[Knuckles is suddenly struck with a familiar sensation. A stomach-dropping, time stopping one. He’s been here before.

Why? Why does he feel like this? Amy hasn’t even said anything, but he already feels like- like she’s told them-]

“He’s… Sonic is-”

Is what? Is he hurt? Silver blinks and tilts his head forward. Amy cares a lot about Sonic’s well-being. That must be what’s gotten her so bad.

Tick tick tick tick

[Amy takes in short, quivering breaths. Like she’s trying to keep herself together- like she’s seconds from falling apart.

Knuckles knows immediately where she’s going.]

Everyone’s looking at Amy now. No doubt wondering what’s got her pausing and why she looks so tense. Amy takes a deep breath brings her gaze up- not looking at anyone specifically, Silver thinks. She’s looking but- she’s not? How is that even possible?

[It’s familiar. It reminds Knuckles of the day he realized his tribe wasn’t coming back.

…Is that what it is? Maybe it’s something else entirely.]

What’s this déjà vu? Silver is struck by an image- fuzzy and almost a memory- that flashes in front of him. For a second, he thinks he sees Sonic. On the ground and surrounded by- by- something. Someone? A purple and black sky overhead, twisting and distorting, as he and his friends surround- something-

It’s gone. The memory- memory?- is gone a moment later, barely a whisper of a thought left when Silver tries to prod at it.

Amy sniffs, and Silver zeroes in again.

“Sonic is no longer with us.”

Tick.

What?

“…What?” He hears someone- Vector- ask.

Amy closes her eyes, and now Silver can see her clearly. Her jaw is stiff, her hands are shaking, and her back is so straight he thinks she must be in pain.

“What do you mean?”

Is it just him, or is everyone’s eyes too dry all of a sudden?

A ringing in his ear, sharp and growing, almost drowns out everyone’s words. Except for Amy’s. Amy’s words as she explains that- that Sonic was there. He was there before everyone else, along with Tails.

“…Tails saw it happen… -one with the mask- ended his life right in front of him-” Amy is saying, but Silver’s not really hearing. “Early this morning-”

Tick tick tick

He can’t hear because- because of the ringing in his ear. Subtle, but still there. And- and the clock. And- Has the light always been that bright? Have his lips always been this chapped? The room was warm before. A nice place to be during a cold night. Now it’s suffocating. His fur is uncomfortable. And blinking- it’s such a weird motion, isn’t it. He’s never thought about that before.

Amy’s still talking. “…found Tails in his room- scared- … neck was snapped-”

Breathing- breathing is weird too. He’s never noticed. He’s hyper aware of every breath and the way it fills his lungs because it will never fill Sonic’s ever again.

Tick tick tick

Has the clock always been that loud?

[There’s a strange air in the room. Like all of this is not quite real, but Knuckles is hyper-aware of every one of his senses. The bruises on his arms and legs and the way the bandages hug his injuries. The way his heart is thumping in his chest.

He’s aware of the way Silver’s become deathly still beside him. How Charmy’s cries sound and the shuffling noise Vector makes when he goes to hug the kid.

He doesn’t turn to look at any of them, but he can feel.]

#my writing #sonadow #<- i'm only tagging sonadow so that people know that this is a sonadow fic #but if thats not your cup of tea you can totally just take this snippet of everyone finding out sonics dead #so so so so many thoughts about this i cant keep this all inside im going insane #we know sonic references the events of 06 but do u guys think everyone else who was there has these like. vague flashbacks #and like. how do u think everyone else feels when sonic 'dies' in forces. bc ohhhh my god the angst potential #and im planning SO much more for this but i gotta not burn myself but i also really want to share this #the holidays were rough on me but fingers crossed i get this out in january!

[ccrowsiie]

Crowsie's nail recovery recs

Below is a short list of products that help me with nail recovery. It's not at all comprehensive. Items marked with an asterisk (*) are essentials. Everything else is just nice to have. All links are to Amazon, but I'm sure you can get most of these at your local grocery or drug store.

Mani supplies

*A basic manicure set, comes with all the musts.

Orange sticks

Very thin cotton swabs - better for cleaning around your nails than the normal-sized ones.

*100% Acetone, for removing polish and drying your nail plate before polish application. Mandatory for gel, but you can use regular nail polish remover if you're using regular nail polish. I prefer you get this locally, but I'll add an Amazon listing anyway.

*Isopropyl alcohol - I prefer to use this for nail dehydration and polish clean up as it's slightly gentler than acetone on your bare skin. I also suggest you just get this at the store. 91/99% is better for drying your nails, while 70% is a slightly superior antiseptic. They're pretty much interchangeable so don't sweat if you can only find one.

My fav rubberized base - not 100% mandatory but highly recommended if your nails are thin. Small nail art brushes - Handy(hue) for painting on polish if your nails are too small or wonky-shaped for standard brushes. Also useful for getting stray polish off of your skin

Cuticle remover - Apply to cuticles then wait a minute. Push the skin back then wash and thoroughly dry your hands. If you can't get Blue Cross, Sally Hansen makes a nice gel one that only costs a few dollars.

Buffer blocks - Never use a filer lower than 200 grit on your bare nails.

Builder gel - Great for smoothing out pitted, wonky or split nails. Don't use over broken skin. Top and base coat (includes shiny and matte) (*if you're using gel)A simple UV light for curing gel polish Liquid latex for messy painters - Expensive but worth it. Put a card or something over the bottle while you're using it so it doesn't gum up.

Cuticle oil

Pure Jojoba oil - 2-3 small dots are more than enough for your hand. Concentrate it on your nail and cuticle.

Sweet almond oil - A great carrier oil for other essential oils and just nice on its own

Rosehip oil - Optional, I like the benefits.

The scents I use (you can use whatever you want so long as it's oil soluble and skin safe)

Dropper bottles for portability - I keep these on tables and dressers around the home.

Brush pens for portability - Perfect to keep in purses or pockets.

First aid/hand care

Bandages for bleeding or open boo-boos. Hard as Hoof creme - Very emollient and nourishing. A small amount will do your whole hand. I love this stuff.

Bert's Bees cuticle cream - Nice but has a strong lemon oil scent. Skip if that sounds at all appetizing.

Rubber kitchen gloves - Your new kitchen buddies. Don't so much as LOOK at the dishes in your sink without wearing a pair of these. Also, get these locally. The prices are insane online lol. Nivea Soft cream - I prefer this for my hands over the iconic blue-tinned stuff. It's thinner and goes on way less greasy.

#nail stuff

[winniewings]

Your Metal Marks On My  Bare Back

Hello Guys , this is the part 2 of my story soothing your night terrors , hope you like it , please let me know if you like it pressing the heart icon or comment . Thanks a lot.

Part 2

The first sun rays of the morning were falling on his gorgeous sleeping face making him open his light blue eyes lazily. The first thing his eyes fell on was your beautiful sleeping face really close to his, smiling faintly at you, was still asleep, he leaned in and kissed your lips grateful in his heart to have you by his side and in his life. The very next thing he noticed was his metal arm on your delicate waist, which was naked, making him wonder what had happened at night as he remembered you falling asleep in your pyjamas. He then noticed that you had your pants on, only the top was missing. It didn’t take him long to remember the dreadful nightmare he had, letting out a deep sigh he turned to look at the ceiling, taking off his verbatim arm from your waist he stared at his hand bringing it closer to his face. While doing so , his lazily opened eyes looked closely at his fingertips where he found traces of dried blood, waking him completely, so he lifted his back from the bed with a jerk. A tornado of possibilities started forming in his head and he started eyeing his room for more clues to know what exactly had happened. Then, his disturbed eyes saw your naked waist, as your chest was covered by her arms because you were sleeping on your side. No, no,... He said with a fearful voice and leaning in towards your waist, he stared at your back, where he found exactly what he did not want to see: Dried blood in the places he dig his metal fingers on your skin. Thankfully, they weren’t that deep but his heart ached seeing that he had hurt you unknowingly. He brushed his fingers on your shallow wounds with a heavy heart and then jumped off his bed and took out a small first aid box from the chest of drawers. After walking towards your side of the bed he gently moved you so he can sit on the edge of it, your back was now partially covered in blanket facing him. He lifted the blanket completely from your back mesmerised by the sight of her curves in front of his eyes in the morning light, but shortly after his eyes filled with guilt when he glanced at the scars he gave you last night when you were trying to comfort him. He grabbed a cotton ball and soaked in alcohol, and gently starting cleaning the dried blood stains from your skin. You felt the alcohol slightly burning your skin and moved in your sleep trying to get rid of the unpleasant sensation. Failing at this task you both up, and turned to look at your husband whilst rubbing your eyes with your fingers. Bucky, what are you doing? You said confused looking at his position behind you and the cotton ball with your blood traces in his hand. His eyes filled with joy at hearing your sweet voice and his light blue eyes started roaming on your face’s morning glow and staring at your exposed skin of your front, making you blush a dark shade of pink. You pulled the blanket up to your chest, covering it an embarrassment because of his strong gaze on you. You glanced at his hand holding the cotton ball with quizzical eyes, making him look at it as well. This is awful. He said with misery written all over his face and slightly lowering his head in shame. You slowly realised where the blood had come from and let out a sigh. He gently rolled you on the bed so that your bare back was facing him once again and pulling out a fresh cotton piece with antiseptic cream on it he patted it on the marks he had left on you .You smiled slightly at the way he was caring for you, that once weren’t so deep yet he felt very bad at what he had done to you trying to get rid of his nightmare. In these two months you had come to realise that your marriage with Bucky was indeed a right decision as the man truly cared for you and he loved you, more than he loved himself. When he was done, he leaned in and pressed a kiss on your shoulder blades, making you close your eyes in ecstasy at the feel of his lips on your skin. Forgive me. He said still close to your shoulder blades with his warm breaths falling on your skin. You moved your back up from the bed holding his strong vibranium arm so you can look at him. Moving your hand to his cheek, you caressed his stubbly skin. I have nothing to forgive you for, if only, I am thankful to have you in my life. And saying this, you kissed him on his lips pouring all your love and affection in it.

#bucky x reader #bucky barns x you #half naked bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #fluff and comfort #fluff and feels #metal arm #forgiveness #kissing #touching #regret #love #night romance #sleepy

[realasslesbian]

Also, lemme paint a picture for you, of maybe the lowest moment of my life, due entirely to the robodebt scheme, since I'm so good at 'fun creative writing' lmao

It's been raining all week. The roof of the car that I live in is leaking right on my pillow, but there's not much I can do about that except put a takeaway container that I found outside in the gutter on my pillow and empty it every fifteen minutes. I've just come from the doctor where I spent my last $50 getting a large skin cancer surgically removed from my shoulder. The doctor, who had his nose wrinkled the whole time, because I hadn't showered in a whole week, told me to 'try and keep the wound clean'.

I drive to the backstreet behind my work, where I have to be at 6am the next morning. As I turn into the street, my car stops. I wrap a plastic bag around my twelve stitches and get out in the rain to push the car off the road. After half an hour of tinkering, I figure out the fuel pump has shit itself. Thank god for my 6.6GPA science degree, I know exactly how to fix it. So I call up the nearest mechanic (a two hour walk away) and reserve the part for when my paycheck comes in next week. By this point I've busted open three of those stitches. But it's not like I can go anywhere and do anything about it, so I just try and thread them back together as best I can (yes, it does hurt, a lot) then I smother it in antiseptic and hope for the best.

I get ready for bed, by constructing a gutter out of plastic bags to divert the water from the leaking roof off my damp pillow. I'm pretty exhausted at this point, so despite being wet from the rain and sticky from several days of unwashed sweat, I fall right asleep. I'm occasionally woken up by hoons screeching by, slamming on the horn when they see a car with foggy windows and screaming 'wake up' as they go by. I'm sort of used to this frequent nightly reminder of society's active disdain for the less fortunate.

I go into work the next day at 6am. I work most shifts alone, but at swap over my co-workers make sure to let me know I look and smell like shit. They know I'm homeless. They don't care. No one does. Well, that is except for the dog walker who calls the cops on Day Three of me being stuck in the same spot. The cops give me a move on order. Thanks to my first class legal honours degree I know I have 24 hours to comply before they can do anything. My paycheck comes in at midnight, so I'm hoping to have my car back on the road the next day.

I eat some white rice, take a leak in an ice cream container, and go to sleep under my makeshift gutter. I wake up in the morning to absolutely excruciating pain in my jaw. I dunno what it is, but it's the worst pain I've ever felt in my life. There doesn't appear to be anything immediately wrong, other than swelling in my gums, so I just down half a packet of pain killers and make a note to swing by the pharmacy for something stronger on my two hour walk to the mechanic today. It would later turn out I had developed bone cancer in my jaw from the abscess an untreated wisdom tooth had created.

Anyway, five hours and about 20km of walking with a 10kg fuel pump hanging off my one good shoulder later and I'm back at my broken down home. I have about three hours to get out of here before the cops show up to fine and/or arrest me for 'camping illegally' on a city street. Usually replacing a fuel pump would take me half hour, max, but I'm in significant pain. The painkillers the pharmacist gave me are helping, but I'm still borderline delirious. I spend a long time just laying under the car, the greasy city rainwater in the gutter running directly into my now infected surgical wound, just clutching my face, trying to make the pain in my jaw stop. I kind of want to cry, but I ain't cried since I was a kid and I just don't really know how to physically do that anymore. I lay under my car, not really knowing how much time had passed, but pretty anxious the police would show up any minute.

In my semi-delirious state I think about how it wasn't supposed to be like this. I'd worked so hard at my education for nearly a decade for it to not be like this. And yet the Australian government had swooped in and destroyed that burgeoning career for no other reason than wanton malice. I was supposed to be sitting at a nice dry desk, on the upper floors of some top tier law firm's CBD office tower. But I couldn't be admitted as a lawyer with a welfare debt to my name, even if it was obviously fabricated. My greatest discomfort should have been the squelch of rain in my nice shoes when I accidentally stepped into a puddle on the city street. It should have been beyond my comprehension to be laying in a gutter, not even worried about the dirty water in my busted open surgical wound, because of the overwhelming pain of some as yet unknown malady in my jaw. I would never have to know how many people (mainly men) will go out of their way to make a homeless person's life just a bit worse. I would never have to know how little it would take for friends and family to abandon me. I would never have to know that 'unconditional love' doesn't really exist, not when the government says people like me, people with welfare 'debts', don't deserve anything at all. And even back then I knew my 'debt' wasn't a real debt, but no one would believe me. Still not many do, but back then there was no class action, there was no royal commission, there was just the government's propaganda machine against dirty dole bludgers like me.

Anyway, I got the fuel pump in and, while I probably shouldn't have been driving in my state, I drove to the nearest doctor, the one who had originally done the cancer excision. I don't remember too much, due to the pain, but I do remember him saying things like 'what drugs did you take' and 'I'm not sure there's much of a point in me cleaning this up if you're going to not take care of it'. Such is life, I suppose.

I was fairly new to being homeless at that point. I'd only been on the streets a couple months. I've learned and toughened up a lot since then. I still have days and weeks and months where everything goes wrong, but I'm more prepared for it. For example, I try and keep antibiotics and prescription painkillers on hand, even if I have to lie to get a renewed prescription. I've upgraded to a good van and I voluntarily spend my days under it, learning everything I can, fixing and maintaining everything I can. I keep a close eye on the weather. I stay out of populated areas, even if that means staying unemployed, because in the long run, I'll save more money not paying the fines I get from nosy cityslickers than I would in a job. Also I taught myself how to hunt and forage, which reduces my grocery bill significantly. I've basically just accepted survival as the only option.

So I'm sorry if I come off a bit feral to anyone sitting pretty in their nice little house, with their nice little shower, and nice little toilet, and nice little $20 steak they bought at the supermarket, and their nice little as yet unchallenged fantasy land where they have more in common with politicians on $900 000 a year salaries than with the homeless, and their nice little government-sponsored ideas about how anyone the government says is a bad person is in fact a bad person, and their nice little personalities where it's apparently acceptable to have a dig at the traumatic experiences of people who have endured a hell that is so unimaginable, it must be a lie, no matter how fucking watertight the evidence is.

Actually lemme fact-check a little here, because turns out I'm not sorry for being feral. Actually I think the real ferals are the people who choose to ignore the factual, legally-proven, federal court-backed, royal commission-backed experiences of robodebt victims, and instead choose to dismiss, harass and abuse some of the most vulnerable members of society who have endured wrongs and horrors most people can scarcely imagine. I can't even begin to understand the mentality, the lack of basic human decency, that would be required to stoop so low. I could not possibly look on anyone, even my worst enemy, in such a situation and think to open my mouth and tell them 'lol you're lying get therapy uwu'. I just don't understand what has to be fundamentally wrong with a person for them to act this way. But I see it so much, most people are apparently of this calibre, and I'm apparently one of very few people able to see what tf is wrong with it. So I guess that's just another reason I'm better off being a feral out in the bush. I'll take torrential rain, the blistering heat, brown snakes, red backs, shitty dirt roads and plagues of rats over humanity any day.

#robodebt #homelessness #auspol #australia #authoritarian state #authoritarianism #corruption #corrupt government #poverty

[loopielupie]

Whumptober Day 27 - Scars

Spoilers for BNHA, the War arc, so this is continued under the cut.

Katsuki is no real stranger to pain. Muscle aches, quirk skinned palms, scrapes and bruises: they're all par for the course. They're routine, so he has routines for them: a stretching regime he follows every day, antiseptic wipes and plasters for the superficial stuff, and a specialised cream to take the sting out of his palms.

But this pain? This is newer. Something he hasn't quite adjusted to yet.

He sits up with a wince as his shirt catches against his scars. His skin feels like it's on fire, especially his face. It burns and itches and he barely stops himself reaching up to scratch at it. He diverts his hand and scrubs it through his hair, but that just makes his other scars tingle and sting. He hisses a curse, tugging blond strands to counteract one sting with another. Another one of these fucking nights.

The sheets rustle behind him and he sighs. He'd almost forgotten his company.

"Kacchan?" Izuku's voice is thick with sleep and Katsuki glances over his shoulder to find his scrubbing at his eyes.

"Go back t'sleep," he huffs, straightening up and releasing the grip on his hair. But he already knows it's futile before Izuku's joining him. He doesn't press close, though, and Katsuki is grateful. His skin is still singing with overstimulation but Izuku seems to get that. He leans over and flicks on the bedside light, spilling a warm glow across the room.

"Do you want help?"

A part of Katsuki still bristles at being asked that. But he understands it better now, the place Izuku's offers, support, love, come from. And that makes it easier, to reach for the collection of little bottles, his new routine, and hand them over with a gruff nod.

Katsuki ignores the queasy weight in his gut and yanks off his shirt. His shoulders tense immediately from the scratch of cotton across his skin but also everything that comes with bearing the scars. There's his vulnerability which he can just about bear but the worst of it is what it does to Izuku. He gets this look about him: pinched, tense, sad. And Katsuki knows he's blaming himself, even though they've had this out dozens of times already.

"Oi-"

"I know, Kacchan. I know," Izuku sighs, taking the offered bottle of scar gel. "Sorry, you know how my head is."

It'll get easier, the guilt. It's what they've been told by people they know, people they trust who've been through the same. So Katsuki doesn't labour the point. He just drops a heavy hand on Izuku's head and relishes the feeling of curls through his fingers.

I know. I wish it wasn't but I'm here. I ain't goin' anywhere.

The wobbly smile he gets in return is enough confirmation that Izuku gets it. He pops the cap on the bottle.

"This might be cold," he warns.

It's not, it never has been. Izuku's always careful to warm it on his fingers first. Katsuki appreciates the warning anyway.

Izuku is careful as he works, smoothing the gel into the gnarled scar tissue. And bit by bit, the pain fades to something dull and manageable and Katsuki's breathing no longer catches on the sting of tight skin.

When prompted, Katsuki hands over a new tub for his face, something Todoroki had handed him with a knowing look and Izuku carefully applies it. This close Katsuki can see the freckles that dust across Izuku's nose and he wonders, idly, if he'd ever be able to count them all as gentle fingers ease the itch from around his eye.

The realisation comes slowly then, that he doesn't have to wonder. He has time for all that now: he made it, they made it. All the things he wants to do, even stupid shit like counting Izuku's freckles, he can have that.

He doesn't even try to stop the smile. He watches Izuku's eyes flick down to it and smiling, a soft, loving thing that goes straight to Katsuki's chest, even if he looks a bit bemused by the potential meaning. That's ok, Katsuki can keep this particular sentiment a secret, he thinks.

He does however, tip forward to rest the umblemighed side of his forehead on Izuku's shoulder. Izuku takes the weight and presses a kiss to his head.

"Feeling any better, Kacchan?"

"Mmm, thanks."

Izuku takes this as permission to loops his arms around Katsuki's waist. It's a loose hold, one Katsuki could move out of easily. But it's solid and warm and Katsuki has absolutely no intention of going anywhere as they wait for the gel to soak into his scars.

"Love you, nerd," he whispers. It's another realistion that drips syrupy contentment: the battle-scratched roar of his confession won't be the only time he can tell Izuku he loves him. So he says it again, quieter this time, feeling his lips tickle against Izuku's bare shoulder. The hold tightens just a little, fingers tracing a meaningless pattern before Izuku answers, voice edged in quiet wonder like it has been every time so far:

"Love you too, Kacchan."

#whumptober2023 #no.27 #scars #bnha #fic #no tws #bakudeku #bakugo katsuki #midoriya izuku #bkdk