#or I don’t have the energy to endure hours of pain all over

[lighthouse-system]

I think something that gets left out of spoon theory discussion is that while cooking takes spoons, eating does too. I’m like kind of tired of being vilified, misdiagnosed and misconstrued by doctors and stuff for this.

#Ask to tag #spoon theory #Like I assure you I do not eat much bc I have no energy to. Not bc of something else I swear to god #Eating cw #basically I get accused of restricting when the reality is that 90% of the time eating hurts #so instead of addressing the issue I’m told to eat more but I CANT because it HURTS #or I don’t have the energy to endure hours of pain all over

[poppadom0912]

Together (VI 2)

Warnings: Mentions of violence, blood, injuries, abuse, kidnappings, shootings, and scary men.

Summary: Everyone in Chicago knows the signature Halstead stubbornness, but the Murray's only smell delusion

A/N: So, I made a mistake in the last chapter and forgot to add a whole section so this is the part I forgot. Sorry 😭😭

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When you agreed to help clean up your dad's cabin, a place that had been a sort of holiday home till your mother passed away and your dad started to neglect it, you said you needed a distraction from work and this would be a nice sort of getaway from that bustling life to just be in the middle of the countryside with your brothers.

But this wasn’t what you had in mind when you said you wanted a distraction.

Currently, Will was trying his hardest to get your mind off the immense pain you were drowning in and for a while it was working. Will was a miracle worker in his own right, and you were starting to understand why his patients valued his bedside manner.

But nothing good ever lasted because curled up in his lap, his fingers running through your knotted red hair that was identical to his own curly mop while his other hand remained firm on your wrist where he could feel your pulse and he didn’t need to tell you why because you already knew the nauseous smell of death looming over you like a predator, reading to pounce the nanosecond something changed.

Deep down, guiltily, you wondered what you did to deserve all of this. It made you think the Halstead's were doomed to a lifetime of pain and perhaps you just had to come to terms with this lifestyle, one which you should’ve become accustomed to since your teenage years.

Around ten minutes ago you would say, or that’s what Will said specifically when you asked him, a man decked out in all black came down to what Will also said looks and feels like another basement and gave you food. Last time the Murray's kidnapped you, they let you starve but this time was clearly different.

With Will’s help, you sat up but most your body weight was leaning against Will. Resting your head on his shoulder, he described to you everything that was on the tray and for once, you could say that the Murray brothers surprised you in what you hoped was a in a good way.

Was this suspicious? Very much so yes but were you going to take advantage of what could be a one-off situation.

You could just about make out what they gave but Will start speaking before you could ask him to. There were two water bottles that size of his palm, a carton of grape juice which made you whine, two weird looking and most likely packet bought pb&j sandwiches and finally four plain butter biscuits.  

Despite the gruelling hours of torture you endured, food was the last thing on your mind. It had been so long since you had last eaten though, the last meal you could recollect eating was breakfast which merely consisted of a Costco croissant that you ate in the car driving to the firehouse.

Just as you were going to voice your adversity to the food, Will continued being the mother hen you and jay bullied him for.

“Y/N, I don’t care if I have to force feed you, you’re going to eat something from the place and you going to get as much liquids in you. I don’t think this is the time and place for me to be teaching you about nutrition and health.”

You groaned, mumbling to him that you weren’t hungry, but you knew your attempts were futile.

“I promise that you’ll feel a little bit better once you eat. Once we get your sugar levels up a bit, you should be feeling less faint and hopefully you’ll have enough energy to talk to me in full sentences.” Will said, a soft smile on his bloody lips when he tore one of the sandwiches into small bite size pieces, feeding it straight to you when your arm refused to move. “Or I can keep the party going since you're already losing your voice and we don’t need it to be gone completely.”

You hummed in reply. Yeah, you and practically everyone else would appreciate if you still had your voice.

Chewing slowly, you watched Will eating the other sandwich. As the two of you ate, he did mention the poor quality of the food could easily mean something was wrong, but any food was better than no food according to the emergency medicine doctor.

If anything did go wrong though, there was nothing left to patch things up.

And if things did go wrong after this, then the Murray's actions were only getting weirder.

As Will opened the bottled water, gingerly holding it up for you so you could take a few slow sips, you wondered where Jay was and if he was getting the attention he desperately needed, especially after being shot in the snow.

“Do you think Jay’s okay?”

Will stayed silent for a minute when you hoarsely whispered. The question sounded so innocent but the meaning behind it weighs heavy on both your conscious.

“I hope so, I really hope so but he’s Jay. He's not going to stop till he finds us.”

Series Masterlist:

@mads-weasley @sowrongitslottie @elite4cekalyma @senjoritanana @hufflepuff-blackwidow @mrspeacem1nusone @kmc1989 @goth-cowgirl-03 @daggersquadphantom @photographerkaiya0306 @jamie0515 @samanthavitale @iamasimpingh0e

#one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #jay halstead x reader #onechicago #chicago fire #chicago med #chicago pd #will halstead x reader #halstead sister #halstead brothers #kelly severide x reader #jay halstead x sister!reader #will halstead x sister!reader

[angellayercake]

No one asked for this one except for me hehe. As soon as a read this prompt all I could think about was @meowsaidmissy’s  Cardinal Sins comic because how could I not? So here is a little NSFW kiss prompt as a little treat for me! 

27. Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

He wasn't hitting you hard but you could feel your skin burning under the repetitive tap tap tap of his cane. Before you had even had a chance to speak he had demanded you strip with that tone that brokered no argument. And now here you were, sprawled half across his lap in just your stockings drifting back and forth between pleasure and pain. Every strike has your body jolting against the starched material of his suit, pushing your bare skin to just the wrong side of oversensitivity but still you craved more. 

You could have been there for minutes or for hours, so lost in the sensations, you could barely remember what it was you had done to deserve this punishment. If it was a punishment, maybe he just wanted to delight in watching you suffer. And suffer you did, a pained sob leaving you every time the cane made contact with your sore ass. Your hands flex, the grip on his lapels the only thing keeping your limp body in place and all you could do to maintain what little stimulation you are getting from being pressed so close to him. You were desperate for more but that didn’t stop the slick leaking from your exposed cunt, coating your thighs as you writhed and pressed them together to try and ease the ache. 

‘Please please please,’ you beg after every tap the word slurring and barely comprehensible you had repeated it so often. ‘Please Cardinal,’

‘Please what Dolce?’ His amused voice barely cuts through the haze and you realise you aren’t really sure any more.   

‘I need …’ Your voice, your thoughts, they all fail you. It is impossible to articulate how you need him at this moment, your inner voice just repeating his title over and over in your head. ‘I need you, Cardinal,’ you finally gasp out as he gives you a reprieve from the cane. 

‘Oh? And you think you have earned me?’ You nod frantically with all the energy you have left. You had done everything he asked, endured every strike. What else could you do to prove yourself? He pinches your chin roughly between his leather clad fingers tilting your head back until he can stare directly into your eyes. ‘We shall see.’ 

He drops the cane to the floor beside you with a clatter and as he uncrosses his legs he pulls you up into his lap and straddling his thigh. The sudden full contact against your aching cunt draws a moan from deep within you and as you twist and move so you can kneel either side of him your vision almost blacks out at the intensity. Just as you find purchase he pushes you back until your full weight is resting on his strong thigh, legs too weak to carry your weight now as you shudder at the friction. His trousers are sodden already, your slick seeping into the fabric where you are seated, easing the way as grips your hips encouraging you to grind against him, slow and hard.

‘If you can come for me like this dolce? Perhaps then you will have earned what you want.’ Too far gone already to respond you feel the tight hot band inside you winding tighter and tighter as you move against him over and over. You could feel every stitch and seam as you moved, interrupting your slow slick glide and you wondered as you often do if there was anything you wouldn’t do for his approval. His fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips, if not for the gloves his nails would be close to piercing your skin. Pushing and pulling at you to move faster and faster as you begin to shake, your climax so close after being on edge for so long. He sits up straighter pressing his cheek to yours so he can whisper in your ear. 

‘Come on Dolce, or I might think you don’t appreciate your Cardinal’s efforts.’ Tears well up in your eyes the frustration, the pain and the thought of disappointing him curdles inside your chest. Your head drops to his shoulder in need of his support, this new position causing your still sensitive breasts to press against his chest and you gasp as your hard nipples catch against his jacket. In another lifetime you would be ashamed of how sitting in the lap of a clothed could have you so desperate but not here and not now. All you cared about in this moment was pleasing him. But to do that you needed to come and to come you just needed something, a little bit more.

‘Please, Cardinal,’ you gasp into his neck before lifting your head so you can look at him while you beg, so he can see how much you need this from him. ‘Please, kiss me,’ your gaze flicking between his eyes and smirking lips. ‘Please I just need a kiss from you, please.’ He doesn’t move yet but you watch him consider you, trying to decide he should acquiesce to you. Almost unconsciously you lick your bottom lip then pull it between your teeth, whether you hope to encourage him or just satiate your desire yourself you aren’t sure but it catches his attention nonetheless.

‘Please, please, please, please,’ you’ll repeat it as many times as you need but he pauses you when he moves a hand from your waist to instead rub his thumb across your lips. 

‘Just one kiss?’ You realise you have fallen into a trap but it is too late now. ‘And that is all it will take?’ He is not just smirking any more a wide toothy grin spreads across his face. It isn’t kind or warm it is menacing but you would be lying if you said you didn’t love him like this. 

‘Please Cardinal,’ you whimper around his thumb. He slides his hand until he is cupping your jaw positioning you until your lips are aligned with his but still not quite touching. The tears that started pooling earlier finally make their way down your cheeks as he keeps you just on the precipice of bliss. ‘Please,’ you breathe one more time against his mouth and then he is kissing you, so softly it belies the rough treatment he had given you up until this point.

It was just what you needed, that connection, that intimacy with your Cardinal that sets off a chain reaction through your body from where your lips are pressed together right down to your continually grinding cunt. He wraps his arms around you holding you as you shudder through your orgasm running his fingers through your hair until you relax.

‘Brava ragazza,’ he murmurs into your hair. ‘Una brava ragazza sei la mia dolce.’ 

#smooch time #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia #copia #copia x reader #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfiction #my writing

[blessedtobebangtan]

jungkook 13 pretty please

" I love you, and I know you love me too. Even if you refuse to admit it.”

trigger warning(s): mention of the mafia, yandere themes, manipulation, cursing, mentions of abuse, bondage and restraints, toxic themes

word count: 1K

a/n: wow, this requested a while back, but i am slowly trying to clear out my drafts and finish these requests for you all. i would really just expect random posts like these from time to time to be honest because i really have to be in the mood to write because forcing it is the worst. but nonetheless, please enjoy loves.

-

Your head bowed and your eyes found the floor to be the most interesting thing for the past couple of days. Your mind began to go blank being isolated for the past couple of days and you were beginning to lose consciousness. Bruises littered almost every inch of your body making every move you made feel like a sharp stab to your flesh. Your wrist and arms ached from the restraints that held you to the wall. The collision of your knees to that hard cement floor made you lose feelings in your legs hours ago, but a stinging pain would return every couple of hours for a reminder of your current situation.

Everything was good until it wasn’t. That’s how it always is with Jungkook. One second, he’s happy and loving towards you like it’s the last time he’ll see you. He’s the irresistible, sweet man you fell in love with, and he makes you feel like the only woman in the world.

The next second he is a mafia leader, who doesn’t take the slightest ounce of opposition from you and will do anything to make you fear his authority. And he never failed to.

He brought you to the basement of his mansion, but to you it was a torture chamber. Where Jungkook would inflict a word of pain onto you in a matter of minutes, where you were hidden from the world, but every inch of your being discovered by him, where you were kept for days at a time for not having his dinner ready by the time he got home.

Every time you thought you feared him as much as you could, Jungkook proved there was always more room for fear.

The door across the room began to creak ever so quietly and you immediately knew who it was without lifting your gaze. Maybe yesterday or the first day, you would have been engulfed by your fears hearing the noise. But after what you endured last night, you didn’t have the energy to cower into yourself.

His shoes clicked against the ground, breaking the everlasting silence that had taken over the room. You waited patiently with your head down, not having the strength to look at that monster.

Jungkook's eyes never left you, he watched as you found it hard to breathe and your inhales of air sounded like that of an injured animal. The way your body shook from the cold, crisp air and the soreness that consumed your muscles and joints with every passing hour.

You hushed your breathing feeling his intimidating aura hang over your body. The smell of his signature cologne invaded your nostrils like some type of illegal drug that you should’ve never taken in the first place.

Jungkook’s hand reached out and made contact with your messy hair, softly brushing his hands as you let him be too weak to fight back anymore.

“ Good morning, my love.”, he spoke softly in contrast to his voice the last time he visited. You groaned quietly as his hands traveled down to your face caressing you gently.

“ Please don’t hurt me.”, you softly begged, your voice barely strong enough to speak anymore after not being fed or given water for two days.

Despite the pain that shot through your body, you slowly made an effort to look up at the man who claimed to love you. His eyes were dark, but unreadable at that moment.

“ I’ve never hurt you before, Y/N.”, he stated with a sincere expression of concern, bringing your face up, so you caught a glimpse of his expression. He smiled a psychotic smile and licked his bottom lip, “ I’ve only ever helped you, princess.”

You shook your head at him with quivering lips and sniffling quietly, “ This is helping me ? Keeping me trapped in here, punishing me whenever I make you mad, that’s not h-helping me. It just feels like you hate me.”, you trembled over your words, scared to say something that would piss him off.

He clicked his tongue in disagreement, almost disappointed at your accusations. His hand glided over a fresh bruise on your left cheek causing you to cringe and jerk your head from his touch. Your eyes watered in seconds as all of your feelings went into the fresh bruise and tears fell one by one.

Your reaction didn’t fazeJungkook or offend him at all, but only made him feel more powerful and slightly aroused. He smirked to himself as your hushed sobs filled his ears as a gift.

“ Of course, I don’t hate you.”, his tone laced with disappointment, “ I could never hate the love of my life, however sometimes you need a reminder of my love- how you receive it is of your own jurisdiction.”

“ I only do these things because I love you.”

Silently you reminded yourself of the last days of your life, how he’d beaten you within an inch of your life and was now blaming it all on you. What the fuck did you get yourself into?

Jungkook watched you intently waiting for a response that would never come, you had nothing left to say. You were disgusted, scared and broken. You couldn’t begin to speak against him because you hadn’t the strength to as of right now and there was too much to say. He didn’t want to admit that your silence might have hurt his feelings a bit because in his eyes he really did love you and he was expressing himself in the best way possible. He just loved harder than anyone you had before.

He sucked his teeth in annoyance and proceeded his speech with sincerity, " I love you, and I know you love me too. Even if you refuse to admit it.”

The sound of keys hitting each other awoke you from your trance of silence, you looked back up and found Jungkook holding these keys that would release you from your imprisonment. A small ounce of joy infused into your brain as he looked over to you with a single eyebrow raised.

“ Now, if you’re done with your deranged accusations of my love for you..”, he bent down, so that you and he held eye contact smiling sweetly, “ let’s get you back upstairs because I’ve missed the delicious breakfast you make for me every morning.”

#jungkook smut #yandere imagines #yanderejungkook x reader #yandere jungkook #yanderebts #yandere bts #jungkook mafia au #jungkook x reader #jungkook yandere

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 10: Little

Author's Note

Word count: 8.4k (whoops)

Read the rest on my Masterlist!

This would be easier if Damiano was’t saying all the right things all at once. A minute in between, or even a warning, would make the turn in conversation more bearable.

“There was a point, a couple months in, where I would have traded a lobe of my poor liver for you to be all clingy and needy in Little headspace. I miss being your Dom so fucking much, so fucking much.” He’s putting such emphasis into his words that it slightly strains his voice. “With your anxiety, having your Dom basically disappear…and we’d spent years building the dynamic into something that was both pleasurable and therapeutic. All that trust and I…the head fuck, I can’t imagine. I don’t want you to think that it wasn’t the most special thing in the world to me.” The sobs are coming so fast that you can’t inhale in between and end up literally choking on your own misery. It's the way a toddler with no self-regulation skills cried.  

“I know, at points, I’ve done power play with other partners.” He’s wincing as he speaks, which is totally unnecessary. You just didn’t get the inclination to submit to anyone else. 

“But I’ve just been stuck on the thought that you might have felt replaceable.” You shake your head and try to gather the air to speak. Instead of just embracing, an hand snakes under your blouse provides pressure through calming, even strokes along your back 

“Felt impor – ortan –ant,” you manage, face tucked snuggly against his neck. Damiano sighs in relief.

“Good. Thank god.”

“Knew I mattered.” Although all the syllables come out right, the next phrase is such a struggle that it's almost indiscernible. “Knew…loved, not – not a…burden.” It was the way your well-intentioned, but often unequipped parents made you feel: like more than they signed up for. It's hard to articulate negatively about a good childhood. They bought roses for your middle school graduation, but you’d rather sit on the bathroom floor with the flu alone than endure your frantic mother or patronizing father. How could a kid they very much intended to have be emotionally over-demanding? Must be something wrong with the kid. 

Except nothing made you feel more right than Dami kneeling on the side of a bubble bath, contentedly washing you with a baby-pink washcloth. He used lavender scented soap and smiled adoringly at how quickly you became non-verbal. 

“Feel floaty, little one?” he’d coo, asking if you’d entered headspace just from this intimate act of service. No pain. No sex. The dynamic had reached a point where just his presence and intention was enough since Damiano, himself, was completely tranquil. It created a euphoric energy exchange, always nurturing. He enjoyed it, you blossomed, but that all came to a grinding halt as soon as the trust wore thin.

“Selfishly, I miss feeling in control, too. I tried to sublimate, but I couldn’t wait for the scenes to me over. It felt manufactured with new partners and just…wrong. Gross, even. Fuck, why am I saying this?” he groans. “I just wanted something to click so badly and it didn’t.

“S’okay.”

“I know this is asking for a lot. Really, I shouldn’t be asking for anything at all, considering living together is more than I realistically hoped for. You know what? I’m gonna shut up.” You shake your head, drying your wet face on the cotton of Dam’s shirt, only for it to  be full of tears again. “Okay, I wish that — I want there to be a way that I earn your trust again, dynamic wise. I miss my little girl.”

That one physically hurts, like a side cramp from running after drinking too much water. The stabbing pain emanates deep into your torso because “yeaning” doesn’t begin to describe your emotions. You literally ached to be curled up in Dami’s lap while he hit his weed vape during The Little Mermaid. Of course, half an hour in, he was humming the melodies into your ear. Sometimes he even did voices or rocked back and forth to the beat of the songs, the soft pajamas he’s dressed you in pleasantly brushing your skin.

“I miss holding you and feeling the pure joy at convincing me to watch one of those Disney movies that are intolerable except for the music. You try to hide how excited you get and I try to act like I wasn’t gonna say yes to anything you picked.” 

“Damia…” You ball your hands into fists, fingernails biting into the soft flesh. It's a bad habit, but an effective one. The little bit of pain keeps you present when you’d like to fawn. This wasn’t the place: rehab facility, in a previously sterile, closet–size room. The couple times you’d accidentally slipped into subspace semi-publicly had been scary. If you were meeting him on tour, Damiano was extremely intentional about creating a controlled environment, and if he didn’t feel confident, you wouldn't play.

Perhaps, without realizing it, the hand under your shirt is stoking at the same pace as an even breath. When one body was upset, the other subconsciously moved to calm it. All you needed was to breathe in time with his hand against your back, and allow yourself to fall into submission. Every cell in your being had been screaming for this, waiting months for Dami’s reassuring touch, but you couldn’t allow yourself to enjoy it. Hell, you shouldn't be allowing it whatsoever because based on recent history you’d end up hurt. Worse still, you’d feel helpless, which was an emotion you’d clawed your way out of with cut up hands and bleeding fingernails. 

“I need to stand up,” you decide, clambering off his lap. It takes Dami by surprise and he hangs onto your wrists while you struggle to get your feet right. He can tell something is awry.

“Okay, you're standing. What now?” he asks in his gentlest voice. Speak. Fucking speak. Maybe you could go home and fall back into memory, pretend it wasn’t a temporary fix that would ultimately deepen the wound. 

“Look at me.” You can’t stop your face from turning, so you squeeze your eyes closed and feel a rush of tears. “Look at me.” You pout your lip and shake your head, whimpering in distress. The lip pout was a dead giveaway, so you bite it instead and taste blood. The palms of your hands hurt, your lip hurt, your heart hurt. How was a person supposed to contain this much hurt and be unaffected?

“When we split you didn’t have another dom. How long did it take you to find one, y/n?” He caught on too easily. Your left leg begins shaking, quivering at the knee like it's about to give out. Your body tries to contain nervous energy. It’s too much. The sobs are so frequent you struggle to breath, coughing on snot.

“Did some piece of shit hurt you, piccola mia? What did they do wrong?” You choke on your own spit at the tone of his voice, covered in goosebumps. Damiano probably didn’t realize how dominant he sounded. His little girl making a mistake within a new dynamic wasn’t even a possibility to him. Had to be the dom’s fault because you were perfection.

“When you’re ready we can redo the scene and it’ll go exactly how you want. I’ll be so careful to replace that bad memory with a good one. Hmm?” You shake your head. There had been no bad substitute dom, because there’d been no other dom at all.

“Open your eyes,” he commands, tightening the grip on your wrists. Dami sits forward and pulls you between his spread legs. You stare at your left shoe. One of Princess’s hairs was on the bland, gray carpet, nearly camouflaged. 

“I haven't submitted to anyone,” you whisper so quietly that not even crying can distort the words.

“Look at me.” It's another command, more forceful. His grip on your wrists aches, just enough to draw attention. Keeping the kicked puppy expression off of your face became impossible ten minutes ago, so when Dami looks, he sees. He’s absolutely devastated, then kicking himself for not putting two and two together. 

“You’re going to be Little for a while. Sit on my lap.” Now that the decisions made, you’re so awash in relief that your oxygenation gets even more fucked up.

“Can’t breathe.” He makes the decision physically, too, and pulls you down to him. You go completely pliant, so sitting on his lap becomes laying on his chest. Dami turns both your bodies to fit semi-comfortably along the tiny bed. You peel off your shirt to reveal just a sports bra, worn to keep the boobage under control. Now all that matters was his warm hands on your bare skin. The shirt falls to the floor and Princess sniffs it out of curiosity. 

“Let me change into a tank top,” he murmurs. It's a sign of respect, since he’d go shiftless any other time. “Loosen your grip. I’m just getting something from my dresser, you're okay, topolina.” Subconsciously, you’d wrapped your arms around Dami and established a vice hold, so he’d have to pry your arms apart to get away. It was a desperate move.

“Sorry.”

“You’re not allowed to apologize unless I ask, surely you remember that.”

“I remember,” you slip into Little Voice and watch Damiano’s from out under your lashes. It’d be so much quicker to get out of bed, but instead he props himself on his left elbow and reaches to open the drawer with his right hand. As a result you get to stay on his chest and listen to his heartbeat through the cotton.

Every movement is done together. Sitting up with a firm arm around your waist is done together. You even help him pull off the baggy t-shirt and unnecessarily smooth over the straps of his tank top. He’s gained muscle fast. Already you can see the difference in Damiano’s biceps and shoulders. It’d still be nice to see a healthy layer of body fat. Right now he’s a bit sinewy.

“They have a gym here.”

“You noticed,” he beams. Rather than answer his gaze, you stare at where your thighs touch and feel yourself get wet.

“Mm, you forget that I can feel what you’re thinking when you’re on my lap, michetta.” Why in god’s name did you wear cheap trousers and thin underwear? Even your ear’s burn with embarrassment. 

“Awe, now did I say you were allowed to blush that pretty?” He takes the hair tie from your wrist and pulls your hair back, so he can see your face from all angels. “Does this feel nice?” Dami fingers combs your locks, stropping whenever there's a tangle until the full ponytail is clutched in his first. Then he pulls from the base of your skull. You're too braindead to provide resistance. Rather than pull your hair, Damiano ends up tilting your whole head back. You freeze, afraid it's your mistake.

Initially, all Dami does is breathe, and you can feel the air hitting your stretched neck. He just sits there, with your head craned back, enjoying the view of all your exposed skin, like a predator before butchering its meal. Just allowing this stance is an act of submission by you. His eyes fall to the notch at the base of your neck, across your clavicles, along the flat expanse of your breast bone, and landing on the line of your cleavage.

“Notice your breathing.” For the first time in several minutes, your awareness turns inward, away from your dominant. Was the pattern of your inhale-exhale normal? No. But was it panicked? Also no. You were panting, aroused by the knowledge of Dami’s eyes on your neck. It was a ridiculous reaction. 

“‘S better.”

“Mhm.” The hand around your middle slowly rises to your throat. Damiano simply sets the bottom knuckles against your trachea, not applying any force, intricately observing your reaction. Then he folds the entirety of his warm palm around your neck, keeping tension with your hair. Finally he wraps his fingers around the column of your neck, leaving you in rapture. At any moment, he’ll apply force, restricting blood flow and subsequently flooding you in endorphins when his grip releases. Dami’s thumb tenderly rubs behind your ear lobe, the gentle sensation a precursor to some brutality that never comes.

“You are okay.” Using both hands, Damiano brings your head upright. As soon as he lets go you feel the weight of the world and yearn for his guiding touch.

“Signore?” you say his chosen Honorific in confusion. His careful hands are back, tucking your face securely between his shoulder and neck. One resumes the delicious tension with your hair and the other cups your cheek as he lays back down. 

“So good at keeping your eyes closed, piccola. Remember I had to train you to do that? Now, you give in without me even asking. Such a perfect pet.” He kisses your forehead and rubs your bare back while administering the occasional validation. “Curled up just right, topolina. You are my sweetest little girl when you’re snuggly.” Just when you’re prepared to swan dive into subspace for the foreseeable future, Dami jostles your shoulder. “I need you to stay verbal.” You groan in protest, feeling disoriented as you search for words. They’re unreachable objects, floating around in your submissive mental fog.

“Ssh, shh. I didn’t want you to startle. That's my fault and I’m sorry,” he coos, stroking your hair with gentle pressure that coaxes you to lay down. “Take a deep breath. Mhm, that's just how I asked, piccola mia. You’re doing a really good job.” 

“Brain off,” you groan. Damiano chuckles, but keeps his hand at the same pace. He’s good at that. As a dominant partner, his physicality often had a hypnotic quality. 

“I’m sorry that I have to keep you at the surface. I wish it was different, that I could be a better Dom.” 

“You…good Dom.”

“Three whole words? I’m impressed. I’ve seen you go non-verbal for so long I wondered if you’d talk the next morning.”

“Mm…nice.”

“Yeah, I bet that sounds nice right now. Maybe we’ll do that when I get home. This can be non-sexual for a while.” The bastard properly yanks your hair for the first time as punctuation, just enough for a violent full-body shiver and a little sting at the nape of the neck. It was your favorite.

“Fuck you.” Simultaneously, you stretch like Princess in the sun, coiling yourself tighter around Dami. “Fuck you and the way you smell.” Your nose was nudging against the back of his head, where all the sweat collected.

“I’m one day past needing a shower. Sorry, I know you only like that when you’re ovulating and feral.” And right now. He smelled grubby in a way you wanted to taste too. Would he notice if you licked him? With inhibitions compromised, you lick the nape of his neck, feeling the short hairs at the top with your tongue. Damiano startles and pulls away, shocked.

“Did you just lick me?” It's such a harsh reaction that you immediately regret it. Now that the cuddles have stopped, you feel uneasy with self consciousness. What kind of invasive, tone deaf pervert does what you just did? And here you’d lectured about boundaries. 

Damiano’s face dissolves from shock into pity into regret. He cups your cheek, thumb brushing back and forth. Were you crying again? You couldn’t feel your face, or anywhere else on your body. He hasn’t given you permission to apologize. Even so, the words are almost bursting forth. 

“You surprised me,” he explains slowly, speaking like you’re a confused child. It’s healing, to be talked down to, but not demeaned, in a world where your senses are in a constant state of being assaulted by information.

 “Good surprise. I shouldn’t have jumped. I’m sorry, pet.” It was the second time he’s said ‘I’m sorry,’ while you weren’t allowed. “It’s been so long since I had the privilege of our dynamic and…” Dami looks out the window again, and sighs in thought. He pulls you close again and rolls over so he’s resting on top this time. With his familiar weight pushing you into the mattress, not wrapping your legs around his hips becomes a very conscious choice.

“You are uninhibited by shame in the expression of your submission.” A single finger on your chin brings your eyes to his and Damiano’s gaze is the only thing necessary to own your attention. “So strictly platonic might not work for us, because I will never put limits on your sexual expression.” The moment is so intense that you mentally beg for Dami to release it, but he grasps it with an iron-clad fist, willfully. “So things are going to be partially experimental, at your discretion, because hard boundaries are not comfortable for you. They are not where you thrive.” 

You’re nodding along in wide-eyed agreement, dreading when this moment ends and you have to have an entire thought on your own. Dami is holding himself very still, rather than relaxing against you as is normal. It's undoubtedly because he’s hard. Wanting to feel that validation you begin to raise your knees, intending to wrap your legs over his hips and bring him close enough to eliminate any secrets. With a firm hand on your thigh, he stops the gesture, legs returning to the bed.

“Breathe,” he reminds, caressing your ribcage. 

“I wanna apologize,” you whimper, embarrassed at your own horny behavior.

“No. Breathe into my hand.” Each inhale, you focus on the sensation of Dami’s skin against yours and his weight on your left side. “I will not allow you to apologize for organically acting out your desires. I am here to regulate your behavior. I don’t expect you to do it.” Damiano’s face begins to blur as you slip deeper into submission and try to claw your way towards the surface.

He resituates your bodies to lay facing each other. One hand is cupping your ribcage, the other rests at the base of your neck. The immediate adrenaline rush makes you more cognizant. Curious about all the movement, Princess hops on the bed, meowing a complaint that there is not enough room to lay between your torsos.

“I'm busy, babygirl,” he tells her. She meows again and turns her head away, as if she understands.

“Okay, brain turning on.”

“Just keep breathing. That’s all you have to do and you’re listening so well.” He rubs circles on your chest and in response your nipples get hard, even though the bra’s padding. “I love it when you touch me like this,” he muses. Gathering all your focus, you slip a hand under Dami’s tanktop and lay it on his sternum.

“Piccola mia, look at me.” He only has to ask once. “You are okay. I know this was just the beginning of what you needed.” Instead of crying as a response to everything, you access that little well of calm inside you, and find that there's steadiness to be had. “If we were to do a scene, you might not feel safe here, or you might feel uneasy afterwards. Also you need to drive home.”

“I understand.” You strain to kiss Dami’s nose.

“Breathe. You are okay.”

“I am okay,” you repeat back, automatically. 

“You are okay.”

“I am okay.” You finally consider the words and nod in understanding. “I’m okay. I’m not actively trying to keep it together anymore. Holy shit, I actually feel alright,” you exclaim in surprise. He hums in agreement, and pulls you onto his chest. Being constantly reminded to breathe steadily has manually calmed your nervous system down. Your body physically knew that it wasn’t in a state of distress anymore, panic gone.

“Fiveish minute warning,” Damiano announces, like a nanny at a playground.

“No,” you grumble, getting a more secure grip and nuzzling.

“When you feel like you’re gonna turn into a sinkhole from all the pressure life is applying, find this feeling again. It’ll still be there. You don’t have to use it or owe it to anybody. Just have some peace and know I believe in your capabilities unconditionally.”

“I believe in you unconditionally.” Dami scoffs and pats the mattress.

“This bed we’re laying on, is in a rehab facility that I didn’t even get myself into. My brilliant, persuasive girlfriend tricked the entire Italian healthcare system and babysat me on the way here.”

“Technically I committed a crime, so don’t put me too high on a pedestal.” He frowns with just the right side of his mouth, eyes darting back and forth on the textured ceiling. “Hey…” You fold both hands on his chest to prop up your chin.

“Hey.”

“You’re missing the point.” He cocks an eyebrow. “We’re laying in a bed in a rehab facility that I tricked my way into together.” This earns a full smile and a suggestive lip bite. It's humanizing to view Dami from an angle that gives him a double chin, as he gazes down in adoration.

“That is a good point.” His eyes scan your face, repeatedly darting down to your lips. It is a very intimate position.

“Okay, so this is a question, not a statement.”

“Mhm.”

“Are you trying to get me to kiss you right now? Because I can’t tell.” You blush and break eye contact, laying a cheek to the cotton of Dami’s tank top. “Ah, fuck me. That’s a no. Fuck.”

“Not yet,” you whisper, tracing the lines of a cat tattoo on the inside of his bicep.

“I’m not trying to pressure you.”

“I know. It doesn’t come off that way.”

“Good because I don’t…I’m really happy with where we’re at and I don’t want to do anything to damage it.”

“You’re not, Damia and I don’t wanna…freak out and get snot all over you.”

“Are you kidding? That’s the first normal reaction you’ve had to all this. I’m relieved. Anger and tears are reactions I can understand.”

“I’ll be sure to yell at you next time.”

“You say that as a joke but it’d be nice to get it out of the way.” That comment rubs you the wrong way and you sit up.

“Do you think I’m just harboring secret rage, waiting for a moment where I can cause optimal damage to unleash it?”

“Wha – no. No, I don’t think that.”

“I haven’t held back on our phone calls or when we split up. I walked out of the hospital and I blocked all ways for you to contact me.”

“I know, I just feel like I deserve…more. More punishment.”

“That sounds like some shit you need to figure out with a therapist, not put on me.” Damn, subbyness gone. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Ugh!” You splay out on his chest once more, missing the simplicity of the previous moment.

“I ruined it.”

“You can’t be constantly debilitated by self-loathing because staying sober and putting our relationship back together isn’t gonna work with that weight. I don’t resent you the way you’re bracing for.”

“Why?” he presses.

“Because you are not the person I broke up with! Become that person again, and you will feel the wrath of a thousand hell demons. But this person –” you poke the middle of his chest with your pointer finger. “I fell in love with at 18 and continue to love. I know you didn’t act maliciously, or as your true self. Anger is just…so simple. Too simple.” He softens and traces his fingertips up and down your spine. “I will be an absolute prison warden about drug testing though.”

“Good, that’ll make me feel better. And I’m glad that you’re acknowledging the hurt I caused, even if it wasn’t my intent. Intent doesn’t heal the wounds.”

“Well, except…“knowing you didn’t mean to hurt someone takes away a lot of the betrayal, so it does matter.” You shift and sign in contentment. God, he really smelled unreasonably delicious. “Plus I’m a big girl, I can work through my emotions.” His fingertips massage your scalp in a way that damn near makes your eyes roll back. Instead, you shiver while he gathers your hair in a fist.

“My turn.”

“Huh?” Damiano flips you on your back again, but instead of keeping his head level, he lowers his face to your chest. You still don’t understand what's going on until his tongue licks between your cleavage, up to your collar bones. From there he kisses along your neck with tongue, pulling your hair to make the area more accessible to his mouth.

“Hnngg mm, Damia. Ahh, okay.” His tongue runs along the shell of your ear, making every body hair stand on end from the stimulation. “Huuuh, fuck. Not fair. Mm-mmm, not…not fair.” His chuckle is ridiculously sexy and he takes his time pulling away. “Not fair.” Damiano wears a self-satisfied smile, knowing he’s bested you, in addition to turning you on. Perhaps two orgasams before visiting wasn’t enough, because you actually consider lunging forward and kissing him hard. Maybe that's what he wants, to bait you into action without implicating himself. It's a challenge that he doesn’t mean to pose. Regardless, you take it.

“Princess?” You make a couple high-pitched trills and she jumps on your chest. Dami is surprised to have the focus pivoted away from him. Ever the attention whore, Princess rubs her cheek against his before settling down.

“Do you think she misses me?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Cause clearly, you miss me.” Sitting up, you brush the cat hair off your shirt and pull it on. Damiano makes a wounded noise in protest. 

“Looks like you’ll have to lick something else now,” you quip. By that you mean an arm or the fabric of your top, not the lightning fast comeback Dami delivers.

“I would lick something else. Now, if you’d like. Happily.” He gestures to his bed and your cunt burns, despite cunnilingus not even being an option. 

“You’re funny.”

“I couldn’t be more serious.”

“Pretty sure intercourse is against the rules. Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

“I’m pretty sure that's what they think we’re doing right now,” he grins. Horrified, you yank the door open while Dami cackles. Luckily, he manages to catch Princess before she makes a run for it. Her short leash hangs on the bedpost closest to you. In a whisper, he repeats an earlier phrase while reaching for it.

“Did I say you were allowed to blush that pretty?” For a moment you’re speechless and sweaty. He sets Princess down and holds out the leash. Your mind is too preoccupied to realize that he’s offering it to you. Dami smirks as he steps out into the hallway. You try to think of some little gesture or a phrase that will do to him what he’s done to you. Everything that comes to mind is either not good enough, or too public. You’re fumbling and he loves to watch you lust for him.

“You want to have some gelato outside?” 

“If you promise to be civil.” He wiggles his eyebrows in a way that does not suggest compliance. You decide to be crude rather than clever, pinching his ass right before he steps into the hallway. Damiano yelps and jumps half a foot in the air, as does Princess. 

“Oops.” You skirt around him before he gets the chance to return the favor, skipping towards the stairs. The building was grand, with a high, intricately carved ceiling. Behind you, Dami was speed walking, Princess struggling to keep up. He ends up having to stop and scoop her off the floor, by which time you’re waiting at the end of the hall with a devilish smile. Maybe you were destined to play games of chase like this, until you trusted things enough to be caught.

His eyes scan the surroundings twice before growling, “c’mere.” You shake your head and hop down the steps as soon as he nears touching distance. It's not like Dami could grope you in the common areas where everyone gathered between meals and therapies, but this space was empty. You look over your shoulder, undecided if you’ll let him catch you, and he can see that indecision. Suddenly, it feels like a not so innocent game of prey and predator. Your focus oscillates between Dami and your feet walking backwards down the steps.

“Y/n, behind you!” You freeze and see a frail woman who could be anywhere from 40-70 years old with an amused expression. She was climbing up the stairs, minding her business, like a normal person.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. Uh…sorry,” you cringe. First you flatten yourself against the railing, then realize she might need the railing. Already the woman has silently moved to the opposite side of the staircase. Dami’s nose is scrunched up in embarrassment, too.

“Lovely cat,” she murmurs so quietly only Dami realizes she's spoken.

“Oh, thank you!” His normal voice booms through the foyer in comparison. Damiano glances at Princess, as if noticing her for the first time, then sets her down. She meows just before her splayed paws hit carpet and looks up in apparent disappointment. 

“Come on, Miss Sassy Pants.” Once he’s in lock step, you lean over and whisper, “do you know that lady?”

“Mm-mm, she’s new.” His tightly controlled expressions indicate the obvious, that notoriety is a taboo subject in the facility. 

“Have people given you any trouble?”

“Thank god, no. The other patients have been in their own worlds for a while. Plus, no internet access, remember? Lord knows what they’re saying about me.”

“Really nice, genuine, complimentary things,” you deadpan. 

“Oh, really? That's a relief.” The paparazzi were publishing every sallow picture after a night out they could get their hands on, and even better if there was a model in the frame. Alot of the pictures were with women he’d never slept with, and while simply hung-over, not high. Of course that didn't matter. The more they had to recycle material, the more preposterous the claims got. 

“Last week they said you’ve been away managing a secret sex cult, not in rehab.” He scoffs as you walk towards the kitchen.

“Could be worse, I guess. Or less interesting.”

“Yeah…until the claims that it was mostly 16-year-olds started up.” Damiano stops in his tracks with an expression like he’s drunk sour milk. “But it got disproved in like a day! Fans started leaving horrendous reviews on the tabloid sites. Some of them were actually really funny…” You trial off, because Damiano is visibly seething. “Hey, literally no one believed it, Dam.”

“But the fact that they even thought it was acceptable to publish that, with absolutely no evidence, like it was news makes me sick. We always consciously avoided the groupie narrative and now…” He throws his hands up in frustration. 

“Pop culture doesn’t differentiate between a womanizer and a predator because it's normalized that sex be coerced. That's on society, not you.” 

“Maybe I’ll say something to that effect as part of my great rebranding. God it's just…” he stares at the carpet and scowls, mulling it over. “I don’t want to be angry, right now, while you’re visiting, this just really, really pisses me off.” After personally giving dubious and questionable consent in his mid-teens, the subject was a sore spot for Dami. He was very intentional about never doing that to someone else.     

“Maybe you can sue them for character deformation? Use the publicity to bolster releasing an In Nome Del Padre type single?” 

“Now there's an idea,” he allows a sliver of a smile.

“It would sure suck if paparazzi started harassing the journalist who wrote the article after seeing them in court.”

“Now that would be a great tragedy.”

“Perhaps there would even be a support group, for the fellow grievers.”

“I think that’s called a party.”

“I’ll bring the balloons if you bring the cake?”

“Deal,” he finally grins. “Christ,I can’t even…” Damiano shakes his head and sighs heavily. “Maybe I don’t miss the internet.”

“Porn.”

“Good point…But mostly I miss my camera roll.” You try not to turn red.

“Certain pictures on your phone make me very nervous.” 

“They are very safe.” According to many technological precautions you didn’t understand, Damiano’s camera roll was highly secure. But more so you trusted that, as a Dom, he’d never let images of you being Little be viewed by anyone. Yes you were happily non-monogamous, but as dominant, Damiano fucking lived for the fact that he didn’t share your submission. The polyamory was completely separate from your personal daddy/sub dynamic. 

What he got off on most of all wasn’t the nudes, or necessarily kink, but pictures he’d carefully orchestrated of you having sex together. After getting consent, he’d set up the phone camera with a random timer. Not knowing when the picture was going to be taken meant you couldn’t pose. Rather than his usual rhythm, Dami gave you as much stimulation as possible right out the gate, so you’d forget the camera by the time he found a slow groove. Then he’d rev the sex back up with tantric work, toys, dirty talk, and considerate angles. 

The result were images of you sweaty, flushed, gasping, half cognizant, and blissed out. Either captured at a moment of tension, or the release right after. They were not pretty. If you were kissing it could be downright ugly. Damiano always looked just as fucked out, but he wore it like a sex god. Sometimes, the full body shots of you on top felt beautiful, but he never preferred those. Dami loved the gaping mouth, furrowed brow face you made when rubbing your clit against him the exact right way. He’d excitedly point out the crescent-shaped nail marks on his chest you left when dragging your slick pussy along his pubic bone for the sake of orgasmic friction. In real life, or in the pictures.

“You didn’t delete them?” Dami stops in his tracks, face revealing that he hadn’t thought about this until now.

“Should I have?” he says slowly.

“I guess not. I didn’t set up a contingency, so it wasn’t violating anything. I just thought since we were – are, that you wouldn’t want…I mean you had access to all – wait did you take pictures with other people?” Exchanging and creating sexual images with other partners wasn’t even a conversation because of the fame. Now your voice comes out wounded and accusatory at the thought of him sharing this practice during your time apart.

“Not…” He guides you towards the empty kitchen to finish the conversation, as you wear an expression of shock. Intimate photography had only existed between you two out of necessity, not because you forbade it with other partners. It wasn’t until he mentioned it that you realized this closed practice had created territorialism. You’d fallen right into the trap of monogamy – of wanting exclusive rights to Damiano’s sexual autonomy – at the first opportunity possible.  The hum of the refrigerator and Dami’s hand on your mid-back bring you to the present. Princess is meowing persistently, probably because this is where her food is stored. 

“You know what, it's almost dinner time. I’ll just feed her now so she’ll stop bothering us.”

“If it's almost dinner then I should go. Our time is up. I –”

“Y/n.” He holds you by the shoulders with intimidatingly intense eye contact. “I was not using sex in a healthy way. I was using it like drugs, okay? It was mostly inebriated and mediocre. Yes, I did photograph it on the rare occasion I was sober-ish and gave a fuck, but those photos never made it onto my phone.  Pictures preserve memories. There was nothing about that time I wanted to remember, especially how I acted.” He crouches down to pet Princess, self-soothing, and you hop up on the counter for something to do. Dami pulls a little metal dish from under the fridge and her meows only intensify. 

“I know, I know. It's happening. I’m getting your fancy dinner, babygirl.” He pulls open the door and the cool air hits your skin. “So I’ve been thinking about how our relationship is at a point where it's gonna evolve a lot.”

“Agreed.” Dami grabs ground, raw meat and a couple of plastic pump bottles out of the refrigerator.

“So even if we were to take a couple hours and hash our relationship all the way out,” he uses a measuring cup to transfer the meat to the bowl, “a week from now it might be…a totally different um, thing.”

“Right, and what’s that stuff?”

“Beef?” Damiano looks over his shoulder while washing his hands and raises an eyebrow.

“No, the bottles.”

“Oh! It’s fish oil, plus vitamins and supplements for her coat, her bones, her eyesight.” 

“Princess, the immortal, spoiled feline.”

“That's the idea, yeah.” She circles Dami’s legs, meowing incessantly, until he sets her bowl down.

“But, I agree about how fast our relationship will be evolving. I guess, ideally we’d sit down each time it felt like something had shifted, but that sounds…”

“Like a lot?”

“Exhausting. Doing the full negotiation while you’re still in the early days of recovery sounds emotionally overwhelming to be honest. And I’d like to say, ‘can’t we just agree to love each other with dignity and reverence,’ but that seems naive.” Damiano thinks for a few seconds, putting things back in the fridge.

“I’m,” he gestures with his hands “sort of doing a reset towards my – well, our fundamental principles. Because I really wasn’t conducting myself in a way I was proud of for several months there. And I want to talk about it.” He takes the gelato container from the refrigerator and retrieves a spoon. “Or rather I’m willing to talk about it” Dami grumbles while fighting with the lid. He finally manages to remove it, revealing the creamy, light green color. 

“Okay, this is gonna sound so cheesy, but I couldn’t eat gelato while we were broken up.” Using some grip strength, he digs the first spoonful out.

“Oh my gosh, Damia.” It’d been so long since you’d last felt butterflies. (Which you’d never outright attribute partially to him speaking in the past tense). Technically you were still broken up, but it didn’t feel like it. This was some uncomfortable in between, a limbo. However, Damiano didn’t call you broken up to his band mates, even though that label had definitely been put on your relationship in a mutual decision. 

“What's that face?” he passes you a spoonful. The handle is warm from his grip.

“You didn’t tell anyone we were broken up, did you?” He can see from your smile that you aren’t upset, which just makes him bashful. It's a rare occurrence to see Damiano David bashful. “Hah! You’re adorable.” He stares at his shoes while you enjoy the first taste of gelato. “Mister megastardom is blushing.”

“No, I’m not blushing. Shut up,” he grins. “And I may have, possibly…um, avoided using that particular label as much as possible. So yeah, I have said it, but I’ve also avoided it, to be honest. Vic has gotten good at hiding the visible pity in her expression, but Thomas especially has a ways to go.” You pry a spoonful out of the container and feed it to Dami. He stands between your legs, hands resting just above your knees.

“I propose that we are officially not broken up.”

“So then we are…”

“Not broken up.”

“Okay…” His tone is unsure, but he allows one of those precious smiles that reveal his gums and offers another up more gelato. “So are we friends?” As it melts in your mouth, you contemplate the requirements for friendship. It became too painful to continue relationships with a couple of my friends who were super into the club scene and bordering on substance abuse. But Dami was sober.

“Or no? Needing to allocate all my focus to staying sober and repairing my mistakes may not make me a very good friend.” He’s self aware and gracious which makes the decision harder. You scoop the gelato with so much gusto that it nearly ends on the floor.

“But consciousness about substance misuse and commitment to repairing relationships are really vital to my friendships right now.” You raise another spoonful to his lips. This time it takes Damiano a second to accept it. “So I don’t know, but it's really important that I do know.”

“Hey.” In a comforting gesture, Dami slides his hands up your thighs and leans in to make more meaningful eye contact. “I don’t want to exhaust you with this, sweetheart. I –” his self-awareness kicks in and he takes a step back, hands purposefully occupying themselves with the spoon and container. “We are roommates and you’ve already told me, in detail, your boundaries on that.”

“On your sobriety! There aren’t supposed to be hard rules in relationships!” You're exasperated and Damiano isn’t offended. Instead, he taps your lip with the spoon as a reminder to open your mouth.

“We are intentionally repairing our bond to work towards a relationship.” You nod and take a deep breath, feeling calmer. The gelato is beginning to melt, runny around the edges. If it overflows the container will never get un-sticky.   

   “You should put that in the freezer.” He sighs and stops meeting your eyes. The top of the container is stiff. Damiano carelessly tosses the shared spoon into the sink and the metallic sound is so loud that it makes you jump. He spins around right away with an anxious expression.

“Sorry, sorry! That wasn’t intentional, I’m just not used to having a metal sink. It’s basically always filled with water for doing dishes. I wasn’t tryna be intimidating or some bullshit. I’m sorry. I –” whispering to himself, Dami says “what the fuck is wrong with you” He clips Princess back onto her leash and loops it over the knob on a cupboard.

“That wasn’t me trying to change the subject, Damia. I got yelled at so many times for letting the gelato melt that it's like a Pavlovian response.”

“Okay.” He relaxes his shoulders, resuming his previous stance.

“Okay,” you repeat with a small smile.

“We know how to do right by each other and we’re on the same page. You’ve updated your boundaries. As far as I know, mine are the same. I’m sure shit will come up, but we’re good at communicating.” Unexpectedly, serenity washes over you at once again reaching cohesion. It was a familiar sensation with Dami, to be grounded in the presence of each other. He takes a deep breath in as well. 

“Nesting partners. It’s a label I’ve learned, but I know you’re not big into terminology.”

“No, tell me what it means.”

“It's the companion you live with. Not necessarily your primary.”

“Sounds like something from a documentary about birds.”

“It does,” you laugh. “Anyways, if you wanted a word for us, that’d be it.” 

“Are you asking me to be your nesting partner?” Subconsciously, he leans forward out of excitement, hands sliding halfway up your thighs.

“And you’re willing to have David Attenborough narrate your every shit for National Geographic broadcasting?” 

“Totally.” You suppress the urge to kiss Dami and instead pointedly look down at his hands, now creeping towards your hips.

“Well, then…”

“Shit, sorry. Sorry.” He stands upright, tries to put his hands in his pockets, then realizes these pants don’t actually have pockets. “I wasn’t trying to make a move or – I mean, I wasn’t thinking about it. I’m just really used to touching you.” Cue heartbeat skip.

“Trust me, I get it. Like when –”

The moment is interrupted by movement just outside of the kitchen. You push Damiano back by a hand in the center of his chest so things weren’t so intimate.

“Ah, there you are! Hiding from me!”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Dami defends, in a way you recognize as bluffing. A staff member, this time dressed in slacks and a wrinkled, blue button-up, walks into the kitchen. He’s amused, not frustrated, which is a small mercy. Maybe Dami doesn’t realize how close your bodies are, maybe he likes it, but you can’t get off the counter without running into him.

“Sorry, I’ll go.” You push him back again, and this time he finally heeds your request. 

“Don’t worry about it. It's just behavioral therapy,” he murmurs, as you adjust your trousers self-consciously. 

“Sounds pretty fucking important for an addict.”

“I would have to agree with y/n. I’m Dr. Rossi. I haven’t spoken with you personally, but I’ve heard so much about you from everyone.” He clasps his hands and looks at Dami expectantly. 

“Right, so they’ll have my purse and stuff at the front desk. So I’ll just –”

“How late am I?”

“13 minutes,” he replies, looking at his expensive watch with a flourish.

“Eh, damage is done. Let me walk you out.” Dr. Rossi nods curtly, gesturing at you to go forth first. Ignoring this, Dami takes his time grabbing Princess’ leash in one hand and yours in the other.

“What do you mean ‘damage done?’”.

“They write me up if I’m more than 5 minutes late. Then there’s a worse penalty at 10 minutes. At 20 it doesn’t count and I get billed for a missed session. Plus they scowl at me for a couple days.”

“Damia,” you groan. He shrugs and nods hello to someone else walking a snow white cat on a neon green leash. 

“That's Yeti. He’s a dog inside a feline’s body, plays fetch.”

“Okay, well thats fucking adorable, but you’re not gonna distract me from blowing off your therapist.” He sighs heavily as you reach the doors. 

“It's one appointment. Everything here is scheduled. I get the purpose, but I feel claustrophobic. You make me feel the opposite of that. Plus, even with visitor privileges, I’m only guaranteed one half hour slot every two weeks.” 

“Oh, your parents.”

“Uh, no. My mom can adequately berate me over the phone. I just fucking miss you and your energy.”

“But your dad…”

“She has him by the balls.” Damiano tries to shove his hands in his pockets again and looks at the floor. Sensing his stress, Princess sits on his shoe and gazes upwards. Only one of them feels like a caged animal and ironically it's not the one on the leash.

“Maybe I can talk to them?” He shakes his head, looking off to the side now instead of meeting your eyes. It was such an obvious tell.

“I don’t want you to spend your time doing that. In a way, I was the golden boy until this. I don’t know how she’s gonna react and I don’t want your feelings hurt on my account.” You momentarily consider proposing speaking to Damiano’s father, then realize that might feel like a betrayal to Andrea.

“It’s just a matter of time?”

“Yeah,” he agrees softly, pursing his lips.

“She’ll change her mind once you’ve been sober for a while,” you reassure, not knowing if it's true. He finally meets your gaze, cocking his head to the side, seeing straight through your empty platitude. Lost for words, you hug Dami, careful not to step on Princess’ paws. She seems content at the sight of her parents embracing. Or maybe you’re just deflecting your own emotions.

Three months ago you’d have called bullshit at anyone claiming Damiano would be setting a sobriety record, that being wrapped in his arms would feel so right and organic. You savor his smell and relax with an exhale as his hug tightens. For some reason the intrusive thoughts always bubbled up at greetings and farewells. The day's emotion, however positive, would probably result in nightmares tonight.

“I’m alive. I’m okay. I’m in love with you,” he murmurs, as if reading your mind.

“Ditto.”

“You don’t need to be okay.” Finally, amidst all the terror around Dami’s health, you ask yourself the question. Am I okay? Nightmares, severe and occasionally uncontrollable anxiety, mental stress from lacking a dom, general stress because of Damiano. A job that was supposed to be fulfilling, but made you too feel like a polar bear in a gray, plastic enclosure.

“What is it,” he murmurs.

“Shit, I don’t know if I’m okay,” you choke. The wave of emotion is so unexpected that it feels like getting jumped. 

“I’m going to take care of you. It's a relief to have the opportunity to take care of you.” The inner peace from earlier is harder to access than you like. Maybe you’d have to ration it.

“I’m gonna leave before I turn into a mess again,” you speak into the fabric of his tank top. Princess cocks her head to the side, and you miss her persistent little presence with a pang in your gut. You pull away and squat down to bid her farewell, stroking between her ears.

“I’ll see you soon, Sassy Pants.” As you straighten up, it's obvious Damiano is deeply conflicted. “I don’t want to let you leave like this. I want to make it all better.”

“It is better. It’s not perfect.” You stroke his face, then his hair. It’s at awkward length, spiking up at random angles. This touch prompts Dami to rub his head self-consciously. 

“It looks like shit.”

“It looks fine. You look good.” That, at least, earns a smile. It’s a better note to end on, so you decide to make your exit. Nervously slipping out was certainly easier than a ceremonious goodbye like this.

“I’m gonna go before you get a missed appointment fee.”

“Fuck the fee,” he responds ardently. You can feel the mood swing coming, but the volatility of his emotions makes them hard to read. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Damia,” you whine, heart clenching.

“Sorry, that was unnecessary. Drive safe.” He bows his head to avoid your eyes. Wanting to make the leaving a little sweeter, you peck his cheek. 

“Bye Princess.” Less than a month and you won’t have to fight the urge to look back, because you’ll be walking out together. No more Orpheus and Eurydice. This is what ultimately sustains you as the heavy maple door falls shut. The sky – clear when you entered the building – is now plagued with clouds.  

Notes: Whew! The longest chapter yet and we sure covered a lot of ground with these two. Cutting it pretty close posting this late in the day, but I made it. I got distracted by giving my taglist a makeover and quite probably making it worse. Oh well.

- XOXO, Eden

Get on my taglist! (hard edition)

@surelyfreedombound @shinshans @lonnybunnys @davianos-blog @hauntedpostpersona @lizzylynch1 @kammerstx @harryssshouseee @slavicgoddess133 @persona1read1ng @katyldamusic @whore4damia @the-chaotic-cow @icarodamiano @gr8rainbowpunk @elvirabelle @bright-shiningstar @maneslut @stardustingold @little-moonbeam-666 @que--sera--sera @dustyinkpages@lapauradelcheez@girlnred @ami--gami

*@zahra10999 I can't tag you! Double check that your Tumblr isn't hidden from search results. If it's not, contact the Tumblr Help Center so they can fix this glitch.

#cw: addiction #cw: power dynamics #maneskin #måneskin #damiano david #må #damiano #damiano maneskin #maneskin damiano #damiano david x reader #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david imagine #damiano david x y/n #damiano david x you #damiano david smut #damiano david fic

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Tolkien Family Week, Day 1: Parent-Child (aka, Éomer becomes a father)

Hey, welcome to my trip through Rohan for @tolkienfamilyweek! For this prompt, of course my mind went right to my #1 guy, Éomer Éadig, and how he would feel when becoming a father for the first time, particularly in light of all the loss he’s endured, including both of his own parents.

While I wrote this for TFW, I still wanted it to be consistent with my personal head canon for Rohan. So, as a reminder, in my world Éomer got married after the war to his childhood best friend, Mereliss, who is a daughter of Elfhelm (I’ve just always wanted to see him with a Rohirrim even though that’s not canon!). There’s also a brief mention of Bryttalif, who is Háma’s wife in my HC, but she’s here because she’s the midwife in Edoras.

**********

Another muffled cry of pain escaped from the room next door, followed by the quieter sound of whimpering. Éomer’s leg, which had been jogging up and down with nervous energy all evening, now hammered with such force that the cups on the table before him started to shake. Elfhelm put one steadying hand on his ale mug, which was slowly vibrating its way toward his lap, and the other on his son-in-law’s shoulder. 

“Try to stay calm. I know this is hard, but it’s going to be alright. I promise.”   

Éomer grunted in response and his knee stilled, but the anxious energy merely transferred to his hands instead. He began to chew a fingernail, stopping only to turn every so often and look at the closed door at the far end of the room, staring intensely as though he could will it to open if he simply watched it closely enough.

“It is not unusual for these things to take many hours,” Elfhelm said, reading the thought behind Éomer’s repeated looks. “You just have to be patient and try not to think too hard about what may be happening in there right now. Put that part out of your mind and focus your thoughts instead on how happy you will be when this is over.”

Just at that moment, another wail rang out, starting as a sharp, loud cry and fading into a desperate, guttural sob. All color drained from Éomer’s face.

“I don’t know how you expect me to ignore that!” He sputtered out the last word, flinging a hand in the direction of the cries. “Surely something is going horribly wrong, and instead of helping I’m just sitting here, utterly useless. It is intolerable.”

He stood to rush from the room, but Elfhelm rose with him and blocked his path with a firm palm on his chest. 

“I understand how you’re feeling. Believe me, I do. I’ve been through this before, you know. But as distressing as it is, what you’re hearing is normal. This is a painful business. And the people who are already in that room know far more than you do about how to handle it. Bryttalif is an expert. She will let you know if and when you need to be in there.”

Éomer sank back down into his chair, elbows on his knees with his eyes to the ground and his fingers laced through his hair behind his head. He took several deep breaths, blowing out each exhalation through gritted teeth. “It does not seem fair,” he murmured. “Maybe I should be glad to have the easy part, but I would take her pain from her in an instant if I could.”

Elfhelm gripped his shoulder. “I know you would.” 

They sat in silence for a time, each lost in his own thoughts, until the sound of a turning doorknob was finally heard and both men rocketed to their feet. With his heart in his throat, Éomer watched Bryttalif step into the room, wearing a blood-stained apron and wiping her hands with a dampened towel. She dropped into a brief curtsy before raising her eyes to speak, and Éomer felt as though he lived several lifetimes in those final few seconds of waiting. 

“Éomer King, it is my honor to tell you that you have a beautiful baby girl.” She smiled broadly. “The queen is recovering, and she and your daughter are waiting to see you now.”

“A daughter?” Éomer’s face transformed in an instant, glowing with happiness, relief, and a thousand other feelings he could not have articulated. “I have a daughter!” He turned to Elfhelm and threw himself into the older man’s arms, burying his face in Elfhelm’s shoulder to hide his tears. They stood quietly together for several long moments before Éomer broke away and bounded joyfully over to Bryttalif, lifting her up and spinning her around as she laughed and blushed. 

Elfhelm watched Éomer’s elation with bemused pride before once again putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “Don’t waste your time out here with us, my boy. Get in there and see your wife and child! And tell Mereliss I love her and will be waiting here if she needs me.”

Éomer nodded and hurried off behind Bryttalif, back on her feet and headed into the bedchamber next door.  After showing him in, the midwife and her assistant quietly excused themselves to allow the new family a moment of privacy. 

From the doorway, Éomer observed his wife, her hair gathered in a sloppy bun and a slight sheen of sweat still on her forehead but radiant with exhausted triumph. In her arms was the baby she had carried and delivered for him, swaddled already in a warm blanket against the drafty coolness of the chamber. He felt overwhelmed by love–for Mereliss, for their baby, for Elfhelm and Bryttalif, for anyone and everything in the world that had brought him to this moment of pure happiness.

He came to Mereliss’s side and gently tucked some loose tresses behind her ear. She looked up at the touch and leaned her cheek into his palm with a smile.

“I named her Sigewyn. I hope you approve.”

Sigewyn. Joyful victory. He could not have imagined a better choice. 

“It is perfect, just as you are perfect and she is perfect and my life right now is perfect.”

Mereliss patted the bed next to her. “Would you like to hold your daughter?” 

He slowly lowered himself to the bed, feeling abruptly nervous, almost bashful. When he 

had carefully lifted Sigewyn from Mereliss’s chest and laid her awkwardly in the crook of his arm, he looked back at his wife. “I…is this…am I doing this right?”

She beamed at him. “You look wonderful together.”

With Sigewyn in his arms, he was immediately more aware of his own body. His imposing strength and size presented a stark contrast to the impossibly tiny, delicate infant that was now nestled against his chest, whose head fit easily into the palm of his rough hand. And though he had a natural and graceful agility in his ordinary life, while brandishing a sword or swinging in and out of a saddle, he felt suddenly clumsy and tentative as though the simplest movement on his part could hurt or disturb this most precious of fragile things. He kept motionless, even slowing his breathing to a slow, shallow pace, but his eyes actively soaked in every detail, and he was instantly besotted with all that he saw, from her rounded little cheeks to the dusting of golden hair on her head and her large hazel eyes that matched his own. Contented tears slipped from his chin and onto the blanket that protected his newest, greatest treasure.

Mereliss reached up to brush a tear from his cheek, and he laughed a little at himself as he sniffled. “Look at me, head over heels already. She’s just like her mother—it took less than an instant for her to fully own my heart.” 

Mereliss smiled. “I am happy to share it with her.”

He thought quietly for a moment before inhaling a long, shaky breath and blowing it out again slowly, trying to master his feelings. “I wish that my parents could see her.” It came out almost as a whisper.

“Me too.” She leaned over to kiss his shoulder. “But a part of them lives on in her now. She will carry on their legacy.”

He nodded and looked back down at Sigewyn. She would, in fact, grow up to have Éomund’s indomitable courage and Théodwyn’s infectious laugh, just as she would be tenacious like Éowyn and quick-witted like Mereliss. She would have Éomer’s own easy ability to make friends, and Elfhelm’s unflagging optimism.  She would become a strong and capable woman, the first to inherit the throne of Rohan and rule as queen in her own right. But none of that mattered now, not to him. There was nothing she needed to do, no way that she had to look or think or act, in order to earn his love. 

She had it, now and forever, simply by being his. 

#tolkien family week #parent-child #eomer #super hot guys holding babies #parenting in middle earth #lord of the rings #rohan #lotr fanfic #forth eorlingas

[askdeserteagle]

On the uneventful day of November 12, 2012, as a 15-year-old sophomore in high school, during my math period, I doodled a pony in the margins of my notes. That afternoon, I went home, drew up a digital reference, and made a blog for her. I thought it’d be a fun thing to do in my free time.

I had no idea how important she’d become to me.

(The rest of my rambling reminiscence on the past decade is below the cut.)

Thank you all so much for 10 years of Ask Desert Eagle. I wouldn’t have lasted this long without you. Hope you will stick around!

The last decade has been... a lot. I mean, when you’re going from 15 years old to 25, a lot happens anyway--but I had a bit more going on than just growing pains. It’s why my update schedule suffered so much.

It is a very weird feeling to think about how someone could have grown up with my blog in the same way I did. 15 to 25 sounds like a lifetime, and it certainly felt that way. During my time in the ‘Tumblrpon’ community, I forged friendships that last to this day, and many more that I’ve since drifted away from or lost contact with, but remember fondly. I experienced the death of a friend for the first time; rest in peace, Rusty Nail. I graduated high school. I graduated college. I moved out. And now I’m here.

The glory days of Tumblrpon are over, that much is evident, but I’m glad I was here during them. I’m likely never going to get more eyes on this comic than I did back then. I have no idea how many of you 5,300 people are still around! I would understand if you weren’t; a maximum of two years between pages is a very long time. I harbor a lot of guilt over maintaining possibly the worst webcomic update schedule I’ve ever seen. What an achievement!

Surprisingly, though, I’m not blaming myself as hard as I used to. I used to think it was my fault; that I was lazy, or that I just wasn’t diligent enough to work on such a long-lasting project. But then I started getting treated for ADHD. Turns out, I was tired. I was tired for so, so long. There was a layer of fog on my brain I didn’t even know was there, less hours in the day than anyone else because of my energy levels. I’ve been forcing myself out of bed at noon for my entire adult life and now I don’t even need an alarm to be up at 8 am. That’s crazy!! It’s like magic!! If all this sounds relatable to you, talk to a psychiatrist! It could change your life.

The problem isn’t 100% fixed, of course; my chronic illnesses do still affect my life, but this is the closest I’ve felt to being a normal, functioning human being in more than a decade, and I very much hope the effect lasts.

Because--unsurprisingly--I still feel deeply for this story and I want to see it through. I thought I’d lose interest eventually, but I haven’t. My love for Deagle has endured years of burnout, self-esteem issues, and guilt about my update speed, and come out unscathed. So I figured at this point it’s safe to say I’m probably not going to change? Like, it’s been a decade. So many people have moved on... but I’m still here. What’s a few--perhaps several--more years to complete this comic? I’m game if you are.

I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. See you next page. :)

#ask desert eagle #mlp oc #mlp comic #mlp ask blog #ten years. wow. #i was attempting to complete this the day of the 12th but you know how it goes #better late than never! #yes the hieroglyphs mean something. yes i am insane

[wurst-vacation]

If you’re still taking requests, can I get uhhh…Billy x Stu oneshot where Billy’s trans (ftm) and he’s dealing with dysphoria while also on his period? Signed, a transmasc on their period.

This is such a terrific idea, thank you for sending it! This will 100% be a first to write, but I’ll absolutely try my best :) ( Also I do apologize, I am not sure on how to write disphoria, so I tried my best <3 )

Also stay strong period cramps are srsly the worst ..

( FLUFF, S/O COMFORTING, FTM BILLY LOOMIS <3 )

Billy laid sprawled out on his best friend, but also very much boyfriend’s couch. One side of his ear pressed up against the couch cushions, laid on his side lazily, and careless. A decorative pillow was grabbed and tightly hugged against his chest. The table that sat in front of him, was already arrayed with various amounts of Tylenol packages, Ibuprofen, anything that Stu could throw out of his cabinet, even if the male needed it or not. It was a bit ridiculous, but he appreciated the gestures Stu would go through. Billy didn’t even have the energy to be Irritated at him, it really made him feel just that much better.

Only hours earlier had Stu found out the other was getting their once a month mishap, he immediately put it in his hands to treat Billy like an absolute king. It was all worth it, he adored him after all. Even the smallest gestures, Stu would begin to help him with. Need a glass of water? Stu was already out of the room, on his way to get it. Your back hurts? Stu would already be massaging it. He didn’t fully know the struggle of it all, of course, but he never went out of his way to pry that question out of Billy. He was sure he was moody enough.

The brunette rolled back around to stare up at the ceiling, wincing at the surges of pain that were going to be momentarily residing inside of him. It didn’t matter how many times he had endured his, it was horrible every time. Scowling, Billy held the pillow tighter. Part of him wished he wouldn’t have to have this at all. “Billy—!” Stu would suddenly chime, appearing from the hallway, and leaning up against the doorway that separated the kitchen from the living room. A bright smile was lit on his face, as usual. He had items piled up in his arms, to the point where he was definitely gonna drop it. Stumbling over, he dumped the contents onto the empty spot on the couch.

Billy slowly sat up, a light groan escaping his lips.

“..What is all this—? Stu, seriously, you don’t need to get me all this.” He murmured, staring down at the pile, noticing a heating pad, a couple of vhs, a blanket, and some snacks that only one would eat when they truly didn’t care. God knows how much sugar was in it. Stu positioned his elbows on the arm of the couch, farthest away from Billy. “Stuff I got for you, duh. “ He bluntly responded, picking up one of the VHS, and shaking it around like a treat in front of a dog. “I.. Know a little bit about this, don’t doubt me here.” He added with a curl forming on his thin lips, hesitant at that second , as if the reaction Billy made was enough for him to doubt the generosity he went out of his way to do. He couldn’t resist that look, could he? He really didn’t deserve Stu, he was seriously the best he could ask for. Billy, throughout another ached cramp, gave him a small smile. He sat up a little more to where he could properly look at him, his back pressed up against the rough sofa cushions.

He looked at the VHS tape Stu held. ‘The Exorcist’ , his favorite. He then looked back down at the ‘care package’ of items that Stu had dumped down in front of him.

Stu really cared about him. A sudden rush of emotion filled him again in a swing.

“Augh, I’m sorry man. “ Billy rubbed one of his hands over his face, letting in a harsh breath. “I’m not mad, really.” He paused, looking back up at him, letting go of the pillow he was using to suppress his cramps. “I really appreciate it.” He murmured, immediately averting his gaze. He felt as if he could cry. It wasn’t long till Stu joined to sit besides him.

“I get it.” Stu replied in a hush, before wrapping an arm around his partner, and gently pulling Billy in for an embrace, taking into consideration his aching abdomen.

“..Do you?” Billy muttered, glancing up at him again, weakly resting a hand on his shoulder. Yeah, the Tylenol wasn’t really helping, but Stu being there was more ales what Billy needed much more than pain relief. “Of course I do. I helped Tatum out with it like— all the time.” The other giggled, shrugging his shoulders a bit. He wanted to assure Billy that it really wasn’t that big of a deal. Overreactions weren’t an overstatement though, Stu understood the whole hormonal thing and all that. To the best of his ability at least.

Billy nodded his head slowly, tensing up for a moment to adjust the collar of his shirt. “I guess your right. I’m sorry.” He murmured in response, still looking away. He focused on a small area of the wall to distract himself. Looking at Stu would only make him more emotional.

Stu sighed, pulling him back in again. This caused Billy to press his head up against the other male’s chest, soothing into the noise of his heartbeat. Another shaky breath exasperated out of him, closing his eyes for a moment as he waited for a response.

“Don’t stress it! Just relax, I’m here to attend to anything you want, okay?” He assured, cocking his head to the side, looking down at the Male. The boy he would do anything for. Oh, how he adored him so much.

Billy sniffed, slowly looking back up again. He met Stu’s relaxed, beaming gaze, and it couldn’t help but make him feel at ease again. All his irritation, stress, everything washed away once more.

He didn’t even have to say okay, that reaction was enough for Stu to know, and understand. No words needed to be spoken between them.

They held that embrace for a while. It was all they needed after all. After a moment, Billy lifted his head enough to where he could speak into Stu’s ear.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he quietly asked.

“..Can we watch ‘The Exorcist’ or not?”

#ghostface #horror #scream movie #billy loomis #stu macher #fluff #stu x billy #trans ftm #horror oneshots #oneshot #stuilly #period comfort #scream 1996 #scream oneshot

[venusamere]

So as I said previously I don’t really come on here so often but since it’s the summer and i’m on break why not try this thing out! I’ve got a new hyper fixation that has me in a MASIVE chokehold so I’ve thought to myself ‘hmmm let’s try writing for it!’. So with that said my new hyper fixation is ‘The quarry’ which I absolutely ADORED watching! I’m definitely gonna write for other fandoms too but this is more of ‘try out writing session’. Just a heads up, I love angst, especially the ones that are heart breaking to read, but I will totally write more fluffy ones too!!

This little piece is gonna contain possible spoilers…actually I’m not even sure if you can consider those spoilers but like read at your own risk!!

Another heads up: english it’s not my first language and it’s currently 1:14 AM so i’m sorry if there are any grammar mistakes!!

Summary: ‘The quarry’ x reader fanfic where I imagined how would it be if you distanced yourself from the group, trying to deal with the trauma you’ve experienced, also reconnecting with them some time later. The action takes place after the events of the game!!

Nobody understood why or when. You evaporated into the early morning and faded into the distance. One thing was for sure, you wanted that night to remain in the past even if that meant you had to break some connections you made that summer.

You felt numb and your emotions were all over the place. You wanted a fresh start, but you only got nights of endless nightmares that you had to endure in your own cold sweat and stained cheeks from the salty tears that were running on your face. And the best part of it was that you had to go through it alone.

Didn’t wanna bother anyone with your problems, only yourself and your therapist. That was the main reason why you distanced yourself from the group.

Of course you missed them. Kaitlyn having a sarcastic and witty remark up her sleeve whenever Jacob said or did something dumb. Dylan’s friendly flirting and comforting jokes that made you laugh in every situation. Emma’s good and energetic aura with a smile attached to it. Abi letting you sleep on her shoulder whenever she sketched the peaceful nature and you allowing her do the same whenever she pleased. Your conversations with Ryan about his favorites podcasts. Nick teaching you how to cook his favorites pastries for the kids. You missed all of that and more. You even missed the little moments you spend with Laura the night that brought you closer, only for your fears and trauma to deteriorate your almost existent relationship.

Some of them tried to contact you, only to get pushed even further away.

You let your fears consume you and your emotions eat you from the inside, leaving you rotting and hanging on by a fragile thread.

Some days were harder than the others. Unfortunately today was one of them. You haven’t slept since you woke up at 3 AM screaming your guts out, probably scaring your neighbors in the process. The small clock in the kitchen showed 6:14 AM which meant you spent three whole hours drinking a glass of water that wasn’t even half way finished since your thoughts were too busy disturbing your non existent peace.

You debated many times before if you should give them a quick call or not. The answer was always a disappointing ‘no’, but you always told yourself it was for the better…right?

A shaky hand holding the cold glass of water and the other having a firm grip on your phone with a number typed in it.

“Shit, I don’t even know if she changed her phone number or not” you mumbled to yourself, angry with your indecisive nature.

Supposedly, Kaitlyn’s number was written on your little screen ready to be called, but your heart was racing and your hand was one step away from crushing your phone. “Fuck this” and with that being said, you pressed the call button and quickly held up your phone against your ear. The room was dead silent, except for the ringing sound coming from your phone. Another two seconds and you would’ve closed the call, blocking the phone number once and for all, but that thought quickly fade away when you heard someone at the end of the line.

“Hello?” “Uhh yes…” you stopped for a bit to catch your breath and control your heartbeat, “It’s me..Y/N”. And once again everything fell into a painful silence. Not too long after that you heard a small gasp, making you prepare yourself for a harsh rejection. “Fucking hell Y/N! You dip shit! I tried calling you numerous times and you never responded!” she paused and coughed a bit from the sudden burst of energy. “I and everybody else were worried sick that you just died or even worse…” Kaitlyn said in a more sad and stern tone.

“I’m so sorry for making you guys feel this way, I just…I wasn��t ready to face anyone or the world in general” and that was the truth. You were scared shitless of facing your problems.

“I understand what you mean, in fact i’m sure everyone else does too” she spoke softly making you feel comforted, something that you haven’t felt in a long time. “I wish we could maybe start all over again” you admitted, feeling ashamed and nostalgic, desperately missing the old times where everything was normal. “We could!” Kaitlyn exclaimed “We’re all going again at the camp this summer, which I know sounds INSANE, but we want to reconnect and work through this” she sighed, before she continued which kept you at the top of your toes, “If you’re down for that you’re more than welcome to come, i’ll send you the information through text”. That sounded horrifying, but refreshing at the same time.

“It’s your decision really, but even if you come or not I’m just happy you called” she claimed in a more of a vulnerable voice. That was a new side to the Kaitlyn you knew, a more mature, intelligent and vulnerable one. Of course she still was out loud and witty, but you enjoyed the few minutes of vulnerability she showed through her tone. “I’ll definitely think about it, thanks Kaitlyn, I really appreciate it” “My pleasure only” and with that the room fell silent again, but it was more of a comforting one, a silence you could definitely get used to.

#fanfic #the quarry #kaitlyn the quarry #x reader #the quarry x reader #writing #supermassive games #the quarry game #the quarry fanfic

[skyjynxart]

So June’s been... A Time.

Hello everyone! Firstly, I am posting this in more places than normal because I've actually gotten several (very sweet!) DMs expressing concern and I just don't have the energy to reply to everyone swiftly ;; So this is hopefully to help assuage some of those worries while taking up less of my limited brainpower right now- thank you so much for understanding!

Secondly, I wanna say that most of June has been fantastic! I did a lot of fun things and I'm over all very happy about the month as a whole, but my body isn't too pleased with me- there's a little more rambling about that below, if you're here for the TL;DR:

I've been slow/quiet, and I'm probably going to continue to be that way for a little bit! I will not be stopping work, as I can't afford to, but please be patient with me if I'm struggling to be chatty like normal! No need to read farther unless you'd like to know details about my health/personal situation, and I will not begrudge you at all if you wouldn't! And for the longer version:

( I'm very sorry if I come across as whiny, I don't talk about this often for a reason ;; )

Something I don't discuss very often, even with close friends, is that I actually live with chronic pain. I'm pretty well conditioned not to think about it overmuch, and to not even really think about it in those terms, but when looking at the "accurate pain scale" my standard day tends to be between 3 and 5- you can usually tell when I'm having a very good day and am more at around 1-2, because I'm extra productive. Typically, I blame this on my arthritis, however it's probably something more than that, as the arthritis is concentrated in my hands/wrists, but the pain is often in my entire body. I won't be finding out what it actually is anytime soon, though, because I'm self employed in America. hah

That said, starting from the end of May, I have been at a 5-6 consistently. The last week-ish, it has been at 7-9. Constantly. It's been hard to think, hard to move, hard to accomplish basic tasks. Picking up a pen or pencil hurts. Typing this hurts, not just in my hands, but all the way up through my elbows and into my shoulders. Today was a little better than normal, and I tried doing a tiny portion of my workout routine, and I regret it.

I'm sorry to the people I've fibbed to by offering other excuses- I know I have to a couple and it's just often easier to say "I'm tired and I don't know why".

My best guess is that this is due to air pressure changes- the weather has been all kinds of funky where I live as a result of the Canadian wildfires.

Regardless of the cause, generally, when I have days this bad where I can't really think properly, I will shift focus to the bare minimum of what needs done- if that's a commission because I need to keep up on my TDL, then I will endure a few hours with a pencil. If that's some household chores, I'll manage them very slowly. Unfortunately, such a prolonged string of bad days means I've utterly neglected anything 'non-essential'- which happens to include checking messages, responding to DMs, and... well, everything requiring brain function or body function except the bare minimum to feed myself and slooowly work through owed art ( blessings to you amazing, patient people who've waited on me ;; )

I'm trying- I really am, but this is a lot more prolonged than I'm used to, so I need to figure out new ways of coping. ( if anyone has any tips for bone pain that AREN'T taking a hot soak in the bath, I'd love to hear them, but you're not obligated! ). This is something I really hesitated to share at all- typically, discussing my health with people I know IRL results in a lot of dismissal, but I really feel it's best to be fully accountable and honest about this ( and maybe being honest with you guys will help me be more honest with myself about it ), so that I can communicate when I'm going to be quiet because I'm having health problems that are normal for me- seeing other creators talking about their health in an honest and open way like this has done wonders for how I think about my own situation, so maybe I can be that for someone else, too.

Anyway, sorry I so often seem to end up posting updates that are 5 paragraphs long- I should PROBABLY work on being a little less wordy, haha. Thank you if you read to the bottom, and truly, no worries if you didn't ( and are seeing this because you skipped to the end ). I'm doing my best and I'm going to continue to do my best for you. <3

#sky speaks #blergh sorry I really try not to post too much personal stuff?? #also sincerely feels very AAAAH talking about this at all #I used to be someone who overshared and now I'm super!! paranoid about doing it as;lkjf

[coyotemeat]

Finally getting this tattoo means so many different things

Head attached to body, tattoo artist said “now the head has a body!”, somatics and the awareness of my body and nervous system and all the ways it is my home, what keeps me safe, and what I must listen to and love, the inside of me is my best side

Not smking and the lightest edys every other day or so depending on body pain, that reconnecting to self, that I haven’t known in so long, feeling safer and beginning to feel the end of the fog more solid. Reminder of this growth and a bday gift about a bday gift

I drew a thumbnail of the idea around three years ago, and one year ago almost to the date I drew the sketch and flowers. Feels full circle with this time of year being when I started apprenticeship at first shop. The storm changed these plans, but had also planned to meet with friend who commissions social media/marketing things around my practice. This journey has been lesson after lesson, and learning commitment to myself over and over again.

Coyotes and all the ways I connect with them, their ways of communication, their adaptability and resourcefulness, the canis letrans of it all

I would climb Mojave mountains and feel so free as a 8-10 year old. I would spend hours just out climbing and visiting spots I knew about, abandoned mansion with empty swimming pool, places with wildlife or views, just exploring.

It’s in the shoulder with the spider (that represented at the time of getting it Jessica feelings) on my back. The Mojave desert is forever linked to my mom for many reasons. One is her moving us there was a huge upheaval. It was the beginning of the end stability for me, a first grader who had to repeat half of the grade “because of the move.” It’s where her new husband k/hs and we began to be unhoused. It was the first years long duration I can recount of her being really under resourced and unhinged in many ways. Such huge traumas were endured together in that town, and she moved there “out of nowhere” and in such dramatics. She also left there in dramatics, as quickly as she came and with no consideration for the people she was leaving. Another is that her father and his wife lived out there, they are who I stayed with for two weeks after David died, and some of my most vivid of joy filled and safe childhood memories are at their home. I’m scared of visiting or calling back my grandmother over there because I’m scared of her dying. When I called my moms dad, on a whim to reconnect since I was 7, he died a month later. The fear of her death soon approaching and the grief around the reality of blood family in general has me disconnected. I don’t want to disconnect from that grief, and in therapy I’m approaching a place where I won’t want to. Another is that with my connection to Mojave desert family comes my Jessica baggage, like they literally suspected me of being her scam calling them. I had to prove myself through questions and everything, which I only have compassion and understanding for. My mom wasn’t resourced in a lot of ways, but also made choices that directly hurt people she claimed to love, people that helped her over and over while being let down. I don’t know what the desert meant to her, and in wanting to visit I feel this urge to protect my heart in ways.

Mojave flora (Yerba mansa and desert chicory) bursting through helps me remember that birth and death are the same thing, change is the only constant, and “as a species, as life on earth, we’ve been dying for millennia, but I don’t think energy dies, it’s transformed” I can become again and again and actually that’s all I’m here to do. Life on earth is long, never measurable by a single experience of it. I’m part of it all, of everyone and every thing. My therapist has helped me untangle my compassion from fawning and it’s so powerful, it feels like a cycle of decompose and rebirth

Listened to: Tori Amos, hurray for the riffraff, a sermon on freedom, and a hymn on sovereignty.

[yandere-sins]

Could I request a yandere vampire viewing humans to be nothing more than food, only to find their Darling stand out amongst the many mortals they’ve consumed over the years?Instead of draining their Darling prey dry in a few weeks like usual, the vampire decides to keep their Darling - to savor, to play with, and cherish in its own way - much to Darling’s dismay at seeing no end or escape in sight. Bonus points if the vamp bite can be pleasurable or painful, depending on the vamp’s mood, and can be used as a reward or punishment as needed. Double bonus for nsfw bits if you’re feeling up to it

I just felt like writing about bitemarks, make of that what you want. Thanks for requesting!

»»———————— ♡ ————————«« 

You winced as they put the weight of their arms on top of yours, tangling their fingers with yours. With your arms stretched out by long, silk fabric and suspended in the air on either side, you had crumbled to the ground, exhausted, drained, spent. Only making you more vulnerable than you already were. You looked up into the mirror before you and at yourself, your eyes lidded from getting no sleep ever since you arrived, and your body missing its energy, skin sunken in as if you were sick.

The vampire let out a satisfied groan, watching you through the reflection in the mirror. Of course, you couldn’t see them in return. You just felt them. You felt their breath against your cheek, the weight of their body as they leaned on you and your feeble condition, and the itching pain from the bite marks that were all over you.

When you were chosen as a sacrifice, you naturally felt the weight of the world on your shoulders. Unlike the many sacrifices you had witnessed over the years, you tried to put on a brave smile, help with the preparations, and even changed your diet. All so that the last few hours of your life would be meaningful. But in reality, you were horrified. Scared and unwilling to die. Creatures like the vampires should be flogged and not appeased with sacrifices they could eat. You weren’t cattle! You were a living, breathing human! However, now that you spent days with them, you realized that it was absolutely impossible to be anything other than a blood donor.

Over and over, their fingertips tapped on the marks they left behind from their teeth. Some started bruising, hurting under their touch. Others were still oozing crimson blood after being torn open. Your life had become much worse than that of cattle. You wouldn’t die as quickly as a cow or goat. You had to endure until you either were killed out of boredom or drained dry to the vampire’s pleasure.

“Tears ruin the taste,” they scolded you, indifferent to the feeling of helplessness and fear you were experiencing. Instinctively, like the people-pleaser you were, you tried to wipe them away, but your hands were still suspended in midair, hanging from the walls on either side of you. If only you could have had a bit of dignity, maybe dying wouldn’t have been so bad. But they restrained you like the sacrifice you were, making you look at yourself in the mirror as they tortured you.

You didn’t even want to think about what they’d do to your body after you died.

Long, cold fingers wrapped around your throat, the mild strangulation uncomfortable yet able to make you focus on it instead of everything else. Deep breaths, the villagers said. Whenever the vampire touches you, take deep breaths to keep calm. Struggling was futile anyway, and you are a sacrifice, not a wild animal. The villagers told you that as if you should be proud of your position, but how in the world could you be proud of what you had become?

One hand wandered upwards to your face, the fingers slim like spider legs, but you couldn’t help but notice that they had begun to warm up, and you assumed that was thanks to your blood. They crept up on you until you had to fear their long nails were going to pluck out your eye. Squeezing them both close tightly, you hoped to at least not experience that horror, only feeling how one of the fingers brushed by your eyelashes, wiping away the tears for you.

Blinking a few times, the hand disappeared, and you heard a very disappointed sounding, “Salty...” from behind you. Twisting your head to look back over your shoulder, you were met with the bright crimson eyes that drilled into yours, their hand slowly lowering from their mouth after they had a taste of your tears and an unsatisfied expression on their face.

“Told you it ruins the taste,” they shrugged, elegantly gesturing that they didn’t care for your tears, and you almost felt inclined to apologize.

“Please...” you muttered, finding that your mouth was terribly dry.

“Hm?” they perked up, having forgotten how your voice sounded after days of silently accepting your fate.

“Please end it,” you pleaded, close to tears again. “I-I’m ready. I don’t care what happens, but I can’t live like this anymore. Please, have mercy!”

You were tired. So, so tired. You wanted to sleep or eat. Go back to your family and see your friends again. But knowing that would never happen, if you at least could die, then you wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.

Instead, fingers wrapped around your chin, their presence suddenly in front of you. Forcing your head back, you were stared at from above, just two red orbs enveloped in darkness, and it was hard to maintain eye contact with them more than ever. “Who do you think you are? Thinking you can make demands?”

“N-No,” you pressed forth through the pain of your jaw crushing under their grip and your bruises ripping open from the strain. “I’d never dare!”

“Good.” Instantly, the vampire’s mood seemed to change back to the usual indifference, and they kneeled down before you. Their right hand brushed down your neck and along your shoulder, getting covered in the red color of your blood before they brought it to their lips, licking it off their knuckles. “I gave you these for a reason. They are a perfect imprint from me on you, so no one will dare to feed off my property. And I’m not done with you yet.”

Speechless, you wanted to say something, but the situation was simply overwhelming. Why would they want to mark you? Why was it important who you belonged to? You were just a sacrificed ready to be consumed.

A flinch escaped you as they leaned forward, and you were expecting another burning bite, but instead, lips pecked at the bite wounds tenderly, one after the other. Again and again, until the kisses became fervent, tongue lapping out, sucking at your skin. It stung and burned, and you had to bite your lip tightly as to not let out a sound. Your body grew hot and felt like it was pulling at your open skin; it was almost too much.

Until you suddenly felt hot breath against your lips, opening your eyes alarmed. With an eager tongue, the vampire tasted from the blood on your mouth before parting your lips, breaths and tongues mingling. You expected to taste your own blood, but it tasted sweeter than you could have ever dreamed about. Sweet, enticing, and hot, that’s what the kiss felt like, even though your body was struggling with the pain and the hand on your throat cutting off more air than you could take in. And yet, as if magically pushed towards the vampire, you only leaned in more, tried to get more of the sweet pleasure of their tongue. Just as surprising as it came, it ended, and you were left gasping as the vampire pulled away.

“Better?” they asked, and through your fogged brain, you weren’t sure you understood. “Don’t ever ask to die again. Remember, you are mine forever.”

With them standing up, you got a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again, and you blinked a few times at the image before you. All over your left shoulder, there was no mark left, and your skin had puffed up again, eyes wide open and awake. The vampire disappeared behind you again, but you quickly felt their arms wrap around your torso, a feeling you knew well by now. “If you’re truly that miserable, tell me. I wouldn’t know. I don’t understand you humans. But know that my help comes at a price.”

Finally, you were able to puzzle together your thoughts. The healthy feeling you had, together with your body looking perfectly fine, must be the vampire’s doing. They must have used some kind of magic or trick on you, but having exhausted themselves by doing that, that probably meant...

Their fangs protruding from their mouth, they dragged them along your supple skin, searching for the best spot to bite down. Fleshy, warm, and soft. Where the blood would spurt out from the slightest irritation. Clenching your teeth, you couldn’t help but try to fight their tight embrace, tried to get out before it was too late. But your struggles were futile, only pressing you up into their fangs until you felt them sink into you inch by inch.

Your ears buzzing and your heart racing as you were fed from, you only shut your eyes tightly, holding back the gasps and moans, not wanting anyone to think this was actually enjoyable. But the sweet taste on your tongue remained, as well as the feeling of their lips against yours, making you wonder what they meant when they claimed you for ‘forever’.

#vampire #vampires #vampire x reader #yandere!vampire #yandere vampire #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

[goldengoddess]

i worry about you - kaz brekker

request: ok what about kaz sending inej to check up on his s/o every night and then his s/o catches inej one day and confronts kaz about it and he basically admits he gets worried about them and needs to know they’re okay before he lets himself fall asleep

a/n: this was kind of cute and very in character for kaz so i love it <3

warnings: none i think 

at first you hadn’t noticed it. you hadn’t really picked up on the fact that every other night inej would walk you to your room at the slat or that she would knock on your door for something random like, ‘oh what time are we getting up tomorrow morning’. inej’s sudden interest in your nightly routine and nightly where abouts hadn’t made you suspicious, the two of you were good friends after all.

but then, on the nights that inej didn’t stop by your room, you felt like you were being watched. you would pace around your room, open and close the door after checking if someone was standing outside, and you’d make sure the blinds of your windows where closed every night.

then one night, you caught her. maybe she was being clumsy that night or maybe you had been so paranoid recently that you were able to notice the Wraith’s movements.

“inej come out of the shadows please” you had sternly said, your arms firmly crossed across your chest.

you heard a small sigh and then suddenly inej materialized from the shadows. she wore a sheepish grin like a child who was caught taking candy after dinner.

“hey y/n what are you doing here” she lightly joked.

you almost let yourself smile, this girl. but you kept your fake stern face on, “inej, what are you doing in my room? it’s almost midnight and i saw you like an hour ago.”

she let out another sigh. she thought for a moment. and the spoke, “look i was just checking in on you. you seemed sort of down at dinner and i wanted to make sure everything was okay, honestly.”

you had let yourself smile at her then. it was so sweet that she had noticed.

really, you had been bummed out all night because kaz seemed to be in and even worse mood than usual and his moods always affected yours.

“i’m okay inej, just an odd night. i appreciate the fact that you checked in, but for future reference, i’m perfectly okay if you decide to use my door like a normal person”

she grinned while walking backwards to your window, “you know that’s not my style y/n.” and then she flipped out the window like the spider she was.

but that wasn’t inej’s last visit. and she didn’t use the door like you’d told her too. now that you knew to look out for her, it was easier to notice when she slipped into your room and then slipped out.

she’d stay for a couple of seconds and then leave. in and out like a ghost, leaving no trail of her being there. but now that you’d seen her you couldn’t un see her. and this wasn’t some friendly check in, you weren’t sad or in a bad mood every night. and she came into your room every night.

after about two weeks of this weird unexplainable routine of inej’s, you decided to say something.

you were sitting on your bed reading when you let out an exasperated sigh and closed the book. you blew some hair away from your face before saying, “saints inej please come out.”

you got deja vu as she walked out of the darkness. “you heard me again?” she said to you, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

you shook your head, “i’ve been able to tell every time you’re in here since the last time i caught you. don’t forget you’re not the only spy here Wraith.”

she stayed silent, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“tell me why you’re here. why you sneak into my room every night” you said.

she took a seat on your bed next to you. “i’m checking in on you” is all she gave you.

you threw your hands up in frustration, “why inej. you know i’m fine why do you feel the need to check in all of a sudden. are you okay?”

she laughed at your concern, leaning her head on your shoulder. “im checking in because kaz told me to check in on you.”

you pushed her off of you in shock, “kaz brekker? the kaz that we’re both friends with ? both work with?”

she nodded her head, “the one and only.”

you shook your head in disbelief, “why would kaz ask you to do that?”

she shrugged and pushed herself off the bed, shuffling towards the window. “i’m not sure. he told me to do is a few months ago and-”

“months?!” you interject.

“-and he takes it very seriously. i always have to go upstairs and tell him everything is okay.”

you were confused to say the least, you didn’t understand why kaz would ask inej to check on you every night. so you stayed silent. inej took that as her cue to leave, slipping out the window the same way she had weeks before.

you waited a few minutes. you mulled over your thoughts and memories, looking for any reason that kaz might need to know your location at night. had you done something wrong ? did he suspect you were betraying him? you felt a little hurt at the thought. you and kaz were close, closer than he was with the rest of the crows. he should know that you would never leave the dregs, they had saved your life. kaz had saved your life.

you shook your head and walked out of your room. why not just ask? it couldn’t hurt right? kaz may never give a straight answer in his life but maybe he would tell inej to back off.

by the time you made it to his door you were slightly angry, possibly annoyed. what right did kaz have to spy on you using one of your own friends. was there no such thing as privacy ?

you knocked on the door and waited for kaz’s ‘come in’ to step into his room/office.

he was sitting at his desk, hunched over a couple of accounting books from the crow club. you knew him well enough to know he was double checking every transaction to make sure there were no mistakes.

he looked up and pushed the papers away from him when he realized it was you. “oh y/n, it’s you.”

you huffed and walked over to him, standing in front of his desk. “yeah it’s me. i need to talk to you about something.”

he leaned back in his chair, motioning with his arms for you to go on.

you took a deep breath, “why have you asked inej to check on me every night?”

his eyes went wide slightly, and he sat up straight in his chair. all of his relaxed energy gone.

you went on, “because frankly it’s disrespectful. i don’t do anything that would make you suspicious of me. you know i would never leave or betray the dregs. so why do you ask my friend of all people to check on my location at night time kaz this is an invasion of my space and i can’t-”

“that is not why inej checks in on you” he interrupts.

you placed your hands on your hips. “okay so tell me brekker, why do you need inej to check in on me?”

he ran a hand through his hair. it kind of seemed like he was having an internal battle with himself.

“because i worry about you.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, your eyebrows creasing in confusion. “what?”

he was staring at his gloved hands, anywhere but you. “i worry about you. i want to make sure you get home okay or that you’re relaxed. i don’t make her check because i think you’re out working with another gang. i ask her to check to make sure you’re safe. especially if you came back from a job.”

you stayed silent for a minute. you had come in here ready for a fight, not this. you were prepared to fight or endure kaz’s passive aggressive energy for a couple of hours, you most definitely hadn’t prepared yourself for his honesty.

“but why would you want to know i was safe?”

he chucked darkly. “it’s not that i want to. i need to. unless i know you’re okay i can’t sleep. i’ll stay up for hours overthinking your job and how i wasn’t sure if i had seen you at dinner or playing cards with jesper. and then my mind wanders into all of the things that could have happened to you or could be happening to you. so inej tells me when you’re in your room safe and not in pain and only then can i fall asleep.”

neither of you said a word. you fidgeted with your fingers as a distraction. you were in shock. you were flattered. the blush on your cheeks far too hot. you were feeling so much.

but mostly you felt loved and cherished by kaz.

so you said, “sometimes when you’re in a mood. i get in a mood. it’ll ruin my whole night because i know for the rest of my day i’ll worry about you. and whether you’re feeling better or not. thinking about what made you pissed in the first place. thinking about all of the people who could make you happy in that moment.”

he deserved your vulnerability back.

when it became clear that kaz wasn’t going to say anything, you made your way to his door.

“wait”

you paused at the door

“i’ll tell inej to back off”

you turned towards him and he was finally looking at you.

you smiled at him, “thank you kaz.” you paused for a moment. “maybe tomorrow night, and the night after that, and the night after that, i’ll come in here and say good night? right after my jobs and when i’m heading to bed. would that be okay?”

if he needed the reassurance that you were okay to sleep, then you would happily climb two flights of stairs to give him that peace of mind.

plus you couldn’t deny the excitement you felt at the prospect of saying good night to kaz.

kaz had a small grin on his face too. “yeah,” he whispered, “that would be fine.”

you opened the door and before you lost your courage you said, “and kaz. you can always come down to my room to say goodnight. i like knowing you’re safe too.”

you stepped through the door and closed it behind you.

“good night brekker” you called out behind you.

#Kaz Brekker #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows #six of crows imagine #inej gahfa #inej gahfa x reader #shadow and bone #nina zenik #jesper fahey #Grishaverse #grisha #leigh bardugo

[tomdutch]

I have a fluffy request for Tom pls. Imagine it’s a really really warm summer night and it’s too hot to cuddle but Tom still wants to cuddle so he links his pinky with readers under the pillow? I just find the action so cute, like he can’t sleep if he isn’t touching u and can be sure you’re there? Ugh love it

in tears!!! in tears at this concept!!! this is way longer than a blurb i really took it and ran but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless <3

every few months, the holland & co household falls victim to a curse—at least, that’s what harry calls it. once it was tuwaine and harrison leaving out a whole cake in the kitchen overnight that ended with an ant infestation. another it was harry and tom accidentally knocking over the satellite dish while playing football in the backyard.

naturally, when it was announced that this weekend will endure the hottest heatwave of the year, all of you began praying the curse will leave you alone, just for these forty-eight hours of sweltering heat. and naturally, the curse did not listen. on the first day of the heatwave, while you, your boyfriend and your roommates are all lying about in several stages of crispiness, the a/c magically stops working.

at first, you don’t notice, too busy trying to curve your boyfriend’s incessant need to be constantly touching you. it’s a mostly sweet habit of his, one that allows you to get your fill of cuddles and affection. except when it’s almost forty-five fucking degrees with a blistering sun shining through your sealed windows and curtains as though they’re not even there. when tuwaine finally realises something’s gone horribly wrong and that you’re all baking in your impeccably insulated home, you’re in the midst of kicking tom off the couch for trying to hug you for the nth time today.

the rest of the day is spent miserably. after a lengthy fight over who deserves the one and only fan in the house, you all decide no one will get it, to be fair, and you’ve no option left but to open the windows and hope for a breeze that never comes.

when the clock strikes ten and you’ve already exhausted your cold shower, you slink into your bedroom, only for your frown to deepen once you see tom waiting for you on top of the covers, dressed in nothing but a ridiculous pair of tweety bird-themed boxers he got as a gag gift from one of his brothers.

“hey,” he mumbles, unable to catch your eyes, the ones that have been glaring at him and his clinginess since lunch.

energy drained, you slump on the mattress. you’ve lost the fight you had earlier in the day, and you’re so dejected and sleepy and hot that all you want is a hug from the man you love, but you know it’ll only make things worse.

“hi, tommy,” you respond, nuzzling your pillow and sliding closer to him, still leaving space between you.

his honey brown eyes soften at the nickname tumbling out of your lips, swollen from all the stress-biting you’ve made them endure. “i’m sorry i’ve been a bit of a pain all day.” tom starts, turning over on his side so you’re facing each other. “not seeing you for four months because of filming’s kind of... exacerbated my touchy tendencies. i guess, even in the fucking fryer this house is, i still don’t want to be away from you.”

heart positively melting from his words, you smile softly, trailing your fingertips lightly along his jawline, and he turns his head to kiss them. “i’m sorry too, sweetie.” you say, brushing a sweaty curl off his forehead. “i was unnecessarily mean at times; being uncomfortable and hot isn’t an excuse to be short with you. i hope you can forgive me, tommy.”

“nothing there to forgive, my love.” he grins, eyes crinkling and cheeks begging to be pinched. “and to be fair, you’re hot all year-round, it’s a miracle you’re not always mean to me.”

snorting, you turn onto your back, only for your smile to fall as the sheets stick to your skin uncomfortably.

“oh, and,” tom perks up, getting off the bed and heading to the hallway, “got you a little something as a token of my regret.”

“tom, i love you, but if you come back in naked, i will leave you for jake gyllenhaal.” you grumble, straining your eyes in the darkness to see him. your frustration fades almost immediately when he walks through the door once again, but this time holding the rusty old fan you’d all fought over earlier. “oh my god...” you gasp, scrambling to sit up. “how did you get the guys to let you take it?”

shrugging as he bends over to plug it in, tom grins like it’s nothing, “promised them i’ll buy them each their own fan tomorrow. and pay for the a/c on my own, which is not happening actually.”

a laugh erupts out of you, both at his little speech and out of ecstatic relief once the fan begins to whir, a gust of wind hitting your face. tom’s grin only widens as he finds a good angle for the noisy machine, and he watches as you fall back onto the mattress, humming with pleasure as you no longer feel like a melting ice cream cone.

you smile widely at him when he slides back into bed, each of you fluffing up your own pillows to get ready to sleep. from the way his eyes stay strained on you and his nervous switching of positions, from his back to his side to his stomach to his other side with no success, you can tell tom’s mulling over whether or not he can pull you closer or even touch you. the fan’s better than nothing, but the room’s still insanely hot.

before you can even say anything, tom rolls over onto his side once more, and his hand reaches under your pillow. ever so lightly, his little pinky finds your own, tracing over it for a moment before his fingers curls over yours, squeezing just a bit then relaxing.

“is this okay?” he whispers, wide eyes watching your closed ones.

squeezing his pinky back, you smile, “it’s perfect, tommy.”

#tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #outshineallthestars #answered

[polaroid15]

Febuwhump Day 19 - Delirium

Read on Ao3 :)

Summary: After a stressful battle, Peter endures another round of his mutation.

-----

The fight lasts for fifteen hours.

By the time it ends, Peter’s legs are too weak to support himself, his energy totally spent. He ends up on his knees in the rubble of a ruined street that he doesn’t have the energy to look at the name of. It’s all the same, anyways. Blasted and torn to pieces. Aliens, again. Another damn portal that took too long to close.

Peter never dreamed a day would come where he would never want to see an alien again. But it’s today. Today is that day.

Every part of his body aches, but he’s relatively unharmed. His suit is torn at the shoulder and across his thigh. His ribs hurt something terrible. But in retrospect, it could’ve been a lot worse. He figures he should count his blessings.

Tony’s armor clanging against the pavement beside him startles him out of his exhausted thoughts. Surprised he hadn’t heard him coming, Peter tips his head and squints against the sun. “Hey, man. That was crazy.”

Tony’s faceplate retracts, revealing an expression borders on worry and amusement. “What’re you doin’ on the ground, kid?”

“My legs don’t work anymore.”

“Are you hurt?”

Peter shakes his head, lowering his head once more to look blankly down the ruined street. “Nope. Just tired.”

Tony chuckles, and Peter hears relief in it. “Well, you’re going to have to use them until we get back to the compound. Think you can handle it?”

No, his brain immediately responds, but he keeps it there. Instead, he sighs dramatically and takes Tony’s outstretched hand. In a shaky movement, he’s vertical, though he sways when he stands. Tony’s metal fingers clutch his biceps hard, keeping him steady. “Woah, underoos. You weren’t kidding.”

Now that he’s standing, Peter becomes aware of a pain that extends past the exhaustion in his muscles. There’s a sense of nausea, too, and the beginnings of what’s surely to be a wicked headache. “Sorry. I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Although looking entirely unconvinced, Tony nods and lets Peter go, though he hovers close by as they make their journey to the head of the street where the quinjet is waiting. With great concentration, Peter manages to haul himself onboard. He collapses into a seat beside Sam and takes a water bottle when it’s handed to him. It’s down in three gulps, and when he comes back for air, there are thin dots of light floating in front of his eyes.

“You good?” Sam asks, his eyebrows meeting together in worry.

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter says. “Easy peasy. You?”

Sam scoffs. “Did you just say ‘easy peasy’?”

“Yeah, so?”

Sam’s smile widens. “Nothing.”

Peter smiles, too, relaxing back against his seat. He sees Tony near the cockpit, his back turned as he speaks with the pilot.

Everyone is safe. The team, New York, and for once- himself. Well, except for the fact that he feels like slowly warming garbage. That’s kind of a buzz kill.

Sam says something else to him, but it washes over him in a haze, like his head is underwater. He blinks once, twice, and can’t find it within himself to open his eyes back up after the third.

He’s asleep long before they take off.

-----

“Underoos. We’re here, buddy.”

Peter groans and swats away an intruding hand. It is way too early to wake up, thank you very much. “No school,” he groans. “Feel sick.”

“Sick?”

Peter jolts up with a gasp as a cold hand lands against his forehead. After a couple moments of clearing his vision, he finds Tony sitting in the seat beside him where Sam had been. Other than them, the quinjet is empty.

“Um, what?” Peter asks. He feels a lot worse than before. Definitely hot garbage territory. Regardless, he pushes away Tony’s worried hand again and takes a deep, lung-burning breath.

“You said you feel sick.”

“I was dreaming.”

“Well, you look sick.”

“I’m just tired.” Desperate to abort the situation, Peter unclicks his seatbelt and uses the wall to stand. “In fact, I’m just going to go to bed.”

“Now? You don’t want to come to the debrief?”

“Do I have to?”

Tony considers it for a moment before shaking his head. “Nah, I guess not. It’ll be boring anyways. Go ahead. Skedaddle.”

Peter’s shoulders dip with relief. He gives Tony a shaky smile, taking a couple steps back. “Thanks, Mr. Stark. You’re the best.”

“I already know that.”

Peter laughs, but it tapers off as his head spikes with another bolt of pain. It’s harsh, but familiar. Like after he was bitten by the spider.

Oh crap.

Peter moves double time, bypassing Vision and Rhodey in the lobby and rushing into the elevator. He grips the side rails hard, his heart hammering with anxiety, and nearly collapses out onto his floor when the elevator doors slide open. He stumbles into his room, his bathroom, and ends up slanted against the sink. He fiddles with the tap and sticks his head under the cold water, his entire body lighting up with chills.

“This can’t be happening,” he whispers when he brings his head up, the ends of his hair dripping with water and his cheeks burning with fever. His reflection is grim. Scared. The parts of his face that aren’t red are peaked and drawn. Sick.

He’s mutating again. He knows it.

He debates changing out of his suit, but before he can muster the thought his stomach lurches and he’s on his knees in front of the toilet. Reflexive tears run down the sides of his faces as he heaves, and it seems to never end. He uses the bathroom counter to ground himself, and after a particularly painful bout of nausea passes through him, a chunk of the corner breaks off.

“Oh my god,” Peter croaks, his vision doubled and his entire body shaking with chills. This is so much worse than last time.

It’s the last coherent thought he has for a while.

------

The debrief lasts for two hours.

If it had been even a minute longer, Tony had been prepared to smash his head into the table. But luckily, Steve closes it with a half-hearted, “good job team”, and that’s that.

God, finally.

He leaves almost immediately, dreaming about a hot shower, a frozen dinner, and bed. But at the threshold of his door, he hesitates. Check on the kid.

Sighing, Tony spins on his heel and makes the short journey three doors down to the kid’s room. He expects to knock, but the door is wide open and the room beyond it dark. Tony frowns, leaning inside and flicking on the light to find the kid’s bed empty and made. “Peter?” he calls.

When no one answers, Tony steps further into the room and notices a thin strip of light under the bathroom door. He hesitates, torn between leaving and investigating, but ultimately finds himself in front of it. He knocks with his first two knuckles, lightly. “Pete?”

The silence persists and Tony’s stomach turns hard with worry. He knocks harder. “Peter? Are you in there?”

He thinks he might hear a noise. Something quiet and mumbled, but he’s unsure if his worry is making things up. He slams his whole palm against the door this time. “Peter. If you don’t answer, I’m coming in.”

When there’s nothing but silence for a third time, Tony twists the handle and swings open the door. His eyes drift frantically before landing on the kid in question, who’s slumped beside the toilet with his head tipped back into the wall. He’s positively ashen, with a harsh blush of red across his cheekbones and neck. His breathing is loud and ragged, his eyes closed.

“Damn it,” Tony says, rushing inside and kneeling on the cold tile beside him. “FRI, call a medteam to Peter’s room.”

“Of course, Sir.”

With shaking hands, Tony jostles Peter’s shoulder, surprised by how much heat he can feel off the kid even through his suit. “Hey, buddy. I need you to wake up.”

Peter’s face twitches. A low, incomprehensible sound comes up through his throat.

“Pete. Wake up.”

Slowly, Peter’s eyes blink open. They travel back and forth, glazed and lacking comprehension. Tony pats the boy’s cheek, but it doesn’t seem to help him focus. “Peter?” he tries again. “Can you hear me?”

Peter’s eyes become, if possible, even more dull. He sinks back against the wall, and for a moment his irises disappear. It scares the living hell out of Tony, and he shakes Peter harder.

“What?” Peter asks, his voice a quiet, ragged whisper. His irises reappear, searching but not finding Tony. “Wha- What’s goin’ on?”

God, he’s delirious. Tony takes a deep, steadying breath. “Hey, buddy. You’re okay. You’re just a little sick. Try focusing on staying awake, alright? I know you can do it.”

Peter swallows, and it looks like it hurts. Tony’s frown deepens as he opens and closes his mouth as if struggling to find words. “B-bites are bad.”

“They sure are, bud. FRI? Do you have an estimate on that medteam?”

“They are on their way, Sir.”

“Bites,” Peter repeats, more urgently. “Neck. H-hurts.”

Alarmed, Tony leans Peter forward and sticks a finger down the seam of his suit around his neck. He searches for a sign of a bite, but he finds nothing but the kid’s burning, clammy skin. “A bite? What are you talking about, Peter? What’s hurting?”

“Field trip,” Peter slurs, the words awkward and heavy in his mouth. His head lolls forward, and Tony brings it back up. “Field trip.”

Bruce appears at his side, unheard through his worry. Tony exhales hard in relief, shifting to let Bruce closer. “Thank god. He’s burning, Bruce. And confused as hell.”

“The med team is waiting in the hall,” Bruce explains before turning to Peter. He positions himself in front of the boy’s line of sight and shines a pen light in his eyes. “Peter? Are you with me?”

Again, Peter swallows hard. His eyelids flutter. “F-field trip.”

“See?” Tony stresses. He’s lightheaded.

“Field trip?” Bruce repeats. “What do you mean, Peter?”

“Bite,” Peter moans. “Trip. Spider.”

All of a sudden, it’s as if a curtain of understanding lifts. Tony turns to Bruce sharply. “His spider bite,” he says. “It gave him his mutations. May told me he almost died going through it. Do you think…?”

“It’s more than possible,” Bruce says with a nod. “Regardless, we gotta get him upstairs. Help me lift him?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Together, they lift Peter between them and out onto the gurney in the hall. It’s a short five minute journey to the medical unit, but by the time they reach it, Peter is slurring and mumbling words no one can understand, his entire body trembling and his back arching and twisting.

“Shh,” Tony soothes as they stick him with needles and oxygen. He smooths back the kid’s wet hair. “You’ll be alright. Deep breaths, Pete. Just focus on my voice.”

Eventually, Peter stills, and his eyelids close. Tony collapses forward when he does, everything feeling uprooted and wrong. He was fine a couple hours ago.

Not for the first time, he regrets bringing the kid into all of this. But another part of him, the bigger part of him, knows he wouldn’t have been able to live without him.

Bruce’s hand lands on his shoulder. “We’ll take care of him, Tony. Go take care of yourself.”

And for once, Tony listens.

-----

Peter’s awake and aware a long six hours later. He eats three popsicles and forces Tony to eat his fourth.

“Are you mad?” Peter asks after a while.

Tony isn’t sure if the question comes as a surprise. “Mad? The fever really did burn your brain.”

“Is that a no…?”

“Of course it’s a no.”

Peter visibly relaxes, a smile spreading out across his face. “Oh, that’s good.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

Peter shakes his head. “Not really. I remember getting sick, but everything after I got to the bathroom is a mess. Did I really mutate again? Again, Mr. Stark?”

“It looks like Parker luck strikes again.”

Peter groans and sinks back into his pillow, disrupting the popsicle wrappers on his lap. “That’s like, so lame. As if the first time wasn’t bad enough.”

“Bruce said it’s likely because of the stress of the fight. It took too much out of you, kiddo.”

Peter is quiet at that. Finally, he whispers, “does that make you mad?”

“No,” Tony responds, equally quiet. “But it does make me worried.”

Peter smiles, but it’s somber. “You do that a lot.”

“Can you blame me?”

Laughing, Peter shakes his head. “I guess not.”

Tony finds himself smiling, too. “You up for getting out of this place?”

“Uh, duh.”

“Star Wars or lab?”

“How about both?”

Again, Tony smiles. Yep, Peter’s back.

“Sure, kid.”

#febuwhump #febuwhump day 19 #febuwhump 2022 #peter parker #tony stark #irondad #irondad fic #sickfic #protective tony stark #spider-man

[bokunosimpfiction]

Yandere!Karl Heisenberg x Reader Pt. 2

You could read this as a stand-alone fic, but there’s some more context of the situation on the first one.

Usertags: @fandomtrashgoddess

Synopsis: Some fluff/hurt slash comfort after and escape attempt. tw:kidnapping (implied) tw:physical abuse (implied)

             You sat on in the bathtub, facing the wall, head leaned back, while Heisenberg sat on the toilet seat behind you. You counted the little dots and indentations in the ceiling while he repaired your injuries.

             You tried not to hiss when he poked around your face, checking your wounds and scratches for any metal debris or splinters. Your eyes watered when he would pull one out, no matter how gently he did it (or tried to), it made your eyes water. You pretended to be strong.

             After a little bit you feel a warm, damp cloth pat your skin. It doesn’t sting as much, and if anything soothes the burn.

             “I told you not to try and escape,” he mutters, “look at what you did to yourself… You’re lucky I found you when I did.”

             “Who was the one that set up the traps that almost killed me?” Your voice was hoarse, dry, and tired from screaming, and your body was sore from running and kicking and screaming. You lost the fight in you an hour or so ago, and here you were being cleaned up from the mess that was made. The mess that you made.

             “I wouldn’t have to set up traps like that if you stopped trying to escape.” He takes a cotton pad with saline solution on it and lightly dabs at the cuts all across your face. “These are going scar, sweetie.” You can feel the sarcasm and hostility at the end but chose to ignore it. “You’ll be beautiful no matter what, of course, but you get them through pain, and I can’t stand the thought you ever being hurt.”

             “Okay boomer.”

             “What the ever-living fuck is a boomer?”

             “Google it.”

             “How did you even get wifi here?”

             “Not telling.”

             He sighs and begins to gently apply aloe to the cuts. You’d never use those words to describe Heisenberg. He’s big, bulky, strong, and intimidating, but for some reason his rough and callous covered hands managed to be so nimble and delicate on top of being bulky and strong. It has to do with his tinkering and building, you suppose.

             He places a kiss on your forehead, above one of the bigger gashes and leans your head off of his lap. “Alright, I think that’s the last of them.”

             You still sit in the tub, covering yourself with your left, covered in gauze and bandages. The other one in a sling with ice inside. It hurt terribly, some of the worst pain you’ve ever felt. You remind yourself to NOT dislocate your elbow.

             You felt so exposed, in nothing but an oversized tank-top and your underwear. He had put you in one of his shirts to have easier access to your arms and such. You were exhausted, and just needed sleep. But you knew that you had a punishment ahead of you, and that you needed to endure a little longer.

             He tilts your head up, to look him in the eyes. There was so much more emotion than you could comprehend: anger, sadness, betrayal, love, there were too many and he was clearly conflicted on what to do.

             He scoops you up bridal style, easily, and holds you close. “I think you’ve learned your lesson for now, being chased by propeller man is more than enough excitement for today, we’ll worry about the consequences tommorow.”

             You just nod your head. “Thank you, Dr. Doofenshmirtz.” It’s a quiet statement, and despite the exhaustion, you still are able to maintain a bit of snark. You refuse to be fully submissive, and in moments where you don’t have the energy to fight physically or battle it out with yelling insults or witty comebacks, you have to resort to statements like these.

             “I told you to call me Karl.”

             You pretend to consider it for a moment. “Hm… no.”

             “I might change my mind and spank you now.”

             You yawn. “You don’t have the nerve.”

             Still, he carries you gently into the shared bedroom. The kink-sized bed with beige sheets and a comforter folded at the end of the bed. It was yours mostly because it’s always cold at night. Heisenberg always found his way under it or wrapped around it somehow, and by morning he was either dead asleep with no way to escape or in the workshop, waiting for you to come visit him in your pajamas.

             “You’re not going to be able to change tonight by yourself.”

             “I’d like to try.”

             “Well, you won’t.”

             “Don’t act so tough, Schwarzenegger.” All of this snark is tiring you out, but you refuse to give up what little control you have left: freedom of speech. Thank God for being an American because lord do you know how to use it.

             “I’d imagine you’d learn to shut your mouth after all the times I’ve gagged you but apparently not.” He sits you down on the poorly made bed and slips his shirt off you. The cold nips at your skin and perks your nipples, which he ogles at for several moments before going to the shared dresser.

             He doesn’t ask how cold you are, just grabs the short-sleeved slip-on night gown from its place in the draw and a pair of underwear. He lifts your legs and slips off your current pair. It’s been a while since you last shaved, but he shows no disgust or even disinterest. He wants to lean closer, smell you, taste you, feel you, but he restrains himself. Your shaken and tired enough as is, no need to worsen that. He slides the new pair back up, lifting your ass with his hands while he pulls the briefs up to the small of your back.

             He slides the sling off your arm, and carefully maneuvers it through the arm hole. “Keep it still, okay.” His voice is soft and gruff, and for a moment, you melt, before you remembered he kidnapped you. You’ve had more domestic moments, ruined by the circumstance in which they came, but for some reason, you feel his caring nature come through more.

             He slides your other arm through the arm hole and tugs the dress down over your head. It’s bunched at your hips from you sitting, but there’s not much he can do about it besides move you, which he doesn’t plan on doing.

             “Heisenberg?” You call out softly, pulling him out of his train of thoughts, “I’d like to go to bed now.” Why the hell do you have to ask for his permission? But you do anyhow. He pushes you back onto your side of the bed, and rests your head on the pillow, that’s almost flat enough to be replaced. Almost. He pulls the covers from under you, and tucks you in up to your chin, just like how you would a child. You see him walk to the end of the bed, his coat moving behind him as he pulls the comforter up. He leans down, and you look in his eyes a moment before kissing you on the forehead.

             “Goodnight pumpkin.”

             “Goodnight Zoidberg.”

             “Goddamn it.”

#yandere #yandere resident evil #yandere karl heisenberg #yandere karl heisenberg x reader #resident evil x reader #tw: kidnapping #tw: physical abuse #not beta read #resident evil village #resident evil 8