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pascalpanic · 3 years ago

Note

hi angel 🥺 i’ve had some time to think of what i want to request and i’ve finally come up with something ;-;

do you think you could write something comforting (doesn’t have to be long!) where maxwell is caring for a reader who is a little tipsy or drunk? the reader is the kind of drunk who’s giggly and playful. and he’s super sweet and gentle with her. maybe they already have a pre-established relationship? maybe some slimy guy is hitting on her and he gets all protective and takes her home? and i’d neverrrrr object to smut either. but i’m leaving it up to you to write whatever you think works the best. i just miss reading soft and protective maxwell yanno ;-;

Overdoing It (Maxwell Lord x f!Reader)

W/C: 1.5k

Warnings: alcohol obviously, sexual innuendo, Maxwell lifts reader so I know some ppl aren’t comfy with that

A/N: RACH MY LOVE I’m sorry this took so long but I’m glad I finally did it bc I love how it turned out! ALSO HAPPY WW84 DAY (July fourth) SO WHAT WONDERFUL TIMING!

You certainly had not intended to imbibe to the level you had tonight. The problem was Maxwell, really, although in the best possible way.

The man has a high tolerance; you, admittedly, have one considerably lower than his. You love seeing Maxwell when he’s tipsy. It’s rare that you get to see it and remember it. The times that he’s tipsy are the times where you’re next to vomiting.

But tonight was a celebration, and Maxwell spared no expense. You’d finally received a position in a job you’d dreamed of, one that caused the two of you to spend hours poring over applications and perfecting cover letters. It was a success for the both of you, you said, but Maxwell insisted that it was all you.

You’d said that takeout was just fine with you, so long as Maxwell was there, but he insisted that a bigger celebration was in order. You didn’t really mind; you love getting dressed up to go out. Max made a reservation at a nice place in downtown D.C. and kept the specific place a surprise from you until now.

As you walked inside, the gorgeous atmosphere made you lose your breath for a moment. Your eyes nearly watered as you looked at Maxwell, and he simply kissed your forehead. “You deserve it, my love. I’m so proud of you.”

The words aren’t exactly rare from Maxwell, but they mean the world to you. Having someone tell you that they love you is one thing, but having someone say they’re proud of you is a completely different one. “I love you,” you grinned and followed him to your table, lacing your fingers through his.

Dinner was wonderful, unsurprisingly. Maxwell had scanned the menu the last time he came here, with business cohorts, and been certain you would like it. The delight on your face as you scanned the menu confirmed it, and Maxwell mentally gave himself a little pat on the back.

You’d ordered appetizers and drinks, then more drinks with the main course (two to accompany the meal, to be exact), and then more with dessert. By then, you were starting to feel a little tipsy, but nothing you couldn’t handle. Slowly, as you left the restaurant, the alcohol sunk in. The drinks were stronger than they’d seemed.

Luckily, Maxwell has a chauffeur. He’d had as many drinks as you, but the man’s tolerance is quite high. He seems barely affected, if not slightly looser and more carefree. The two of you made your way outside, Maxwell holding his arm around your waist to ensure that you didn't stumble; just in case, he reminded you, but you didn’t believe him.

In the car, you snuggle into Maxwell’s side happily, resting your head on his shoulder. “Buckle please, love,” he insists and wraps an arm around you.

“No,” you whine, kissing the soft cologned skin of his neck. “You’re too cozy.”

Maxwell laughs and nestles into you. “I’ll excuse it this once, only because I trust Jeeves,” he teases you. “How are you feeling, love?”

“So happy,” you smile up at him, dazed but content. The alcohol has brought you to a state of bliss now; love for Maxwell, a full stomach from the wonderful dinner, pride in your achievement.

Maxwell nods. “Of course you are,” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

“Ooh, do we have wine at home?” You ask, sitting up and looking at him. “You need a few more.”

“No, no more drinks,” he chuckles and pulls you back into his side. “I think we’re both done for the night, don’t you?” His hands slide over your shoulders, smoothing the bare skin that’s cold to the touch.

You pout at him and Maxwell turns his face away, smiling. “No, I can’t look at that. I won’t be able to say no.”

“Please, baby?” You plead with big eyes.

“We have wine at home,” Maxwell tells you, even though he’s unsure whether or not it’s true. Either way, he won’t be allowing you to drink any of it.

Sighing, you snuggle into his side, shivering. “Car’s cold,” you murmur.

Maxwell removes his suit jacket and drapes it around your shoulders, kissing your head and smiling down at you warmly. “How’s that?”

“Smells like your cologne,” you practically purr like a satisfied cat as you wrap yourself in the expensive fabric. “I love you so much, Maxie-poo.”

“I love you too, darling,” he chuckles. The chauffeur brings you to his house not long after, and Maxwell offers you a hand when you get out of the car.

Sitting in the seat, you frown up at him. “I’m fine, Max.” Standing in your high heels, your wobbly legs thanks to the alcohol send you falling into Maxwell, who catches you.

“Fine, yes,” he chuckles and lifts you back to standing. “Take off your shoes and let me help you inside.”

Sighing and crossing your arms, you step out of your shoes, calves screaming a thank you for removing them from those torture devices. He reaches down and picks them up, ass straining in his suit, and you can’t help but give it a smack, giggling.

“Oh, no, little miss,” Maxwell playfully chides and grabs your arm. “Let’s get you inside, tiger.”

Your legs lead your brain without any thought, drunkenly stumbling your way inside. Maxwell’s arms are your support, really the only thing to keep you from falling. He purposely steers you away from the path leading to the kitchen, knowing you’ll ask for more alcohol should you see it. When you reach the foot of the stairs, you groan and look at Maxwell with puppy eyes. You know his back has been bad lately, his joints ache when the humidity rises, but you can’t do this without him. “Can you carry me? Please?” You ask him.

Maxwell chuckles and kisses your head tenderly. “I suppose. Climb on my back.” He stands with his palms the wall, squatting for you to jump up on him.

The formal dress makes it difficult, but you hop up, both of you groaning as you latch onto him. “I love you so goddamn much,” you babble happily, kissing along the skin behind his ears.

“You’re lucky I love you too,” he grunts as he makes his way up the stairs, his knees aching from the weight of carrying absolutely anything on his back.

When he reaches the top, you get down and sigh, kissing him sloppily. “You’re the best.”

“I’m wonderful,” he sighs and rolls his eyes, leading you to the bedroom and letting you plop down on his plush California king bed.

You strip off his suit jacket and toss it at him, and he catches it without even looking. “Don’t even think about seducing me tonight, darling. You’re too far gone,” he chuckles.

His words make you frown and stop in the middle of unzipping your dress slowly. “I wasn’t gonna,” you grumble and stand, slipping out of the dress and getting under the thick covers of the bed.

“Sure,” Maxwell smiles and retreats into his large closet. He returns in pajama pants and the white tee he wore under his button-up.

He looks so soft like this, and even drunk, you recognize what a privilege it is to see him like this. His large suits hide his frame, but you can see the soft curve of his tummy, his broad shoulders and narrow torso. “We should get married,” you blurt to him, your heart-eyes penetrating through to his center.

“You’re drunk,” he shakes his head as he wanders to the bathroom. He returns with his thick-rimmed glasses on, and it completes the look, his highlighted hair messy and beginning to curl.

He sits on his side of the bed and hands you a glass of water and some painkillers. “You’re going to feel like shit in the morning, and you’re not allowed to blame me.”

“I won’t,” you pout and take the pills, rolling onto your side to face him. His legs are beneath the covers, and one of yours snakes to his and wraps your ankle around his.

Max smiles softly at the gesture. He recognizes it. You need his touch, want to snuggle tonight rather than keep to your own in his spacious bed. He lies down and you quickly scoot over to him, resting your head and a palm on his chest.

“I love you, dear,” he murmurs and kisses your forehead, his hand stroking your back lovingly. “You sleep now. Please.”

“I want to cuddle a little longer,” you frown and look up at him, face barely peeking out from the covers.

Max laughs. “Of course. We’ll stay like this, but at least make an effort to fall asleep. Your headache in the morning will be better if you sleep more.”

“Fine,” you sigh and scoot your body as close to his as possible, kissing his chest through the plain white t-shirt. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he repeats and sets his glasses to the side, letting himself sink into the squishy bed. He’ll surely have to care for you in the morning too, but he doesn’t mind. It’s worth it.

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chubmins · 3 years ago

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candy bear, sweetie pie (i wanna be adored)

cw: feederism, belly kink, weight gain, burping, brief mention of body image regarding jimin’s family, streamer!jimin.

“hello there... it’s manggae.”

jimin’s voice was low, almost a whisper, as he laid back on one of his hands and appraised the rapidly growing influx of messages on his live’s chat. they weren’t quick enough that jimin would lose track, but nowadays he would have to scroll back up to catch something he missed a few times. his audience had been growing.

“you missed me? cute. it’s only been a week.” his full lips stretched in a smile his viewers would be able to see and fawn over. jimin always positioned himself carefully, camera catching him perfectly from the lips down — not because he didn’t want the audience to see his face, they had seen him a handful of times now, but because he wanted his body to be the main focus.

and his body explained why his nickname on the streaming website was manggaetteok.

jimin had always liked to eat. growing up in an extremely rich family, food had never been an issue — until it started being taken away from him by parents and nutritionists who believed his chubby cheeks were something to be ashamed of. jimin spent his teenage years on diets, pills and stinky gym bathrooms. he almost started hating his body as much as his parents did.

until he moved out. was moved out, to be more precise — an apartment bought for him in the heart of gangnam, too big for just one person, way under-decorated to look like a homel. jimin was twenty and out of his parents' claws for the first time in his life.

it didn’t take him more than a year to figure out the most crucial things about himself: he prefered boys over girls, silk robes and lace over black pressed suits, and he very much prefered to stay home and order food to going out to a new bar every friday night.

jimin turned into the perfect definition of a homebody; and, soon enough, of a foodie.

he didn’t hold back when it came to food, and the results of his indulgence after years of restriction showed on his body rather quickly. at least his parents were right about one thing — he really was prone to gaining weight, and a lot of it.

sitting now on the floor of one of the three bedroom’s in his apartment, the one he had slowly decorated to be his streaming studio, jimin weight gain is nothing if not noticeable. nicely placed down on his fluffy baby pink carpet with thighs spread as wide as they would go, his belly hanged almost touching the floor. it looks so soft and pudgy now, bulging forward in an almost perfect round dome even when it’s empty. he has pink stretch marks from the top of his jiggly thighs to right under his belly button, which has gotten deep enough for jimin to fit and poke his entire pinky finger inside. his flabby tits rest nicely on top of his swollen gut, round puffy nipples a pretty light brown on display.

“remember when i’d dress up all cute and pretty for these lives?” jimin practically purred at the camera, both hands heading to his breasts so he could squeeze and jiggle them while chuckling. “my bras don’t fit me anymore… i need to buy new ones.”

as if on cue, the silent notification bar that signaled new donations started popping up repeatedly, each time with a different amount of the website’s currency he’d get to convert to real money later. jimin chuckled again, he knew how to play this game too well. he had indeed grown out of most of his fancy silk and lace lingerie, but he also didn’t want to repeat the same ones he’d still fit into. that being said, he had decided on his fit for today as being a pair of baby blue silk shorts that barely covered his ass when he stood up, and a matching silk choker with a small emerald pendant.

“well, well, look at that! seems like i’ll have some new lingerie to show you guys soon.” His hands moved away from his body before he could get too excited, and moved towards the tray he had off camera.

with a little bit of maneuvering, he pulled the traw towards himself until it was in between his massive thighs and the camera, positioned just so that his body wouldn’t be too covered up and his belly would still be on display.

“as you can see” jimin praticaly purred, “i followed your requests and got a full american breakfast. there are pancakes,” he pointed at each and every item as he spoke, mouth watering just thinking about how he was finally going to eat “eggs, sausages, muffins, bagels and a berry smoothie.”

that was probably enough food to feed a family of four — the chat flooded with excited messages of how they couldn’t wait to see jimin eating it all. at first his viewers’ excitement would startle jimin a bit, but now? now he lived for it.

after all, he’d always get as excited as them.

“should i start with the pancakes? they’re still warm.” he asked, reading all the messages he could, all of which were encouraging him to start eating.

jimin reached for the pancakes. there were six of them in total, fluffy and golden brown with melted butter running down on all sides. jimin’s fork was quick to make work through the first three layers as he balanced the plate on top of his belly, and once the big bite was inside his lips he moaned unashamedly.

“fuck… so good.” he barely finished chewing before he pushed more inside his mouth, closing his eyes in bliss. “i could eat this everyday. imagine how much bigger i’d get.”

his viewers got off on that, as he came to learn very quickly after starting to stream himself eating. jimin’s primary goal certainly wasn’t to gain weight, but it did keep the cash coming and he didn’t mind the plushness one bit. just a small price to pay for all the food he shoved inside himself, and he did look hot with all the extra pounds. jimin continued to shove the pancakes inside his mouth, barely chewing before swallowing, moaning almost obscenely throughout the whole process. it didn’t take more than five minutes for him to polish the whole stack.

“kinda wish i had ordered more” he pouted, putting the plate away and lightly slapping his still very empty gut. the donations started popping up again, messages telling him to order more right at that instant, to order ten times more next week. “don’t worry everyone, i still have a lot more to eat!”

jimin reached for the bagels next — there were 9 of them in a box alongside 4 muffins of various flavours, and jimin had started alternating between them while answering some of his viewers questions.

“last time i went on a date? that was a couple months ago, actually” he answered between bites of a blueberry muffin. “made him take me to an all you can eat buffet, ate like a pig. had to unzip my pants for dessert and all...” jimin licked his fingers clean, making a little show out of it before reaching for the last bagel and all but eating half of it in one big bite before continuing in a lighthearted tone, cheeks full. “probably freaked him out, he never called again.”

the story was only partially true — taehyung had taken him to an all you can eat buffet for their first date, but he also had called again. they were dating, in fact, but had made an arrangement to keep it from jimin’s subscribers. as much as jimin didn’t mind showing his body and face online for thousands to see, his private life remained private, and he was a firm believer that nobody needed to know his real name, the city he lived in or his relationship status.

“i need something savory, now. those muffins were really sweet.” jimin sighed, taking a big sip from his berry smoothie. one of his chubby hands played with his belly, caressing around the belly button before lifting the fat mass and letting it fall, sighing at the way it jiggled back into place. the movement dislodged a gas bubble, and he could hear the gurgling noise coming up his throat and feel the pressure on his chest right before letting out a loud belch.

“oh, yeah… that felt good.” another burp made its way out right then, shorter and deeper than the first one. jimin bit his lip and smiled, playing coy. “excuse me!”

he reached for the eggs, three full plates with enough spicy sauce on top that it dripped down Jimin’s chin at his first bite. he didn’t clean it at first, too preoccupied with stuffing his face until he could barely chew with his mouth closed. jimin still had a few steps to take before he felt actually full, but his stomach definitely felt a little bit harder at the top, now. he ate the first two plates mostly in silence aside from the casual moans and loud slurps from the berry smoothie, lips feeling tingly and swollen from the spice.

“you guys remember last time i ate this spicy sauce, right?” jimin smiled, going for the third and last plate. “that day with the ten hamburguers. i downed almost the entire bottle with them, got so gassy afterwards. couldn’t stop burping.” the memory makes his comment session go crazy, talking about how hot it was, how he should do it again. jimin chuckles, happy his viewers don’t mind how much of a pig he can be sometimes.

he continues eating, barely stopping to breathe — there’s still two dishes to get done with, and his stomach is starting to protest about the eggs he just ate.

“hmm… tummy is talking, you guys hear that?” jimin all but shoves a finger inside his belly button, moving the digit around in a movement that could almost be considered obscene. he feels so good, exposed like this, stomach gurgling away the fullness.

the donations keep coming at a fast rate as jimin keeps eating, pace much slower than when he first started with the pancakes, lips greasy and adorned with crumbles. his hands find his belly a plethora of times, caressing the stretched out skin, pressing against the swelled up gut as he unashamedly lets out moans and sighs of pleasure. that’s how jimin, sooner rather than later, finds himself out of food to eat, only half of his smoothie left.

“so full…” he groans, leaning back to expose his full, rounded out fat belly. it gurgles audibly then, jumping out in an abrupt movement as jimin’s lips fall open and he belches again, a long and wavering deep noise that sounds both disgusting and relieving. only then he reaches off camera for a tissue box, cleaning his fingers and then his lips and double chin, laughing as he spots some muffin crumbles on his chest and wipes them away carelessly.

“that was so—” jimin is interrupted by a small burp, cheeks puffing up cutely. “so good. but i can’t help but feel like i could pack more in here.” he pats his belly kinda harshly, the slapping sound loud inside his room. “should i go for 10 pancakes next time? or maybe only have pancakes, a huge stack of them… ah, bet i could eat 20.”

the chat is, as always, extremely encouraging. the donations start coming at a surprising speed again, some messages attached about how the money is for his future grocery trip and for him to buy double of everything. jimin bathes on the attention for a little longer, answering some questions while trying to soothe his ful, oversized belly, chuckling every now and then and pointing out the gurgling noises it makes as it tries to process all the food he just ate.

he was not lying, though — it does feel like he could pack more if he tried. but that’s a thought for next time, and jimin stores it for next week’s stream as he bids goodbye and claims it’s time for him to get into his food coma and digest so he can come back even fatter.

“this has been manggae… until next time, guys!”

#i'm literally shaking i'm so flustered about posting this fic #it's been a while since i've written anything #please note english isn't my first language #am trying my best #as always idk how to tag #chubby bt5 #chubmins

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stardustdiaries · 4 years ago

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Make You Feel My Love

Pairing: Captain Rex x Jedi!Reader

Summary: After you are injured in battle, you and Rex get lost in your emotions.

Warnings: Injuries, blood (little to no descriptions, though!) FLUFF! ANGST? YEAH.

Word Count: 1,916

•••

Never had Rex felt this sort of fear.

You are okay. You are safe. You are healing. He knows this, Kix has been reassuring him time and time again that you would be back on your feet in no time. It still didn’t ease his worries.

It’s been three days since his world almost collapsed. Three days since he felt his heart drop as yours threatened to stop. Three days since he saw your fingers weakly clutch your stomach as blood painted your robes. Rex has seen his brothers die in the heat of battle, their screams of agony have fallen on his ears before and he’s been there to hold many of them as they took their last breath.

But this was different.

Rex loves you. It’s a truth he’s tried to crush under the weight of his boot, but the fact remains the same. It’s been a hard pill to swallow. Both of your codes are restrictive in more ways than one and, truth be told, they were the only thing stopping him from blurting out his feelings for you. His love for you burned in his veins and being there for you— protecting you was the only way for him to give you his love.

Until he couldn’t.

One second you were by his side, thinning out the battalion of battle droids and clearing a way for the 501st and the next, an explosion was set off. And you were within range of the blast.

“General!” Rex called out as he watched your body hit the ground limply. His ears were ringing, the world whizzing by as he barked out orders that his own ears failed to register. He must’ve said something right, though, as his brothers managed to weaken the squadron of Separatist droids. His legs acted on their own, stumbling backwards and in your direction. Upon reaching you, he dropped to his knees.

You were curled into yourself, your face contorted in pain as tears sprang out of your eyes.

“General,” Rex breathed, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized was lodged in his chest when you reacted to his voice. “General, can you walk?” he said firmly, yet you didn’t miss the tinge on concern that laced his words.

“Shrapnel—” you gasped, wincing at the intake of air. White pain rendering you paralyzed, unable to move without choking back a sob. “Took…took some shrapnel t-to my—” you bit back a cry as you tried to uncurl yourself just enough to let the Captain see the wound.

Gently, his hands settled on your shoulders to stop you from moving. “Can’t have you moving too much until someone can determine the extent of the wound—”, a string of curses tumbled out of the Captain’s mouth as his eyes met the pool of crimson that settled around your tense figure. “Kix, the General is down— I need you down here now!” he barked into his comlink, his words sharpened with fear at what would happen if his brother didn’t arrive in time.

Feverishly, he shook the thoughts away. You would be fine. You had to be.

A pained gasp knocked Rex right out of his thoughts, his eyes snapping back down to your trembling figure.

“Stay with me, General,” Rex pleaded, losing the air from his lungs as one of your trembling hands reached out for him. “General…”

You gave his hand a weak squeeze, the lack of your usual strength painfully pulling at his heartstrings. The corners of your lips curled into the smallest of smiles, though he didn’t miss the pain that swam in your eyes.

“It…it takes a lot more…to take me d-down, Rex.” You wheezed, tear tracks fresh on the skin of your cheeks mixing with grime and blood. “D-don't go soft…on me now.”

“Kix, where are you?!” he yelled into his comlink once again, his voice giving out brokenly.

Rex swore his heart stopped when your hand went limp in his.

“Stay with me?”

Rex freezes in his tracks and turns to you with wide eyes. His heart is racing in his chest and he swallows hard at the lump in his throat. Your eyes are heavy with exhaustion, but he doesn’t miss the silent plead behind them. Your Jedi robes are gone and replaced with sleepwear loose enough to not irritate the stitches that trail over the expanse of your abdomen. The circles under your eyes are sunken, indicating that you haven’t been resting as well as he had hoped.

Rex nods firmly, feeling his heart swell at the sudden light in your eyes. He gently places his helmet by the foot of your bed before he removes the pieces of his armor until he’s in his blacks. Placing a gentle hand on your back and another under your knees, he helps you scoot to the side and find a comfortable spot on the bed. He slides in next to you and you instinctively smile as the bed dips under his weight.

Gently, he pulls your head to his chest and your body relaxes to the rhythm of his steady heartbeat. You snuggle up against him, though he feels you tense up a second before relaxing once again. “Are you comfortable enough? Do you need me to—” He clamps his mouth shut when you press a kiss onto his chest, right above his heart. His hand slowly caresses the top of your head and his lungs expel a deep sigh. “How are you feelin'?” his voice is soft and genuine, though you catch onto the tinge of concern that goes around his words.

A few beats pass before you settle on an answer. “Better,” you sigh. Your fingers slowly trace random patterns and shapes of over his chest, making his stomach fill with butterflies as he revels in the warmth of your touch. “I definitely miss being around the boys, but Fives, Kix and Echo have stopped by a few times.” You smile and when you look up, you see the corners of Rex’s lips curl up as well.

“Yeah, the boys miss ya a whole lot,” Rex chuckles, the sound rumbling beautifully through his chest. “They’ve been beggin' the Force to have you back— apparently training sessions aren’t as fun when you’re not there to make them look like a bunch of Shinnies.” You laugh wholeheartedly at his words, and he greedily lets the sound wash over him and his worries. He relishes being here with you. Feeling your breathing match his own as your heartbeats fell in sync with each other.

“How about you?” Rex’s brows pull together at your words and he looks down at you questioningly. “Me? What…what about me?”

You shift your position until you can look at him in the eyes, a small hiss slipping out of your mouth at the tug of your stitches as you move. Knowing his next moves, you hold out a hand to stop him from fuzzing about your injury. “How are you, Rex?” There’s a weight behind your words. Love. Care. Concern. His lips are pressed together in a thin line as he ponders over an answer. A breath of hesitation rushes past his lips. That’s all you needed to know.

“You’ve been uneasy,” you speak up, your eyes filled with sympathy. “I can sense it weighing you down. Talk to me, Rex."

The blood in his veins runs cold for a moment. His body tenses next to you and you have to cup his face to make his eyes meet your own. You don’t push him to speak, and he silently thanks you with a kiss on the back of your hand. Lowering your head onto his chest, you once again lose yourself to the drumming of his heart. Then he feels it. All the love, the warmth of your heart drowning out his worries, his fears— fears that keep him up at night. And for a moment, he lets himself fall. He falls into these waves of love that drift from your heart to his, letting them cleanse him of every worry that stained him. It overwhelmed him, but he didn’t want it to stop; there was no sensation as beautiful as that of your heart covering him.

“I was afraid,” he gasps softly, his words low and laced with affection. You turn to meet his eyes, your own widening as you notice the tears that race down his face. With the pads of your thumbs, you wipe his tears away and give him an encouraging nod, to which he reacts with a soft curl of his lips. “When I saw you…when you were there, barely hanging on I— I’ve never felt so afraid.” His voice broke and his arms tightened around you slightly, still mindful of your wound. “I couldn’t imagine— I didn’t want to imagine a… a life where…” he curses under his breath before locking his gaze with your own, golden eyes searching yours as he released a trembling breath. “I don’t want a life where you’re not by my side.”

Your forehead was pressed against his and he once again felt your heart open up to him, chasing away the fears of what could’ve been. “You…you died for a second,” he chokes, his body trembling slightly under yours. “I lost you for a moment and— I keep seeing it happen, I—”

You didn’t notice tears were running down your face until you felt his warm hands cup your cheeks to gently wipe them away. You crash into him, stitches be damned, and you wrap your arms around him as he returns the gesture. The rhythm of your hearts keep the pace as the mixture of your quiet sobs fills the air. There was nothing to say. Everything that needed saying was felt thrumming from his heart to yours. The fear. The grief. The longing. The love. It all crashed over you as silent cries wracked his body and you hiccupped between sobs. Rex breathes shakily as you bury your face on the crook of his neck. His hands soothingly run over the expanse of your back, trying to relieve the tension from your muscles.

“I…I was scared, too,” you mumble against his neck, your breath hot on his skin, eliciting a sigh from his lips. “I couldn’t feel you, Rex.” A sob erupts from the depths of your chest, the broken sound tearing Rex’s heart apart. He pulls back from the embrace, golden eyes locking with your own glimmering ones.

“We’re okay,” he breathes, almost as if trying to reassure himself that you were actually with him— that you are safe and in his arms. “We’re…we’re okay.” Rex repeats, his voice low, barely above a whisper, but firm in its waking.

Rex knows very little about the Force— you had explained it as best as you could to him every time he had a question, but it never stuck with him for long. What he did remember, though, is that just like you can make him experience your emotions through the Force, he could make you feel his own through the same connection.

His eyes search yours one last time before gently pressing a lingering kiss onto your forehead. Pressing his forehead against yours, he once again lets his heart breathe life into what words fail to say. Fear is replaced by security. Grief is drowned out by hope. Longing is outshined by faith.

And love is all that remains.

#SHEESH #idk how i ended up with this #abansndmf #😀😀😀#captain rex x reader #captain rex #captain rex x you #star wars imagine #star wars x reader #tcw fanfic #tcw x reader #the clone wars

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lepusrufus · 3 years ago

Text

To bargain for immortality pt.3

As it turns out, poison did not kill her. Not by a long shot. Not if the numerous tests with different kinds of poisons were to be believed.

Nicole was currently bent over the sink placed in the corner of Miranda's lab, her assistant hovering behind her with a timer in hand. What was it this time? Hemlock? Belladonna?

She stopped caring when a new wave of blood carrying the replaced tissue from internal damage came rising in her esophagus. With a disgusting gag, it came splashing onto the white porcelain, now stained and coated in crimson multiple times over. She coughed, trying not to let any of the burning mixture remain stagnant in her throat, and focused on the feeling of her body healing itself. It felt, for lack of a better word, like static coursing through her nerves and organs. After that too was gone, and the only thing that remained was the nauseating coppery taste in her mouth, she raised a shaky hand, too tired to speak up.

"Seven minutes, thirty four seconds," Emma announced.

Mother Miranda noted it down, fingers typing quickly over the keyboard.

It was a miracle that Nicole was still able to stand, although leaning a good part of her body weight on the sink thankfully secured to the wall did help. She took a few deep breaths, doing her best to not sound too croaky when she spoke.

"Can I see the results once we're done?"

She could keep track of everything herself of course, but it got difficult when her body was fighting toxins meant to shut it down. And she'd be lying if she said that she wasn't dying of curiosity.

"It's none of your concern," Miranda replied coldly.

That got a scowl to appear on thin blood stained lips, partially hidden by her hunched position. "I stood here quietly while you shoved pill after pill made from every poisonous plant you could get your hands on down my throat. At least grant me the grace of knowing my own body's limitations."

Her reply was little more than a tongue click. She couldn't help a scoff when Miranda simply ignored her request and told her assistant to continue with the next test on their list. Emma picked up one of the numerous pill bottles lined on her employer's desk and came over to Nicole, who unceremoniously grabbed one pill and swallowed it before looking at the label. Cyanide.

Oh for fuck's sake.

Her body's reaction was immediate, heart starting to beat painfully quick while her head started to spin. It was nauseating, the ache seeming to flood her chest and going up her spine in a searing migraine. Not to mention the deep breaths that didn't seem deep enough, as air itself seemed choking, the oxygen not quite reaching where it should. Mild panic started to settle in when black splotches began to cloud her vision and the tingling sensation seemed to battle with the pain for dominance. Before she knew it, her shaky legs gave out under her and the white ceiling of the lab blurred out of focus.

---

She woke up with a start, the bluish lights a painful glare to her eyes. The sound of ticking stopped and Nicole realized it was Emma's timer. She looked down at herself, haphazardly placed on a bed and then at Miranda, typing down a result the ringing in her ears hadn't allowed her to hear. With a few shakes of her head to try and chase the fog in her brain, Nicole finally croaked out: "What the hell happened?"

"The cyanide was damaging cells and keeping them from taking in any oxygen at a slightly faster rate than those cells were getting replaced. Which caused you to lose consciousness."

Miranda's tone was just as cold and clinical as ever, but a slight smirk tugged at her lips when she continued, the excited scientists buried under the mask of a goddess showing a crumb of itself.

"Although I'm quite certain we solved the mystery behind the accelerated heart rate. All previous tests show that it takes no longer than a few minutes to recover, while this took over twenty five."

Nicole was still fighting some mild dizziness, but she put all the focus on Miranda's words.

"We'll have to rerun the tests under anesthesia, but for now it's safe to assume the healing slows down while unconscious."

She acknowledged the theory with an oh. She wasn't really capable of much conversation at the moment, but she let the thought be metaphorically chewed in her brain. That made sense. If healing was slower after passing out, then her body had a damn good reason to keep her awake, hence the unnaturally high heart rate.

A slow shuddring sigh was let out when Miranda asked her assistant to prepare the anesthetic, laying back down. At least she wouldn't be awake for this one.

It took around double the normal dose to finally get her unconscious. She kept her eyes glued to the needle embedded in her arm until her vision was starting to fail her, the surrounding room becoming nothing more than dark blurs and vague beeping sounds.

People do not dream under anesthesia.

Nicole knew that of course. But as the lab blurred into odd shapes and more or less familiar places, there wasn't really a better word to describe it. Perhaps a result, she would later muse, of her overactive brain, fighting for consciousness at any given moment as it now had an instinctual need to stay awake.

That need manifested itself in the vague image of one of the castle's hallways. It was in an old wing, not frequently used by many other than the cleaning staff. She was walking along the wall, using it to compensate for her wobbly legs, and looked around for something. What exactly, was beyond her comprehension at the moment, but that didn't stop her from stumbling inside each room on her path, looking around the bright and beautifully decorated space, only to exit and continue down the hallway.

Something. Something ugh.

Nicole tried not to lean on the wall too much when she got to the golden frame of a painting, not wanting to risk damaging it. Slowly walking around, she threw a glance at the canvas when she was fully in front of it. She frowned.

It was the familiar portrait of all three sisters, dressed in period appropriate clothing and hair up into small curls. Their eyes, painted in such a way that they seemed to follow any onlookers around, greeted her with soft expressions. Some details seemed different though. They were small, and it took a bit of effort to notice how the brushstrokes seemed to have shifted ever so slightly in places. A familiar rose tattoo was present, albeit quite faint, on each of their foreheads, and their features seemed a little less soft and more akin to how Alcina would paint them. Nicole stopped to look at Cassandra's hand for a little longer, as if something was supposed to have changed there too. But before she had time to dwell on that, the realization that the painting should not be there dawned on her. Why would Alcina move it? And to a near abandoned wing of the castle no less. If she remembered correctly, that portrait had been at the main entrance for decades.

Nevermind that, she could just ask Alcina herself if they crossed paths. She kept walking down the hallway, trying to ignore the nagging feeling at the back of her mind that something was off. Off, like the slightly misplaced furniture, or the lack of certain decorations, or antique objects that she knew for a fact were on display on a completely different wing. No, Nicole kept looking through every room she came across, in search of something her foggy mind couldn't quite grasp the memory of.

She finally reached one of the more populated areas, and although still not fully able to grasp her surroundings and walk around without any support, a shiver still ran down her spine. The off-putting feeling turned to dread with the realization that she was completely alone. No maid or other staff member has crossed paths with her in what felt like an eternity. No sound could be heard aside from her own breathing and a faint beeping coming from outside. At that moment, Nicole longed for the sound of giggling or the shuffling of a broom, hell even the sound of lycans howling outside. Anything.

By that point, shuffling against the wall felt more of a psychological need than a physical one. There was a fear that accompanied anyone when you found yourself in a place that seemed so unlike its normal self, and Nicole tried to make herself smaller than she already was in the eventuality that something would pounce out from the silence and tear her to shreds.

She found herself traversing another corridor littered with numerous doors to guest bedrooms or simply storage rooms. Each was opened one by one, whatever laid behind it inspected, and then shut again. Rinse and repeat. Repeat until Nicole found herself in front of an oddly familiar door. It had nothing special, the crest and color exactly the same as the ones she had left behind, but its position seemed to tug at her memories.

The door was pushed open, a slight creak accompanying the movement, and Nicole found herself in a well lit office. It was obviously a rarely used one, the shelves only holding a small number of oddly organized files and boxes, while the chair was tucked under a large desk. The plush carpet underfoot caught her attention, beautiful black, white and golden motifs waved around each other in an intricate pattern. She walked across it, up to the desk and crouched down to run her fingers on the old worn wood of small drawers. The iron handles used to open them seemed to be gone from all but the topmost one, which she opened slowly.

Oh.

The drawer was empty save for two familiar objects, a pair of matching rings with minuscule branches in flower engraved on them. She picked them both up but almost dropped them back when a set of hurried footsteps sliced through the dead silence just outside the room.

There was no time to scramble for a hiding spot, especially not with how her head started to spin the moment she stood up again. All she could do was put the hand that wasn't holding the rings on the desk to support herself and watch as the door swung open.

A sigh of relief flew past cracked lips at the sight of confused golden eyes framed by dark locks of hair. Cassandra was standing at the entrance, head cocked slightly to the side.

"Did you lose it again?"

There was a hint of annoyance in her tone, but it was mostly drowned out by an amused chuckle as she walked up to her.

"No, I-..." Did I? "I'm sorry."

Cassandra simply took one of the bands and wordlessly slid it on Nicole's ring finger, gesture that was imitated in turn.

"Why are they here?" Nicole's question was barely a whisper, either due to the dizziness she felt or the cemetery-like silence that almost demanded not to be disturbed. "I know I instructed the staff to bring mine to my room if they find it."

"Oh it wasn't any of the staff members," Cassandra replied matter of factly, even waving a hand to dismiss the apparently absurd idea.

"Then who?"

"I don't know."

Nicole frowned. She pinched the bridge of her nose trying to chase away the eerie feeling that seemed to have made its roots deep inside her mind. Cassandra's voice seemed off, and that beeping from earlier seemed to close in ever so slightly.

"Why here?" She repeated.

Her wife only shrugged and looked around the room, taking her time with the reply.

"Isn't this where we first saw each other?"

Right. That's why the office was so familiar. The memory of Lady Dimitrescu, so beyond intimidating at the time, sitting in the chair and interviewing her for a maid's position came flooding her foggy brain. Then the giggles and the rather dramatic entry and the small bickering.

"Are you waking up?"

If Cassandra wasn't so close to her, she would've thought a third person had spoken. Her wife's voice seemed off before, but now it didn't even sound like her own. Familiar, yes, but the regal icy tone belonged to someone else.

Nicole tried to instinctively put some space between them, only for Cassandra's expression to twist with concern, furrowed brows over soft golden, always so uncharacteristically soft when pointed at her. Cassandra opened her mouth to speak again, but the beeping came in louder, almost as if making its way from her throat with the sole purpose of attempting to bust her eardrums.

The room seemed to rapidly bleed out of focus, details replaced by black dots and blurry lines. Cassandra's shape slowly morphed, her beautiful black dress leaving way to a plain lab coat and golden eyes turning into icy green, ever calculating and scrutinizing. Incessant beeps from the cardiac monitor brought her back to consciousness more rudely than she would've liked.

Nicole shook her head slightly, trying to chase away the last effects of anesthesia. Her body seemed eager to oblige, quickly trying to wake up and be back on her feet. Not that she had any intention of actually getting up, but soon enough, she was looking around the space and all the pristine equipment held within. Emma was busy arranging vials and pill bottles inside a cabinet while Miranda was by the bed typing away, nails annoyingly loud on the keyboard. She shook her head once again, and looked to the opposite wall, where a clock was ticking. It was almost 11 p.m. and Nicole let out a soft groan thinking about how she'd been under anesthesia for about three hours and how her family was probably waiting for her to get back.

She laid her head on the uncomfortable pillow while waiting for the goddess wannabe to be done with her observations on her current lab rat, which meant Nicole, and finally dismiss her.

It took a moment to realize that Miranda had turned towards her and pushed her laptop close to the side of the desk, screen facing Nicole. After receiving a confused look, the woman rolled her eyes as if she were a teacher explaining basic maths for the hundredth time.

"You wanted to see the results."

Nicole's confused expression did not change, though now it was more directed towards the suspicious willingness to give what she asked for. Nonetheless she scooted to the side of the bed, letting her legs dangle over the edge, and she narrowed her eyes at the file on the screen.

---

Date: 23rd April 2012

Subject: Nicole [REDACTED] Dimitrescu

Mutation experiments - 2 (Regeneration - 2)

Resistance and healing time to various poisonous plants (in the form of highly concentrated pills or injectable) and other toxins. First number refers to the healing time while conscious and the second while unconscious.

Belladonna (Atropa belladonna) - 2'13" // 6'30"

Rosary pea (Abrus precatorius) - 2'20" // 7'02"

Crowbane (Cicuta virosa) - 2'40" // 7'12"

Wolfsbane (Aconitum lycoctonum) - 3'30" // 8'11"

Hemlock (Conium maculatum) - 3'18" // 8'28"

Oleander (Nerium oleander) - 3'55" // 10'17"

Ricin (Ricinus communis) - 5'58" // 16'19"

Arsenic, 100mg - 7'34" // 21'38"

Cyanide, 50mg - / // 26'53"

#unhinged maiden™ my beloved #cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #mother miranda #fanfic #to bargain for immortality #whacky dream be whacky #tw torture

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yourelivingwrong · 4 years ago

Text

Distract me, please.

⋟─────────────────────────────

Dean Winchester x Reader

Fluff, Smut, Friends to lovers

Warnings: graphic injury description, near death experience, swearing, sex as a coping mechanism? AU where Supernatural characters deal with emotions in a healthier way.

Word count: 4198

Hello, welcome back! Thanks so much again for the reaction to my first fluffy fic (which you can read here), here’s the next:

──────────────────────────────⋞

“CAS!” you yell as your swing open the door to the bunker. You desperately glance around the map room, and scream louder with desperation in your voice “CAS WE NEED YOU NOW!”

You turn to run back to the Impala but Dean’s already here, staggering up to the doorway with Sam slung over one of his shoulders, blood everywhere, body slack in unconsciousness.

“CAS!” Dean yells in a deep, panicked baritone, but the angel has already entered the room.

Shock flits across Cas’s face as he takes in the scene before him, and he asks “What happened?” before running up the stairs to help the two of you bring the younger Winchester in safely.

“Ghoul took a knife to him” you pant as you struggle to manoeuvre Sam down, “We couldn’t shoot it -”

Dean interrupts you, “Can you fix him?” he barks aggressively.

Cas presses his palm to Sam’s forehead “There’s still time,” he confirms “I can heal him”.

Dean takes the brunt of the weight and gets his brother onto the table. Red pools from Sam’s abdomen through the shirt of yours that’s tied tautly across the wound - there’s too much blood, and the only thing keeping you from losing it is the adrenaline, and Dean taking your hand, squeezing it tight, eyes not moving from Sam’s limp body.

Closing his eyes, Cas presses two fingers to Sam’s forehead and a warm light envelops him, seeping through his body. Dean winches as Sam’s body tenses, visibly rising from the table as Cas works his grace. After a moment, it fades, and Sam’s body slowly relaxes. Removing his hand from his forehead, Cas peels the shirt off Sam’s stomach to check the wound: the skin is smooth, untouched.

“He’s healed” Cas says, looking back at you and Dean. “He’s sleeping, but he’s healed”.

You exhale a loud breathe you hadn’t realised you were holding, letting your head fall back as a wave of relief floods through you.

“Thank you Cas. Thank you”. you say sincerely, placing a palm on Sam’s shoulder and squeezing it. You can’t bring yourself to think of a life without him in it.

You turn back to face Dean, and see he still hasn’t broken his gaze with his brother’s now sleeping form. His face is somber, stony even, and you know him well enough by now to guess at what he’s feeling: guilt. Your heart breaks for him - you’re all too familiar with Dean’s ever consistent self-blame, and right there in that moment, you commit yourself to an evening of caring for him, now his brother has been taken care of. He needs it.

“I’ll get Sam to his room,” Cas says with understanding, reading Dean’s face in the same way you are. You smile back at the angel appreciatively, then pinch Dean’s crimson stained sleeve and tug it carefully to get his attention.

“Come on,” you nudge him gently, “Let’s go patch you up”.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The two of you sit in silence in Dean’s room, him on the edge of the bed and you knelt in front of him.

Dean remains still as you ease the flannel off his shoulders and begin to clean the blood from his arms and neck with a wash cloth. It colours the water a dirty shade of red when your rinse it in the bowl at your knees, and once you’re done you move onto taking care of Dean’s own wounds.

He flinches slightly when you run an antiseptic wipe across the graze that runs above his left eyebrow. “Just a little more” you assure him quietly, trying to soothe him. Dean says nothing in response - you know that in some twisted way, he thinks he deserves this pain for failing to protect Sam. Pulling apart a packet from the first aid kit, you delicately smooth a wound closure strip across the mark, using another to secure it.

“All done,” you announce, balling the empty packaging in your hands and standing to drop it in the basket resting by the door, “I’m just gonna go wash my hands and grab you some tylenol. I'll be right back, okay?”. He nods, but still can’t bring himself to engage with you any more than that.

You smile sadly at him, then duck out his room.

For the first time this evening, you take a minute for yourself. You kick your boots off and leave them by the door, then peel your own over shirt off you and throw it straight in the trash before washing your hands in the bunker’s kitchen until the pink stained water runs clear down the drains, then you scrub your hands hard for an extra few moments to really rid Sam’s blood from your body.

Pulling a cloth from a hook and leaning back on the counter, you process the day and make sure your head is in the right place for the rest of the evening. Almost losing Sam was.. a lot, and you’re glad to have the purpose of caring for Dean for the night. Oh, Dean…

God, being infatuated with Dean Winchester sucked at the best of times, knowing that he could never feel the same way; but it was worse when he was in pain and there was almost nothing you could do to take it away from him. After years of friendship you knew how his self-loathing worked, and you’d slowly been coaxing him out of his toxic-masculinity to feel more comfortable sharing how he was feeling. He was still resistant: you don’t think he’ll ever truly change his ways, but him just allowing you to be with him when he feels at his lowest is huge progress. It made you care for him even more.

You take a deep sigh, shake it off and grab a bottle of painkillers from a cabinet and a bottle of water from the fridge, then head back down the Men of Letters corridor to Dean’s bedroom.

You let yourself in, closing the door behind you and crossing the short distance to the bed. Dean accepts the pills with a shaky hand as you sit next to him. His shock is fading, but he swallows them down, and placing a hand on his arm you tentatively ask, “How are you doing?”.

Face still forlorn, Dean shakes his head to himself “I always screw things up”.

“Dean.” you say softly, making sure he meets your eyes. “It wasn’t your fault”.

One tear drops from his eye to run down his cheek, ““If I’d just been there a second earlier…”, he all but whispers, and he crumbles, ducking his head down to hide his face in his chest.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” You murmur as you take him in your arms, one hand cradling his head and the other wrapping around his broad shoulders. “I’ve got you”.

Despite the progress Dean’s made in opening up, he’s never let you see him like this, gently crying in your arms. You’d think all of you would be used to the near death (or full death) experiences by now, but the fear of seeing those closest to you come that near to never returning is unparalleled each and every time. You hold Dean back tightly, and you realise that you’re needing the comfort almost as much as he is: tonight was a close scare. A really close fucking scare. Dean breathes raggedly into your shoulder as you stroke his back softly, and after a few minutes you can feel him calm down in your arms: he’s stopped shaking, and his breathe is getting steadier.

Moving to run a hand down his face quickly, Dean changes his position to wrap his arms around your waist in return, holding you firm in his arms. From this angle your face is buried in the crook of his neck, and you can feel his heart beat against your own chest - you inhale his familiar scent, all aftershave and gunpowder, and the warmth of his body makes your beat race to match his.

Dean moves his head slightly as if to face towards yours, then seems to change his mind and stay holding you tight. You tenderly turn your head to his to reassure him, assuming he’s holding himself back from saying something, and are taken aback when suddenly you’re face to face with him, only an inch apart.

His nose brushes against yours, and after a second’s pause, Dean softly presses his lips to yours.

The kiss takes you totally by surprise. To have his gorgeous, pink lips on yours almost renders you stunned - it plants butterflies in your stomach immediately, and for a moment you lose all brain power, able only to relish in the sensation. As soon as you’re compos mentis enough to start kissing back, a little voice in your brain tells you to stop.

“Dean-“ you whisper against his lips, reluctantly pulling away.

Focused on your lips, he murmurs “I just need to be with you,” before ducking back in for another kiss.

You’re really not sure what’s happening, and dumbly sputter out a question, “Are you sure?”

His green eyes meet yours, “Distract me Y/N,” he breathes in his husky voice, looking up at you, pleading “Please.”

You resist again, “Dean, honey,” you whisper, gently, “Not that I haven’t wanted this for.. ever, but I feel like I’d be taking advantage-“ he silences you by putting a finger to your lips.

“Please Y/N,” he looks dead into your eyes, “We can talk about it later, I swear. Right now I just need to bury myself in you and forget about it, ok?” he’s being open, and honest - as you gaze back into his eyes, it’s almost as if you can see how much he means it.

You try to process that for a moment before ultimately whispering “Okay”.

Dean responds immediately, threading his fingers into your hair and crushing his lips against yours.

He’s kissing passionately, and almost immediately everything fades away: the room, the evening, the emotions. All that’s left is Dean’s mouth on yours, your body held tight against his and the taste of him on your tongue. A tiny voice in your head recognises this is finally happening, and before you can think it through you’re climbing into his lap, resting a knee either side of his hips and hearing him groan low in his throat at the closer contact.

His tongue slips in your mouth and even after all your years of imagining, this is more divine than you ever could have fantasied. You mould together, a perfect fit, and when Dean’s hardening cock experimentally rolls up into you a choked sound escapes you that would ordinarily have embarrassed you, if you didn’t see how much it turns Dean on.

“Goddamn Y/N, I’ve wanted you for so fucking long” he moans into your mouth, punctuating the last two words with an another, firmer thrust. Heat is flooding to your lower stomach, and you can feel your panties getting wetter with every moment - you’re desperate for him to be closer, to make you moan under his touch until you can’t take it anymore.

You catch his eye through fluttered lashes, and boldness takes over, “I need to feel you Dean,” you say in breathy pants. He sucks your lower lip beneath his teeth and it bites it gently, growling in response when you moan.

Dean holds your head firmly as he rolls the two of you backwards onto the bed, leaving you now laying side by side, never pausing his needy kisses. He toes his boots off before he moves to hover on top of you, swinging one leg in between yours so that his thigh is pressed right against against your cunt and god, you’ve never been so aware of how frustrating clothes are.

Luckily, he’s reading your thoughts, and he steadily unbuttons your jeans and pulls them down your thighs. He barely breaks the kiss, and when they bunch around your ankles you help him out by kicking them off, leaving you in just your thin, black panties.

Dean runs a warm, rough hand down your side and pulls back just enough to watch you tremble at the touch. He trails his fingers across your thighs, touching everywhere except where you need him most and you whine in frustration.

“I’ve been wondering how sweet you taste for a while now darlin’,” he confesses into your lips, taking two fingers to run a delicate trail up the centre of your panties and making you buck up and gasp, “And I’m not about to hold back any longer”.

He presses a quick kiss to your lips and moves down your body, trailing more kisses down your torso as he goes. When he reaches your panties, he hooks a thumb under the fabric either side and pulls them from under your ass, leaving you bare to him, your wetness already pooling.

“God you are so beautiful” he says under his breathe, sounding like he’s saying it more to himself than he is to you. Your heart swells, then he leans in almost all the way - his warm breathe dances over your pussy and the anticipation of him finally touching you is almost too much.

He licks one stripe up your clit, unable to hold himself back and you inhale sharply, fire spiking through your body. Dean settles himself comfy on his chest, then snakes his arms up around your hips to pull you to his waiting mouth.

His mouth at your pussy is… unreal. He’s attentive, literally feeling you out and observing your reactions to assess what really gives you as much pleasure as possible and it’s making you lightheaded. When he presses his mouth fully to you, giving your clit a sloppy kiss and dragging his tongue slowly up from your dripping cunt your back keens off the bed and you make a high pitched whine unlike any sound you’ve ever made before, feeling as if you’ve died and gone to heaven. Dean smirks into you, repeating the action to bring you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

You desperately raise a head to look down your body at Dean eating your pussy, and the sight you’re met with is without doubt the sexiest thing you’ve ever witnessed: his eyes are closed, eyebrows tight and raised at the centre in pleasure as he devours your pussy. His chin is glistening in your wetness, and he’s softly rutting his cock against the mattress, genuinely loving every minute of eating you out.

“Damn sweetheart, you taste so good” he mumbles into your centre, curling his tongue inside you in a way you didn’t think was possible. You collapse back on the bed, reaching down to desperately hold his head while your eyes flutter shut, your orgasm already fast approaching.

You stutter “Dean, fuck - I’m c-lose already"

His hands grip your thighs ever tighter at your words, and he becomes frantic, “Give it to me princess,” he growls, voice muffled as his mouth works desperately at bringing you over the edge.

You’re not usually one for terms of endearment but there’s something about how the pet name drips off Dean’s tongue that, combined with his tongue at your pussy and his lips suckling on your clit, sends you spinning over the edge and coming hard with a ungodly moan. You see stars behind your eyelids as your orgasm floods your body, your hands twisting into Dean’s dirty blonde hair and riding it all out on his face.

Dean watches you with dark eyes as you fall apart, soaking in every inch of you and licking you through it as your writhe on his tongue until your legs are shaking and your thighs are closing, forcing him away from you. You shudder in the wake of your orgasm, struggling to catch your breath as he kisses your thighs and up your body until he’s face to face with you once more.

“Fuck me Y/N, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Dean groans, lunging forward for a hard kiss. You taste yourself on his him, and reel at how sensual it is as his body presses back firm against yours. Your hands reach blindly to pull take his shirt off, and once he’s thrown it from the bed you wrap your arms around him and roll him onto his back. You kiss,

then begin to slowly move down his body.

“Woah sweetheart,” he says sincerely, beginning to raise himself up on his elbows, “I’m really not expecting you to do that for me,”

“You really think you’re the only one who’s been dreaming of how you taste?” you quip with a small smirk, pressing one hand flat against his chest to lower him back down. You struggle with his belt buckle and he quickly intervenes to undo it and his fly, so eager for you, and you can tug his pants down to reveal his muscular thighs, perfectly framing the thick cock straining against his boxers.

You’re a little taken aback - he’s bigger, and thicker than you were expecting. You almost tentatively reach out to free him from his underwear, and swallow when you see him bare in front of you. Dean’s cock is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and even after your orgasm you feel your pussy ache with need for it. Wrapping a hand around the base, you hold him as you lick one slow, teasing stroke up his length, barely even making contact with his warm, throbbing skin.

Dean throws his head back in response, biting his lip as you smirk and repeat the action, looking up at him with hooded eyes, “Son of a bitch Y/N, you’re driving me crazy” he moans, looking back. You smirk at his reaction, then in one fluid motion take him into your mouth and swallow him down until he’s hitting the back of your throat.

It knock’s the wind out of him and he gasps, one hand reaching out to grab at your arm as you begin bobbing your head up and down, focusing hard on keeping your throat as open for him as possible. It takes him a moment to be able to react, and by the time you’re coming up for air panting he’s desperately gathering your hair in his fist to hold back before you sink back down his length.

His cock is heavy against your tongue, and you swirl it as far round his length as your can, hollowing your cheeks, so desperate to make him feel so damn good. You sink lower again, eyes watering as you concentrate on taking him as deep as you can but suddenly Dean pulls you off his cock with a satisfying pop, leaving you whining in protest.

“God Y/N I want so bad to fuck your throat until my cum is spilling from your pretty lips, but I gotta be inside that warm pussy of yours, and that’s not gonna happen if you keep going like that” he grunts, pulling you up the bed roughly and pushing you onto your back.

Your head falls at the foot of the bed and he leans to fumble through his bedside drawer for a condom, and you take the opportunity to rid yourself of your vest and bra. His eyes rake over you in lust as he spreads your legs open to hug his hips, pumping his cock and shifting up on his knees to line himself up to your pussy. The strength he used to move your body has made you that much wetter, your desire for him to fuck you almost desperate.

Cock firm in his hand, Dean moves in and brushes his tip against your wet folds making your breath hitch in your throat at the sensation. You’re definitely desperate now, and you rock your hips up so that his head drags along your pussy, melting at how exquisite it feels.

“Gonna make you feel so good Y/N..” he mutters just before he slowly enters you.

Your jaw falls open as Dean’s cock fills you up inch by delicious inch, his pace devilishly slow as you stretch to accommodate him. He feels impossibly bigger inside you than he did in your mouth, all your senses are alive and everything is Dean, Dean, Dean. Once he’s full seated inside you, he whistles a breath out through pursed lips and whispers “god fucking damn”.

Already he’s slowly pulling himself out, and when just his tip is inside you he drops his torso down to lean over you, then looks you in the eye. Your lips meet for one desperate needy kiss, then he snaps his hips back up into you and buries his cock home in one thrust making you scream out in pure pleasure.

Dean sets an unforgiving pace immediately, gripping your hips as your legs drape over his thighs and you’re vaguely aware that you’re chanting a series of please, yes, fuck, Dean, more, so fucking good…. Your words spur him on, and his cock swells at seeing you so undone under his touch, all his, moaning and panting just for him. He runs his palms up your sides to cup your tits, bouncing with his thrusts and he bites his lip, cursing loudly.

Your bodies aren’t close enough, and Dean pulls you up abruptly, bringing you flush against his body as he moves with you. He’s is all hands, clutching onto you and grabbing at your head as he thrusts up into your sweet pussy like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt, his cock dragging over that sweet spot inside you with a relentless intensity. You claw at his back, definitely leaving scratch marks and suddenly it’s all becoming too much - you can feel another orgasm looming.

“God Dean don’t s-stop, fuck I’m gonna come” you whine, voice stammering as he fucks up into you.

“Come with me baby- fuck, come with me” he grunts, his brow screwed up as he tries to hold on to let you finish first, “Come around my fucking cock,” he begs.

The band snaps and you fall apart, your pussy fluttering around Dean as you call his name out in what sounds like a sob.

“Jesus fuck Y/N, goddamn” he all but growls, his hips staggering as he shoots his load inside you. You have never, ever come this hard, and he pulses his cock inside you even while he’s coming to drag your high out for as long as possible.

You cling onto each other as you ride your orgasms out, half out of fear of passing out at the intensity of it all. You collapse back on each other, sweat slick skin on sweat slick skin and for a moment, all you can do is just stay on Dean’s chest, panting and regathering yourself as the two of you lie there, entangled in each other.

Dean breaks the silence after a couple of moments: “Holy fucking shit” he says, with a small laugh, hand resting on the small of your back.

“That’s what I was about to say” you chuckle back between pants, breath still stabilising.

Dean kisses the top of your head, gently pulls himself out of you and discreetly discards his condom, immediately leaning back to tuck you into his arms. Your pussy is still pulsing, and you bask in the aftershocks of your orgasms as Dean presses kisses to your head.

“Let’s get some sleep” he murmurs, shifting you so that your back is flush against his warm chest. He envelopes you, and you feel contentment radiating off of you. There’s silence, and you almost think Dean has fallen asleep until he clears his throat softly.

“Thank you, Y/N” he says sincerely.

His words hang in the air for a moment before you respond. “Always” you whisper.

Dean hesitates for a moment, uncertainty wavering, then whispers low, almost under his own breath:“I love you”.

It’s confessed so quietly, so fearfully, that you almost don’t catch it. Your heart is pounding, and you gently turn onto your back, moving to look him in the eye. The fluttering in your stomach feel like it’s going to explode out of you as you whisper back, “I love you too Dean.”

You move together in synchronicity to kiss - a new kiss, delicate, almost chaste and full of deeper meaning. Dean cups your jaw lightly in one hand, and the tenderness of it makes your heart surge with love. You’re so excited to wake up and have this night be real come the morning.

“Rest now”, you say against his lips, taking a hand to stroke his hair. He nestles into you, arms wrapped around your waist and holding you tight.

You hold Dean, running your fingers softly through his scalp until he drifts into a peaceful sleep. A small smile is fixed on your face as you watch him, and it’s not long until you succumb to a deep sleep as well.

⋟─────────────────────────────

This one just kept on adding to itself - phew. I’m gonna need a minute.

Thanks to my gorgeous Supernatural tag list: @deandreamernp @eunomiasloane

Let me know if you’d like to be added!

──────────────────────────────⋞

#dean winchester x you #supernatural x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #spn smut #reader insert fanfiction #supernatural smut #supernatural fic #supernatural x you #dean has feelings and I'm sick of nobody caring for them #he's a soft little baby #but he's gonna fuck you hard #lmao

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lene-loki · 3 years ago

Text

Circles Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: (YN) overdoses on her medicine and with the support of Peter realizes that she needs to get help.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Warnings: HUGE TRIGGER WARNING, VERY DARK, Angst a LOT, drug abuse, violence, depression, suicidal thoughts, mention of rape, swear words, no spoilers

Word Count: 1,030

A/N: THIS IS THE LAST PART!!! I hope you enjoyed this series :) Thank you all so much for the positive feedback and all the love on this story ❤ I'm currently working on some new stuff which I will publish very, very soon but don't hesitate to request an imagine :) With Love, Léne xx

Taglist: beatriz-barnes chaotic-anomaly hannah-24081

Y/N = Your Name

It wasn't always like this. There has been a time where I was feeling balanced, even happy. I grew up as an only child of two loving parents. Although I've always lived in the city, I remember my grandparents used to live in a suburb from New York. I loved spending time in their garden they used to care for. They had a greenhouse with all kinds of vegetables growing inside - from tomatoes to cucumbers. And outside they had planted strawberries, raspberries, gooseberries, blueberries, beetroot, lettuce and so much more and even had a big tree behind their house where plums grew on. Everytime I spent time at my grandparent's house I've always helped them in their garden - nibbling secretly on the countless sorts of berries. These were the times where I felt the most carefree. But all of it changed as soon as I turned thirteen years old. This has been the worst year of my entire life and I'm sure I'll never forget it - it will haunt me for the rest of my days.

Talking to Peter behind the school building makes me feel like the thirteen year old again I once was. I excused myself from him as soon as I had admitted that I am having issues, escaping into the restroom. I feel extremely hot as I support my weight on the edge of the sink. I break a sweat and turn the faucet on, trying to cool my body temperature down. Already feeling like throwing up again, I heave myself onto the countertop where the sink is placed - prop myself on my knees. Bevore I desperately press my hot skin against the mirror. I am fully aware of how it must look like. The way I'm sweating and pushing myself against the cooling surface of the mirror, shaking, probably as red as a tomato. I hope no one will walk in now. Only when my pulse slowed down enough, I went back down. My hand instinctively rummaged my pills out of my bag - popping three into my mouth.

For the rest of the day I try to avoid Peter who constantly tries to get me alone again. But I don't want to talk about it again. It's bad enough I cried in front of him. The knowing that someone in school now knew my secret, pressured me limitless - driving me into taking a pill secretly under the table in class every ten minutes. Until my body can't take it anymore. It is when Peter tries to approach me again, that I can't find the strength to flee. My hands are shaking more than usual, I can barely see clear - getting a tunnel vision while trying desperately to simultaneously control my breathing and the urge to throw up. But it feels so much worse. I steady myself on the wall, Peter sensing immediately that something's wrong. "(Y/N)?" he softly asks as lose every trace of color in my face. Whimpering I shake my head to clarify him that I'm not able to answer. My eyelids get heavier and I feel myself sliding down the wall. Peter instinctively wraps his arms around my abdomen as I grow to weak to stand by myself. My forehead gets pressed against his shoulder as tears start to fall uncontrollably from my eyes. "Everytime I try to stop it gets worse until I'm taking them again. I feel like I'm running in circles and just can't break free from it." I sob, finding my voice again. The feeling to talk about what bothers me the most overwhelms me and it just so happens to be Peter who has to hear me cry again. "It's going to be okay." He whispers into my ear and somehow I believe him. "I took to much." I whimper barely above a whisper. It happened to me several time by now that I overdosed on the medication but the worst that happened when I took to many was usually just me being unconscious for an hour or two and vomitting the rest of the day. Nothing life threatening. But I'm still not too keen on what will follow. I'm already starting to get a bit hazy. "Is everything alright?" I hear a worried teacher ask. I can't even register Peter's answer anymore as everything goes black around me.

I wake up in the sickroom with the school nurse beside me. I feel relieved that no one called an ambulance because I already made that mistake once. They would call the police when I turned in with a drug overdose again. But I know meanwhile that these pills aren't dangerous enough to kill me when I "accidentally" take a few too much. I groan but the school nurse doesn't seem to care to ask me about my well-being - instead leaving the room without even looking at me just once. I huff. After a short while I could go. My teacher wanted to sent me home but I insisted on staying. I wasn't keen on it to explain my mum why I'm home early and then having to tell her about my unconsciousness. So I got seated in my Algebra class again and try to concentrate on the lesson now. As soon as the bell rings Peter walks up to me before I even have the chance to think about escaping him. "(Y/N), are you feeling better?" He asks obviously sick of worry. I just nod, only wanting to get this day behind me and go home. My answer isn't enough for him since he softly grabs my shoulder as I want to leave. "I'm not judging you, (Y/N)." He reassures me. "I'm just seeing that you need help and I won't give up on you. I will bother you, really annoy you until I'm sure that you're doing good." The sincerity almost knocks the breath out of my lungs. And as I stare into Peter's eyes I feel like for once I don't have to carry the weight of my problems alone.

And maybe someday I'm even ready to tell him what happened to me when I was thirteen.

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #spidey #one shot #spider man #spiderman far from home #spider man homecoming #spiderman

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jammatown919 · 4 years ago

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Sick of Losing Soulmates

Takes place in an AU where everyone made it to Vacuo and they got to enroll as students at Shade rather than being thrown into an adult position like they were in Atlas.

Upon waking to the sound of quiet sniffling, Ruby's first thought was that Penny was having another nightmare. She'd been having quite a lot of them in the weeks since the group's arrival at Shade Academy, and while Ruby certainly didn't mind getting up to comfort her girlfriend, it was always difficult to listen to her tearful retellings of the horrors her newly human brain had chosen to subject her to.

Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, Ruby sat up and steeled herself, only to turn her head and find that Penny wasn't crying. Instead, she was sitting up against the headboard of their bed with her eyes closed, gently massaging her temples.

"What's wrong?" Ruby asked softly so as not the wake the rest of the team. Judging by the sunlight pouring into the dorm, their alarms would be going off soon anyway, but she wasn't in the mood to hear Yang moaning about being woken up early.

"I feel awful." Penny whined, her voice thin and nasally.

"Oh, sweetie," Ruby murmured sympathetically, reaching over to feel Penny's forehead. "Are you sick?"

Penny sighed at Ruby's touch, relaxing slightly. Ruby, on the other hand, stiffened in surprise as the heat from Penny's skin met her fingers.

"Jeez, you're burning up." She remarked.

"I'm what?" Penny asked, her eyes going wide with alarm.

"You have a fever." Ruby clarified. "Don't worry, it's totally normal. Just another part of being human."

"I do not like this part." Penny muttered, sounding absolutely miserable. Ruby gently brushed some hair from her girlfriend's face, her heart aching for her.

"Why don't you lay back down?" She suggested. "I'll go and grab you some stuff."

Penny gave a slight nod and sank back down into her pillow as Ruby slid out of bed and slipped quietly from the room.

After about twenty minutes, ten of which were spent wandering the Academy's halls trying to figure out where their floor's student kitchen was, Ruby returned to the dorm with everything she thought Penny would need.

By now, the rest of the team was awake and going about their morning routines, though it seemed they'd realized something wasn't right with Penny and were making an effort to make as little noise as possible. As Ruby crossed the room, she saw Yang glance at the items in her hands and nod in understanding.

"Penny," Ruby said quietly. For a moment, she thought Penny might have drifted back to sleep, but then she opened her eyes and squinted up at Ruby. "Hey, I have everything you'll need for now."

She handed Penny a paper plate with two slices of toast and two bright orange gel capsules, as well as a glass of milk.

"Milk?" Penny inquired, peering curiously into the cup.

"Whole milk." Ruby specified. "My dad gave this to me whenever I got sick as a kid. It's supposed to help you get better faster."

"I don't think that's correct." Penny replied, though she still took a sip to wash down the pills. She glanced briefly at the toast, and then set it, along with the rest of the milk, on the nightstand beside their bed. Slowly, she began to sit up, prompting Ruby to put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"What are you doing?"

"I have to get ready." Penny replied, giving Ruby a puzzled look. "It would be awfully rude to our new teachers if we were late for class."

"Baby, you're sick. You should stay here." Ruby gently nudged Penny back down.

"But all of us are already behind on the year's coursework." Penny protested, though Ruby could tell she really didn't have it in her to argue much. "What if I miss something important?"

"I'll take notes for you." Ruby promised. "Or, if you want, I can stay here to take care of you and Weiss can take notes for us."

"That's very kind, but I would feel terrible if you missed class on my account."

"You know I wouldn't mind." Ruby replied, gently cupping Penny's warm cheek. "You're more important."

Penny smiled softly, bringing a hand up to lay it over Ruby's.

"I will be fine." She promised. "Go."

"Alright," Ruby sighed and pressed a kiss to Penny's forehead. "I'll come check on you at lunch. Try to eat some of that toast if you feel up for it. And drink plenty of water."

"Affirmative." Penny replied, managing to muster up some semblance of cheer in her voice. Ruby smiled, then turned toward the closet to pick out her outfit for the day.

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

Penny didn't remember falling asleep, but she knew she must have. One minute, Team RWBY was bustling around the dorm getting ready for the day, then she'd blinked and suddenly she was alone in the room and the clock above the door read 10:21am.

The nap, as well as the medication Ruby had given her, appeared to have done her some good. Her congestion was still there, but less so, and her headache was finally subsiding. Maybe she could attend her classes after all.

She pulled back the covers and moved to get out of bed, only to be instantly hit with a wave of dizziness. Grabbing the mattress for support, she dangled her legs over the side of the bed and waited for the spell to pass. Once it had, she remembered Ruby's instructions to eat and credited her lightheadedness to fact that she had yet to heed them.

Though she had little appetite, Penny reached for the plate and slowly began to eat, forcing each bite down until she felt nauseous. For the sake of not making herself any sicker, she settled for finishing most of her meal and gently set the plate back down on the nightstand. Then, with more effort than she would have liked, she hauled herself out of bed.

Teetering, she made her way over to the closet, trying to blink away the black spots that had formed on the edge of her vision. She'd never seen those before, and so she wasn't quite sure what to make of them. Where they a normal part of being sick? Perhaps Ruby could tell her when she got to class.

Gripping the doorframe, she grabbed one of Ruby's shirts off it's hanger. She had a few of her own, provided by Shade Academy, but she vastly preferred Ruby's soft t-shirts.

As she stood in the doorway, trying to decide if she wanted to wear one of her own skirts or a pair of Ruby's shorts, the dizziness returned and the room around here suddenly tipped to the side.

She hit the floor with a loud thud, the shirt falling from her hands, and found that her limbs would no longer obey her. Try as she might, she couldn't get back up; she couldn't even lift her head. As her vision swam, she briefly considered calling for help, but nobody was around to hear her.

There was nothing she could do. Nothing except close her eyes and let herself fade.

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

Ruby had been antsy all morning. She really, really hadn't liked the idea of leaving her fevered girlfriend alone in the dorm, especially since it was her first time being sick. Part of her kind of wished she hadn't listen to Penny and stayed behind instead.

The second her last class of the morning was over, Ruby was rushing back to the dorm to check on Penny, stopping briefly in the cafeteria to get her something to eat. After a few moments of consideration, she decided on bringing Penny some soup, and then she was off again, Weiss trailing after her with the spoon she'd forgotten to pick up.

Though they were on entirely separate floors of the Academy, the trip from the cafeteria to her team's dorm only took Ruby about ninety seconds. In her haste to get back to Penny, she'd abandoned Weiss at the elevator two halls over.

"Penny!" Ruby called as she pushed the door open, stepping quickly into the dorm. "I brought you some..." Her brow furrowed in confusion as her gaze fell upon an empty bed, then shot up in alarm when she noticed Penny lying on the floor near the closet.

For a moment, she was reminded of a dream she'd had a few nights ago, and was certain that there was blood seeping into the carpet. Then she blinked and it was gone, leaving just her girlfriend's unconscious body.

"PENNY!" Ruby dropped the container of soup and quite literally flew across the room with some help from her Semblance, dropping to her knees at Penny's side.

She grabbed hold of Penny's shoulders and began to shake her, loudly calling her name, but Penny remained limp and unresponsive. As she continued to shout, Weiss hurried into the room.

"What in the world are you screaming ab- oh..." Weiss stood in the doorway for a moment, staring at the two, then snapped out of her shock and rushed into the bathroom. She reemerged moments later with a damp cloth.

"She's not waking up." Ruby mumbled numbly as Weiss knelt down beside them, gently dabbing the cloth on Penny's forehead.

"She needs a doctor." Weiss replied calmly, her hand resting on Penny's face for a moment. "Was her fever this high this morning?"

"I-I don't know.." Ruby stammered, her voice trembling almost as much as her body. She gripped Penny a little tighter, giving her another rough shake. "C'mon, Penny, wake up."

"Let's get her to the infirmary." Weiss suggested. She began to put her arms around Penny's torso, presumably to help carry her, but Ruby held onto her protectively.

"No, I've got her." Nothing against Weiss, but Ruby really didn't trust anyone but herself with Penny right now. She was too prone, too fragile.

"Okay," Weiss didn't protest at all, just stood and allowed Ruby to scoop Penny up and lift her alone. "But we should hurry. We don't want her getting any worse."

Just the thought of Penny being in any worse condition than she was now was enough to send Ruby sprinting down the hallway, unhindered by the extra weight. She didn't even know how to process the emotions running through her right now; all she knew was that she was terrified.

What if Penny did get worse? What if she didn't wake up? Ruby had already lost her once, and come so close to losing her again back in Atlas. What would she do if Penny didn't recover? If she never got to see those beautiful green eyes or that endearing smile ever again?

Stop, she thought firmly. She couldn't start spiraling. Penny would be fine, with some time and medical attention. She'd probably be awake in a few hours, and Ruby would realize there'd been no reason to worry.

She's going to be fine, her mind echoed as she ran. She has to be fine.

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

Penny woke to the sound of a heart monitor, which she found extremely concerning. Even more concerning was the fact that her limbs felt like lead, and she could hardly move beyond flexing her fingers. She tried to call out for someone, anyone, but all that escaped her lips was a string of incoherent mumbles.

"Penny?" A familiar voice responded urgently from somewhere beside her. Was that Ruby?

"Mmnn?" Penny groaned, forcing her eyes open with great difficulty.

"Thank God you're awake." Ruby let out a sigh, one hand lightly caressing Penny's face.

"Wha'?" Penny mumbled, struggling to take in her surroundings. It appeared she'd been moved while she was unconscious, and though she'd never been here before, she could reasonably assume that it was Shade Academy's infirmary.

She turned her head, resting on an uncomfortably hard pillow which in turn rested on an equally uncomfortable bed, to look around for the heart monitor that had woken her. Much to her surprise, it was right beside the bed, displaying vital signs that she could only assume were hers. Next to it was an IV drip, the bag nearly empty.

"Baby?" Ruby asked quietly, leaning in close. Penny quickly returned her attention to her girlfriend. "How do you feel?"

"Tired." Penny replied weakly, momentarily squeezing her eyes shut in response to the returning headache.

"Yeah, I bet. Weiss and I found you unconscious in the dorm." Ruby explained, her voice soft and sympathetic, but still somewhat anxious. "You didn't hit your head or anything, right? The doctors said you probably didn't, but I just want to make sure."

"I'm alright." Penny assured her softly. "I believe I fainted."

"You sure did." Ruby replied, relaxing slightly. "What were you doing out of bed?"

"I was getting dressed," Penny said. "To go to class."

"What?!" Ruby exclaimed. Penny flinched at the sudden increase in volume, and she immediately lowered her voice. "Penny, why in the world would you have tried to go to class? You had to have been feeling terrible if you passed out."

"I thought I was feeling better until I stood up."

"And you didn't lay back down when you realized you weren't?"

"Well, no..." Penny admitted, unsure if the warmth in her face was due to the fever or embarrassment. "But, it was not that bad, was it?"

"Not that bad?" Ruby echoed incredulously. "Penny, it was absolutely that bad! You didn't just faint, you've been unconscious for almost seven hours. Your fever went up so high that you needed an IV. I was so scared you weren't going to wake up."

"You were?" Penny felt her brow furrow as she gazed upon Ruby's anxious face.

"Yeah." Tears sprang into Ruby's eyes, and she quickly turned her face to hide them. "I was terrified when we found you. For a minute I- I thought you were dead."

"Ruby..."

"I lost you before at Beacon. I almost lost you so many times in Atlas." Ruby sniffled, her voice thick with emotion. She turned back toward Penny, tears flowing freely down her face. "I had a dream the other night that you didn't make it to Vacuo. You lost that fight with Cinder, and you were hurt, and I wasn't there to help you. You had to ask Jaune to kill you just to stop your powers from going to Cinder. When I found you, you looked just like you did in the dream, and I was so scared that I'd lost you again."

Penny's chest constricted the way it always did when Ruby cried, and she was now certain that the burning in her body was more shame than fever.

"I'm so sorry." She said quietly, fighting back tears of her own. "I never meant to make you upset."

"You don't need to apologize." Ruby sighed, reaching out to rest a hand on Penny's shoulder. "I'm not mad, I just don't want anything to happen to you. You're so new to all these human things; there's so much that can hurt you now that couldn't before, and I'm worried about you."

"I promise I will listen to you from now on."

"You don't always have to listen to me." Ruby said gently. "I know I'm too protective sometimes. But please, listen to your body. If you feel like something's wrong, it probably means something's wrong."

"I think I understand." Penny gave a slight nod, which was about all she could manage without worsening the pain in her head. "I will do my best to prevent situations like this in the future."

"Good," Ruby leaned in so that their foreheads were almost touching. "Because I'm sick of losing you."

"You will never lose me again." Penny said as Ruby pressed a firm kiss to her fevered cheek. "I promise."

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If you enjoyed this piece, please consider reblogging to share it with others! Likes unfortunately don’t help posts to circulate, so the only way for content creators on this site to have their work seen is if people decide to reblog it. If you do reblog, I see you and I love you.

#ruby rose #penny polendina #nuts n dolts #nuts and dolts #rwby fanfiction #my writing #this took me way longer than it should have

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marvelslut16 · 4 years ago

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Stick and poke

Prompt number: 7 “yes I did, what about it?”

Fandom: IT

Paring: Eddie Kaspbrak x reader (aged up to 17 or 18)

Rating: T

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of underage drinking. Mentions underage smoking. Mentions teens giving each other stick and pokes- I beg of you not to try at home! Swearing.

A/N: First time writing Eddie! I feel like all I write for now are Marvel and IT. Borderline punk and/or rebellious Eddie.

You and the rest of the losers are sitting in a circle on the floor of your underground clubhouse in the barrens playing a game of truth or dare. In the middle of the circle sits a large decanter of some brown alcohol you can’t be bothered to remember the name of, each time someone calls chicken they have to take a swig of the drink. As the game progresses, the liquid starts to steadily decrease, most of the time due to Richie’s questions.

The losers not caring if they get drunk, each one lied to their parents and said they were spending the night at one of the others houses. So none of them have to worry about stumbling home drunk in the middle of the night, instead all of them staying overnight at the clubhouse.

“Dare,” you smirk confidently at your friend with coke bottle glasses. So far you’re the only person to pick dare with the trashmouth, the rest choosing truth and most using chickens.

“(Y/N/N), I dare you to” Richie smiles mischievously, you regret letting the trashmouth in on your feelings for his best friend. “To kiss Eds.”

“What?” Eddie looks panicked and starts hyperventilating. He reaches for his inhaler, quickly taking two puss from it. “That’s disgusting! Do you know how many diseases you can get from a single kiss?”

Eddie continues to ramble on about how unsanitary it is and you eye the decanter, which Richie stole from his father’s alcohol cabinet, in front of you. You’ve had the least amount of alcohol so far this game and the only one not to chicken with Richie, you aren’t about to start now. You roll your eyes and turn to your left, where Eddie’s sitting beside you, you grab him by the face and pull him in for a quick peck.

Richie’s eyes grow considerably larger behind his glasses, Bev’s cigarette almost falls from her mouth as her jaw goes slack, Ben’s giggling at what just happened, Stan’s slapping a five into Bill’s hand losing a long standing bet between the two, Mike is whooping at you two. And poor Eddie is gaping at you, clearly flustered and looking for words.

“You kissed me!” you aren’t sure if it’s a question or an exclamation. What surprises you though, is that he doesn’t go for his inhaler again, nor does he reach into his fanny pack for one of his many pills.

“Yes I did, what about it?” you aren’t sure how you want him to respond to that, but you know it’s not the silence that you’re met with.

A few hours later you’re sitting in folding chairs in one corner of the clubhouse with Richie, giving him a stick and poke as he tells you about the latest prank he pulled at school. It’s a prank you witnessed, but that doesn’t seem to register in his slightly fuzzy tipsy brain. By now the few shots you had to endure our pretty much out of your system, feeling and abating completely sober unlike the rest.

“Quit moving!” you scold Richie for what feels like the hundredth time, he’s moving his hands while telling his story. Which isn’t helpful since you're trying to do his stick and poke of a pac-man ghost on his inner wrist, and he keeps almost screwing you up. Eddie’s eyes are on you as you finally wipe Richie’s arm clean, done with the little tattoo.

“You want one Eddie spaghetti?” you hold up the needle you just used on Richie. You reach into the fanny pack wrapped securely around Eddie’s waist, which causes the poor boy to grow flustered again, pulling a disinfecting wipe out of it to wipe the needle clean. After that you use Bev’s lighter, running the flame over the needle to make sure it’s sterilized.

“N-no, he stutters out, eyes focused on the way your lips form your words. “My mom would kill me.”

“She doesn’t need to find out about it Eddie,” you wave the needle teasingly in front of his face. He’s as sober as you, possibly even more than you, so you trust his judgement. If he had anymore than two shots all those hours ago you never would have asked. “You just need to hide it until you move out in a couple months.”

“Okay!” you’re surprised when he agrees, so is Richie who is staring with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“What do you want and where do you want it?” you ask, quickly adding the next sentence when you notice Richie about to speak. “Beep beep Richie.”

“I’m not really sure,” Eddie plays with the zipper on his fanny pack, taking a seat across from you in the chair Richie recently abandoned. “But it has to be somewhere I can hide it.”

“Hmmm,” you start mentally ticking off places you can’t do the tattoo, your mind coming up with multiple scenarios on Mrs. Kaspbrak accidentally finding the tattoo. “I could do the base of your neck, like where the collar of your shirt goes. Or I could do your side, below your ribs.”

“How about my side,” it isn’t a question so much as a statement. “I want to be able to see it.”

“Any ideas on what you want, or do I get to surprise you?” Eddie fiddles with the bottom of his shirt and you wonder if he’s going to back out.

“Surprise me,” Eddie nods, confident in his decision.

“Do a penis!” Richie hollers, taking a swig of the alcohol left in the decanter.

“Shut the fuck up Richie,” Eddie snaps and you giggle at the two.

“You need to take your shirt off Eds,” you both blush at your words, causing Richie to wolf whistle.

“Look at the Edster stripping for (Y/N)!” Richie hollers a little too loud, not that you’re worried anyone will hear you in the middle of nowhere.

“Beep beep Richie!” Bev calls back, leaning her head on Ben’s shoulder.

You scoot your chair beside Eddie’s, facing his right side you put one leg going behind his chair and the other towards the front, sitting in a v-like shape. You grab another wipe from Eddie’s fanny pack, cleaning the area of skin below his ribcage, Eddie’s right hand shoots out and grabs your knee, squeezing his eyes tight before you even have the chance to dip the needle in the ink.

“As much as I enjoy your hand on my knee,” you admit. “It’s kinda in the way.”

You pry his right hand off of your skin, placing it on the back of your chair. He reaches his left hand across his body so he’s once again holding onto your right knee. You let him stay in the position, knowing he needs it mentall, and he’s managed to not twist his side and mess up your tattooing area.

You decide to do a larger tattoo for Eddie than you did Richie, go big or go home. Right? You contemplated doing a small little fanny pack, but you didn’t want Eddie to take your teasing as an insult. Instead you decide on a basic mountain range, three overlapping triangles, and a sun poking out from behind them, a simple circle. A simple serene tattoo that Eddie can look at and calm down to when he has a panic attack.

As you actually start to tattoo his side, his grip on your knee tightens. You don’t mind though, you’re enjoying the weight and warmth his hand provides. Eddie’s eyes are on you the entire time, committing your concentration face to memory. He tries not to shiver every time your fingers run over his exposed skin, a warm fuzzy feeling growing within him.

You’re focusing so intently that you don’t notice when Eddie becomes slightly more adventurous and lets his hand drift up to your thigh. Finally done with the tattoo you wipe it clean a final time, leaning back to admire your work. It’s your best tattoo yet, if you do say so yourself.

“Remember to clean it everyday,” you aren’t sure why you’re giving Eddie, of all people, hygiene advice. He isn’t Richie, he has common sense. “And if it gets infected tell your mom right away, don’t try to hide it out of fear of getting in trouble. I’ll take all the blame Eddie, say I made you get it because I wanted to practice.”

Eddie squeezes your thigh as he compliments your work, sending a bolt of electricity from your thigh to your heart. Before you know it his lips are crashing into yours, this kiss far better than the one earlier in the night. The thumping of the blood in your ears drowns out the whoops and hollers from your friends. All you can focus on is Eddie; his soft lips on yours, the softness of his hair beneath your fingers, and the feeling of his hand moving from your thigh to your hip- his free hand also going to your hip, fingers digging in.

When you pull apart for air, he uses his grip on your hips to pull you onto his lap. Now straddling him, you comb your finger through his dark locks with blonde tips. He begged and begged Mrs. Kaspbrak to bleach them and she kept saying no. So finally Richie and Bev bought bleach from the store, and did it themselves. Needless to say she wasn’t happy, but after two doctor's appointments, with two different doctors, she finally concluded that Eddie wasn’t going to randomly fall over and die from the bleach.

Stan slaps a hand over Richie’s mouth to keep him from ruining the moment going on in front of the group. He’ll let Richie make fun of the two afterwards, but he doesn’t want his friends to get this close to finally being together, just to have Richie’s teasing make the both of you chicken out and ignore each other. He’s not sure he can handle all that pining again, the entirety of the losers club isn’t sure they can handle that again. Your hands slide down from Eddie’s hair to his still bare shoulders, pulling him in for another searing kiss.

Permanent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny @mrs-malfoy-always

#eddie kaspbrak x reader #fictober20 #day 15 of fictober #eddie kaspbrak #eddie kaspbrak x you #eddie kaspbrak x y/n #it chapter one #it chapter 1 imagine #it chapter 1 #it imagine #eddie it imagine #eddie spaghetti

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himbodjarin · 4 years ago

Text

LUNAR; CH10

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. Chapter Word Count: 7373 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use of y/n

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER TEN: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

The Mandalorian’s calves have never felt so tender nor his feet so sizzling, but the Girl’s life is at stake and he can’t afford to slow down. He’s succeeding in not succumbing to his body’s desire for rest, but it won’t last long—there’s a sharp stabbing pain running along the back of his thigh and he administers his weight to the opposite leg to avoid stopping. Bookoo is faster than him with his legs at least a foot longer than his. It’s a good thing he spared his life, Mando decides, for if he hadn’t there’d be no hope in saving the Girl—he can’t carry both the Child and her back to the hangar, especially not from this distance.

He battles against the unwavering urge to sink to his knees and lay face first in the grit, let it bury his aching limbs where they’ll retire. The Child in his arms feels almost as heavy as the beskar on his shoulders but he ensures his clutch, his blood-stained leathers cupping his little body against his chest securely; both of his crewmates were in unfortunate conditions and there’s an unshakable concerned feeling creeping up on Mando. What’s he to do if he loses them?

Pushing it aside, he focuses on his footing; dodging jagged rocks and uneven surfaces of sandy terrain but it’s not enough, his muscles can’t maintain this pace and exertion. Bookoo notices his decreasing pace and slows to match it, eliciting a growl of a question Mando doesn’t understand.

The Girl is limp in the Wookiee’s paws with her head pulled to the side and her abdomen pooling with red liquid that drops to the sand before them, staining the grit in a clashing hue just like he had with the snow only a day or two ago. No more than two days had passed and there’d been another injury—only so much worse than what he’d dealt with.

“Go. Go,” Mando puffs out, gesturing towards the structure. “Hangar 3-5.”

The Wookiee growls once more and continues his approach leaving the Mandalorian to catch up on his own terms. Mando permits a steadier pace to let his muscles recuperate and to examine the Child’s wellbeing. Still asleep, still unresponsive to his touches, but breathing and squirming every few minutes. He’ll wake, eventually, it’s just a matter of how long it’ll take. He’s not injured—not physically—the only positive consequence from this whole event.

Vermillion plasma clings to him like a pest and he raises a hand to rub at the smear on his heart plate with the base of his palm, the leather harsh enough to shave the blood off in dried flakes. Some of it is still wet and it only smudges with his fury, tinting the beskar in with a relentless red. The tempo of his strokes increases rapidly, desperate to rid himself of the reminder of what’s happened to her, but it’s unproductive and a complete waste of effort.

Mando sighs and inclines his helmet so he doesn’t have to see the colour contrasting against the silver that is wholly him—he’s bland and dull, a mix of blacks, whites, and greys, while the Girl is brimming with colour; she’s as vibrant as the krill ponds on Sorgan and as eye-catching as the sunset on Nevarro, but that vermillion...it’s a colour he never wants to see on her ever again.

“Oh, Thank the Force!” Peli exclaims upon Mando’s return, her arms outstretched for the Child and he happily delivers him to her, cringing at the throbbing in his biceps. “Thought you mighta-”

He interrupts, “Where? Where is...is she...she’s not…”

“She’s stable. The droids took care of her.”

Mando pauses with his eyebrows scrunched together. “Droids? No, I said no droids. Especially not with her!”

Peli shrugs, “Easy there. They’re repair droids.”

“She isn’t a vessel!”

The mechanic places an encouraging hand on his pauldron. “I taught them basic medical skills—comes in handy when you’re working a craft all on your own. Go have a look yourself.”

With a blend of scepticism of the droid’s abilities and apprehension for the Girl’s condition, he navigates through the Hangar’s halls and into the room she occupied, tracking grit in his wake. It’s dark inside, her features lit by a single candle beside the bed she’s situated on. She’s breathing, chest rising and collapsing laboriously underneath a thin scratchy blanket draped across her body, but her brow is wrinkled and her mouth taut in an agonised frown. She looks depleted of energy—drained from the inside out—it makes his heart lurch and lungs sensitive against the crisp air.

Slashes that riddle her arms had been tended to, protected from Tatooine’s harsh desert landscape with familiar ivory-coloured bindings. She’d hardly been touched by the moon’s glow before being sealed away again, so close yet so distant from his reach—Mando wishes he’d never had grabbed her with such authority back on that ship. The Girl reshapes underneath the blanket and his eyes lift to her shoulders, bare and unbound by the sizable poncho she usually dons, and the soft of her skin travels lower until the edge of the blanket meets his eyes, covering her chest.

If this had been any other time—essentially any other circumstance—he’d be struggling to control himself right about now, the appearance of such soft skin stirring something deep in his core, but those thoughts are far from his mind. Rather, he’s preoccupying himself as to not let the image of the Girl lying unconscious get to him, by reflecting on the information he’d been given back on the craft; the forced confession of the Girl’s intentions. It angers him, and it angers him that it angers him; confusing. Mando doesn’t want to be a part of it; wishes he’d never entered that cantina then perhaps he’d remain blissfully unaware—happy.

“She’ll need some medicine when she wakes,” Peli says, startling him out of his self-loathing. “Spice could be helpful too.”

“That’s addictive.”

Peli hums. “It can be if you’re not careful. Hell of an anaesthetic though. She’ll be in pain for a while without it.”

Mando inclines his visor back to the Girl. “Where can I find it?”

“Cantina’s best bet. Smugglers pass through ‘ere all day and night.”

“There weren’t many people there earlier.”

“Doesn’t get its fill until late in the night,” she explains. “They’ll be there.”

And they were—six smugglers gathered around a single cantina table in the darkest of the corners. They’re not shy about their illegal activities, placing the narcotics onto the surface displaying for all to see. It’s their business strategy, Mando believes, rope in unsuspecting victims with the alluring spice and scam them of their credits for a small dose of pleasure.

“How much for one?”

They turn at the filtered voice, sizing up the Mandalorian and noting the remarkable steel encasing his body. One of them grasps a bag of narcotics, tauntingly fiddling with it ahead of Mando. The leader of the group—a burly older gentleman with a bush for a face—leans further into his chair and responds, “With that armour of yours why not indulge a little, aye?”

“One is plenty.”

“Come now, it’s not every day you’ll get it for these prices. Stock up while you can.”

Mando sighs to himself and places either hand on the table, tilting his helmet to match the eyes of the leader. “One.” He’s distributing his lack of patience in waves that ripple against the smugglers; they shift uncomfortably and bow their heads to sip from a glass of spotchka.

Dull and sullen eyes tip to the Mandalorian’s hands on their table, examining the dried blood coating his leathers suspiciously. They’re unaware of the fact it’s not his enemy’s and he’s grateful for that—it benefits him, gives him the upper hand in regards to coercion. “Okay, all right,” the leader sighs. “A thousand is all it’ll cost ya.”

“That’s too much,” Mando rumbles. “I’ll do two hundred.”

The crew laughs at his claim and he scowls underneath the helmet. Mando doesn’t have the privilege of time to waste it away on a bunch of no-good narcotic smugglers. He suspends a hand over the hilt of his blaster in hopes of compliance and it, at the very least, gets them to shut their mouths. “We’re out here risking our asses for this! Do you know how difficult it is to press these into pills? It’s worth more than two hundred.”

Mando sighs aggressively. “Five.”

“Five?”

“You have two options. Take the credits and leave here richer than you came, or we take this outside.” Mando glances over their panicked faces. “It seems you’re already fixed on your supply. I’m sure you’re not capable with a blaster.”

Sunken eyes leer at the Mandalorian with resentment and defeat. He slides a satchel across the table, the narcotics rustling inside, and Mando slips the bag into his belt pouch and retrieves a few dozen credits to toss at the group.

“Pleasure doing business,” Mando retorts as he steps away, listening to the lackeys scowling—we need those credits!—at their leader in frustration. It’s a small win, one not worth celebrating and he doesn’t, just continues trudging through the gathering crowd of drunk patrons to the exit.

A familiar soft-spoken voice stops him from leaving, “Excuse me, sir! Please do not eat the display!” Mando twists on his feet and watches the same waiter from earlier fight against a customer attempting to shovel a cluster of flower arrangements into his mouth. “Sir, I’ll make you something. Please just-”

Slurring his words and attempting to frighten the waiter off with flailing arms in her general direction, though his coordination is all off, the man groans something neither of them can register. She’s becoming just agitated at the man and Mando huffs a sigh through his dry lips, wanting a drink of his own, and walks up to the duo to prevent any conflicts, yet again. Mando’s becoming soft—running around and assisting any damsel in distress—he’s sensed it for a while now, and he doesn’t know whether to blame it on the Girl, the kid, or his age. It doesn’t really matter, he realises, as it all seems to just blend together anyways.

Mando’s gloves come down on the patron’s shoulder and he clasps the flesh underneath, tugging backwards until he’s stumbling on his feet and disappears within the crowd. It’ll take him a while to work his way out of that mess; Mando turns to leave.

“Mandalorian! Sir, thank you.” She smiles brightly at him and he responds with a faint nod. “Please allow me to make you something on the house.”

“That’s not-”

“Please! It’s the least I can do. What about those pancakes you ordered earlier? I can make a batch up as quick as a flash.”

The pancakes.

The sweetness of the syrup, the softness of the cake, the excitement of his tongue exploring the Girl’s fingers—it’s all toying with his mind, tormenting it. It feels like a lifetime ago with the chain of events having followed after it. It was a moment of pure euphoria for the Mandalorian and he anxiously wishes to recreate it, wants to proceed with exploring the Girl’s body, but not like this.

“No,” he nods again as a substitute for a friendly smile. “Thank you.”

Mando files through the small of his pouch, recovering the tub of bacta gel and alongside the spice pellets and places them on the edge of the Girl’s cot. Peli advised him it’d be best if he were to administer it to her—she trusts you the most—he finds it ironic. If that were true, wouldn’t she have admitted the truth before all of this - would she have ever confessed if not for the abduction?

Despite that, he’s willing to do it - he wants to do it, he realises once he’d unravelled the first limb of its bindings.

It’s an excuse to touch her - an excuse to avoid thinking about the hurt in his heart.

He slips his hands from their confines and retires the leather to the nightstand. Frigid air assaults his flesh immediately—the wind gusting through the ajar window sharply—and he curls his fingers into themselves, tucking the vulnerable tips into the warmth of his palms.

The Girl’s moaning ahead of him is enough to summon the primal instinct to tend to her wounds. Mando dips two fingers into the gel and gathers a load of it on the tips, the bright blue glistening from the candlelight. It’s healing properties are strong, much more so than the cheap knock-off he usually purchases and he can feel the soothing bursts in the peaks of his digits, it was fortunate timing he’d stumbled across the vendor low in stock - and it’s well worth the credits, though the funds are beginning to run dry with all the recent payments.

Peli’s droids had done a decent job on the Girl, though he wouldn’t vocalise it, and her slashes already looked to be healing from the cauterisation, but they’re still inflamed and sensitive. Regardless of the deception aching his heart and the suppressed clump of words in his throat, her actions don’t merit insufferable torment. So, Mando gets to work; slathering thick coatings of blue on each gash, using less pressure on the newest of the bunch, particularly the one that’d been in such bad shape back on the spacecraft. His forefinger streaks along with the bumpiness of the cauterisation scarring - it’s rough and so different to her. She’s so soft - pillowy, and he’s all shattered transparisteel - sharp and risky.

She stirs beneath his hands and strains to open her eyes. “Man-do?” she croaks and grabs hold of his wrist, pausing his momentum.

“Does it hurt?”

She groans a strangled reply, “No, it’s - it doesn’t mat-ter. I need… I want… I-”

Mando carefully pries his wrist from her clutch and continues lathering gel onto the irritable lines blanketing her arm. The faintest, timid touches establish goosebumps that reach up to her shoulders, and he adopts them - brands them as his; cares for them, feeds them with additional strokes from his tips as a reward.

“Just rest - heal.”

“I can’t. I-I won’t,” she chokes out and the rawness in her voice causes him to stop on his own accord, his visor finally lifting to look at her and he wishes he hadn’t - wishes he didn’t see the Girl in so much pain; physical and emotional. There’s not a single tear in sight—she wouldn’t allow herself to shed one—but her eyes are glassy and red, her bottom lip sucked in between her teeth where it’s being relentlessly chewed on. “Why are you still here?”

“The Crest isn’t fixed,” he lies and it pains him to do so, not because the Crest was repaired—Peli had informed him of this earlier—but because he knows why he’s here. Mando knows exactly why he hasn’t just upped and left - why he hasn’t just continued his life on the run with the kid.

It hurts, even more, to hear the Girl utter, “Oh.”

He succumbs to his pitiful emotions, “I won’t abandon you. I can’t.”

She places a shaky hand on his vambrace and shifts to sit up some, cringing at the discomfort in her limbs and abdomen at the change of position. “I’m so sorry, Mando. I-I wanted to tell you—so many times—but then- I didn’t want to - to ruin all of...this.”

He listens intently, silent but listening.

She reaches higher, her hand looming in the intimates of his neck but she pulls away sharply, clasping her adjacent hand over a pulsing and cracked cauterised mark. It causes the gel to smear across her forearm messily, coating the palm of her hands and dropping clumps onto the cot below. Mando delicately peels her hand away and wipes the caked-on clots away with her tattered poncho which lays draped over his knee. It feels so private—personal—tending to the Girl in her times of need just like she had with him, as though he was returning a favour - only hers came with an additional payoff; his cheeks redden at the thought of reimbursing her here and now.

“Mando.” She slips her hand into his mid-scrubbing and interlocks their fingers together. Residual gel transfers to his palms, squelching between each other’s grip, but he can only focus on the pounding against his ribs and the pressure on the back of his hand as her fingernails dig into the flesh - testing the boundaries she can push. There aren’t any. The Girl could push and push until he’s stumbling over his own feet and there’d be no boundaries; there will never be enough of her - never enough.

“Please, ask me anything,” she whispers, glancing up at the visor. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I don’t - don’t know what else I have to offer. I-I don’t know how to...to show you I’m sorry. Please,” she more or less huffs out the sentence, the pain starting to catch up with her.

Mando observes the small satchel on the edge of the cot and rolls it around in his free palm, feeling the individual pellets through the thin material. “I’ll make you a deal,” he complies. “I’ll fix up your other arm and ask anything I need to, but you need to take one of these.”

The Girl’s eyes dart to the sack and Mando opens it, retrieving a tablet and holding it up to show her. It’s small, almost too small to look like it’d be a mild pain relief let alone enough for one to get high off; no bigger than a third of his fingernails and a deep maroon colour that just screams narcotics.

“Spice,” he answers her unexpressed question. “It’ll help with the pain but it could be addicting. I won’t force you to take one if that’s what you wish.”

The decision is in her hands - it’s her life, after all.

“You’ll ask me anything?” she asks and he nods. “Pass it over.”

Mando should be appreciative of her unsuspected complying—it’s not often she’s so easily won over like this—and it’s for her benefit, but he can’t help but wish she had rejected the pill. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to see her in that disoriented state, plagued with feral hallucinations vandalising the inside of her head and grinding her basic cognitive functions into tiny particles. Or maybe it’s because he’s scared of what he may discover without her possessing the ability to stop herself from oversharing. Mando’s had his run-ins with spice before and while he’s not entirely fluent with the substance, he’s aware of its susceptible capabilities.

The Girl places a hand on his and he stiffens underneath it. She’s so cold, so desensitised, it’s so unlike her. She’s usually warm; intense flames constructed with passion and tenderheartedness. It’s as though it’s evaporated from her flesh entirely. She strokes his knuckles with her thumb, committing the peaks and ridges to memory and he wallows in the sensation of the pads of her fingers on his skin. It’s the most physical contact he’s been granted ever since he’d swore to the Creed. Even when he allowed himself moments of weakness with others, it's always been rushed—never about anything more than a hasty relief—and under no circumstances would he withdraw from his armour; it’s one of many unspoken promises to himself he’s broken for the Girl.

She twists his hand around and slides the pill from out between his thumb and forefinger, plopping it in her mouth and swallowing harshly. It goes down without a struggle, the pill being so minuscule it didn’t require water for a smooth entrance, and she eases back into the pillow with a weak smile in his direction.

“What do you want to know?” she asks.

Mando sighs softly - where does he begin? His tongue darts out to lick a slow stripe across his cracked lips and collects a drop of blood from the slit he’d bit earlier, leaving a stale metallic taste on the tip of his tongue.

“How much did you see back on Arvala-7?”

“Everything from when you took down the encampment with that droid. We followed you back to your ship and watched you get electrocuted by the Jawas—that didn’t look pleasant—Kur wanted to head down there after that, figured you’d be out of it from the impact. I told them to wait, let you get your supplies back for us to loot, and it convinced them.”

Mando tilts his head. “They didn’t seem like the negotiating type.”

She nods. “They didn’t have much of a choice with me in command.”

That shocks him. “You were their leader?”

“No!” she scoffs as though he’d said the funniest joke. “No, no, but I was the only one who could use long-range rifles. I told you, I thought you were the bounty; they informed me it didn’t matter whether you were brought in dead or alive—they opted for a long-range advantage. They’d heard stories of Mandalorians and didn’t want to test their luck.”

Makes sense, he figures, that the group would prefer to deal with their targets swiftly—leaving no room for errors or loopholes, except one of their own violated their ruling, possibly the biggest error they’ve ever made - now they lay dead on their dormant spacecraft on the outskirts of the town. Nevertheless, the information surprises Mando. There was no underlying notion that somebody—no less five people—were stalking him on the ridges of Arvala-7’s desert. Perhaps he should retouch some of his stealthing capabilities.

The Girl waits for his next question, her hands fiddling among themselves in her lap uncertain if she should—could—reach out for him, and he doesn’t trust himself not to soothe her nerves; choosing to settle on the opposite side of the cot to care for her other arm. Stripping the bandages away, he asks, “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“I already told you that.”

Mando’s brow crinkles in thought, his hands operating on their own accord now that he’s trying to remember; it dawns on him. “Because ‘you didn’t want to’?” he mimics her words back on the ridge—so, so long ago.

“Mmhmm,” she hums. “I’m not sure what else it could be. I saw you, Mando, with the kid. He’d only known you for, what, like half a day and he was protecting you—used his abilities to prevent that mudhorn from killing you. And you...you were so gentle with him - so cautious around him. It was mesmerising watching a Mandalorian—a legend—covered in sharp edges and cold steel be so meek towards a bounty. I didn’t want to rip that away from the galaxy; it requires your compassion.”

She’d been watching him closely. Even Mando hadn’t noticed his change of demeanour at that point—it wasn’t until Nevarro that it crossed his mind that, perhaps, he’d fallen soft for that little womp rat.

Mando tips his helmet down to tear away from her eyes, feeling too seen - too examined. “What happened to you?” She gives him a confused eyebrow twitch and he elaborates by running a fingertip across a scar.

She sharply inhales and shakes her head. “I don’t want you to pity me, Mando, you’re entitled to be mad at me. You should hate me, should want me dead. You haven’t had time to reflect on everything you’ve been told back there.”

She isn’t entirely wrong. He hadn’t been granted the luxury of time to consider the circumstances, but he’s not certain whether he wants to. If he takes all of this into account, there’s no telling how he’ll react—he’s never had to deal with a situation where the Girl who makes him so hot and bothered had deceived him. Mando dips his fingers back into the container of gel and collects a small load, rubbing it into the tips of his digits with his thumb. He sighs. “I’m reflecting in my own way.”

The Girl scoffs mockingly. “By tending to my wounds?”

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No,” she answers quickly, too quickly, and nibbles on her lip anxiously. “I just… It’s - it’s nice—you touching me.”

Mando freezes, his fingers suspended above a mound of scar tissue below her collarbone. What’s he supposed to make of that confession? He drags his forefinger across the scar to transfer the remaining bacta on the padding and retracts, quietly complaining when the softness of her skin is replaced with a breeze of frigid air. “Seems like the spice is working,” he deflects.

“It’s not the spice,” she claims. “I mean - it’s helping say it, but…”

She lays her hand on his vambrace and he’s thankful for the reinforced steel suppressing the tension that travels the muscles underneath, but his uncovered hand is a traitor to himself as he grabs a fistful of bedsheets to stop climbing on the bed here and now—stopping him from pursuing something he sought like a medication to a chronic illness. Her fingers run down his beskar and rest atop his tendons, calming the flex in his hand until the fingers splay out underneath hers. This confession overrules her previous one by a longshot and swallows sternly, the saliva in his mouth increasingly by the second—if the tension persists he’ll be drowning in his drool.

The Girl fiddles with his fingers by twisting and forming them around her own; she’s exploring unveiled land, he ascertains. Mando inclines his helmet to watch them at work, eyes following the slender digits as they test the indentations of lines etched into his palm. She sighs and finally answers his question, “Tika did most of it; retribution for letting their bounty escape. The group came to an agreement to banish me to Arvala-7 since it receives low traffic. They hoped I’d die there.”

Mando’s visor returns to her face and, underneath the slab of transparisteel, his eyes lessen in stiffness. He can’t envision how she must see him—a leering, emotionless vessel of beskar wholly fixated on her features whilst she recounts her trauma and he hardly returns a nod in her direction. When her eyes meet him, he can’t see his own in the reflection. It’s only what he doesn’t want to see; a perfectly sculpted Mandalorian helmet made of the finest Beskar. He hates it, despises it. He aspires to rid himself of the obstructing constraint to gaze into her eyes; search for his reflection in them.

“I’m-”

She stops him, placing a finger on his helmet where his lips should be. “Don’t. Don’t pity me.”

Pity isn’t the word he would use—it doesn’t seem genuine enough.

Perhaps there is no word to describe what he’s feeling. Magma is filling his veins yet again, thick and suffocating, but it’s not hot; rather icy cold that makes the tips of his fingers numb. The Girl’s eyes are interchangeable to the Child’s—big, soft, pure. Mando finds himself wanting to protect her from any potential threats—not that she needs his protection, she’s more than capable—to just seal her within the confines of his arms where she’ll be safe - where he won’t let anybody within a klicks distance of her.

She sinks her finger to the edge of his helm and drags him in close, disregarding the rumble his vocoder produces and snakes her other hand through the loop of his belt. “Come here,” she whispers.

Mando inches closer until her breath bounces off his steel and it’s not until he’s at such an intimate distance—where she’s warm and soft against his beskar, but also fuzzy and cloudy—that he recalls the narcotics in her system and that's plenty motivation for him to pull away. She whines and attempts to keep him steady but he’s too solid in contrast to her. “You’re intoxicated.”

“Didn’t take you as one to complain,” she jests lightheartedly.

Mando’s really starting to regret buying that spice. She’s initiating something she’s probably not even aware of and, if he hadn’t supplied her with those blasted pills he’d be under those sheets alongside her right about now—or maybe he wouldn’t; maybe it’s the spice making her confused and forcing her hand on him.

Mando needs to know - needs to hear her say those words.

Nerves wrack his muscles, twitching and shaking violently that he’s forced to rest his hands on the cot to ground himself. Mouth dry like the desert outside, Mando clears his throat awkwardly and curses at himself upon hearing the tremble in his voice, “It’s not how I want it to happen.”

The Girl is rendered like a malfunctioning droid, her eyes flickering to-and-fro from his visor to his hands—hunting his stance for any implication that he’s just screwing with her and her cheeks deepen with crimson when she finds none. One wouldn’t know she was intoxicated by her swiftness as she slings her legs out from beneath the blankets, leaning over the edge of the cot to place either of her hands on the curve of his helmet. “I want you, Mando.”

There it is—what he’s been waiting for all this time and he can’t act on his desires; it’s pure fucking torture. Mando places his hands atop of hers and leans into her touch, his eyes falling shut behind the helmet. Tardily, he withdraws from her clutch. “Get some rest.”

She pouts at him. “You can’t just tell me that and not-”

“Not now, not yet.”

The Girl hums as if contemplating his words and Lord it’s a beautiful tune—her pondering about him in more than just platonic. She remains still, half-on-half-off the cot with the blanket draped across her lap, her torso bare besides the undergarment protecting the privates of her chest. Mando rakes in the scars surfacing her body, ranging from little lacerations no smaller than a third of his fingers length to corked holes of a blaster’s laser. This wasn’t her first rodeo, the fresh wound simply another trophy of survival, but can’t tear his eyes away from the blemishes; they’re nearly identical to his own, in all of the same places and sizes but different contributors - she’s all slashes and lines of bumpy tissue and he’s drillings, his body simply a burrow for his foe’s lasers to retire.

He resists to reach out and touch them - feel the scarred trauma that mirrors his own. He can’t; won’t. Mando abruptly raises to his feet and fragilely strides across the room, collects his gloves, and murmurs, “Get some rest. Sleep off the spice.”

The Girl watches as he slips on his gloves before her, her eyes catching the flaky dried blood—her blood—on the tips of the fingers. “Don’t you have more questions?”

“They can wait,” he says matter-of-factly and manoeuvres his way to the exit, stopping with his hand on the doorknob. One couldn’t; no matter how terrified he is of the answer, he needs to ask it and if it’s not now he’ll never muster up the courage to ask. “Did you feel guilty?”

“Guilty?”

“Back when I was shot—you took...care of me. Was it because you felt guilty?”

The Girl wants to say something snarky—tell him he’s an idiot for thinking that way, but his voice is quiet, soft; filled with uncertainty and anxiety. He’s concerned with the thought of that act—the one he let himself be so vulnerable during—was nothing more than a simple chip for her to cash in for self-redemption; to lift the weight on her shoulders for her intentions back on Arvala-7.

“No,” she answers, her voice tranquil to match his. “No, it wasn’t guilt.”

The Mandalorian faintly nods, glances at her one last time, and exits the room with his shoulders light but his head heavy; the dreaded question finally put to rest but when one dies another rises from its ashes. If not guilt, what was it? She had confessed that she ‘wants him’ but could that have actually been true—could she genuinely want him the way he wants her? Mando tells himself that’s absurd—it’s just the spice suffocating her thought process like a sticky pool of uj’ayl. It had to be.

Mando makes an attempt to preoccupy his mind with the Crest, testing the durability of Peli’s maintenance with pointless button pressing and readying the craft for launch the moment the Child and the Girl are back on their feet, but his mind doesn’t stay busy for long before he’s thinking unwanted thoughts; the cockpit is where it all began and he can’t deal sitting in the pilot’s chair without the cooing of a child in his lap and the snarky remarks of a girl behind him. It’s a foreign concept to him—funny how time works; it wasn’t so long ago that he did everything on his lonesome from sleeping to fighting, he was his only companion, but not anymore. He’d spent nights rocking a ball of green to sleep in his hammock and battling alongside a reliable partner.

A partner—that’s what she is to him and so much more—he’s never had a partner before. Sure, a group here and there but never an individual he’s willing to put his faith into; his trust. Trust that the Girl had severed; or had she? If she had, surely he wouldn’t think of her this way—he’d just up and ditch her without a moment’s notice. So why does his heart ache and his lungs struggle to expand?

When he’s with the Girl it’s like he completely forgets about the deceitfulness, the lies, but when he’s distanced himself from her they return—unrelenting waves of anguish and frustration that leaves his head heavy and sore—until all he can think about is the threads connecting the two of them, knotted, frayed, tearing.

Peli makes her presence known with a gentle knock on the durasteel besides the cockpit door. “I dunno what’s gotten between you two but I’m here if ya want to talk. I ain’t practised but I’ve been told I’m good for this.”

He doesn’t want to talk.

But he does, nonetheless, “She’s been lying to me.”

Peli tilts her head and examines the sulking Mandalorian with a cocked eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

“She was going to kill me.” Mando swivels in his chair and crosses his arms.

Peli shrugs and gestures to him. “Obviously she didn’t, did she? Listen, I’ve seen how you act ‘round her—you’re soft for her, just like your kid. She might’ve been at ya, but she’s certainly not anymore. In your line of work, is that really a dealbreaker?”

Mando’s rendered silent, staring at empty space above Peli’s head in hopes he can wrap his own around this. It’s so fucking tiring thinking about it—it’s all that’s on his mind and he wishes for nothing more than to crush it between his hands, free him of the burden.

“Do you forgive her?”

Yes, of course, Mando will always forgive her - will always be there for her, but no; he doesn’t, can’t...can’t he?

“I don’t know.”

“Well,” Peli clicks her tongue and shifts on her feet. “The two of you should figure that out. It’s only when you’ve forgiven her that you’ll truly move forward - or something like that, I read it somewhere. I ain’t saying you gotta forget about all that, but just think about it this way: you never woulda met her if she hadn’t been there to shoot ya.”

That’s definitely a unique way to look at it. It’s true though if the Girl’s group hadn’t taken the same commission as he had and hadn’t abandoned it halfway through he never would have met her; never would have the pleasure of being around such a winsome girl.

Mando wants to forgive her and pretend this never occurred so they can continue where they left off but he’s unsure if that’s possible with the kid comatose; injured because Mando let his guard down, let them be captured by the enemy. The enemy he swore to protect him against but she’s not one of them—not a threat. The Child’s life is in his hands and it’s hot and heavy, identical to the volcanic rocks of Mustafar, but it’s tethered to his palms, scorching permanent burns as a reminder of his undertaking.

Peli notices his silence and changes the subject, “Kid really did a number on those wires, ya know, took longer to repair than expected.”

He pivots on the chair again, returning to face the viewport. “How is he doing?”

“Still sleepin’.” Mando doesn’t reply and Peli continues, “He stirred for a bit there, but ended up falling asleep again. Don’t get your gears clogged, I’m sure he’ll wake the moment he’s hungry.”

Mando scoffs. “Kid is always hungry.”

“Well, he’s up in my cabin. I can bring him down to you and the Girl if ya like.”

“No, let him rest. I’ll check in on him in the morning.”

Peli hums and nods behind him, turning her attention to the Wookiee communicating with her droids below the Crest. “What’s his deal?”

Mando sighs. “Not sure—another lifeform I’m stuck with I suppose. I’ll ask her about him and let you know.”

“If he destroys my droids, you’re paying for ‘em!” Peli grumbles as she descends the ladder, leaving him to watch the Wookiee alone. Bookoo hadn’t approached Mando since his arrival to the Hangar, which was fortunate as he’s not proficient in Shyriiwook and he didn’t want to test the waters with a being he had in a chokehold.

Mando deposits one of his spare sleeping shirts at the foot on the Girl’s cot, running a—freshly cleaned—gloved finger across her cheek and the curve of her jaw greedily. She doesn’t wake from his touches but he tears away nonetheless, allowing her space to rest, and saunters to the agape window overlooking the emptiness of the street outside and the glowing silver sphere above him—mocking him with it’s glowing. It’s so bright, so shiny, and it reflects off his beskar only amplifying it; Mando’s so dull, bleak, in contrast.

It’s a competition between him and the moon. There’s always been a rivalry—always something there to fight against, something to strive to defeat, to become bolder and brighter. It hangs above him out of his reach - always out of his reach.

Behind him, the Girl stirs and the cot squeaks beneath her movements. “What’re you doing?” she croaks, slurred with sleep.

“It’s back.”

She cranes her neck to look over his shoulder from the bed. “The moon? Yeah, it does that. Comes and goes every night actually.”

He sighs and tilts his helmet down to watch the sand blow along with the gusts of wind. “Why did you shoot at me?” he asks. “When I returned.”

The Girl groans and clasps a hand to her head, attempting to rub the brewing headache away. “I was trying to scare you off. I hoped getting shot at would keep you astray, should’ve figured a Mandalorian wouldn’t’ve taken it too kindly. I just -- didn’t want them coming back and finding you there. It was better if you were far away from that planet.”

She was looking out for him - she’s always looking out for him.

Mando’s shoulder stiffens underneath the weight of her hand on his pauldron, but he daren’t turn to look at her. Instead, he crosses his arms against his chest and inclines his helmet upwards, isolating his vision to the reflective sphere on his visor. There’s three in fact, but the largest one is the one he focuses on; eyes boring holes into the undetectable craters on the surface. It’s nonsensical how luring it is, like a magnet dragging him in from his steel platings—no, it’s stronger and straining. Almost as though he was submerged in a tidal wave, incapable of fighting against the onslaught, and all he’s to do is frantically struggle while he gradually sinks to the bottom of the riverbed. Because he would sink. There’s no denying that.

“Waxing Gibbous,” she drags him out of his grim thoughts.

“What?”

She points to the moons. “That’s the phase they’re in. Waxing Gibbous. Don’t ask me what that means, I have no idea.” He twists his helmet to her and cocks an eyebrow underneath the visor. She seems to acknowledge his confusion and explains, “You look at the moon a lot. It reminds me of you in a way, you know.”

He scoffs. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you’re the same colour as it for starters.” He mockingly rolls his eyes. “But… the moon is the greatest companion there is. In times of light it waits behind the clouds, but when we need it the most—in our darkest moments—it distributes its glow to keep us in the light; safe and alive. It’s loyal,” She places a hand on the curve of his helmet where his cheek belongs, “selfless.”

Mando’s breathing slows when she looks at him with those eyes—those eyes that could bend him over backwards with a simple blink. Subconsciously, he leans into the weight of her hand and relishes as best he can with a helmet. She’s wearing his shirt and it’s a few sizes too big on her but fuck if she doesn’t make it look good; the hem brushing against her thighs—where he belongs—and the sleeves rolled up to unmask her hands.

“I prefer the sun,” Mando hums.

“Sun, huh? I hate the sun. Arvala-7’s fucked up my hands.”

A hand inches underneath the material of his shirt to situate on the curve of her bare hip, harsh leather stroking circles into the smooth skin but she doesn’t stop him - doesn’t seem to care that the leather isn’t as pleasant as his hands. “It’s not all bad. Even the strongest flora cannot bloom without it.” He tugs her closer until her chest is against his, erupting her into a hazy cluster of blushes. “It keeps me warm—so fucking warm.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting burnt?”

“It’s stubborn and strong-willed but no. I’m not afraid.” Mando swipes a thumb across her lips, noting how her tongue pokes out to catch a taste of stale leather but she pulls away before he can reciprocate.

She twists the sleeves of his shirt around her wrists and sighs softly. “I’m not a good person, Mando. It’s not the lying—not that that’s not important. It is. It’s just- I’ve broken the Guild’s code multiple times and I-”

Mando shushes her once more by providing a calming hand on the back of her neck, tilting her head to look into his visor. “You’re rambling,” he informs.

“I’m sorry.” She bites her cheek and tears her eyes away. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I never should have persisted about the stupid rifle—never should have stepped foot on the Crest.”

He’s doubtful on what to say but he knows he doesn’t want that; doesn’t want the Girl to wish she’d never come along with him and the kid. “Do you regret staying?”

“No. I don’t regret staying but-”

“Cin vhetin,” he whispers.

“Ci-what?”

“Cin vhetin. A fresh start.” Mando tilts his helmet in question. “Would you like that?”

The Girl stops breathing, he can feel it in her neck muscles and he strokes a finger into the base until she continues, her eyes flickering side-to-side along the top of the T-shaped visor and she sucks in a shallow breath. “You’re willing to - to - yes. Yes.”

Concealed behind the helmet and armour, Mando’s lips curl into a smile and his heart leaps over a crack in the surface. He nods in agreement and sweeps his fingers across her neck to cup her jaw, his thumbs stroking across her cheekbones. This feels right—finally correcting something that’s been pressing at the back of his brain non-stop. The Child is still the priority, he knows this, but he’s allowing himself a weakness; an indulgence that’s been taunting him for far too long. “Mesh’la.”

She leans into the touch, placing one of her hands atop his. “What’s that?”

“I think I’ll hold onto that one.”

She pouts. “Come on, what’s it mean?”

Mando chuckles and responds by pressing the bottom of his helmet to her forehead in a mock kiss and murmurs, “Ner mesh’la. Ner.”

_____________

“uj’ayl” - a sticky scented syrup “cin vhetin” - a fresh start or clean slate “mesh’la” - beautiful “ver” - my/mine

taglist: @ohhersheybars, @greatcircle79, @northernpunk

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bi-dazai · 4 years ago

Text

okay while we're on the subject of eating healthy and exercising, I want to vent/talk about weight loss. This is gonna be a rly controversial, very personal and extremely long post but I do want to make a point. I'm not going to discuss every fucking nuance of haes or my EDs. But for clarity, know that my eds are complicated and were mostly osfeds - minor anorexia osfed in high school and bed osfed when I was 18-19. after i realised how fat i was the minor anorexia came back and over the pandemic it became full scale anorexia nervosa.

I'm 5'3. The healthy weight range I should be in is in the high 40s-low 50s. I went up to TWICE that by the time I was just nineteen years old. It wasn't fun being fat. I consumed as much fat acceptance, fat activism content as I could, I pretended I was confident and happy even when I was fat. But I wasn't. Because people don't just get obese accidentally. A little overweight, yes. But obese? No. You get obese from depression, from giving up. You don't want to move so you don't. You're sad all the time, and the body positivity circles say eat comfort food, whatever and as much as it makes you feel better!! Do you know what that is? That's encouragement of BED. Do not say that. Because I did that. I ate sugar and junk food, I was still depressed.

I was reading these posts that were claiming fat people shouldn't be weighed at the doctor, that your weight shouldn't count, that BMI is incorrect and doesn't matter, etc etc. There were posts saying that they got "perfect bloodwork" (what even is that? I knew that was wrong, I've had chronic iron deficiency for a decade!) even though they were fat, so they had to be healthy, right? I got shown pictures of obese ballerinas and obese weightlifters blah blah blah. And I grew and grew, and I got to almost 85kg on the fast track to 100kg before reality smacked me in the face and I realised I was shortening my lifespan by decades.

Here's what it was like being obese!

- joint pain, constantly

- could barely walk anywhere without feeling out of breath

- couldn't find any fashionable, good quality clothes (plus size stores either carry unfashionable clothing, or fashionable but cheap quality clothing. I don't like to waste money on cheap clothes)

- more acne than I'd had in years

- oily skin

- more difficulty feeling "full"

- JOINT FUCKING PAIN

- rashes from skin rubbing against skin!

- even larger chest, making me MORE dysphoric

- back pain!!

- snoring - this is not just embarrassing. This is potentially deadly.

- DYSPHORIA

- KNEES. JOINT PAIN.

- DYSPHORIA

this was just things I felt physically, noticeably! The things that my fat was doing on the inside was even worse. Fat isn't just this layer of packing peanuts that appears on top of you. It coats your organs. It gets everywhere. It makes your entire body run worse.

Fat also makes it much more likely for you to not just GET cancer, but it it also makes it harder to FIGHT cancer. Being obese makes almost every single goddamn sickness on the planet worse because when you have THAT MUCH fat tissue the hormones and shit it secretes fucks EVERYTHING up.

Yes there are obese bodybuilders. Yes there are obese ballerinas. Let's talk about those two.

There are plenty of drs and dieticians who have pointed out the obvious - if an obese person was really, actually eating healthily and exercising every day, they would not stay obese forever. Its not magic, it's thermodynamics. CICO done right works for everyone. If you are eating healthy, appropriate portions for weight loss at your TDEE and exercising it would literally be IMPOSSIBLE for you not to lose weight!! Even more the heavier you are because when you exercise you carry around a lot more weight.

Obese weightlifters are still obese. They are not proof you can be obese and healthy. They are still going to die younger if they do not lose weight.

Let's talk about fat ballerinas. The only ones I've seen are trainee ballerinas, not professional ones. And their performance looks impressive at first, until you look closer. You notice their balance is never quite perfect, their control can be amazing and the best ever but they'll still be off. Why? Because fat moves around with your movement, and it displaces your balance and your line of movement. It's simply not possible to do something like ballet dancing as a fat person without risking major injury as well. En pointe is already stupid dangerous for the skinniest ballerina. Going en pointe at anything above 60kg is going to get progressively suckier the heavier you go. And god help your ankles because falling down will always end in a major injury.

I'm so fucking done with "fat acceptance". I'm tired of "body positivity" being a movement about obese middle-upper class white women and not about scars and disabilities etc like it was focused on in the start. I have no problems with Health at Every Size - every person should feel happy to workout, to eat healthy. I have no problem raising issue with people bullying others for their weight as well. That's wrong. But pretending that it's Healthy at Every Size is a fucking lie, and it's one that could've sentenced me to an early death. Healthy at Every Size said I was condemned to joint pain and oily skin and depression and exhaustion for the rest of my life based on cherrypicked sentences from studies that didn't agree with them. That "95% of diets fail" sentence in particular drives me up the wall. You don't need a diet to lose weight, you need healthy CICO, you need to eat below your TDEE, you need to eat healthy, and you need to exercise. All you have to do at first is go on a 10-20 minute walk, whatever pace you like, a few times a week.

You can BE fit, you CAN lose weight! You are not sentenced to having joint pain and an increased risk for cancer and a less effective COVID vaccine for life. You can change your body in incredibly ways. You have no idea what you are capable of.

There's this myth that weight loss takes keto and shakes and diet pills and crash diets etc. It doesn't. All it is is making sure you eat less than your TDEE, eating HEALTHY calories, and getting your heartrate up by exercising at least 175 minutes a week.

The human body is not meant to be obese. There's no such thing as a set point weight. There's CICO, there's nutrition, there's making sure your muscles dont atrophy. Weight loss and fitness isn't some magic thing that youre just born able to do. I was lazy throughout my entire teens. I thought fitness was something the popular girls did. It's not. It's for everyone. and everyone, especially in places with an obesity epidemic such as the US, UK, and Australia, should make use of it. It's a good thing. Walking is one of the best things you can do for your body, and it's incredibly rewarding in every way. Eating healthy and not eating until you feel like you're going to burst is rewarding in every way. And it's not like you can't ever have junk food again, you just have to limit it to a treat, a once or twice per week thing. And honestly, it makes it much more enjoyable that way.

Now I want to talk a little about my anorexia. My weight loss journey came to anorexia. This is because it was an eating disorder I'd had for a long time. I did not see a trainer or dietician, and I consciously decided to push myself too far. I consciously decide to eat less and exercise more when I am starving. This is not something that just happens because someone is eating at 1200cals. It happens because you have an eating disorder which you are born with. Saying people who eat 1200cals of healthy food a day and exercise right are "anorexic" is so fucking insulting to everyone involved. It's ableist and ignorant. 1200cals is also a pretty generous amount for anorexic ppl to eat. That's close to a binge in ED standards, so that should give you a reference for how offbase saying 1200cals is "anorexic" is.

My anorexia is healthy habits pushed into eating disorder territory. I eat healthy, yes, but I don't eat enough. I exercise, yes, but I often push myself too far when I'm already lacking energy. The advice I give people for health is correct, and I'm never going to go around saying "eat less than 1200cals" as weightloss advice. Eat less, sure, but there's a limit. Calorie counting is a good thing to do, tracking your macros and nutrients is good. But I do it too much.

I know what's healthy, a lot of ppl with restrictive and purgative EDs do. People with EDs can give some awesome health advice, we just can't follow it because we have a mental disorder. Believe it or not people with EDs discussing their EDs are not "pro-ana", pointing out that anorexia and people with anorexia are real and not some boogeyman you use to justify not losing weight and eating healthy is not pro-ana. Anorexia existing is not pro-ana and anorexics being anorexic has nothing to do with fatphobia.

this post is a rambling mess but i rly had to get some stuff clear on how I feel abt this stuff because it's getting concerning how much unhealthy shit, and then straight up ableist shit, that the fat acceptance crowd spews out.

A little exercise won't kill you, eating healthy won't kill you. You are not sentenced to ugly plus size fashion and joint pain and being out of breath for the rest of your life. Leave the Healthy at Every Size death cult and join the Health at Every Size movement. Let the doctor take your weight (it IS medically necessary). acknowledge that you are obese and it is affecting your health. It's scary but it can be the start of a new, healthy beginning. It was for me.

Losing 15kg has been the best thing in my life. Sure, the anorexia is there enjoying it for one reason. But the reason I truly enjoy it is because I've discovered what a healthier body feels like. I've discovered the joys of exercise, I've discovered the joys of eating healthy. I can fit nice clothes now. And I'm still overweight! I'm 66kg, that's 4kg away from the barest minimum acceptable healthy bmi. But I feel so so much better. I look better. I have a jawline! Good skin! Energy! It didn't fix me but it sure made me a hell of a lot better.

Please please try and eat healthy, eat an appropriate amount, go for walks. It's so so good, and if you do it right you WILL lose weight. You'll live past 50. You'll get to explore the world in a way you couldn't when going up stairs had you out of breath. You'll fit into that nice skirt you've been looking at. Your skin will clear up. You'll have energy and your mental health will improve.

It's so so fucking worth it to put effort into your health, like I cannot emphasise this enough. Please do it, I wish I could tell myself this when I was binging on junk because the FA crowd told me it was valid to comfort eat until I hurt.

#long post #this is mostly a vent but yeah #basically my decision is that im not touching any fat activism fatphobia etc with a ten foot pole #esp on this blog except to discuss my personal experience with it ie this post #personal #ok to rb #sorry for not putting it under a readmore im on mobile

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sher-soc-the-famder · 4 years ago

Note

i rly need some platonic fluff too... maybe Thomas and Logan? those sweet sweet platonic cuddles. maybe one is sick?

Optimal Recovery

Summary: Logically, taking care of yourself is the best and most efficient way to feel better.

Word Count: 1833

Warnings: N/A, just some fluffy fluff here

Notes: This was fun :D I really do need to write more with character Thomas

Read on AO3

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The screen in front of Thomas wavered, the black lines of text bleeding into each other. He ran his hand over his eyes. The glare of the screen drilled into his head, but he was already behind on his work. God, if he wasn't always behind on his work. He took a deep breath and felt his breath catch. Coughs shuddered through his body until he curled in on himself, clutching at his chest.

He took a deep breath, pulling his shaking hand away from himself. He reached for the keyboard of his laptop again. Only to yank his hand away as it clicked shut. Thomas followed the arm that closed it up to meet Logan's eyes. Logan raised an eyebrow at him.

"As grateful as I am that you are focusing on your work," Logan said steadily, "I believe that now is not the correct time for that diligence."

"But-"

Logan reached up from the laptop and laid a hand across Thomas' forehead. Thomas leaned into the cool touch gratefully, only peripherally aware of the way that Logan sighed. He slumped forwards even more, pressed up against Logan's steady presence.

"You are running a temperature," Logan said. Thomas tried not to whine as Logan pulled his hand away. He didn't think that he succeeded. Logan frowned briefly; Thomas blinked wondering if he imagined the expression before Logan started to poke at his shoulder. "Combined with your cough, headache and dizziness, the most likely diagnosis for your condition is a cold. Ample bed rest and hydration should lead to a swift recovery."

"But I don't wanna move," Thomas whined.

Logan sighed again. He poked at Thomas' shoulder again until he leaned back deeper into the chair that he sat on. Thomas blinked at him slowly, trying to fight through the fog that covered his brain. Thinking about it, that might be why he was struggling so much to make progress on his script.

"There will be time to catch up on your work later," Logan said, sweeping Thomas' laptop away, "I shall make sure of it. Our current focus should be regaining your health. Preferably before Virgil decides that it means that you're dying. Again."

"I mean, I could be-"

Logan pointed a finger at him.

"Don't. Just- don't."

Thomas grinned at him. He really should spend more time with Logan. He needed more teasing if that was his reaction to a joke. Thomas had four brothers and six figments of his imagination; he totally knew how family like this worked.

"Stay there," Logan said, and Thomas lurched forward in panic anyways when Logan stepped away. The world spun around him and only the cool hand on his shoulder kept him from falling out of his chair completely. His breath caught, and another round of coughs left his entire body shaking. Logan pushed him gently back into the chair once more with a frown.

“I am confident that you are aware of the definition of stay, so I am confused as to why you act like you don’t,” Logan muttered almost more to himself than to Thomas.

"Don't go," Thomas said more than asked, reaching for Logan's shirt with his shaking fingers. He never liked being alone in the first place; Virgil and Patton both could attest to that. Seeing Logan turn his back and panicking wasn't a logical response but well. Thomas thought he could be forgiven for having one irrational thought while sick.

Logan eyed him for a long moment. Thomas tightened his grip on Logan's polo. For a wild moment, Thomas worried that Logan would simply disappear as his Sides could, and then Thomas would be left alone to deal with his cold. He could. For all his joking about it, he was an adult who could deal with things like this. He just preferred not to.

Logan gripped his hand gently and pulled it free.

"I won't be long," Logan said, his voice as soft as when he tried to comfort Patton or Virgil or even Roman. Thomas wondered why they didn't hear that tone more often. "I am simply going to collect the supplies that you will need and I'll be right back." He looked Thomas straight (gay) in the eyes. "I promise."

Thomas let his hand drop and watched as Logan turned to rifle through his kitchen cabinets. At least the kitchen was in view of his sitting space. He could still watch Logan collect a glass of water and what looked like saltines as he set them down on the counter. Logan leaving to gather things from upstairs however-

Thomas finally closed his eyes, even as the black spots swan underneath them. It was better than watching Logan get swallowed up by the stairs. With his own heart racing, from the cold or from his anxiety, Thomas spent a brief moment to hope that Virgil was holding up alright.

He focused in the quiet, steady footsteps making their way around his apartment. He tried to time his breathing to the movements, even if Logan did stop every once and awhile. Thomas let himself drift, not quite asleep, but not quite awake either. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying not to shiver. From the cold or the anxiety, it didn’t matter.

He jumped at a hand on his shoulder.

"Thomas." Thomas blinked at Logan slowly. He glanced around, taking in the light blanket that Logan must have grabbed from the bedroom, along with a stack of books and movies. He looked down and sighed at what Logan held in his hands. Thomas made a face at the medicine but took it gratefully anyways.

He swallowed the pills first, and took the glass of water when Logan handed it to him. He drank it slowly, under Logan’s watchful eyes. Thomas almost wanted to point out that Logan didn’t need to hover that close but refrained. He took the liquid cough syrup less gratefully and felt his face scrunch up at the taste. Logan watched him down it all sharply, nodding to himself as he swept it all away and set it down on the kitchen counter.

"I will set an alarm on your phone for a reminder when you need the next dose." Logan's eyes already scanned the room for the intended device. "I would encourage you to rest in the meantime. I have picked out a selection of media that you might enjoy without having to get up. There is the choice of netflix as well, though you will want to make sure that you keep a steady amount of water intake as well."

Thomas jumped in while Logan took a small pause to breath.

"Well, you'll be here to make sure that I do, right?"

Logan blinked, caught off guard. Thomas wished that he was better at reading his Sides. He knew they weren't always the best to each other, heck he wasn't the best to them at times. He wanted to work on that. Thomas patted at the spot next to him on the couch.

He could see Logan hesitate, foot shifting forward and a quiet twitch of his cheek.

"I don't think you can catch it from me," Thomas reasoned, trying to coax Logan closer. "Plus isn't there something about how contact with others releases good hormones and stuff to help people recover faster?"

“There have been studies proving that physical touch can boost immune systems and release the hormone known as oxytocin which helps promote positive thinking, optimism, and trust," Logan said. He paused and adjusted his tie. "So you are correct, in a sense. Are-" he cleared his throat. "Are you sure?"

Thomas fought not to roll his eyes. He reached out as soon as Logan got close enough and pulled him onto the couch. Thomas shuffled around for a bit, until he had curled up in the blanket that Logan had given him and pressed up against Logan's side. He ignored the stiff way that Logan held himself.

"So," he said cheerfully, "I'm thinking of a documentary."

"The chances that you retain any information from a documentary at this point in time is rather low," Logan said, slowly starting to relax. Thomas let himself melt into Logan, relishing in the warmth even if he knew logically he was more overheated than under.

"Yeah, but it would be fun," Thomas didn't shrug, but only because that would upset the careful balance that Logan gave off. Also, he could lose his blanket. "Plus, we'd get to watch it again later to actually learn things from it."

"In that case," Logan adjusted his glasses, "Disney plus is connected to National Geographic and has a wide selection of nature documentaries that we could peruse."

Thomas beamed up at him and handed him the remote.

"I'm supposed to be hydrating," Thomas told him, "and I only have one hand free so." He waved the one hand outside of his blanket burrito to emphasize his point and ignored the small huff of breath that came from Logan. He pointedly grabbed his glass to further his point as Logan scrolled through their options.

He carefully set the glass back down and let his body relax onto the couch and adjusted to find the most comfortable position against Logan. He didn’t want to disturb Logan too much, so despite his initial feelings of simply climbing into his logical Side’s lap, Thomas wiggled down to his shoulder pressed into Logan’s side. He lay his head against Logan’s chest and grinned to himself.

He could be feeling better, but at least this way he'd get something out of it. Thomas glanced up at the intense way that Logan stared at the television, most likely trying to pick the "best" option that could hold the most correct information while being something useful that they could use on top of whatever logical thoughts that went through his head. Logan didn’t even seem to have noticed the change in positions. Thomas felt his grin widen as he turned to the television.

Yeah, this way he got something out of it, and he wasn't even the only person too.

~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~

Logan startled as Thomas' phone alarm went off. He froze as the weight against his side shifted. He reached out and tapped the dismiss button. Thomas shifted again, murmuring slightly and settling into a more comfortable position against him.

Logan didn't know when they had started to cuddle on the couch but-

He glanced at the documentary still playing on the television and back to Thomas' sleeping form. He reached out and tucked the blanket so that it sat more securely around Thomas' shoulder, adjusted Thomas' neck so that he wouldn't cramp and then gave him an awkward pat on the head. Logan turned his focus back to the documentary and made a mental note to make sure Thomas took his medicine when he woke up.

He turned the volume down on the documentary and smiled to himself.

Rest was optimal for recovery after all.

#Sanders sides #sanders sides fic #Logan sanders #Character Thomas #sick fic #fluff #platonic cuddles #nothing but feel good here tbh

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kinkykinard · 4 years ago

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Our Branch of the Family Tree - 1

Fandom: 9-1-1. Word Count: 1338. Genre: hurt/comfort. Rating: teen+. Summary: when the pain of his injury post-2x18 gets to be too much, Buck calls the one person he can always count on to help him through it. Note: for @thebuckleysiblingsweek 2021. AO3 link here. Unbeta’d. Gif by the lovely @fireladybuckley. ♥

The pain was blinding.

A single sob escaped Buck’s throat as he groped blindly for the light switch in the bathroom, swaying precariously on his crutches. The sound echoed off the tiled walls, opening the floodgates, drawing more wretched cries from deep in his chest. He’d forgotten to take his painkillers before lying down for the night and he was paying the price, feeling an acute awareness of each pin and screw in his bones as his body healed around them.

His leg throbbed in time with his fast and frantic heartbeat as he reached for the pill bottle on the edge of the sink. His hands shook violently as he uncapped it and a sudden white-hot flare of agony made him fumble and lose his grip, sending the bottle and its contents onto the floor, scattering all around him.

“Damn it!”

Leaning his crutches against the wall, Buck white-knuckled the counter with one hand, bending forward and reaching out for the pills with the other. It was too much, though. The weight on his leg as he lifted it, his cast pressing into his ankle, was agony. He had to bite back the urge to throw up as he straightened and collapsed heavily onto the toilet, forcing his breathing to steady.

Reaching for his phone, tears stinging his eyes, Buck’s thumb hovered over the unlock button. It was after four in the morning - late enough that everyone he knew who wasn’t on shift would be asleep, and early enough that no one would be getting up for the next day any time soon. Bobby and the rest of the crew were at work. Ali had made it clear that she wasn’t in it for the long haul. Carla was close, but not so close that he would disturb her. Abby was just a memory, a ghost from another time, and he had no one else in his life who would come running to help him.

No one except for Maddie. Maddie, who had always patched him up when he’d been hurt, who’d dried his tears when he’d cried, who’d loved him when he couldn’t love himself. Maddie, who he knew would drop everything to be there, who wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t ask why.

He keyed in her number before he could think of any reason why he shouldn’t call her.

“Buck?”

Her voice was thick with sleep, raspy from disuse overnight.

“I need you,” Buck whispered.

Maddie’s voice was clear and alert then, her attention roused by his words.

“I’m on my way.”

He could hear the rustling of fabric before the call was disconnected and he hoped she could get there fast. The pain was making time slow down, each second hanging in the air, thick as molasses as it oozed aside for the next one. He closed his eyes, tangling his fingers in the hem of his t-shirt and trying to focus on anything that wasn’t just pure, unadulterated pain.

The sound of a key in the door some time later was the first thing Buck perceived outside of his pain since the moment it had awakened him. He glanced up at the sound of Maddie’s voice calling his name.

“Bathroom,” he called back, his voice gravelly, hoarse from crying.

He listened to Maddie’s footsteps draw closer and hung his head as she rounded the corner, suddenly feeling vulnerable and ridiculous for having called her. Mistaking his chagrin for something far more serious, Maddie rushed forward, kneeling in front of him and brushing a few curls away from his forehead as she scanned him for any signs of illness or injury.

“Talk to me, Evan,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. “What’s going on?”

“Hurts,” he murmured, gesturing vaguely to his leg. “I didn’t take my meds earlier, and now I can’t reach them. I didn’t know what to do, so I called you.”

Maddie glanced around the floor, spotting the tablets scattered all over the place. She put a hand on Buck’s uninjured knee, giving it a squeeze.

“I’m glad you did,” she reassured him. “Just hang in there, baby brother. We’ll have you feeling better in no time.”

He nodded and watched out of the periphery of his vision as she quickly picked up all of the pills he’d spilled in his desperation. She ducked out of his line of sight for a moment, disappearing to grab a glass from the kitchen before returning to fill it at the sink. Kneeling again, Maddie held the pills out in one hand and the glass in the other. Buck accepted both gratefully, chasing the bitter tablets with a mouthful of water before setting the glass aside.

“Do you want to go back to the couch, or wait until the meds start to work?” She asked, and Buck was infinitely grateful for her consideration. He nodded after a moment, looking up for the first time since she’d arrived.

“It’s going to be a while, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Maddie smiled sadly at him. Evan Buckley was a saint; even in so much pain that she could see it in every line of his face, he was concerned about her. It made her heart hurt to think what an incredible, kind, compassionate, loving person he’d grown into in spite of his upbringing, and she just wanted to hug him. She’d save it for later, though - first she wanted to get him taken care of.

“I’d kneel here all night if it made you feel better. What do you want?”

Buck worried with his lip for a moment, running a hand through his hair and grimacing as he shifted his weight a little, the pain flaring once more.

“The couch,” he decided at last. With a nod, Maddie held out a hand to help him up. He sagged as he stood, leaning more of his weight on her than he wanted to, but she didn’t buckle under the strain. She held him, rubbing his back until he was ready to move, and then supported him as they crossed the apartment. He was leaning on her even more heavily from the strain of moving through the pain by the time they reached the couch, but she brushed off his apologies as she helped him settle.

“Lie down,” Maddie instructed softly, helping him lift his casted leg to ease some of the strain on it. Buck shifted a little, settling into the most comfortable position he could as she moved around the living room, fetching a few spare cushions. “I’m going to elevate your leg a bit to help bring down any swelling under that cast. It’ll start feeling better in no time, I promise.”

Buck let Maddie manipulate his leg. She was gentle as she held it up and stacked pillows beneath it, but the pain was still white-hot and intense and he was exhausted by the time she finished and set his leg down. He swallowed thickly as she perched on the sliver of couch he wasn’t already occupying at his side and leaned into her touch as she cupped his cheek.

“Okay?” Maddie asked.

Buck nodded.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Maddie stroked his cheek with her thumb, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead as she reached behind him for a blanket. She shook it out, smiling as she draped it over him and tucked it around his frame the way she’d done so many times when they were kids.

“Well, you never have to find out because I will always be here, no matter what. You call me and I’ll come running.”

Buck smiled for the first time in days at that, closing his eyes. The pain hadn’t dulled much, but the comfort of having Maddie there for him was enough to take his anxiety offline for a bit and to let him rest a little easier.

“I love you, Mads.”

“I love you too, baby brother.”

#buckleysiblingsweek2021 #9-1-1 #fanfiction #Evan Buckley #Maddie Buckley #hurt/comfort

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 years ago

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BTS Reaction || Losing Weight [TW]

A/N: Before this started please remember that you are all beautiful in every way possible. Everyone comes in different shapes and sizes and you should love yourself for you!! In the wise wise words of Rupaul, Love yourself first cause if you can’t love yourself how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else! THAT BEING SAID! I love you all!!! Again no one will be tagged because I don’t want to upset anyone.

WARNINGS: Mentions of bad weight lost habits, diet pills, negative thoughts about S/O and mentions of ED please don’t read if you are triggered by any of those things

Seokjin:

Jin hadn't noticed until it was too late until you were pale and were getting sick far too often for anything to be a coincidence anymore. You were starting to get tired quicker from the smallest of things, running up the stairs resulted in you holding your knees and trying to catch your breath, a common cold was currently making you feel as though you needed to be hospitalised because your body wasn't fighting the bug off. It didn't have the energy to do so and your immune system wasn't healthy enough.

"Baby, we should take you to the doctor." He whispered as he sat beside you on the bed, he took off the wet cloth he'd applied two hours ago and replaced it with a cold wet one to try and keep your temperature down.

"I'm fine Jin, it's just a bug." He stared at you as you tried to sit up in the bed but failed to do so,

"A bug that took me three days to kick-off, you've been this way for a week." You rolled your eyes at him and shivered, he wrapped the duvet around you and shook his head at you.

"You have to see someone," You looked up at him and you could tell he was really worried but it was just your new diet plan...Or at least that's what you kept telling yourself. It was the new fasting diet plan you were trying out but no one had told you that since you weren't used to it your body would react poorly.

"You're not eating enough." He commented as he looked at the plate of half-eaten food beside the bed.

"It's not my eating time, I can't-"

"I don't want to hear that anymore, if you want to go on a diet we will go on a better and healthier one together but for now I want you to eat and get better." He didn't snap at you but you knew he meant what he was saying, he was red in the face kind of like he was whenever he yelled at one of the younger members when they did something bad or something he didn't like.

"Jin-"

"Please, it's killing me to see you like this. You're perfect in every way to me." You stared at him as he went on to list everything he loved about you,

"Your personality made me fall for you but then you, your positivity it made me fall harder. I thought you loved the skin you were in?" You looked down at your hands, you were losing the weight faster than you intended and you were only looking to tone your body.

"I do I just- I wanted to tone up and look good for you." He groaned laying his head on your shoulder and then pulling your hand to his lips, leaving a small kiss on the top of it.

"You always look good for me, you could walk into my room in a bin bag and messy hair and you would look good." You stared at him from the corner of your eye and then looked at yourself in the mirror beside the bed. He was right, you knew he was right he was Jin he was always right.

"I'm sorry, I promise I'll come off the stupid diet and eat properly," He nodded and looked up at you,

"We can start joining Jungkookie in the gym if you want." You nodded as you yawned out and closed your eyes feeling tired thanks to the painkillers the doctor had put you on for the cold.

Yoongi:

"Painkillers?" Yoongi asked when he woke up the next morning with a hangover from the night before. You'd all gone out drinking to celebrate his D-2 release and it ended up turning into an afterparty back at your apartment where you both promptly passed out in your shared apartment bed.

"Top shelf of the bathroom cabinet." You mumbled into the pillow not having the energy to go and get them for him, you felt the bed shift and then you heard the door so you knew he'd gone for himself.

"Can you get me some too?" You called out as you sat up in the bed, you stared at the mattress in front of you holding your head and trying not to fall over. The room still felt as though it was spinning and you were going to vomit at any moment.

"Sure, which bottle-" He cut himself off when he poured the contents of what said painkillers into his hand, but inside were little red pills. He knew them anywhere, he'd seen other idols taking them before.

"What did you say?" You looked up to see him standing in the doorway between the bathroom and bedroom holding a handful of the pills in front of you. You gulped and he waited for an explanation from you,

"They're just to help me lose some weight." He stared at you waiting for you to continue but you didn't,

"How long have you been taking them?" He asked taking the ones in his hand and the ones in the bottle and dumping them into the bin.

"Yoongi!" You yelled out but he wasn't bothered he stared at you,

"Well?"

"Four weeks," He stared at you and then at the bin,

"Why?"

"I just wanted to lose a little weight," He looked you up and down and he noticed how different you looked. You were losing weight but it wasn't a healthy way to do it,

"Why the pills?" You felt like you were under interrogation so you laid back down on the bed and closed your eyes wanting him to drop the subject but he wasn't going to. The bed shifted as he got in next to you, he rolled you over so your head was laying on his thigh and he rubbed your shoulder blades.

"Do you understand why I'm being like this, do you know how dangerous they can be?! You could have been hurt and I wouldn't even know what to tell the doctor because I didn't know you were-" He stopped talking once he saw you staring up at him, you weren't in the mood for the rant he was about to do and you just wanted to sleep away the hangover.

"There are healthier ways of losing weight." He whispered and you nodded in agreement with him, you knew there were better and healthier ways then what you were doing but nothing worked quite as much as they did.

"They stop me snacking." He glared at you as you tried to defend your actions,

"They also can raise your blood pressure to high levels. You knew he was doing this for your own good but you still hated how right he was about it all, he laid down with you and kissed your forehead.

"We'll start working out together if you want to lose weight, you can come with me to the gym."

"You hate me watching you work out."

"I'll make an exception." He whispered to you but you nodded in agreement with him, working out with Yoongi did seem like a good idea.

Hoseok:

It wasn't Hoseok that had noticed what was happening with you at first, it was Army. Your relationship with Hobi had been out in the open for the last year and they adored you, you would keep them updated on anything and everything you were allowed to. Always checking with Hoseok first though in case you weren't supposed to tell them something like the time you almost leaked Hope World to everyone who followed you. Army was starting to worry about you though, with every new picture you posted to Instagram you were starting to look skinner and you had stated you were trying to lose weight but this seemed too fast to everyone that was following you so they started to call you out on it. You ignored the comments but Hoseok who had a private account saw the comments and started to notice himself that you were losing too much too fast.

"Hey baby, did you enjoy lunch?" He asked one day when he came in from work, you rolled up the yoga mat you'd been using to work out on and nodded.

"It was lovely, thank you Hobi." He stared at the back of your head, you were lying and he only knew that because he hadn't made you lunch that day to try and trip you up on it.

"It's funny though, well not funny but weird..." You turned to look at him with a frown, he dropped his bag onto the floor and watched as you put your work out things away.

"I didn't make you lunch today." You felt your stomach sink as you realised he was catching on to what you were doing,

"I just skip lunch Hobi, that's all." He hummed and followed you into the kitchen,

"Did you have breakfast?" You stared at him from across the kitchen and he knew then that you didn't, you were never good at lying and especially to your boyfriend Hoseok.

"Why?" You looked down at the floor trying not to cry over something like this, it was something you dealt with a lot and so did other people but it didn't make the subject easy to talk about.

"I don't like the way I look Hobi..." He walked over to you and wrapped his arms around you, he knew there was nothing he could say in this situation to make you feel better so he did the best he could to help you.

"Losing weight this way is harmful, I know you've probably heard it all before but this is a bad way of doing it...Let me help you if you want to change." You nodded along with him and he kissed the top of your head,

"But you have to eat so your body has the nutrients it needs to help you lose weight." The rest of the night you came up with a diet plan together, something that you would feel comfortable with and then you wrote a workout plan, planning to go with him to dance practise twice a week to have a little extra workout together.

Namjoon:

The moment it became clear to Namjoon what you were doing he wanted to help you but he knew a direct approach wasn't going to work with you, you'd never been good with people coming right at you with information, you had to be shown that what was happening wasn't good. So he started by skipping meals with you just until you would notice he wasn't eating like he had with you, he stopped having breakfast like you, then lunch and that's when you picked up on it, he was sitting up in his studio at home working and you found the food you'd made him was still sitting in the fridge and he hadn't touched any of it,

"Was your food not okay?" You questioned coming into his home studio, he looked up to see the food you'd made him still in the small lunch box and he shrugged his shoulders.

"I wasn't hungry." You walked back out of the room without questioning him again and he felt bad already for doing this to you. He felt awful for not eating your food but he knew he had to make you realise this wasn't a good way to lose weight and this was the only way to get it through to you.

(X)

"You're not hungry again? Shall I call a doctor, you look pale." You panicked rushing over to Namjoon later that night, you'd offered to cook him something to eat claiming that you'd already eaten but it wasn't true and Namjoon knew that and he was upset that you'd lied to him about it.

"No, baby...Don't you see what I'm doing?" You shook your head and he groaned at you, he took your hands in his and sat you down on the chair that was in front of him.

"I know you've been skipping meals and I want to know why." You stared up at him, his eyes were tearing up and you knew he was upset over the fact that you'd been doing this to yourself,

"I was just trying to lose weight."

"Why not go onto a diet? Or work out more, you don't have to skip meals, it doesn't work." You looked at the floor, he was right and you knew that. You'd done all the research you could on losing weight and you knew what worked and what didn't but this was working for a short time,

"It'll work now but once you start eating normally again your body will retain everything and you'll build the weight back up," He'd been doing his research, he wanted to be able to talk to you about this properly he didn't want to come charging at you without any information to help you with.

"I know-"

"So why are you doing it?" You didn't have a real answer for him, you knew what you were doing wasn't going to work but it was working then and there and you wanted results fast.

"Your weight will bounce up and down while you do this...But I promise you if you want to lose weight we can do it together in a healthier way, we'll start going out on more walks? We'll-" You cut him off by kissing him on the cheek and he stared at you,

"Thanks, Namjoon, I promise I'll start looking after myself." And you meant it, you were going to take his advice and look after yourself.

Jimin:

Jimin was overjoyed when you told him you wanted to start dancing with him and it was fun at first but as time went on he began to notice something odd about you. You looked paler than usual and with every dance routine it was taking you longer and longer to recover and move onto the next one, you were out of breath and practically dying on the floor for air.

"We should take a break." He said one day looking at you panting against the mirror but you threw your hair back into a ponytail and that's when he noticed the bruises. There were small purple bruises lining your wrists and hips.

"What the fuck?!" He called out a little louder than he probably should have because Hoseok looked up from his phone on the other side of the room, you stared at him from the mirror and then noticed what he was staring at.

"You and Jimin going a little too hard at night?" Hoseok joked getting up to leave the room, he left and Jimin rushed to your side examining the bruises but they weren't from him or from the bedroom.

"I bruise easy." Which wasn't a lie, since starting the new diet you were on you had started to bruise easier than normal so he stared at you.

"What do you mean? You used to bang your legs and never have a bruise." You looked at your skin and ran your fingers along the bruises.

"I cut meat out of my diet, I'm probably just not used to it, I'll get some supplements and multivitamins." He stared at you as you went back to the stereo ready to start the next dance but he turned off the music the moment you started it and you frowned.

"Jimin what's the-" You stopped when he lifted the corners of your shirt up to reveal your stomach to him,

"What are you doing?" He sat down on the floor and pulled you into his chest, he felt awful and that he was the worst boyfriend in the world for not noticing until that point.

"What did you have for breakfast?" He asked rubbing your head,

"Nothing, I never eat breakfast." He nodded in agreement, he knew that. You hadn't eaten breakfast in the three years you'd been together so that was nothing new to him.

"What did you have fun lunch?" You pushed him away from you and stared at him,

"You were with me, what is this about?" He stared at you as he tried to remember what you'd had that day at lunch but he couldn't remember anything.

"You had coffee? A black coffee? That was your lunch?" You stared at the floor as he began to catch on to what was happening and then he forced your head up to look at him in the eyes.

"You are perfect-"

"Jimin stop," You said trying to push his hands off you but he held them steady on your head and kept your eyes trained on him.

"Listen to me, you're perfect okay? You don't need to start skipping meals or working out harder." You looked at him and he sighed he knew that you weren't going to listen to him but he wanted to be able to let you know how he felt about this.

"If you really want to lose weight, which you don't need to, I'll come up with a diet plan for us, we can do it together." You shook your head at his suggestion,

"Jimin you're hot, look at you! Your body! You're just- You're everything and I just- I want to look good enough for you." He blinked at you and then shook his head.

"You're good enough for me, fuck that, you're more than good enough for me." You began tearing up and he pulled you into his arms,

"Just promise me you'll start eating again and taking breaks, please." You promised to go back to meals and he continued to hold you on the floor while you talked about everything.

Taehyung:

You were standing in front of the mirror measuring your body and jotting them down into a notebook when Taehyung came home, you hadn't heard him come in and so he watched through the gap in the door and everything started to make sense to him. You'd stopped having breakfast and for lunch, you were having shakes that he didn't think were good for you but you continued to have anyway because they helped you. The more he thought about it the more he couldn't remember the last time you had a real meal, he snuck back down the stairs and slammed the front door.

"I'm home! Making dinner!" He yelled going straight into the kitchen and started getting things ready, you came bouncing down the staircase to him and hugged him from behind.

"I'm not hungry baby, but why don't you go and have a shower and I'll cook you something." He shook his head insisting that he would cook for the night and he wanted you to have a nice long bubble bath.

While you were in the bath and the food was cooking he snuck up to your shared bedroom to find the notebook you'd been writing in, he found it stuffed between three different books on your nightstand and he flicked through. Finding photos of you and then measurements beside it he heard the bathroom door unlock so he raced down the stairs with the notebook in his hands.

(X)

Halfway through the meal he watched you, he wanted to make sure you were at least eating something but he noticed you'd only eaten the vegetables,

"I found a book I like." He started and you looked up at him,

"What book?" He walked over to where he'd hidden your notebook and placed it in front of you tapping his fingers on the front, your eyes widened as soon as you saw the writing on the front and you swallowed hard looking back up to his face which was full of concern.

"I just want to know why." You looked back at the notebook and then back to Taehyung trying to think of something to tell him to make the situation lighter but there was nothing, you were trying to lose weight and you weren't doing in the best way.

"I wanted to-"

"I know what you wanted to do but I just want to know why this way, why not a different and healthier way?" You felt bad for the way that Taehyung was looking at you and you knew you'd hurt his feelings by doing something that could have been dangerous to you. All he wanted to do was protect you and he felt as though he was failing now, you looked at the photos in the book and then back up to Tae.

"There are better ways," He promised you taking the book and putting it into the kitchen bin beside him, you knew he was telling the truth and that there were going to be better ways to keep the weight off and still be healthier and he was going to sit and come up with a plan for you. After telling you how beautiful you were and how much he loved you and how you looked and that you only have to change if you wanted to.

Jungkook:

Everyone knew how much of a work out freak that Jungkook was, he was always at the gym and when he wasn't he was doing at home workouts and that's how it started, you started feeling insecure because of how fit your boyfriend was and you decided that you wanted to be fit with him. Jungkook hadn't noticed at first that you were losing weight dramatically, he saw you working out with him and going to the gym more but Namjoon had noticed for him and mentioned it to the maknae that it could be dangerous for you. Since then Jungkook had been keeping an eye on you, what you ate when you worked out and what you did between, he wanted to make sure you were staying healthy. You were standing in the gym together and while someone was spotting him you went onto the treadmill to go for a run, you knew how long Jungkook was on the weights because he focussed on building his body while you focused more and losing what you already had.

"Be careful," Jungkook called out to you, he'd noticed you'd skipped lunch that day and he wasn't too sure about you coming with him to the gym but he couldn't say no without making it look like he was suspecting you, he wanted to be sure that you were doing what he thought you were doing even though it was worrying him so much.

"I always am." You yelled back cranking up the speed and turning from a jog to a sprint within a couple of seconds. Jungkook kept an eye on you and noticed that you were starting to look pale and your body was swaying a little,

"I'm done." He put down the weight and rushed to your side just in time as you slipped on the belt and fell backwards off the treadmill, the machine shut down and you sat up from the floor. Jungkook cradled you in his arms and you tried to stand up,

"I'll go again." Jungkook pushed you back down into his arms and sighed at you, Namjoon was right you were going too far with it and it was starting to worry him.

"We'll go home." He helped you walk into the changing room to get you some water and to get changed,

"Kookie I'm fine I just-"

"You're not fine!" He snapped as you were alone in the changing rooms, you stared up at him he'd never been this angry with you before and it was unsettling to you.

"I've been worried sick and so has Namjoon, he noticed you were skipping meals and how much weight you were losing...Y/n, don't you see what just happened?" You looked down at the floor, you'd hoped no one had noticed that you'd skipped meals or started working out harder than you should have but someone had.

"Kookie-"

"Don't, okay? I thought that maybe Namjoon was seeing things but you just nearly passed out Y/n, don't you see how bad this is now?" You looked at him and nodded, of course you saw how bad it was.

"But I was doing well, I was losing weight." He sighed at you and took your hands into his,

"You'll only put it back on the moment you start eating again, you have to eat regularly and work out, that way your body will have the right things to burn while you're working out and you'll stay healthy...Won't pass out like you almost did in there." You nodded in agreement with him and he sighed pulling you into his arms trying to come up with some kind of diet plan for you both so you would stay healthy with him and still feel good about yourself.

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