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aikaterini-drag · 26 days

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Past And Present PART 3

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Summary: You think back to how you and Rafe first met and all the memories you’ve shared. You get emotional but Rafe’s always there for you.

Warnings: lots of fluff and sweet moments, soft Rafe, brother’s best friend, memories.

This belongs to the ‘Loving You Series’. Find it here.

It was a lovely morning.

The sun streamed through the windows, warm shafts of light kissing your skin. Rafe had already left for work but since you were feeling a little nauseous you stayed home. You were in your 2nd pregnancy month, feeling lightheaded and nauseous all the time. Rafe made you a light breakfast and refused to go to his company. But you were fine and Rafe had a very important contract to negotiate that day. It took a hell of an effort to convince him to go. He insisted you take your prenatal medicine and lie in bed. You also promised to text him every fifteen minutes to reassure him.

Satisfied that you had the day to lie down and relax, you stretched lazily in bed, a small smile on your face. The nausea was fading and you lovingly rubbed your still-flat stomach. Your life felt good, precious, and joyful. You were about to marry your childhood sweetheart and were expecting your first child.

Rafe Cameron had been in your life since you were a child. He was your brother’s best friend, his presence constant in your family house.

You vividly remembered being 8 years old and Rafe being 10. You smiled at the memory. It had been a sunny afternoon and you were playing tea-time in the backyard with your dolls, completely absorbed in your own little world. Rafe was playing video games with your big brother inside, your parents were at the supermarket.

“What are you doing, little squirt?” Rafe had asked, pulling you from your game.

“Don’t call me that,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Go away.”

Rafe laughed and walked over to you, crouching down to your level. “Having a tea party, huh? That’s for babies.”

Rafe inspected your tea set and your small pink chair and table. He chucked as he held up a tiny plastic teacup. Then he picked up one of your dolls, Miss Sparkles, a new Barbie with silky long hair and a pink dress. He held it up before you could stop him.

“Hey, do you think dolls can fly?” he asked in wonder.

You frowned. “No, dolls can’t fly.”

“Wanna bet?” he grinned, and before you could protest, he tossed the doll into the air. The poor Barbie soared in the sky before landing in a mud ditch with a soft splash.

You gasped. “No! Rafe, you’re the worst!”

You ran to the mud pile and gently grabbed your doll, now covered in mud and filth.

“Hate you, hate you, hate you!” you mumbled, ready to cry.

“Nah, don’t start crying now,” Rafe ran to you, his face tight. “I didn’t mean it!”

“Why do you always ruin my stuff?” You sniffled, tears in your eyes. “You are the worst!”

“Take it back!” he said. “I just thought it would be funny!”

“Miss Sparkles is covered in mud. How is that funny?!”

Rafe sighed. “I didn’t think she’d land in the mud.”

“Well, what’s done is done now. You ruined her.”

You turned to move away, but he stopped you with a hand on your shoulder. Eyes on you, he took your doll and rubbed it messily on his hoodie. Your eyes widened. That was his favorite hoodie, a Christmas gift from his dad. Without flinching, Rafe cleaned the face of your doll, ruining his perfectly white clothing.

“Whoa…” you muttered, your mouth going slack.

“There! Your doll’s ruined, my hoodie’s ruined too. Now stop crying.”

“You could just clean her with water, you fool,” you said, your tears stopping. “Not ruin your hoodie.”

“I had to do something! That’s what came to mind. An eye for an eye,” Rafe said, handing the doll back to you.

You dropped the doll to the ground. “Leave me alone.”

And with that, you ran into the house.

Later that day, you found your favorite Miss Sparkles outside your room, sparkling clean and in better condition than you’d ever seen her. Your doll was wet but no longer smudged, her hair untangled. A note was tucked at the bottom of the box, saying “I’m sorry”. You smiled and secretly thought that Rafe Cameron was not such a bad boy after all.

Ever since then, your interactions with Rafe grew less and less animated. When he came to visit, he was polite and discreet. He hung out with your bother a lot and you remembered the sleepovers and the late-night talks you’d overhear about the girls they liked. For some reason, you didn’t like it when Rafe talked about other girls.

Sometimes, Rafe would pick you up from school when your parent;s or brother couldn’t. You would walk together, barely talking. Rafe would buy you ice cream but you watched him warily, fearing he might prank you again. But he never did. He never pranked or teased you ever again.

And then you finally started trusting him again. You were friendly to him and you could swear his eyes lit up whenever he saw you.

It was 4 years ago when your relationship turned intimate, your feelings molding into something deep and intense.

Rafe had been 26, and he had started a small real estate company with the help of his father. And you, at 24, worked at a library and volunteered at a local history museum. The position wasn’t a large one like the prestigious museums you’d dreamed of, but you were patient.

On that sunny afternoon, you were busy setting up a new exhibit on local folklore. You’d been working non-stop and you seriously needed to take a break. As luck would have it, your phone buzzed. It was Rafe.

“Little squirt?” he teased, his voice deep and warm.

“Will you stop calling me that?” You laughed affectionately.

“It depends. What are you doing?”

“I’m at the museum.”

“Are you free for lunch?”

“Sure,” you replied, smiling. “I could use a break.”

“Wait for me. I’ll see you in twenty.”

Rafe arrived five minutes early, sauntering into the museum in his fine linen shirt and dark blue trousers. You stared at him, your heart skipping a beat or two. His blue eyes sparkled, and he looked even better than all the art around him. He’d grown into a handsome man, tall and fit, his once-boyish features now chiseled and mature.

“Rafe,” you said, a smile spreading across your face.

“Hey there, Miss curator,” he greeted, pulling you into a warm hug. You felt the firmness of his body against yours, goosebumps awakening on your while body.

“Hey yourself, Mr. CEO,” you teased back, inhaling his clean masculine scent. You wished he’d hug you more, but he stepped back.

“Let’s grab a bite, hm?”

You hummed in agreement.

You settled in your favorite Italian restaurant, sitting in a small table outside. The place was bustling. Rafe sat next to you, the seat and table a little too small for his long legs and tall frame. You secretly laughed as you watched him try to make himself comfortable but once you sat beside him, he went silent. Your thighs brushed gently as you moved. You tried not to be affected as you chatted about work and life while eating.

“How’s the new exhibit going?” Rafe asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“It’s great,” you replied. “I’m focusing on local folklore and I’m honestly amazed at how many stories and traditions are out there. I can’t wait to show it off to everyone.”

Rafe smiled, his arm casually draping over the back of your chair. “You are incredible. You’ve always been.”

“Thanks,” you said, feeling the warmth spread across your cheeks. “And how’s the real estate business going?”

“Pretty good so far,” he said. “We’re closing on a big deal next week. It’s been a lot of work, but it’s worth it.”

You grinned. “Remember when we were kids, and you used to tease me without end?”

Rafe chuckled. “Don’t remind me.”

“You are all mature now but back then, you were such a troublemaker.” You smiled. “Yet you always made it right. Like the time you ruined your favorite hoodie to clean my Barbie doll.”

Rafe looked at you, his expression softening. He didn’t reply and you both fell into an emotionally charged silence, watching each other. His blue eyes held yours, occasionally shifting to your mouth.

His hand, the one resting on the back of your chair, moved to cup your neck. Your breathing picked up, your heart rate increasing.

“What have you done to me?” he drawled, his voice dark and silky.

“Rafe?” you trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper. You’d done nothing.

“Want to kiss you,” he said, his eyes caressing your lips.

You swallowed hard, a little explosion going off in your head.

Rafe wanted to kiss you.

Damn… your heart was somersaulting.

You came out of your high when he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his eyes dilated.

Before you could think rationally, you did the unexpected. You cupped his face and pressed his lips to yours. He froze for exactly one second, then moaned and responded, his moist, firm mouth claiming yours. His lips were warm and tasted faintly of the wine he’d been drinking.

The kiss started slow and thoughtful but soon turned deep, with him crushing you to his chest, the calm shattered with his tongue. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, fast and strong. He possessed your mouth, his tongue tracing the soft fullness of your lips before slipping inside. Shivers of desire raced through you as you gave yourself freely to him.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless. Rafe’s lips were rosy with your lipgloss, deliciously kiss-swollen. You wanted to kiss him again. Your own lips felt mumb from the heady sensation of his lips.

“Wow,” you whispered, wetting your lips.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he drawled, his eyes sparkling.

“Really?”

“Hmm…” His lips brushed against yours as he added, “You’ve ruined me.”

“Likewise,” you muttered in between slow kissed. “I’ve been wanting this… wasn’t sure if… if…”

His mouth covered yours hungrily.

“You’re mine.” He gazed into your eyes.

Your heart warmed. You nodded. “Only if you’ll be mine.”

“Baby, you squeezed my heart the day you cried after I ruined your doll. I thought I was just pitying you, but as I got older, it fucked me, turned into so much more.”

“So you fell first, Rafe Cameron,” you said smugly.

“Hmm… I fell hard for you, little squirt,” he said, kissing the pulsing hollow at the base of your throat.

“My brother’s going to kill you,” you said and felt his smile on your skin.

“I’ll take it. For you, I’d take anything, baby.”

And he kissed you again.

From that day on, everything changed.

He was no longer just Rafe, your brother’s best friend. He was Rafe, the man who shared your passions and dreams.

*Back to the Present*

The sound of your name being called out anxiously brought you back to the present. Wiggling on the bed, you sat up against the headboard and muttered a clear and loud, “I’m here.” Rafe dashed inside and knelt beside the bed, taking your small hands in his big ones. He was completely overwrought; his tie was askew, and he was panting, his face pale with worry.

“Rafe?”

“Hey, baby,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “I was a fool to leave you alone. I can’t focus with you being unwell. How are you, love?”

“Rafe,” tears gathered in your eyes. You struggled to hold them back but the memories of the past and seeing him now, so worried and loving, made you emotional all over again.

“Damn, damn it all,” he said, his expression going even more concerned. “I am an ass. Shouldn’t have left you.” He cupped your face and kissed you softly. “I’m here baby. What’s wrong? Should I call the doctor? We can go right n—”

“I’m fine.” You sniffled, hands clutching the lapels of his shirt. “Just emotional.”

“Emotional?”

“Hmm… I was thinking of how you teased me when we were little. And then of our first kiss at that Italian restaurant.”

“But you’re crying,” he said stubbornly. “I can’t take it, can’t take seeing you like this.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “I know. It’s just… I was thinking of how good you are to me and the memories just came flooding. The tears, too.”

“Truly?” he asked tensely, a big palm spreading protectively over your stomach. “You are not unwell? The baby?”

“We are both alright. I promise. Hold me, please?”

“I’ll hold you all day and night, baby.”

Relief washing over his features, he crawls into the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. He kissed away your tears and you greedily enjoyed his body’s warmth, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing your frayed nerves.

“I’m here. Always will be,” he murmured into your hair seconds before you fell into a deep, pleasurable sleep.

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beom-s-author · 3 months

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txt reactions-when you fainted

warnings: fluff, medical treatment, panic,fear,swearing,angst,

Choi Yeonjun

You couldn't sleep all day. You were awake because of your insomnia. You were wandering around the room. You made yourself a cup of milk and sipped. Didn't work. You tried to count the sheeps. Didn't work either. You sighed and gave up. You looked at the Yeonjun. He was sleeping beautifuly. You couldn't wake him up. He was sleeping beauty. You decided to laid down and forgot about it. And you did it already. You laid down next to Yeonjun and stared at the ceiling all night. You woke up with exhausted feelings in the morning. You grabbed some coffee and went to office. You were lighthead all day because lack of sleepness. You laid your head on the desk to try to calm your headache. Dizziness and headache were the worst. You packed your stuffs and went to your house with lighthead and nausea. You arrived and unlocked the door. You laid down immediately to rest. Yeonjun came from the kitchen with cup ramen and stared at you. "Honey, what's wrong?" He said while taking your hand into his warm palms. You smiled back at him. "Just tired. It is all fine." You said it. But it was a pure lie. You were pale and sweating. Your eyes are red and you were struggling with nausea and dizziness. You got up suddenly and the dizziness hit you. The black spots covered your vision. With a soft gasp, you falled to Yeonjun's arm. Your consciousness slipped away like grains of sand throught your fingers. He catched you and laid you down on the floor. Panic surget throught him. "Babe?!" He tries to make you conscious again. He slapped your cheeks softly and aprays some cold water to your face to fresh your unbothered body. He was panicking but trying his best to control his situation. He slowly slapped you again. He got some relief when he saw your eyes are opening. You opened your eyes. Your vision is still blured. You looked at him and stared at him. "Ye-Yeonjun?" He hears your faint voice and holds your hand. "I am here. Lean on me. I will carry you to your room princess." You nodded and leaned your body towards him. He picked you up as braid style and put you on your bed. Finally you were awake and concious back. "Honey. You should sleep and rest more. Insomnia will get worse after this things. Please rest love." You nodded and closed your soft eyes and tried to sleep.

Choi Soobin

You were using medication for your iron deficiency. But you didn't know you were allergic to some items inside of it could make you worse. You started using the pills. Even Soobin gifted you a pill container with pink color to put them inside of it. He was trying to motivate you to take them. But they were not useful. You took them all morning. Sometimes you felt nauseous and tired. But you thought it was because if your stress and hard works. You decided to left it back. It happened again but not too much. It was light so it didn't bother you. Sometimes you felt sudden dizziness but you thought it can be affect of your iron defiency also. However your body said stop about this pills. One day, you were sitting with Soobin on the couch and reading books. You felt a sudden dizziness and blurred vision. You felt like collapse but better in a second. Yet Soobin noticed it already. He looked at you. "You okay? Hey, lay down a bit. You look pale." You agreed with him. You laid down on the couch and closed your eyes. After a few minutes later, you felt better. You got up for bathroom break. You came back from the bathroom and started walking throught the hall. With every steps you felt blackspots on your vision. You hold the wall suddenly and closed your eyes when you opened them, you saw nothing and your body fell down. You fainted. Soobin got up with big sound and saw you on the floor. He tries to make you awake back but you were sweating and refusing the wake up. He called ambulance quickly and the medical equip carried you to the hospital. At the hospital, the nurse took blood sample from you and examine you. At the results, you were allergic to the iron pills. The nurse accesses you a serum with healing treatments. Soobin holds your hands and puts on them kisses. You smiled. "Forgrt about pills. I will feed you with spinach. Promise for them being delicious and healthy."

Choi Beomgyu

You had a hereditary disorder. Vertigo He's been pushing you since you were a kid. You were feeling dizzy and fainting in unexpected places. Beomgyu had never witnessed this before. Most of the time, you would not prescribe any risky activity and would eliminate any problems that might occur to your eardrum. But this time it didn't happen like that. You went out shopping with Beomgyu. You came back home after a long trip. While you were showing him the things you bought, you suddenly realized that you were dizzy. "Are you okay, honey? Do you want to lie down?" You confirmed with the press. You slowly lay down on the couch. Vertigo had left you weak again. Your head was spinning so much. You closed your eyes. Your ear was buzzing. Clasp your hands on your forehead and open your eyes. When you feel better, slowly stand up and carry the packages. There was a lot of work at home. But Beomgyu came tired from work. Instead of making him do these things, you hurriedly started doing them yourself. Your head was spining gain but you didn't care. Until the work is done and you realize that you are very tired. You instantly regretted it. Your head was spinning like never before and your stomach was sick. You were having a hard time staying up. Beomgyu notieced already. He immediately reachted about it and got up. He catched you before your knees fall back and fall down. He puts his hands on your warm forehead and stroked your head. He slapped you slowly and blows you some cold air. He splashed some water from the bottle and washed your face. He tried his best to be calm. He holded your hand and he carried you to your room. He laid you down. You woke up after a few minutes later and stared at him. He sighs with relief. "B-Beom?" He smiled back. "Don't tire yourself. I will get you cold water with your pills. Lay back honey."

Kang Taehyun

You were moving to a new house. You were alone because Taehyun was practising at TXT's dorm for comeback. You were mopping the floors and putting the items into the boxes. But suddenly you broke your perfume's glass. It was all over now and smelling to intense. Yet you ignored. You had to be so fast and so ypu packed the items again. Your clothes, your carpets, pillows and etc. The weather was too hot and the smell was too bad. You picked up the glasses and threw them to bin. You continued mopping the floors. You were tired and the smell was too bed. You put the boxes to the saloon and carried your nightstand. The truck will be out of the house in a few hours later. You were trying so hard to finish the items but suddenly the smell was getting too intense. You felt light headed. You tried to hold onto something but ended to the floor and collapse. After a few minutes later, Taehyun came back to your house to help you but he was you on the floor. He run to you and slapped you softly. His hands are on your cold body. The sweat rolled down from your face. You were unconcsious now. He put your body on his lap while stroking your hair. You got up a few minutes later and you stared at him. "Honey ease a bit. I will helo you to get up and lay down. I will be with the trucks also. So don't worry just rest. But don't spray this much perfume again. It was so hard to clean."

HueningKai

It was your exam week. You were studying so hard to get an A. But you didn't realize you were trying so hard and it was not the best idea. You skipped meals and didn't sleep. Didn't drink enough water and studied all day. Your body was at the edge of collapsing. You tried your best to be strong. Hueningkai was trying to help you with your exam but you weren't letting him to help you. Sometimes he gave you fruit salad or toast. You were eating them but not too much. He got worried about your health but didn't say anything. He was sure, you were so ambitious about it so left you alone. Not the best idea. After the exam day, you were feeling so sick. You were laying down all day with nausea and your body finally gave you the final signal. When Hueningkai was sitting next to you. You got up for your medicine. It ended up with a hit of sudden dizziness and nausea. You hold the wall. Hueningkai didn't notice until you fell to the carpet. Your head hit the carpet and your pale body was all there. He slapped you and tried to do something. He was trembling and looking around for help until he got his phone and called Yeonjun. He came to your dorm in a minute and they both carried you to the bed. You got up after a few minutes later. You were regretting all the things you did in the past. You gave to Hueningkai a smile to make him less worried. Yeonjun pat your shoulder and left the dorm again. Hueningkai hugged you back. He covered you with the blanket and he gave you a plushie which is his favorite one. You smiled at him. "Hold that plushie and you will get better. Just distract your stress. Also don't forget to drink water."

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dfortrafalgar · 3 months

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I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read Chapter 1 for warnings. descriptions of vomit at the beginning of this chapter. i am also very, very, very sorry

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 15

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Perhaps it was due to your first pregnancy being nonviable, but during your eighth week of pregnancy this time, you were constantly wracked with waves of nausea so crippling you could barely walk through your apartment without damp ripples of cold sweats flowing across the back of your neck and through your chest. Your clothes constantly felt damp, your heart seeming to beat a mile a minute with each breath you took, leaving you almost perpetually lightheaded and dizzy. There were many times in the past eight weeks where you worried if this was normal, but according to your doctor at your visit the week prior, it was completely normal and expected.

“Your body usually produces more blood while you’re pregnant to supply nutrients to the placenta, so you might experience shifts in your blood pressure or heart rate,” she explained.

You had to stifle a dry, humorous eye roll as your husband visibly perked up at the mention of a change in cardiac activity. No experiments on his wife, please and thank you.

But today, you didn’t have to worry about Law. He was currently about a quarter way through a grueling 28 hour shift, so you wouldn’t be seeing him until tomorrow evening. While you might have been inclined to schedule a day with your friends, or enjoy your time alone by blasting some music and getting some much-needed house cleaning done, you were once again quickly humbled by another wave of malaise that made you halt your movements around your kitchen and hunch over your counter, your head spinning in relentless circles and your forehead beginning to bead with sweat.

A cold, burning sensation began to creep up the back of your esophagus. It was happening.

You mustered through your nausea and, powered by nothing but pure adrenaline, sprinted to the bathroom. Bepo’s head shot up from his deep sleep at the franticness of your movements, but once you were out of eyeshot he plopped back down and began snoring once more. Not like he could help you much anyway. You basically threw yourself into the bathroom, falling to your knees in desperation as you mentally prepared yourself for the sight of your half-digested breakfast.

Nothing was coming up.

Your sweating hands gripped the porcelain as you stared at the bottom of the bowl, the rancid smell of a semi-clean toilet infiltrating your nose and making your stomach churn even more, but nothing was ejecting. The cold sweats continued as your heart hammered in your chest. You could feel your face continuously heat up as the chills rippled throughout your spine, seeming to branch out to every corner of your body. You were akin to a car rapidly overheating, depleted of engine coolant and left to wait idle on the side of a road.

You forced what energy you had to rip off your thin t-shirt, throwing it across the bathroom. You undid your bra and tossed it to join your shirt, laying on your back and lifting your hips to remove your shorts, giving them the same arial fate as the rest of your clothes. You laid completely bare, save for your panties, on the tiled floor of your bathroom, arms and legs sprawled out like a starfish as your body begged for the forgiveness of a cool surface to quell the heat rippling through you. Your vision was growing fuzzy with the waves of nausea and perspiration… were you going to die?

“Knock knock,” called a voice from the entryway of your apartment, accompanied by the sound of your door opening and closing. “Where are you?” It was Penguin. For one of the only times in your life, you were happy that your husband’s closest friends each had a key to your apartment.

“Bathroom…” you meekly called, worried that if your voice was any louder you would finally trigger the involuntary reaction of expelling your stomach contents.

Rapid footsteps pounded down the narrow hallway of your apartment and rounded the corner into the door frame of the bathroom, where Penguin was able to finally see you, completely bare, laid out on the floor of your bathroom with your arms and legs spread.

“Oh my god, are you alright?!” he yelped at the sight of you, torn between averting his gaze to preserve your modesty and calling an ambulance for your unknown condition. In his mind, the worst possible scenario was happening once again, in front of his very eyes. He wanted to throw himself to the ground and pick up your weary body, carrying you to the nearest medical center, tears streaming from his eyes. He had never been good at that sort of thing.

You faintly snapped your fingers, snatching his attention away from his daydream. “I’m fine, I’m just having a hot flash,” you panted, your eyes half-lidded as they fought desperately to focus on your friend amidst the heavy black floaters dancing across your retinas. “What are you doing?”

Penguin kept his gaze trained on the walls and ceiling above you, refusing to look at your naked chest lest he be cursed by the working spirit of Law who surely had some kind of sixth sense if someone was looking at you inappropriately. “I needed to swing by to drop off something for Law, but you weren’t responding to my knocks so I let myself in.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you apologized meekly. You were so overcome with discontent that you indeed hadn’t heard any knocking from your front door. Some guard dog Bepo was, the boy didn’t even bark when someone was directly outside his territory. “I was on the floor in the bathroom.”

Your words made Penguin snort. “Oh, I couldn’t tell.” He awkwardly made eye contact with you from his rigid stance in the doorway. “Can I get you anything? Some ginger tea maybe?”

You opened your mouth to agree, thinking that the ginger would help calm your stomach, but the second your mind imagined the sight of a hot drink in your hands and in your mouth, you were forced to lurch upward and grip violently against the bowl of the toilet as your stomach contents finally forced their way upwards and out of your mouth. You coughed and sputtered at the force, but your body was clearly all-too happy to get rid of your food, so the work was hardly any effort. You spit one last rancid clump of bile from your mouth, cringing at the awful, acidic taste left behind on your teeth as your shaking hand reached weakly upward to grip the flusher and pull down on the lever, sending your rejected breakfast into the murky depths of the septic system below.

You barely even registered Penguin helping you to your feet and stabilizing you as you washed out your mouth with water from the sink and gave yourself a quick brushing, eager to replace the taste of bile with the much more forgiving taste of cool mint from your toothpaste. Your cold sweats were finally beginning to disappear once the brunt of your sickness had passed, your body temperature returning to normal and your hands slowly ceasing their trembling. You blindly allowed your friend to lead you to your couch in your living room after weakly pulling your clothes back on, letting you flop down onto the plush cushions. Bepo stood from his bed as you fell, lumbering over to you to assess your condition with his large, wet nose. You happily placed your hand on the crown of your pup’s head as he rested his face against your torso, gazing up at you with his large, black eyes.

“I’ll run to the store and grab you some ginger ale, hopefully a colder drink will help your stomach. Call me if you think of anything else you need,” Penguin announced as he shoved his small wallet into his pocket, grabbed his keys, and waved you a prompt goodbye to run his errand, leaving you to drift off into a relieved state of unconsciousness for a few fleeting moments.

—

Around 10 weeks into your pregnancy, and after two extra ultrasound follow-ups for reassurance that were both showing positive growth, you had begun experiencing deep abdominal cramps. A frantic phone call to Robin’s office from your bathroom upon feeling the familiar clench of the muscles in your torso led to a nurse you didn’t recognize reassuring you over the phone that, although you had previously suffered a miscarriage, cramping during the early stages of your pregnancy was completely normal. She put you on a simple regime of acetaminophen painkillers to hopefully provide some relief, and you were left with the instruction of ‘call back if anything changes.’ And while you hadn’t called back, in your twelfth week, the cramps seemed to only get worse. More cramps, more Tylenol.

“Tylenol has never helped me, I don’t know what it is about it!” Nami complained, casually munching on baby carrots pulled out of a cold tupperware. “Even when I’m on my period and have really bad cramps, pain killers never seem to help, so I just have to muster through it.”

You and your coworkers were enjoying your lunch break in the summer sun, basking under a small table umbrella on the back patio of your work’s building for some fresh air and non-business related conversation until you had to go back into the frigid air conditioned building and continue your monotonous work.

“Have you found that it’s been helping you?” Sanji asked, leaning over to you as he took a sip of his iced coffee. “The painkillers,” he clarified.

You grinned slightly, poking at your own sandwich that Law had made for you that morning. As excited as you were for the delectable meal, you really hadn’t had much of an appetite for about two weeks now. You were eating because your body told you to eat, not because you wanted to, and most of your meals were accompanied by that familiar feeling of nausea in your throat followed by a rippling cramp that you drowned with another painkiller.

All per the doctor’s orders.

“Somewhat, but I can’t say I’ve noticed too much of a difference,” you finally responded. “The doctor’s office has been encouraging me to keep up with taking a pill every 12 hours or so to keep the pain at bay, so I’ve just been doing what she tells me to do. A part of me has been wanting to call her back because I’m still cramping pretty bad, but I have another ultrasound next week, so I’ve just decided to wait.”

“How far along are you, again?” Usopp asked, popping a raspberry into his mouth.

“12 weeks,” you replied. “I think I’m about to start the second trimester, but it’s so hard to keep track of pregnancy dates!”

Your statement made the group laugh, jumping in with agreements about how the gestational ages for pregnant women were quite confusing to keep track of. Sanji was incredibly familiar, being the third in a set of quadruplets, and while he hadn’t spoken to his biological family in well over a decade, he was acutely aware of how odd it was to keep track of the ages of neonates and newborns. Your chuckling while listening to his speech was interrupted by a sudden wave of a cramp that made you visibly wince, alerting Ikkaku’s attention. Her face contorted in concern as she stood from across the table and made her way over to you.

“Hey, are you alright?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“I’m fine, I promise,” you reassured her, standing up from the bench and throwing your barely-eaten lunch into your bag to put back in the break room’s fridge. “The pill I took a bit ago just hasn’t kicked in yet, I’m going to go use the bathroom and freshen up. I’ll be right back.”

You didn’t give Ikkaku room to even offer to accompany you to ensure your safety. Instead, you walked as quickly as your aching body would allow, entering the elevator and taking the ride to the floor your company’s office was on. You made a quick trip by throwing your lunch box into the fridge before making your way back to the front entrance to use the all-too familiar bathroom in the hallway.

You barely made it past the receptionist’s desk before another cramp rippled through you, sending you to your knees. You clutched your stomach, feeling your hair stand on end as a cold sweat traveled across your skin, followed by another tight, stabbing pain. The force of your body hitting the floor alerted a few of your coworkers who left a nearby conference room, ignoring their lunches to assess you. Their panicked voices asking about your condition, if you could walk, if you could stand, if you needed water, blended into nothing but nonsensical buzzing as the corners of your eyes darkened and your mouth went bone dry.

Something in your pants felt strange.

You felt your brain cease activity as your vision blacked out and the rest of your body hit the floor.

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

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queer-overwatch · 3 months

Note

hi!!! it's super nice to see people opening their requests for venture bc I have been digging(pun intended) for content recently!! I don't normally make requests but I particularly like this blog! if possible, could I request venture with a reader(any pronouns) who deals with rlly intense migraines? if you're unfamiliar, the primary symptoms come with headaches that can range from moderate to severe, nausea, sensitivity to light, sound, smell, lightheadedness. mine have gotten worse recently and I need some comfort 😭 thank you, and I hope you have a fun time writing!!

Venture w/ Reader that has frequent Migraines

here you go we hope this works out for you and thank you so much !!! -Xor & Frisk

══════ஜ▲ஜ══════

Venture is very accommodating, as loud as they are, when they pick up that you're not doing too great they quiet down as to not make you're Migraines worse

When you feel nauseous they're quick to suggest some fresh air or they offer you a gingersnap cookie, often recently made.

They found out ginger was a good help, no matter the way it's consumed, digging through old recipe books they got their hands on.

They're prone to having the lights on bright due to the need to see express differences in rocks. They got themselves a little spotlight so they don't disturb you when your migraines flare and the light becomes too much.

When the Migraines themselves start up they are usually by your side as soon as possible just in case you feel lightheaded and need to lean on them.

This has also caused them to be prone to picking you up and carrying you to bed or a darker quieter room.

If you allow them to they 100% enjoy getting physically affectionate and just holding you close in the dim lighting. Quietly rambling either about their latest findings, old relics and myths or whatever they find interesting

Over all they do their best to be accommodating but they're also very loud and very excitable, so they mess up sometimes. Shouting from across the room or house, with an energy that you can't always match.

══════ஜ▲ஜ══════

A little bonus blurb because we're so excited!!!! - Xor

This was written by frisk btw

"Uuuugh-"

Rummaging around Wayfinder's medbay, you wince, eyes squinted as you try to find the stash of Advil you'd hidden specifically for times like these. You had a horrid migraine and couldn't get it to subside no matter what you tried.

Turning the lights off? Didn't help. Drinking water? Nothing. Taking a nap? Couldn't get to sleep in the first place!

Spotting the bottle of your precious meds at the back of the cabinet you were ransacking, you snatch it off the self, taking two out of the bottle and silently celebrating your victory over your own brain.

Taking the pills with a totally-not-stolen water bottle, you head back to your own room to sit in the dark and hate everything for however long this migraine decides to last. As soon as you step out of the medbay though, the sound of your wonderful, amazing, spectacular, yet also extraordinarily *loud* partner, Venture, returning from their latest expedition and heading straight for you.

"(Y/n)! Guess who just found the coolest artifact ever! It's super small but its green which is awesome and it's glowing which is a little concerning but if it's cursed that just makes it even cooler and-!"

You hold up a hand to interrupt them, pinching the bridge of your nose in pain.

"Venture, love, please- you're a little too loud right now."

Almost immediately, they stop talking and stare at you silently. Without saying anything, they grab you by the shoulders and start pushing you to their room, making sure you didn't drop anything as they did.

"What- Venture what are you doing?" You question them, but allow them to guide you as they push you to what you find out is there room, letting them sit you on the bed once you reach it.

"You've got a migraine, right? You only ever tell me to quite down when you got one of those, so I wanna help!" They smile brightly at you, hands on their hips as they whisper, still as enthusiastic as before, just quieter.

You stare at them for a moment before softening, the love and concern in their eyes making you weak, then again, they were far too adorable to *not* have you wrapped around their finger. You nod and take the Advil you'd stolen earlier, watching Venture as they close the door to their room and turn off the lights, turning on a small nightlight they have instead so you could still see.

"Thank you, lovely. So, what is that you were saying about a cursed artifact?"

Immediately, they grin wider than ever and plop down next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and quietly telling you all about this apparently 3000 year old "cursed" artifact they got from someone named "Ana," no clue who that is, you silently nod along and listen to them as your headache slowly starts to fade.

#venture x reader #overwatch x reader #venture #overwatch venture #sloane cameron #Xornk

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cosmicpiracy · 1 year

Text

Despair in the hotel lounge

The concert had been over for a few moments and his head hadn’t stopped pounding. Alex stood near his wife in the hotel’s private lounge as Matt’s girlfriend loudly praised them for their performance. God, he loved to see his mate happy, but was she annoying sometimes!

Specially now, when his head was pounding and he could feel all of the contents in his stomach swirl like a devilish soup. He felt lightheaded.

“Are you alright?” He heard his wife whisper in a worried voice. “Al?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved her off. “I’m good.”

Truth is: he wasn’t good, at all. His head had started bothering him a few minutes before the concert, but he would be damned if he was gonna cancel on such a short notice. Being married to a doctor had its perks: you learn a thing or two. And one things he learned from his wife’s notes and case reports was how to use light painkillers and antiemetics to completely abolish pain and nausea. He also got those two kinds of medication from her purse, although he refused to tell her about his state and worry her when she had just flown over. Which he would start to regret halfway through, when the music became too loud and he thought he would pass out from the pain.

“Are you sure?” She pressed further, and it felt like she really was testing his patience. His concert wasn’t what he thought it was gonna be and now, his wife was worried.

Great. Wonderful. Fucking fantastic.

“God, woman, not everyone around you needs your worry all the time!”

There was a certain silence in the room, a sort of shock. Alex had never raised his voice at his wife. It was new.

“That was so uncalled for, Alex.” So was her calling him Alex.

Ever since they met, she refused to use what she deemed to be his “fame name”. It was always Al, or Alexander, or Turner. Never Alex - everyone called him that.

So he felt a pang in his chest the moment that word left her mouth, and the hurt intensified as he watched her walk towards Katie, Jamie’s wife, who looked at her with a puzzled expression before glaring daggers at him.

As time went on, his situation got worse. He was more and more lightheaded and doubted he could walk to the hotel room if he tried. Matt was talking his ear off yet he couldn’t understand a word.

And Alex deeply wanted his wife to take care of him. Moved by the idea of telling her what was going on, apologising and going upstairs, he got up to walk towards his wife.

Only to come crashing down to the floor.

“Alexander!”

“Mate!”

He could barely make out sounds or figures, but he knew his wife’s hands enough to know she was the one examining him. And telling the boys to help her carry him upstairs.

“He’s dehydrated. But his pulse is fine, it’s probably just low blood pressure or his blood sugar. Has he eaten?” She fired off, before scrunching her forehead and whispering while looking at Nick. “Has he taken any drugs?”

While Matt would hide any information he possibly could from her, she knew Jamie and Nick would never. So when Jaimie shook his head, she knew that this could be ruled off. “Good. What about his sleep schedule?”

“I wouldn’t know, Doc, I’m not a grown man’s babysitter!” Matt snickered and Alex was sure Helders had absolutely no idea what his missus looked like when infuriated, which is why when he went quiet for a second, Alex assumed she gave him the glare while they lowered him on the mattress.

“Tour’s been hectic.” Nick told her. “Al’s been working nonstop for a few days. He wanted to be free when you got here, since you are only staying till Prague.” Alexander could feel his wife’s guilt from the bed when she saw the boys off, thanking Nick and Jamie for the information, telling Matt to take it out of his arse in a playful manner.

“Al, my love, what happened?” She stroke his cheek affectionately, starting to undo the buttons of his shirt. “Can you talk? Jesus, you are sweating too much. What are you feeling?” Alex did not have the strength to say it, but pointed at his head. “Headache?” He nodded before feeling her sit him up to take off his shirt. Alex took the moment to inhale her scent from her skin, while his weakened arms held on to her when she tried to move away. “Alexander, I’m going to take off your pants.”

With a lazy smirk, he gathered all his strength to snort. “Take me out first.” His wife just rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I will, Mr. Turner.” She said. “I’ll get you some medicine and give you a hot bath for your muscles, ok? Hang on in there.”

And she did. She gave him medicine and waited, to make sure it was going to stay inside and directed him to the bath. It’s was warm, but not enough to make his skin red with the heat. Just pleasantly warm.

Alex admired his beautiful wife, her hair in a bun, her focused eyes as she stripped to her underwear, got a bottle of liquid soap and sat behind him.

“I’m sorry for being such a dickhead to you.” He sighed as she dispersed the soap on his back and squeezing his sore neck muscles in the process. “You were looking out for me and I screwed it all up.”

“C’mon, Al, we’re good. Everything is alright, love.”

“It isn’t! It really isn’t!” He was getting worked up, she could tell. After a few years together, she knew him like the medical schemes she memorised through medschool. “George told me about the horrible shifts you had been havin and the awful cases in the morgue and how you were so tired you were taking the train instead of driving and all I wanted was for you not to worry when you were here!” He sighed, and she rinsed the soap from his skin, kissing his head lightly as he winced at his own volume. “To spend your time with me and rest.”

“Al, you are too sweet!” His wife nestled her face in his neck, kissing a bit of the skin. He intertwined their fingers. “You have absolutely no idea of how good it is just to be around you. How refreshing it was to get on that plane and know I was going to be in your arms soon.” She whispered in his ear, smiling like an idiot. “Thanks for taking care of me. Really. I could just see how tired you were, and wanted to take care of you too.” She got him out of the bathtub, drying his torso sweetly. “Isn’t that what marriage is? Two people caring for one another?” He smiled as she bopped his nose before sealing their lips together.

“But-“

“No buts, Alexander. You bought the flights, I shoo away your headaches, you sing me to sleep and I shower you in all my love and affection in the morning.” She laughed lowly as they layed in bed, his head resting in her chest. “You have no concerts tomorrow, right?” He just nodded. “Then, I proclaim bedrest for you for the whole day.” He hummed and she carded her fingers through his hair lovingly. “You are sentenced to a whole day in bed with me.”

“Clothes or no clothes?”

“Your choice.”

He hummed, as if analysing his possibilities.

“No clothes it is.” He declared. “Can you sing me to sleep today, love?”

“Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you, tomorrow I’ll miss you…”

@mywritingonlyfans @ohladymoon

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n

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r0ttgu7 · 5 months

Note

FROM THE BLOODY VALENTINE RHING CaN YOU DO PROMPTS 1 AND 6 FOR NIKOLAI PLLLLSSSSS

1 ("You know i wasn't lying when i said i'd kill for you") + 6 ("i love it when you scream and it's all because of me!")

SORRY I WENT OVERBOARD WITH THE GORE BUT LIKE- THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE EVEN THOUGH I WAS A LITTLE STUMPED AT TIMES

-WC 764 // valentines event tws, arms falling off, gore, kidnapping, Nikolai

Your head was pounding, your arms ached alongside your ankles. There was nausea while you tried to come to. As you tried to move your arms, you quickly noted they were tied, your legs the same way. Your breathing was quickening up in fear and confusion. You were supposed to be on a date, something normal and not kidnapped. The room was dim, but still lit, only barely seeing a few steps ahead. Giggling was close to you and your eyes started to widen, you were very familiar with it. You can't even remember how you met him. All you could remember was him taking a liking towards you. It was a wild ride from someone ordinary to a full on terrorist with a jumpy personality and you still did regret ever managing to become familiar to him. That first day of fear stayed with you the longer you unwillingly knew the man, Nikolai Gogol.

Sometimes he’d show up bloody, other times just regular old Nikolai, which to you, isn't saying much. It was fine as long as he did not cling to you, to which he didn't for a while. Forced to go with him whenever he wanted to hang out (which usually ended in someone spilling blood), truth be told it was fun at times even when the threat comments were sent your way. Nikolai once even pointed a gun to your head during one of these outings but pulled back and had a laughing fit over it. Those days always ended in the same process, promising to someday kill you, and overtime you never took them seriously as you should’ve. Sure at first you were on high alert but afterwards, for the 17th time, you chilled back.

Maybe you still should’ve been on high alert as he kept getting more and more clingy, but you grew to appreciate his company at that time. Now as you’re tied down in an uncomfortable position you face the man once again, his giggling getting even closer until you could feel his warm breath on your neck. “Happy valentines~! I wanted to spend time with only you but it seems you had other plans so I had to do something about that!”

Your fists clenched, tearing the skin off and making you bleed while the rest of your body was trembling. Nikolai seemed to find special enjoyment out of this reaction, he finally jumped to see the front of your face. “Aweee don't worry my dove!, I wont do anything to you, physically.”

His eyes slimmed while his grin grew bigger, letting out a few more giggles. The only light allowing you to see was shut off then quickly turned on again, in the middle another soul meeting the same fate as you. But you knew well it was your date and it was only gonna end in them getting gored. “You know~ i wasn't lying when i’d said kill you but i also wasn't lying when i said i would kill anyone for you!”

While you knew what was gonna happen, your mouth was open along with your eyes in fear, you couldn't help but start pleading. Your pleads were only laughed at while Nikolai got closer to what was supposed to be your date. “Since today is special, you won't have to bear him being awake for this, but know there won't be another time like this”

The cheery tone only worsened your emotional state, everything was getting hazy with tears streaming down your face. It happened quickly, your date started with two arms now they had one, their cut arm falling sloppily on the ground. With another swing, they were left with no arms, and you couldn't help but scream while more tears clogged up your vision. The blood slapping against the floor was a horrible sound to listen to.

“I love it when you scream and it's all because of me! My little songbird.”

You were so lightheaded, nothing felt real, your ears were ringing and your throat was stinging in pain while your pleads were left to nothing. You were sure the end product was just left to bones and flesh barely sticking on it, the fogginess of your tears blocking the sight. Your hands finally met up with your arms, being untied by Nikolai, only to be spread apart and given something. The blood flowed down your hands into your lap, still faintly beating before coming to a stop. Nikolai gently grabbed the back of your hands with the heart still in your palms, smiling maniacally, “Happy Valentine's dove!~”

#yandere bsd #bsd x reader #yandere bsd x reader #bsd #yandere #nikolai x reader #tw g0re #tw blood #yandere nikolai gogol #nikolai gogol x reader

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 10 months

Text

Whump Prompt #1231

Anon asked:

May I have some torture prompts please?*

TW: Non-con body modifications/gore/body horror/organ harvesting etc

I got a bit carried away with these...

Your whumpee is left cut open - perhaps with their organs exposed. Their flesh could be pulled back and held open. This takes the feeling of exposure to a whole new level.

^ This also entices anxiety/panic. As they may be able to see organs grow back, therefore as they get closer to 'completion' they start to panic when they remember the pain of removal.

^ Also the torturer could use this for 'science' in order to better calculate which organ is better value for time/money.

The torturer could also take blood at the same time to limit the mess during surgeries. Your whumpee is constantly nauseous/lightheaded/weak because of this. (Dubious science, but you get the idea)

The first time they're allowed to heal, even for a short amount of time, they're overwhelmed with relief.

Are they rescued while they're still 'open'?

Do they scar regardless of the injury type? For example, if a leg is taken, are they left with a ring of scarring where the initial cut was?

At what point do they stop feeling it/are so in shock that they just.. don't register what's going on?

How does the harvesting affect their sense of balance/bodily functions? Do they have nausea, but have nothing to make something to bring up? When they're able to stand after their rescue, do they feel heavy/full?

^ Are they so used to feeling empty?

Do the torturers take their eyes so they're unable to see what's happening/where they are?

What if, a long time after their rescue/recovery, they stumble across someone who received a limb/organ they needed - maybe they're so grateful for it, but the whumpee has to silently suffer knowing that it's their body part.

^ How does the whumpee know it's theirs? Do tattoos/pre-existing scars regenerate also?

After the rescue, the first time they have a day without pain is bliss. They sob.

*(The character context Anon gave is under the cut)

My whumpee is from a humanoid subspecies that can regenerate almost ANY lost body part - limbs, fingers, eyes, tongue, most internal organs, you name it - unless they've been fully chopped to bits. The only thing they cannot regenerate is their equivalent of a brain, because obviously that controls the regeneration process (if they've been lobotomized, they can still regenerate but slower). The regeneration process usually lasts from 3 hours to a week, depending on what and how much has been lost, but the process is painful, uncomfortable and it's usually for the best that the individual is asleep through most of it.

That makes whumpee's subspecies very attractive to organ harvesting rings, because their organs are compatible with those of many other species. One day, our whumpee wakes up strapped to a table...

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arecaceae175 · 1 month

Note

I am so intrigued by the “sky has pots compilation” I must know more.

(Also sky having pots is wonderful and lovely, I can’t believe I’ve never thought of it before as a person with pots)

I’m also @zeldas-hair-pins

Sky has pots compilation by beloved!! Sky having pots is one of my all time favorite headcanons. The fic is what it sounds like, a compilation of moments in Sky’s life but he has pots. It is mostly in skyward sword times right now with a few moments in LU.

I think if I ever post any of it it’ll be individual moments that are long enough to be their own fic. It’s currently a lot of vent stuff that I’m not comfortable putting on the internet 😂. I’m having a flare up rn so perhaps I should work on this fic👁️👁️

Anyway here’s a thing :D

“Master Link, I’m detecting an abnormally high heart rate,” Fi chimed.

Link sucked in as deep a breath as he could manage. “I’m fine,” He said. The few words left him out of breath. He was already lightheaded, he had been for nearly an hour, and the dizziness was beginning.

“You should rest,” Fi said. Link stopped walking, and he had to put a hand up to the closest tree to stay on his feet when he was hit with a wave of dizziness. He bit his lip and shut his eyes tightly as he rode through the dizziness and nausea.

“You should rest,” Fi repeated. Link dragged his eyes open. Fi had materialized and was peering down at him. He knew, logically, she didn’t make facial expressions, but he could have sworn she looked concerned.

“There’s no time,” Link said. Fi continued to stare.

“I have to keep going,” Link said. “I don’t have time to rest, not until I get Zelda back.”

#Sky has pots #linked universe #lu sky #Ace writes

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boysbellyrubs · 3 months

Note

Can we get Alistair with the stomach flu 🙏🙏

thanks for the ask, another anon also asked for this so here you go :)

—-

Alistair was used to getting stomach aches; he often ate food that he knew would upset his stomach, ate too much, or just was chosen that day to suffer with a tummy ache. He was very brave about it, okay! However, bravery was lost for this stomach ache. Along with an achy belly, he was feeling lightheaded, sweaty, nauseous and couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. There was no doubt about the fact that he was definitely sick.

He was unsure where he would have picked up a stomach bug. It could have been from stress, as right now his drama class were preparing for their annual production and he was one of the lead roles. The line learning stage had passed, but they were still touching up some of the blocking on some scenes, which meant he was focusing very hard to quickly write everything down before the director moved on. As he was writing, he could physically feel his pencil slipping in his grip; his sweaty hands making writing nearly impossible.

The others around him were already finished writing in their notes when he looked up, and were staring at him. He felt his insides curdle.

“Sorry, butter fingers today.” He joked. Most of the cast giggled a little, but the director was giving him a stern look. Alistair needed to pull himself together, he only had another hour to go. He could do this.

The scene played out more, and Alistair was now giving one of his monologues. He tried his best to not look down at his script, and project to the audience. Nikau was down there, watching him while he waited for his part. Alistair’s couldn’t help but move his eyes over to him, smiling and looking proud of his boyfriend.

“Alistair! Focus please, we need to see more emotion. It sounds like you’re reading from the script.” The director yelled, cutting off his words. He looked over to her, the room spinning. He stumbled a bit,

“Yep.” He quickly said, trying to keep his stomach in place. Standing up for so long was terrible for his head, his feet weren’t his own and he swore the stage lights were making little figure eight movements. Alistair looked down, desperately trying to compose himself. He wasn't about to have a ‘Pitch Perfect’ moment.

Thankfully, he got through his monologue without any more issues and he was allowed a break. He rushed off stage, one hand sitting gingerly on his belly and the other carding through his sweaty hair. Alistair felt like he was dying, the air around him was too warm and suffocating, the smell of old costumes and props filled his nostrils and he nearly gagged. Without even thinking, he went out the backstage door and into the carpark, breathing heavily through his nose.

The fresh air did wonders for his head, but now the smell of petrol and rubbish replaced the mothball stench and he doubled over with a hearty heave. Nothing came up. His chest seized and a cough sputtered out of his mouth. Alistair had to stabilise himself on the wall next to him, forehead meeting the cold concrete. Stomach now worked up, he felt his lunch bubble and churn inside him, desperate to be out.

He moaned, “Fuckk,” rubbing his stomach did little, he was going to throw up in this grotty car park like a drunk, “Where’s Nikau when I need him.”

Alistair was swallowing thickly and rapidly, holding back burps and gags like his life depended on it. The cool wall was doing little for his scorching fever and he forced himself to crouch down as the nausea ramped up to a 10. He whined, saliva gathering in his mouth. It hit him in an instant; a burp and then a loud gag and suddenly his lunch was splattered in front of him. When the first lot came out, it prompted everything else to and soon enough he was spitting up more vomit.

It burned his throat and chest, and his gags were throaty and knocked him off his feet. His knees hit the ground harshly, and he quickly caught himself with his hands, splashing into the puddle of vomit. He lost control and coughed up another round, disgusted with himself and the mess he was making. He wondered if any passersby were staring at him. Alistair groaned at his stomach churning, still nauseous and angry despite most of his lunch being in front of his face.

At least he had crouched down first before he got sick, with the way his head was spinning he didn’t think he would have been able to stand up properly. He was also thankful it was cloudy today; having the sun shining down on his overheating body would have tipped him over the edge.

Alistair spat a little before sitting back on his feet. His hands were splattered with sick, and he shook them a little before letting them sit palm up on his thighs. He was a pitiful sight. He swore he was swaying on the spot, ground sloshing around like the bile in his tummy. He thought about going back inside, but then made eye contact with his vomit soaked knees and thought maybe it was better to just stay out here. Perhaps he would die out here, covered in vomit. God what a sight that would be.

His stomach gurgled. It was still very upset and hurt like a bitch. Alistair threw his head back, closing his eyes as the cramp tore through his body. A lone raindrop landed on his forehead. Well, at least the rain could clean up his mess easily. More rain fell and soon Alistair was just sitting out in the rain, sick and tired. His classmates were probably wondering what he was doing. He didn’t really care. He just needed his bed, and maybe his boyfriend.

His boyfriend. Nikau was definitely wondering where he had gone. Alistair’s phone was in his back pocket, and with now semi clean hands he pulled it out. He flicked a text to Nikau and waited. The door flew open, hurting Alistair’s head. But then, he saw Nikau crouching down next to him, touching him all over and wiping away some of the hair stuck to his face.

“Oh my gosh, Star, have you been out here this whole time?” He looked at the remnants of vomit on the concrete, “Oh, jeez. I had a feeling. You didn’t look so good on stage.”

Alistair looked at him, giving a small smile, “Yeah. Feel awful,” His stomach chose that moment to gurgle and cramp again, and he winced. The rain was now starting to make him shiver, and he was pissed that his jeans were now wet, “Can you take me home?” Nikau nodded and muttered ‘yes’ before gently lifting Alistair up.

“You’ve got a bad fever, sweetheart. You’re like a heater.”

“Yeah.” He leaned into Nikau, using Nikau’s steps to make his own. He kept his eyes closed, needing the darkness to not throw up again. He heard the whispers of his classmates and tried his best to focus on Nikau’s hands.

He opened his eyes and recognised the carpet of the audience seating, and waited for Nikau to gather up all their stuff. The director came over to the two.

“Alistair? Where have you been?” She looked him up and down, noticing his saturated clothes.

Alistair shuffled his feet sheepishly, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling very well Miss. I need to head home.” He said those words and she took a couple steps back, but spoke with a gentle tone.

“That’s okay. Email me if we need to call in your understudy.” Alistair saw a small smile on her face and then she was gone, shouting again at the rest of the cast. Nikau rubbed his arm with his knuckles,

“Ready to go?” Alistair nodded, turning to his boyfriend. Nikau guided him out of the door and to the car. It was bliss to sit down, and he leaned back in the seat. However, he wasn’t excited for the drive home.

“Try and drive careful?” He asked, already holding his belly. Nikau hummed in confirmation and set off.

As they were driving, Alistair could feel every little movement the car made and it translated to tidal waves in his brain. He was so dizzy. It was a mission to keep his head still, while also feeling like his stomach was going to explode out of him once again. Alistair’s hands were shaky and warm, fingers digging into his cramping stomach.

Because he had terrible luck, the underlying nausea turned into full blown nausea and he jolted in his seat. Suddenly, it felt like he was being thrown into lava and was seconds away from puking. He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, hand tightly over his mouth. He heard Nikau curse, and then a bag was in his lap. Without questioning where he got it from, Alistair promptly puked into it. His back curled, his fingers held onto the bag like a lifeline.

The cars movement did nothing for him. No matter how hard he tried it felt like he was spinning, “Oh, Nikau, I’m-” he gagged, “everything is spinning.” He whined, unable to say anymore as he gagged again. Nikau had rolled the windows down, cool air washing over him. Alistair sat back as far as he could, holding the bag up to his mouth just in case. He needed stability.

“That’s it, Star. Just breathe. Relax, you’re sitting perfectly still.” Nikau’s words calmed him a little. He moaned as he felt the urge to gag again, and spat up a little more bile. He dropped one hand to his stomach, if he didn’t hold it he felt like it would slip out from inside him. The nausea slowly passed, and he was able to tighten off the top of the bag and hold it down by his feet.

“You good?” He was at a red light.

“Yeah, I think so.” Alistair murmured. His throat was scratchy and sore, his body was aching. He kept his eyes closed, and when that didn’t work he chose to look out the window. He kept his eyes locked on one spot in the horizon, and watched as the roads slowly got smaller and soon he was looking at their front door of their flat. Nikau’s hand was heavy on his knee.

“Come on, sickie. I know you’re feeling terrible.” Alistair whined at him. It was heavenly to finally get inside and lie down, with clean, comfy clothes and Alistair curled up on his side. The day’s events finally caught up to him and he felt his muscles slowly lose their tension. Nikau knelt down next to his face.

“I’m sorry to do this to you, but I wanna get some medicine in you. That fever is concerning,” He touched Alistair’s forehead, warm and sweaty. He tsked through his teeth, “You should’ve told me sooner you weren’t feeling good.”

Alistair murmured. Nikau was right, “Sorry. I thought I could get through rehearsal.” His head spun, a quick bout of vertigo forcing him to close his eyes.

“It’s okay. Are you dizzy?” Alistair nodded his head minutely, whining a little. He felt Nikau’s warm hands travel down his body and then he felt a kiss planted on his forehead.

Alistair felt Nikau’s presence disappear, and so he rolled onto his back gingerly, keeping his head still and placing a hand on his stomach. It was still hurting him, and was bloated and gross. The gurgles were sickly and he was probably going to be puking all night. Oh, he was so excited. Nikau returned, carrying the proper materials for a sick night. He gently forced Alistair to take some medicine, and then to make up for it, he lied down next to Alistair with the promise of rubbing his belly.

“I’m sorry you’re so sick, sweetheart.” Nikau whispered into Alistair’s hair.

“Mm, it sucks. But, you make me feel good.”

“Okay, I’m glad. Just rest, Star.”

#emeto #stomach ache #sickfic #emetophilia #vomiting #oc's #alistair #nikau #belly kink #belly rubs #stomach flu

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irondadidontfeelsogood · 6 months

Text

Middle of the Night

cw: vomit

—————

It’s 2:17 in the morning when Peter wakes up with violent urgency, stumbling to the toilet in near-complete darkness. He’s not even entirely awake when he starts to vomit, his whole body trembling and coated in sweat. The nausea is so bad that he has to brace himself against the sink beside him to avoid braining himself on the back of the toilet every time he heaves.

Eventually, his legs can’t support him anymore, and he sprawls out on the cold tile floor, panting. He starts to gain awareness as he lies there, and he begins to reflect on how much actually just fucking came out of him. His stomach roars underneath his sweaty palm, giving him a heads up that there’s somehow more where that came from.

It takes almost all of his energy to sit up and hang his head over the water where he lets the spit just fall from his mouth. He guesses it was adrenaline that made him be able to run to the bathroom, because he’d never be able to do that right now. So, he sits there, feeling his dinner coil back up from wherever it thought it was going.

When it re-fills his stomach, the nausea washes over him again, and he can feel his face go grey. With a soft whimper, he wraps his arms around his middle and prepares for another go. Right on cue, his stomach lurches, sending another wave of partially digested seafood splashing into the murky water below.

The pressure makes him feel like he has to burp, so he tries, but he ends up violently puking instead. Go figure.

He hears an awful splattering noise that indicates he failed to aim in the darkness, and the heat of embarrassment claws up from his chest to his neck and flushed cheeks.

He lets his stomach rid itself of everything it needs to, only opening his mouth in the general direction of the toilet and just letting the puke spill out. It’s not his finest moment, he’ll admit, but he doesn’t feel good enough to care right now. On the other hand, he really hopes FRIDAY doesn’t snitch on him. He doesn’t necessarily want Tony to find him in his underwear, throwing up all the expensive food he’d just bought for him not even seven hours ago.

When his stomach feels relatively okay, he wipes his mouth and flushes the toilet. He struggles to stand more than he’s willing to admit, but when he’s braced against the sink once more, he blindly reaches over to turn on the light and brave the damage from earlier.

He winces at the sudden onslaught of light, and when his eyes finally adjust, he freezes completely.

Because what the actual hell.

Not only is there some vomit on the seat and each side of the floor beside the toilet, but also all over the wall behind it and on the porcelain lid he’d frantically flipped up in his adrenaline-fueled panic.

The sight is enough to make him suddenly retch over the sink, thankfully only bringing up a few pathetic splashes of stomach acid and bile. His arms shake where he’s holding himself up, and when he glances in the mirror, he hardly recognizes himself.

He knows that if he looks over at the toilet again, he’ll start the cycle anew, so he actually gives up. He hopes Tony will forgive him for just going back to bed, because that’s what he’s doing. Needs to do, really. He’s getting lightheaded, and if he passes out, FRIDAY really will snitch.

He drags himself back to bed, shivering even under two thick blankets. With his last strand of consciousness, he turns off his alarm for school in the morning. At the very least, he’ll miss his first class cleaning his bathroom, anyway.

Not even a second later, he’s out cold. He doesn’t so much as stir until hours later when he wakes to the sound of someone’s distant voice. He groans, pressing his face against the mattress beneath him. The voice grows more insistent, echoing. He’s vaguely aware of the fact that his stomach feels like it’s rotting, but he can’t quite do anything about it yet.

Finally, the voice reaches his ears at a somewhat normal volume, and the rude reality of consciousness envelops him. The memories of last night all flood in, making him cringe and feel sort of like throwing up right where he’s lying.

“Peter,” the voice says again. Peter now knows it’s Tony. He hums, drawn out and tortured, letting Tony know he heard him. “C’mon, Pete, what are you doing? You were supposed to be up an hour ago.” He steps further into the room.

“Mm...turned off m’alarm,” he rasps, throat still raw from his lovely encounter with the toilet.

“Why? And God, kid, what died in here?” Tony suddenly asks, probably looking around for a forgotten pizza box or something similar. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“I did,” he mumbles, face still buried in his sheets.

“Huh?”

“The smell s’my bathroom,” he admits, feeling much too shitty to be mortified like he knows he’ll be later. “I wouldn’t go n’there, though, I kinda threw up all over the place.”

“What?”

“Yeah. M’about to clean it, don’ worry,” he announces, honestly feeling more like he’s just going to add to the mess.

“Like hell you are, kid. Stay put,” Tony says, disregarding Peter’s warning and swinging the cracked bathroom door open wider. He flicks on the light and lets out a string of curses under his breath.

He then closes the door abruptly, turning back to Peter, who hasn’t moved an inch. In all honesty, he feels like he might hurl if he does.

“That was—okay, wow.”

“Told you not to look.”

“Peter, that is so not the point right now,” Tony replies, walking over and perching on the edge of Peter’s bed. “Why didn’t you get FRI to tell me you were sick?”

Peter groans a bit at the mention of his condition. “Dunno.”

“It’s like you’re begging me to re-install the baby monitor protocol.”

“I really jus’ wanted to sleep. Didn’t feel good. M’sorry.”

Tony sighs, reaching out to brush the curls back from Peter’s forehead. “You don’t actually owe me an apology, kid. It just makes me worried that you were alone and that sick.”

Peter wants to reply and have an emotionally intelligent conversation, but he’s starting to get that tight feeling in the back of his throat again. Nausea stirs in the pit of his belly. He’s not sure if he has anything left to throw up, but he doesn’t want to take that chance.

“Um. Tony,” he strains. “I feel...” He can’t say the actual words or it’ll push him over the edge. Might be too late, anyway.

Tony thankfully gets the message and doesn’t waste any time. He swipes the trash can from beside Peter’s desk and has it under Peter’s chin in record time. It’s a good thing, too, because Peter was right. As soon as he moved a single muscle, his stomach took that as an open invitation.

Despite the horrendous amount of stomach contents that he’d already vacated in the middle of the night, he’s throwing up again. Only this time, it’s not so easy. Rather than being able to let the sickness run it’s course and pump him empty, he’s choking, and hiccuping, and tearing his throat up with every go.

“Jeez, kid.”

Peter wants to say I know, or maybe please just kill me, but all that comes out is more burning hot puke. He feels Tony start to rub a calloused hand between his shoulder blades, and he has to admit to himself that he wishes he had this earlier today. Maybe he does want the stupid protocol back.

Or maybe he’s just sensitive from being so sick. All he really knows is that he feels miserable, and he’s glad Tony came to check on him. There would probably be another mess to deal with if he hadn’t.

After a few more unsatisfying heaves, he stares blankly at the pool sitting in the bottom of the bin and tries to catch his breath. Tony gets up from the bed, and Peter feels a sudden, childlike urge to cry out for him. His future self will probably be grateful that he doesn’t have the energy to do so.

Tony comes back, anyway. He has a handful of toilet paper, and when he sits back down, he actually wipes the sick from Peter’s mouth. It’s parental, and Peter’s so gross, but Tony doesn’t seem to care. Peter must have a fever, because he’s about to cry over it.

The tears overflow despite his efforts to blink them away, and suddenly the bin disappears from his lap.

“You’re okay, Pete,” Tony soothes, collecting Peter’s still trembling body and holding him close to his chest. His hand curves gently up and down Peter’s spine.

“M’really sorry about th’ bathroom,” Peter murmurs, finally feeling the extent of his embarrassment.

“You don’t owe me an apology, kid. Anyone who’s sick enough to do that kind of damage gets a free pass.” Peter groans, feeling a bit sorry for himself. He can’t help it. Something about the way Mr. Stark is treating him makes him realize he should’ve gotten help.

“I think it was the sushi,” he murmurs. “Tasted a little funny.”

“Yeah, well, next time seafood tastes a little funny, maybe don’t proceed to eat twice your body weight in raw salmon.”

Peter groans. “I don’t think I’ll eat anything ever again.”

Tony breathes out a quiet laugh. They stay like that for a few minutes, listening to the birds outside Peter’s window. He’s glad he decided not to tough it out and go to school. A cramp reaffirms his thoughts.

“My stomach hurts,” he moans, pulling back to wrap his arms around his middle.

“I bet it does. You want some Pepto?”

He shakes his head. “I’d throw it up. I always do.” It’s true. Almost every time he’s ever taken Pepto, it ends up spewing back out of him almost immediately.

“Okay, maybe some Sprite? We gotta get some liquids back in you, kiddo.”

Peter thinks for a second and then nods, letting himself curl back into bed. Tony pats his knee through the blanket and stands up.

“Good. I’ll be right back.” He crosses the room, stopping at the door. “Anything else you want me to get while I’m down there?”

“Um. Maybe another trash bag? This one is making me nauseous.”

“I’m right there with ya, pal. Give me like, two minutes. Hang tight.”

Peter just hugs his stomach and groans, drowning in his misery. He wonders if it’s actually this bad or if he’s gotten dramatic, but for his ego’s sake, he’s probably dying. He can barely lift his head when Tony finally comes back.

He greets Tony with a whimper. A literal whimper. He’s going to hate himself later, but for now, he just wants Tony to wave some magic wand and give him a new stomach.

“I know, kid. Go ahead and sit up for me.”

Peter regrets ever sinking back against his pillow, because now sitting up sounds like the single most unachievable thing in the world.

“If I move, I’ll barf,” he replies, only half joking.

“Then we’ll ride it out and try the Sprite when you’re done.”

Peter groans, knowing he’s never going to win this battle. He begins to lift his head and eventually his torso, feeling the ache of his stomach muscles from overuse. The motion makes him very dizzy, probably from dehydration if he’s honest.

He holds up his hand, blocking Tony from bringing the glass to his lips.

“C’mon, don’t fight me, Pete,” Tony says, almost pleading.

Peter shakes his head barely. “One second...tryin’ not to puke.”

“Ah. Got it.”

Blessedly, Tony doesn’t push the glass on him again. He sits there swallowing convulsively for a minute before he can even open his eyes. When he does, he can’t help but look at Tony with open misery.

“I know you don’t feel good, kiddo, I’m sorry,” he says, seemingly reading Peter’s mind. They’ve gotten to that point apparently. He places a steady hand between Peter’s shoulder blades and rubs in a circle. “I really think you’ll feel better if you sip on this. Just try for me, Pete.”

Peter eyes the bubbling liquid and tries not to feel entirely disgusted. In a moment of pure bravery, he reaches for the cup and takes three whole sips. It’s cooling against his raw throat, and he’s grateful to get the taste of bile out of his mouth at least a little.

“That’s it, you’re doing good. You can take a break if you want to.”

So, he does. He sets the cup down on his nightstand and lays back down while Tony replaces the bin liner for him. His head swims a little as if he’s drunk, and he gets the sinking feeling that his Sprite victory won’t last too long.

“Mm...Tony,” he mumbles, snaking a hand under his t-shirt and trying to magically settle his stomach through touch.

“Yeah?”

“Can you turn on the TV? I really need to think about something other than my stomach for, like, two seconds.”

Tony gives him a sympathetic smile, grabbing the remote and turning on The Office. He uses his foot to scoot the trash can back to where it was and sets the remote back down. Peter starts to feel himself drifting off already.

“I’ll get out of your hair. Please actually tell FRIDAY if you need me, okay? I’m gonna check in every now and then anyway.” Peter nods, curling into himself. “Alright, I’m gonna go call Midtown, tell them you’re not feeling so hot.” Peter just nods again, blinks getting longer and longer.

The voices on the TV get jumbled and muted as he’s pulled into a state of half-consciousness fueled by fever. His dreams are far-off and confusing, often nightmarish and gory. When he wakes with a start, he wonders if it was a nightmare or a memory. Sometimes he worries that patrol has doomed him to a lifetime of night terrors.

It takes him several minutes to come to and make sense of the noises in his room. He eventually fumbles for the remote and turns off Netflix, flopping back down onto his mattress.

He’s coated in sweat, battling the swirling in his stomach yet again. He has no idea how much time has passed. It’s unsettling, and he finds himself really wanting company. His mouth is also bone try, so he grabs the Sprite with a trembling hand before speaking.

“Hey, FRI?” he rasps.

“Yes, Mr. Parker?”

“Can you, um. Get Tony?”

“Alerting Boss. Would you like me to deliver a message?”

Peter shivers at the condensation from the glass running down his forearm. “Um...just tell him I don’ feel good.” He knows he sounds like a child, but his head feels very funny and he doesn’t quite know what else to say.

He must be truly dehydrated, because once he starts drinking, the sips turn to swallows, and the swallows turn to desperate gulping, and before he knows it, the cup is empty. He winces almost instantly at the new sloshing feeling in his stomach. Maybe he fucked up.

He can’t even breathe in without heaving on the exhale, and in a fraction of a second, he’s refilled the glass. He promptly sets it down and leans over, vomiting into the trash bin.

Right on cue, Tony knocks on the door and cracks it open just a tad. When he peeks in, another wet retch is climbing up Peter’s throat.

“Ah, shit,” he mutters under his breath, crossing the room to pick up the bin so Peter doesn’t fall over with the effort of heaving. He’s grateful, because the blood rushing to his head was really starting to make his vision swirl.

Tony is silently rubbing his back, and Peter tries not to be too gross. It’s sort of a lost cause, especially when he misses a little bit and pukes on his hand that’s gripping the bin. Of course, that sets off his nausea all over again.

It takes him a long while to catch his breath. He has to close his eyes and forget where he is so he can stop gagging.

“You want some Sprite?” Tony asks, unintentionally sending Peter into his worst retching fit yet. “Okay, so that’s a hard no. I’ll let you have a minute to breathe.”

“It’s—,” Peter tries, cut off by a gurgling retch. He greedily sucks in air, heaving from deep in his belly on the exhale. “Not Sprite.”

“You wanna try some juice or something instead?”

“No, I mean—that’s-” More vomit. “I threw up the Sprite.”

“Yeah, I can see that, kid.”

Peter’s never going to be able to explain if he keeps imagining the glass. He’s panting heavily over the soiled trash. “No...I drank it all,” he strains. “That’s puke.”

Just like magic, Peter’s empty stomach finds more to shove up his throat. It trickles pathetically against the plastic.

Tony stands there, processing, and then:

“Oh. Oh, Pete.”

And then Tony’s visibly trying to figure out what to do about the full cup of vomit on the bedside table. Peter feels so embarrassed all of a sudden, and if he had the energy to escape the tower and go be by himself, he would. He knows he wouldn’t make it far.

“M’so sorry.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have done it if you had any other choice, kid. I’m just glad it’s not on the carpet.” That makes Peter feel a little better, actually. Not enough to actually make a difference, of course, but it’s better than nothing.

“When’s it gonna stop?” he breathes out, barely keeping his composure.

Tony lets out a short sigh. “I wish I could tell you. Hopefully soon.”

Peter wilts, not feeling optimistic about that at all. Last time he caught the flu, he spent the entire weekend hurling just about anywhere he deemed moderately appropriate. He hadn’t even felt as bad then.

“I’m gonna get rid of this. Do you want me to bring anything back?”

Peter takes a moment to think and then shakes his head. There’s nothing he can imagine that would ease his misery. The only thing he can bring himself to do is pray for sleep to take him, and even that’s a battle.

“Alright. Again, call FRI if you need me for anything at all, okay?”

“‘kay.”

Tony leaves him to what’s sure to be his slow death. He turns over and begs for sleep, receiving nothing but a lingering stomach ache. He lays awake for over an hour before he finally, blissfully slips into unconsciousness.

—————

A/N: Thank you for reading as always! You rock

#iron dad #marvel sickfic #peter parker #sickfic #cw vomit #peter parker sickfic #iron dad sickfic #iron man #tony stark #sick #hurt/comfort

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rpedia · 4 months

Text

[Ask RPedia] Writing Panic Attacks?

@twodemigodtraveleroflorien asked: Any advice on how to RP a character having a panic attack

Sure! As usual, ‘show don’t tell’ is gonna be big here. By that, I mean describe what is going on through connected ideas, not straightforward ones. When someone is in love they smile, and gaze, and touch. When someone is angry they sneer. When someone is scared they sweat, and triple check nothing is behind them. Don’t ever just say ‘Mary was scared’ unless it’s a stylistic choice to give a certain feel to your writing. Pick it consciously as what your story needs, or not at all.

Beyond that, panic attacks can hit in a ton of different ways. We’ll get into this below, and describe not only panic attacks, but some methods on how to help them. If you’re sensitive to this material, please don’t walk in knowingly, fuck yourself up, and have a bad day. I love you kids too much for that. Also remember this is for roleplay, I will be discussing the awkward as fuck things, like “picking which symptoms match your character” and “using panic attacks in plot.”

Writers, amirite? (Please only continue if you’re in the mental space for it! It can get graphic and triggering. Take breaks as needed.)

To reassure my readers, yes, I have had panic attacks an awful lot. So I can actually speak from experience for once. But only my experience, so give me some slack if yours hits you differently, or if I don’t nail it. Give other writers that slack too, and don’t think one size fits all will ever work here. Give them the benefit of the doubt, so long as they make a decent effort. No one needs their panic attacks nitpicked, it’s either from personal experience or to further the plot. Do either of those things really need someone telling them right at that moment they’re not doing it right? If they’re just making a mockery of it OOCly, go ahead and rip ‘em with facts. ICly, well, Jan. It’s supposed to be problematic, that’s a plot hook for character growth. If it bugs you, communicate that OOCly you’d like to move on.

So anyways, let’s just waltz right into the thick of it. According to the diagnostic criteria listed in the DSM-5, panic attacks are experienced as a sudden sense of fear and dread plus four or more of the following mental, emotional, and physical symptoms:

Heart palpitations or accelerated heart rate

Feelings of numbness or tingling sensations

Excessive sweating

Trembling or shaking

Shortness of breath or smothering sensations

Feeling of choking

Chest pain or discomfort

Nausea or abdominal pain

Feeling dizzy, unsteady, lightheaded, or faint

Chills or hot flashes

Derealization and/or depersonalization

Fear of losing control or going crazy

Fear of dying

So immediately we realize, not everyone’s panic attacks are going to be the same thing. Some people get their heart beating a mile a minute, and feel like they’re miles away, are scared they’ll die, and be afraid they’ll lose control. Some people will have aggressive chest pains, start sweating and shaking, then feel like they’re going to pass out, choke, and vomit at the same time. Can you see why those would present differently in a roleplay, or how they’d fit different character models better, or even the outcomes of these on different personalities? That’s important to the writer right there. You have to understand your character and how they would experience fear, and sensations that are unpleasant, and which ones they’re feeling.

The only thing that is solidly in every panic attack is that sudden feeling of dread or fear. People who have not had one can relate to it, honestly. Have you ever turned off the lights in your bathroom or some dark spooky hallway and suddenly felt like something was in there? Then you have to fucking run before the thing gets you, or turn on a light to check, and the hairs rise on your neck and your eyes open up wide enough to suck in every photon of light for miles because suddenly your brain wants the power to see in the dark? Yeah. That creeping feeling of being prey is the dread and fear. Yes, people may feel these differently. Fear is not exactly one size fits all. But this is a pretty good start to understanding the drop of an ‘oh fuck’ barreling down on you from behind.

Myths abound on panic attack causes, but the truth is simple. Sometimes, they happen because something triggered it, but a lot of the time there is no trigger. Your body just decides to fuck you over because that seems like a great idea right now. You can’t even really avoid them by sleeping. That’s right, you can get panic attacks while dead asleep. That’s so thoughtful of them, they don’t want you miss out, I say in the most sarcastic voice ever.

The good thing is, no, you can’t die from a panic attack or be ‘driven insane’,and no they aren’t just you overreacting to fear or pain. They aren’t even always part of a panic disorder (other disorders bring them to the party too). The good news is, although they suck rancid eggs, they can be managed. If you treat some of the underlying causes, you can help lessen them over time.

What disorders are linked? Oh boy, that’s a hell of a list. Anxiety disorders are a big one, agoraphobia, OCD, depression, Bipolar disorder. They all like to invite panic attacks with them. Other fun party guests are eating disorders, personality disorders, and substance-related conditions. Heck, GERD, IBS, and sleeping disorders are also friends with panic attacks. So while writing your character, look at what might be the underlying cause of it. Whatever building blocks you pick end up visible in not only panic attacks you decided to throw in to make the scene worse, but a constant background noise to their lives.

That’s one of the important things you need to remember. If you choose to give your character a condition like the above, there’s a couple rules that make this go over a lot better with the community. Let’s look at them.

Do not only use it to get attention. It may be plot relevant, but if it comes up every single time the spotlight is off you, it gets old quick. This is a shitty medical thing, not your golden ticket to being fussed over.

Do not use the disorder as their only personality. You have a character who happens to have and live with the disorder, not a walking form of the disorder who happens to have some character stuck in there.

Do not use it to only have good things happen. Realistically, you may get a panic attack at the worst time ever and fuck everything up. Don’t make it a ‘get out of jail free’ card, balance it with bad timing and bad outcomes.

Do not play Sympathy Sue with it. We don’t want to have to coax, dote, and protect your character every step of the way in a story without them ever showing signs of doing anything but keeping the attention on them and their issues. In real life, real people have personalities beyond their issues, they have friends, they tend to learn how to manage things over time. So let your character grow, and show themselves too. In writing, we do this for fun and to escape bad things. We don’t want to shoulder something during playtime, we may encounter often in real life.

Do not go into this without research. Practice writing up little stories to describe the symptoms. Read everything you can. Look up webpages, blogs, and everything where people are offering the information on their struggles freely.

Make sure everyone in the group is comfortable playing this out. It can trigger things when you go whole hog descriptive about every symptom they have until they suddenly start having one in real life because fuck, they’re right there again. Never surprise someone with a panic attack in character unless you know it’s okay, or are willing to just skim over it.

Understand the gist of why these exist? Good. Go with the spirit of them, not the letter of them. Basically respect, even though as writers we intentionally use them for plot and growth, we should not abuse that ability by lacking respect for the real people who have them. Be tactful, be polite, be respectful as the person behind the keyboard. Anything that isn’t tactful, polite, or respectful had better be in character, and had better relate to the plot and characterization pretty damn well. You should also make it very obvious that you disagree with the character in narration. If they say something crass or obtuse, point out that they said something crass and obtuse.

“It’s not like it’s really that bad, you’re just scared right? Get over it, you whiner,” he said, sneering. His lack of empathy for the subject really showed his lack of experience with it.

Tada, by adding in one line, you’re a better writer in general, and have accurately explored characterization while pointing out you recognize he’s a total asshole. Doing things in a way that clearly shows you give a damn and understand what you’re choosing to let the character do is the key to not pissing someone else off.

Okay so back to the attacks! These symptoms are basically just names right now. You can say what’s happening straight out, and that’s cool, but... how do you make your reader empathize with them? You’re going to want to explore each of these feelings in writing, or at least the ones you know you’re going to use. This is homework! Explain each of these in detail in a way you can connect with them. Put yourself into your character’s position, and write from the heart.

Their heart racing, what do they feel when this happens? The skipping beats that feel awkward and clunky? The way you can feel it pounding along, a mile a minute, ready to burst out of your chest? Go running, when your heart rate gets up there, you’ll really fucking quickly pick up on how that part feels. The pounding, heaviness of a heart going so fast your shirt is trembling, and your hands can’t stay steady. Describe it, describe how that heartbeat going mad feels to you and how out of place it is.

Tingling and numbness? You might have had a limb go to sleep before, use that as a jumping off point. Except in a panic attack, it’s everywhere and the pins aren’t painful. They’re just a loss of feeling everywhere. Your hands tickle with them, your skin feels like it’s tightened up weird, and can’t feel like it used to even if you’re hypersensitive to touch. Sweating so much you soak the sheets? Use that experience, the dripping, the suddenness. How it contrasts with the temperature being comfortable. Sweating from anxiousness or nerves. Damp palms. I fucking hate flop sweats like that, because I end up with a disgusting feeling scalp, wet neck, and my body is just damp all over after I’ve been through an extreme.

Everyone’s probably trembled in their lives. A shiver through your limbs. What happens when you tremble? Is it harder to write, or grab onto things? Is your grip worse? Explore how trembling effects your environment as much as it effects you. It helps to understand that the tremble is sudden, violent. You cannot stop it, it’s beyond your control, and you struggle to keep yourself from showing it a lot if you’re that type of a person. Since it’s down to personality, someone might have a shaking quavering voice, or they might be hiding that shaking hand and stiffening up to hide it all from the others.

Choking, smothering, unable to breathe... well that sounds like running to me, but I’m out of shape as hella. Crying does it too though, unable to get past a throat filled with snot. The absolute lack of breath, it’s like you’re depressurized. Remember nothing, from the feeling of choking, to the stitch in your side, to feeling sick to your stomach, is exclusive to a panic attack. You’ll probably have encountered being dizzy or light headed in your life without ever seeing a panic attack. Chills and hot flashes too. They can be way more extreme, like sitting there shivering and teeth chattering despite being in a 85°F/29°C room. Just absolutely taken by how cold you are, and nothing can warm you because you’re already sweating. It looks a lot like a symptom of shock, which is why they throw those blankets over you after a severe accident of any kind, even if you’re not hurt.

While you’re looking at those, don’t just look at the symptom. Look at the character’s reaction to the symptoms. Does stomach pain make them cry? Does it make the shortness of breath worse? Do they have sweating, lightheadedness, hot flashes, and nausea and just wave it off as a thing that’s happening because they’re scared? Mix and match. Some characters handle things better than others. Some have different reactions. Find them, and pull them out and shove them in the light for other people to see.

The final symptoms are a bit more in-depth because we can’t find aspects of them to jump off of from real life. Derealization, depersonalization, a fear of losing control or not feeling ‘sane’, or a fear of dying? These we might not feel very often or at all if we’re neurotypical. So we’re going to rely on people who have experienced them to learn about what they’re like. That’s dangerous territory, be respectful when you explore it. Not sure where you’ll find details on these without stepping on toes? Hi! I’ve had all of them, so lemme get down to brass tacks and tell you what they may be like. Once again, one person’s experiences do not equal all people’s experiences, but as an intelligent person with critical thinking you knew that and were totally going to google Reddit threads and blogs about the subject if you intended to write them, right?

So, derealization and depersonalization are very interconnected, which is probably while they’re listed as a grouped symptom in the list. They are experiencing the feeling of becoming entirely unhinged from either reality, or yourself. It’s a wild sensation to be several feet outside of your body, watching as everything happens. It’s even more wild that it can vary, a few inches away, or even just ‘somewhere else’ while your body keeps going. You can lose your entire grip on a situation, your mind fully consumed with something else, to the point you don’t really feel like it’s you talking, or moving.

Same thing when everything stops feeling real. Like you’re in a movie, or a dream, watching shit play out you have no control over. Yet, you function through it. On autopilot, saying the things you would say, doing the things you would or should do. Even though you’re feeling a bubble or padding between you and there. In my case, I’ve definitely felt like I was underwater, and should be unable to breathe, but I was breathing fine, looking through this glassy feeling at a body that was going through a panic attack, but it wasn’t really me. It was a bunch of chemical firing, everything happening felt rehearsed, fake, and far away. Like, it had been predetermined to happen, and I had no control over it.

It’s varied between feeling like I, personally, am not the person doing shit. I look into a mirror, and some stranger is looking back at me, who has the wrong everything. Sometimes everything isn’t real, there’s no way everything can look like this can feel like this when the world is shutting down for me. I am empty, why is the world doing this, it cannot be real. Except it is. This is such a numbing, empty experience, that it leaves you really struggling to find something to anchor yourself to. Those are not my hands. My hands aren’t that size. This room is not my room, it looks wrong, the color is off in a way I can’t describe, the comfort isn’t for me. It’s really fucking mindboggling, and all this?

Is on top of other symptoms. At the same time. My dude lemme tell you, wearing another person’s skin and watching them unable to breath because they’re choking on air, while they suddenly go freezing cold, teeth chattering, is a TRIP!

Fear of losing control or going crazy is fun too, in the way that I can being super sarcastic on one hand because it’s not fun at all; and also very very genuine because I have an analytical mind and it’s cool to see my own brain degrade in front of me. When in the throes of this, I definitely know I’m not insane, but what if I am? What if this is the moment I snap and lose it entirely? What if this is the terrifying reality now, that I’m never going to get any of these other symptoms under control, and instead I’m going to get worse and start chewing the walls and attacking people left and right? What if this is my breaking point?

The terror just eats away at you, because no matter how much someone says that you’re gonna be fine, and that you’re not insane, they have no idea. They’re not a professional, and they don’t have some kind of little device that lets them see what’s going on in your head. When your thoughts get jumbled and frantic like that, it can super feel like you’re losing the plot entirely. You really do start to believe there’s no hope for you and they’re going drag you off and drug you up because everything that makes you you has spiderwebbed into this wild ass new person who has had their sanity ripped out of their hands.

I blame Hollywood for a lot of this, because you see this kind of thing happen. Someone becomes too emotional, and wa-bam, they never come back from it. They got comatose, or hysterical and have to be dragged away. They never quite make it back to their former selves, and that! Is! terrifying! And just the kind of unrealistic thing a mind having met it’s limit would throw at you because it can no longer keep track of what is actually happening.

Fear of dying is the last one, and after the things above, is it really any surprise that you might feel like you were dying in the middle of all this? Now the last time I got this, I had managed to get a head injury and a seizure so maybe it was an ickle bitty bit of a realistic fear. (Also, I’m fine, but obviously some things have happened since I last wrote for you guys, be nice to me.) With all these feelings of rushing inevitability, fear of the end of yourself is RIGHT up there waving its hands and demanding to be seen. This is, I also got this from... slightly cutting my thumb while cooking.

It doesn’t have to make sense, I knew my thumb was not going to bleed out, but I was ready to face death because oh no, something terrible has happened. My brain saw one big drop of blood, and it was done. I was officially dying. I would lose the thumb, I would get gangrene, I would die in a corner somewhere. It became something that overwhelmed all my senses and I had to lay down for a while and let it pass. All I wanted was someone to be there for me while I was inevitably dying of a boo boo. That’s how extreme it can go from literally nothing, so it’s super hard to shake off if you pick it as one of your character’s responses!

Now if you had to take a break during this at any time, that’s perfectly normal. It may be a sign that you shouldn’t RP this situation though, because that’s gonna be even more intense. Plus, if it’s tied to your character, and you’re the type to be inside your characters POV for the smoothest writing process? You might feel like it’s happening to you. Method acting can bite you in the ass if this is something you can trigger by experiencing it. On the other hand, RPing your way through it can help compartmentalize it, and putting those horrible feelings into a new situation can help you recontextualize it from an outside perspective. Making it easier later to go through a panic attack because now you have another experience to draw from. There’s a reason Therapists like it when you roleplay.

Just remember, roleplaying is for story and fun. If you find yourself far too deep, aftercare may be needed. You don’t have to always ask someone else for that, you can just give yourself something relaxing after play. Hit up your favorite goofy TV show. Eat a treat you really love and let yourself be in the moment while you savor it. Take a nice warm bath if that’s the kind of thing that relaxes you. Sure, it’s roleplay, but it can have a real emotional effect on you, same as any other experience! So, if you need to, find someone you can talk it out with. If not friends, then a professional who can give you the tools to make the most of your new experience in helping yourself. Hell, if you simply got to the end of this and feel drained or something, go give yourself a treat and cool off a bit!

Anyways thank you for reading! Hope this helps in really expressing panic attacks a little more clearly in text, but always remember to CHECK IN on your partner. Make SURE they’re comfortable with the level of detail you want to get into! If not, go for a lighter hand! Write a vignette on the side, and upload it to your Tumblr as a fanfic of your RP if you wanna prove your skills without effecting other people! Tag your shit! Be aware of those around you, and really do make sure everyone’s comfortable when you’re exploring topics like these.

If you try your best to get it right and do the research, it’s obvious to others. You’ll be fine. Happy RPing!

#RPedia #Ask RPedia #roleplaying #roleplaying help #roleplaying tips #rph #panic attacks #triggering material #trigger warning #panic #writing #writing a panic attack

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