#and everyone would be concerned because the water intake was low | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

9tzuyu · 4 years ago

Text

dissolve (rewrite)

natasha x reader

note: this was just a huge vent fic idk. these type of fics seem to be the only thing im okay at writing. mistakes are mine as always. but i did proofread, yay!

if you want to read the original (as awful as it is) you can read it here!

wanrings: this heavily revolves around eating disorders.

i’m not tagging anyone because the content isn’t really the lightest to read.

words are used everyday, everywhere – whether to describe something or someone. there’s thousands upon thousands of them.

so you were having a hard time figuring out why you were struggling so much to justify your feelings through the basis of words. it was unnerving, draining and very annoying. your emotions should be simple, right? you were either sad or happy, angry or scared. but there was something more, something unexplainable. saying you felt alone only scratched the surface of the wave of emotion that took over. it was excruciatingly painful, far worse than any physical pain you ever had to endure. and for some reason it seemed to come crashing down at night while natasha slept peacefully. you weren't exactly sure how to express your emotions to the extent you felt them. how else was anyone supposed to understand your pain? they couldn't, not unless they could somehow shift into your body and feel your emotions themselves. but that was merely impossible as such powers do not exist. so you were inevitably stuck with words foreign to your lips. over the years you were deemed unsafe, a hazard, "an accident waiting to happen" you recall one doctor say. everyone’s eyes were on you at all times, monitoring every little movement you made. it was suffocating and at times doing more damage than good.

as an adult now you learned how freeing it could be without the fear of gaining weight or eating a bowl full of rainbow marshmallow cereal. your worth was not defined by your weight.

(at least that's what you believed prior to any relapses.) everything was going well in your life. you were a college graduate working as a psychiatric nurse and you had found love, something your teenage self could only dream of. natasha was by your side through everything. and really, the only downfall in the relationship was that she had to travel a lot for her job. but you were secure enough in your relationship not to worry or decide to call things off. in the end natasha always made up for it when she came back, so you couldn't complain too much. things were going well for you, really, they were. until they weren't. (and you didn't know why.) it happened out of nowhere. work was a little more stressful than usual, but it was nothing you couldn't handle. natasha had been away for three months, only stopping by a few times to check in on you. but again, your wife being away for so long wasn't anything new or worrisome. the two of you had followed the routine of her leaving and coming back more than a thousand times; yet somewhere along the way you lost yourself. food became less of a priority, your hunger decreased drastically, and within the first month you'd lost thirteen pounds. it truly was an accident, slipping into a full blown relapse was never part of the plan. but thirteen pounds lighter you wanted more, to feel small again. you didn't have an answer as to why you became so attached to your eating disorder, but it didn't seem like it would be letting go any time soon. the rate at which you were going natasha would most definitely be able to see a difference; not only on your weight, but in the person you once were. she'd ask what happened and why it happened, poking and prodding for an answer, but you didn't have one. so here you stood in the kitchen of your shared home, a cup of sliced fruit in one hand and your cell phone in the other. you poured the fruit into the bottom of a blender along with a spoonful of yogurt and half a cup of soy milk. another half cup of ice followed suit. while the fruit blended, you shamelessly scrolled through your instagram. there was nothing interesting going on in other people's lives, you didn't even know why you had social media in the first place. it was dumb, and quite frankly you didn't give a shit whether or not sharon went to the beach. the sound of your blender coming to a halt brought your attention back to the real world. you poured your smoothie into your water bottle. the green liquid would be your breakfast and lunch for the day - dinner was still up for debate. a soft sigh left your lips. work was beginning to feel more like a chore and less of something you enjoyed. you were quickly growing tired of it. nonetheless, you grabbed your keys and rushed out of the door.

you thought about the irony of working as a psychiatric nurse with an undealt eating disorder telling teenagers how to deal with their own issues. you felt hypocritical to say the least, especially given that all the nasty side effects were starting to make themselves known.

your hair was beginning to thin, small clumps of it already starting to fall out when you tugged a little too hard. bruises could be seen scattered left and right on your body, and you were cold. god you were cold. your fingernails were tinted blue, warmth seemingly too far out of reach. you looked ill, and it didn't go unnoticed by your coworkers.

a few hours into your shift you found yourself sitting behind the nurses station filling out paperwork. lunch had passed and when your coworker, steve, asked if you were going to eat something you lied straight through your teeth, telling him you'd grab something when the patients were eating dinner.

but steve rogers could read you like an open book. he knew you were lying because he already knew what was going on. the signs of an eating disorder were quite obvious when you were a licensed therapist. and despite your futile attempts at hiding it, everyone could tell something wasn't right.

steve played it by ear for weeks until he contacted natasha, but by then you'd already lost a considerable amount of weight. as soon as she heard the news, natasha booked the next flight home. unfortunately for her though, there was only one flight and she would have to wait two and a half weeks before being able to leave.

you didn't know it, but those were the longest two and a half weeks natasha ever had to wait.

– patients were having group therapy, so you could tune them out - not that you should, but it was hard to focus when the only two things you could think about were food and your weight.

the need to lose weight sounded so stereotypical for someone with an eating disorder, but honestly it wasn't about that. it was never about wanting to be thin. you genuinely didn't know why this was happening. the only thing you noticed was how rewarding it felt seeing the number go down, as if for you were good for becoming less. it was addictive. and it didn't help that you based your entire worth on how much you could lose.

the next time you stood up from behind the nurses station steve met you in the the cafeteria. while the patients ate you took occasional sips from your smoothie. the bottle was still full of its contents from the morning. you had completely forgotten to drink it during the day, but you didn't seem to mind it that much.

the surprise touch of steve's hand on your shoulder startled you.

i am gross, you thought. do not do that.

steve caught onto the slight flinch your body produced as a reflex, but he didn't say anything about it.

"you can leave early, boss said so."

he laughed as he saw confusion plaster your face.

"what? no!"

"go home, seriously. we have this handled. you know tony doesn't like being told no."

you bit your lip, puzzled by the sudden request. most people wouldn't mind being sent home early, but all it did for you was give you a level of anxiety reserved for food.

what you didn't know was that natasha was home waiting for your arrival. she came back just short of an hour after you left for work.

while you were gone natasha made a few thorough rounds in the house looking for key signs of your eating disorder. there was bound to be evidence given that you didn't know she was home.

unsurprisingly, natasha found a glass scale beside the counter of the bathroom floor along with empty bottles of laxatives in the trashcan. the food in the fridge had been expired a few days past their date, giving her the indication that you weren't eating as much as you should be. her concern grew even more when she found your food journal on your nightstand. flipping the pages, natasha could see that throughout the moths she'd been gone your calorie intake had decreased significantly.

guilt began to gnaw at the back of her throat.

during the few days natasha stopped by, she hadn't noticed anything wrong with you. but then again she knew most people with eating disorders were very good at hiding them up until the point they were discovered. three days wasn't near enough time for her to catch onto your tricks, not when her mind was still focused on her job.

natasha always listened intently whenever you would talk about your eating disorder, the first time being six months into the relationship on a date you felt like you had ruined.

but talking about it was much different than experiencing it with you, natasha had never done that before up until now. she read nearly every article there was about anorexia, bulimia, binge eating disorder and ednos. sometimes when you were asleep she would watch documentaries on the disorder, always making sure to keep her volume at a low level.

the videos that hurt her the most were the ones teenagers struggling with the simple task of eating food.

(although natasha knew it wasn't that simple.)

it hurt because she knew that was you at some point in time.

upon your arrival, natasha cooked dinner. she wanted to hold onto the one sliver of hope that steve was wrong - that he was just overreacting - but she knew in her heart he was right about his assumption. however, dinner would only confirm what natasha so desperately wanted to deny.

when you walked through the door you were greeted with the overwhelming scent of food. you cringed at the thought of having to eat, but as soon as you looked up to see the redhead who'd been gone for so long your frown was washed away. a wide smile overtook your face and you rushed to jump into natasha's arms.

"i missed you so much," you whispered. "i thought you'd be gone for another few weeks?"

natasha's arms found their way around your waist as your legs wrapped around hers. "what? i can't come home early to surprise my wife?" you giggled in the crook of her neck. she smiled feeling the vibrations against her skin, happy to know that you'd missed her just as much as she missed you.

she sat you down, back facing you, she tended to the food. "you've lost weight," she commented, not missing the sharp inhale of your breath.

"how was work, nat?"

she nodded to herself. yeah, she didn't expect you to be so open on the first try.

"it was fine. dinner's ready, i made your favorite!" natasha threw a smile in your direction as she carried the plates over to the table. she had hoped to see your face light up the way it used to, but seeing the panicked look in your eyes further confirmed your relapse.

if nothing else, natasha wanted you to have a meal before she brought up the conversation.

"great... i love it, thank you nat!" your attempt at being enthusiastic failed miserably and you knew by the look she gave you, she already knew what was going on.

but throughout the meal, and despite the shakiness of your hand as it gripped the metal fork, natasha didn't say anything.

you weren't really sure which was worse; being confronted or knowing the both of you knew what the other was thinking and still not addressing it.

natasha's meal was good, you couldn't lie about that, but each bite you chewed caused the tightening in your chest to constrict further.

now you couldn't be good. or worthy. or deserving.

nat took away your plate when you were halfway through. she knew your limits, and she didn't want to push you too much out of your comfort zone.

"go change, i'll wash our dishes. meet you on the couch?"

you did as you were told, taking as long as you could to do so. except this time was different. you didn't glance in the mirror like you usually did, you chose to fully take in your figure.

what you saw was not what you expected to see. for the first time in months you saw a version of yourself that wasn't twisted and turned to be something you didn't know was real or not.

your skin was dry, hair thinned out beyond your belief, eyes sunken and dark underneath. the revelation gave you an odd feeling – was once again something unexplainable, unjustifiable by words.

good.

that was how you were supposed to feel, right? after all of this time, after the many pounds of protection and warmth lost, you were supposed to feel good.

but you didn't. and you never would.

there was something so surreal about the realization of your own destruction. you were aware now, which meant you had to either take responsibility or choose to lose everything you worked so hard for.

"y/n?"

your wife's voice snapped you out of your gaze and you scrambled to pile your dirty clothes and rush out of the bedroom.

as you made your way into the living room you could feel the intensity of natasha's gaze. any other time you would not mind her green eyes looking at you, but this time around you felt like you were in trouble.

she patted the empty spot next to her, to which you reluctantly joined. but even after everything you still tried to play it cool.

"what's up? is everything okay?"

she gave a low chuckle, "you tell me."

"what do you mean?"

"oh i think you know what i mean."

natasha’s reply was met with the loudest silence you ever had to sit through.

she bit her lip, "you know i got a call from steve a few weeks ago. he's concerned about you, and from what he's told me so am i."

you were quick to respond, automatically knowing what steve’s phone call was about. "i'm fine. so what if i've lost a couple of pounds? that doesn't automatically mean that im relapsing, natasha."

your quick snap reminded natasha that this kind of confrontation was like walking on eggshells.

she tilted her head, licking her lips. "i'm here with you, always." nat put a hand to the side of your face, gently rubbing her thumb at the top of your cheekbone. "i'm here."

it seemed pointless now to try and say anything because your secret was already out.

your mind began racing back and forth.

you wanted to keep what you knew best and natasha understood that. even by reading your body language she knew what you were debating.

"you know, to keep it you have to give it away." your eyes darted to meet hers. "mhm. you can still have that piece of you. mourn it, grieve it, do whatever you need to do to move onto a stage where it doesn't hurt you. and from there you can help other people, share your experience, let yourself heal by helping others."

she paused, “we all have choices. some of those choices are taken from you while others leave you with only one option.”

although what she said seemed to resonate with you, there was one thing still holding you back.

"i just want to be good."

natasha hummed. you had explained it to her in the past, though your words were jumbled together as you tried to describe it.

"you can be good in other ways. you're allowed to live a life outside of the barriers your eating disorder puts in the way."

you swallowed the lump in the back of your throat. "i don't even know how it got to this point. in january i enjoyed ihop and dennys. in february i could have oatmeal and bananas, sometimes half of a sandwhich if i was feeling brave. now it’s march and i only eat one or two things a day. the idea of having a full meal makes me want to cry. and i just- i don't know how to stop."

natasha wouldn't show it, but your words cut through her heart like a knife. her mind wandered briefly to all the teenagers in the documentaries she'd watched, hoping you weren't too far gone into your eating disorder to ever come back. those cases scared her the most.

"you've got my complete support. you've tackled this before, maybe this time you can beat it? i know its easier to abuse your body instead of growing comfortable in it, but i think you’ve got this. i know you do."

"what about your work?" your question caused natasha to frown. "you think i wouldn't set my job aside for you?" you shrugged, it's not like you felt like you were worth being taken care of anyway.

natasha grew hesitant to tell you her news, but did it anyway because she’d rather you hate her than see you dead. "i've already made some appointments for you. the first one is tomorrow morning."

"i figured you would natasha. it's okay."

you spaced yourself out the rest of the day. each time you made the executive decision to recover, whether that be a genuine recovery or not, the process never failed to remind you that even trying to recover from an eating disorder felt like mourning the loss of a friend who was never good for you in the first place.

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #avengers x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff imagine

207 notes · View notes

nugnthopkns · 3 years ago

Text

dance me to the end of love (iii)

word count: 4.3k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, potential percy jackson & the olympians spoilers, alcohol consumption, motion sickness and vomiting

series masterpost: here

a/n: this took me a hot sec to finish but here it is! there's a dumb little latin joke in here but that's just because i'm a nerd lmao

Ryan is certainly giving Bette a run for her money in the best friend department.

Magdalene has no intentions of usurping her best friend, but Ryan is quickly becoming the person she talks to most frequently. It started on social media but quickly moved to regular texting, both of them being twenty-five and capable of communicating through more normal channels. The text thread between them isn’t indicative of their newfound friendship – it looks like they’ve been friends since high school. At any given moment at least three conversations are going on, and Magdalene regularly sends him random updates throughout the day. Ryan likes hearing about any interesting artefacts she encounters at work so she keeps mental notes to tell him during their frequent phone calls.

Despite talking to him almost constantly, Magdalene hasn’t seen Ryan since they grabbed lunch at Barn Owl nearly two weeks ago. The lake house trip is a couple days out, and she’s been busy trying to get all her ducks in a row. At work, the current project is coming to an end and Magdalene will be sad to see it go – it’s the first thing she’s been on from start to finish. She’s got a neighbour coming to spend time with Caligula while she’s away so he doesn’t get too upset. Though the days are passing by in a haze as she tries to get ready, Magdalene is excited to get away for a little bit. It’s been a few years since she’s left Denver for more than a night, electing to skip on Bette’s previous vacation invites, and it will be nice to slow down. Life is moving at a comfortable pace, but having some time to pause and breathe will keep Magdalene from feeling too overwhelmed.

Halfway through her last day of work, Magdalene gets a text from Ryan that makes her nearly double over in laughter.

Julius Caesar walks into a bar and says to the bartender “I’ll have a Martinus please!” The bartender replies “Don’t you mean a Martini?” Caesar shakes his head and says “If I wanted double I would have said so.”

It takes her a minute to catch her breath, which piques June’s curiosity. Magdalene recites the joke and her boss rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but does let out a chuckle.

June didn’t think it was funny, but I did. Thank you for making today infinitely better. You riding with us tomorrow?

Magdalene tucks her phone back into her purse, determined to remain focused for the last few hours, and misses the reply telling her that Ryan won’t be riding with Bette, Tyson, and herself, but rather with Cale and his girlfriend to leave enough space for all the gear getting brought. She doesn’t see it until she’s walking across the parking lot to her car and it fills her with a sadness that doesn’t make much sense. He’ll be there for the entire week, so does it matter that he’ll be in a different car for the four hour drive? Magdalene has a sinking suspicion about why she’s upset, but she pushes it down. There’s no space in your life for a relationship right now, she reminds herself as she unlocks the door to her apartment. Caligula is waiting patiently at the door and distracts her thoughts from the handsome man with the kind smile that’s been all she can think about recently.

The cat is incredibly perceptive and knows the regular routine is going to change, making him particularly clingy. He follows Magdalene as she finishes packing, meowing and begging for pets, and she considers bailing on her friends. Caligula has mild separation anxiety and Magdalene doesn’t go away often partly because of it – though another reason is her homebody nature. Only the thought of seeing Ryan keeps her from hanging all her clothes back up.

“Don’t worry little boots,” she coos, “I won’t be gone long. Maria is going to check on you while I’m away, and I’ll be home before you know it.”

It seems ridiculous to speak to her pet as though it’s a child, but Magdalene knows Caligula comprehends what she’s saying. He’s always been smart, and the two of them share a bond that’s hard to explain. She picks him up, puts him in the pocket of her hoodie, and they spend the rest of the night packing and dancing along to the radio.

☼☼☼☼

Bette forgot to mention that the road to the lake house is winding, and Magdalene spends the entire ride with her head between her knees. Motion sickness is something that unfortunately plagues her during journeys longer than a couple of hours and she wishes she would have thought to take anti-nausea medication before leaving the house. Tyson tries to crack a joke about her being a bad passenger, but his girlfriend swats his arm and passes her friend a water bottle with a concerned smile. The two of them speak in hushed tones, almost certainly for Magdalene's benefit, and she does her best not to throw up on the floor of Tyson’s car. After what feels like two decades the vehicle rolls to a stop at the end of a gravel path.

“Mags, we’re here,” Bette says softly, praying that her friend will begin to feel better after stretching her legs and feeling firm ground underneath her.

There’s an unintelligible groan from Magdalene, but she rises out of the car and stumbles into the house. Tyson and Bette insist that she rest and they’ll handle the unloading of the car, so she crawls into one of the empty beds and falls asleep as soon as her head touches the pillow. It’s a dreamless slumber, one fuelled by the pure exhaustion of battling illness while travelling, and when she awakes hours later Magdalene feels oddly refreshed. Her energy level is still relatively low, but she knows that intaking food won’t be an issue.

Padding down the stairs as quiet as possible in an effort to not break the peaceful atmosphere, Magdalene is met with a quiet house. She’s utterly confused – she didn’t sleep long enough to miss dinner and judging by the way the sun is low in the final car full of people should be arriving any minute. For a moment she thinks the group left her in the mountains alone, but then the sound of a trunk closing breaks the silence.

“I fucking told you bro, you should have let me drive!”

Ryan’s voice echoes in Magdalene's ears and her heart skips a beat. She didn’t realize how much she had missed him or how excited she is to see him. Despite everything inside of her saying she should run into his arms Magdalene stays put in the kitchen, running the tap to get a glass of water. She focuses on the mountain on the other end of the lake, framing the setting sun and creating a postcard ready photo. The camera app on her phone is open and angles for the best shot are found. Ryan tumbles through the door a second later, arms filled to the brim with luggage and bags of food.

He drops them the second he sees her, running up behind her and lifting her off the ground. “Mags! Cale almost hit a deer!”

The shock of Ryan’s onslaught of affection catches her off guard, and Magdalene shakes her hand, forcing the picture to turn out as nothing but a blur.

“No hello?” She laughs as Ryan lets her feet touch down on the wooden floor. “It’s the least you could give me after destroying my chance of getting a National Geographic worthy picture.”

He smiles but doesn’t let his hands drop from their perch on her waist. “There’s six more days for you to nail it. I’ll even help if you ask.”

Other bodies enter the house then, causing Magdalene to slink away from Ryan’s touch even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. They’re simply friends, and she doesn’t want Bette to get any ideas. The last thing Magdalene needs on her plate right now is her best friend forcing her to paint a custom denim jacket with Ryan’s number across the back. “I can’t believe you almost hit a deer,” Tyson sighs in disbelief.

“It wasn’t even close,” Cale grumbles, picking up his bags and stomping off to find a place to claim as his own the next couple of days. A petite redhead follows after him, giving a small wave to those in the kitchen before scurrying away. When she asks, Ryan tells Magdalene the girl’s name is Livy, and that she’s Cale’s girlfriend from back home.

Everyone shrugs at his moodiness and disperses. Bette and Tyson stay in the kitchen to make dinner, Ryan goes to claim the final room, and Magdalene slips outside to sit on the patio furniture. The sun has dropped drastically in the past five minutes, causing the air to chill. She wraps her arms tighter around her legs and watches a pair of birds fly over the lake below. It’s so peaceful, a complete one-eighty from the insanity of her life in Denver, and Magdalene thinks about never leaving. She knows it’s impossible, but as she closes her eyes and listens to the quiet laughter of her friends inside the idea seems like a pretty good one.

The sliding door creaks open and Ryan goes through as quietly as possible. He tosses a sweater in Magdalene’s direction as he walks over, plopping down beside her on the small couch.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, slipping the fabric over her head. “I didn’t realize how cold it had actually gotten.”

He smiles in response and shuffles his body a little closer to create extra warmth. Magdalene leans into him, trying to appear casual even though her heart is beating rapidly, and pulls on the strings of the sweater Ryan gave her.

“So, are you excited for this week?”

It’s more awkward than she thought it would be – seeing him in person again, especially since they’ve been texting almost constantly, and the words kind of stick in her throat.

“Honestly? Now that I’m here I am, but I was a little leery about taking time off,” Ryan explains, detailing how he’s trying to improve some aspects of his two-way play and is worried his progress will plateau. Magdalene understands and shares her own worries about taking time off work even if her boss encouraged it.

After catching up quickly and running out of things to say, the pair of them sit in silence watching the sun set until they’re called inside for dinner. It’s nice to just exist, especially with Ryan beside her, and Magdalene feels her heart sink as they separate and he goes to make sure Cale isn’t actually mad at him.

☼☼☼☼

It storms the first two days at the lake house, forcing everyone to stay inside. Tyson complains about how he has less time to drive the boat that came with the property but the others take it in stride. Magdalene spends most of the time reading for pleasure, something she hasn’t been able to do much of the past few years, and Ryan joins her for large chunks of the time. It turns out that he too is an avid reader, and the two of them discuss their favourite novels and series while the other four play board games.

“So you’re telling me you wish Annabeth would have joined the Hunters of Artemis?” Magdalene shrieks in shock, almost knocking the wine out of her glass as her arms flail in disbelief.

“I think it made sense for her to,” Ryan defends.

“But she’s perfect for Percy!”

He sticks to his guns. “I’m not saying she isn’t. I just think that at the time the offer was presented it was the most logical choice. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about what would have happened if she did.”

She ducks her head in defeat because she had imagined it, on many occasions in fact. When reading the series for the first time in middle school Magdalene had desperately hoped Annabeth would choose the Hunters over Camp Half-Blood, gaining the family she herself never was privy to. They return to reading quietly beside each other, occasionally knocking elbows when trying to turn a page.

Tuesday brings sunshine and clear skies, which means Tyson is trying to corral everyone into the boat as soon as they’re up. Magdalene tries her hardest to get out of it but her pleas fall on deaf ears.

“You’ll be fine, stop being such a wimp,” Cale jests. She knows that he’s just anxious to soak up some sun, but the words hurt more than Magdalene would have liked them to.

Livy swats her boyfriend across the chest. “Enough! If she doesn’t want to come she doesn’t have to.” The smaller girl sends her a kind smile before speaking low enough that only Magdalene can hear her. “I know your book is just getting good and you look like the kind of person who needs alone time to function properly. Enjoy yourself.”

Seemingly excused from the day’s festivities, Magdalene gives a sheepish wave before climbing the small hill to the house. Ryan meets her halfway and is appalled when he hears of her plans.

“Nope, I don’t think so. You’re not leaving me alone to be the ultimate third wheel!”

He has her off the ground and over his shoulder in a millisecond, jogging lightly to catch up with the rest of the group. Magdalene’s laugh bounces off the tree lined shore, and she’s too busy having fun shrieking at Ryan to complain about being forced to spend all day on a boat away from her book. Tyson peels away from the dock before she can regret tagging along, and Bette tugs Magdalene to the bow.

The two girls chat quietly, giggling and sipping on the mimosas they made earlier. Magdalene isn’t a huge day drinker, but Bette makes sure there’s more orange juice than champagne to make her feel less guilty. Livy joins them a while later after becoming sick of the boys and their shenanigans. It’s nice to hang out with a group of girls that aren’t competing for the top spot in a class, Magdalene decides, and she revels in the stories they tell of going to hockey games and babysitting the children of players so they can catch a break. Twinges of jealousy creep up at the wonderful family dynamic the Avalanche seem to have, but she stomachs them. She reminds herself that other people deserve to have support systems and excuses herself from the conversation.

Magdalene slides into the free space beside Ryan, and without thinking he wraps an arm around her shoulder. It feels so natural that she wonders if it’s how he greets all his friends, but the looks of shock and Tyson and Cale’s faces say otherwise. After a bit more cruising they find a small bay to anchor in for a while. The sun had climbed to the middle of the sky and is unbearably warm, leaving everyone no choice but to jump into the water to cool off. Magdalene does her best to float peacefully a short distance away from the group but is somehow brought into a splashing war because the teams aren’t equal.

Eventually the constant barrage of water chills her to the bone, and Magdalene swims back to the boat. She watches from the sidelines and cheers for her old teammates with a towel wrapped snugly around her. Ryan breaks from the group too, insisting it isn’t fair to have teams on unequal strength. Once dry, he picks up the baseball cap he brought and places it delicately on Magdalene’s head.

“Your cheeks are starting to go pink and I don’t want you to burn,” he explains, passing her a bottle of sunscreen as well.

“Thanks Ry.”

They muse about the idyllic beauty of the scene in front of them until everyone rejoins them. For reasons unbeknownst to Magdalene Tyson is in a rush to get back to the house, which leads to him driving very fast and a little erratically. The contents of her stomach threaten to come up but she holds them down, tightening her grip on the leather seat. A wave crests and Tyson hits it head on, causing the boat to lurch and rock. Magdalene knows it’s going to happen before it does and leans over the side to save a mess from being created. All the alcohol and food she’d consumed throughout the day is no longer in her body, and heat creeps up the back of her neck. She’s embarrassed – what twenty-five year old gets sea sick?

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.

She tries to smile but it comes out more like a grimace. “I just, uh, get motion sick really easily.” Bette passes her a water bottle and she drinks it quickly, eager to get the taste out of her mouth.

Ryan lets Magdalene curl into his side the rest of the way home, and rubs comforting circles on her back to ease her discomfort, doing his best to ignore the stares from his friends.

☼☼☼☼

The trip comes to an end much more quickly than Magdalene would have liked. Tomorrow morning they’ll pack up and drive back to Denver, returning to their normal hectic schedules. Cale and Livy are heading back to Alberta for the rest of the summer, and Bette and Tyson will be going for a visit as well. She’s heard Ryan mention going home in passing, which most likely means he doesn’t have plans to stay. Magdalene will be all alone in Colorado, but she’s used to it. The only issue being friends with professional athletes is that they leave. She’s been dealing with the loss since Bette and Tyson got together years ago – having them around as her support system most of the year and then them disappearing for a couple of months.

Not wanting to think about how soon she’ll be alone, Magdalene heads outside and starts a campfire. It’s a skill she picked up as a kid and it has come in handy over the years. The newspaper crinkles under the flame from the lighter, and soon the kindling is burning well. Everyone else is still inside, cleaning up from dinner and preparing for one last night in paradise. She places a few blocks of wood in the fire pit once there’s a good enough flame and curls up in a chair, lost in thought about what comes next. There’s rustling from somewhere behind her but she pays it no mind, assuming it’s a small animal wandering through the forest.

“Can I offer you some company?” a voice says softly, waiting for a response. The movement wasn’t a raccoon but in fact Ryan, and Magdalene gestures at the chair beside her with a smile.

He passes her a glass of white wine, which she takes with an appreciative hum. They sit in silence for a moment, admiring the beauty of the setting sun. “I’m going to miss it,” Ryan sighs, leaning back in his chair and extending his legs.

She nods. “Me too. It’s so quiet up here. Denver gets too loud sometimes.”

“Tell me about it. I’m not just going to miss the lake though, it’s also lounging around and not having to worry about hockey. And you.”

The ending comes out rushed, and Magdalene isn’t sure she heard him correctly. “Me?”

Ryan looks at her like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Yes you. Why wouldn’t I? You’re funny, smart, and catch all of my West Wing references. There’s no one who gets me quite like you, even back home.”

It takes her by surprise. They’ve only known each other for a few months, and only really started associating after the party at Bette and Tyson’s. There has to be somebody who knows him better than she does. When she voices her opinion Ryan just scoffs, saying that people treat him as one-dimensional because he plays hockey. Somehow the conversation shifts to Magdalene, and when she lets it slip she gets lonely in Denver without her friends, Ryan asks the question she’s been dreading.

“So why don’t you get a boyfriend?”

“I can’t just get a boyfriend because my friends are gone,” she laughs, but there’s an edge to it, like she’s unsure of where this will go and how to question the follow ups.

He rolls his eyes. “I know that, but like, I don’t know, wouldn’t it be nice to not be alone all the time?”

It would be, Magdalene thinks, but she just shrugs. “I guess I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I just finished school and for the first time in a long time I can focus on myself.” She leaves out the part where Ryan gives her butterflies and that if he asked she’d probably jump headfirst into a relationship with him.

The topic is dropped then because Tyson comes out of the house screaming about the night is going to be wild because it’s their last together for a while. Magdalene and Ryan share a look of mild panic, but both of them are itching to have fun with friends so they raise their glasses in salute before finishing them in one gulp.

Magdalene drinks more than she should and wakes in the morning with a killer hangover. It seems that no one else is better off though, all stumbling around looking for Advil and coffee like it’s going to be their last meal. Packing up takes a bit longer than expected, but they’re still out before the official checkout time. There’s a bit of discourse on who Magdalene will travel home with. Bette wants her in Tyson’s car, no doubt to talk about how close her and Ryan seem to be, but Cale offers to bring her with them. His reasoning is that Ryan is driving him and Livy directly to the airport, and having the front seat could be good for her motion sickness. It’s ultimately Magdalene’s choice and the idea of having more time with Ryan before he leaves is too enticing to pass up. She bids her other friends goodbye, promising to come over for dinner before they fly out, and climbs into the cab of Cale’s truck.

Once again she’s a less than ideal passenger, but this time it’s because she sleeps the entire way back to Denver. The drinking took it out of her and coupled with the queasiness in her stomach from the winding roads sleep is the only thing that makes sense. So much for extra time with Ryan she thinks as she wakes up in the airport parking lot.

“Sleeping beauty has risen!” Ryan chuckles, “Why don’t you get out and stretch your legs for a sec? We have the parking spot for another fifteen minutes.”

Magdalene does as suggested because truthfully her joints are a little stiff, and finds Cale and Livy grabbing their bags from the back. She hugs them goodbye and wishes them safe travels, which Cale returns with a warning not to get into too much trouble before heading for the entrance. Once both of them are safely inside the confines of the airport, Ryan and Magdalene get back in the vehicle and finish the last leg of the trip.

She directs Ryan to her apartment complex, and he mentions that he’s never been in this area of the city. “That’s because you have no need to be around a bunch of university kids,” she laughs. Once they pull into the parking lot, he offers to help her take up her bag. It’s only a small suitcase Magdalene could definitely handle herself, but she wants him to come up, to prolong her time with him.

Magdalene’s keys jingle in the lock as the door opens. Ryan follows her in and shuts the door carefully, not wanting to disrupt the aura of peace that permeates the space. From what he can tell, the average size apartment is the perfect reflection of Magdalene – packed full of books and plants and feels very put together despite the owner being only twenty-five. After their shoes find a home on the boot rack and the coats they brought for the drive home are hung in the closet she leads Ryan into the living room. There’s a soft purring by his feet, and Ryan looks down to see an animal. He never pegged Magdalene as someone to keep pets.

“Who’s this?” he asks, bending down to pet the small white cat.

“That’s Caligula.”

A puzzled look graces Ryan’s features. “Who?”

“Caligula,” Madalene giggles. “You can call him little boots if you’d like. He’ll respond.” She picks up the animal when it comes to her and scratches gently behind its ear.

“Why would you name your cat something dumb like Caligula, and why does it respond to little boots?”

It’s then the woman realizes that not everyone understands the reference. “Caligula was the third emperor of Rome,” she explains, “But his real name was Gaius. He gained the nickname Caligula as a child and it just stuck. It translates to little boots in Latin.”

Ryan is in awe of Magdalene for what feels like the millionth time. Of course someone as smart as her would have a crazy name for a pet and have the knowledge to back it up. He feels his chest tighten with affection but he wills it away. She isn’t looking for anything right now, he reminds himself. Magdalene’s self-professed inability to reciprocate his feelings is frustrating, but Ryan knows he’d wait forever for her.

☼☼☼☼

additional notes: catch some extra content here!

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @ricohenrique @lovethepreds @cutiesara23 @hockeyallthetime @stlbluesbrat21 (add yourself to the taglist!)

#ryan graves imagine #ryan graves x oc #ryan graves fic #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites #dmtteol

91 notes · View notes

weightlossideea · 3 years ago

Text

TOP 10 Common Mistakes in Weight Loss

As a personal trainer and a fitness enthusiast, I have seen people do ridiculous things, in trying to accomplish their weight loss goals. The human body is a complex machinery, which needs the right buttons to be pushed. Without extensive knowledge about the human body and years of experience in training, you are unlikely to do everything correctly, right from the start. I have compiled a simple list of common mistakes in weight loss. Do yourself a favor and gather the knowledge, before starting your weight loss journey!

1. Looking for advice from fitness magazines - the majority of the articles written in health or fitness magazines are based on a goal to sell a product(supplements, pills, gym equipment) or advertise a service. Bringing you on the right track fitness-wise is their least concern. In fact, they might mislead uninformed individuals to be completely opposite of what they suppose to do in order to achieve a weight loss goal, just to keep you buying their miracle pills and powders.

2. Doing long hours of moderate or low-intensity cardio - first of all, it is very time-consuming to run for hours each day. Secondly, extensive hours of cardio are much less effective than sprint training (HIIT). Running or biking over 45 mins starts a metabolic (muscle break-down for energy) process. Unless you are a professional marathoner, you don´t want to lose your muscle in the process of losing fat weight. For a complete beginner in sports, cardio is a good start, but don´t overdo it! Ladies and gentlemen, this is where "the more the merrier" does not apply!

3. Trusting your gym buddies - every modern gym is packed with a wide range of personalities, of whom everyone has different advice to share with you. although the advice you get from your buddies at the gym might not be wrong, it can get rather confusing to differentiate right from wrong. Also, fitness tips from your gym amigos are solely based on their own personal experience. Fitness and weight loss is such an individual quest and has more than a handful of variables to take into consideration. What might have worked for one, might not work for you! A better choice would be to ask a professional such as your local gym instructor or consult an online fitness trainer.

4. Weighting yourself every day - you must realize that losing weight is not a linear downhill process. Your total body weight consists of bone, fat, muscle, and water weight. About 70% of your body consists of water. Water weight fluctuates daily because it depends on carbs and minerals intake, also alcohol and coffee might have a major impact on water retention. Regular exercise helps to denser your bones and build lean muscle, which in turn adds to your total body weight on the scales. Fat metabolism is a fairly slow process and weighting yourself in once a week is more than enough. 0.5 - 1 kg of fat loss per week is completely healthy and safe. But don't get disheartened if your weight on the scale stays the same - trust your eyes instead and look into the mirror. You might have been building muscle and losing fat at the same time!

5. Relying on exercise only in your weight loss journey - exercise accounts for only 50% of your fat loss endeavor, just as an important factor is your diet and nutrition! You absolutely can not continue to eat like a pregnant woman in her 5th month. Losing weight depends on your calorie consumption vs daily energy expenditure. Use a fitness calorie calculator in order to establish your daily energy needs. Then shoot for eating 200-500 kcal less than your daily caloric requirements. Just as important is where those calories come from. You need all the macronutrients (proteins, carbohydrates, fats) along with your vitamins and minerals in a diet plan. Consult a fitness trainer or nutritionist to help customize a personal nutrition plan for you.

6. Panicky avoiding all kinds of fats in your diet - although it is so last century, some people still avoid all fats in their diet like a religion. There is a wide belief, that fats you take in go straight around your stomach, hips, and other unwanted areas. This can not be farther from the truth. Healthy fats (omega fatty acids) from nuts, vegetables, and fish oil are used by your body in a variety of ways - for the functioning of your skin, respiratory system, circulatory system, brain, and organs. Consuming 20-30 % of fats from your daily caloric needs actually helps you to burn more fat!

7. Doing only cardio in your exercise program - you will get results doing only aerobic exercise for a while, but I can guarantee that you will hit a plateau, where cardio just helps you to maintain your current weight. For faster and continued results it is wise to incorporate a weight training workout into your exercise routine. Lifting heavy weights at least 3 times a week forces your body to produce a high amount of anabolism hormones (most important being testosterone and growth hormone), which will literally shed the fat from your body 24 hours a day. Weight lifting plans should incorporate multi-joint mass movements, such as squats, deadlifts, and presses.

8. Doing crunches and sit-ups for a flat stomach or six-pack abs - a widely common mistake in "trying to get a flat stomach." This idea is based on simple logic, that you burn fat from the specific area of your body in which you are working. The truth is, there is no such thing as spot fat reduction. Have you ever seen a guy who has fat jelly arms and legs, but has a perfect six-pack? I don't think so! Fat is not distributed evenly all over your body. Based on bone structure, genetic makeup, and body type, some people have more jelly around their stomach, hips, legs, or bum. The stomach is the most commonplace as it is the center of gravity on the body. You can do sit-ups for fun and entertainment value, but remember, they do not give you the desired results.

9. Being hungry like a wolf all the time - losing weight does not necessarily mean you have to be hungry all the time, or worse, starve yourself. To keep the metabolic machinery up and running at full throttle, you should eat frequent meals (every 3-4 hours) throughout the day. Instead of 3 big meals, divide them into 6 smaller meals! That way, you NEVER feel hungry and still keep losing weight.

10. Trying to do the transformation all alone - since transforming from fat duckling to skinny swan is a long journey of many emotional ups and downs, you should let all of your friends and family know about your goal. They can support you once you start falling off the track. They can motivate you not to give up. The best bet would be to find a person with a similar goal and train with them or hire a certified fitness trainer to work with you. A Lil pressure from society, friends, or trainers can actually motivate you to push yourself out of your comfort zone and stop you from giving up. Determination, focus, and willingness to succeed, are all it takes!

12 notes · View notes

readerinsertfanfiction · 3 years ago

Text

Rain Check

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Character: Kennyo (and an appearance of Shingen)

Prompt: I was talking to Mama ( @silhouette-of-a-dream ) about what Kennyo and Shingen would be like as roommates. This is the result of it. Modern AU!

Warnings: Academic stress, academic life, because Kennyo is a scholar-type. Getting drenched in the rain, mentions of food.

Word count: +2K

When Kennyo woke up that day he knew that it was going to rain. He could see it from the colour of the sky, but also in the way the air clung onto his skin when he opened the windows and smelled the air, humidity coming its way promising something to alleviate the sweltering heat of summer. Perhaps a morning run would do him well, to fill up his lungs with fresh air and clear his mind. It could even help him avoid the arrival of Shingen who had decided to stay out for the night again, no doubt about to return smelling like the perfume of yet another lady and some lipstick stains in his collar.

How the man managed to be prim and proper by the time the first class started was beyond Kennyo, but he had long since given up trying to figure out the mysteries of his frolicking friend. At least Shingen had the decency not to bring his conquests home, the walls of their shared apartment not thick enough to spare Kennyo from the sinful sounds his friend would produce.

It sometimes went a little beyond the man on why he had agreed again to live together with his friend. Was it because of Yukimura’s pleading that someone needed to look after Shingen’s sugar intake? Or perhaps something within the man himself still felt compelled to look after this hopeless man and his lustful lifestyle.

For now Kennyo decided that it was time to put Shingen out of his mind, not wanting to be hit with dark clouds attracted to his brooding thoughts while he was out on a run. Shoes on and fitbit ready he thus made his way out of the door, the consideration of taking an umbrella with him just barely there before dismissing it. He would shower after his run anyway, provided that Shingen wasn’t occupying it.

It occurred to Kennyo how often he thought of his friend. It earned a scowl on his face as he fit the earbuds into place, turning the music louder that would hopefully drown out his thoughts. Cursed be his friend, and darned be the decision that had ever moved him to move here. Next year he was going to move out. That he told himself, just as he had done so the year before.

Any thought of Shingen would soon be banished, however. A good ten minutes into his run the sky broke open, first a drizzle through which Kennyo persisted, not worried about a little water, before it steadily grew into a cold shower that chilled him more than that his run warmed him. By then Kennyo had reached halfway through the path he had planned to take that day, having reached just short before the forest park he usually picked for its peaceful scenery and overall serenity. Today it didn’t seem like a good idea to run between the trees, however, as somewhere up ahead he could hear the rumble, a low growl coming from above sent to the mortals below.

He hoped that Shingen got drenched. But the man had been wearing a white button-up yesterday and Kennyo could already imagine the stares he would fetch and the pride in which his friend would walk.

Damn him and everyone else for being taken by such shallow fleeting appearances.

But as stated a few paragraphs back, the thought of Shingen would soon be banished. Not because of the rain, for Kennyo had been expecting that one. Not because thunder struck him, his luck wasn’t that bad, though bad enough to live together with his best friend, but because in the distance there was a figure crouched in the rain, a figure shivering as if trying to grasp the fleeting warmth that escaped through drenched clothes.

It reminded him of Ranmaru, once upon a time, before Kennyo had interfered and entered him into the family temple to receive shelter and education there. You, however, were much older than Ranmaru and he recognised you as one of the postgraduate students from university. A different faculty, to be sure, but you had come by nonetheless, mostly to inquire on his own expertise within his field, and because Kennyo happened to be a methodology expert as well.

“You,” he called, concern coursing through him as he realised that the image was off. You were supposed to be at home, warm and safe. Judging by the time you were supposed to be hitting the snooze button on your alarm for a few more times before deciding to poison yourself with the first cup of coffee before groaning about the long day ahead and the struggle that was called the thesis.

But you weren’t and nothing in your appearance suggested to him that you were out for a run just like he was. The jump you made at the sound of his voice also suggested that you hadn’t expected anyone to notice you, or even to pass by.

“What are you doing sitting in the rain?” Kennyo’s tone had softened up after the initial call, reminding himself not to frown, for that was what usually made the students cower in his presence when asking for his opinion on their essays.

What your look meant, he couldn’t tell. Wide-eyed and surprised, a little bit too discerning as well as he could feel the way your gaze glided over his form. Perhaps it was something different from what he usually wore at university, but even he was a man with a life outside of his studies and work.

“Well?” and here Kennyo winced at his own tone, the professor within him rumbling up as if trying to ask for an explanation from a student who had missed the deadline so clearly announced in the syllabi.

The way you twitched was enough of a confirmation on how well this ‘voice’ of him worked, as another startle went through you before you quickly scrambled up, looking guilty of something that went beyond Kennyo as well.

“You should get out of the rain quickly, else you catch a cold,” the man interrupted you before an explanation could come. Kennyo didn’t need one, it was not for him to pry, though he hoped that you didn’t make a habit out of this. That it wasn’t one already.

To this you twiddle your thumbs, head lowering further as Kennyo waits for you to react or to turn around and leave. You did neither, and as the moment dragged on a sigh leaves him, an understanding falling over as the man runs a hand through his wet locks. It earns another portrubing stare from your side, startling the man in his turn as he quickly regains himself.

“You can come over to my apartment? Just to warm up. It isn’t too far away,” he tells you and this time you agree, nodding with a small and grateful smile as the two of you turn around.

Kennyo is digging through his clothes for something appropriate for you as breakfast is cooking in the background. He is still wet, and only now does he realise that the shirt he is wearing is clinging onto his form from the rain and leaves little to the imagination despite it being black. But he doesn’t care, allowing and insisting that you shower first while he handed you a new towel and set off to look for wear. It is the only time he curses Shingen in envy, for Kennyo doesn’t possess the discerning eye to tell your sizes by just a glance.

Envy soon makes place for annoyance as the familiar click of the door sounds the arrival of his friend, a sound booming through the otherwise quiet place as Shingen knows Kennyo is an early riser.

“It smells great!” he announces as Kennyo rushes himself out of his room, some pantalons and a dress shirt in hands that he had randomly grabbed. Shingen’s eyes widen at the appearance of his friend, hand already on the door handle of the shower just like Kennyo had feared as he quickly pulls his friend away.

“I’m not in the shower, you lech,” comes his admonishment and Shingen doesn’t quite recover for another moment as he keeps on staring at Kennyo and then into the direction of the shower where so clearly the sound of water running is coming from.

“Did you?” He questions after a short silence and Kennyo steps away from Shingen in disgust as he realises the man smells like perfume and lust and sin from the previous night. The insinuation isn’t lost on Kennyo, he isn’t oblivious, but he refuses to amuse his friend by pretending he understands it either as he scowls further.

“I ran into someone in need of help. Go wash up in your own room,” he tells Shingen before marching over to the shower and firmly knocks the door. It earns a pause from the other side as a quiet ‘yes?’ follows, earning another choked up look from Shingen.

“I left some dry clothes at the door,” he speaks, loud enough to be heard over the running water if it was still running before turning back to his friend, who also is drenched, the white button-up seen-through just as predicted.

“Don’t even think of it,” Kennyo warns before he turns off the fire on the stove, checking in on breakfast before deciding to leave it in the pan for a little while longer to keep it warm. “I’m going to shower first and then you can go in,” he informs Shingen briskly before turning to his room to fetch his items and his own set of dry clothes.

Shingen doesn’t say anything but smile to himself, which annoys Kennyo all the more because he knows what the man is thinking.

Thoughts he soon forgets when he meets you outside of the shower, some colour back into your face and your lips looking more naturally shaded than what it had before. The clothes he has given to you are too large, as expected, but Kennyo is relieved to find that they cover you up decently enough and reminds himself to dig up a belt for you later and a pair of socks.

“I prepared breakfast if you want, don’t give Shingen any.” The manner in which he tells you this is so gentle that you aren’t even sure to take it seriously, eyes blinking rapidly as your eyes turn to his lecherous friend already seated ready enjoying a sunny side-up that Kennyo had quickly fixed him as a compromise.

“Yo, so Kennyo decided to pick you up, huh?” Shingen is quick to point out and Kennyo would have growled out a correction if he hadn’t already shut the door and peeled off the wet clothes from his body. At least the warm water relieves him somewhat as he steps out refreshed and warmed up minutes later, fast as ever.

“This is the first time Kennyo ever brought someone home, so what’s the deal?” Kennyo can hear the interrogation Shingen is throwing you under, just as he can hear the discomfort that it brings you as you try to explain that it wasn’t anything he thinks he is. But Shingen being Shingen doesn’t pay it any heed when he knows Kennyo is within hearing distance, having timed the question perfectly with the estimated time that Kennyo needs to wash himself up.

“Can you stop that?” the man interferes instead, scowl back on his face once more before prodding the man out of his seat and pushing him away from the dinner table. “Go shower, you stink of sin. I should be rinsing you in holy water if it wasn’t to burn you instead,” Kennyo continues to frown, earning a mirthful laugh from Shingen who bids you a goodbye.

“Kennyo could stand to loosen up, maybe you can help him with that!” are the man’s last words before he is shoved into the shower where Kennyo shuts the door into Shingen’s face.

He never finds out why you were out in the rain that morning, but it isn’t the last he sees of you. Be it either because Kennyo tries to keep tabs on you despite his own busy schedule, or because you are suddenly standing in front of his office with his clothes washed and pressed in a bag.

“With a little something as a thank you,” you supply, looking much better than the day he had found you in the rain. You seem more confident, more glowing, though there is still a remnant of that guilty caught red-handed student he had seen before. It occurs to him that you could never be a student of his, for there isn’t actually much of a difference between the two of you within the academic ranks.

“Starbucks?” he questions, not remembering ever expressing a love for it, or even liking it. Quite the opposite, he recalls, remembering all of the disapproving glares he shot into the direction of Shingen who also happened to be his office-mate.

Yeah, he mentioned his luck being non-existent but not being too bad. That was because Shingen took the majority of it.

“I saw a bunch of Starbucks merchandise in your cabinet, or thought I saw such?” you question and Kennyo has to hold in the heaving sigh that is threatening to escape as he curses Shingen’s addiction to the sugary drinks there that over priced themselves.

“I’m sure he would enjoy it,” Kennyo manages to smile without scowling at the mention of Shingen. As long as he doesn’t mention the name of the fiend he is fine, or so the man has found.

“But I didn’t help you for your gratitude, it was a whim,” he continues, ready to hand back the gift as you already shot your hands up in refusal.

“I didn’t give it only out of gratitude,” you announce, and for a moment your eyes meet and Kennyo sees something that he had seen before in them. Before in that rain, when your eyes probed and lingered a bit too long for his own comfort. This time it is mixed with hope as you release a sigh of your own, as if to gather courage before meeting him in the face once more.

“I was hoping that maybe we could talk about my thesis for a bit?” The request isn’t too uncommon, after all, fellow academics had to help each other out a hand and Kennyo never turned down anyone in need of help. It was a well-known fact from all and a badly kept secret of his own faculty, but coming from you it is different.

It sounds like a promise for more. And Kenno surprisingly likes the thought of perhaps seeing more of you, if only so that he can continue to keep tabs on you. Or perhaps because a part of him is truly interested in you in the way Shingen has been teasing him relentlessly about.

“Sounds like a plan,” he finally answers, and the smile that escapes him is warm and gentle enough that it warms himself from within, as much as that it spreads out over you who returns the same smile as if reflecting a mirror.

#ikesen kennyo #ikemen sengoku kennyo #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen x reader #ikemen sengoku x reader

42 notes · View notes

wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years ago

Note

fiona angsty fic where MC tries a spell and it backfires hitting her instead? maybe she falls into a coma or something

Warning: Near character death.

...

The idea had come to you in a rush. Fiona was busy running an inventory of what plants she needed to collect, right by your side but totally focused on her task. She had had a vision earlier on the day, and she had created a potion based on it, and that’s when she realized she was running low on ingredients.

Bored, your eyes had eventually fallen on the ash resting lazily in the fireplace, and you had idly wondered if you should make yourself useful and sweep it but it had hit you — couldn’t you use magic?

The possibilities excited you… what could work? Levitation? Well, no, that could get messy… but could you just make it puff out of existence? Was that possible?

You squinted at it, revising all the spells you knew in your mind. Levitation was the safest bet by far, but also the most boring. Sure, maybe you’d end up spilling some, but where was the fun in that? What could you do with it—

“What’s with that grin, my pearl? What are you planning?”

The mystic’s voice snaps you out of your daydream. “Just someway to flex my magic, you know? Give it some use.”

Fiona nods, putting the scroll she was using down, interest in her gaze. “And I suppose your plans aren’t as innocent as you sound right now, yes? Are you going to turn Sascha’s hat into a frog? You’d be doing everyone a favor.”

“You’ve given me an idea for another day, Fiona, but no.” You gesture toward the fireplace, excitement making your movements almost clumsy. “I’m going to do something about that atrocity.”

Fiona’s smirk is coated with warm amusement. “What, are you going to enchant my broom and then fly away with it once you are done? How devious, Claire, truly.”

“Please, I’m more creative than that.”

“Well then, oh great witch, show me what you can do.”

You hadn’t figured out what to do, yet, but something about Fiona’s expression spurs you into action anyway. You haven’t survived this long without winging it once in a while — you’re sure you’ll do just fine this time, too.

And, well, showing off in front of a pretty girl is always great.

You raise your hand, trying to focus energy on it, to let it act as an anchor. The ash vibrates as if magnetized, slowly rising and spreading thin as if it were a long snake.

You beckon it closer with a small curl of your finger, letting it twist around you in lazy circles. It brushes your hand, and the sensation — raspy, lukewarm — sends a shiver down your spine. You turn to gauge Fiona’s expression, finding it stuck between awestruck and fond.

“Flashy,” she finally says. “You’ve been practicing your levitation, right? You won’t spill that all over my potions, will you?”

“Your lack of trust wounds me.” Your attention is still largely divided towards the coiling mass of ash slowly cycling your body and barely pulled together by sheer will, but you allow yourself a small, self-satisfied smirk. You spot the trashcan in the corner, wondering if it was always so small, but point to it anyway, willing the ash to move in its direction and fill it like snow would pile up in a hole in the road.

You frown when the ash doesn’t move at all, hoping Fiona doesn’t notice the blunder. You catch the way her gaze gets stuck on the ash near your hand, and curse in your mind when she frowns.

“Why is it glowing yellow?”

“What— yellow?”

You barely have time to look, barely getting a glimpse of a furious color swirling inside the ash before it explodes just like a barrel full of powder would if someone were to ignite it.

Much like other magical accidents you had had, this explosion lacks fire. A burst of magic expands instead, the force of it making you crash against the table. Fiona ducks just in time to dodge a book making its best bullet impression, propelled by the blast into the other side of the room. The only good thing that comes out of it is that the cloud of ash is also cleared by the burst, sticking to the walls, floor and ceiling of the apothecary like a bad paint job.

“Claire!” She calls. She coughs once before she’s rushing towards you, one arm looping around your waist to steady you. You want to thank her, to apologize, not sure what happened, but when you open your mouth the air that rushes in somehow becomes raspy, agonizing. You lurch forward, eyes widening, lungs burning, trying to cough and only becoming more panicked when the involuntary intake of breath after the cough only brings more pain and more coughs, like an endless circle you can’t possibly get out of.

“Claire, what’s —? Oh my god, did you inhale ash?”

A choked groan escapes you, bringing with it yet more transmutated air. Fiona holds you just long enough so you won’t crash against the floor and then rushes of. You can’t see the fearful determination in her eyes, nor her desperate movements as she checks potion after potion for something that might help, her mystic powers flaring into existence.

You curl into a little ball and try not to breathe, because it seems every time you do the air only transforms into ash, falling directly into your lungs. It’s agonizing. You can’t stop coughing, can’t stop the involuntary breaths your body demands you to take, nor the way you start shivering. It feels like death its toying with you, inevitable, too close for comfort. You feel its claws in your lungs, you feel it in the dark edges of your vision, looming, waiting —

Fiona drops by your side, fingers grasping your chin —

“I’m sorry!”

And pushing your face upwards, practically pushing a bottle into your lips.

“Drink this! It will help! C’mon, Claire, please!”

Another cough. Fiona persists, tilting your head just right, and the contents come down like liquid fire. It seems to dissolve whatever curse you managed to put on yourself. You take deep breaths, greedy for air, the coughs finally fruitful in expelling the ash from your lungs. It hurts with every movement, but you try to endure it anyway, fingers sinking into Fiona’s cape.

“I’ll get you some water… and open the windows. Fresh air will help. Maybe it’ll be best if we leave the apothecary. There’s still ash in here.”

“Y-your… pot—”

“Don’t talk, Claire. C’mon, I’ll help you up. My potions will be fine.”

Your whole being seems to be burning. You don’t even get outside before you vomit. Fiona holds you all the while, nothing but pure concern on her face. Fiona starts listing ingredients to herself once you’re out, something that will help your lungs recover. You wait for her to lash out, to tell you what a bad idea it was, but nothing happens. She holds you and mutters how glad she is that she didn’t lose you, that she had the vision that allowed her to have the necessary potion handy.

#Anonymous #answered #lovestruck #lovestruck fanfiction #wicked lawless love #wll #wll fiona #fiona eichen #lovestruck fiona #angst #near character death #wicked lawless love fiona

27 notes · View notes

andyet-here-we-are · 5 years ago

Text

I Would Get Into Millions of Accidents Just to See You, Chapter 1

For @wolfgeralt as a little ‘thank you’ for his stunning art -which I really adore, you can see it here: (x)

and for @hecky-heckicravedeath (x) who gave me inspiration for this fanfiction. Also Thanks @3tothe1 for being my beta. (You’re such a sweetheart, and I love you so much)

Anyway, I hope you like it, my dear Witchlings! 💛

I present you: NURSE GERALT!

Chapter 1 Word Count: 2461

ao3: (x)

Chapter 2 Tumblr link: (x) Chapter 3 Tumblr link: (x) Chapter 4 Tumblr Link: (x)

When Geralt arrives for his shift, still feeling exhausted from yesterday, he has no idea what’s waiting for him at the hospital. His days are never too ordinary because you never know what you’ll come across.

That’s a part of being a nurse.

But he could never think that one of the not-so-famous musicians, his daughter, Ciri adores, was going to have a terrible traffic accident—which somehow isn’t on the news—and end up in the hospital he works at.

He already knows his name since Ciri just can’t stop talking about how nice he is and how he sounds like an angel. To the point where sometimes Geralt wants to say “Okay he is wonderful, so kind and lovely and you really love him, I get it. Can you please just keep eating your pasta? Yes Ciri, yes, I know that pasta is his favorite food, you say that every time we’re having pasta. ”

Geralt isn’t there for his intake, apparently, the accident happened last night, and the musician was badly injured.

Jaskier has a ruptured spleen that caused internal hemorrhaging, which the doctors were able to repair. He also has a mild concussion, a couple of broken ribs, along with some cuts and a broken leg which he is probably going to need another surgery for.

Since the other nurse who was responsible for Jaskier last night, is having some family issues and has to take his annual leave, Jaskier is in Geralt’s care now, they let Geralt know.

When Geralt is home, Ciri starts talking about how Jaskier hadn’t posted anything in two days, and how worried she is since Jaskier had promised them a new song, “He never breaks his promises,” she says.

Geralt thinks that keeping the fact that the young man was in a traffic accident to himself is a better idea.

***

Three days later, when Geralt cracks open the door to Jaskier’s room, the man still sounds asleep, his chest rising and falling with every slow breath he takes as the morphine keeps dripping into his system. It’s enough to keep him subdued, if not completely pain-free.

He checks his IV, and takes a few notes onto his clipboard, right before the musician comes to, his eyelids fluttering.

And damn if he hasn’t got the most breathtaking eyes he has ever seen in his whole life. Even when they lack the spark Geralt is sure they normally hold in them.

Jaskier is confused, of course. So he tells him about what has happened and clears his throat before speaking.

“Mr. Pankratz, I need to take your vitals and then give you some medicines for the pain, may I have your arm?”

“Hell you can, might as well take my poor heart that seems to be beating for—” Jaskier flirts and coughs before he has the chance to finish, his voice is low and hoarse from lack of use.

Geralt makes no comments, and fills a cup of water for him instead, helping him to drink it. He is surprised by the musician’s flattering words, and he is also glad that he is good at keeping a neutral expression on his face.

“…you.” He finishes. “Well, I would normally use the ‘am I dead and in Heaven?’ cliché, but, see,” Jaskier keeps talking after sipping some water “I’m in too much pain to think that I’m in heaven. You sure look like a sexy angel or something though. Ohoho, are you gonna give me a sponge bath, too? Just wondering. If so, I’m totally down for it. Just so you know.”

Geralt can’t help but snort at that a bit, “Do you always talk that much?”

“Maybe it’s you who doesn’t talk enough, you ever considered that?” Jaskier teases, and then suddenly his whole playful expression changes like he remembered that he had left his cat on the stone, and he frowns to himself, “Oh God, three days you said? Shitshitshit,” he drops his head back onto his pillows in a way too dramatic manner, covering his eyes with one hand “I had promised them a new song,” the nurse hears him mumbling “I am such an idiot.”

Jaskier truly seems so disappointed in himself that Geralt feels the need of comforting him. The man had a traffic accident, for crying out loud!

And yet, he is concerned for his fans because he couldn’t keep his promise, rather than being worried for himself.

Not even an hour has passed since he had the chance to talk to the man, but he already can see why Ciri likes this guy that much.

“It’s not your fault that some idiot decided that running a red light and colliding with your car was a good idea,” Geralt says “don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Jaskier still seems disappointed, but he mumbles a silent 'thank you’ before he says “ you may be right, but I promised them.”

***

Days go like this: Jaskier keeps flirting with him every time Geralt steps into his room to check on him and give him his medicines. Geralt never flirts back because of obvious reasons, but he never tells him to stop either, even though he does judge him with his eyes now and then.

The moments Geralt can spend with the man is the most he feels happy at work.

He can’t even deny that at this point.

Ciri keeps asking him why he looks happier nowadays, and why he suddenly became clumsy all of a sudden because he loses his focus easily.

“Who is the reason behind your smile? I gotta know! C’mon, it’s not fair! Don’t leave me hanging like this!” She insists, being the stubborn girl she is, and after a second she grins like cheshire cat “You’ve finally met someone special?”

“…I might have, pumpkin” is his answer. “I might have.”

***

He doesn’t know why, but Geralt doesn’t like Thursdays. Well, it’s probably because everything bad has ever happened to him seemed to happen on Thursdays, usually.

And sadly, this Thursday is no exception.

Hank, a seventy years old man who has been here for more than a month, and who has been very ill passes away. Who he had become really close with and really cared about.

Jaskier catches his change of mood when he goes to check on him and simply says, “Talk to me. I mean, you don’t have to. But you look like you could use a friend. And I’m so bored of watching television anyway.”

So Geralt talks to him.

He talks about Hank, about how wise he was. He talks about how he has been working here for years but how it still affects him so much when someone passes away. How he doesn’t suppose to feel a connection with his patients, how terrible of a nurse that makes him.

“That makes you human, not a terrible nurse.” Jaskier assures him, his voice as gentle as always. “Believe me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Geralt isn’t sure when Jaskier’s hand finds his hand as they talk, and when his dainty looking, long fingers link with his; but the intimate gesture feels so natural, so right that he just lets him.

***

Jaskier has surgery for his right leg the next day, and it’s not the first time that Geralt hears his patients saying the most ridiculous things after their surgery, thanks to the sedation.

But oh boy, if Jaskier doesn’t take it to a whole new level.

“Maaarry meee, my dear nurse!” the musician yells, “we could make the most adorable babies together! One of them would have my voice, one of them would have your weirdly sexy brooding or something. One of them would have my…. my tongue? Or eyes? Cheeks! Yes, cheeks. And the other would have your lips while the other would have your… DIMPLE! I love that cute dimple you have on your jaw! ”

Geralt laughs, because how can he not?

“That’s biologically impossible.” the nurse says. “Also how many kids you have in mind? That was awfully a lot.”

“Hmm, let’s see. Marie, Duchess,” Jaskier starts to count with his fingers, and he looks so damn adorable that Geralt finds it extremely hard to not just reach out and ruffle his hair. “Thomas O'Malley, Toulouse, and Berlioz. So, six!”

“It’s five, actually,” Geralt tilts his head to the side slightly and corrects him with a fond, little smile. “So… you’re planning to name your kids after The Aristocats?”

“Our kids, mind you. And I’m not straight, love. You can’t expect me to do the math, I don’t make the rules.”

Love.

He just called Geralt ‘love’

“He probably calls ‘love’ everyone,” the nurse reminds himself and swallows, not being able to focus on what Jaskier says for a minute or so. “You’re no special.”

But the way Jaskier utters that one word, makes him feel like he is lying to himself.

When he can finally focus on what he is saying, Jaskier is still talking about the same topic.

“…and you should be grateful that I’m not planning to name them after Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! If we’re gonna have more than six, I’m totally doing that though.”

“Why Mr. Pankratz, we’re not even married yet. But I already don’t have a say in anything, it seems.” Geralt can’t help but tease with the young man in return.

Jaskier waves one hand weakly: “Don’t take this as my marriage proposal though, I’m better than that. If I were to propose to you I would do that in the most wonderful way. Roses, candles, and everything. Even fireworks.”

Geralt remains silent, so Jaskier talks again: “And ya know, joking aside, actually we couldn’t name them unless we adopted them when they were babies.”

“Why do you want so many kids?” the nurse wonders, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, growing up in a foster care system will do that to you,” Jaskier lets out a loud and somehow cute yawn.

Geralt knows that he wasn’t even supposed to ask that, and he shouldn’t even listen to Jaskier rambling about his life, which he won’t even remember after the sedative effect wears off.

But he can’t suppress his need of knowing more about him.

He just can’t.

“Wanna adopt as many kids as I can, so I can provide ’em a life filled full of love and everything they deserve. All the beautiful things in the universe. All the things I couldn’t have when I was a kid.” Jaskier admits, and his words make Geralt’s heart clench in his chest.

At that moment, Geralt is sure that he is falling so hard for the musician.

Maybe he already did.

“Don’t think that I’m not gonna name our dogs after them though. Or cats.” Jaskier mumbles. He looks like he is just two seconds away from falling into a deep sleep.

Right when he moves to leave, Jaskier grabs his hand as he softly, sweetly whispers, “Geralt, don’t leave me.” And he sounds so vulnerable, so weak that the nurse’s heart skips a beat in his chest.

Geralt would love to say that he doesn’t leave all night, but he has other patients he needs to check on, so he leaves.

But not before staying for five minutes as he holds the musician’s hand, and watches him fall asleep. Nobody needs to know, right?

***

The next day, Jaskier doesn’t remember most of the things he had said last night, but somehow he remembers that Geralt had stayed for a while.

That day, feeling guilty about yesterday, Geralt talks about his life.

“It’s only fair,” he thinks.

He talks about Ciri, and he lets the musician know how crazy his daughter is about him. That makes Jaskier smile at him warmly, but then again, his smile is always like this.

Warmer than the sun on a hot summer day.

Blushing, Jaskier hesitantly says that he would love to meet her. His big, baby blue eyes seem to be searching for something in Geralt’s eyes.

And Geralt understands that he finds whatever he was searching for when Geralt nods and says: “We would love that, too.”

***

“Look! Jaskier finally posted something!” Ciri says one morning while they are having breakfast, well, more like Ciri is having breakfast, and Geralt is just busy with his coffee since he is in a hurry.

“Hmm?”

“Wait, was this an ‘I’m Actually Curious About What You Have To Say’ type of ‘hmm’? Because it definitely didn’t sound like your usual ‘I Don’t Care’ type of ‘hmm’. Nice! That might be the first time you actually seem curious about what I have to say about him.” Ciri smiles, and lets out a sad, little “Oh.” After reading whatever Jaskier had posted.

“He says that he is having some minor health issues…”

Geralt huffs at that.

‘Minor health issues’

If what he had gone through is “minor” to Jaskier, Geralt doesn’t even want to imagine what “major health issues” mean in his dictionary.

But he is sure that the only reason why the musician says “minor” is because he doesn’t want to worry his fans.

“‘I am in good hands though—I mean it, really really good hands—so no need to worry. Love you all, xoxo’ Hmm… I hope it’s nothing serious.”

The nurse looks at his daughter’s phone screen and the excessive amount of winking face emojis after ‘really really good hands’ part catches his attention.

He tries to hide his smile behind his black coffee mug.

And luckily, he succeeds.

***

A few days later, it’s time for Jaskier to be discharged from the hospital. And Geralt feels a bit sad about it, to be honest. Because he is already used to having the young man around.

To his never-ending flirting and jokes, to his smile, to his everything.

But the good thing is, that means that he will be no longer his patient.

Jaskier gives him his number before he leaves, and tells Geralt to call him whenever he is free.

“I’m totally getting into another accident and make sure they bring me here if you don’t call, Mr. Handsome Nurse,” the musician jokes in a low voice.

“We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Geralt smiles. “You can be sure that I’ll call, Jaskier. And we can even have some pasta maybe.”

It’s the first time that Geralt calls him by his first name, and the nurse can see how the other man’s smile widens when he does that, eyes sparkling.

“Wow. Now I have no doubt about how much Ciri talks about me,“ scratching the back of his head, Jaskier chuckles shyly, and it’s music to his ears. Ciri is right. He does sound like an angel.

"Till we meet again, Geralt. Till we meet again.”

#the witcher #jaskier #geraskier #jaskier x geralt #dandelion #geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #the witcher fanfiction #nurse geralt au #I Would Get Into Millions Of Accidents Just To See You #my writing

432 notes · View notes

a-world-in-grey · 4 years ago

Text

The Long Night - survivng with no sunlight

Alright, some thoughts on the Long Night and the various problems that arise from having no sunlight for ten years (other than the persistent daemon infestation, which tbh, is not necessarily as big a problem as some other things).

Tagging @secret-engima, @hamelin-born, @sparklecryptid - feel free to chip in with thoughts, same with everyone else.

1) Food.

Plants need light. No sunlight means no plants means nothing up the food chain survives.

The refugees would have enough time to work out indoor gardens/farms, and Lestallum would prioritize supplying power to growing food. Still, with a scarcity of plant life in the wild, there isn’t going to be any meat, and keeping livestock will become expensive and mostly unfeasible.

Mostly, protein is going to come from eggs, as feeding chickens - and the ffxv equivalent - is comparatively cost effective.

Honestly, expanding the power grid will be necessary just to get more farmland. But everyone will be growing food. Everyone. Be it simple greens like spinach or arugula or the much harder vegetables like tomatoes or fruit like strawberries and cituses. Everyone will be growing food.

(Titan and the other Astrals have to be pulling some serious magical miracles, because otherwise even with the return of dawn this would be an extinction event. The ecosystem simply would not survive.)

2) Health.

Beyond the obvious concern of supplying the hospital and making medicine, no sunlight has consequences on health. Not dire consequences, but it’s something that requires mitigation and that’s another difficulty you don’t need during an apocalypse.

Humans need vitamin D to be able to absorb calcium. Vitamin D3 is the best for this, and is primarily obtained through sunlight, fatty fish, butter, eggs, and a couple other sources I can’t remember off the top of my head.

Physically, lack of vitamin D will lead to decreased calcium intake - which isn’t helped by the fact that milk is going to become scarce and finding calcium is going to be difficult - which will lead to things like Rickets. Very low calcium levels can cause the larynx to spasm, causing suffocation.

Lack of sunlight also puts everyone at increased risk for chronic conditions like diabetes and high blood pressure, as well as infectious diseases like tuberculosis and colds.

Children have a higher risk for complications from vitamin D deficiency than adults, but a proper diet and supplements can head off complications.

A diet and supplements that aren’t available during an apocalypse.

Mentally, sunlight is really important for producing serotonin. Lack of serotonin will lead to issues like depression and other mood and sleep disorders.

(Another reason to have everyone growing food - it gets them exposed to light.)

Not eveyone will be affected mentally by a lack of light. Some won’t seem to have any problems. Others will but will be able to cope, and some... won’t. Especially with the scarcity of medication.

And then you get into what happens if someone gets sick - minor illnesses are no longer going to be minor, plague containment will be a serious concern, and people are going to die from things once thought easy to cure.

3) Weather.

The Long Night is due to the constant miasma layer. However, the fact remains - there is no sunlight, and therefore no heat.

I’m not saying it’s going to be arctic winter levels, but the temperature is probably not going to fluctuate, and as plant and animal life die off, there will be less things producing heat that will be trapped by the miasma layer. Which means as the years go by, it’s going to get slowly but surely colder.

Weather patterns are going to change. Because the sun won’t be evaporating large amounts of water, and therefore there won’t be any rain or snow. That will affect the ecosystem as water reservoirs and rivers dry up. Because the temperature won’t fluctate, there won’t be significant winds, which will further complicate precipitation and weather.

4) Law and Order.

Lestallum locals, Lucian refugees from the outlands and Insomnia, Galahdian refugees displaced from Insomnia, Accordan refugees, and Niflheim refugees. All stuck together in a relatively small town with a metric ton of stress on them.

That is a powder keg ready to explode.

People are going to blame each other. They are going to lash out because they are scared, angry, hurt, and grieving. People will try to get other people kicked out, will try to limit the resources of others or cut those resources off entirely, claiming they’re ‘unworthy’ and ‘don’t deserve’ as much as ‘decent folk.’

I do not envy whoever is in charge of keeping the peace.

That’s all for now - feel free to add on with any thoughts or ideas.

#ffxv #worldbuilding #Shadow of Heaven’s Light #Take My Breath au #Long Night #Comrades #seriously guys #ecosystems are so fragile #and this would be taking a fucking sledgehammer to it

66 notes · View notes

chocoluckchipz · 4 years ago

Text

The Other You - 5

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

< Previous

Marinette set her phone back on her desk, suppressing a long sigh.

Deep down, she knew it was unfair of her, but part of her was somewhat glad that Alya was worried about her whereabouts. For the past few days, she had been receiving a constant string of texts, first asking if she was okay, then wondering if she was safe. In the end, Alya began to beg her best friend to at least give her a sign, confirming that she was, at the very least, alive.

But Marinette couldn’t.

The wound was too fresh, the hurt still too vivid.

She didn’t want to go back to their apartment, a home where questions never ceased, where she couldn’t focus on her already withering career without being guilt-tripped. Marinette snuck in only once after leaving, at a time she knew neither Alya nor Nino would be home. And only because, as the Guardian, she couldn’t leave the Miracle Box at a place she no longer lived.

Her daily phone calls with her parents went by quickly, telling them she was staying with a friend, looking at different options and reevaluating her life. Aside from that, she ostensively ignored a thousand calls from Alya and a few hundred from Nino.

But no matter how much her friends were worried about her, no matter how her parents thought she was making all the wrong life choices, Marinette knew that pursuing her lifelong dream was worth it in the end. Reaching the goal would make it all worth it.

She had to pull through, had to continue even if it killed her in the end. She had to carry Gabriel Agreste’s work beyond the grave and prevent his up-to-no-good son from wrecking years of sacrifice, late hours of work, and lonely holidays. Gabriel’s first women’s line was almost ready to launch, and she had sworn to herself that everything would go smoothly even if there were a few sacrifices to be made along the way.

And now that the goal was so close, almost in her hands, she couldn’t imagine giving up on it. So, she ignored the stubbornly chiming little device on her desk and got back to work, trying yet again to figure out what her former boss had intended to do with a particular design.

A few hours later, she dropped her pen on her desk, holding her head in her hands. It was no use. The fire in her veins was drowned out; the inspiration was gone. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t envision what Gabriel had been trying to convey, what his intention with that final design had been.

She grabbed her sewing shears and started cutting through some fabric she had laying around, trying to empty her mind from the constant nagging, the constant wondering about whether or not her late boss had intended Design A to be flirty or Design B to be sassy. She lost herself in the cutting of the best quality cloth, her fingers running over the fibres with reverence as she lay them against the dress she was currently working on. Maybe seeing the samples on the dress itself would help her understand?

“Long time no see, Princess.”

Marinette almost jumped out of her skin upon hearing those words, her shears falling to the floor with a clatter. She spun around, ready to fend off the intruder with her very life should the need arise.

The sudden motion after what little food she had eaten in the last few days made her dizzy. The room wobbled around her, and her limbs felt unbearably heavy. A familiar face came into view, one that looked oddly out of place in her office, one that she only ever saw on random rooftops these days.

Despite being happy to see him, she opened her mouth to ask him to leave, to put her partner back into the ‘superhero life’ where he belonged, where he couldn’t witness firsthand the mess her life had become. But her lips refused to obey. Her legs gave out underneath her, and everything went black.

The next thing she was aware of was strong arms holding her upright in her office chair and something wet pressing against her lips. Marinette suppressed a surprised cough as cold water filled her mouth, bringing her back to her senses. Warm fingers covered in leather gently stroked her cheek as a familiar voice spoke to her.

“Marinette? Look at me. Are you okay?”

She choked out half mumbled words, her head still spinning. Her eyes managed to focus on a vivid patch of green—Chat Noir’s eyes.

“Ch… Cha… W—”

Marinette tried to get up, but he was quicker than her, forcibly holding her shoulders down. “Easy there, Tiger. That was a pretty bad fainting spell.”

She looked at him through her hazy vision, focusing on his soothing voice. “How… How long was I out?”

“About five minutes or so. Come on, I’m taking you home. You need a real meal and a few hours of sleep in a bed.”

She gave a disheartened laugh. “Good luck with that, Chat Noir. You can’t take me home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the hero argued stubbornly. “You can’t weigh more than a few feathers; you’re barely skin and bones. When was the last time you had a proper meal?”

She didn’t answer, instead averting her gaze away from him. His proximity was beginning to mess with her head. Her entire being craved his comforting touch, the familiar safety of his arms. Chat Noir wasn’t done with her though, as he gently nudged her chin up, worry written all over his handsome face.

“You’ve lost an awful lot of weight, Marinette. Please, please tell me you’re not starving yourself to look like those unhealthy models placed all over Paris. You’re a very beautiful woman. You don’t need to go to such lengths to feel attractive.”

His tone was earnest, gentle, and any other day, Marinette would’ve thought Chat Noir’s concern was nothing short of adorable. That night, though, she was way beyond exhausted and had apparently just wasted a good amount of precious time she could’ve spent working.

With a frustrated groan, she eyed the mess on her desk. “Don’t worry about me, Chat Noir. I’m fine. I have a housing issue to solve, but right now I’m just running short on time. Those mockups have to leave first thing in the morning, and I can’t afford to miss the deadline.”

He looked almost shocked. “Are you saying you have nowhere to go?”

“I’m fine, Chat—”

“You are far from fine, Marinette. Where’s the bubbly and adorable teenager who shared her cookies with me on her balcony a few years back?”

“You don’t understand, Chat. I have to make this work. Failure is not an option.”

He grabbed her hand. “Why are you putting yourself through this insanity? I’ve seen what you’re capable of, Marinette. Any fashion empire in France would be happy to have you. This entire company is going down in flames, and everyone’s already abandoning the sinking ship. Why are you staying?”

“Because without Gabriel Agreste behind me, I’m no one in the industry,” she cried. “I don’t have anything worthy to put on my CV. How do you expect me to find a job like this?”

“But… You went to ESMOD, didn’t you?”

“I never graduated. Gabriel found me and offered me a paid apprenticeship instead of wasting my time on school benches. It seemed like the perfect solution back then. I would get an early start in the industry without racking up student debt,” she sighed, her head hanging low. “But now, without a degree to show for myself and with Gabriel gone…”

She trailed off, but Chat Noir seemed to understand what her entire problem was, because he breathed softly, “Your only chance to prove your worth in the industry is to make sure his last collection is a hit and gives you the recognition you deserve.”

“In a nutshell, yes.” Marinette looked to the side, tensing. “And as if that wasn’t enough, his nut-job of a son is back in my life.”

“Not a fan of the younger Agreste, I take it?”

Marinette snorted inelegantly, shaking her head dejectedly. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

Chat Noir flinched, but now that the gates were open, Marinette couldn’t for the life of her figure out how to close them. He was still kneeling in front of her, looking at her with those big, kind eyes that always made her weak in the knees, and for a fleeting moment, she forgot about everything else.

Like she had done countless times before, she raised her hand to cup his cheek tenderly, losing herself in his intense gaze. She didn’t hear Chat Noir’s surprised hiccup, nor did she realize it was the very first time her bare fingers were touching his skin.

“You know what the worst part in all this is, Chat?” she said, unaware of the sharp intake of breath from the man before her because she shouldn’t be that comfortable, that familiar with him. “I used to be friends with Adrien. I would’ve done anything for him, would’ve gone to the moon and back just to put a smile on his face. But he betrayed me the first chance he got, tried to sabotage my dream for no good reason. He…”

Her voice broke, and she choked back a sob, tears rolling unbidden down her cheeks. Chat Noir surged forward, wrapping his arms around her in a warm embrace to try and appease the pain she failed to contain. What he didn’t account for, though, was Marinette’s current state of mind. She needed her partner more than anything at that moment. Her entire being was yearning painfully for his comforting touch as a wave of affection for him washed over her heart.

Without thinking, the absence of the red spandex suit long forgotten, Marinette tilted her head, her eyes fluttering closed. Her lips found his easily in the semi-darkness of the room, and she found solace in the familiar scent of his cologne, the comforting feeling of his muscular arms holding her close to his broad chest. His lips were a little chapped, and he tasted of coffee and the salt of her tears, and Marinette had never felt more at home than in that moment.

For a brief and blissful moment, his lips moved in harmony with hers, making her heart soar high. Then, Chat's entire body went rigid beneath her hands and just as fast as it had begun, it was over. His hands wrapped around her wrists and pried her hands from him as he jerked back with a startled gasp, staring at her with a shocked expression. His lips moved a few times without any sound coming out of them, before he managed to hoarsely choke out, “Ah—shit. I’m sorry, Marinette. I shouldn’t have—”

Hearing her own name roll from his lips in such an unfamiliar way brought her back to her senses, and the weight of what she had just done crashed on her all at once. Her heart felt like it was bursting at the seams, unable to contain the contradictory emotions fighting within it. “I’m sorry,” she sighed, her cheeks still wet from her earlier tears. “You love her, don’t you? Ladybug?”

Oddly enough, when Chat Noir nodded with a fiery blush spread on his cheeks, Marinette felt her heart torn to pieces in her chest.

“I have to go, but I really want to help you here, okay? I owe you for all those cookies on your balcony years ago. I’ll… ah… I’ll figure out something and come back as soon as I can, okay? I’m sorry—try to grab a bite to eat while you wait for me. You’re as white as a ghost.”

“Chat…” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and he took a step back, his hand clenched tightly around his staff. Had he seen her expression change? Was he suddenly unable to bear the sight of her? Before she could say anything, he was gone without another word, an open window being the only proof that he had ever been there.

Breathless, her heart pounding almost painfully in her chest, Marinette plopped back into her chair, unaware of the tears running freely down her face. In the oppressive silence of her office, she whispered to herself, “Shit… I broke my kitty, didn’t I?” before letting out a loud sob.

The only thread tethering her to sanity was now threatening to break.

Next >

#miraculous ladybug #marichat #ML #adrienette #the other you #enemies to friends to lovers #angst with a happy end #myart #my art

34 notes · View notes

phantoms-lair · 4 years ago

Text

EnergyBending snippets

Takes place late in my Nursery Rhyme/Avatar Zuko Story. Unlike in cannon Zuko’s main focus was bringing back airbenders, so things didn’t go as badly between the group and Wan Shi Tong. Zuko learned Energy Bending rather than about the Day of Black Sun (though that does come in later), but he learned it from a book, so he doesn’t have the confidence Aang had with the Lion Turtle gifting it to them.

“Toph’s asleep.” Aang reported.

Zuko’s breathed out a sigh of relief. He wanted this to be a private conversation and she was the one he was most worried about overhearing. Sure she was brash and forward, but he hadn’t forgotten how sneaky she was capable of being, hiding her second identity from her parents. “Could you wait here too?”

Aang crossed his arms. “Sokka won’t even know I’m there.”

“But I would. And it would feel like I’m ganging up on him, but it has to be his choice and-”

Aang put his hands up. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll stay here.”

“You could always get some lesson plans ready.” Zuko suggested, which had Aang grinning.

Zuko left his tent and went to where Sokka would be standing watch. He was often the last to go to sleep, taking the safety of the group seriously. “Can we talk?”

“I’m not stopping you.” Sokka shrugged.

“I’ve been studying the techniques I learned at Wan Shi Tong’s library. It’s been focusing far more on the Spiritual Side of being an Avatar than I’ve ever done. According to Aang more than any Avatar has done in generations. But I think I’ve got it. I can use energybending to make more airbenders.”

He heard the sharp intake of Sokka’s breath. He understood how important this was. “I just need to put it into action, and the first new airbender...Sokka I want it to be you.”

Sokka crossed his arms, but didn’t respond for a few minutes. "I don't need bending,” He finally said, tersely.

Zuko took a deep breath. "Sokka, you are without a doubt one of the greatest warriors I have ever met. You're clever, adaptive, and pick up new disciplines faster than anyone I've ever seen. If I ever heard anyone suggest you needed to be a bender I'd fight them myself, if everyone one else in our camp didn't beat me to it."

"You don't need to be a bender, it's more...I need a bender to be you."

Sokka raised an eyebrow. "And that makes sense how?"

"We don't have much time before the Day of Black Sun. In that time I need to at least create some new airbenders in case I die. But I need to know this is going to work. And for that I need the first new airbender to be someone who can travel with us. But our path in dangerous and they'd need to be able to defend themselves, and not with a bending they're not used to. I need the first airbender to be a warrior who doesn't have to rely on bending, but who's adaptive enough to be able to incorporate it into what they already do. Who else could that be but you?"

"Katara, can we talk?"

Katara looked up from breakfast at the serious expression on her brother's face. He looked like he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. "What about?"

Sokka took a deep breath. "Zuko wants me to become an airbender."

It took her a moment to process what she'd heard. "Wait, you? Why?"

"The long story short of it: I'm adaptable and don't need to rely on bending to fight." Sokka plopped down by the fire. "It's weird, you know? I wasn't the biggest fan of your bending back at the South Pole. Then bending got us mixed up in all kinds of weird stuff after we teamed up with Zuko and Iroh, and I was glad I never had to deal with that. But after a while I got, you know, jealous. You and Iroh, and Toph can doo all these amazing things, and Zuko was the flipping Avatar, and here I was just a guy with a boomerang."

"You know none of us saw you that way, right?" Katara asked, her eyes looking troubled.

"I know, it's just... I'm afraid the part of me that wants to say yes just wants to feel special, while another part of me is how much I'm afraid I won't be me anymore, and I don't know what to do. I know logically Zuko's right. I'm the best candidate we have right now. But I'm scared."

"Okay, let's do this before I change my mind."

"No."

Sokka blinked at Zuko and his instant shut down. "What?"

"We're not doing this unless you're completely sure. There's too much risk otherwise."

Sokka's eyes narrowed. "What risk, you never said anything about risk."

"Because the risk isn't to you." Zuko snapped, then took a few breaths to calm down. "Consensual energy bending like what I have planned has no real risk. But if you panic and change your mind it becomes a battle of will. Your will has never faltered. Mine has. You could shatter me, Sokka, so excuse me for not wanting to risk that until I know my work is done.”

There was a whole lot to unpack there. Zuko's lack of faith in himself, his utter faith in Sokka (who had to admit he was kind of touched the Avatar had no doubts he would be the one to come off better in a test of wills), or Zuko implying that the risk would be okay, as long as he'd made enough Airbenders to know the cycle wouldn't be broken upon his death.

It also helped to know Zuko wasn't so eager that he'd pressure Sokka into it. That took a load off his mind.

"I'm sure." Zuko looked up from his meditation. He didn't have to ask what Sokka meant.

"I thought about it and I had a lot of concerns about a lot of things, but in the end, I think it came down to your concern. You're right. Letting the cycle stay broken any longer than absolutely necessary is beyond risky. Being the Avatar doesn't protect you from death. I swore I'd do anything I could to help end the war. This wasn't what I was expecting, but I can’t turn away from it."

Zuko nodded. Duty and Honor were what he understood best. "Okay. Sit down in front of me. I'm going to need to put my hands on your head and heart to do this. Like I said before, please don't fight me. Also it would help if you focused on Air to give it something to anchor to." Zuko tried to sound wise teacherish, if only to hide how nervous he was about the procedure.

He placed his hands where he said and bent. It was...like nothing he'd ever done before, it wasn't just pulling on an element, it was raising his awareness. He could suddenly see into Sokka's soul, and see the nodes of chakra that governed it. Sokka's elemental nodes were reasonably balanced with a slight weight towards Water. Not unusual for a non bender and oh hey he could raise Sokka's spiritual awareness and give Aang someone else to talk to.

Tempting, but no. He'd stick to what he said and no more.

He strengthened the Air Charkra and pulled energy into it. But almost as quickly it drained out. "Sokka, are you focusing on air?"

"Yeah, I'm thinking of all those dumb temples and everything."

There was a beat of silence. "Sokka YOU ARE NOT A MONK. Those images mean nothing to you. Don't think about the image of what you think an Airbender should be. What does air mean to you?"

To him? Sokka was taken aback. Air was...was...Air was wind. It was blowing snowflakes in a blizzard while Gran Gran told them stories of the North Pole. It was the crisp scent of salt as he stood on the shores waiting for his father's boat to return, which could turn sharp as a knife if it wanted. It was the warmth that filled their balloon and let them travel between poles all the way into the Fire Nation. Wind was Home. Wind was Freedom.

And something in Sokka clicked. He opened his eyes to see an exhausted looking Zuko pulling his hand away, and the others just watching mouths mostly agape, with rocks clinging to Katara’s legs.

"Will someone tell me what's happening?" Toph grumbled, keeping her hold on Katara.

"It was quite the impressive light show, nephew." Iroh observed, stroking his beard. "From both of you."

"Both? Sokka's jaws worked up and down. Sure Zuko glowing was one thing, with his while Avatar dealy, but him too?

"Sweetness here tried to grab you away. I may not know what's going on but, I figured that would be bad." Toph explained.

"It would have." Zuko panted. "But it worked. " He gave Sokka a tried smile. "Congratulations. You're an airbender."

"Hey Zuko, just to be clear. All we're doing is sitting at you families beach house laying low till the Day of Black Sun, right? There's nothing we need to be working on?"

Zuko shot Sokka a look. "Well, you need to be working on your airbending forms, otherwise no." Sokka's face had been pure mischief, Katara had caught it too. As had Toph, though she was grinning in a way that made things worse.

"Well I think this is a perfect time for a little Energy Bending practice. More precisely, I think you should take away Katara's waterbending till we're ready to leave."

Katara let out a squack of indignation and Zuko just sighed. "Sokka, remember when I explained energy bending can be risky if the other person is unwilling? There is no way she's going to willingly give up her bending even temporarily." Zuko pointed out.

"I wasn't suggesting we leave her empty handed." Sokka waved them off. "Something like, say, firebending?"

"Why on Earth do you think I'd willingly become a firebender?" Katara asked heatedly.

"Because when Zuko was having a hard time getting a grasp on waterbending, you made a claim that you could pick up fire much easier than he did water. I just want to see if it's true. Or do you admit you were empty boasting?"

Katara glared at him, then marched up to Zuko. "Fire-ize me."

Zuko sputtered, not expecting that. "Are...are you joking?"

"Do it!" Katara’s tone left no room to argue.

Zuko could feel the headache building, but put one hand on Katara's head and the other over her heart. It was honestly far easier than giving Sokka airbending. The water was well entrenched, but her anger was practically singing for fire. "Done. You might want to ask Uncle for lessons, though. He's a better teacher than me."

She gave a curt nod, then a predatory smile at her brother, then walked off.

"I can't BELIEVE you got away with that!" Toph was rolling on the ground laughing.

"Who says he did?" Zuko smirked. "He got his sister pissed at him, then convinced me to give her the power to shoot fire."

Toph laughed even harder as all the color drained from Sokka's face. "Better throw yourself on the mercy of the Avatar. It's the only chance you got."

"Nope, even the Avatar knows to pick his battles. The entire fire nation army is one thing, I learned my lesson about little sister bending prodigies with fire. Good luck Sokka."

It was good to be free Cheif Hakoda thought as he stepped out of the balloon Sokka and the Avatar had rescued him in. They were in the Western Air Temple, apparently. According to to Sokka the Avatar's Uncle, an earthbender, and more importantly Katara was there as well. He saw her before she saw him. She was doing waterbending forms and he just wanted a moment to stop and look at her, to see how much she'd grown... And then a small gout of fire burst from her hands.

"Sokka, I don't remember your sister being a firebender," Suki commented, staring at the sight.

"We probably should have mentioned that." Zuko admitted.

"Hey Katara, guests!" Toph said with a laugh.

"Guests? Toph who could visit us way up here." Then she turned and saw them. "Dad?" she chocked, before running and squeezing him as hard as she could.

"I'm here too," Suki joked.

"Zuko and I May have staged a prison break. At the most high security Fire Nation prison to get him out." Sokka tried to sound casual, but was obviously pleased with himself.

"Aang wants to point out he was there too." Zuko added.

"Who's Aang, and why is Katara firebending?" Hakoda felt more confused by the second.

"Aang is Zuko's Spirit Guide. As for the firebending, I just thought Katara should put her skill where her mouth was. Or rather her lack of skill." Sokka sounded smug.

"You better be glad I'm so happy Dad's here or you'd be getting a fiery first to the face."

"Like you could manage more than smoke."

"If I may." Iroh interrupted. "When your daughter was teaching my nephew waterbending they came across a common problem among Avatars, a difficult grasping the opposing element. Katara made the claim that if she was in his place, she would be much more adept at firebending then he was at water."

"My nephew learned of energybending, a way to give or take away bending ability, in his quest to bring Air back into the balance. And you son decided to call her months old bluff."

That...sounded like Sokka. "Avatar Zuko, I don't suppose you could set my daughter back to normal?"

"Certainly sir," Zuko couldn't hide the relief in his voice, but Katara grabbed one of his wrists.

"Oh no, you're not winning that easily." She warned.

"Winning? I'm not even in this argument." Zuko protested.

"I'm not giving up on this till I learn Firebending. Even if the day of Black Sun comes, I’ll be firebending into battle." Katara declared.

"Okay no." Zuko put his foot down. "First of all we are not giving up one of the few waterbending masters in this fight for your ego. Second, there is no firebending on the Day of Black Sun. That's the whole point of the Day of Black Sun."

Katara looked pensive for a moment. "Fine. I accept the second reason. But I'm going back to fire right after."

~~~~

I was a little torn on making Sokka a bender becasue, as was said above, he doesn’t need bending by any stretch of the imagination. But thinking with an in universe perspective, there’s no one else Zuko would pick. He doesn’t have the confidence he’d win a battle of wills if someone tried to turn it on him the way Ozai did Aang, so he had to make sure at the very least the first new airbender was someone he’d trust his soul with. And that is a very short list,

#AtLA #Nursery Rhyme #Avatar!Zuko #Ghost Writing

49 notes · View notes

shutupandshipit · 4 years ago

Text

Little Life - Ch. 5

Summary: A baby could ruin his career before it had even started. If anyone found out, he would be kicked out of the Hero Course at the very least and UA at the very worst. Even then, how was he supposed to care for a baby once it arrived? He was a fucking seventeen-year-old boy, not a twenty-nine-year-old omega with their shit at least somewhat together.

…..

Or where Katsuki get pregnant, but is determined to make it to graduation. No matter what it takes.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T (just for language mostly)

Chapter: 5/16

Previous <- Chapter 4

Chapter 6 -> Next

Master Post

Chapter 5: 3 Months

Katsuki was more than surprised when he looked at the date and realized... he'd made it through the first trimester. He'd already made it through a third of his pregnancy without anyone discovering his tightly held secret despite the midnight snacks of strawberries and mayonnaise, or orange juice and cherries, or apple slices dipped in, of all things, Worcestershire sauce. Sero, the feck, had a terrible habit of catching him in these moments.

The beta almost always gagged at the sight and then again while Katsuki pointedly stared into his eyes as he took another bite. While Katsuki would normally agree, especially with the last, that shit had been good enough to satiate his cravings. In quiet moments, he worried about the kind of things his pup was going to enjoy, but mostly for the amount of sugar he constantly wanted to ingest. He always blamed Izuku for the blooming sweet tooth.

No one had found him out despite his exhaustion, doubling up on his food intake, and his constant mood swings. Despite vacillating wildly between needing to be close to Izuku and his friends, and then wanting absolutely nothing to do with anyone a mere hour later.

He'd made it through the first trimester, and he hadn't been found out. The thought repeated through his still mind, over and over and over until it was a mantra instead of a statement. His relief was short lived through because he knew that there was still so much more time to go.

Hissing at the sudden spike that shoved through his left eye to leave his head pounding, he was reminded exactly how much longer he had and how many more symptoms he had left to look forward to. He slammed his phone into the rumpled nest that his bed had become with a snarl. Fuck, there was still so much longer! He just wanted it to be over already!

'The joys of pregnancy and motherhood, my fucking ass!' he snarled viciously to himself, scrubbing the unwarranted and wildly unwanted tears from his eyes. As he flung his door open, he thought, 'At least you don't wake up puking your guts out every morning. Now you just vomit up your stomach every other day. What a blessing.' Really, he'd never realized how sarcastic he could be until he had only himself to talk to.

Stepping into the common room, Izuku's scent all but slapped him in the face. The nerd was humming as he cleaned away the dishes from his breakfast, seemingly pumping his pheromones through the room unconsciously. Katsuki inhaled greedily without moving, reminded that the clothes in his nest needed to be traded out sooner rather than later if he wanted his nest to remain sufficiently drenched.

His headache flared again before the pain was cut into and numbed by Izuku's scent.

Izuku's eyes jumped up, surprised, and he stared back at Katsuki. Their scents swirled and mixed as Katsuki's omega pumped out pheromones in response to his mate being so close at hand, claiming him even when an entire room separated them.

Kaminari bumped into his back sleepily, and immediately slapped a hand over his nose. "Ah, jeez! Do you guys have to do this whole power dynamic thing all the time? It's suffocating in here! I'm going to smell like you guys all day!"

Katsuki's omega purred at the simple idea. 'Alpha friend. Scent. Ours. Everyone must know alpha friend is ours.' Squashing that voice, he struggled to reel his scent back in, snarling at the difficulty of fighting his own omega.

Kaminari startled, and took several quick steps out of his reach. "Are you sure you're an omega, dude? Like, I don't understand how. You're so aggressive all the time," he asked pitifully, voice nasally and eyes tearing up as he stood nearly immobilized. He pinched his nose closed with two fingers, breathing shallowly.

"Are you sure you're a fucking alpha? You're such a pussy all the time," Katsuki snapped back harshly. He hated, hated being reminded that he should have been an alpha, that he'd been cheated by his own biology.

"Kacchan," Izuku admonished.

Rolling his eyes to glare at Izuku, he shot back, "Oh, shove it up your fucking ass, Deku!" before stomping from the dorms.

.....

He peed when he got to school. He peed at every break. He peed before and after eating lunch and when the time between breaks dragged on too long. Even now during hero training, he felt the ever present pressure on his bladder urging him to sprint to the closest restroom.

It was maddening. He didn't think he'd ever pissed so much in his life. The worst part being that the pressure was never really gone and the release was never truly satisfying. Very rarely did anything ever come out when he tried.

Honestly, he would have taken the pounding headache and roiling nausea over this. At least he could calm his stomach, but what the fuck was he supposed to do about the pressure? It's not like he could reach into his body and rearrange his organs to be more comfortable as the leech inside him was already making major head way on that little project.

He should have just accepted the discomfort like everything else instead of wishing for something different. His stupid fucking body was far too literal at times, and he wanted to hollow out his entire body as pain lanced through his eyes and nausea coiled low in his belly. Bile rose in the back of his throat.

His moment of distraction proved fatal as a well placed kick from Kirishima sent him flying.

Instinctively, he clamped his arms over his belly instead of extending them to catch his fall. He tumbled across the gym floor before sliding to a stop against the far wall. The only saving grace was that there were no teachers or other classmates around as he immediately rolled onto all fours to turn out the contents of his stomach.

'Alpha. Mate. Get to mate. Help. Help. Help,' his omega keened, pumping out distressed pheromones in hopes of attracting Izuku's attention. And attract they did.

"Kacchan!" Izuku shouted, at his side in barely an instant, hand pressed firmly to his back as his spine bowed with the force of his retching, "What happened?"

Kirishima tore over, panting out, "Oh shit! I thought he was going to block so I went full force! Katsuki, bro, are you okay?"

'Do I fucking look okay?' Katsuki wanted to scream, but there was still bile in his throat, so he just vomited again instead.

Only when Izuku shouted, "I'm going to go get Mr. Aizawa!" did he find the will to force his body into submission.

"No," he panted as saliva and bile dripped from his open mouth, latching onto Izuku's thigh to both hold him in place and push himself away from the puddle of sick, "Don't you fucking dare, Deku."

"Kacchan!" Izuku protested, but winced as Katsuki's fingers tightened. How was there even feeling left with all that muscle?

"Shitty Hair can take me back to the dorms, but. No. Teachers."

"Bro, like, I think you really need to see Recovery Girl at least," Kirishima sputtered, voice trembling and stilted at he pinched his nose closed against their pungent scents, against his pungent scent. The distress his omega had poured out was noxious.

"What I need," Katsuki snarled lowly, "Is to be taken to the dorms so I can brush my teeth and go the fuck to bed. If you won't take me, I'll just take myself." He used Izuku as an anchor, pushing himself up on trembling legs to start for the nearest exit.

Kirishima was under his arm then, looking back at Izuku.

"Go. I'll clean this up and let Mr.Aizawa know he wasn't feeling well. I'll bring your guys' stuff back. Kacchan, I'll come by to check on you later."

"Don't bother," Katsuki growled in reply, but silently hoped he would ignore him like he often did. Then he would have a reason to bundle Izuku up in his nest for the night.

.....

Kirishima stuck close to his side after getting to the dorms, watching in concern as he guzzled down bottle after bottle of water, showered, and pulled on the clothes he'd gotten Izuku to sleep in for a night to scent properly.

Sitting in the middle of his nest as he fiddled with the blanket he'd been stitching for the absolute terror growing inside him, he tried to ignore just how intensely Kirishima was watching him from his desk. How his room so obviously smelled like Izuku. He could almost taste Kirishima's concern on the air, and it had his omega whining back in return.

"Listen, bro," Kirishima said, breaking the silence and making Katsuki stiffen, "I know you're all macho 'I-don't-need-no-alpha', but I -and Midoriya and all the others- are really worried about you. Like seriously worried. I'm not trying to pry into your business or anything, but I want to help. You're my best friend, and I don't like seeing you like this."

Kirishima was earnest, so fucking earnest that it made heat press in at the backs of his eyes.

'Tell him. Tell him. Tell him. Alpha friend will help us. Tell him,' his omega chanted incessantly, and he vehemently wished he could stuff a sock don't the wolf's muzzle.

Katsuki pinched the bridge of his nose, and before he could think better, muttered, "I'm pregnant."

Silence.

Glancing over, he found tears on sun tanned cheeks and a stunned expression on his best friend's face. He groaned inwardly as the heat beaded over onto his own lashes. Fucking hormones.

"Three months. No one knows," he rambled, turning away before Kirishima could see the wetness in his own eyes and steadfastly threaded his needle into his project, but the tremble in his voice was a dead giveaway anyway, "No one knows. And you can't tell anyone, do you hear me? Not an absolute soul, or I'll kill you in cold blood. You may be my best friend, but these stupid fucking pregnancy hormones have made me feel particularly murderous." Still more silence, so he looked back. "Kirishima?"

"B-b-b-b-but how? Don't you need-" Kirishima stopped abruptly, "Who's the father? Do they know?"

Oh. He didn't honestly believe his best friend was this dense, but his classmates were constantly surprising him.

"No! Didn't you hear what I said? No one knows, and you're not going to tell him either," he snapped. He could see the wheels in Kirishima's brain turning, turning, turning, looking for answers to his numerous questions.

"But they deserve to know!"

"Yeah, he does, but I'm not going to ruin everything he's worked for if I get caught. Don't you get it? This is a career killer before the career has even started if I get caught. I'm not dragging him down with me." He was worked up, his body hot as emotion flooded his system. Something fluttered in his abdomen, and he worked to calm down. He pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes to stem the flow of tears. "Don't you get it? I can't take that from him after everything I did to him before. And you know the success rate of male omega pregnancies. There's always the chance of- I can't."

They were silent, sniffling in tandem, for the longest minute of Katsuki's life.

"Is Midoriya the father?"

Katsuki didn't answer which was answer enough.

Kirishima's scent got closer, calming sympathy flowing off him in waves. Katsuki and his omega growled lowly, warning him from putting a single finger on their nest. Kirishima just rumbled in reply. "So, this whole time, you've been doing this alone? All the puking and weird food because you're pregnant? How has Midoriya not caught on yet?"

Katsuki huffed out a strangled laugh. "Have you met Deku? He's smart, but he's also an oblivious idiot. Do you know what I had to do to get into a relationship with him? I don't let him sleep in here that often."

Kirishima laughed quietly, and his omega rolled happily at the sound, metaphorically baring its belly for the feeling of community, for the feeling of pack. "Yeah, I guess that's true. So... you're symptoms have been so bad because you're keeping your... mate," he said tentatively, "at arm's length?"

"Yeah." Katsuki dropped his hands, and the traitorous tears rushed forward. If he could rip out his own tear ducts, he would have by now.

Sitting on the floor as close to the edge of the bed as he dared to get, Kirishima stared with blatant wonder at Katsuki's stomach. It was a telling sign that he didn't immediately try to bite him for the observation.

"There's really a little life growing in there? A little mix of you and Midoriya? They're going to be a terror. Shouldn't you be, I don't know, bigger by now?"

"Yes, and I don't know. I went to my parents' doctor, and they said the baby is growing normally so there's nothing to be concerned about."

Turning his eyes up to meet Katsuki's, he whispered, "Wow, but what are you going to do when you do get bigger?"

Katsuki grimaced, looking back down at the half-finished blanket. "I don't know yet. Hope I don't show? I read that some people don't show the entire time."

Kirishima scrunched up his nose. "It'd be pretty weird to see you looking like you shoved a bowling ball up your shirt, I do have to admit." His face smoothed, and then he was grinning. "I'm really glad you trust me enough to tell me. At least I can help now however I can." In the next moment, his grin turned sly, and Katsuki's stomach dropped. "So, like, you and Midoriya, huh? When did that all start?"

Face heating, Katsuki snapped, "Get out!"

Kirishima whined, but stayed firmly planted where he was sitting.

#my hero academia #mha #bakudeku #dekubaku #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #omegaverse #omega!Katsuki #alpha!izuku #my writing #multi-chapter #little life

20 notes · View notes

publiccollectors · 5 years ago

Photo

QUARANZINE #14

QUARANZINE #14: Rachel Herman. Rachel was diagnosed as a presumptive positive for COVID-19 after a test for Influenza A and B turned up negative. She's been fighting the virus for just over two weeks. Yesterday she posted this long message on Facebook about her experience so far and I asked her about publishing it in QUARANZINE. She had been thinking about reaching out to me, so we were both on the same page. The text is very long for the format I adhere to so the type is quite small, unfortunately. Here it is in its entirety: Dear friends,

This is the week many of us will get sick. Social distancing is working, but most cities waited too long to declare shelter-in-place orders and many others have yet to. So, we will see spikes in confirmed cases within the next week or so. I want you all to be armed with pragmatic and useful information if this happens to you or someone you care about.

I am on Day 14 of what was diagnosed as a presumptive positive for COVID-19 after a test for Influenza A and B turned up negative. (I am still waiting for my COVID-19 results.) I’ve had a relatively mild case, and I’m on the mend. My congestion is clearing up, I can breathe deeply again, and going up and down the stairs doesn’t make me winded. My energy and appetite are coming back though I still have had a fever of 100+ for 14 straight days. Most of us will get a mild case. 40-70% of us will get it, but so much of the media frenzy right now is focused on things that were important last week and yesterday (every day feels a year these days, though, to be fair). I have seen shockingly few articles or helpful testimonials advising how best to treat ourselves at home, and, trust me, I’ve been looking. So much of the information we’re focused on now is preventing transmission, but there is woefully little on what to do IF and WHEN we get sick.

Being waylaid during the time that so many folks have been still frantically trying to avoid getting sick has offered me a strange bubble of calm and insight. I’m grateful for that because the fear out there is palpable. I would like for this to be an offering to assuage at least some panic. That is my hope anyway.

The CDC and the WHO have labored and lengthy instructions on how to prevent transmission to someone else in the household or orders to quarantine. This creates a new problem for us as caregivers. A potentially critically ill person separated from everyone else drastically reduces a caregiver’s ability to monitor, replenish fluids, and generally take care of the person who is sick. On top of that, these two trusted sources offer only the most basic (honestly, negligible) recommendations for treating symptoms: sleep, keep hydrated, and take Tylenol (or the generic acetaminophen). This kind of bare bones advice is, well, skeletal. We all want to know how best to take care of ourselves and each other so that we can avoid having to go to the hospital. We want to be able to recuperate at home because we want to prevent putting a strain on the system and, face it, the idea of going to the hospital in this scenario is downright daunting. The better we know how to nurse ourselves back to health, the better our odds are healing well in our own beds.

So, I wanted to share what I’ve learned.

Caveat emptors/disclaimers because I’m making this public and shareable: This is based on my own personal, lived experience. I am not a doctor, so this does not replace or supplant solid medical advice from a professional you trust. I have had relatively mild symptoms but still a longish case. I am one of the freakish 5% who has had never-ending nasal congestion that went into my upper respiratory tract, but I somehow avoided the dreaded cough. YMMV (your mileage may vary). I have no underlying health concerns, I’m 52, a non-smoker, and fortunate. I have a comfortable apartment to myself, and I was able to spend $500 to stock up on essentials before the lockdown and before I got sick. (For the love of all that is holy, I swear I did not stockpile anything, especially TP. Stocking up is simply incredibly expensive. I dwindled my account down to almost my last dollar, since I’m adjunct faculty at two local universities and don’t make a whole lot.) Still, that is more than so many of us are able to do, and I am grateful for all that I have. What follows goes a bit beyond common sense, because this virus is unlike anything I’ve experienced before, even though to be clear, this is certainly a far cry from the sickest I’ve ever been. I hope it can be a boon to friends and strangers alike.

Here are the things I did that helped:

WHILE YOU ARE WELL

1) Start taking your temperature in the morning and at night so that you have a baseline.

One of the first signs of the virus can be a low-grade fever, though this virus does present in different ways. Full disclosure: I was one of those people who had to go to 3 different drugstores on Wed Mar 11 looking for a thermometer amid decimated shelves.

2) Before you get sick, change your diet.

Stop eating and drinking things that will make it harder to fight off the virus. Mellow out on the processed foods, dairy, and sugar (alcohol and gluten are in this category too, sorry).

Increase your intake of immune-boosting foods like green vegetables, fish and other omega-threes, garlic, ginger, and citrus. You don’t have to give in to the whole elderberry craze (though it does taste pretty good). Replace coffee with chaga, a fungal immune booster that you can brew into a strong, soothing tea, for a few weeks.

If you think these dietary recommendations are extreme, consider that you are in a temporary but dire situation where everything else around us is collapsing. Change your eating habits this month, even if it’s just a little for a little while.

3) SLEEP at least 8 hours a night. (I know, I wake up at 4am in a blind panic too. But, still, try.)

4) Make a pot of soup NOW while you are healthy or at the first sign of any symptoms.

This is especially important if you are sheltering in place alone. When/if you get sick, trust me, you won’t have energy to cook. You will barely want to eat anything anyway. But you will force yourself to have two bowls of it every day, and it will help. The pot should be big enough so that you can eat from it for a week. Make your favorite broth-based recipe: chicken, vegetable, or bone. Bone is most healing, obviously. Avoid dairy and noodles because these ingredients increase congestion and inflammation. Freeze it if you don’t have any symptoms at this point, so you will be able to thaw it when you start to feel oogy.

WHEN YOU GET SICK

1) At the first sign of fatigue, a tickle in your throat, aches, or a fever, go to bed and stay there. SLEEP. Don’t try to keep working. Your body needs to heal, and it can do that most effectively when you are sleeping.

Early symptoms reportedly vary. Some have aches and fever, scratchy throat, and chest tightness with a dry cough. Headaches, sneezing + nasal congestion, shortness of breath, nausea, and diarrhea have all been reported. I woke up on Mar 14 with a headache, body aches, congestion, and a fever of 101. My fever spiked to 102.5 on Day 2, and I’ve had a fever of 100+ every day since along with body aches, nasal congestion (my nose opened up like an actual running faucet on day 5), chest tightness and upper respiratory congestion, exhaustion, lack of appetite, and some lower GI distress (though not full-on diarrhea, everything just felt labored and different and, sincere apologies for the vivid image I’m about to put in your head, my poop seemed to be covered in a gauzy cloud). The two aberrations from most commonly reported symptoms: I have only had a negligible cough, and I never had a sore throat. My baseline temp leading up to getting sick was 99, but I am usually a straight-up 98.6 kind of person.

I had a dinner party the Monday before I got sick, and a friend who helped me in the kitchen came down with the same thing at the same time. My friend has asthma and has had a much harder time of things. But we are both on the road to recovery, in large part because we have been sharing what we’ve learned, checking in with each other, and doing some intense jobs taking care of ourselves while in isolation. (No one else from the dinner party has gotten sick to date.)

2) DRINK WATER, every 15 minutes when you are awake. Every time you wake up or roll over, drink. It should be room temperature, not cold. Cold liquids exacerbate the illness.

3) Drink WARM liquids like herbal tea and broth. Hot liquids keep everything in your system moving. Make soothing, healing, and warming remedies out of whatever inexpensive supplies you already have available.

4) In the giant void of an antiviral treatment that works on COVID-19, I have turned/returned to plant medicine, and it has helped me a lot.

My cousin, who is taking a Chinese medicine course in Singapore right now, sent me directions on how to make a ginger and licorice root decoction that was used throughout China during the Hubei lockdown. It’s easy to make. You bake the licorice in molasses, and then you boil the licorice root and the ginger for an hour. The ginger licorice decoction has really helped my friend who also got sick at the same time I did.

Making tea from Chaga – an Alaskan mushroom – has been so incredibly helpful. I’ve made a large pot of it every day, reserving the chaga and re-steeping over and over again for the past two weeks. Was it the chaga or the fact that I was drinking a gallon of warm soothing liquid daily, ladling out a mugful every couple of hours, that helped me get better? I’ll go with a little of both.

Other natural antiviral immune boosters that might help include vitamin C, C60, and olive leaf extract, oregano oil, and Manuka honey. Since stores are closed and Amazon has stopped shipping, we have to make do with what we already have. Make a tea with citrus peels and cloves and sliced ginger, if that’s is in your fridge.

5) The word on the street is to manage fever with Tylenol or acetaminophen or paracetamol, which are supposed to be more suited to treating respiratory illness than other alternatives. Frankly, I have been taking acetaminophen as sparingly as possible to avoid putting strain on my other organs. Cool compresses work too.

Some people are saying NOT to take Advil and its generic ibuprofen, as they have anecdotally said to propel otherwise healthy people to hospitals for oxygen. There is a lot of noise and confusion in this debate, and I’m going to sidestep this thorny conversation for our purposes.

6) Zinc lozenges and elderberry syrup help with a scratchy throat and cough. A friend of mine prone to bronchitis recommended Myrtol, a German cough syrup made from natural ingredients, including elderberry. If you have a pharma protocol in place for managing a persistent, chronic cough, you are probably already on it.

7) The fatigue is real. It also becomes really hard to think clearly. That’s why it’s so important to have soup and tea and other supportive supplies ready ahead of time.8) When you think you are getting better the first three or four times, STAY IN BED.

The arc of this virus is really rollercoaster-y: up and down and up and down. After the initial alarm passes, (and it is alarming at first because you don’t know which way it’s going to go and that seizing up can make everything feel worse), I was able to focus on getting better, calmly. I made it through the first scary fever spikes, but right when I thought I was feeling better, I would get knocked down again. There were critical junctures around days 3, 5, and 7 where I was certain I’d turned a corner, and, well, yesterday.

I’d get up and do dishes, take out the trash, take my dog for a walk around the neighborhood (face covered), and try to get some work done (end of quarter grades were due at both my schools and my departments have been preparing like mad to take our classes online in the spring). Then I would feel hot and light-headed again, taking my temp only to see it had sprung back up to 101.5. You will feel better and want to get back up and do things only to get knocked right back down. The moment I ease up on drinking water and tea constantly, I start to feel horrible again.

Remember: YOU ARE ESSENTIALLY PREVENTING YOURSELF FROM DEVELOPING FULL-BLOWN VIRAL PNEUMONIA. I would say the new mantra needs to be SLEEP + DRINK WATER. Start now, to the extent that you can. Please resist the urge to get up and do things. Rest. Do your Zoom meetings from bed with a virtual office background, if you absolutely have to be on a call. But, truly, you shouldn’t because this is the time to sleep sleep sleep and binge watch The Good Place (my choice for existential dystopian laughs/insert whatever makes your socks go up and down). For the past few days, my temp has been normal in the morning only to spring back up to 100+ if I try to do too much (e.g. read: ANYTHING). When I let myself sleep, my temp goes back down.

9) A humidifier has helped. Some recommend running a hot shower and sitting in your own makeshift bathroom sauna. Steam eucalyptus or rosemary, if you have any, and inhale deeply. I just made a homemade vaporub with a base of coconut oil and a few drops each of clove, thyme, rosemary, and peppermint oil. It is wonderful.

10) My breathing never got dangerously shallow. But this virus can potentially fill your upper and lower respiratory tracts with mucous until you feel like you are drowning. A physical therapist wrote with life-saving advice about the importance of Postural Draining, a method of draining mucous from the lungs using gravity and percussion. It involves physically moving your body so that you tilt your lungs and bronchial tubes upside down and then firmly clap the back or chest. This allows the mucous to flow up out of the lungs along with deep, prolonged exhales. Then you can cough it the rest of the way out. You can do postural draining alone or have someone perform it on you. Google postural draining diagrams – there are different for positions for each of the five lobes of your lungs. Do these exercises for 3-5 minutes a day before you get too sick. You can get into position in a chair or laying over a yoga ball, bean bag, or pillows for support.

Failing steps 1-10, if you have difficulty breathing or your temperature spikes beyond what you and your doctor are comfortable with (I’ve heard different numbers), please go to the ER immediately. Some of you will develop dramatic and dangerous symptoms quickly. Please do not wait to seek care if your lungs are struggling beyond what you can manage at home. My advice is geared to keeping as many of us comfortable for as long as it takes to heal, but that obviously is only going to go so far for those who suffer from chronic conditions, are older, or are immunosuppressed. If you have a finger oximeter, and are able to monitor your oxygen levels numerically, then you will know when you have to go to the hospital. But very few of us have those, and they are way sold out.

THE OTHER SIDE

Healing from even a mild case (and mine IS mild) takes about two weeks to a month.

As my dad would day, take it easy. It is unclear how immunity works with COVID-19. Some have said that there was a patient in Japan who tested positive a second time. There is speculation that this, in fact, was a relapse and not re-infection. We need more time to learn about the virus. In the meantime, please give yourselves time to heal.

We don’t know how long immunity lasts, and we don’t know about immunity to slightly different mutated strains even if we have recovered from one of them. I do hope that we get to develop a fair amount of herd immunity in the next year, but, again, there is a lot to learn. We will obviously still need to protect our vulnerable populations, and our society will continue to bend and contort itself around the virus.

But I hope to be in a position to assist when others get sick. I will happily help you to the best of my abilities. Looking to a future I can hardly conceive at the moment, I anticipate learning more about plant medicine. Scientists will develop new antivirals, retrovirals, and vaccines. I look forward to donating plasma as part of a treatment for those who get sick in the future, whenever that near-distant moment may be.

And thank you, friends. I am good. I have everything I need. My inner circle is incredible (I love you, mom!). I have been quarantined since developing symptoms and went out for a half hour only to get tested (thank you, Howard Brown for your invaluable service). No one else I spent time with beforehand has gotten sick (except my one friend whose illness coincided with mine, and they are also struggling a bit today with the ups and downs. Please hold them in your thoughts).

May you and your loved ones stay healthy. Or, more to the point, may we all get well and stay well. Sending love to all corners.– Rachel Herman

#QUARANZINE #Rachel Herman #Public Collectors #Marc Fischer #Zines #RISO #Publications #covid-19 #coronavirus

45 notes · View notes

lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

Text

ACITW AU one-shot “Sex on the Beach” (Rated NC17)

Summary: Sebastian convinces Kurt to have sex on the beach over summer vacation a year after their first vacation in North Carolina. Sebastian promises Kurt that they’ll be safe from prying eyes ... but is anyone ever really safe from their family?

Read on AO3.

“Are you sure…mmm…are you sure they can’t see us here?” Kurt asks over kisses, moaning when Sebastian smacks him on the ass and squeezes, pulling Kurt closer into his lap to rut against his cock straining beneath the fly of his jeans. “They can’t, babe, and besides, they don’t have a clue where we are or what we’re doing,” Sebastian reassures him, pausing to toss Kurt a wink before kissing him again harder, whispering fuck into Kurt’s mouth when Kurt rolls his hips down into Sebastian’s lap and brings his hands up to card through his windblown hair. A kiss, then a bite, and then the sweep of his tongue into his boyfriend’s mouth, trying to clear his mind, but Sebastian can feel Kurt’s concern hanging in the air between them, and mid-kiss, he chuckles. “Would it really matter if they could see us?”

A year ago, when Kurt first visited the Smythe family beach house, he would have answered Sebastian’s question with a yes, yes, undoubtedly yes and then tried to pull away – though he probably would not have put much heart into the effort. But in the exactly twelve months since they have been officially dating, they have been walked in on by Sebastian’s mother, Olivia, Olivia’s husband Brian, Sebastian’s college roommate, Carole, Rachel, Finn, and Julian more times than they can count (though Kurt is more than sure Julian’s intrusions were on purpose). Kurt isn’t saying he’s about to start selling tickets or anything, but he’s grown a thicker skin with regard to the accidental viewing of his body during coitus. Still, there is something to be said about having a private moment alone, a feat that’s difficult to pull off with six people stuffed into one – albeit spacious – abode. As opposed to a year ago, Kurt and Sebastian arrived at the vacation home after everyone else. Being their first night at the beach house, at this place steeped in marvelous memories of the dawn of their love affair, they were itching to get their hands on one another. But even with Sebastian’s bedroom mere feet away, his luxurious bed calling out to them to defile it, they had to wait till after dinner. It was a meal spent mostly with the two of them shooting each other impatient glances while Sebastian’s parents questioned Kurt about his classes at NYADA, his internship at Vogue, and his impressions of New York in general. Had he seen any musicals? Did he go to any exhibits? And from Charlotte, “What is Isabelle Wright like in person? I’ve been such a fan of her rogue style over the last ten years.” Kurt had been more than happy to oblige – he missed talking to Charlotte and Gregory – but Sebastian’s rolling eyes and foot tapping beneath the table became a huge distraction. After they devoured dessert, Sebastian’s parents, his sister, and his brother-in-law became absorbed in a game of Pictionary, accompanied by a bottle of King’s Ginger. Kurt and Sebastian saw their opportunity and made a break for it, saying something offhanded to the open air about a walk and slipping away to the shore in search of a sheltered area amid the rocks so they could make-out. But making-out always seems to turn into sex, no matter where they are. Tonight is no exception. Sebastian latches onto Kurt’s neck, biting down gently on the soft juncture of his shoulder – by far one of Sebastian’s favorite parts of his boyfriend’s body. It’s a spot that elicits the most delicious sounds imaginable when Sebastian sucks on it the right way. A touch of Sebastian’s mouth to those three inches of skin ignites Kurt’s entire body. Sebastian swipes over it with his tongue and Kurt gasps, his body jerking away. That used to puzzle Sebastian, why Kurt would pull away from something that made him unspeakably horny and epically hard. Kurt said it felt too good, that it was too much. Sebastian knows better. He knows it’s just enough. He puts a hand to the base of Kurt’s neck and holds him, fighting Kurt’s struggling body so he can make his mark there. “Oh…oh God…” Kurt mutters, accepting defeat and melting under the warmth of Sebastian’s mouth leaving its purple bruise. “How does that feel, babe?” Sebastian asks, licking over the hickey on Kurt’s neck, gazing with appreciation at how vibrantly Kurt’s pale skin showcases the deep violet welt. Kurt raises a hand to his neck, tracing around the outline of the bruise, his cheeks coloring still after all this time. He ducks his head a little, his gaze drifting to the wet sand and his knees sinking into it. “You know how I feel about that, Bas,” Kurt answers demurely. “No,” Sebastian teases, yanking Kurt’s hand down from his neck, “I don’t know.” “You’ve given me hickeys before,” Kurt argues, rolling his eyes, avoiding Sebastian’s smug face and looking up at the stars above their heads. “Yes,” Sebastian agrees, “but I want to know how you feel about this hickey I gave you right here, right now.” Kurt lowers his eyes to meet Sebastian’s, licking his salt-dried lips before he answers. “I like you putting your mouth on me,” he says, looping his arms around his boyfriend’s neck. “I like it when you mark me up.” “Really?” Sebastian asks, genuinely surprised. “And why would you like that?” “Because it means I’m yours,” Kurt admits, moving closer, “and everyone who sees it knows it. It’s primal and it’s animal…” Kurt brings the fingers of his right hand to Sebastian’s lips and traces around his mouth. “It really turns me on.” Sebastian holds Kurt tighter, dragging Kurt down to him, and with a low growl, he attacks Kurt’s neck again, starting a matching mark on the opposite side. He picks a spot, licks over it, then bites down. Kurt arches his back, his eyes squeezing shut, his sharp intake of breath lost in the evening air. “Sebastian,” he mewls, grabbing at his boyfriend’s shoulders, scratching over his shirt with blunt nails, begging for more. “God, I want you,” Sebastian mumbles into Kurt’s skin, shuddering when Kurt reaches between them to undo the button and zipper of Sebastian’s jeans, the cool ocean breeze sneaking in around them and chilling his exposed skin. “I need you now.” Sebastian fumbles to undo the buttons of Kurt’s fly, cursing his numb fingertips when he fails at unbuttoning the same button three times. “We’re…we’re really going to do this here?” Kurt stammers when Sebastian manages to undo the last button and reaches inside his jeans, warming his hand on Kurt’s thigh before wrapping his fingers around his cock. “Right now?” “Yup,” Sebastian says in that voice that so clearly indicates that he’s done talking about this. Kurt has always wanted to try having sex on the beach. It’s even on his bucket list. But out here in the cold with Sebastian’s family no too far away – okay, up the beach, in a house, on top of a dune, but still, not too far away – Kurt begins to have second thoughts. Until Sebastian starts to stroke – long, slow passes from base to tip, sweeping his thumb over the head. Suddenly, Kurt can’t care less where they are, just so long as Sebastian never stops doing that. “Yes,” Kurt moans. “God, yes. Don’t stop.” “I won’t, babe,” Sebastian says, squeezing a bit more, moving his hand faster. He loves that he knows Kurt’s body this way; he knows how to make Kurt want him so badly, how to make him helpless with desire. Sebastian loves that his touch is the only one Kurt craves. Sebastian brings his free hand to Kurt’s mouth and slips his index finger past his lips, letting Kurt suck down the length of the digit, swirling his tongue around it. He replaces his finger with his own lips against Kurt’s as his hand slips down the back of Kurt’s jeans, sans underwear, and between the crack of his ass. Sebastian finds Kurt’s entrance easily and slips his finger gently inside. It’s a move that’s practiced but far from tired, since every time Sebastian enters Kurt’s body is as exhilarating as the first time. In and out, in and out, Sebastian works Kurt open, adding a second finger when Kurt starts to move his hips down over Sebastian’s hand. “That’s it,” Sebastian mutters, “fuck my fingers, baby. Get yourself nice and open for me.” Sebastian places kisses on Kurt’s chest over his shirt, nipping at the fabric, trying to pull Kurt’s shirt up with his teeth. “You…you’re leaving water marks…all over,” Kurt scolds, lifting the shirt for him, giving Sebastian access to his skin. “Fuck it,” Sebastian grumbles. “I’ll buy you a new one.” “Oh, Sebastian,” Kurt mumbles beneath his breath as his boyfriend latches on to a nipple and sucks. “Oh, God.” Kurt moves his hips faster the harder Sebastian sucks, fucking down over Sebastian’s fingers and up into his fist. Kurt whimpers at the feeling of being fucked at both ends, his eyes fluttering shut so he can absorb Sebastian’s heat, the pressure of his fingers filling him, though not completely, but seeing where Sebastian manages to hit, it’s enough. Sebastian watches Kurt, watches the corner of his mouth dip, his cheeks tremble as his lips move around words he doesn’t vocalize but which Sebastian suspects are some combination of the words oh God and a chant of his name. “Hey,” Sebastian whines when he feels Kurt’s ass tighten around his fingers, “don’t finish up without me.” “Well…I c-can’t help it if you k-keep doing that,” Kurt stutters, moving faster, bouncing harder. Then Sebastian does the unthinkable. He removes his fingers from Kurt’s ass and his hand from Kurt’s cock. Kurt glares at him, looking utterly betrayed, and Sebastian nearly bursts out laughing. “I thought you said you wouldn’t stop?” “I’ll start up again, babe,” Sebastian says, shoving a hand into the pocket of his pants in search of a condom, “once you take off those jeans so I can get at you.” Kurt’s eyes snap to his jeans, pushed down his hips with his erection sticking out through the unbuttoned fly, and this time he seriously looks affronted. “But…but what do I do if someone comes down here? I’ll be pants-less!” “Well, seeing as you’ll be riding my cock, I think being half-naked will be the last of your worries.” Kurt doesn’t exactly agree with that assessment, but seeing as Sebastian has the condom rolled over his length and Kurt needs his boyfriend right now more than he needs to breathe, he decides to risk it. If nothing else, he’ll have another item crossed off his list. “I’ll take one leg out,” Kurt compromises, pulling his right leg out of his jeans and tossing it over to his left. “This way I won’t feel completely naked.” “What a rebel,” Sebastian says, shaking his head. “How come I’m the one who’s always getting half-dressed in these scenarios?” Kurt asks, straddling Sebastian’s lap. Kurt lifts up onto his knees and lets Sebastian guide his cock to his open hole, biting his lower lip as inch by inch Sebastian slides inside. “Because you enjoy taking it so much,” Sebastian says, putting a hand to Kurt’s shoulder blades and bowing his back till he can reach his lips, “and I love giving it to you. Besides, I like watching you bounce up and down on my lap. It’s super hot.” Sebastian holds Kurt’s hips as Kurt moves, his legs quivering as a consequence of the breeze racing over his skin and Sebastian’s cock, which he rides with little help from his boyfriend, taking him in as far as he can and then lifting off of him almost completely, feeling less self-conscious now that they’ve reached this point. “Yeah, babe, fuck me,” Sebastian mutters, taking Kurt’s cock in his hand again, stroking in alternating degrees of fast and slow, content to watch Kurt move, watch the muscles in his body ripple and tense, watch the way his legs shake, Kurt’s thighs knocking against him. “Fuck me, fuck me…” Kurt watches Sebastian, too – watches his eyes sweep over his body, watches his hand surrounding his cock, moving with irregular strokes as he starts to feel his body tense, and Kurt knows he’s ready to cum. Regardless of the fact that Sebastian is being lazy as all get out, sitting back in the sand and letting Kurt do most of the work, Kurt loves this. He loves being in control of this man. He loves that Sebastian’s voice fading into a series of grunts and stunted curses is because of him, his throat tightening, revealing a single vein throbbing is because of him, and his green eyes darkening, turning to almost a solid black, is all because of him. The crashing waves around them swallow the sounds of their moans. Foam kisses their feet as the tide rolls in just a breath from their bodies, chilling them slightly, adding to the urgency of their orgasm. “God, I’m cumming,” Sebastian groans in a strained voice, a voice that rises a bit in pitch as he talks through his teeth, spreading his legs wider and digging his heels in the sand to lift his hips so Kurt can take him deeper. “God, yes…fuck, yes…fuck, fuck, fuuuuck…” Kurt wants to laugh at Sebastian’s cursing - he has such a filthy mouth right before he cums, which is saying something for a man who’s favorite adjective, noun, and verb are all fuck – but Kurt’s mouth, dry from breathing the salt in the air, barely manages more than a hoarse Oh God. Kurt groans, burying his head in Sebastian’s shoulder as Sebastian releases a single, drawn-out, Holy shit into Kurt’s neck. Kurt slams down on him, afraid for a brief moment that he might actually hurt Sebastian, possibly bend something he shouldn’t. The dropping temperature dulls his senses, making him last longer than he anticipated, but the brush of Sebastian’s head over that bundle of overwhelming sensation inside him becomes too much. “Yes, yes, yes, yes…” he repeats, and this time Sebastian joins him, rising up to meet his hips, hitting Kurt hard inside, reaching all those areas that combine to form a single explosion of pleasure. Kurt begins to lose control of his functions; he has no choice in what his body does. He cums over Sebastian’s hand, the world shuddering around him, his feet wet from the encroaching tide, fingernails digging into the rocks behind them. Sebastian puts a hand to the small of Kurt’s back and presses Kurt against him, needing to feel as much of Kurt as possible on his body, his weight an anchor for Sebastian as he blinks his eyes, shakes his dizzy head, and the stars swirl above. He holds Kurt’s cock against his stomach while he cums, trying to minimize the mess. He’ll be hiding it under the waistband of his jeans until they get into a shower, which is admittedly gross, but Sebastian can’t say it isn’t worth it. “Oh…oh God,” Kurt whispers, his breath hot against Sebastian’s skin, looking up through lazy eyelids to catch a glimpse of Sebastian’s eyes softening back to a sea green. Sebastian chuckles at the goofy smile on Kurt’s face. “So, sex on the beach…” Sebastian lightly dusts the sand from the apples of Kurt’s cheeks while he speaks, “was it as spectacular as you imagined it?” Kurt tilts his head and quirks his lips, and Sebastian knows he’s about to be teased. He doesn’t mind, though. Not from Kurt. “I’d give it a solid 8.5,” Kurt says. “At least no one walked in on us this time,” Sebastian says, kissing Kurt on the nose. Kurt giggles, then he shivers, his teeth chattering. Sebastian feels goose bumps rise on Kurt’s back where his hand rests. He tugs Kurt’s shirt back down, pulling at the hem to cover as much of Kurt’s exposed skin as he can. “Come on,” he says, slapping Kurt’s thigh. “Let’s get dressed and go make an appearance.” “Ugh,” Kurt grumbles, looking down at his one flat pant leg lying in the wet sand. “This is going to suck.” “I have faith in you,” Sebastian comments with a laugh, sitting back with an amused smile to watch the battle begin. Kurt takes his pant leg in both hands and tries to slip it over his limb without getting any sand (or any more sand) in it, teetering unsteadily and falling off Sebastian’s lap in the process. Sebastian grins at his boyfriend wrestling with his skinny jeans as he dispenses of the condom (tying it at the end and sticking it in his pocket, making a mental note not to forget it's there before he washes his pants...like last time), zips his own jeans and stands up, brushing the sand off his legs, wincing at the cold, wet cum dripping down his stomach. “Can’t you hurry up?” Sebastian asks, his eyes darting up to the house to see if anyone is looking out through the windows at the beach. “Well, maybe I could get dressed quicker if you actually helped me!” Kurt hisses, holding his jeans open and doing his best to shove his leg inside, but it feels more like he’s running his skin through an electric sander. Sebastian sighs dramatically, grabbing Kurt’s jeans by the waistband and lifting him up off the sand. “Hey!” Kurt wails, grabbing at his crotch with both hands. “Watch it! You’re going to ruin my jeans…among other things.” “Don’t sweat it, sweetheart,” Sebastian says, brushing the sand off Kurt’s ass, “I wouldn’t dare ruin your jeans. I have a lot invested in them.” Kurt grumbles as he does up the buttons of his fly, grimacing at the sand embedded in the holes, in the buttons, everywhere. “I changed my mind,” Kurt says, shaking out his legs as he starts to waddle back the way they came. “Sex on the beach only gets a 4.” “Nah,” Sebastian objects. “Sex on the beach gets a 10. Dressing on the beach gets a negative 7.” Kurt huffs, hurrying away, eager to get back to the house and jump into a hot shower so he can scrape the layer of sand off his skin. Anyway, shower sex is way more comfortable and relaxing than this, no matter how good it was. And it was good. Sebastian hangs back and watches Kurt limp up the beach. “Can you be more obvious?” Sebastian asks, swatting Kurt on the ass. “Weren’t you the one who said that sand in my ass crack would become a way of life out here?” Kurt retaliates, swatting him back. “Whatever,” Sebastian says. “Just…try to walk normally, okay?” “Yeah, I’ll just do that,” Kurt says, matching Sebastian’s level of sarcasm. They both limp up the stairs and enter the house bow legged, trying to look casual while avoiding the chaffing from their wet jeans. Sebastian does better than Kurt, but they both fail regardless of how hard they try to play it off. “Hey, guys,” Charlotte laughs, watching the boys walk in with eyes that smile in secret. “Did you two have a nice walk?” “Sure did,” Sebastian answers with a smirk, not seeming to notice how his mother looks over at Brian and Olivia, or how Olivia gets up and retreats to the kitchen. “It’s a lovely night.” “Yup,” Kurt says, biting his tongue to hold in a nervous snicker, so concerned with diverting attention away from the state of his nearly ruined jeans that he completely forgets the two violently purple hickeys glowing like beacons on his neck. “Absolutely lovely.” “Join us for the next round?” Gregory asks, waving them over. “Uh, I think we’re going to hop in a shower first,” Sebastian says, taking Kurt’s upper arms and maneuvering him toward the bathroom. “Got sand in a lot of uncomfortable places. Maybe we can play the winner.” “Sounds like a plan,” Olivia says, walking in from the kitchen with a highball glass in her hands. “Here, Kurt. I heard you guys coming up the stairs and I made you this. I thought you might be parched.” “Is there alcohol in this?” Kurt asks, awkwardly taking the glass from Olivia’s hands and giving the drink a questioning sniff. “Of course,” Olivia says, motioning for Kurt to drink up. “We’re on vacation.” “Besides, we’re already down one bottle of liqueur,” Brian adds. “You two need to catch up.” “Ok…thanks,” Kurt says as Sebastian ushers him down the hall. Halfway to the bathroom, Kurt takes his first sip. He coughs loudly, stopping in his tracks, and Sebastian runs smack into him. “Hey!” Sebastian barks. “What’s the big…” “Here,” Kurt says, shoving the drink at Sebastian. “Take a sip.” Sebastian sniffs warily at the libation the way Kurt did, then takes a generous sip, rolling his eyes when the first taste of Vodka, Peach Schnapps, and citrus hits his tongue. He drops his head back, lightly hitting the wall behind him, groaning a low fuck beneath his breath. “Very funny, Liv,” Sebastian calls out, and the group in the living room roars with laughter. Olivia cackles louder than the rest, choking through tears to catch her breath before she says, “I hope you enjoy your Sex on the Beach!”

#acitw #acitw au #kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #kurt hummel #sebastian smythe

22 notes · View notes