#crying puking gagging i fucking hate everything

[rosekeu]

BAD REVIEWS [PART SIX] : shigaraki tomura x reader [taglist OPEN!]

"been alone for so long, ive got something to prove.”

[MDNI] tw: angst. throwing up. a bit of smut.

<< previous — next >>

The date starts off…bad. 

To say the least. 

You’re still holding pinkies as you walk, his hand barely brushing yours with every step.

It’s ridiculous, really. 

Tomura led the way to what seemed to be a greasy little diner in the middle of nowhere. 

You barely get one foot in before your stomach betrays you. The smell of cooking meat hits you like a punch to the gut— fat, grease and sizzling grills— suddenly it's just too much. 

You gag. Hard. 

Your hand flies to your mouth, eyes watering. You spin and back out the door with a choked gasp, you don't get to make it to the sidewalk. Heat rushes to your face, your throat burns and you hurl. 

Right there. Right on Tomura’s red sneakers.

The shame is instant.

You drop to your knees, one arm wrapped around your middle. The other wiping furiously at the fountain of tears leaving your eyes. You sob loud, cracked and ugly. And it all comes spilling out. 

“I’m so sorry–” you gasp between uneven breaths. “Oh my god– Tomura, I didn’t mean to– fuck– your shoes–”

And suddenly it’s not just about the shoes.

Your chest hurts. Your body aches. Everything feels heavy and wrong. 

You can’t stop crying and just the thought of taking a deep breath sounds like a challenge. 

“I hate this,” you sob. “I hate being pregnant. I hate that I’m such a crybaby. I hate that I can’t eat anything without wanting to puke, I hate that I want sushi more than anything in the fucking world—”

You hiccup and sniff into the fabric of your long sleeve. Voice cracking with every word.

A wave of anger hits you.

What are you apologizing?

Why are you always apologizing?

Your hands clenched into fists against your thighs.

You look up at him—at him, standing there quietly, unmoving. Unbothered. Calm.

NOT GIVING A DAMN!

“…Why am I even saying sorry to you?” you snap, breath catching.

He blinks.

You push yourself up on shaky legs, rage suddenly burning beneath your skin. “Seriously. You? You, who broke into my house. Who attacked my coworker. Who left me alone for weeks and then showed up again like you had every right—”

Your voice wavers, thick and hoarse. “You weren’t there. When I found out. When I was scared. You weren’t there when I needed you.”

Your throat tightens, a sob rattling out.

“I’m the one who’s pregnant with your child! I’m the one who was left alone with no one else to turn to. And somehow I’m the one feeling guilty?!”

You were left breathless. Falling down to your knees once again. Sobbing into your sweaty hands– 

And through all of it, he doesn’t speak.

The vomit cools on his sneakers.

He's watching you. Analyzing every word you threw at him.

Then slowly, he crouches. Close enough that his knee brushes against yours. Close enough you can hear the rasp of his breath, a subtle shift of clothes as he moves like he’s trying not to startle you. 

You sneak a peek through your tear soaked fingers.

Without a single word–

He lifts a hand. 

You flinch, just barely.

But he doesn’t grab you.

He just… places his hand over the crown of your head. You feel four fingertips threading gently through the locks of your hair. 

His touch is certainly awkward– as if he’s not sure he’s doing it right, but you can tell he’s trying. For you.

He swallows, jaw flexing as his thumb brushes behind your ear, tucking a strand of hair away.

“I don’t care about the shoes.” He says. “So, don’t cry like that.”

You look up at him, eyes swollen, lips trembling.

“I should’ve been there,” he adds, barely above a whisper. “You’re right.”

And the thing is—

You believe him. Not because he’s forgiven. But because for once, he’s not lying. Not even to himself.

And for some reason, that makes everything worse.

Because now he’s being gentle. Now he’s touching you like you mean everything to him. 

Your heart shouldn’t beat faster when he touches you like this. Your fingers shouldn’t ache to hold him tighter.

And your stupid, aching heart shouldn't feel safest here, with a man who seems to embody every quality a man shouldn't have. 

“I feel like I ruined everything…”

“No.” He says. “You didn’t”

He shrugs, barely. “We’re outside. You’re here. I’m here.” His hand shifts, just barely tracing the curve of your temple like he’s committing it to memory. “Still counts, woman.”

The tears threaten again—frustrated, exhausted, touched. All of it. “You really think this counts as a date?” 

He mutters something incoherent under his breath, then starts wiping the vomit off his shoes with his coat. You watch, half-grossed out and half-comforted by the care he’s giving to your puke. “One we’ll never forget, that's for sure.”

When he’s done, he looks up at you briefly– blood-red eyes unreadable as he raises his hand and grips the coat with all of his five fingers. The previous coat now turned into gray ash blowing through the wind between the both of you. 

“That’s done.” Standing up, he runs his palms against his jeans. Now looking down at you, quiet. Patient. Waiting. “There’s a ramen shop just down the street.”

He pauses, looking away from you. His hand scratches his neck nervously. The comes a twitch of his fingers. “Do you want that? I’m not gonna make you eat here, it’s gross anyway.”

You laugh. 

And then—carefully, like it costs him something—he holds out his hand.

Not his whole hand.

Just his pinky.

That dumb, little offer of peace between two broken people who yearn for one another. 

You look at it through blurry eyes.

And you take it.

The ramen shop is tiny– barely fits five tables, and quiet except for the low hum of broth boiling behind the counter. The warm yellow lights flicker above you. It smells like soy and earth and nothing that will send your stomach into a frenzy. Thank God!

You sit in the corner booth, red-eyed and sniffling, with a tissue in one hand and chopsticks in the other.

Tomura watches you from across the table like you’re some wild creature in a zoo.

You slurp your first bite of noodles.

And cry harder.

Not like the big gasping sobs from before—but wet, sniffly, exhausted tears that just won’t stop.

“How the hell are you still crying?” He mutters, baffled. Sliding more napkins across the table towards you.

“I don’t know!” you wail, your tears mixing in with the bowl in front of you. “I feel awful, Tomu!”

You wave your chopsticks at him threateningly. 

“I’m tired all the time,” you go on. “Everything smells bad. I cry when a cat video plays and I can't go to bed without eating a tub of ice cream! AND YOU!”

Your eyes narrow. A fresh storm brewing behind them.

“You dropkicked my coworker, Tomura!”

He shrugs, deadpan. “This again? He was clearly hitting on you. And he touched you.”

‘He touched what’s mine.’ Is what he really wanted to say but stopped himself.

“I wasn't interested!”

“You work for the heroes.”

“I work for Eraserhead,” you correct, stabbing at your noodles. “Didn’t you say you liked him? I’m sure I can get a picture with him—”

Tomura freezes mid-slurp.

You swear you hear him choke for a second, but masks it with a cough and a sip of iced-tea.

He fidgets with the collar of his t-shirt before saying. “...I didn’t say I liked him.”

“Tomura.” You stare.

He doesn’t meet your eyes. “I said he was efficient. Not the worst hero I've seen– he’s smart and quiet. Doesn’t waste time with bullshit. Uses that binding cloth, which is underrated, by the way. Everyone goes for flashy quirks—

Why am I still talking? He thinks.

he just erases yours and breaks your face.” 

He shoves another bite of food down, chewing like it’ll shut him up. 

You’re looking at him now—like really looking—and he feels it. He feels that awful warmth creeping up his neck again, right beneath the itch. Like he’s a twelve year old boy again and just got caught geeking out, more embarrassingly, about his favorite pro-hero.

He hates it.

He hates how much he doesn’t hate it. 

You grin, a devilish look in your eyes. “Is this your way of saying you want me to get something signed?”

His eye twitches. “Absolutely not. That’s lame.”

You raise an eyebrow, smug. “No autograph or picture. Got it.”

A beat.

“…Maybe if it’s, like, on a napkin or something.”

You burst into laughter. It’s too bright for a world like his. Too loud, too soft, too much.

He frowns, trying to act indifferent, but his ears are pink and his fingers are twitching. 

“How did I end up falling in love with you?”

Silence.

The world stops right then and there. 

He’s still. He’s shaking. Fuck. He doesn’t know anymore.

You said it so earnestly, so sweet like candy on his tongue. 

The need inside him spikes—violent, desperate, terrified. It's not butterflies in his stomach. It’s moths chewing through every soft thing in his body. It’s panic.

What if you change your mind? What if you take it back?

His eyes bore into you. Not blinking. Red and raw and hungry.

He wants to grab your face. To press your palm against his chest and scream ‘feel this, feel what you’ve done to me, woman.’

He wants to kiss you until your lips bruise. Until there’s no one in the world but the two of you. Until you forget anyone else ever existed.

He wants to bury himself inside the space you engraved into his heart and rot there, happily.

He wants to live under your skin.

In every sense of the words– gently, lovingly peel back each layer of your skin. Tangle himself in your veins, wrap around your bones and press his ear to the muscle of your heart to hear how it beats when you think of him. How it beats when his name spills from your glossy lips.

Because it has to be him. It has to be. 

He wants to sit behind your soft gaze, watch the world with your eyes. Wants to be the only reason your stomach flutters, the only reason your breath catches, the only reason your chest aches. He wants to know what it’s like to be loved by you from the inside out.

He wants to claw his way into your dreams, the bad, the good ones, the wet filthy ones, until your subconscious is full of him. Tastes like him. 

Oh, god. To relive that moment, when he fucked you again and again and again.

It replays inside his head daily. If not more. 

He wants to make you cum on his tongue, taste your sweet nectar and drink it all up like it's something holy. Wants to hear you beg for mercy when he thrust inside your tight, wet cunt. Paint your walls white like he did once before. 

He won’t stop until every beat of your heart, every perfect atom that constructs your body matches his destruction.

He wants to bleed into you. Deeply, irrevocably poisoning everything else that has ever made you feel safe. 

Because no one else gets to have you.

Not after him.

Not ever. 

You chose him.

Why?

Why would you ever choose him?

He doesn’t deserve it.

But fuck if he’ll let you go now. 

Because inside the broken, rotted space of his mind, you are salvation.

You are his sanctuary.

His sacred altar. Where nothing else matters, but you.

And he’s on his knees, broken– shaking— pleading— praying with hands soaked in another man’s blood and for the thing taking control over him— that thing he doesn’t fully understand.

One thing he is certain of is that you're the only god he believes in now.

And he will worship you with the kind of love that kills.

That devours.

He leans forward, slow. Voice low and rough.

“Say it again.”

“Huh?”

“Say it again. Say you’re in love with me.”

He’s not asking. He’s starving.

Because if this is real—then maybe he’s not completely lost.

And you think. Fuck it.

You launch yourself across the table.

You kiss him.

It’s wet with the salt of your previous tears and the remnants of dinner breath and your nose bumps his too hard and he thinks your elbow just knocked over a cup—

But still. 

You kiss him.

And Tomura can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t move.

He thinks his ribs are going to explode. He thinks he might die if you stop touching him.

Hands trembling in the air, afraid he’ll ruin it. What if when he touches you… you vanish? 

Afraid he’ll wake up from this dream and end up alone in the dark solitude of his room, and this will just be a sick trick born of hunger and obsession. 

So he lets himself feel it. How your plush lips seem to perfectly fit against his own. 

So when your lips part, just slightly, and your forehead rests against each other, your nose still smushed against the bridge of his—

“I’m in love with you,” you whisper again.

And he’s ruined. 

Absolutely. Utterly ruined.

Because now he knows what it feels like. To be so intimately touched by you. 

To be kissed by you.

To be truly, unconditionally wanted.

Now, maybe just maybe, the child inside him, the one left to rot in the dark, finally found something worth holding onto.

Even if he has to destroy the world to keep you. The two of you.

“HEY!!”

 A rough voice cuts through the ramen shop. You both freeze.

The waiter stands behind the counter, a half-wiped bowl in hand, glaring. The whole shop had gone dead ass quiet. Except for the comedic slurp of someone in the back pretending he didn’t witness the whole ordeal. 

“This is a restaurant, not a porno,” he barks. “Get off the table!”

Tomura turns his head. Rigidly.

Dead red eyes meet the man in a stare so sharp it could skin the guy alive.

With zero shame and full offense, he barks. “Don’t you see we’re having a moment here, asshole?!”

You slap a hand on your face, trying to keep yourself from bursting out in laughter(and failing). “Oh. My. God.” Sliding back into your seat, dabbing the napkins on the spilled drink across the table. Cheeks flaming.

“She’s pregnant, y’know. Outta have some more respect!”

“Tomura! Stop!”

“S-sir, I apologize–the meal will be on the house—”

“Good.”

“Geez, Tomu. That was not necessary.”

a/n: this was such a pleasure to write- i love obsessive tomu hes my favvvvvvvv :) share your thoughts <3

taglist: @rax-writes , @radlightfire , @pastelygrape @enyaaa2222 , @moonchild323232 , @ykyouluvme , @choubidoutriso , @ale-t13 , @stardollwrites , @tomurasnextwife , @tamishadawn , @memo-the-fishy , @saltypuffin1040 , @atspiss , @ilovefictionalmensomuch , @babzzwrld , @babzz6 , @hadesorion , @thatoneawkwardfeeling , @nina-from-317 , @poppyflower-22 , @touyaslapdog

[fcbalding]

it’s going to be okay, but it’s going to be different.

“orbit” by nao / “last sext” by melissa broder / “a history of my brief body” by billy-ray belcourt

[rats-on-ice]

Wip dump #4

Modern Kyani au, Dani sickfic (cw, sickness, implied vomiting, panic attacks)

“You think you’re done?” Kyana asked softly after a moment. 

Dani collapsed into her side, not having the strength to do anything else. Kyana wiped the sweat off her forehead and kissed her. 

“Let’s get that nasty taste out of your mouth, okay?” She seemingly materialized a cup of water, helping Dani take little sips of it. “Better?”

Dani nodded.

“Okay, let’s get you back to bed. I’ll come back and clean this up when you’re comfy.” Dani felt herself lifted off the ground by Kyana’s familiar, strong arms. She pressed her face against Kyana’s neck and sniffed. She wasn’t pathetic enough to start crying all over Kyana on top of everything else, but she felt awful enough to. She couldn’t think of a time she had felt worse than this. Her whole body ached and even though she had literally just puked her guts up, she didn’t feel any less nauseated. She shivered and took in a shaky breath. Kyana held her closer. 

Dani was so out of it, she didn’t even realize they had reached the bedroom until she was lying down and felt the absence of Kyana’s arms around her. Her overly sensitive skin prickled at the harsh texture of the sheets. 

She must have made some kind of sound in her discomfort because Kyana placed her hand on her forehead and spoke, “Hey, it’s okay, I’ll be back in a minute, alright? I just need to clean up the bathroom and then I’ll come right back. Will you be okay if I leave to do that?”

Dani breathed out unhappily. She didn’t want Kyana to leave, but she needed to leave to clean mess Dani had made.

“Dani?” Kyana’s thumb rubbed back and forth over her temple. “Are you going to be okay?”

Dani pulled herself together enough to nod. She wasn’t going to cry. 

“Okay,” Kyana gave her a peck on the cheek. “I’ll be right back, just try and get some rest.”

Dani felt her hand leave her forehead and heard the sound of her closing the door as she left. She turned to her side and pulled the covers over her head, squeezing her eyes shut. Everything was too bright and too cold and hurt too much. She just wanted to feel better. She wanted Kyana. 

She pressed her shaking hands over her eyes and cried. Her nose was running down her face and she didn’t even have enough energy to open her eyes and grab a tissue. She was going to ruin the sheets. She cried harder, hating how disgusting she felt. Dani was making such a mess of everything and leaving Kyana to clean it up. She didn’t know why Kyana didn’t just leave her alone to deal with it by herself. It would be so much easier for the both of them in the long run. 

A hiccup caught in her throat and she gagged. She was going to make herself sick again. Kyana didn’t deserve to have to deal with that, especially not in their bedroom. Dani tried to take a deep breath but it turned into a series of pathetic gasps that just got quicker and more shallow. She knew she was being hysterical, but she couldn’t stop. She tried to inhale and gagged again. 

“Ky-Kyana,” she gasped. It came out hardly louder than a whisper. Dani sobbed in frustration. Her head hurt so bad, there was snot all over her face, and she couldn’t fucking breathe. She wanted Kyana. She wanted Kyana’s warm hands and soft hair and golden voice that always made Dani feel better. 

She might have blacked out, she’s not sure. The next thing she knew, someone was wiping her face with a cool cloth and rubbing her cheek right under her eye. She inhaled deeply, her breath blessedly only hitching a few times before evening out. 

“Hey, Dani. You back with me?” 

Dani cracked open her eyes and saw Kyana’s face staring back, obvious concern poorly hidden behind a smile. 

Dani hummed tiredly and leaned into her hand. 

“I’m so sorry for leaving you for so long. I should have checked on you sooner. I’m sorry. The bathroom took longer than I expected.“

Dani hummed again, not quite understanding what Kyana was saying, just enjoying her voice. 

Kyana breathed out. “You’re really warm right now. I need you to take this medicine and drink some more water, okay? Do you think you can you sit up for me?”

Dani let her eyes slide closed. She was so tired. She felt the hand leave her cheek and whined. 

“I know, I’m sorry. But I really need you to take this medicine. Finbar said if your fever doesn’t go down in the next couple hours I should take you to the doctor.”

“Nooo! No doctor,” Dani whined. 

“I know you don’t want to go, but you’re really sick, Dani. It’s scaring me a little…”

Dani felt guilt twist in her stomach at Kyana’s quiet tone. Something was her fault. “‘M sorry.” She slurred. 

Now there were two hands cupping her face, one sliding up and beginning to run through her hair. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I just want you to feel better as soon as possible, and you might need a doctor’s help for that.” Kyana pressed her lips to Dani’s overly hot cheek. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too,” Dani murmured, but she’s pretty sure it came out unintelligible. 

[bonni]

I hate struggling with appetite suppression. I hate getting to the evening and realizing I've eaten nothing all day and trying desperately to find something I want but everything I try makes me gag and tastes like vomit. I'm living like the guy from saya no uta, all food repulses me. today I had to find a way to feed myself away from home since I was out for work, I ended up spending like $25 on food I had to throw away. I bought a $10 smoothie that tasted like puke and I couldn't even ask them to make me something else because everything else on the menu had banana in it. that's another thing, god fucking hates me because he gave me appetite issues and ALSO gave me an allergy to bananas and nuts, two of the foods that are supposed to help you get easy protein and vitamins. I wasted over half the money I'm going to get paid today trying so hard to keep myself from getting a hunger headache and crying in public, and guess what? now I have a hunger headache and I'm crying in public.

[mr-echo-irl]

Echo's return

Echo thrashed as Hanna's power enveloped him. Thunder crashed above him as he felt his feet lift from the ground, his breath was shakey through gritted teeth, he could feel something ripping inside of him, in his very core, in his code, "Let me go!" he screamed, "Stop this!" He voice fell on deaf ears as the young woman simply stared at him, magic ablaze in her eyes, a somber look on her face. Her hair wet with the rain that loudly poured around them, the horns on her head standing out against the black and white streaks.

"This will hurt less if you stop fighting it," her voice rang through the air, cutting over the rain like one of Echo's sharped blades which laid shattered on the ground below him. He let out a scream, thrashing more. He wouldn't let her have this, he couldn't let her break him again, not when he was this close to it all being over!

He could feel reality being torn inside him. It burned. It feel like he was being taking apart piece by piece. His eyes started to water from the screaming pain. He wanted to cry so badly, but he wouldn't, he won't cry in front of some as broken as Hanna. "Let me go!" he screamed again, "You wouldn't hurt me! You wouldn't hurt your friend!" he yelled the twisted words at near goddesse before him, but her hold only strengthened. He felt something snap inside. More thunder boomed above as he fell to the ground, sinking to his knees in the thick mud, "What the f-" he muttered, but it felt wrong. It felt so wrong, he shouldn't be speak like this.

"Echo!" Hanna yelled as she ran over, her horns dissappears, the power fading from her eyes, "Echo? Are you okay?"

He stared up at her, his body shaking as rain struck his body, the water streaming down him. He wanted to puke, he felt so sick. What had he done? What the fuck had he done?! He'd hurt people! He had hurt Hanna, he called her weak, he used her emotions against her, he tried to manipulate her! He'd become what he hated most. He just looked up at Hanna, his eyes starting to water again.

"Echo?" She asked again, she reached a hand, Echo didn't know what for, he didn't care. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the ground, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. He felt the thin wall holding back his tears shatter. He started sobbing in her arms, "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry," he muttered between sobs as he burried his face into Hanna's gi, the white being stained by his oily black tears. But his voice felt so wrong, this wasn't him. Echo didn't speak this way.

"It's okay," she said, her arms tightly wrapping around him, "Let's get you home."

He pulled out of the hug, sitting on his knees in front of her, "They don't want me… Cole doesn't want to see me again, not after everything I've done." Wrong wrong wrong wrong, he doesn't speak like this. Echo doesn't speak like this, what did he speak like?

Hanna smiled at him, her gi now stained black with his tears and brown from the mud, "I really doubt that…"

He let out a shaky breath, how could Hanna not under stand? "I shot him! I fucking shot him in the leg! How could he forgive me for hurting him like that?" His voice felt so wrong.

"He forgave you before you even pulled the trigger, Cole loves you."

Echo swallowed tightly, "Then my brother. He won't want to see me, I'm a disgrace." he praticaly gagged on the words, it felt so wrong to speak like this.

"No, you're not," she said with a kind smile, her hand now grasping his.

"I-" he started, words still feeling wrong in his throat.

Hanna cut him off, "There's nothing you can say, no point you can bring up that I can find a was to disprove. We miss you Echo, we love you. Come home."

"But I-" he started again, the wrongest felt so over powering, but then he thought about it. She was right. They loved him once, they would maybe forgive him, or learn to love him again if he gave it a chance, "Fine," he signed in NSL, the word flowing from his hands like a cold summer breeze, "I'll come back with you." That was right, this is how Echo spoke.

Hanna stood up, then pulled Echo to his feet, "Let's go home."

[yvotyrants]

another reason i cant be a plant enthusiast and have a decent garden (aside from that i kill everything) is that i fucking hate worms. like i cant tolerate them

i was cleaning up puke from clothes and sheets and like this isnt my area but also stomach content works for diagnosis aand im gagging a bit trying to parse who fucked up what meal because i swear this has tumeric? and suddenly i look at me feet and notice the space between building-kitchen-lavanderia is crawling with worms and started crying because it sent me into a panic i cant handle them and i have my working boots and still can feel them entering my feet climbing up my ankles

[milkacchan]

Peaky blinders x sister reader with sensory issues, sensory overload piece next dears (requests are also open ❤)

Summary and cw: Reader goes into hyper sensitivity. I do not have Autism, I do however, have ADHD. I suffer with hypersensitivity and sensory overload. This particular story is one I'm writing off perosnal experience. It affects everyone differently, this is just how it affects me.

Tommy wouldn't say there was something off about you, but he'd probably say there was something peculiar about you.

You'd always been particular about things, ever since you were a baby, he can remember. He can remember you being /weird/ with things- like texture or temperature.

And he, along with Arthur, John and polly, mostly just him and Polly, assumed it was just normal; because to an extent it was. Babies find new things everyday and sometimes they don't like them, but they grow into them.

But then it became clear you /weren't/ growing into them. There were shirts you refused to wear because if how they felt on you. You'd cry and kick and scream. You wouldn't touch cold water unless it was for drinking- and don't get him started on wet floors.

As you got older, your reactions changed. You matured and he thought maybe you'd grow out of it. He hated seeing you upset

Wishful thinking. You didn't.

Here you were, 18 and gagging over how a glass mug felt in hand.

It'd been a rough morning, starting when you'd woken up. It was too hot, for one. You kicked the blankets off and moved to get up, the cold floors instantly sent chills through your body. Shoes were the first thing on, you couldn't deal with that today.

And dressing had gone okay until you'd reached for your sweater, touching the fabric you felt yourself gag. You take a deep breath, shaking your hand before going to put it on.

It was fine then, after you'd taken a few breaths and stretched the collar and you hoped to christ you stayed that way.

Finishing your routine, brushing your hair, brushing your teeth (which was hard enough on its own), you head down the stairs. You avoid touching the railing, unsure how your body would react.

"'Morning poppet," Pol hums.

"Mornin auntie."

"There's some hot water in the kitchen, get yourself some tea." She smiles softly and continues her hike to another room.

"Mmm," you nod tiredly.

You weren't sure you'd be able to finish tea, even start it really, not with how sick you felt. Your mind flickered back to the floor and the shirt, you groaned softly. Christ that only made it worse-

"Hey now,"

"Oh- sorry Tommy." You smile sheepishly. "Good mornin,"

"Good mornin', lost in thought already? Pretty early for that."

"Wish I could stop." You hum with a sigh reaching up in the cupboard to grab a mug. You slid it off the wood shelf.

Your body shuttered and you gagged, followed by a cough before dropping the cup. It shattered once it hit the ground and you groaned, squatting and holding your head.

You vaguely heard Tommy call your name, you were too busy trying not to puke. Everything was too much now- your shoes touched wrong, you couldn't wiggle your toes enough. Your hair felt weird along your fingers and your sweater- the fucking sweater. It just sat /wrong/.

"Hey," Tommy whispers, he looks panicked. "Hey are you okay?"

"Tommy," you take a shakey breath. You could feel the gag at the back of your throat. "Get my shirt off- get my fucking shirt off," you looked at the ground, trying not to focus on the fabric sitting against your skin.

"What...?"

"Tommy pull it off!"

"Okay- okay," his hands immediately drop to the hem of you sweater and he pushes it up your torso before tugging it over your head. He tossed it to the side. You're left in nothing but pants and a bra now, heaving as you screw your eyes shut.

"What's going on?" John's at the door now, sounding just as panicked as Tommy looked.

"Go get Pol," he says simply. 

"What's-"

"Go get Pol." He hissed, sending a glare to his brother.

You slide your hand under his jacket to grab his sleeve before dropping your head to your brothers chest. He shrugs off his coat and abandons it where it drops.

"Can I touch you?" He whispers, his hands hovering over your skin.

You take a deep breath and nod. "You can try," you mumbled.

He placed a hand on your upper back, the other in you hair. You don't seem to react and he silently thanks the heavens before stroking your hair.

"You alright?" His voice is soft, laced with concern. He understood it now, you had an episode. He hasn't seen one in years, especially not one this bad.

You nod, swallowing thickly.

"Do you need a bucket?"

You shake your head and close your eyes.

"Is she alright?" Pol calls out as soon as she's stepped into the room.

"Had an episode Pol," Tommy strokes your hair and looks up. "Can you turn on the record and tell the boys it'll be a quieter day today?"

"Tommy.." You mumble.

"And get her the white shirt she has, the long sleeved one with the small strawberry on the left."

Of course he'd take care of it. It was Tommy, regardless of how you'd voice your distaste for it, hezd always take care of the situation.

"Does she need a bucket?"

"No, she's alright."

"Broke your glass Aunt Pol," you whisper. "M sorry,"

"It's alright poppet, I can get another one."

You nod slightly.

She takes off and you can here her Inform Arthur and John. You smile slightly.

"Is it happening often? I haven't seen you like this in almost two years. You just not telling us?"

Then music.

"'Not this bad," you sigh. "Smaller things though, yeah."

He nods slightly. "Alright,"

"M sorry you have to deal with it."

"Don't be, promise it's no trouble."

He takes your shirt from Polly and slips over your head. You pull your arms through.

It was a shirt he had made, it was soft, oa fabric you never seems to mind. It was years old, and you'd slip into it whenever things got to be too much, or texture just wasn't cooperating.

"Alright sweet girl," he squeezes your arm gently. "Let's move to the parlor." He lifts you as he stands.

"Tommy I can walk,"

"I know," he smiles. "I used to carry you when you were a kid though, and much less of a rat."

"Not a damn rat," you grumble, thankful when he sets you on the couch.

"You alright?" John asked worriedly.

"You don't need a bucket do you?"

"Why do you all keep asking if I need a bucket? No Arthur, I appreciate the concern, I don't need a bucket."

"So you're alright?" John asks again.

"Yes, stupid, I'm fine." You smile softly.

[huntingpeople-savingsam]

Euphoria 2x04: Cassie

Oh my goodness, after all the bullshit so far this season with the whole Cassie / N*te thing this episode made me kinda feel for her. Like,

After she fucked the fuckboy, and he’s going off about how “you can’t blackmail me into dating you” I hate N*te but he’s right???

And when she said she’d tell Maddy and he was like “this isn’t about being a good friend or being sorry, this is about you getting what you want” he was still unfortunately very right??

But then here’s where this episode reminds us that Cassie is still very much a high school kid who wants her friend too dump this asshole for good but also is desperate for this male attention no matter how she can get it after everything she’s been through:

“Is Nate still coming???” Girl, GET UP

When he just walks in passed her and she’s so hurt even though she knows he doesn’t actually want her like that

Girl starts doing what unfortunately many do when they’re upset and stressed, hell I’ve been guilty of this myself, she starts drinking heavvvyyy

Then when she’s still not getting the attention she wants she’s like “time to put on my hot girl fit and pretend I don’t even care!!”

She keeps getting drunker and drunker and by my track of it it was seltzers, beers, some sort of 4 Loko looking drinks, and champagne. So she’s mixing shit too

Now she’s watching Maddy and N*te getting close and get in the hot tub together and she’s like I’ll put the stop to that

She “falls” on N*te getting in the hot tub while she’s still trying to get his attention and he pushes her off

And now she hears everything N*te has been pretending with Cassie wasn’t true: that N*te is still saying shit to Maddy about getting back together, moving away together, having his babies etc

And Cassie at this point is clearly drunk enough to the point she was definitely going to vomit and I think the combination of that and this heavy emotional trigger had her literally crying and throwing up

And she’s saying to Maddy, “I’m sorry I’m sorry you’re my best friend!!” and Maddy, who almost definitely already knows about N*te and Cassie, says to her, genuinely I think, “It’s okay, it’s okay” while she’s gagging bc she has chunky ass vomit on her and girl is still going

Then being pulled up to the bathroom while she’s red faced and crying with puke on her mouth still trying to get N*te’s attention and I think that this is fully the end of them

As hurtful and somewhat selfish as I think Cassie’s actions were towards Maddy this season, I still think that Maddy knows her and while earlier on when Cassie was acting all “he doesn’t care about you he cares about ME” I kinda wanted Maddy to put the beat down on her, I don’t think she actually will. I think Cassie fucked up this season but I still don’t think Maddy is going to put N*te over Cassie.

That’s just my take but I think it’s easy to forget with this show bc the actors are older and the things they’re all doing are way grown for most high schoolers but they are all still kids. And I think or at least hope that after this messy scene that N*te and Cassie are over and Maddy finally steps in like yeah I know what’s going on and N*te can fuck directly off and Cassie’s just on some friendship probation while they get through this ordeal

[sickybubbies]

A/n: Y'all I realised there's really not enough pregnant Jungkook on here with Jikook ofc I'm a sucker for them lately. Anyway, sorry for the crappy ending, enjoy!

TW: Emeto, Mpreg

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

"You alright babe?" Jimin rasps, leaning up so he was perching on his elbow as he squints his eyes where he could make out a faint figure of Jungkook half climbing; hauling himself onto the bed under the early greys of the morning. 

"Mhmm," Jungkook hums quietly for a response, grimacing at the acid like texture in his throat that he was left with after throwing up. It was raw and strained, and Jungkook didn't like it one bit. He huffs and slips a hand under his shirt to hold on to his pudgy stomach, for two reasons. It was pushing past the waistline of his sweats from how bloated he was, after expelling the contents of his stomach routinely which tires him out endlessly and he wants to rip his insides out. 

But Jungkook decides to be forgiving, because he's a few weeks into carrying the beautiful baby that he and Jimin had always dreamed about having. The pair had spent days and nights, with Jimin's head on Jungkook's torso as they both squabbled about how they'd raise their child way back in the boyfriend phase. (“One baby with your short genes, one with my tall genes and my good looks, how's that sound?" "Yah!") Jungkook reminds himself that it was all gonna be worth it in the end, it's always worth it. He imagines just how bright Jimin's eyes were to get once their baby was here, if it wasn't bright enough when Jungkook told him the news of his pregnancy; he fears he'd metaphorically go blind from his joy. 

"I've just been sick." He murmurs, leaning back onto the headboard. Jungkook slouches, the energy sucked out of his bones as he shuts his eyes to hopefully regroup himself.

Jimin hums in acknowledgement, more awake now that he was aware of his husband's strife and leans over to press a generous kiss to his forehead. He wasn't going to let the younger deal with it alone, though the ones he accidentally sleeps through he's always up and at his service when needed and to smother him in love for afterwards. 

"I thought you were gonna. I could hear your tummy all night going squelch squelch" He mumbles playfully, hoping it would lighten the dreadful atmosphere. Jimin places a hand on Jungkook's stomach and begins to rub circles into it, hoping it would ease him some.

 The latter's abs had begun to disappear and his stomach was slightly dome shaped from the swell he had, his skin was softer and squishier the closer he gets to the second trimester and Jimin couldn't keep his hands off of Jungkook. In his defense, his husband looked adorable pregnant, he adored the sight so much and loved the tiny being to bits already. 

"Shut up Chim, listening to you is making me wanna vomit again" Jungkook groans, shifting on the mattress so he could get comfortable and pressing a fist to his lips as he feels his stomach fizzle up and an airy burp escape from his lips. 

Jimin pouts, he begins carding through Jungkook's soft purple hair. "Still feel bad? Aren't you supposed to feel better after bringing everything up?" He questions, his heart clenching as he watches Jungkook's face begin to pale and paint a tinge of green. 

Jungkook shrugs. "Dunno about that hyung, I don't feel better at all. I feel queasy" He admits, he'd learnt to vocalize to the older about how he felt; if he doesn't it's gonna end up with another one of Jimin's shirts in the wash, trust he's been there and learnt his lesson. 

"My baby…" Jimin coos softly, propping up next to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He keeps his fingers in Jungkook's hair, looking down at him and kissing the crown of his head as he slowly scratches his scalp. He holds the younger tighter when he stiffens and moans, his brows furrowing from the pain and havoc the nausea was causing in Jungkook's stomach from how he nuzzles his nose into Jimin's chest. "It's one of those days huh? Crackers and water, maybe some ginger ale if we feel less stubborn. How long does lil' bean plan to keep you sick for anyways?" 

"That feels nice..." Jungkook mumbles out, relaxing a little. Jimin's soft yet aimless conversations helped keep him distracted, and so were his gentle touches they did a great job in lulling him to sleep. 

Speaking of which, Jungkook is just about to drift into dreamland in the comfort of Jimin's arms when his stomach churns again. He feels a splash of bitter bile in the back of his throat, almost like the residue of sick that was still sitting at his throat from earlier. He almost sits upright, clenching his throat and covering his mouth as he belches. It catches Jimin's attention. 

"Jungkookie, Jungkookie" Jimin says in a haste, cursing under his breath as he looks around for anything Jungkook to spew in without jostling his stomach too much. His eyes drawing back to the younger one in worry when he next hears a wet gag which meant he couldn't hold on any longer now that his hand was leaving his mouth. 

Jimin looks around and finds the glass bowl he had on his side table which Jungkook had brought him months back, he sighs in relief. It was stashed with a bunch of sweets and random bits that he's quickly dumping out. He snags it up and under Jungkook's chin, straightening up with him and clicking his tongue when Jungkook whines and protests. 

"It's okay, Jungkookie it's okay, do it here. In here babe, I'll clean it don't worry. It's just a bowl" He assures softly, lowering it slightly so it wasn't right in his face as he slowly massages the back of his neck. 

Jungkook whimpers, feeling his stomach slosh and his muscles tense as he wraps an arm around his middle. He barely registers Jimin turning the lamp on before he's disgorging a stream of vomit into the bowl. 

He pants and grunts, jolting with a hiccup. His breath gets caught in his throat and he gags, coughing and spluttering before more chunky liquid is brought up which splashes into the bowl. Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut, just the fact that it looked so much like his dinner still sent his stomach into another wheel. 

"That's it, let it out Kookie, my sweet boy." Jimin hums, digging under the sick man's shirt and rubbing up and down his arched back. He grimaces when Jungkook retches again, throwing up even more which makes his heart ache.

"You're doing well bun, I'm so proud of you. Keep going until you feel like you've finished" He encourages, kissing his shoulder and pulling him closer before pausing when Jungkook sobs. 

"H-hyung…" Jungkook chokes out, hiccuping as fat tears roll down his rosy and embarrassed cheeks. Usually, he's never one to cry so easily but pregnancy hormones had him spiralling into a pouty and emotional wreckage in a flash. Something was gnawing at him. 

"Jungkookie" Jimin whispers so he didn't startle him, stroking his hair back as he listened. 

"W-why this bowl… I got you it f-for our anniversary!" Jungkook cries out making Jimin flinch, his mouth wide in realisation now that Jungkook's refusal to puke earlier was because he didn't want to do it in such a meaningful, meaningful bowl. He forgot Jungkook was so peculiar about the little things. 

"Y-you could've gotten-" Jungkook hiccups. "A-another bowl o-or the trashcan. I w-worked so hard to get you this. Do you know how much it cost me on our holiday? N-now I've been sick in it i-it's all ruined I fucking h-hate you" He rambles, in the spur of his overriding emotions he misses Jimin's amused expression.

"Cute" He murmurs under his breath with a quiet chuckle, wiping his tears with his sleeve. "I'm sorry. I'll clean it up, squeaky clean and good as new. You won't even remember that you've been sick in it. I'm serious!" Jimin's voice raises a pitch as Jungkook looks at him unconvinced, his doe eyes still holding tears.

"Gimmie a kiss" He giggles, crawling forward while moving the bowl away as Jungkook groans loudly and scrunches his nose and tilts his head back. "A-ah ew no I've literally- Jimin I just puke-" He stammers, pursing his lips as Jimin eventually steals a kiss from him.

His tears were dry now, the fit subsided and it was only laughter and giggles together even if Jungkook's morning was off to a rough start Jimin always made it better. 

[julemmaes]

Honey - part three

Elide Lochan x Lorcan Salvaterre roommates au

A/N: famous last words: I can finish this is in two hours. six hours laters and I feel like I’ve been beaten up by a gang of bigass old faes if you know what I mean.

IT CONTAINS SMUT, not suited for readers under 18

Please be kind I fucking hate my smut, if it’s disgusting just don’t comment on it cause I could hit my head on the wall several times

masterlist

Word count: 7,519

Aelin's scream was like a stab to the brain, "Get up you nasty little bitch!"

"Ace! Why don't you try with sweet Ellie?" retorted Lysandra.

Elide didn't even have the strength to open her eyes or move from the fetal position she was in, curled up with a pillow pushed so hard against her belly that she wouldn't have been surprised if it had somehow damaged her internal organs, "Please leave."

The two didn't seem to hear her.

"Sweet?" Aelin huffed, "But you did see her last night, right?"

Elide opened one eye, seeing that they had both sat down at the end of the bed. She felt the cracks tugging at her eyelid and grunted, pressing her face into the pillow. She wanted to die. And she wanted Manon to come and free her from those two supposed friends who she knew were about to remind her of her misadventures.

"Except for what happened before we left," Aelin winked, placing a hand on her foot. Elide withdrew it, not wanting to feel physical touch of any kind at that moment. "I would have been willing to break up with Rowan so I could get between Kyllian and you, honestly."

Elide grunted again, her voice muffled by the pillow. "I'm begging you girls, you need to get out before I throw up again."

And it was true, she would throw up if they didn't stop talking. Plus, Elide didn't care in the slightest what the drunk her had done. She hated her so much.

Lysandra giggled and she felt it as she climbed between the covers until she was settled next to her on the pillows, "Between her and Lorcan though, no?"

The cry of disgust that erupted from Aelin and the all too loud laugh from the other didn't make Elide register the words right away, but as soon as she realised what they had said, her stomach began to twist and turn, and not like when Lorcan accidentally brushed her hand or when he put his hand on her thigh during movie nights. Oh no.

With a movement she didn't know she had the physical skills to make, she shifted the covers off her body and launched herself into the hallway, slamming her hand against the bathroom door and throwing herself to the floor in front of the toilet before the highly concentrated alcoholic contents in her stomach spilled onto the floor.

As she vomited and Lysandra tied up her hair, massaging her back, Elide felt her heart break slowly. She wanted to turn around, to ask Aelin what had happened, or maybe not. She groaned as another gag shook her body and her eyes filled with tears once more as she puked what could only be alcohol.

"How do you still have stuff in your stomach?" muttered Aelin from outside the bathroom door.

Elide didn't blame her, vomit was disgusting and she was particularly sensitive to the sound of gagging. The only reason Lysandra wasn't the least bit uncomfortable was her younger sister Evangeline, who she had practically raised without anyone's help. Whatever came out of a person's body, their friend had already seen it in all shapes and colours.

Elide cursed herself for thinking such a thing while she was bent over the toilet throwing up, because it pushed her over the edge one more time and a sob wracked her body, "Fuck-" she managed to mutter between spits.

"I thought you weren't going to barf any more after last night," Lys said, continuing to rub her back.

"True," Aelin mumbled a little louder, "did you keep drinking after?"

Elide managed to turn her head towards the door, seeing that her friend was sitting on the floor just outside the bathroom. She grimaced as a gust of air that smelled like vomit reached her nose, "After what?"

"You and Lorcan left after you threw up," Lys explained to her. Elide didn't bother turning towards her, she didn't have the energy, "And you threw up so much Ellie, everywhere. It's weird that you have anything else to reject."

It wasn't weird at all considering the only thing Elide remembered was the amounts of alcohol she had ingested. She'd started just before seven with straight tequila, desperate to see how indifferent people were to the biggest catastrophic problems in human history, and everyone knew she couldn't handle alcohol even in small amounts. But Elide was also known to be the type who could drink for hours without ever feeling sick, if she now found herself bent over the toilet the next morning, it meant she had gone too far.

"I don't remember anything."

"It's okay, don't worry about it," Aelin said and Elide felt a shiver run through her body at the hint of mischief in her voice. She braced herself mentally to hear how much she'd actually whored out the night before, "We're here to fix the memory loss."

Lysandra made a disgusted noise as Elide flushed the toilet and the water stirred underneath them, but she patted her shoulders and pulled herself up, "You need to take a shower first though. Because you smell like death."

"Geez, thanks," Elide murmured as she began to undress.

The grin that appeared on Aelin's face made her hands freeze around the hem of her shirt. The other arched an eyebrow, looking into her eyes, "What? Lorcan is the only one you can flash?"

Elide closed her eyes, bringing her hands to her face and then let go a scream of frustration.

"Exactly."

Oh, god.

"I remember..." Elide scoffed, running her hands through her hair. When her fingers reached the tips, she was horrified to find they were encrusted with what was surely vomit from the night before. "Fuck."

Lysandra snickered beside her, "Why were you so drunk that you didn't realise what you were doing so damn early?"

Elide looked at her, and although she knew the question was only asked to tease her more, there was a note of concern in her tone. Her shoulders sagged a little and she shook her head, starting to undress undisturbed, "I set out to research a few things and the world is a shitty place and there was nothing I could do in the immediate future to save us all so I got drunk."

"Sounds like alcoholism," Aelin joked.

Both Lysandra and Elide laughed, "If you knew what I found out you'd get drunk too," the latter added.

"Send everything my way." the blonde winked at her, and then they went out, leaving her alone to wash away the sins of the night before and letting her mind travel. And Elide's mind travelled far too much as she racked her brains to remember Lorcan's reactions to a naked her.

After her friends had told her everything that had happened the night before. From her taking her clothes off in front of her best friend, to him getting stuck in their bathroom and calling Aelin for help, to her dancing with Kyllian specifically to make her roommate jealous - or so the drunk her seemed to have justified her actions - to Fenrys saving her from what was sure to end up being just casual sex that would only widen the gap between her and Lorcan.

Gap that apparently wasn't as pronounced as she thought.

Aelin and Lysandra had told her about the way he had pushed his way through the crowd and joined Elide on the dance floor. The way they had danced to one of their favourite songs until they had been on the verge of kissing.

Elide had never been so relieved to know that she'd thrown up on someone. And that her plan to attract Lorcan had worked.

She was cooking now, thinking about how bad it would have been for her to find out they'd kissed without having even the slightest recollection of it happening, when the front door opened and the boy who was the object of her dreams walked into the kitchen.

He stopped in the doorway, looking at her with the most emotionless face Elide had ever seen him wear.

"Hello, handsome." she murmured, continuing to cook.

Lorcan stood still in the threshold for a while without saying anything, as if to sort the situation out. Then, without taking his eyes off what she was doing, he took off his jacket and shoes and walked into the kitchen, "How are you feeling?"

Elide had her back to him as she washed some tomatoes, "Just a bit of a headache. I threw up again when I woke up, but other than that I'm fine."

"Did you drink some water? Had breakfast?" he asked her.

Elide shook her head looking at him, "I woke up after noon, Aelin and Lysandra came over." then frowned, "I think it's their fault I threw up."

Lorcan chuckled, "Sure, absolutely." then he gathered his hair into a messy bun and Elide focused on the way the muscles of his biceps tensed every time he pulled on the elastic, "It's not the alcoholic coma from last night at all."

Elide gathered some courage and taking a deep breath, said, "About last night-"

"We don't have to talk about it," Lorcan immediately interrupted her.

She looked up at him, trying not to show any emotion, trying to read his on that sculptural face that remained impassive. Then, seeing the way he was looking at her, she came to a conclusion.

She arched an eyebrow, plastering a grin on her face, "Does this mean you didn't like my tits?"

Lorcan turned red in the face before stuttering, "No. I mean, yes! No, fuck. Shit... I don't know."

Elide chuckled and began to dress their salad, "You've never seen a pair of tits before?" she asked knowing full well how untrue that was.

When she had moved into the flat, both she and he had had their own wild nights out where they brought home a different partner every weekend. On one occasion, Elide had been stunned when she came out of her room and bumped into a girl she had spent the night with a few weeks earlier. The girl had only bid her good morning, winking, before returning to Lorcan's room.

"No, it's not that," he muttered, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"So surely you'll have other samples to compare my boobs to and you'll be able to tell me if they're above average," she continued, prolonging this gentle torture.

He sat down, both elbows resting on the table, and rested his chin on his clasped hands. He looked into her eyes for a few seconds, then whispered, "What are you doing?"

"I'm making our lunch," she replied innocently.

She heard him breathe through his nose, "Why are we talking about your tits, I meant?"

"Uh," she smiled, casting him another quick glance, "I didn't think you were so grossed out that you can't even handle a conversation about them."

The frown on his face went deeper and deeper. He remained silent for so long that Elide thought he would never say anything again, that she would never get his thoughts on her breasts, but when she served the salad, sitting down in front of him, he finally spoke.

"It's not that," he repeated, looking away, "they're very nice. Balanced." he began to eat undisturbed and Elide grimaced in amusement, finding a way to keep the conversation going.

"Balanced? What are they? An economic system?"

Lorcan clenched his jaw, setting his fork down on his plate and looking into her face again. She knew she was playing a dangerous game, that she was risking losing her sanity, but she had to know, had to-

"They're perfect and, maybe they are because they're attached to you, but they're probably the most beautiful tits I've ever seen."

Elide's brain shut down. And he seemed to realise it too because the shadow of a smile began to form on his lips.

Lorcan leaned forward on the table and her eyes snapped to his arms. Fingers flexing, interlocking, caught her attention completely. She returned her gaze to his, feeling her body heat up as he resumed speaking. "If I'm going to be completely honest... If you want the details, Elide," the way he said her name made her most intimate part clench around nothing, "I've never seen such nice, small nipples and that pink?" he shut his eyes, moaning as he brought one of the tomatoes to his mouth and wrapped his lips around the fork.

Elide swallowed the mouthful that had been in her mouth for over a minute and nearly choked when he opened his eyes again and they were darker than normal if that was possible.

She looked away, too many feelings building up inside her, but crossed her legs, trying to relieve some of the tension there.

"Wasn't that enough, Ellie?" he asked in a rough voice, biting into an olive, making sure she saw the way his lips closed around it.

She swallowed again, "No, it was fine..." she cleared her throat when it came out too weak, "Thanks for the feedback."

Lorcan let go a throaty chuckle, "The pleasure is all mine."

***

Like every Sunday evening, the whole group had gathered at the twins' house. And that night everyone was there, although Vaughan and Vesta, along with Aedion and Sorrel, had gone out into the back yard a few hours ago and had not yet returned. Elide suspected they'd taken to smoking.

Those left in the house were playing one of the most popular games, "I feel like."

The game had no real objective, other than to embarrass people or get them to confess to extreme or obscene sexual acts. It was simply a matter of drawing a card, reading what it said and giving it to the person you thought had done the closest thing to what was described on the card. The only real rule was that you had to tell the whole story of what happened if the card you were handed told the truth.

Quite often the game would be interrupted because one of the two sides of the various couples would cheat, change the rules and instead of passing it on to the appropriate person, they would pass it on to their partner as an invitation to lock themselves in the first spare room they could find to experiment with what was asked by the game.

The cards could range from as basic things as "I feel like your first time was in a public restroom." to as a bit more hardcore as "I feel like you got fisted in the woods."

And in that moment, Elide had a strong feeling that Rowan and Aelin would soon be going home.

"Oh my fucking god," Rowan muttered as he read the words on the card, turning red from head to toe. He looked up at Aelin, swallowing and making his adam's apple bob, "Where do you even find these games?"

Elide giggled beside him, "There's a girl on the internet who updates the cards every month and puts them up for sale, we take turns to see who has to buy them each time."

"Oh god," he said shaking his head. When he slid the card in Aelin's direction, the girl leaned towards him to leave a soft kiss on his lips and when they broke away they were both smiling. Aelin read what was written on the card and for a second it seemed like the colour drained from her face, but then she blinked and cleared her throat, looking at Rowan with wide eyes.

"Maybe we should go away. To try it out." she murmured, so quietly that only those on the couch with them heard her.

Elide looked up at the boy next to her, or rather, behind her, to see if he was listening, but he seemed lost in thought. He had been absentmindedly stroking her arm since they had settled there, and Elide didn't think she had ever been so relaxed in her life.

She and Lorcan were sitting at one end of the sofa, opposite to Rowan and Aelin, her between his legs and with her back against his chest. Every time one of them laughed, their bodies moved closer together and now she had her head resting on the part of his chest between his neck and shoulder.

She was home.

Fenrys and Connall, across the living room, sitting on the floor, booed.

"You can't pass them all on to her!" complained Lysandra.

Aelin didn't even look at her as she spoke, her eyes always fixed on Rowan's, as if they were having a telepathic conversation, "Lys, shut up."

Her friend gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth.

"I say we vote to kick them out of the room," Asterin said, in exactly the same position she was in, but between her boyfriend's legs. Half the people in the room raised their hands to the sky, making Aelin roll her eyes.

Fenrys nodded, always ready to back Asterin up in whatever situation they were in, "It's starting to smell like Rowaelin in here."

Lorcan chuckled behind her, knocking her forward. And as the others lost themselves in the chatter, Elide shifted her gaze to Manon, who sat in the armchair next to the couch, one hand in Dorian's hair, who sat with his head resting on the armrest.

Her friend's bright eyes sparkled with malice as she arched an eyebrow and gestured to the boy she was practically sitting on. Elide felt her cheeks blush, but smiled naively at her, pretending not to know what she was alluding to. Manon smiled back.

Elide had never spoken openly to her about Lorcan, not in that way at least, but she knew Manon knew - in fact, now that she thought about it, she had never had to do that with anyone. Everyone had been rather quick to catch on that. Everyone except Lorcan.

The hand on her arm stopped, clinging completely against her skin and Elide had to force herself not to look at him, but then he lowered himself onto her and whispered in her ear, "Ellie."

She turned her head just enough to look at him and his lips brushed her cheek, so briefly that she thought she had imagined it. Lorcan had pulled back and was now looking into her eyes, "Your turn."

She blinked and turned towards the others, only realising at that moment that all eyes were on them. She felt her face burn, but she nodded, putting a hand on Lorcan's knee and pushing herself forward, rubbing her ass on the crotch of his trousers. She'd been doing this all night, all night teasing him, just as he was teasing her, brushing the side of the breasts from time to time.

And each time, Lorcan would burst into a coughing fit and move further back, which only gave Elide a chance to grind even harder against him in an attempt to regain the comfortable position they were in before.

As she settled back into her seat, she met Fenrys' gaze, who had a shit-eating grin on his face. She lowered her eyes to the maroon card in her hands quickly, shimming her hips between his legs. Lorcan's hands ended on her shoulders and she looked up at him, batting her eyelids like a fawn.

"Stop moving around so much," he grumbled.

She smiled gently and then took up reading. She hadn't touched alcohol that night, for obvious reasons, but she still found it hard to understand what was written there when Lorcan's fingers began to draw imaginary lines across her bare skin.

"I feel like..." she whispered, her eyes going wide. She looked across the sofa at Rowan.

The friend gave her a chuckle, "I told you they seemed a bit extreme."

I feel like you performed a titjob on someone while being eaten out.

Before she could realise what she was doing, she said, "Can I give myself the card or...?"

Dorian turned a quizzical look on her, "You know you have to-"

Fenrys shrieked something unintelligible, but that stopped Dorian. Manon above them clenched her hands into fists, her eyes half-closed at the sudden commotion, "I haven't killed you yet just because-"

"Yeah yeah, just because of Asterin, I get it," Fenrys replied moving a hand midair, his gaze never leaving Elide's, who in a moment of clarity realised what Dorian was about to say. What the blond said only served to confirm her fear, "But Elide just confessed to doing whatever is written on it and I want to know every detail."

She felt Lorcan stiffen behind her and then Elide realised something else entirely. He must have read what was written on the card.

"So?" pressed Aelin, leaning over Rowan and snatching the card from Elide's hands. She opened her mouth wide with an amused expression, then put on a pout, looking at her boyfriend, "These are the things I sometimes wish you'd be a little more open about."

Rowan arched an eyebrow, reading the card in turn, "We can do those two things at the same time and without anyone else having to see you naked."

Lysandra, next to them, picked up the card, "Oh, Aedion and I did that too. Although it was a normal blowjob, no titty job." she exclaimed happily.

One thing that pleased Elide greatly was the fact that no one in that room would judge her for what she did in the bedroom and who she did it with. Also because there was a high probability that they had done it too.

And slowly the card was passed among all the members of their group and when it reached Fenrys and Asterin, the girl winked at Elide, murmuring a sensual, "I've never done it, but I'm sure it wouldn't hurt." Fenrys winked behind her, intertwining their hands. Asterin's smile only grew wider, before she added, "You have our numbers."

Elide blushed, but smiled anyway, nodding.

Everyone began to talk about the various possibilities, as they did during every turn, and the card finally passed from Dorian and Manon and the two exchanged only a glance before giving the card to Lorcan.

Lorcan who was taking deep breaths one after the other and had his eyes closed. Elide had never seen him so focused in her life. She noticed the way he contracted and relaxed his jaw repeatedly and frowned.

Was he alright?

She ran a finger over his thigh to get his attention, tracing a line from his knee to where his leg touched her hip and Lorcan let go a shuddering breath, opening his eyes slightly and tightening his grip on her shoulders, "I don't think you should do that." his voice so hoarse and deep that Elide felt her stomach knot. She didn't understand what he was referring to.

And then she felt it.

Hard and... thick against her ass.

She opened her eyes wide, pointing them at him, and held her breath. She had to stop herself from opening her mouth in surprise, but she couldn't stop herself when her hips pushed against Lorcan's now obvious erection.

Elide had never been so happy to hear Fenrys' laughter as she was at that moment, because if it hadn't been for the sudden noise, the moans that escaped them both would have been heard all too well and neither of them would have been able to look at anyone else in the room for the rest of their lives.

Lorcan swallowed, breathing through his nostrils, and his gaze fell to her lips. Her eyes did the same and she didn't care that they were among everyone and would have everyone's eyes on them if they did exactly what Elide was thinking, because his lips parted slightly and he whispered her name and she was lost.

Without thinking about it for another second, Elide turned just enough to have her face directly in front of his and closed her eyes, feeling his lips brush hers. She released a breath she didn't know she was holding, "Lorcan,"

And then she kissed him, and it was exactly as she had always dreamed it would be, as his lips moved with hers and they tasted and breathed from each other. A sound that Elide had never made in her life rose up her throat as Lorcan shifted and with a sharp movement of his hips turned her fully towards him and now she was on her knees in front of him, both of them breathing heavily as they looked into each other's eyes.

Someone coughed in the room and she heard Aelin whisper a weak "fucking finally", but Elide didn't give a shit.

She placed her hands on Lorcan's face, tilting his head back so she could reach him better. The second his hands landed on her hips, their lips collided again in a fierce kiss and his tongue found its way into her mouth.

The first touch of their tongues was like having a thousand fireworks explode in her mouth.

"Okay, it's time to join the others," Manon murmured.

Elide heard Fenrys mutter, "Please not on the couch, there are guest rooms upstairs."

Lorcan pulled away from her just enough to see what was going on around them and her hands slid around his neck, ending in his hair as she admired the line of his cheekbones and the way his lashes caressed his skin every time he closed his eyes.

God, he was beautiful.

"Which one can we use?" asked Lorcan as he looked at Fenrys.

Elide's eyes went wide, causing him to turn towards her. She ran a thumb over his lower lip, smirking, "So sure of yourself."

Without missing a beat, Lorcan mimicked her grin and squeezed her hips, "You don't want to?"

Elide smiled, turning towards her friends, stopping to look at Fenrys, "The second on the left right?"

When the owner of the house winked at her, nodding, she stood up, pulling Lorcan with her, who had a confused look on his face, "Why do you know that?"

She had the decency to blush, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the stairs, "You don't want to know."

Lysandra burst out laughing as everyone resumed their seats on the floor or the couch, "You really don't."

Elide tugged at him more insistently, not looking at Lorcan's reaction to those words. She just wanted to get to the room and lock herself in with him.

When she felt his hand settle on her hip and slide down to her ass cheek, where he paused to give it a squeeze, she almost turned and slammed him against the wall just so she could continue kissing him how she needed to.

They arrived in front of the door and she stopped with her fingers on the handle, once inside there would be no stopping. There would be no point of return.

His fingers brushed her cheek and she turned to face him, who now wore a ravenous, excited look, but Elide could see the concern and hesitation in taking the next step, "We don't have to do anything, Ellie."

She nodded, because she knew that was the case, but squeezed his hand to emphasize what he said, "But I want to."

"Good thing, cause the thought of you fucking those two gave me some ideas."

She grinned, placing a hand on his chest, "I wasn't the one doing the titty work, but we can always try."

Lorcan groaned softly at the knowledge of Elide licking another girl and then pushed the door open, backing in and taking his-

Whatever Elide was at that moment to him, it wasn't important.

The only thing that was important was his lips on hers.

The difference in height wasn't making it easy for him, and when he leaned down even further, never breaking the kiss, to run his hands under her knees and pull her up, Elide seemed to understand that right away and, pulling away just enough to jump into his arms, they found themselves on each other in seconds.

Lorcan bit her lower lip, making her moan, and when he moved to her jaw, nipping lightly at her skin, Elide threw her head back, pushing her hips against his and drawing a groan from both of them.

He immediately took the opportunity to latch his lips onto the smooth, quivering skin of her neck, feeling the bed behind his knees and sitting up, letting her straddle him. His hands moved up her legs, caressing her inner thighs, but never really getting close to where she needed him most.

Elide began to grope his chest, grazing the skin of his arms, but never staying in one spot, until Lorcan began to suck at the bare skin between her neck and shoulder and she nudged him slightly.

He quickly pulled away, panting, "What?"

There were too many layers. Keeping her eyes fixed on his, Elide lowered her hands to the hem of her shirt and slipped it off in one swift movement. She smiled smugly when she could finally see Lorcan's reaction to her bare tits.

His eyes were slightly wider than usual and his pupils so dilated that Elide realised that she had never noticed that Lorcan's eye colour was not black, but just a very dark brown. When he looked at her, the words died in her throat.

"I love it when you don't wear a bra," he murmured, reaching up to her and brushing her lips with his, "But I love even more the way you shiver every time I do this."

Elide didn't have a chance to dwell on the way he'd said love, because without her noticing, his hands had found their place on her waist and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in pleasure when he brushed the sides of her breasts with his thumbs.

He pushed himself further against her, brushing his lips over her ear, "When we're alone and you don't have to hold back, I want you to scream my name." and then he moved quickly, leaving only a light kiss on her shoulder before his lips closed around a sensitive nipple.

With the first sweep of his tongue around the hard bead, Elide whimpered, pushing her hips down against his and making him moan into her chest. She brought her hands into his hair, clenching and pulling each time his teeth bit or scraped the sensitive skin around the nipple.

When he seemed to want to move on to the other breast, Elide shook her head, pulling his hair back to its roots and forcing her mouth against his, making him grunt. She had to feel him.

"Lorcan," she breathed, between kisses, "I need to touch you."

One of her hands slipped between the two of them, palming him through the sweatpants that did little to hide Lorcan's huge boner. He moaned against her chin, "Fuck."

They pulled apart again and when he had stripped off his shirt, Elide didn't waste a moment and pressed her bare chest against his, causing him to fall back onto the mattress.

Lorcan had other ideas though, because in one smooth motion she found herself lying on her back, his gentle weight pressing her against the covers and his bright smile lighting up his face. He left a kiss on her nose, on her lips and then down to the split in the middle of her breasts and her eyes rolled back in her head as a flashback from two nights before appeared in her head, of Lorcan doing the same thing with his eyes as they danced.

"Can I take these off?" he asked her, once he reached her hips where he was leaving kisses light as feathers.

Elide was breathing raggedly, but nodded when she understood he was talking about her leggings. Still keeping her eyes closed, she lifted her hips off the mattress, closing her fists around the covers as her bottoms disappeared along with her socks and the cold air hit her bare skin.

Now only the thin fabric of her black panties separated her from achieving what she wanted.

That and Lorcan's slacks.

"Ellie." she heard him as he came back on top of her, one knee between her legs to keep his balance. She licked her lip, opening her eyes and keeping her gaze fixed on him, on that perfect face.

"Do you have a condom?" she asked in a whisper, as if afraid the answer would be no. She had them, but they were downstairs, in her purse, and she had no desire to leave the room right then.

Lorcan arched an eyebrow, "I'm not having sex with you tonight, Elide."

She frowned, folding her arms under her and propping herself up on her elbows, "What does that mean?"

"That I'm not completely sober," he said, leaning his head towards her chest, keeping his eyes fixed in hers, "And the first time it'll be inside you," he murmured in a rougher voice, placing a light kiss on the nipple he hadn't licked before, "I want it to be at a time when I'm lucid and can remember all the noises and moans you make." and then he gave the same attention to her other breast, pushing her against the mattress one more time, until Elide was a squirming mess under him and deemed his treatment sufficient.

"Now I'm going to slip these off," Lorcan murmured, grazing a finger along the hem of her panties, and Elide shuddered, "and touch you. Here." the same finger slid across her covered folds, starting at her clit and following her slit to her entrance. "Already so wet for me."

Elide thrashed on the bed, moaning softly as he applied a little more pressure, "Stop teasing, we'll have time for that when we get home." she managed to toss out between shaky breaths.

"Understood ma'am." he taunted, grabbing the edges of the thing and pulling it down. The sound that burst from him was completely animalistic and threatened to make Elide come before he even really touched her. "So beautiful." he said, kneeling in front of her.

Lorcan's hands wrapped around her ankles and he pushed her legs up, placing her feet on the edge of the bed, until she was left with her knees bent and her pussy at his full disposal. Elide risked looking down between her legs and her eyes locked into his as he lowered himself onto her and smiled.

The way her chest rose and fell made her tits bounce and Lorcan seemed to appreciate it, but he didn't seem to be planning to do anything. Elide tipped her head back, whispering in a weak voice, "Do something, please."

He laughed and her muscles flexed, clenching around nothing. It was at that moment that she felt him, his breath on the most sensitive part of her body. "I'm going to make you cum so fast you won't have time to count to a hundred."

Lorcan's fingers came off her ankles and went to part her lips, making her feel the warm air of his breathe even more. He parted them until he was satisfied and Elide lowered her gaze just as his tongue made contact with her throbbing core. A rush of pleasure coursed through her body, making her legs tremble, "Lor," she moaned.

"Mh, El," he closed his lips around her clit, pressing his tongue against the pearl over and over, until Elide repeated his name like a prayer, "So good. You taste so good."

Her hands ended up in his hair again, pushing his face against her sex, seeking more. She began to move her hips, following the strokes of his mouth on her, but one of Lorcan's arms slithered around her pelvis and pinned her to the bed, lapping her juices as with his thumb he reached to massage her clit with such precision that Elide knew that whatever she would do on her own in the future, she would never be able to match how he was making her feel.

Elide cried out in pleasure, bringing a hand to her mouth as she felt his tongue thrust into her and an all too familiar warmth build up in the pit of her stomach.

She brought one hand up to massage the nipple he had only kissed and made a choked sound, her hips jerking upwards.

Lorcan moaned against her, a new sound, different from any he'd made so far, and Elide couldn't help herself. She pulled herself up onto her elbows, continuing to touch herself as he kept sending jolts of pleasure with every thrust of his tongue and every caress of his thumb, and the sight of him eating her out would have been enough to push her over the edge, but the hand wrapped around his thick, throbbing cock pumping relentlessly was the thing that made her eyes roll back and explode as the rope inside her snapped. Her legs gave out, falling over the edge of the bed and finding their place on Lorcan's shoulders.

Her mouth gaped open in a silent scream as her whole body trembled in pleasure as wave after wave surged through her and her back arched so wide she broke away from the bed.

Lorcan didn't stop touching her, but he pulled his mouth away from her, still massaging her clit until Elide was too sensitive and with a groan she tightened a hand around his wrist to push him away. She heard him grunt and then moan, but she didn't have the strength to lower her gaze to what she knew very well was a cumming Lorcan.

She was breathing hard, one hand on her stomach to rest and the other still clasped around his.

Every now and then her body was shaken by a spasm, but she managed to calm down after a few minutes and close her aching legs. She rolled onto her side, letting go of his wrist.

Lorcan was also breathless and kept his forehead pressed against the edge of the bed.

Elide felt a tinge of pain tingle through her heart. She pulled herself up just enough to look into his face, "Lor?"

She reached out a hand towards him, placing it on his shoulder, at which he raised his head and looked at her with bright eyes and an open mouth, "Are you alright?"

She nodded, smiling at him and falling back into the now unmade blankets, "Never been better."

He chuckled deeply, moving from his position on the floor and causing at least two joints in his legs to crack.

The moment Elide saw he'd managed to get at least halfway out of his trousers, her throat went dry. And her brain forgot how to talk when she noticed he wasn't wearing boxers. Elide knew Lorcan often went commando, but seeing it with her own eyes was a different story. Seeing him, was a completely different thing from feeling him against her.

She swallowed. She'd intended to scold him for taking all the fun out of both of them by touching himself, but maybe Elide had overestimated her abilities, because the idea of having to give Lorcan a blowjob when his dick was like this-

"If you keep looking at me like that I'm not sure I can keep the promise I made to myself," he murmured in a serious voice.

Elide looked up at his face and sighed as she saw his eyes as dark as before, just moments before he pulled off his clothes completely and lay down beside her on the other side of the bed.

It didn't take her even half a second to wrap herself around him and press her body against Lorcan's side as he draped an arm around her shoulders.

His fingertips began to trace idle lines on her shoulder as he had done only half an hour before on the couch in front of everyone.

A satisfied and surprised laugh came out of her. Lorcan put his hand under her chin and when she looked up at him he had an equally satisfied smile on his lips. He pushed her head towards his, causing their mouths to collide in a brief kiss that was chaste in comparison to what they had just done and when they broke away, Elide frowned, "I didn't like you touching yourself without giving me a chance to enjoy this in turn."

The corner of Lorcan's mouth turned up, "Sorry honey, but seeing you naked like that on the bed for me has been my dream for a little too long and I was sure I would have come in zero time if I had let you touch me. It would have been embarrassing." he whispered, caressing her cheek.

Elide tried to suppress a smile, failing miserably. She decided to tease him a little, "I thought I heard you say you lasted long in bed, didn't you?"

He chuckled, "You know it's hard to rely on stamina when the girl in question is you."

At those words she felt a particularly strong surge of affection for the boy who had given her one of the most intense orgasms she had ever received and she pushed herself closer against him, making her bare breasts feel against his skin.

Lorcan turned slightly towards her, looking into her face.

He looked so relaxed.

She knew he was.

But there was something that didn't allow her to be one hundred percent.

She fixed her eyes on his, placing a hand on his chest, over his heart. The hand Lorcan had held behind his head until now came to rest on hers, squeezing her fingers tight.

Elide took a shuddering breath, "Now what?"

Lorcan suppressed a yawn, "I guess it's not a problem if we stay here and sleep-"

"No, I'm saying," she interrupted him, looking away, "what do we do now? You and I." then, realizing that question couldn't have been more vague, she closed her eyes, mustering courage, "What are we now?"

"Whatever you want us to be, Ellie," he said softly, starting to stroke her hand, "But I want one thing to be clear. And I'd like you to look at me while I say it."

Elide opened her eyes, lifting her chin slightly so she could see him better, and gave him a small smile, which he immediately returned.

"What is it?"

Lorcan's gaze moved to her lips, before returning to her eyes, "I like you, Elide."

She stopped breathing.

"I really like you and whatever you decide to do with me, I'll respect that, but I also want to say that if you don't want anything exclusive, then this will have been a one night stand and won't happen again."

Although she also wanted exactly the same things, hearing him say them made her chest hurt, because the prospect of not being able to have him again so soon after just finally finding him hurt.

She cleared her throat, nodding, "I like you too." she whispered, noticing his eyes widen a little, "And I don't want you going with any other girls besides me if we decide to continue with this." Lorcan nodded, agreeing with her, then continued, "If you don't want a relationship right away, I can understand that, but know that I do." she felt herself blush as she finally admitted the truth out loud, looking away, "And I know our situation isn't the best with being roommates and all-"

"Our situation is perfect," Lorcan corrected her, moving a strand of hair out of her face.

She looked at him again, seeing him smile.

"Ellie, you're my best friend. The person who knows me the most out of all the people I consider important. We already live together, we won't have to fight over who to stay at every night. We won't have to go on any awkward first dates and the sex seems phenomenal to me," a lump formed in her throat as she tried to keep her breathing regular, but found it difficult when he smiled at her more broadly, "I waited months for you to see that the playlists were all declarations and hoped that after Friday night something would change. For once I won."

Elide figured he was talking about what had happened at the club, but if she was going to be completely honest... "I was the one who showed you my tits twice, letting you know I wanted something more. Don't take all the credit."

Lorcan burst out laughing and it sounded more scratchy than usual, "I'm sorry, you're right."

He kissed her again and again, and held her close as he ran his fingers through her hair and murmured the words to a love song, and before long she fell asleep in his arms, making Lorcan the happiest man in the world.

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[dancingazaleas]

𖨆. 03 / all for us

summary: you’ve been gone for a while and haven’t been replying to any of your texts messages. you’re friends suspect something might be up.

note: the reader has been left alone continuously ever since she has been kidnapped. erwin and levi are the only ones who see her, and it’s usually only for an hour or two. this is because of her reluctance to be around them.

taglist: @voltairelesecond @the-sun-baby @uniquepickle @baelo80

word count: +3.0k

warnings/notes: cursing, vomiting, your friends are looking for you

PIECK knew something was up whenever bertholdt said you weren't answering his texts and hadn't been showing up to work before you even went on vacation. she knew you were on vacation and that you were pissed with her, but even so you never ignored texts from bertholdt.

her suspicions only rose whenever porco and reiner told her the same thing, that you'd suddenly gone awol on the two of them out of nowhere.

they were confirmed when zeke came back into town and said the same thing.

she sits on her couch, shoulders shaking as she cries with porco's arms wrapped around her. reiner, bert, zeke, and annie, who reiner and bert brought for some reason, stare at her in complete worry.

you went awol just this sunday, telling each and everyone of them that you were going on vacation and wouldn't be in town for a little while. bertholdt hadn't seen you at work for almost three weeks now, two and a half of them after your sudden vacation.

"she can't be on vacation," pieck sobs, "she always answers your guys' texts. no matter what!"

"maybe she's just in a different country? she might just not be able to get reception," porco seems unsure as he says this.

"she can't be. she would've told me, pieck, or even bertholdt. god, she would've told all of us," zeke's head is in his hands while his teeth grind together.

"okay, so where would she be if she were still in paradis," annie speaks up while gesturing her arm in a circle.

"who fucking knows," reiner sighs, "when'd you last see her, babe?"

"at work before she stopped showing up. she said she was gonna get coffee at that one café she loves going to. other than that, she didn't say anything about plans or going out with anybody," bertholdt is laced with confusion and his arms are crossed.

"we got into a bad fight that night," pieck sniffles, "she left the house a few hours later, i just thought she was going to stay with one of you guys or yelena."

"what'd you even argue about?"

she grips at her hair with tears rushing down her face, "i can't even remember. it was probably so petty and stupid. the only thing i remember is her telling me that she hated me and me telling her that she was a fuck up."

"i'm so sorry, pieck," porco squeezes her shaky form tight to his chest.

"wait," zeke's standing up abruptly and pointing at bertholdt, "she went where?!"

"oh my god, she went to café scout!!! maybe the workers heard something," reiner perks up along with everyone else.

"holy shit, maybe that one girl is there!! she probably saw something," porco smiles.

"louise! she definitely knows (name)! she probably saw something! let's go," pieck jumps off of the couch and stumbles towards the front door of her house.

the rest of them follow after, all deciding that bertholdt's van, he's usually the designated driver, is the car they'll get into. they all yell at a fumbling bertholdt to hurry up and unlock the car as they stand at the car. he does so while screaming, jumping into the driver's seat and starting the ignition. reiner's jumping in the passenger seat and annie's in the first row of seats behind bert.

before porco can even close the door behind him, bertholdt is driving off towards the café. porco is screaming along with pieck as they're thrown around the van due to their lack of seatbelts and the both of them standing to sit in their seat. their screaming has everyone else screaming as bert speeds up the car despite the oncoming speed bump. bertholdt and reiner hit their heads against the roof of the car, a loud bang resonating throughout the vehicle. pieck and porco's back hit the roof as well, but luckily for pieck she lands on the first row of seats next to annie.

porco, unfortunately, lands on the floor. zeke would've laughed if it wasn't for his own head slamming against the carpeted roof of the van. annie holds onto pieck's arm whenever she's in a sitting position, screaming along with reiner for bertholdt to slow the car down as they see another speed bump.

he doesn't.

porco is once again thrown against the roof.

bertholdt is speeding, even as he gets onto the freeway with other cars. he's stressed out.

when they get there, they all wonder how the fuck bertholdt didn't even get pulled over and how the hell they even managed to survive. bertholdt cries out apologies as reiner and porco puke their guts out in the huge parking lot while annie gags and tries not to vomit at watching reiner and porco do it themselves. pieck is holding her hand and trying to cover her eyes while zeke manages to cover her ears and cringes at porco and reiner.

bertholdt's now sobbing at annie, profusely apologizing, even getting on all fours and begging for her forgiveness.

"how are you gonna get on your hands and knees for annie but not for your boyfriend," porco coughs before he spits out saliva to get rid of the taste in his mouth.

reiner follows behind him in a grimace, hand grabbing at his now emptied stomach and the other going to wipe at his mouth.

"dude, gross!! don't wipe it off with your hands!! pieck and bertholdt usually have tissues on hand," porco shouts to reiner, who drops his hand halfway.

pieck and zeke comfort the emetophobe annie all while bertholdt gives reiner and porco tissues and a breath mint. he gives them hand sanitizer as well, and throws a pack of peppermint frost gum at the two of them, clogging his nose up.

they scoff but oblige, both now looking somehow decent and also smelling it. pieck's calming down a shaking annie, who's buried herself in pieck's warm arms, and zeke stands to the side awkwardly.

porco and reiner rush to the order counter when they all step inside, ordering instead of asking the cashier for the employee they were looking for. annie, who's now calm, pushes them aside harshly.

"ignore them, is that girl louise working today? we need to talk to her," she asks and the poor cashier is terrified at annie's deadpan face.

"n-no!! sh-she should be at home!!"

"give me her address," annie starts to lean her front over the counter, almost pushing the poor girl into a heart attack.

she grabs a napkin and a pen, hurriedly scribbling down louise's address and running off into the back.

"we can get food on the way there," annie shrugs nonchalantly, "preferably wendy's or something."

————

bertholdt and pieck almost feel bad for the poor girl whenever she answers the door.

with annie's glare piercing into her and zeke's towering over her, they were sure she'd pissed herself.

"y-yes... what do you need," she digs her nails into the door.

pieck shoves them both aside and steps forward, louise lights up with recognition.

"don't worry, they aren't gonna hurt you," she waves her hand, completely ignoring how they both still glare at louise even over pieck's shoulder, "i just need to ask you something."

"what is it?"

"have you seen (name) lately? the girl who usually come in with me."

"last time i saw her was around a few weeks ago," louise shrugs, "wait, did she go missing?!"

"yea, we're trying to figure out where she was last on the night of her disappearance. did she say anything to you...? anything at all," pieck steps forward with a desperate hand on her heart.

"she said something about going drinking with two friends... something about them being blonde and short," she scratches at her temple, slight pout on her face, "that's all i can remember."

"did she say what bar," pieck steps closer again, putting her hand on the door frame.

louise shakes her head sadly, eyes dropping down to their feet.

with that, pieck broke into tears again and was led away by porco and annie. the rest of them followed behind, leaving louise inside her home.

"she has to be somewhere," pieck cries into her hands, "she has to be!!"

zeke's got a hand on his forehead while he loosely holds onto his glasses with his other hand. he lets out a choked out sob, and everyone turns to him.

"zeke... are you... crying?" reiner turns to look at zeke over his shoulder.

"fuck.. yea. it just doesn't make sense. she's gotta be somewhere," he rubs the bridge of his nose.

"maybe the guys louise mentioned know something...," bertholdt inserts as he looks in the rear view mirror.

the statement has pieck shouting at the meek boy, "we don't know what they look like!!! all we know is that one is blonde and one is short! we're at a dead end! we're fucking stuck!!!"

bertholdt visibly flinches in his seat while his throat clogs up, hands gripping at the steering wheel. his eyes are welling up with tears that he doesn't let out. reiner's hand is on his arm in comfort, eyebrows bunched up in concern.

pieck wails once more, "god, i'm so sorry bertl. this isn't your fault. you were trying to help."

he sniffles, "it's fine. i understand. we're all just upset and desperate to find (name)."

"we'll find her soon enough."

————

the loneliness is getting to your head.

you're in the secluded dark even during the day.

you just crave to be with someone, so much that you're getting desperate.

a tug at erwin's sleeve has him stopping and turning back to face you. you've got tears spilling over your cheeks and snot running into your mouth while you lean on an elbow to hold onto his sleeve for dear life.

it's not even nighttime, it's early afternoon. erwin had just come into the room to feed you lunch and to just leave after that. but you couldn't handle it anymore. being alone made everything dark and silent.

even if the lights and televisions were turned on.

"please," you beg and rest your forehead against his arm, "please don't leave me alone."

erwin's cheeks are lighting up while his eyes widen. his hand comes up to stroke the back of your head as it now rests on his hip. he doesn't mind the wet spot forming on his pants, this was the first time you ever initiated anything.

"i won't, darling. i need to go put the tray in the sink and let levi know i will be in here," he's taking a step away from you, jumping at your sudden loud sobs and tugging.

"no! no! please, i don't want to be alone," your eyes are squeezed shut while you grip onto his pants for dear life.

"but i need to go put these dishes away. after that, i can—"

"no!" you scream and push your head harder against his leg, "no! please don't leave! i don't want you to leave."

he sighs, putting the tray of empty dish onto your bedside table. he grabs the room key out of back pocket before he picks you up bridal style.

"you run, levi'll break your legs," his fingers dig into your skin, but loosen at the frantic nod you give.

he manages to unlock your bedroom door in a complicated way, which you don't feel like questioning, and strolls outside of the room.

he goes out of your quarters, it's the furthest you've ever been. you're in a large room that connects into other rooms, the amount of doors is slightly overwhelming to you even as you look at them.

to your shock, you pass by people. living people.

they all seem to be staff, and the only sort of acknowledgement you get from them is a wide eyed stare with a dropped jaw.

"levi is still in his study, correct," he asks while shifting his hold on you.

a girl with ginger hair and auburn eyes speaks up, "yes sir! he requested no one to enter."

erwin nods and walks past the girl, who gives you a small friendly wave whenever you look out from erwin's arm.

you turn your attention back to erwin whenever you hear the sound of a door opening and closing.

you're in a new room, which is assumed to be levi's study, that's lighted up by the cloudy and grey natural light that shines through the blinds and windows. there are bookshelves on both sides of the room and you notice that on both bookshelves the order of the books goes from largest to smallest. levi sits at a desk in the middle of the room, facing the door, as his hand holding a pen runs across the paper.

"what do you need," levi looks up for a brief moment, but snaps his head up once more.

"what's the brat doing here," he motions to you in erwin's arms.

erwin's sitting you on a leather couch in the office, wiping away some tears with his thumbs. he steps away from you and takes ahold of levi by the arm, essentially dragging him to the door of the study.

the dawning realization that they're going to leave you alone has you tripping over your feet as you run to the door. your hand grips onto levi's shirt and you tug him towards you, pulling him away from the door.

"i don't want to be alone," you cry while shoving your face into levi's chest, he cringes at your snot and tears soaking through his shirt.

"oh," he blinks, awkwardly rubbing your back with his hand, "why'd you bring her here?"

"because she wouldn't let me leave to put her tray away, which i now need you to do. i'm going to get in the bath with her, which you are welcome to join if you'd like."

"i don't like baths, sitting in your own filth," he scrunches his nose up.

"to each their own," erwin shrugs, giving levi a kiss on his temple and grabbing ahold of your hand.

"come along, darling," he smiles at how quickly you intertwine fingers with him and join his side.

he leads you into a different bathroom than the one that you use. there's not much of a difference besides it size, the tub's size, and the long counter built for two.

"undress for me, love," his giant hands are massaging your shoulders before he pulls away and walks over to the tub.

you look to the bathroom door, only to find a doorknob with a keypad, something you didn't notice when you walked in, and frown. you just sigh and slip off the the pastel pink nightgown you were wearing, the fabric pooling around your feet as it drops to the floor.

you look up into the mirror, and you almost want to cry. you look nothing like yourself. you barely had any life behind those (eye color) eyes and your eyebrows were now naturally furrowed in sadness. you've got fading bruises on one side of your body, trailing downwards all the way to your calf.

you decide to take off your panties before you let your thoughts roam, stepping out of them after they've dropped to the floor.

you hear the door open, to which you and erwin look to. only it's not levi.

it's a young boy with ebony black hair and emerald green eyes that stands at 5'10.

you instinctively cover yourself up and turn your back towards him, embarrassing washing over you in waves.

erwin scrambles to block the boys view, who is seemingly enjoying it, and furrows his bushy brows.

"who are you and what are you doing here? where is levi?!"

"levi sent me sir. he gave me clothing for the girl and then said you would be in here," his eyes try to take a peek over erwin's shoulder.

erwin snatches the clothing out of his hand and slams the door shut in the boy's face. he scoffs in annoyance while he puts the clothes onto the counter, now focusing his attention onto you.

"i'm sorry about that, dear. are you alright," he puts a hand on your back and guides you to his chest.

"i'm okay," you sniff, "just wanna get in the bath now."

he smiles a bit, leaving a sweet kiss on your forehead before he steps away. you watch him rid himself of his white button up and try not to let your eyes bulge out at his body. however, you can't exactly resist the urge whenever erwin is finally naked.

erwin's stomach has abs carved into it, a well groomed happy trail leading to his cock. the thighs in his muscles and back are almost screaming out at you whenever he turns and lifts his hand to ruffle his hair.

you look down to his feet, feeling ashamed for even staring for so long.

he gets into the bath after a moment, knees spread wide for you to sit between. his arms are resting on the rim of the tub while he sighs at the hot temperature. you get in, goosebumps running up and down your body as the heat invades your colder body. you settle in between his legs and lean back against his chest, closing your eyes.

his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him than you were before. you put a hand over his arm, silently giving him a message to keep his arms where they were.

his lips kiss at the crown of your head, and it seems sweet enough to where you think you might be able to smile. but you don't.

watching your eyes flutter, he mumbles into your hair, "the hot water make you tired?"

"yeah," you hum, "don't really like the hot outside of this. i prefer the cold."

"so does levi," erwin chuckles as he draws circles into your skin.

"does that mean you like summer?"

"no, i prefer fall or spring. both usually have the adequate temperature," he sighs.

"erwin," you ask after a few seconds, "why is levi so cold?"

"why are you only now asking?"

"i meant to ask sooner but i was never really... given the chance," you say bitterly.

"well, levi has been through a tough life. he almost went to jail before i met him. but it isn't my story to tell," he smiles at the memory.

you nod and finally let out a yawn, "i'm going to fall asleep soon."

from then, erwin washes the two of you so you both can get out of the bath. during this, you find out he's actually quite playful. he gathers up bubbly soap in his hands and blows them into your face, hearty laughs following immediately after.

he stands before you once you're out of the tub, wrapping a towel around his waist and one around your shoulders. you look up at him while he brushes your hair and puts on a few drops of lotion on your face.

you're trying to ignore the voice in the back of your head that maybe he really does care. because at the end of the day,

you still have a collar and chain on.

[watermelonlovershigh]

Bisexual Harry (MILD SMUT w/ MOSTLY FLUFF)

ATTENTION- THIS IS STRICKLY FICTIONAL (NOT REAL). I'M FULLY AWARE THAT HARRY HAS NOT CAME OUT AS BISEXUAL AND WANTS TO BE UNLABLED. I ENJOY BI HARRY FANFICS BUT THERE ARE NOT MANY OUT THERE SO I DECIDED TO WRITE ONE. ALSO THE TRAITS I WILL BE CONCIDERING AS BISEXUAL TRAITS ARE FULLY DEPENDENT ON THE INDIVIDUAL. I HATE STEREOTYPING. JUST KEEP IN MIND THAT JUST BECAUSE HARRY DOES THESE THINGS IN THIS STORY THAT IT DOESN'T MAKE SOMEONE BISEXUAL OR EVEN GAY. LASTLY I'D LIKE TO SAY THAT I'M NOT BISEXUAL MYSELF BUT THE IDEA OF BEING WITH A MAN WHO IS, IS A TURN ON. NOT IN A FETISH TYPE WAY. JUST THE VULNERABILITY AND OPENNESS OF ENJOYING EITHER WOMEN OR MEN IS INCREADIBE TO ME. THANK YOU AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY.

Harry told me early on into our relationship that he was bisexual. He was so nervous that I would leave him, but it just made me fall more in love with him. He told me late one night about 6 months into dating, on his couch. The second he told me, Harry broke down into real raw tears. The first time I'd seen Harry actually cry. Yeah I'd seen him cry during sappy movies but this was so much more than that. These tears had fear in them. Fear that I would leave him. They had vulnerability in them for being so open. But also a weight was lifted off his chest, just happy to tell me. I held Harry in my arms and cried with him, telling him how much I loved him and that this doesn't change anything. That I loved him just as much.

Only a few people in Harrys life knew he was bisexual. His close family. His close friends. That was it. If it got out in the media, the internet would have gone wild. Of course there were many rumors about his sexuality. Most of them being that he's gay. For the longest time he actually thought he might be gay. He had a lot of 'gay tendencies': painted nails, feminine clothes, pearl necklaces. But he also had very 'mainly tendencies' like watching football and drinking beer with the lads. Harry was just so conflicted all his life. Not knowing what he was. That's until the age of 18. One of his school friends came out as bisexual and that's when it clicked for him. He liked both male and females and he was okay with that. He excepted that part of him. He was more worried about what others would say or think. His family was very supportive. His friends were too. They never treated Harry differently knowing that they were straight and he was sexually attracted to them. Well not so much them specifically because they were more like brothers, but the male species as a whole.

Being in sexual relationships were on a new level of fear for Harry. Fear that when he was having sex with a guy, that the guy would try and convince him he's actually just gay. Or the fear that any women he had sex with would say he wasn't manly enough for them. Needless to say, Harry kept his sexuality a secret from most of his one night stands or short term relationships. He just didn't feel the need to tell them unless they asked specifically if he was bi or not.

Me and Harry meet at a local club in London a few years back. He was with his bandmates at the time. I was by myself because my boyfriend of 2 years just broke up with me. I was devastated and needed to escape reality. That meant drink until my body went numb. Unfortunately for me though, I wasn't that much of a drinker so my body rejected the alcohol pretty fast. I stumbled onto the London streets trying to get fresh air but ended up puking my guts out in a near by bin. Harry just so happened to be outside at that moment and saw the whole thing before his eyes. He rushed over to me and pulled my hair back to prevent more vomit from getting in it. Then he asked if I was alright and who I was with. I told him I came there alone so he insisted I come back to his place. Because my brain was fuzzy from the alcohol, I didn't hesitate one bit. Harry set up his guest room for me and helped me to bed that night. Something I'm forever grateful for. If it wasn't for him, I could've been kidnapped and raped by a stranger on the streets. When I woke up the next day, I realized who's house I was in. All of the music awards on the shelf in the room I stayed in gave it away. I was never a big fan of One Direction, no reason in particular, so I didn't act like a fangirl would have. Before I left his house, he gave me his number to call if I ever needed someone to talk to. Considering he was an international popstar and all, he sure was the most genuine person I'd ever meet. Taking care of a complete stranger and even giving them his phone number. I never thought I'd actually call him though. Or even see him again, but about a week later, I ran into him at a local coffee shop and we started talking form there. The rest was history.

We hung out all the time. He invited me to a few One Direction concerts. Even had sex a few times. Amazing sex I might add. It truly was great. Even though at the time, I had to remain secret from the public. More so said by Harry then his management. Mainly to keep me safe and out of the media knowing how private I liked to be. Three months of seeing each other and he asked me to be his girlfriend. I was thrilled. Then six months into our relationship, Harry realized how serious our relationship was becoming. That we both had strong feeling for each other. So that's when Harry decided to tell me he was bisexual. On his couch. Late one night. He wanted to get it out of the way so he didn't have to hide that part of himself with me. So he could be himself around me. If I excepted him that was and of course I did.

Approximately two years after dating, Harry purposed. He was basically shitting bricks the whole time, but he did it. I didn't hesitate one second before I said yes. We were in love. At this point, the media had found me and Harry out. Most of his fans adored me. Some said our relationship was fake. And others just flat out said I was keeping Harry closeted, not allowing him to be gay. But I knew the truth. I knew he was bisexual, not gay. I never doubted his sexuality one bit. Especially how he devoured my body when we made love. Any gay person would probably gag at the sight of a women's pussy. Not Harry. It was his favorite part of my body. A year after Harry filmed the movie Dunkirk (2017), we got married. It was a small wedding. Just close family and friends invited. It was perfect.

Now here we are in the current year of 2021 and we're still going strong. A few fights here and there, but because both Harry and I have too big of hearts, we always feel bad after fighting and immediately apologize to one another. The media had tried to split us up multiple times but it's never been successful. Our love for each other is too strong and everlasting.

Just because Harry is in a happy, loving heterosexual relationship, doesn't mean he feels completely secure about his sexuality all the time. In the beginning of our relationship, Harry tried to completely throw away any 'bisexual' tendencies he had even though he knew I supported him. For instance, there was many times Harry wanted to paint his nails but didn't. Or would refrain from gushing over sexy guys in movies we watched together. That's when I noticed he was becoming depressed. He stopped writing music. He would disengage in activities we tried to do together. Even pushed me away when I tried to have sex with him. I felt hopeless. Until one morning I asked him what was wrong, and he spilled everything. How he tries so hard to suppress the bisexual side of his character for me. For our relationship. Harry explained that he had the desire to paint his nails vibrant colors and wanted to wear feminine clothes sometimes. Something that was particularly hard for Harry to confess to me was how he even wanted to try anal. On me or me with a strap on fucking him. Right away I made us an appointment to get our nails done at a salon. Then I told him he could wear a trash bag and he'd still be the most beautiful mainly man I'd ever seen. Lastly, I grabbed my laptop and went online shopping for female strap ons, letting Harry pick the girth and size he wanted. Yes I was a little nervous to actually fuck him, but he assured me he would help me out every step of the way. As for anal on me, I mentioned how I would be nervous but how I also trusted him. Trusted him enough to penetrate me anally. That I knew he would be extra careful with me.

Needless to say, I made Harry more confident. Confident in his sexuality. I got him to come out as bisexual to the public. I let him explore his bisexuality in the bedroom. Though of course he still worshiped my pussy. We had weekly appointments to get our nails painted. Harry even wore a dress out to a date night one night. He was super scared and on edge the whole night but I kept whispering in his ear how I couldn't wait to rip that dress off of him and fuck him in the ass until he cried out of pleasure.

I honestly loved that Harry was bisexual. It was almost like a turn on for me. He was both a gym buff and my little princess. He had thick arm muscles and toned abs, as well as pink nails and pearl necklaces. Anytime he mentioned how hot a guy on tv was, we could gush over him together. Or how sensitive and vulnerable he was at times. A lot of guys hold in their emotions, thinking men can't express their feelings, but not Harry. If he felt the need to cry, he would. Right in front of me. It could be triggered by a sad movie or a animal abuse commercial. Also, on the rare occasions he asks for it, I would fuck him with the strap on in his mouth. Though a rubber penis didn't quite taste like the real thing, salty mixed with sweat, he loved to deepthroat it anyways. Watching him choke and gag around the fake penis made my pussy drip. We even bought a strap on dildo that had a vibrator on the back side of it. That way every time the fake cock would enter his mouth, the vibrator would stimulate me clit, giving me pleasure as well.

No matter how much the media tried to convince Harry he was in fact gay and didn't actually like women, he would ignore the rude comments and prove to me everyday that he in fact loved me. Me as a women. Loved my smile. Loved me eyes. Loved the way my boobs bounced while having sex. Often grabbing them in his hands and stimulating my nipples. Loved the way my tight pussy felt around his dick. Or the way my sweet juices tasted on his tongue when he ate me out. Yes he loved dick. Yes he loved balls. Yes he loved being railed to death from behind. But he also liked vagina and he loved boobs. Harry wanted to make love to me and get me pregnant. Watch my stomach grow. Be there to hold my hand when I deliver the baby. Help change diapers at 3 am when I'm to tired to do so. Teach our kids to love and respect everyone and be themselves. Be open to our kids about his sexuality. Give them knowledge on bisexuality and educate them on the matter. Instead of assuming they are straight by asking his future son if he has a girlfriend yet or asking his daughter if she has a boyfriend, Harry will ask if the have a partner or fancy anyone in particular. Love his children for who they are or who they want to become. Be a role model for them. And live happily ever after with me, his supportive wife, by his side.

MASTERLIST

[secretobsessionstuff]

I was just thinking about how sweet madix & riley, and alexi & micahs friendship. and it had me thinking....maybe would you write something where madix & riley are both laid up in bed with the stomach flu, riley being worse off. madix tries his best to comfort an emotional and sick riley, but it’s hard when he feels so bad himself. cue a quick phone call to alexi & micah to ask if they would mind bringing them a few supplies and perhaps some help. absolutely no pressure of course! <3

Ahh thank you so much for the lovely request! I’m really happy with this one :) 

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

Madix does not consider himself a sympathetic puker. That’s why when Riley threw up into the bucket for the third time that night, Madix knew it wasn’t empathy that made his own stomach turn.

Riley shivered and spat into the bucket, feeling horrendous and entirely sick of this stomach bug. No pun intended because he was in no mood to be making jokes. All day, his head had been either buried in a bucket or hovering over the toilet. Currently, he preferred the bucket because it allowed him to sit on the couch. It was nice to be able to lean against Madix and have his shoulders rubbed.

Swallowing a sudden wave of nausea, Madix handed Riley a cloth to wipe his mouth. Riley reached for it, but stopped mid-way. His throat bobbed as his face got even paler. The boy still had one more retch in him. Madix, seeing this, brought the bucket back to his lap. He turned his head to the side so as to not trigger his own belly anymore.

With nothing left in his stomach to throw up, Riley dry heaved. His whole body quivered against Madix from the force of it. He might also have been shaking from the sobs that racked his frame. “Madix…make it stop,” he begged, with snot and tears running down his face.

“Oh love, I’m sorry.” Under normal circumstances, Madix might have said that he would gladly take the pain for himself, but he guessed it would be redundant at this point.

Along with the sadness, Madix also guessed that Riley was getting frustrated with this virus. He hadn’t been able to eat anything all day without it coming back up. Then again, they didn’t have much food in the house that wouldn’t unsettle his stomach. They were running low on supplies, and Madix was running low on energy.

He started to suspect that perhaps Riley wasn’t the only victim of this illness when the same nausea hit his system. This was earlier that day when he was trying to get Riley to eat something, meanwhile the food that he put in his own stomach was sitting uneasily. The nausea kicked in then, and he stupidly decided not to upset his stomach anymore by drinking water. No one had been nagging at him to stay hydrated, but now he wished there could be. Riley was much too upset and sick to tell – not that Madix could blame him. Still, he had to tell Riley something, before he threw up right then and there. That would absolutely not make the situation better.

Riley groaned and took the cloth to wipe his mouth. He was indeed frustrated. “I still feel nauseous…” he mumbled while hugging his stomach. “I hate this.”

“Believe me,” Madix said without making eye contact, “I know how you feel.”

“What do you mean?”

Madix rubbed the back of his neck. “I uh…don’t feel so hot either.”

Riley’s eyes grew wide. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. Normally he could deal with Madix being sick if he was already sick himself. But the human brain is a clusterfuck of an organ, and sometimes it cannot be expected to act predictably. Sometimes your brain tells you that everything sucks, and that crying is the only solution, and that Madix being sick is the worst possible thing to happen right now. Who was going to take care of us?? How would we deal with a sick Madix while we’re sick?? Because apparently Riley’s brain thought of itself and Riley as two separate entities.

“Are you going to throw up?” Riley asked with an unsteady voice.

Madix immediately regretted telling Riley how he felt. He watched his boyfriend’s eyes grow ten sizes, and watched his chest heave frantically. He guessed the combination of having a fever and feeling terrible made the perfect recipe for panic.

Before Madix could lie about needing to throw up, Riley gagged into his hand. The emotions and nausea became too much, and his stomach was back at it again. Luckily Madix shoved the bucket under his chin just in time to catch the bitter yellow bile that spilled past his lips.

Without thinking about it, Madix stood up from the couch after handing over the bucket. Seeing the thick bile come from his boyfriend’s mouth was too much for his own stomach to handle. Saliva was quickly coating his tongue. “Ry, I have to…” he mumbled with a hand over his mouth. “…I’ll be right back.”

Madix felt bad for leaving Riley in the middle of vomiting, but he desperately needed to do the same. His legs led him to the bathroom where he fell to his knees in front of the toilet. The remnants of his lunch rushed up his throat and splattered into the bowl. A wet belch interrupted the stream, but was soon followed by another wave of vomit. Madix squeezed his eyes shut involuntarily, wetting his eyelashes with tears. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the rim.

His stomach gurgled loudly. He felt like the organ was getting revenge for being forced to wait so long. He wrapped his arms around his aching belly and moaned. It was hell, and now he knew how Riley truly felt. Madix couldn’t help but despair at the thought of going through the same things Riley had all morning. And he would need to do it alone.

In his hazy feverish state, Madix had a thought. The fact that his fried mind was able to come up with a thought was shocking, but there it was.

His phone! Where was his phone? He needed to make a call.

But first he needed to gag over the toilet bowl for another few minutes. For now, it seemed like his stomach just wanted to be an asshole and make him think that he was going to puke. The threat of puking never disappeared, but soon Madix got tired of waiting. And fuck, he could hear Riley calling to him from the living room. Riley’s voice sounded thick from having just brought up another sludge of bile.

Madix wanted to go to him, to rub his back and tell him that everything was going to be okay. But if Riley felt anything like how Madix was feeling, he didn’t think that anything would ever be okay. And guess what? What if Madix wanted someone to rub his back? He wanted someone to tell him that everything would be okay.  

That’s when he remembered the call that he was going to make. The phone was in his pocket, but even that felt too far for him to reach. Slowly, Madix propped his back up against the tub and called Micah. He put it on speaker so that he didn’t have to hold the phone to his ear.

Micah answered on the first ring, but could only hear heavy breathing on the other end. “Madix? Are you there?

Madix finally got the energy to respond. He was weak. “Can you…come over?”

“Madix? I can’t hear you very well. You sound all echo-ish.” Micah’s voice was so loud as it reverberated in the bathroom. “Are you okay?”

“No ‘m really sick. Riley too.” Madix felt sweat dripping down his forehead. “Please come over.” He hoped that Micah could understand his messy speech.

There was ruffling on Micah’s end before, “oh okay, okay. Just hang tight. We’ll be right there.”

“Wait…Bring stuff.”

“Bring stuff?”

“We’re…dehy…” he was going to say ‘dehydrated’ but there were some technical difficulties in his brain. The hardware was overheating. He found a solution. “…thirsty.”

                                                      …

With some deductive skills, Micah had a pretty good guess for what was ailing his friends. The echo of the phone call easily told him that Madix was in a bathroom. Dehydration plus camping out in a bathroom were not hard puzzle pieces to fit together.

He and Alexi stopped by the store for Gatorade, soup, and anything else needed to fight a stomach virus. While Alexi debated over which flavour of sport drink to get, Micah rushed him along. “Just pick one! Madix sounded horrible on the phone.”

“What if they don’t like the yellow kind?”

“Oh my god, let’s just go!”

“Fine…” Alexi muttered under his breath, “but if they hate it, it’s your fault.”

Micah accepted full responsibility if they didn’t like the drink, and raced for the checkout. They threw the bags into the car and off they went to help their friends once again.

Upon entering, they immediately found Riley sleeping on the couch with the bucket on the floor. It was still full of bile because clearly neither of the sick boys had the energy to clean it.

While Alexi placed the groceries in the kitchen and began to open the drinks, Micah crouched by Riley’s head. His skin was deathly pale. Micah woke him up with a light shake.

Riley jumped a little as he awoke from his restless sleep. He rubbed his eyes, not understanding what he was seeing. He could swear that Micah was in his house for some reason. And he was right. “Micah?”

“Hey Ry. How are you feeling?”

Riley looked around and spotted Alexi as well. His brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Madix called us,” Alexi answered while carrying over a bottle of Gatorade. “Can you sit up and take a sip of this for me?”

Riley did sit up and accepted the bottle. His mouth was insanely dry, but that’s not what he cared about in that moment. “Oh my god Madix. Go help him!” He looked worriedly between the two boys who just showed up. “I know he’s been throwing up in the bathroom, but I just – I couldn’t… I –”

“Shh, slow down,” Micah said softly. “It’s not your fault. I’ll go check on him right now.” As he left, Micah heard Riley ask if they brought any other colour of Gatorade. Yellow wasn’t his favourite.

Micah was scared that he was going to find Madix passed out in a puddle of his own vomit. That was not the case. He found Madix drenched in sweat, not passed out but barely lucid. Madix didn’t even react when Micah came into the bathroom. His head was resting on the toilet seat and it looked like he was fighting another wave of nausea. The bowl was full of half-digested stomach contents. Madix whimpered quietly to himself.

Micah slowly sat down, and immediately put his hand on Madix’s damp back. “Oh Maddy, look at you.” The heat from his back was astounding.

Madix did not open his eyes, but his shoulders lost a bit of their tension. “Micah?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” Micah’s chest ached when the boy reached out his hand to hold onto him. He was usually only very touchy with Alexi, but Madix looked like he needed it to survive. Micah scooted closer and brushed a hand over Madix’s cheek. Of course, he found it burning. Normally, Micah would feel very awkward touching a friend’s face but there was something about Madix’s desperation that made it okay. The way Madix leaned entirely into the touch made Micah forget about any apprehensions.

Madix squinted from the bright light. He hadn’t realized how long his eyes had been closed for. He also hadn’t realized how much he needed the presence of someone else. It was like drowning in dark water. No one around to pull him from the waves that kept pushing him under. No one to pierce the thick darkness where he found himself.

Then suddenly a lifeline.

A choked sob came from Madix. “I feel horrible, Micah. I can’t stop throwing up.”

“I know, I know.” Micah rubbed his back harder. He tried to hold back his own emotions. He had never seen Madix this vulnerable.

“I – I couldn’t…. st-stay with Riley.” Tears streaked down Madix’s face as he cried and struggled to catch his breath. “It hurts…my belly.”

Micah didn’t say anything. He just continued to let Madix know he was there. He wanted to let Madix be completely selfish for once in his life, God knows he deserves it.

If Madix were lucid enough to hear what he was saying, he would have told himself to stop making such a big deal about a little stomach-ache. The good news was that he wasn’t lucid enough, and this provided him with the outlet he needed. Somehow, his head found Micah’s shoulder and he rested it there while he feverishly rambled.

Micah let this go one for as long as he could, but he had to stop it eventually. Madix was hiccupping and crying, and generally working himself up to the point of making himself sick all over again. When the hiccupping turned into empty heaves, Micah spoke. “Okay, hon, you have to let yourself breathe. Can you breathe with me?”

And Micah took a long inhale, making sure that Madix did the same. Through sniffles and hiccups, he copied the rise and fall of Micah’s chest. “That’s it, Mads. Again.”

The two of them took another deep breath in, and Madix’s breathing slowly became less shaky. Micah smiled at the progress. “That’s it, Madix. Everything is going to be okay.”

[babybatscreationsv2]

Not sure if you're accepting prompts since you're busy with King On A Leash. But if you ever find the time, may I please request spiderstrange with Stephen mind breaking Peter?

I'm sorry this took me so long, I've been super busy with work.

Warnings below the cut

Warnings: noncon, kidnapping, vomit, painful sex, mind break, drugged s*x

Peter's face was soaked with drool. It had fully soaked into the ball gag before running down his chin. There was a puddle of it on the floor. The bondage bench kept him held with his chin parallel to the floor and he couldn't turn it all which left him either squeezing his eyes shut or forced to watch the video that played in front of his face. The headphones didn't let him hear anything else, but at least he didn't have to see it. Of course, closing his eyes made everything feel so much more intensely and some times he had to open them just to remember how to breathe.

The machine behind him kept a dildo pumping in and out of his ass. Its hollow tip meant that the thing sometimes spewed out what felt like warm cum, but it kept him from ever going dry. He could feel it running down his thighs and pooling under his knees. He couldn't move his arms or legs at all. Every part of him was strapped down tightly. At least nothing was going numb after what seemed like hours if not longer.

It was truly unfair how painfully, miserably hard he was, but between the cock ring and the thin rope that Stephen had twisted around his cock and balls pulling them back and away from his body, there was no way for him to cum. He went through a cycle of moaning desperately, whimpering pathetically, and sobbing in pain. All the while through the headphones he heard himself whimpering and moaning in endless pleasure. It still made him nauseous, but it wasn't so noticeable after so long of this torture.

"That's a good boy," Stephen purred in his ears. He watched the screen as the Stephen of the past held him gently pinned against the wall.

"You're so handsome," a heavily drugged Peter cooed. "I want you to fuck me, fuck my boy cunt," he giggled, out of his mind. Peter had never really thought about Stephen sexually before that moment. He'd always assumed he was straight. 

"Oh, I'm going to, sweetheart. Look at me."

Peter couldn't see from the camera angle, but he still had the blurry memory of Stephen's hand holding his chin, his other hand stuffing two fingers into his mouth. He heard it when he gagged and when Stephen only pushed in deeper until he retched. Nothing had come up as far he remembered, but that sadistic little chuckle made him shiver every time.

"Fortunately for me I don't give a damn if you puke on my dick. You'll learn soon enough that it doesn't stop me. And you'll learn to control yourself won't you?"

Stupid, drugged, Peter licked Stephen's fingers like they were candy.

"You want my cock already?"

He nodded. Stephen smirked. He pulled the boy into the middle of the room where he knew the camera was waiting. The angle changed and Peter could see himself on his knees. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks pink, his mouth hung open like a panting dog. Stephen slapped his cheek with his cock smearing precum on his skin.

"Go on. Let's see what you can do."

Peter couldn't watch, but he heard. He heard himself licking and moaning, sucking and slurping. Then he heard the way he whined with Stephen grabbed him by his hair, the way he choked when his cock was shoved down his throat. He didn't fuck his face, no he jerked the poor boy back and forth by his hair and he didn't have the stength in him to pull away.

He looked again and saw himself limp as a rag doll. Stephen yanked him back and forth, sighing happily as Peter made the most wretched gagging sounds. Blurry memories reminded of the burn when bile finally came up and no, Stephen didn't stop, but it didn't happen again either. The worst part was Stephen didn't even cum. He just kept going until Peter was fully limp. Exaughsted from the lack of proper air and from the pain of having his throat forced open.

Stephen cleaned up the mess. Then he picked him up and tossed the tired boy into the bed. The camera changed again, angled at the bed.

"Do you want me, Peter?" he asked, but his tone was mocking and cruel. The drugged boy didn't seem to notice. 

"Yes, please," he rasped and then coughed. Then he was crying out as two lube slick fingers were shoved inside him.

"Feels good doesn't it, fucking whore. You needed to be filled didn't you?"

"Yes, sir," he panted.

"That's right. That's a good boy." He didn't take long before he replaced his fingers with his cock. Peter screamed, his head tossed on the pillow.

"Such a tight hole, fuck," Stephen groaned. "I'm going to use this hole all the time."

Peter whimpered, crying. His hands clung weakly to Stephen's arms. "This is what you're made for. You're only worth something when you're full of cock. Isn't that right?" He slapped him when he didn't answer right away.

Peter sobbed before croaking out a "yes".

Stephen held him by the waist and pounded into his ass. He fucked him like he hated him, wanted to break him, wanted it to hurt. And it did. Despite having been drugged out his mind, he remembered how badly it hurt.

"That's my toy. Cry for me, Peter. Fuck you're pretty when you cry." He wrapped a hand around his cock, slowly his pace enough to angle his thrusts to having him crying out in pleasure.

"That's right, feels good doesn't it? You're gonna cum for me. Let it out. Come on, slut, give it out."

Peter cried out as he came in mess across his stomach. Then he was screaming as Stephen went back to mercilessly using his ass.

"Did you think it was over becausr you came? It's only over when I'm done using you. You're my little rape toy. I fucking love it when you cry."

Peter tried pushing him away, but he was just so tired that it was no use. He gave up and lay limp, crying and sniffling. "It hurts," he whimpered.

Stephen laughed. "Good."

He fucked him for so long Peter started to get hard again. Stephen laughed at him. "What a horny cock hole you are. Too bad I don't care. If you cum without my permission I will fucking castrate you."

Peter closed his eyes, but he couldn't block out the sound, the wet pounding, moaning, whining, fucking, sounds.

"Good boy. Good little slave slut. You're going to be the best brain dead fuck toy when I'm done with you."

He didn't watch and he tried not to remember when Stephen pulled out of his ass and fed him his cock. He filled his mouth with his cum, laughing when Peter choked on it. He smeared what he coughed up all over his face.

"Hope you like the taste. That's your dinner from now on. It'll keep you pretty and weak won't it?"

The camera zoomed on on Peter's face. He was half conscious, sobbing weakly, and filthy with spit and cum. Then the video started over again. And with each play through it grew less terrible, less nauseating, and his cock began to throb in time with Stephen's wicked thrusts.

It went on and on, endless fucking, endless aching, the video burning into his mind. And then finally Stephen was there, the real Stephen. He took off the headphones and paused the video on Peter's fucked out face. He pet his sweaty head.

"How are you holding up, huh? Good sex toy enjoying being used? I bet you'd like it more if you could cum, huh?"

"Please," Peter begged.

Stephen bent and handled his balls. They were sore and painful and he whimpered as they were squeezed. "What a pretty purple you're turning."

Stephen turned off the machine. Peter sighed as the toy was pulled out, but he felt admittedly empty. "Look at this cock hole. It's not right for you to be empty is it? It's so uncomfortable. Good thing I'm here to help."

Peter moaned as Stephen stuffed three fingers inside him. He spread them out, stretching him open. Then he fucked them in and out. Peter moaned, his head foggy with pleasure. Then Stephen's finger found his prostate and he forgot how to breathe. The rope around his balls released, then the cock ring slipped off. All too quickly he was cumming... and then he wasn't. Just a soon as his balls drew up, Stephen stopped the pressure on his prostate. Peter sobbed. He could feel the cum draining from his swollen balls, the pressure fading, but the need did not leave him.

"Poor thing, did you think I was going to make you feel good? Do you think you deserve that? A toy like you? No. Maybe someday when you learn to please me before being so damn selfish."

Stephen walked around him. He took the ball gag from his mouth and replaced it with hard metal that kept his mouth forced open. His cock slid over his tongue and down the back of his throat. Stephen held himself there, sighing happily while he choked, throat cunvulsing around him. Then he started to fuck his face as if Peter weren't even there, as if he were just a hole to put his dick in.

He couldn't move, couldn't pull away in the slightest. He choked and coughed, but it didn't do him any good. Stephen cleared loved it by the cruel smile on his face. He made sure to cum just at the back of his throat, leaving him choking on it, gasping for air as he pulled out.

Then Stephen walked around him, slapping his ass as he passed. He put the toy back in, buried as deep as it would go and turned the machine back on. Peter screamed as the machine forced the toy way too deep. His abdomen ached at the intrusion. Yet his body still craved orgasm and under the pain was more building pressure. He sobbed when Stephen tied up his cock again.

The headphones went back on and video restarted. Then Stephen left Peter alone to his torture.

He came back every so often. He paused the video, told him he was a good cock hole, fed him his cum and drained his aching balls without allowing him relief. It wasn't long before Peter was crying, begging Stephen to come back. At night Stephen bathed him and left him to sleep on the bathroom floor. When morning came, he hooked him back up to the bench with the toy abusing his hole and the video of him and Stephen playing.

After four days, Peter was thoroughly broken, near brain dead. All he cared about was having cock inside him and eating Stephen's cum. Stephen said that was good, that he would keep using him and giving him his cum as long as Peter could be an obedient sex doll. Peter wanted nothing else.

[ben-barnes-is-my-husband]

Here’s a Jonsa WIP

I’ve even got a picset made by the lovely and talented @mynameisnoneya1991

So, this is a rough draft. And I’m still fiddling with it (in my mind). I can’t decide if I want Jonsa to be living apart at the start of this to make things easier, and if that would work if they did. That would mean more editing, but I’ll let you guys decide. 

Sansa Stark groans at the heavy pounding at the front door. God, she hopes it isn’t Jon. She isn’t ready to deal with him right now. Not after she had drunk herself into oblivion the night before. 

“What the fuck?!” 

Sansa jumps at the sound of Arya’s shout. Okay, yep, it was coming back to her; she had gotten drunk with her sister last night. 

With her head pounding, she manages to sit up and get out of the bed. The room spins as she stands and she gags and runs to the bathroom to retch in the toilet. She just makes it. 

When she’s done, she wants to cry. She hates throwing up. Any time she had been sick in the past Jon had always held her hair back and then tucked her into bed. 

Now she wants to throw up for a whole different reason. 

She hears her brother’s voice from the living room, and after splashing water on her face and brushing her teeth, she heads out of the bathroom. 

Robb is standing in the middle of the living room and Arya is laying on the couch with the comforter Sansa didn’t recall getting her the night before. 

“Robb,” she croaks and goes to the loveseat to curl up on it. “What are you doing here at…” She doesn’t even know what time it is. 

“Noon,” Robb finishes for her. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Noon,” she mumbles. 

“I came to see how you were doing,” he said. He looks sad and lowers his voice as he says, “Jon called me.”

Sansa buries her face in the plump pillow under her head and tries to hold back the tears that sting her eyes. She isn’t ready to cry so soon after waking and definitely not after puking. 

“What the fucker want?” Arya asks crossly. 

“He’s been trying to call Sansa and was worried,” Robb replies. “He told me what happened.”

“Did he tell you he cheated on her?” Arya demands. 

“He said that they had decided to take a break and that he was all fucked up about it and went drinking and…”

“Fucked someone else?” Sansa says. She squeezes her eyes shut. 

“Yeah,” Robb says softly. “Fuck, Sansa, I’m sorry.”

Sansa waves a hand at him. She just wants him to shut up about Jon, she wants her mind not to think about Jon, she wants to feel nothing about Jon, and she wants the room to stop spinning. 

“Did you tell him to fuck off?” Arya asks. 

Sansa smiles into the pillow. She loves her little sister so damn much. No one else would get this angry on her behalf. Well, Jon would have. The time she was sexually harassed by a client at the advertising firm she worked for, he had been out for blood. 

“I told him he was a fucking asshole and that when I saw him next I was going to kick his ass,” Robb says. 

Sansa smiles again. That’s her big brother; her hero. 

“Does he expect a phone call?” Arya asks. 

“Yes,” Robb sighs. 

“Don’t call him,” Sansa says, turning to look at her brother. “Let him suffer.”

Robb frowns again. “San, he was really worried.”

“Ask me if I care.”

Robb nods. “I won’t call him. But just for s and g’s, where is your phone?”

Sansa waves a hand again. “Somewhere.”

“You don’t know.”

“No, I don’t. And I don’t care. I don’t want to see his stupid name on it or hear his stupid messages or read his stupid texts. I just want to not think about him, okay? I’m hungover and I feel like death. I want to just focus on not throwing up again.”

She squeezes her eyes shut again and then the tears come. She buries her face back in the pillow. 

“Now look what you did,” Arya scolds Robb. 

“I didn’t just come for him; I came to see if she was okay, too. I didn’t know about any of it until he called,” Robb says defensively. 

“Can someone get me some water and something for my head?” Sansa asks. 

“I’m on it,” Robb says and hurries off. 

Arya kneels beside the loveseat and Sansa looks at her. “You look like shit.”

Sansa wipes at her tears. “So do you.”

Arya shoves some of Sansa’s red hair from her face. “What do you want to do?” 

“Sleep. When I sleep I don’t have to think.”

“Then let’s get you back to bed and you can sleep.”

Sansa nods and sits up just as Robb returns with water and ibuprofen. She has a feeling the water might make her throw up, but she has to try. It’s ice cold, which helps. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she had been until the water is sliding down her throat. She hopes the ibuprofen works quickly. She also wonders if popping a sleeping pill would have been better. She’d be knocked out for a good chunk of the day. She is all about avoiding this altogether. 

After she’s done, Robb and Arya follow her to the bedroom and help her settle into bed. They’re treating her like porcelain, but she’s okay with that honestly. She feels shaky and weak, and not just from drinking. 

“Do you want me to pack up Jon’s shit and put it on the lawn while you’re resting?” Arya asks. 

“I can help,” Robb offers.

Sansa grabs Jon’s pillow on the bed and hands it to them. “Burn it.”

Arya takes it. “I’m on it.”

The sheets are cool and they feel good against her skin. Robb and Arya cover her up and she rolls over and curls into fetal position and closes her eyes. She chants don’t throw up in her head until she dozes off again. 

                                                 **********

Jon Snow checks his phone again and expels a frustrated sigh when he sees no notification from Robb or Sansa. 

He drags a hand through his curly black locks and then rubs at his beard as he paces, phone in hand, in his kitchen. 

His friend, Sam Tarly, is sitting at the table watching him. “Maybe I should call her?” he asks. 

“You never just randomly call her,” Jon says. “She’ll know you’re with me.”

“She’ll know you sent Robb,” Sam points out. 

“Robb’s also her brother. She won’t turn him away.”

Sam concedes the point. “I’m sure she’s fine, Jon.”

“Fine?” Jon demands, turning on his friend. “I slept with another woman, Sam. She is not fine. You didn’t see the look on her face when I told her.”

He can’t get the image out of his head. The devastation in her eyes along with the tears. The way she’d paled and then the trembling of her bottom lip and the sob - he can’t get the sound of her sob out of his head either. 

He has never felt like such a piece of shit. He hurt the only woman he has ever loved and he is terrified that he won’t be able to fix this. 

Sam holds up a hand. “I just meant I’m sure she’s physically fine.”

Jon rubs at his forehead in frustration. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.’

“You’re worried. It’s understandable.”

“I’m more than just worried,” Jons says. He feels the tears come. “I hurt her, Sam. I did something I can’t take back and you have no idea how much I want to. I don’t even remember most of it…” What little he can remember he wishes he could scour from his brain. 

“Why exactly did you guys decide to take a break?” Sam asks. 

“It was over something stupid, something about going out to dinner… We’d been having these stupid little fights for a while now.”

“Why?” 

Jon finally sits. He leans forward and picks at his nails as he speaks. “We just haven’t been on the same page lately. I figured it was because she was dealing with a difficult client at work and I just changed firms. We’ve just been off.”

Sam nods slowly. “That can happen.”

“She said she felt like I wasn’t ‘present’ in the relationship anymore, that I was taking her for granted.”

“Were you?”

Jon purses his lips together, thinking about the week before when he told her she had to come with him to a dinner his new boss was having and she told him she had to work late. A fight had ensued. 

“I’m going to take your silence as a yes,” Sam says. 

“She hasn’t been easy to live with lately,” Jon retorts and automatically wishes he hadn’t said it, never mind thought it. 

“How so?” 

“She’s been so touchy about everything. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells with her.” He sighs. “How the fuck did we get here, Sam? Sansa is...she’s my world. How can she not know that?”

“She can’t read your mind, Jon,” Sam says gently. “Relationships take work--”

“Yeah, I know. I fucking know,” Jon snaps. He holds up a hand. “Sorry. Again.”

“So, this woman…”

Jon groans and drops his head to the table. He bangs it there twice and Sam tells him to stop. 

“I was hurt, I was angry, she was laughing at my jokes and I was drunk off my ass. You know, I’ve only been with one other woman besides Sansa?”

“Was that part of it?” Sam asks. 

Jon frowns. “I don’t know. I don’t think so? I just wanted to feel anything but how I felt. It was a mistake. A drunken mistake.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “What am I going to do, Sam? How am I going to fix this?”

Sam just looks at him sadly and Jon feels the urge to punch him. He doesn’t want Sam to look at him like that, like he knows already that it’s pointless. That the mistake he made just cost him the love of his life.

[whump-town]

Family Fic

Kind of? I can’t seem to finish this and that kinda sucks so the ending is very abrupt but I just can’t with this fic for some reason. I don’t know where to end it. I can’t envision an ending. It kinda sucks but I do like certain parts so I don’t want it to just sit in my drafts so here you go:

“No.” Emily Prentiss and Aaron Hotchner are standing in front of a house that is very on fire. The house their UNSUB was supposed to be in. “Aaron,” her tone is a mix of a whine and an exhausted plea to leave this one stone unturned. “Please--” her shoulders drop as his eyes move away from hers and she knows what he’s going to do. “I hate this fucking--” the heat is like a punch to the face.

She loses him to the smoke the second she enters the house. Her lungs crack and burn, she can’t hear him bent over exhaling the smoke in thick coughs, but she can hear her own wheezing coughs. The smoke stings her eyes, and every instinct she possesses screams for her to get out.

“Hotch!” Despite her training-- everything she’s learned as a profiler and a spy--, she’s panicking. She can’t hear anything over the roaring flames around her, and while she is no immediate danger while she stands, it worries her more not to know what kind of situation Hotch has put himself into as well.

God Garcia is going to kill them.

She hears something hit a wall, it’s a very distinct noise. 

A Hotch noise.

She shouts his name but her voice is lost to her own ears. Pushing past the fear weighing down her chest, she steps closer to the sound. It takes a moment to work through the smoke but she finds the door to the other room and makes out two figures. One of the figures, long and slimmer than the other, falls and hits the ground. The bigger one, wide shoulders and biceps the size of her head, leans down over the other, and starts hitting it. 

It takes her a moment to realize Hotch is a pretty big guy but he’s got a runner’s thin frame. There’s no way he’s the man on the top doing the punching.

“Hey!” She raises her gun, the metal burning her palms. Her brain is going a mile a minute. Will her gun blow up in her hands? Is it too hot? “Hey--” she realizes it’s either she stands and watches as Hotch is beaten to death or she risks whatever the heat has down to her gun. 

Well… the good news, the gun doesn’t blow up in her face.

The bad news?

Hotch is a heavy son of a bitch.

With her fingers hooked underneath his vest, she pulls with all her might. The air is thin and each breath she pulls in is exhaled in quick, wheezing coughs. Hotch owes her so badly. They’re past a coffee or a breakfast muffin. The man owes her his firstborn child. Actually, she does love Jack. Right now, she loves Jack way more than she loves this limp pretty eyed, high cheekbone having--

Get a grip, Emily. 

Right. 

When she hits the door, she pulls with all her might and collapses onto the porch. On her back, wheezing as she looks up at the sky she really hopes Hotch made a call to the others. She has a faint memory of him radioing in to inform Dave and the others that the entire house was on fire but she also thought she saw her dad standing at the door a moment ago so she’s not sure she can trust her brain at the moment. 

“Hotch?” She doesn’t get up, just vaguely kicks at where she’d dropped him. She connects with his chest, she can feel his vest take the brunt of her kick. “Hotch, next time you run into a burning building… I promise you, I’m leaving you in there.”

Her reply is a pained grunt as he sits up and vomits on the porch.

She remains on her back, eyes closed, and shakes her head. Reaching up, blindly, she pats his back. “Let it out, big guy.” She grimaces as he gags more, swaying as he empties his stomach. After a minute, she starts to get a little worried. He just keeps puking. 

She sits up, fighting a hitch in her own stomach at the sudden movement. “Are you still--” aside from the queasy feeling that settles over her, she’s filled with immediate unease. “That’s not good.” 

Hotch looks over at her, on his hands and knees and sweat dripping down his brow and rolls his eyes. “You don’t say,” he grumbles, coughing into his elbow. “Did you call the others?” 

She shakes her head, “you didn’t call them before?”

Hotch spits, trying and failing to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. With a grunt, he lays down beside her. Sighing, he closes his eyes. “They’re on their way,” he says, “I called them before I-- Well before I ran into the house.” Admittedly, that was a bad call on his part. 

Emily shakes her head, “I can’t believe you did that. Did you at least warn them about your bad idea or are they going to be as surprised as I was?”

Hotch grimaces. World Worst Boss. “If it makes you feel any better,” he turns to look at her, “my right shoulder is out of the socket and I can’t feel my fingers.”

She scowls at him, “no.” She sits up, “no, of course, that doesn’t make me feel better!” From her new vantage point, she can now see the storm of cars making their steady advancement towards them. “Shit,” she mumbles. “You have to get up. We have to get off this porch before Dave sees us.”

Dave.

Damn, he’d forgotten about Dave.

They get up-- he staggers and Emily catches him against her body. It takes all of her strength to keep them both on their feet but with a moment’s time, he rights himself once again. Entangled, both leaning heavily into the other, they face David Rossi Italian wrath.

“I-I don’t--” Hotch doesn’t dare raise his voice above a whisper as Dave gets closer. 

He’s laying into them, that much is clear. However, Hotch knows a handful of Italian phrases, and besides the obvious “stupid” and what Hotch thinks is the Italian equivalent of a jackass he’s completely lost. 

They stand and wait out the anger knowing that he’ll be quick to forgive once he realizes they’re both a little worn down. 

“You do realize you’re not fireproof, right?” The sudden switch to English is startling but it prompts Hotch back to the present. The black swarming his vision falls away for a moment and he’s able to see Dave. 

Dave keeps talking but Emily is aware of the Hotch’s unsteady swaying has turned to a dangerous lean. “Hotch,” her attention completely leaves Dave and the older man makes an annoyed huff before seeing what Emily does. “Hotch!”

She just… she knows right before his knees give out from beneath him. 

Desperation. She feels hopeless as she kneels on the ground beside him.

“Hotch?” His cheek is clammy against the palm of her hand. Cold when it should be hot. They just ran out of a burning building. She just pulled him out of fire, he should be hot. Warm to the touch. “Hotch, please answer me!” 

Arms wrap around her shoulders and she’s lifted to her feet, physically moved away from him. She recognizes the arms, knows it’s Morgan, but she still fights with everything she’s got to get away from him. “No!” She kicks out but she doesn’t land a solid blow. 

“No, Morgan!” Her fight dies as the paramedics load Hotch onto a stretcher. He’s too still but she can see his breath fogging up the oxygen mask on his face. He’s limp but he’s alive. “Morgan, please.” She’s pulled him out of a fire, the least they can let her do is go with him.

At the door of the ambulance, just as Emily’s becoming desperate, the paramedics turn and motion her to them. “She needs to get checked out.”

She has the whole ride to think about her actions. What they mean. What they looked like. 

It’s a distraction, a way to push her mind away from Hotch’s worsening breathing and the way he writhes on the bed. Out of his mind in pain they haven’t identified a single source to. 

He reaches for her.

She pulls away. 

“Garcia is going to be so mad at you,” she deflects. If that’s not the understatement of the year… She wants to be cross with him. More than anything, she wants to look at him right now and feel something other than the intense desire to pull him into her arms and not let go. Which seems pretty… non-platonic despite her best attempts to be strictly friends.

So, she tells herself that she feels nothing.

Nothing. 

She feels nothing.

Underneath the oxygen mask that he keeps getting dirty looks for talking off, he hoarsely replies, “if I manage to get home. Dave’s likely to kill me first.” He shuts his eyes, body tensing as the gurney he’s laid out on moves and jostles his dislocated shoulder. His skin is cold and clammy and he’s certain that if they don’t knock him out soon he’s just going to pass out.

A nurse notes his obvious distress and places her hand on his good shoulder. “Agent Hotchner,” she calls until he manages to open his eyes. “Just a little while longer, sweetheart.” They just need to get him through the x-rays and she can get a line of saline and painkillers pumping into his system. She just needs him to hold out a little while longer.

He makes a sound, a congested wet sound. “His oxygen is falling,” the nurse notes. Her tone doesn’t give away the urgency of her statement. Emily can feel the urgency shift. Before they were just federal agents. The scuffling shoes all moving along pick up speed and Emily’s stomach ties itself into an awful knot.

Hotch’s lips pale as his wheezes grow in intensity. He writhes on the bed, blinking rapidly. 

“Hotch,” Emily calls, letting her fear get the better of her. This time she takes his hand but he’s limp. “Aaron!”

The last thing she hears as he’s pushed away is a cry of distress.

“We’ve lost his airway!”

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

He spends three days in the hospital.

She doesn’t see him once.

“He’s been asking for you,” Dave informs her from behind a well placed magazine. The pages obscure his face, leaving her with only his judging tone. His implication. “Funny,” he adds, “he stopped once they took him off the heavy stuff.” 

Emily huffs at that. She knows exactly why that might be-- drugs cloud the part of Hotch’s brain that makes him afraid of the comfort he seeks. She keeps that to herself. “I wonder why,” she plays off cooly, sitting herself down beside Dave.

He turns his head, frowning at her, but doesn’t say anything. It’s a very “dad” kind of frown and she takes the hint that he, also, knows exactly why it is that Hotch would ask for her, of all people. Then again, if he hasn’t got the balls to call her out on it. She’s not going to tell him.

“Hey, princess,” Morgan greets as he makes his way down the hall. He smiles at her before turning his attention to Rossi. “They’re fighting him into a wheelchair right now,” he informs Rossi. “I figured it would be better to come get you. He’s less likely to…”

Emily smirks, “be a raging asshole to Dave?” 

Morgan smiles and nods, “essentially.”

Rossi huffs at that, shaking his head. It’s true. David Rossi has poured that kid-- well, not a kid anymore-- into more hospital wheelchairs than he cares to count. Hotch has been a trouble magnet since the day he joined the BAU. However, while he knows exactly how to navigate the ‘tude that Hotch is going to send his way he also knows one person who will get substantially less. “Send Emily.”

Morgan and Emily’s head both snap towards him, their smiles replaced by confused frowns.

Dave goes back to the magazine, “he’s going to be an ass either way. So long as we don’t send Derek in there, it doesn’t matter who goes in.” He shrugs, “besides, I don’t want to.”

Morgan huffs a little, looking at Emily like ‘can you believe this?’. Except, she can. Of course, she can.

“I guess it’s gotta be you then princess.”

Great. 

She hasn’t seen him in three days but he still looks the same. Actually, he’s strangely more attractive. 

His facial hair has grown out, leaving a peppered half-beard on his face. His light brown eyes are bloodshot, it’s hard to tell if that’s from his lack of sleep or the smoke. But he’s whole and he’s breathing on his own. 

“You look like shit,” she informs him, crossing her arms and leaning back against the wall opposite of him. They’ve taken his shoes (probably Morgan), leaving him to wear the socks the hospital provided. They’re an ugly beige color but she knows they’re comfortable. It’s a perk of the job how many hospital socks they get. 

He grunts, not looking up from where he’s bent his body to lean his forehead into his palm. His elbow resting on the wheelchairs arm. He rubs once more along his temples before looking up, a grimace pulling his lips down. Whatever pain meds they’ve got him on aren’t doing the job. “I see you’ve come with your best attitude, Agent Prentiss.”

She pushes herself away from the wall, rolling her eyes. “I pull your heavy ass out of a burning building and I get Agent Prentiss?” She positions herself behind him, kicking the locks on the back. “How was your visit, Agent Hotchner? Did any hot nurses give you a sponge bath?”

He huffs a chuckle, it tapers at the end a hiss of discomfort at his arms curls around his sore ribs.

She’s leaning over the wheelchair to push him, her nose close to the back of his head. He still smells like smoke and not at all like his cologne. It makes a nasty feeling swirl in her stomach-- her mind wandering to the sight of him on the gurney. Struggling to breath. 

“You alright,” she asks, softly. They’re not in the hall yet so there’s a good chance he might tell her the truth.

Slowly, he lets out a soft pained grunt and leans back into the wheelchair. One arm pinned to his chest by a sling, the other remains protectively held to his side. “I’m okay,” he manages after a second, even a nod. “I just… I want to go home.”

With a grunt she pushes him forward, “I couldn’t agree more.”

It takes two hours to get loaded onto the jet. 

She spends the car ride to the airport listening to Hotch and Morgan argue over whether or not it’s going to be “physically demanding” for Hotch to put on a pair of shoes. Hotch refuses to walk around in socks. Morgan only makes it worse by insinuating that without his help Hotch isn’t going to be getting much of anywhere. 

Fortunately, the two end the argument with childish huffs and turn away from one another. Emily was at the brink of pulling the car over and yelling at the both of them. 

From then on, there seems to be an unspoken understanding that Emily is to dictate things between Hotch and the other’s. 

“Give him the shoes,” she says, arms crossed and a perfect scowl placed on her face. She raises an eyebrow, daring Morgan to say anything. 

With his shoes, Hotch is far less combative. 

“Let Morgan help you,” Emily asks. “The last thing we need is to send you back to the hospital because you got a concussion bouncing your head off of asphalt.” She keeps her frown in place, knowing it’s what keeps her at the top of their alpha-male food chain. Besides, she likes to think they’re a little afraid of her.

“You’re a natural,” JJ comments, both of them watching the men limp their way up the stairs to the jet.

Emily rolls her eyes, “I’m just really good at dealing with dumbas-- HEY!” She points her fingers at the pair, “Derek stop being an ass and Hotch stop being a baby and let him help.” With a shake of her head she looks back to JJ. She rolls her eyes, “men.”

It takes everything she has to convince Hotch to sleep on the jet and to leave the paperwork for another time. Which really means she takes the paperwork from him and tells Reid that if Hotch gets his hands on the pens she’s hiding in his messenger bag it’s Reid’s ass. She doesn’t push it by making him lay on the couch, where he would be more comfortable. He does fall asleep though. His head crammed between the headrest of his chair and wall but he’s out enough that she’s able to wrap a blanket around his shoulders.

He’s asleep when Garcia calls to give him a proper tongue lashing. Her anger melts quickly at the sight of him. 

How is she supposed to be mad when he’s bundled up like a grumpy burrito?

He wakes up once or twice, mostly just to squint around him and grumble nonsense to himself. Each time Emily looks up from her book and pats his thigh or his arm until he settles back down. Just like a baby. He’s still groggy when they land making it much easier to pack him into her car and take him home. 

She feels weird about leaving him at his apartment. All alone. “Are you sure--” she doesn’t want to push him but she doesn’t want him to overexert himself either.

Hotch shakes his head, “I’ll take the elevator.” He looks up at the building, “and Jack will probably end up sleeping in my bed, tonight. I won’t be alone.”

She frowns, she can’t exactly argue against that. “Okay but you’ll text if you need anything?”

He nods. Jack knows what to do if anything happens. Besides, she’s his speed dial so it’s no problem. 

“Okay,” she relents. “Don’t do anything stupid?”

He smirks, “like run into a burning building?”

She nods, “exactly like that.” 

He hesitates to shut the door, mouth open but he’s not sure what he wants to say so he offers her a tight smile before shutting the door behind him. He takes off towards the building, knowing she’s going to wait for him to disappear into it before pulling off. 

He just can’t wait to be home. 

Hotch closes his eyes the second the apartment door behind him slides shut. The faint smell of Johnson’s baby lotion greets him with the familiarity of a warm hug. When he opens his eyes, he’s got something even better waiting. Standing in front of him, their toes lined up, Jack is squirming with the anticipation of his father’s attention. 

“Hey daddy,” the toddler greets with a toothy grin.

He’s exhausted. Good and proper he can barely stand exhausted. He kicks his shoes off at the door, smiling when Jack reaches between them and grabs his suit sleeve. “I’m not going anywhere, buddy,” he rasps, voice still recovering from the smoke inhalation. “I promise.”

Jack nods his understanding but doesn’t release Hotch. His little grip stays firm as Hotch sets his go-bag down and attempts to get out of his jacket. Adamantly, Jack lets go of his sleeve and grabs hold of the belt loop of his pants. Hotch understands that tonight is going to be a clingy night, probably spent with the two of them in his bed. 

“Will you watch toons with me?”

Honestly, he couldn’t think of a better plan himself. “Yeah,” he smiles, “let’s watch some toons.” He stops to toss some pills into his mouth, most are for infection and muscle something but at least one is supposed to be the pain he’s trying very hard to not let ruin his mood. 

When he gets to the couch, all he wants is to curl up and sleep. He can’t be certain why but he doesn’t even think twice. Hotch lays his head in Jack’s lap, looking up his son. Jack’s attention is on the cartoons on the TV, reruns of MickeyMouse ClubHouse Hotch let him save to the DVR last winter. One of his little hands is in Hotch’s hair, softly patting it down the way Hotch does to put Jack to sleep. The other hand is holding Hotch’s shirt, keeping him there. 

After a moment, Jack frowns down at him, “you stink.”

Hotch huffs a laugh. Jack’s often brutal when it comes to the truth. Rossi always reminds him that there’s really only one person he could have gotten that from. With a smile he repeats, “I… stink?” He’d suffered through the humiliation of a sponge bath the day before and he’s wearing deodorant so he doubts it’s that bad.

Jack nods, “yeah.” He leans down, eyes still on the TV, and sniffs Hotch’s hair. He crinkles his little nose, “smell funny.”

“Oh,” Hotch mumbles. “I smell funny?”

Jack nods and turns his attention back to the cartoon. Hotch just lays and watches his son smile at the TV. Jack keeps playing with Hotch’s hair. Occasionally, he looks down and pulls the thick strands into weird directions. 

“Aaron?” Jessica comes into the living room, he’d forgotten about her. She smiles at the sight of them, leaning down to kiss both their foreheads. “You boys okay or should I stay the night?” She’s already collected her things, purse in hand. 

Hotch shakes his head, “we’ll be okay, won’t be Jack?”

Jack nods, he wraps both his arms around his father’s head. “I’ll protect us,” he reassures Jessica with a nod of his head. 

Both adults share a laugh before Jessica taps Hotch’s shoulder. “I wonder where he’d get that from?” They share a soft smile… both thinking of Haley. “Well, be good Aaron. I don’t want any phone calls from Jack telling me you’ve been misbehaving.”

Jack gets a kick out of this idea, “yeah daddy.”

Hotch smiles, “I’ll be on my best behavior.” Jessica’s just shut the door behind herself when Hotch’s phone goes off. Jack tenses but Hotch ignores the call for a moment to reassure Jack that he’s not leaving. The team might be called out but there’s no way a doctor is letting him anywhere near the field right now.

“Look,” he shows Jack the contact photo. “It’s just Pops, you wanna answer it?”

Jack eagerly takes the phone, “Pops!”

Hotch looks up, watching.

“Jack!” Rossi greets. “Is your daddy around?”

“Uh-huh! We’re watching toons!” Jack smiles down at Hotch and Hotch smiles back. “Mickey!”

Rossi hums, “oh you’re watching MickeyMouse? Well, I’m sorry to have interrupted that.”

Jack keeps grinning, “ ‘s okay because daddy promised he wouldn’t leave.”

“Oh did he?” Rossi 

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

Jack Hotchner spent his afternoon being chased around the back yard by Uncle Derek. His happy laughter blending in with Henry’s, the other boy’s equal excitement coming from his Godfather’s endless magic tricks. The boys gorged on hotdogs, watermelon, Capri-suns, and ice cream- all provided by their Papa. Who, as of last time either Hotch or JJ inquired, was their favorite person ever.

“Hey, buddy.” 

Judging by the little tears swelling up in Jack’s eyes right now, Hotch makes the safe assumption that he has found himself at the bottom of the list of Jack’s favorite people. He bends down, squatting so that he’s the same height as the five-year-old. “Buddy,” he cups his son’s cheek, wiping away his fat tears with his thumb. “What’s wrong?”

Jack sniffles, miserably, taking his little fist and rubbing at his tired eyes. “You lefted me,” he sobs, batting Hotch’s hand away so that he can step closer. Jack leans into Hotch’s chest, pressing his face into his father’s neck and wrapping his arms around him. 

Hotch scoops him up, smiling tightly to JJ and Prentiss who’s attention Jack’s soft hiccups have drawn in. He doesn’t have to say it for them to know why Jack is clingy. Besides being exhausted from a hard day of play, there’s still a small part of Jack that remembers George. The man that hurt daddy and killed mommy. 

He lowers his gaze, flush creeping up his neck. He can remember, vividly, the night Jack told him about the sound of the gun going off. That he’d known, somehow, that mommy was dead but that it was okay because he knew daddy was coming to the rescue.

“He remembers Dave.” His breath came in quick, rapid session over the phone. He had to tell someone, to make this helpless feeling go away. “Fuck,” his chest ached and, voice no louder than a whisper, Dave could hear the panic laced into his tone. “He heard it. He heard Foyet-”

But that was back when they, rightfully, thought he was coming unhinged. Losing his grasps on life… 

He’s… better now. There’s no other options available. 

He’s better now. He may not be the best at this single dad thing but he’s doing better than his own father. Even if that means sitting up all night when storms roll in because thunder and lightning sound like gunshots to five-year-olds. Every year explaining to Jack’s teacher’s that Hotch’s family is not in their lives and that Haley’s own doesn’t extend past an aunt and a grandfather. 

“Did daddy leave you,” Dave steps up. His cigar snuffed out but his chilled drink sloshing around in his left hand. He makes an exaggerated sad face when Jack nods with a pouty little frown, not out of mockery but empathy. To win the boy over. “Come to papa,” he offers, opening his arms to take Jack. 

Hotch does have a family, one that’s very present in his son’s life. Jack has papa, Aunt JJ, Aunt Penny, Uncle Weed, Miss Emily, and Uncle Derek. They’re just by no means conventional.

“It’s alright, Jack.” Emily comes up to play along too. She soothes a finger over his cheek, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Daddy is a big ol’ meany sometimes.” She shakes her head, fingers running through Jack’s soft hair. She’s not sure what Hotch uses on this boy’s head but he’s always had the softest hair. “We still love him though, don’t we?”

Jack peeks up over Rossi’s shoulder. He has this habit of playing with Hotch’s hair, the lower part near the base of his head. He takes the small strands and twists them in between his thumb and forefinger. He’s done since he was a baby. He does it now to Rossi’s hair, his eyes half-lidded. “Uh-huh.” 

Rossi rubs Jack’s back, a smirk on his lips. It’s crazy to think about the sheer number of times he’s had to convince Hotch that he’s a good dad. That all kids have tantrums, get grumpy, and need constant reassurance- just like Hotch, Rossi notes. Just like everyone. “Come on, bambino.” Rossi presses a kiss to Jack’s head, “Aunt Penny is making smores. What do you say, should we join her?”

“Hotch?” Will has the cooler open, offering Hotch a beer. Will had brought a six-pack of Heineken, knowing that Hotch wouldn’t bring any and that he wouldn’t drink unless pressured. JJ had made sure to remind both Derek and Will to attempt to at least get Hotch to drink two beers before the night’s end. Because they’re all supposed to be having fun and he needs to loosen up a bit.

Will raises that second beer up Hotch is torn. He can see the attention snap to him. 

“Sir,” Garcia calls from behind him. She’s not wearing heels so there’s no signature tap-tapping to give her rapid approach any warning. Just the hardly discernible sound of bare feet on the deck. “Lighten up,” she asks, with just the hint of sadness. She takes the back of her hand and lightly taps his shoulder. “Take the beer. Live a little. You deserve to have a good time too.”

Hotch swallows thickly. He doesn’t want to take the beer. Honestly, he’d rather drink a Capri-sun or one of those obnoxiously colored drinks Rossi kept steadily supplying Jack and Henry. Besides, Capri-suns won’t upset his stomach when he has to take his pain pills later. Not that he wants to but Emily had described them in great detail to Jack so he would know be very sad if Hotch doesn’t take them

“Do you all have no shame?” Emily comes up from behind them, having just made her way from the pool. Most likely seeking refreshments that aren’t alcohol. Her arm slings around Garcia’s neck and settling on them an unsurprised but nonetheless happy smile. She glances at Hotch, he earns a sympathetic smile. “Dave told them to leave you alone,” she informs him. 

Hotch looks sheepishly to the ground. To be fair, he didn’t want to come anyway. He’s got fair skin that stays hidden under a suit all day. As far as sunburns go, there’s nearly no way he’s getting off the beach without an intense burn. Not to mention he’s still pretty uncomfortable from the smoke inhalation, dislocated shoulder, and messed up ribs.