#sorry if this was a heavier answer than u were after anon

[pooklet]

I love your pastel goth references! Do you consider yourself a part of any subculture?

I married into goth.

Serious answer: I think of queerness as a subculture distinct from mainstream LGBT acceptance, and queer is how I most strongly identify. The distinction to me lies in queer's intentional rejection of rigid compartmentalization of sexual and gender identity. It is impossible to sanitize queerness, and things that cannot be sanitized cannot be monetized. Which isn't to say that subcultures can't be monetized (if they couldn't there would be no Hot Topics), but with capitalism being the dominant social structure worldwide, a group with goals and ideals that aren't profitable is inherently a subculture, imo.

Btw, thank you for asking, anon! I hadn't ever rly thought abt this before but it was cool to research different opinions on how subcultures are defined.

[asapeveryday]

SWIM ★彡

Pairing: Nika Mühl x Girlfriend!Reader

Warnings: shower sex

Summary: you’ve never seen Nika this mad after a game, jaw clenched shut and eyebrows furrowed. It has an affect on you that’s shameful, and she makes sure to remind you.

A/n: requested by VARIOUSSS anons. Luv u guys

THE DOOR SHUTS behind you loudly, and you can’t help but jump at the force of it. Nika almost pushes past you and heads straight for the kitchen, downing a glass of water and roughly wiping her mouth afterwards. She’s staring into nothing, mind obviously racing after a disastrous game.

You know better than to say anything to her, when she doesn’t preform how she hoped it’s best to keep a distance. Nika is usually good tempered and you’ve always loved that about her; her practicality, her levelheaded-ness. It came in handy when you were needy and exasperated, the way she’d simply purr your name and smile was enough to calm you down…even if her fingers were inside of you.

Her pent up anger was not unheard of, but still rather alien. What freaked you out more was how much of a struggle it was proving to be to keep quiet and distant.

Nika is bulldozing throughout your apartment now, throwing her jacket on the couch and tossing her shoes by the door before roughly yanking out her ponytail in a way that you know must hurt her.

“Can you stop fucking looking at me?” She snaps, her eyes narrowing at you and finally acknowledging your presence.

“Sorry.” You swallow, though you can’t help but admire her. It’s impossible to avoid the twitch in your pussy at the ferocity of her stare, her toned body slumping on the couch, or the frustrated lilt in her voice.

“Did you have fun?” She asks. “Watching me play like a loser today. Did you enjoy it?” She says now, dangerously calm compared to her earlier tone.

Nervously, you say “Of course I didn’t.” To which she raises an eyebrow.

“So it must’ve been a waste of time watching your girlfriend play like shit, huh.” Nika scoffs. “Were you embarrassed?”

“No!” You rush out, approaching her carefully. “I’m never gonna be embarrassed, Niks. It was one bad game, shit happens.”

She doesn’t have to say anything back, you already know the look on her face by heart. It’s one anyone who’s involved with an athlete knows, the look that says ‘you couldn’t possibly understand’. That expression on her face is one that you dread.

“Tell me what you want me to do Nika. How do I support you through things like this?” You sigh.

“You can support me by backing off.” She smiles, not with her usual kindness but with some sort of buried anger. “N’ stop gawking at me like a lost puppy. It’s fucking annoying.”

You cross your arms at this. You love Nika, but her anger makes her unreasonable.

“You sure you want me to back off? You’re the one who asked to come to my apartment.”

She stares at you for a moment that feels too long, the weight of her gaze growing heavier and harder to hold by the moment. You can’t read her expression anymore and it’s both enticing and nerve wracking.

“Since you wanna be smart,” she says, getting up from the couch and sauntering up to you. “I can think of something else you can do for me.”

Her tone is different now. Demanding in a way that excites you. You can’t help but squeeze your thighs together. “Anything you want.” You mumble. “I’ll do it.”

Nika’s eyes sparkle at this, clearly satisfied with your answer. “Strip.”

You’re frozen at her order. She’s seen you naked before, but not under pressure like this. She notices your hesitation and tilts her head. “You said anything, right?”

You nod slightly, slowly pulling off the top you’d worn to her game as well as your shorts before timidly un clipping your bra, leaving your breasts bare and nipples hardening from the new cold of your apartment. You try your best to hold her eye as you slip your panties down your legs and step out of them and towards her.

The feeling of standing there stark naked as your girlfriend soaks in the sight of you in silence is more vulnerable than anything you’ve felt in a long time. You can’t help but bring your hands to your breasts in attempts to cover something.

When Nika’s lips meet yours it’s languid and calculated, her hands ripping your own from your chest as she clashes teeth with you. Letting go of your wrists, she says. “Go turn on the shower.” And when you look at her inquisitively she shoots you a smirk. “I’ll be there soon.”

-

You let the water warm until steam forms to coat the glass doors of the shower, your hair now soaked through and your skin hot. The sound of the bathroom door opening and closing sends a shiver down your spine, and when the glass opens and closes you know Nika has kept her word.

Nothing happens at first, she stands under the water with you, wetting her hair and skin whilst closing her eyes beneath the shower head. You know she can feel you staring, but there’s no reason you shouldn’t with her bare body on display. Her muscles glistening and wet, her belly piercing gleaming through the steam. When your eyes part from her body, they meet her own.

When your lips clash again it’s sensual and charges with a force you can feel deep in your core. Her hands are quickly on either sides of your head when your back hits the cold tile of the bathroom wall, and you let yourself grasp at her tan flesh while she explores your mouth.

“What do you want me to do, Niks.” You huff out between kisses.

“Be quiet.” She says in an instant. “N’ let me fuck you.”

You nod fervently at her request, allowing her to suckle your neck and chest until you’re painted pink and purple. You know she loves to mark you, to have a remnant of her on your body is like a dream come true for the both of you.

As her mouth latches onto your tit, her fingers begin to tease at your pussy. She just barely rubs your clit, smiling at your whines and pleads.

“You don’t even deserve this.” She sighs. “You don’t care if I win or lose, you jus know you’re getting fucked anyways.”

She’s still teasing you, applying pressure and then taking it away at every breath you take. Your hips are beginning to buck at the stimulation or lack of thereof.

“Please, baby.” You beg, throwing your head back. “Please just touch me.”

Nika clicks her tongue before slipping two fingers inside of you. “Keep looking at me or else I’ll get out of the shower.” She grunts.

You hurriedly shift your gaze to her, and the sight is mesmerizing, her tongue swirling around your nipple while her fingers pump in and out of you slowly. Her hair is wet and spread out down her back and over her breasts, her cheeks are pink from the hot water.

Your legs begin to shake when she quickens her pace, watching her digits disappear and reappear into your heat as she innocently smiles. The sound of your slick is just barely covered by the loud noise of the running water that drenches both of you. You reach a hand out to the glass that encloses the shower, leaving a handprint. Nika notices this and immediately has an idea.

In an instant you’re shoved against the glass, and you gasp at the sudden contact all while her fingers are still inside you. “Nika!” You exclaim. “Careful, the glass might-”

“Shut up,” she murmurs, head now resting on your shoulder. She’s pressed flush against you as she stretches you out. “You won’t break anything.”

You trust in her words and allow yourself to loosen up again. The sight from the other side must be immaculate, your breasts, face and hands pressed against the steam covered glass. If your roommate was to need to use the washroom for anything, she’d surely never be able to look you in the face again.

Nika rubs the condensation from a spot in the glass so you can see outside, directly into the mirror that faces you. The scene is so lewd you can feel your orgasm building.

“Look at you.” Nika coos. Her own eyes are also trained on the mirror, on your face screwed up in pleasure, on your pussy sucking her in. “How slutty is this?”

“Nika.” You cry, moaning a mess of words as your stomach gets tenser by the minute. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it.” She orders, and as if clockwork you climax all over her fingers. She presses a harsh kiss to your cheek and releases you from the pressure against the glass shower wall.

You hug her underneath the stream of the shower and she laughs. “Are you feeling better?” You mumble into her neck, and she nods. “Much better.”

“Good.” You smile. “Now clean me up and take me out of here.”

[itzsyds]

anon for myles here an idea could be that all the pressure is getting to him???after all he’s only 18 and already the first choice left back for us but if u already have something written for him it’s ok

Myles Lewis-Skelly x Reader

More Than Enough🥺

—

I feel like this one was better than what I originally wrote🤣😭 so sorry anon for the other one. Hope this one makes up heavily for it. I was on mars yano guys that we’ve secured Champions League football for next szn🙂‍↕️💓

—

—

FLUFF- At just 18 years old, Myles has become Arsenal’s first-choice left back— a role most would only dream of. But behind the bright lights and roaring crowds is a teenager quietly crumbling under the pressure to be perfect. Every mistake feels like the end of the world, and the weight of expectation is growing heavier with each match. But in the quiet moments away from the pitch, you are there— his soft place to fall…

—

It was supposed to be a dream.

Starting every week for Arsenal at 18-years old. Wearing the badge he’d grown up loving. Playing under the lights of the Emirates. It was a dream— but sometimes, dreams got heavy. And for Myles Lewis-Skelly, it was starting to feel like he was carrying the whole thing on his back.

He didn’t say anything at first. He trained like always. Ate well. Slept— sort of. Smiled during interviews, shook hands, kept his head down. But you saw it.

The little signs. The way his shoulders seemed to droop just a little more each day. The dark circles that weren’t there a month ago. The way he stared at his phone after matches, scrolling through comments that left bruises invisible to the eye.

And the silence.

The kind that stretched between you like something thick and unspoken.

—

He came home late one night after a 2–1 win where he’d assisted the winning goal— but the celebration never reached his eyes. He walked through the door, kicked off his boots, and dropped his bag in the hallway like it weighed a thousand pounds.

You looked up from the sofa, instantly softening when you saw him.

“Hey,” you said gently. “You okay?”

He nodded, but it wasn’t convincing. “Yeah. Just tired.”

You stood, walking over and wrapping your arms around his waist. He melted into the hug more quickly than usual— like he’d been waiting for someone to give him permission to stop holding himself together.

“I saw the match,” you murmured. “You were brilliant.”

He didn’t answer.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him. “Talk to me, Myles.”

He sighed, long and shaky, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

That broke your heart.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m exhausted,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Not just physically— mentally. Every match, every training session, I feel like if I make one mistake, I’m done. I’m 18, and I’m supposed to be the answer at left back, like I’ve got it all figured out. I can’t keep pretending I do.”

You reached up and cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing the tired shadow beneath his eye. “You don’t have to pretend. Not with me.”

“I just… I miss football being fun. It used to be fun.”

He looked down then, and you saw the shine in his eyes. Tears threatening to spill. But he was still trying to blink them back— because he thought he had to be strong.

So you took his hand and gently pulled him to the couch.

“C’mere,” you said softly, tugging him down beside you. He hesitated, then curled into your side, his head on your chest, his arms around your waist like a lifeline.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

Just the quiet hum of the city outside and the soft thump of your fingers tracing circles on his back.

“I know people think I’m lucky,” he said after a while. “And I am. I am. But it’s hard. And I feel guilty for even saying that.”

You rested your chin on top of his head. “You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed. Being grateful doesn’t mean it’s not hard. You’re not a machine, Myles. You’re human. And you’re allowed to struggle.”

He exhaled shakily, clinging tighter to you.

“I feel like if I stop being perfect for one second, it’ll all fall apart.”

You tilted his face up so he was looking at you, your voice steady and full of love. “You don’t have to be perfect. You never have to be perfect for me. Or for the club. You just have to be you. And that’s more than enough.”

His bottom lip trembled, and that’s when the tears finally came— hot and quiet, sliding down his cheeks as he leaned into you again.

You held him like he was made of stardust and softness, whispering reassurance with every heartbeat.

“You’re allowed to rest,” you said gently. “You’re allowed to break down. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Later, when the tears had dried and his breathing had steadied, you made him tea, wrapped him in your softest blanket, and curled up with him on the couch.

He didn’t say much— he didn’t need to. Just buried his face in your neck and let himself be.

Not Myles the footballer.

Not the left back.

Just Myles.

Your Myles.

And you held him, all night if he needed, reminding him with every breath that he was seen, loved, and safe.

—

No more requests currently so if anyone wants anything written feel free to ask in my inbox as there’s nothing in there currently😆

Have the best Wednesday guys & take care x

[ickle-ronniekins]

on rainy days, george x reader

request: anon: Erica! can i request a George x reader with loads of angst and maybe some fighting?? can i submit my own prompts? Maybe like “we’re not just friends and you know it” and “why don’t you tell me why you really came here tonight” and “don’t you love me” OMG sorry this is long thanks girl i need some hp angst | another message per anon: actually wait can you take out the whole “friends” prompt i don’t like that thanks | omg stop i love this so much, sometimes we need some ruff stuff yaknow? like it can't all be makeout sessions in broom cupboards and fluffy “love u forever”s and shit like that so i am totally game to write this babe but dang hope it lives up to your expectations...kinda nervous now

prompt(s): “why don’t you tell me why you really came here tonight” / “don’t you love me”

warnings: um angst? fighting? maybe mention of war or something?

On rainy days, you think of him—the way his hair is always slightly messy, the way his eyes light up whenever a new invention makes its way into their shop, the way he’s always bloody happy and goofy...but soft, like his mother, and was not afraid to show it.

Today was one of those days.

You walked slowly through the light falling rain, careful to breathe in the beautiful scent of the earth mixed with rainwater. It had always been one of your favorite smells. You loved when it rained. Or, you used too. The last rainy day you could remember was the day he left, the day he told you no, the day the world seemed to come to a slow.

“You cannot do this,” he’d pleaded with you. His eyes were worried and tired, the same way your body felt in the heat of the moment.

“I’m going,” you’d told him, “and you can’t stop me.”

The impending war, and fighting in it, was never a discussion—it was always an argument. It was always too dangerous, too risky, too this, too that—but you were a grown woman and no individual would make decisions for you. He looked at you once more with begging eyes, but all you did was squeeze his shoulder.

“Then I’m sorry,” he said and moved slowly towards the door. “I can’t be here to watch.”

It was the price you chose. The love of one, or the love of many? Truthfully, you were doing this for him and all of your loved ones, but he just couldn’t see it that way. He wanted you safe, at home, holed up, away from the danger. But what good would that do if the danger would just find you there?

A few months after he’d left, death eaters stormed your home. Alone, terrified, and almost unprepared, it could have been awful—but somehow, someway, you’d managed to escape—your house burning to the ground, your Muggle parents, far away and safe somewhere, you’d hoped, nowhere near the war...nowhere near here.

You guess you understood where he was coming from. You’d shipped your parents off as quickly as you could. “For your own safety,” you’d told them. “I can take care of myself.”

You’d told him that, too, but he could not understand it. You pleaded with him just the same, to allow you to fight by his side, to promise to never let go of him. But instead, he needed to leave. And so he did.

Now, walking through the rain seemed to be more of a chore than something you enjoyed doing. The cool wind hit your back and sent chills down your spine. Was it the wind, or was it something else? You pulled your hat tighter over your ears, pulled your jacket closer to your body, and turned left into the Three Broomsticks.

You thought you’d prepared for it, but as prepared as you could be, it still wasn’t enough. Seeing him sitting there knocked the wind right out of you. His hair still messy, his eyes still sparkling, his smile still soft. It was all still there. And so were the feelings, of course.

His 6’3 frame swallowed you whole, just as it always had, and it took every ounce of strength you had not to cry, not to jump on him, not to yell at him, not to kiss him. Your feelings were bubbling to the surface, but so was your frustration and anger. It was all still there, right in front of you.

He kept his distance at first—a few feet from you, but it felt like miles. Millions of miles. “Hi,” he started with a shaky voice. “...you’re here.”

You wanted to say, “I’m home,” but instead you said, “I’m here.”

Because he had always been home to you. But now...

He began to move towards you, but you slowly backed away. No, you weren’t ready. You couldn’t fall into things exactly as they’d been before he’d left, before the war began. The pub was completely vacant except for the two of you. The pattering rain sounded so loud upon the rooftop.

“I missed you,” he told you. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

You said back, “Missed you, too,” and bit your lip, trying to hide an almost-smile. He broke and gave you a nervous grin, furrowed his brow and looked as though he was about to break down and cry. “George, I—”

“I couldn’t do it,” he said. You thought you could hear his heart pounding. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. I...I know you can take care of yourself, but it was hard.”

“Then why didn’t you just believe me?” You asked, emotions running high. You tried to hold it in, but couldn’t. Months of anger and sadness and confusion were making you explode. “Why didn’t you let me be with you, with all of you? I’ve studied, I’ve fought, I’ve done my time in school. Why not let me try?”

He swallowed over a lump in his throat. “It was dangerous. You and Ginny, it was just...too much.” He looked down at the ground and you noticed something not quite right underneath his hat. When you realized that he’d lost an ear, you ran towards him, your hands in his hair and on his shoulders. “I could’ve been with you, I could’ve helped you!” You cried. “This is what happens—things like this—”

“Exactly!” George said. His emotions were rising to the surface, too—the two of you like boiling pots of tea. “It could’ve been worse, or it could’ve been you! I didn’t want that! Mad-Eye died, d’you know what I’d do to myself if that had been you—”

You pushed on his chest and backed away, eyes filling to the brim with tears. The rain seemed to be falling heavier now. “And what if it was you? You’re lucky to be missing only a small part of yourself, George. What if you’d been taken away from all of us? Do you know how that would’ve felt to me if I’d heard it while sitting at home instead of out there, helping? At least I would’ve known that I did everything I possibly could, at least I would’ve been by your side—”

“It’s more than that!” He raised his voice.

“Oh, well then enlighten me, would you, Weasley? Why don’t you tell me why you really came here tonight?” You yelled, and the pub seemed to shake in your anger. “Because if it’s to tell me, again, not to fight, I won’t have it, you do not make my decisions for me—”

He grabbed you by the shoulders and cried out, “I’m here because I love you! I love you and I can’t do this without you anymore! This war, these things happening...it’s madness without you! These past few months have been...just terrible...” his voice trailed off in the sound of the storm.

You stood, silent, frozen, still in his embrace—eyes wide and heart pounding—waiting for more.

You watched the rise and fall of his chest which seemed to intensify by the second. His eyes were pleading again, the same pain glistening in them as the day he left. “Don’t you love me?”

Your heart was beating so thunderously, it was basically screaming your answer for you. You brought your hand to his cheek and let the tears fall. You noticed scratches and bruising all over him, and your heart ached for justice. You told him, “Of course I love you,”

He wrapped his arms around you so tightly, like he was surrendering to the entire world. Your whole entire body hurt in the entanglement, but you didn’t want to let go. You pulled fiercely on his shoulders and breathed in his scent. You ran your fingers through his hair. You felt the beating of his heart, thumping dramatically in sync with yours. The butterflies in your stomach danced around quicker when you heard a break in his voice when he choked out, “God, I love you.”

On rainy days, you think of him—the way he throws his hands around when he’s angry, the way his voice still trembles slightly even when he’s yelling, the way he cares so bloody deeply, it’s almost painful...and how he’s not afraid to show it.

Today was one of those days.

The two of you set foot towards the castle, better than yesterday, but not as good as you’d be tomorrow. There were wounds that needed time to heal, discussions that needed to be had, gallons of love that needed to be shared, not hidden. His hand was warm around yours in the freezing rain, the impending war on both of your minds. But feeling his body next to yours now, at least it felt alright. If he was next to you, fighting alongside you, then you were alright. You were home.

[haikyuu-angst-station]

hey hey hey!! I really love your tumblr, if you feel up to could you write that fic you mentioned about Suga’s fear of thunderstorms?? If you put daisuga in it my heart will literally MELT. Hope u have a nice day💞

wow thank you anon!! 

Astraphobia 

WARNING PANIC ATTACKS (kinda its not really)

If there was one thing Suga hated it was storms. They were way too loud and destructive. He hated the way that thunder would shake the ground and how the lighting would light up the sky in a broken streak of light. 

So, when in his third year of high school, he glanced out the classroom window and saw the sky turning a dark intimidating grey fear starting rushing through his veins. That one glance out the window had taken his concentration with it. Now all he could think of was the storm that was on its way. His teacher seemed to notice.

“Sugawara could you answer number four?” His head shot up from biting on his thumbnail. The anxiety and fear in his stomach doubled as everyone in the room looked at him. He attempted to stutter out an answer as a voice behind him called out. 

“It is x=27,” The teacher nodded but sent a disappointed look his way. He didn’t care though he was too busy thanking his best friend telepathically. The small sense of relief he felt faded away when he saw a flash of light out of the corner of his eye. The storm was getting closer. 

He had checked the weather that morning, as he did every day, and it had said it would rain but not storm. If there ever was a storm, he would stay home and cuddle with his dog inside his closet when it hit. But now he was trapped at school away from his dog and his safe place.  

While he was debating if he should ask his mother to leave work to come get him, the bell must have rung because Daichi was trying to grab his attention. The slightly taller boy was standing in front of Suga’s desk with a concerned look on his face. Suga looked up, with his thumbnail still in between his teeth, to meet Daichi’s eyes. Daich reached out his hand and pulled Suga’s hand away from his mouth. 

“C’mon Suga we’ve got practice,” The calming tone he spoke in made Suga feel safe. He reached down for his bag and shoved his belongings into it. The setter stood up on shaky legs. A quiet rumble from outside made his heartbeat quicken and any sort of security that Daichi’s presence had given him dissipate. Suga turned his head towards the window and the sky was completely covered by angry storm clouds. He couldn't turn his gaze away not even when Daichi had grabbed his hand and started pulling him away. 

“..wara...KOUSHI!” The use of his first name made the setter jump. Daichi looked more concerned than earlier. Guilt coiled around his spine. He didn’t want to make the captain worry, he already does enough of that. So, he threw out one of his kind smiles. 

“Sorry Dai, I’m just feeling a bit anxious. I’ll be fine,” It wasn’t a lie, he was feeling anxious. Daichi didn’t really seem to believe him but he didn’t ask any questions. The captain just continues to pull Suga to the club room. Scrunching his eyes, trying so hard to ignore it

But it started to rain

And it got harder

And heavier

And by the time they had reached outside it was pouring. Visibility is almost zero but Daichi made no move to stop. Suga did, he stopped in his tracks. Daichi turned to look at the silver haired boy. 

“Suga..?” The boy in question was trembling. His usually kind, calm eyes now filled with panic and fear. Lightning struck so close Daichi could see it’s reflection in them, the thunder followed not too soon after. A loud rumbling sound that shook the ground and made the hand in his tense ups 

Suga started shaking his head as to say no and pulled his hand away from Daichi’s. Before the latter could even say anything Suga had turned and ran back into the school building. 

Suga ran. Well maybe ran wasn’t the right word. It was more like a staggering speed walk. His legs felt like jelly, his head felt foggy. As thunder continued to stake the ground in a constant pattern his mind was telling him one thing. 

Hidehidehidehidehidehidehidehidehidehide

With his foggy panicked mind and view of the storage closet at the end of the hall, getting into there was all Suga could think of. He broke out into a run. The door handle felt cold under his shaky hands. He tried focusing on the cold feel of the tile floor once he got inside the closet. Pushing himself into the further meet corner from the door and wrapped his arms around his knees.

“Breathe Koushi. It’s going to be ok,” He spoke to himself in a way he would to a scared underclassman. Usually that tone would help calm the person it was used on but it was not working this time. His body trembled and shook with every thunderclap. Nails dug into the skin of his forearm so deep they began to draw blood. Warm tears cascaded down his blotchy cheeks. Another loud thunderclap sounded and everything that was holding Suga together fell apart. He let out a loud gasp followed by sobs that he attempted to muffle. His shaking hands tore through his grey hair. 

“Stop..please stop… go away go away,” Suga tried to plead with the storm raging outside. The door handle to the closet started to move and the door opened slowly. A familiar face appeared in the small gap that door had made. 

“Suga..” Daichi called out. The taller man crossed the small distance from the door to the corner where Suga sat. Without thinking the setter threw himself into Daichi’s arms. The latter started whispering ‘you ok’ and ‘i’ve got you’ into Suga’s hair. They continued to sit there like that for an hour until the storm calmed down. 

And if Daichi carried Suga home and stayed the night, who would know?

[emetoandotherthings]

How bout a slightly bloated and nauseous Damian getting stomach rubs and back pats from one of his mates to help him burp but ends up getting sick? Ahhh I love u and ur writing u have no idea!!! 💕💕

A/N: So! I’ve had this prompt sitting in my inbox for quite some time now, and as @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak and I were chatting about the end of Damian’s Coeliac Saga, this prompt came to mind, so I am dubbing it the epilogue as it’s set when they’re at university!! Thanks anon for the compliment - I hope you enjoy!! 😊😊

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 |

“Pfffft!” Damian collapsed heavily onto the low sofa in their flat kitchen, resting his head back briefly with his eyes closed. “Alright?” Cain asked, raising his head from the doodle that he’d been staring at while he ate his dinner. “How was your medic’s function?” “Long…” Damian muttered, shifting around on the sofa as though trying to get comfortable. “And full of pompous prats floating through on daddy’s money.” “Oh dear, not worth going to then?” Cain suggested and Damian made a non-committal noise in this throat. “Where are Aleks and Zara?” “Zara was too busy drinking – free wine…” Damian mumbled, rubbing his hands across his face. “And Aleks went – to meet Murray.” Cain looked across at his friend it was unusual for him to be so quiet, and the pauses in his speech pattern only made it more noticeable. “Are you alright?” Cain asked, placing his pencil down from his doodle that had spread across his A4 sheet. “Mmmmm…” Damian hummed, wriggling around on the sofa. “Brrrrraaaaaauuuuuurrrrp!” Damian covered his mouth as a deep belch rolled out of him. “I’m gonna take that as a no…” Cain said, rising from his place at the table and crossing to sit on the sofa next to Damian, who was still shifting in discomfort around the sofa. “What’s wrong?” “Aah – oh – I’m sorry…” Damian forced out, one of his hands moving to his stomach as his face screwed up in pain. “Oh!” “Damian?” Cain put his hand to Damian’s shoulder as his friend suddenly curled forward, both of his arms wrapping protectively around his abdomen. “Okay, Damian, you need to talk to me otherwise I’m going to call an ambulance.” Concern was bubbling through Cain as Damian let out a low moan as he shook his head. “I think…” Damian started to force out, and Cain could hear his teeth grinding as he fought against the pain. “Oh God… I’ve eaten something – with wheat.” Understanding flourished through Cain as Damian rocked back and forth, trying to soothe the cramp in his stomach. “Oh no!” He exclaimed, but couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved that it wasn’t something more serious. “What can I do to help?” “There’s… There’s a hot water bottle in my room,” Damian groaned, “can you get it – for me?” “Of course,” Cain nodded instantly, springing up from the sofa. “I’ll only be a moment.” Cain practically sprinted through to Damian’s bedroom, and grabbing the hot water bottle he ran back. “I’ll fill it up… Can I get you anything else? Would painkillers help?” “N – no…” Damian shook his head, still rocking a little restlessly. “They don’t work when it’s this…” “Oh okay…” Cain was pouring boiling water into the bottle from the kettle; he felt rather helpless. Damian seemed to be in so much pain, but there was absolutely nothing he could do to help. “Here…” He fastened the lid on the hot water bottle and carried it over to Damian, who accepted it like a lifeline. “Thanks,” he murmured, clutching the bottle to his stomach. “Maybe you’d feel better if you lied down?” Cain suggested, indicating the length of the sofa, but Damian shook his head again. 

“Being upright helps more…” He replied, leaning back and drawing his left leg up so it was bent close to him. “Sorry Cain.” “It’s not a problem,” Cain gushed, “I just want to do anything to help.” “Will… you sit with me?” Damian asked. “Tell me about your day.” “Um well…” Cain tried to think of something other than the fact his friend was writhing in pain. “I’ve got an assignment to create an environmentally friendly structure at low cost that people could reside in permanently.” “Yeah? So what you – thinking?” There was a long enough pause between Damian’s words for Cain to know how difficult he was trying. “I was trying to figure out if I could do a sustainable treehouse,” Cain answered, struggling not to reach out and physically comfort his friend. “Treehouse – sounds great,” Damian nodded, one of his hands rubbing at his chest., A tight build up of pressure in his stomach made him feel like he needed to burp, but every time he tried the air snagged in his throat and wouldn’t bring any relief. “Urgh…” “Oh Damian,” Cain grimaced on his behalf. “Are you sure I can’t do anything more to help?” “I feel like – ugh – I need to burp but I can’t…” Damian said honestly, pressing harder into his stomach. “Do you want me to rub your stomach for you?” Cain offered and Damian stared across at him, his eyes wide – and for a second he looked like a little kid. “Your mum used to do that for you, didn’t she?” “Yeah…” Damian’s voice had gone weak, and his face was pale from the stress of the pain. “Would – would you do that?” “Of course, here…” Cain gently encouraged Damian to rest his head back against the sofa, then peeled away the hot water bottle that was held to his skin. “Just let me know if you’re uncomfortable.” “Mmmhmm…” Damian had closed his eyes and appeared to be fighting against the pale. Cain was cautious as he pulled up the t-shirt Damian was wearing, revealing the flesh of his abdomen, and he very gently placed his fingertips onto Damian’s stomach and began to rub a light circle. Cain could hear Damian letting out slow and controlled breaths through his mouth. “Is that okay?” Cain questioned, anxious not to cause any more pain. “Yeah…” Damian mumbled. “I’m sorry – I should have been more careful.” “Don’t be silly Damian,” Cain replied. “You wouldn’t have knowingly done this to yourself!” Damian was rubbing his own chest again, Cain was concerned by how much discomfort Damian was in. “Are you still feeling like you need to burp?” “Yeah…” Damian nodded, opening his eyes to look at Cain. “I feel like all the air’s trapped in here.” He pointed to his upper stomach and screwed his face up once more; under the palm of Cain’s hand he felt Damian’s muscles tense as a cramp wracked through him. “Mmmmmmnn…” “Let me try help,” Cain said nervously, moving his hand further up Damian’s abdomen, and putting more pressure into his skin. “Is that pressure okay?” “Brrruurp!” A short belch burst past Damian’s lips, and his cheeks went a little pink as he mumbled: “Excuse me.” “Did that help?” Cain withdrew his hand quickly, afraid that he’d hurt Damian; but Damian’s hand shot out and grabbed Cain’s wrist. “Please keep doing that – it really helps,” he asked pleadingly. With that permission, Cain put his hand back on to Damian’s abdomen and started to massage up and down its length. As Cain kneaded his fingers he could feel the bloat in Damian’s flesh, and as he pressed further he could almost feel the air moving about in his gut. “Brrrrrrrrrppp!” The deep belch forced out and Damian shifted around on the sofa. “Urgh, this really hurts.” “Is it not getting any better?” Cain questioned as Damian let out another uncomfortable groan; Damian shook his head. “I feel like – my stomach’s expanding…” He explained. “God I can’t believe I used to deal with this every day!” “It’s just a slip up, once it’s out of your system you’ll be back to normal,” Cain told him reassuringly. “I know, I just-” Damian doubled forward again. “I feel so bloated.” Damian looked thoroughly miserable. Cain frowned, trying to think of any other he could help – he had an idea, but wasn’t sure whether Damian would be happy to try. “I’d do anything to get rid of this – urghh…” “Really?” Cain asked, looking at him intensely. “Yeah!” He nodded instantly. “Come here,” Cain began to manoeuvre Damian up from leaning on the back of the sofa. “I’ve got an idea that might help…” “Okay,” Damian shuffled forward to the edge of the sofa. “You’re gonna put your head on my shoulder,” Cain told him, feeling a little apprehensive about what he was going to do, “Like you’re giving me a hug.” “Okay,” he moved so his chin was resting on Cain’s left shoulder and Cain wrapped his arms around his best friend – holding him steady with one arm and using the other to rub his hand up and down Damian’s back. “I used to do this to Jethro and Zachariah when they were little and needed to burp,” Cain said nervously, giving gentle pats into the mid section of Damian’s back. “Baaauuuuurrrp!” Almost instantly Cain felt Damian’s back move slightly as a deep belch rolled out of him, coaxed by Cain’s ministrations. “Oh that felt good… Keep going, please…” Cain smiled slightly, feeling Damian relax into him more as he moved his hand all over Damian’s back. “Buuuhhhrrp!” “That’s it,” he encouraged, running his hand up more firmly and feeling Damian’s spine. “Is this helping?” “Yes,” Damian confirmed; Cain’s hands felt like they were magic, every time they ran up and down his back he felt like another pocket of air was dislodged and pushed up, like squeezing toothpaste out of a tube. “If I’d known you were so good I’d’ve come to you before I was diagnosed…” “As long as it’s helping you now,” Cain said, glad that the laboured sounding breaths had died down and Damian no longer seemed to be experiencing such strong cramps. “Brrraaaaaap!” After this burp, Damian let out a little sound of pleasure and seemed to nestle his head further into Cain’s shoulder. 

“You tell me when you want to stop,” Cain muttered quietly, beginning the gentle patting motions again. “Mmhmm… buuuup!” Damian said, “I will.” Cain continued rubbing and patting Damian’s back, hearing occasional burps from him. After a while Cain wondered if Damian was beginning to fall asleep as his weight grew heavier, but, following Damian’s instructions, he kept going. “Buuuuuuuurrr –“ Damian’s shoulders jerked suddenly as an unexpectedly deep belch came from him, “huuuuuuurrrrrk!” Damian’s entire body tensed instantly, but it took Cain an extra second to understand why. He became aware of a warm wet sensation down the left side of his back, he could hear a gentle dripping sound, and Damian seemed to be trembling suddenly. “Damian…?” Cain started slowly. “Mmmmmm…” Damian let out a small whimper. “Did you just puke on me?” Damian drew back, away from Cain’s shoulder, his hands shot up to cover the bottom of his face. His eyes were wide with horror as he nodded slowly. “I’m so sorry!” He whispered, sounding absolutely horrified with himself. “I didn’t – god – I’m so sorry!” “Do you feel better now?” Cain asked, working very hard to keep his voice calm and measured, even though he could feel the dampness seeping through the back of his t-shirt. Damian nodded, not removing his hands from his face. “God, I didn’t know that would happen!” Damian’s pale cheeks were rapidly turning scarlet. “I’m so sorry!” “Damian,” Cain held his hand up to stop his gushing apologies, “I have four younger brothers – do you really think I’ve not been puked on before?” “No, I – oh, I’m sorry!” Damian apologised once more, lowering his hands from his face; Cain reached out and fastened his grip on Damian’s upper arms. “Do you feel better now that’s out?” Cain questioned directly. “Yes,” Damian confirmed. “Right, well stop apologising! I’m just glad you feel okay,” Cain told him. “You sure?” Damian mumbled, staring into Cain’s face like he was looking for any indication that Cain was lying. “Positive!” Cain assured, and Damian relaxed slightly. “And if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go change my shirt…”