#usually i can get through those before the nausea hits

[vvyrmwood]

oh the body is rly not having it today huh 😐

[myvoiddreams]

Fragments of Starlight

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: With the impending war, Y/N is captured by Hybern's general. As they struggle to protect those they care about, they reflect on their unrequited feelings for Azriel and their insecurities within the Night Court.

Word Count: 4,585

Warnings: ANGST, violence, torture, dark themes

A/N: This is my first time ever writing anything like this. I am a true sucker for angst. This is meant to go along with some of the events of ACOWAR, but of course, it’s different. Please don’t come at me for not following it’s exact story line. ALSO, I know that Azriel or Feyre would NEVER, but it’s just for the heartache okay!!

Part 2, Part 3

------

Now

All of it, it was all going to shit. I don’t know how my ears weren’t bleeding at the sheer amount of noise coming from the chaos around me. So much screaming, but was it Hybern’s forces, or our own? Everything was ringing, my head throbbing along with it. It was almost as if my breaths were not reaching my lungs. I was on the ground, all fours underneath me as I tried and tried to get myself to my feet. Everything was sore, it was like my muscles were not working. I stretched for the source of the aching on my temple and what I found was the warm, wet consistency of fresh blood.

My family, where is my family? Panic drenched me like a bucket of ice water.

With a groan, I grabbed my sword that lay beside me and turned to face the sky, now sitting at least. The sky, it was so blue. It almost felt like a disgusting joke to see something so beautiful, as dead bodies lay at my feet. Hybern’s forces were surrounding me, there was no escaping this.

I grit my teeth as I stand, my blade in hand. Dizziness rolls off me in waves, so much so that nausea is found coursing through my veins. I don’t get very far up before I’m slammed back down to the earth. My face hits the dirt as all the air leaves my lungs, leaving nothing but the taste of the earth and blood in my mouth. There is someone standing on my back, applying enough pressure I’m sure I’ll have a broken rib or two.

“Don’t go too far, sweetheart. We are just getting started with you.” A cry of pain leaves my lips as one of Hybern’s generals continues to crush my ribcage. The nausea and ringing in my head is too much. Then, with another blow to my head, everything is dark.

---

Before

“Oh, come on now sweet cheeks! You can do better than that. Az and I trained you myself!” Cassian’s voice was oh so annoying as he pinned me to my back. Sweat was gleaming across both of us as we spent the morning training. I was panting as my mind continued to reel.

Life had gotten tense with the Inner Circle recently. Not only was Prythian on the cusp of war with Hybern, but now we had to juggle the two newly made Fae that were the Archeron sisters.

I honestly felt bad for them. They did not ask for this life. I can only image what it would be like to go through life having your humanity ripped from you. Now knowing that you are going to be around for centuries instead of decades. And I felt bad for Feyre, who never wanted to see her sister’s dragged into this.

Usually, Azriel would be here with Cassian and me. Usually. It seemed as though Azriel had been getting far in over his head with the middle Archeron sister as of late. I would be lying if I said it didn’t bother me. But, I would never admit that fact out loud. Elain was half here and half not. Whenever she did speak, she’d just spew some crap that didn’t make any sense. But, that didn’t stop Azriel from spending any time he was not preparing for the war, with her.

Azriel. My heart seized at just the mention of his name. I had known the Shadowsinger for centuries. I stood by his side as he faced his own inner turmoil about Rhys being taken from us right under our feet. I stood by him even before that as I watched Windhaven and Devlon try to take was little he had away from him. Really, I had stood by everyone in this Inner Circle. But Azriel, Az was different. This too I would never admit out loud.

It took me holding him one night, after he had dreamt of his hands being lit aflame again, that it snapped. In all his vulnerability, it just, snapped. Az and I had shared a connection, a friendship, and I had loved him far long before the mating bond clicked in place. It only felt right that it was him. But, it hasn’t snapped for him.

It hurt, every single day, it hurt. And to watch him try so hard to make whatever it was happen with Elain, who was mated to someone else, made me feel worthless. This too, was not his fault. How was he supposed to know when I refused to breathe a word of it. Honestly, it might be a good thing, the distance. It hurts, but Azriel deserves happiness. I don’t know if I’m the one who can give him that.

“Damnit Cass!” I grunted as I fought back from his restraint.

“You are letting yourself get sloppy, Y/N. No room for that on the battlefield.” His face was smug. I felt some embarrassment creep up my neck and find its way on my cheeks.

“I know, I know.” I huffed. “Just let me up already.” I gave up on fighting back. Recently I found myself lacking the energy I used to have. I used to be full, driven, but I have found myself distant lately.

“Look, are you sure you’re okay, Y/N? You have not had your head in the game recently.” He stood and held a hand out to me. Cassian only wanted to check on me, it was nice really. I just wasn’t used to it. I had been the one the members of this court had always leaned their heads on. There just seemed to be no room for the others to do the same for me. So, I never asked them to. I wasn’t going to start now.

“I’m fine Cass, just tired.” I retorted.

“Aren’t we all sweet cheeks.” He said as he patted my back.

---

Now

Fire is crackling somewhere near me, but I can’t feel its warmth. I feel myself chained up. My arms were far above my head, hanging me from a support post. My feet had been stripped of their shoes, and now chains wrapped around my ankles. My body hurt, breathing hurt, and my head hurt. I was sure that this hellhole was only going to make it worse.

“Ah, there she is. Glad to see you actual awoke, we were starting to get worried.” Spoke the same general who broke my ribs.

I kept my mouth shut, only glaring at the direction of the voice. My vision was still blurry, and where I hope there was only one of him, I saw three.

The entrance flap of the tent open and closed to reveal another male. This one, I recognized. The King of Hybern himself.

“If it isn’t Y/N of the Night Court. I have to say, my men did a fine job bringing you in here for me. Wouldn’t you say so?” His voice was gruff. “Now that you’re here, we some questions we need answered, and I suggest you do answer them, dear. I’m sure you don’t want to find out what will happen if you don’t cooperate.”

I lazily lifted my head toward the King and sneered. “Try me.” I bit back, my voice laced with venom.

“Oh, I was afraid you’d say something of those sorts.” The king waved in another male, he was in head to toe in black. Something similar to what I’d see our very own Shadowsinger wear. Only this male was no where near the build of Az, but damn, did he look pissed.

The male pulled out a small dagger that was sheathed on their waist and made his way closer to me. I couldn’t help but let a little laugh escape my lips, “Size does matter you know,” I quipped. I know this man was here to interrogate me, but I could not let these people know how truly vulnerable I felt.

“Oh? I beg to differ.” The male stated as he plunged the dagger into the flesh of my calf.

---

Before 

Rhys wanted to have a family dinner tonight. It would be the first one in quite a long time. With everything going on, who was to blame anyone? I couldn’t say I was looking forward to it though. I used to love the time I could spend with my family, but now, it wasn’t the same. Not when my family was no longer the same. 

Rhys had Feyre, who don’t get me wrong, I love, and I love to see Rhys have the mate he has always deserved. But, with the additions of the Acheron sisters came with something strained. Cass hasn’t said anything, but I see the way he looks at Nesta. Nesta, who wants absolutely nothing to do with him, or any of us for that matter. Mor and Amren hadn’t been around as of late. Both were too busy preparing for this inevitable war. Mor with being an emissary and Amren with working out some logistics of the Cauldron. 

And Az. Azriel was no longer seeking me out. No longer spending time in the training ring or the library with me. Instead, he was with Elain. 

And then, there was me. Before this family all I was, was alone. Finding this family had saved me in more aspects than one, but I can feel it shifting under my feet, about to give way and take me with the edge of it. 

This though, is something I would never speak about. There is enough going on as it is. No one needs to be burdened about me, my unreciprocated feelings for the Shadowsinger, or my silly feelings of insecurity. I’m a friend to the court, a warrior, sometimes an advisor, but, I am nothing compared to the rest of them. I simply do not hold enough importance, and that is something I must live with. Something I am terrified they will realize as well. 

I was the last to make it to the table. Cauldron, even Elain is here. And next to Elain was Az. Hazel eyed, messy haired, Az. We caught each other’s eyes. I couldn’t help but let a smile creep up onto my face in greeting, and he smiled back.

I took my seat next to Cass and Amren and looked at the table around me. Even though war was around the corner, it felt good to gather as if nothing was wrong. Conservation started buzzing, everyone started eating, and I drifted off to a place that wouldn’t hurt me.

—- 

Now

Sweat is dripping off me in beads. My body is littered with cuts and bruises. But, I didn’t say a word. Not a single word about the size of our armies, not a word about what Rhys and the others had planned, not a word about our allies. Not a word. And I was paying for it.

Gods. They had left me here, giving me a break from the beatings and the torture. Whatever the used must have been laced with faebane because I have never felt this weak. This out of control of myself. I wasn’t healing, and I was still losing blood. At this rate, it wasn’t looking good. I was still hanging from my arms, I’m sure at this point I had a shoulder out of it’s socket. A rustling began again at the entrance of the tent.

“Back for more?” I croaked. My throat was completely dry from the screaming. But, when I got my eyes open enough to see what the cause of the noise was, my heart stopped dead in it’s tracks.

Elain.

---

Before

I retreated from dinner early. As pitiful as it sounds, I couldn’t be around it. I couldn’t stand to see Azriel with her any longer. Not when I knew he was the one who was slowly healing her and ruining me.

Knocking at my bedroom door pulled me from my thoughts and I was looking into a book, not really reading it. “Come in,” I shouted.

The site of Azriel caught me off guard. Once upon a time, it was normal for him to seek me out from my room. Now, it simply wasn’t. I couldn’t help but tense.

“Oh! Az!” I put my book down and stood. “How are you doing?” I smiled up at him.

“You would know if you hadn’t left dinner so early.” He looked down at me, frowning and crossing his arms. It was rare that Az was upset with me.

“Look, I’m sorry, I’m tired after training today.” I gave him a sad smile, not wanting him to push the issue further. “But please, tell me what I missed.”

This somehow made his shadows start to swirl around him and he huffed. “I was telling everyone how much progress Elain had made. She’s having actual conversations now.” He smiled at it, proud.

I tried not to show any hurt on my face. I have no right for this to hurt me. He was helping someone, and I had to be pitiful enough that I was jealous.

“That’s amazing Az, you’ve helped her a lot.” I let another smile grace my face. Before I knew what I was saying it was falling out of my lips, “But, you do realize that she is mated, right?”

Azriel’s demeanor shifted. His shadows became agitated, “Elain is a friend. She is going through a lot, and she needs support.” He sighed, “Plus, I think that cauldron could be wrong.” That sentence alone was enough to rip whatever was left in me to shreds. Why couldn’t he see me?

I had to take a deep breath to keep the silver lining in my eyes in place. “Az, when in your life have you ever seen the cauldron be wrong? Why would it start being wrong now?”

“Look, maybe you’ll understand one day, but it’s wrong about her and Lucien.” He crossed his arms now.

“It sounds like you want to it be wrong. Whether it is, or not.”

Azriel was growing frustrated. His eyebrow ticked and he huffed, “Can you blame me for wanting something more?”

“She is mated Azriel. Off limits.” I tried to stress him. “I don’t want to see you hurt if it doesn’t turn out the way you want.” I sighed. “I wouldn’t want my mate ripped away from me, I’m sure Lucien doesn’t either.” He doesn’t even realize that I’m talking about him. Not a single clue.

“Ripped away? Look Y/N, just because you’re alone, does not mean I have to be. Why are you making this about you?” He nearly snarled at me. Snarled. “I have finally found another purpose other than this war. I have found something, someone, to spend my time with and enjoy.”

His words hit me like an arrow to the chest. Alone. Maybe they all did see me, and they just didn’t care. Why couldn’t I be enough for him? Why hadn’t in all the time and cherished memories we have together be enough. We had held each other in hardship. We had trained together. We had grown together. We had spent countless Starfalls together. We had shared so many laughs and touches. Why wasn’t what we had enough for him?

The weight of Azriel’s words hung in the air, heavy silence settling between us. My heart ached with the sting of his remark, and I fought to keep any of my remaining composure.

I deflated, “Az,” I tried to sigh as he cut me off again.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so insecure, you’d see that I’m just trying to help someone who’s been through a lot. You’re jealous and it’s clouding your judgment.” He stared at me, and I had to look away. I didn’t realize it but I began to shake. I couldn’t tell if it was from rage, or from the way my heart cracked as he spoke.

“I think you should go Az.” My voice began to break, and I could tell that my walls were going to come down. Not once had I ever asked him to leave.

His own eyes softened, and he reached for me, “Wait.”

He tried to continue but I cut him off, “Leave, Azriel.” I turned to face away from him. I gathered my arms together. I couldn’t let him see the tears that were rolling down my face, I wouldn’t.

He pulled his arm back to himself and hesitated, seeing the pain he was causing me. Without another word, he turned and left, the door closing behind with a heavy finality.

---

Now

Elain. What the fuck was she doing here?

Seeing her tore me from my stupor. She acted as if she was in a trance, half there. I was really panicking now. I could take this torture and pain, Elain, I don’t think she would last. I could hardly pull at my restraints at this point.

“Elain! Elain!” I screamed at her, trying to get her attention. One of the males that was hauling her in, left her side and strolled to mine. Next thing I knew I was tasting my own blood in my mouth as his fist met with my face. As the blood welled up in my mouth, I felt rage hit me. I spat at him. His face now coated with the bloody saliva that he caused me.

He wiped his hand over his face, ridding it of its bloody covering. I snarled at him as he drew a blade. Good. This way the focus would stay on me and not Elain. He brought the blade to my face, slicing a thin mark down my cheek. “If you wanted more, you could’ve just asked.” He trailed the blade down my neck, and now to my collar bone, all the while slicing lightly as he went. He brought his lips to my ear and his hand grabbed my face, “I have so much more than just blades and fists in store for you, girl.”

It was almost too hard to stomach. I didn’t want to know what he was alluding to. Elain, do this for Elain. I told myself. I kept silent and he pushed me away, returning to the other male who was already putting Elain into restraints.

Why is she here? Why is she not fighting back?

As they finished with her restraints, Hybern himself walked back into the tent.

“Cauldron be damned, if it’s not also Feyre’s cauldron made sister.” Hybern chuffed, “We are truly going to have such a fun time together.” He chuckled as he looked between Elain and I.

He nodded at his men and they both reach for their knives. One for me. One for Elain.

“Wait!” I blurted as I saw the man move toward Elaine, “Please, leave her unharmed.”

“Hmm,” hummed Hybern, “Now, tell me pretty thing, why would I do that?”

“She’s a Seer. Please, you must leave her unharmed or she will be no use to anyone. She will not come out of any trance if she is harmed.” I didn’t know if what I was blabbing was true. I only knew that I needed to protect Elain, for she could not protect herself.

Hybern nodded again at the male who was at Elain’s side. The male sheathed his blade and I let out a silent sigh.

“You on the other hand,” Hybern turned his attention back on me, “I have some questions about pretty Elain.” A wicked smile reached the lips of the male in front of me, as he lifted his blade threatening. “You, dear Y/N, best answer them.”

The male reached for my shirt and tore it in half. Now leaving my chest and abdomen exposed to the air, only a warrior’s wrap covering my breasts. I gasped at the bite of the air reaching my skin. My abdomen was littered with black and blue bruising from the beatings. The faebane in my system slowing any kind of healing.

I turned my face to a stone grimace. I could do this. I told myself. If nobody comes for you, then surely someone will come for Elain.

That truth hurt almost as much as the torture that I was being put through.

---

Before

It had been about a week since I’d seen Azriel. The bond that used to hum in my chest felt vacant. Rhysand had sent me and Cassian to one of the Illyrian war bands that were positioned in case of an attack.

It was a single flaming arrow that was sent into a tent that set everything into utter chaos. Cassian was in the middle of a meeting with some of the other commanders, and I was in the training ring.

Hybern’s forces hit us as if we were nothing but an anthill in their way.

I don’t know where Cassian was as I fought and fought, until I was brought down.

---

Now

I was hardly holding on. I had no energy to cry out anymore. No energy to even lift my own head up. My abdomen and back was near ribbons after that male drove his blade into me again and again.

Elain had seemed to snap in and out of it. When she was somewhat coherent, she would only cry. I felt bad for her, but I had done what I could do protect her. There wasn’t a single scratch on her.

At thinking of Elain my mind drifted to Azriel. I wonder if he’s looking for me, if not, her.

The inner circle had to know that something was wrong at this point. I only hope that Cassian was also okay after we were ambushed. I’m sure if he wasn’t, he’d be right next to me also receiving the beatings I was.

Blood dripped down my back, creating a small pool under me. I truly didn’t know how much longer I would last. I had never felt weaker in my life.

I should’ve told him that night. Anguish was suffocating me. I found myself retracing everything I did as of late. The way I stole myself away from my family because I was being nothing but pitiful. The way they started to treat me differently. The way one no one would come to me anymore, and I would not go to them. No wonder they have left you here. You are nothing to them. My mind bit at me.

What truly bothered me was the downfall of mine as Azriel’s friendship. He was the one person I could always truly count on. If I had fallen in training, if I had drank too much, if some stupid male had broke my heart, it was always Azriel that had caught me, and me him. It’s why I fell in love with him long before the bond snapped its place into my heart. And now I was going to die without him ever knowing. I was simply going to fade away as my blood pooled underneath me.

It's better this way. I told myself. Elain is unharmed, and I will fade before anyone knows of this bond. The war will be won and Az will be able to move on with someone he finds joy in.

I couldn’t help but let tears run down my face. I wanted to scream, to find some way out, but with the faebane running through me, I was simply too weak.

---

I woke to the sound of rustling at the entrance of the tent. The rustling led to Elain, and I could hear her restraints being messed with. I nearly couldn’t pry my eyes open at the sound. Maybe they would finally take me from my misery. I silently hoped. That’s when I heard a quiet gasp. I looked up to see.. Feyre? And behind her, the one messing with Elain’s chains, Azriel.

My heart lurched to a stop. They had come to help, we were going to get out.

“Azriel..” Feyre quietly said as he brought Elain into his arms.

“What.” He nearly hissed at her. That’s when he looked up and truly saw me.

“Az.. Feyre..” I choked on my words. Help was here. I was going to get out of here. To make it. Finally something positive bloomed in my chest in place of where that hole had found itself.

Azriel set Elain back down and rushed to my side. He put a hand to my cheek, “Y/N, we couldn’t find you anywhere. Cass, he said you were missing after the battle.” His touch sent shivers down my beaten spine.

My restraints still bore heavily into my wrists where I was strung up. Then, there was rustling and yelling coming from outside of the tent.

“Help me down, please.” My voice was raw and pleading.

The yelling was getting closer and closer.

“Az, we have to leave, now.” Feyre said, trying to scoop Elain into her arms.

Azriel’s hand left my cheek, and panic flared into his eyes as he took in my state.

Hybern’s soldiers were coming, realizing something was wrong. Azriel looked between Elain and I, backing up from where I was strung up. He was backing away from me. Why was he backing away from me?

My own panic started to settle deep inside of me, long squashing any hope that had found it’s place.

“Azriel… please,” I coughed quietly. Dread was setting deeply inside of me. They didn’t plan on saving two. They came here for Elain, not me.

A sob found it’s way onto my lips as he picked Elain from Feyre’s arms. Feyre herself looking torn, her eyes expressing so much anguish.

“We will come back Y/N. I promise.” Azriel’s words were yet another punch to the gut.

I couldn’t help but let the sobs I had been holding onto for so long bubble out of me.

“Please don’t leave me here.” I cried, no longer caring for the quietness. They both stiffened at the sound of my voice. “Please,” I was gasping for air as this point, “If you’re not going to take me, then at least put me down.”

Their eyes widened at my statement, but I couldn’t hold for much longer. I needed this pain to end. This suffering to be over with.

“We will be back. I will come straight back.” Azriel hushly stated. His eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes were boring into me. They were trying to convince me he was telling the truth, but I knew better. I knew that they were only getting into the camp once successfully.

They chose Elain. They were going to leave me behind.

“Just kill me, please kill me…” I sobbed, “Please if you are going to leave me behind, then just kill me.”

Feyre was crying now, and Azriel. I knew, that even though he was choosing Elain, Elain to save, and Elain to love, he still wouldn’t harm me.

“I’m so sorry Y/N.” Feyre bubbled out of her crying lips as she quickly left the tent under her cloak.

Azriel and I made eye contact again through my sobbing, through the tears that were leaving my eyes in force. “I will be right back. I will come back for you.” And then, he was gone. With Elain in his arms.

I broke, truly broke. No weapon could hurt me as much as the sight of who I loved most, my mate, leaving me here, strung up and bleeding out.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 50

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber, Steve Kemp

Note: getting close.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You hate the smell of hospitals. It clings in your nose even after you leave. You can taste it. It dries out the mouth. It stains like the blinding lights against the sterile walls. Your vision is washed out in the hangover of your outing. 

The doctor took your blood. He asked questions too but you didn’t answer them. Ann did. Even if you had tried, you wouldn’t have gotten a word in. 

You left with another appointment scheduled and an endless list of rules. No caffeine, no lunch meat, no hot baths, only sleep on your side... Your body is a prison. It always has been but now, it’s like solitary confinement. Dark and isolating. You can’t see the way out. 

You sit in the back of the car, staring at the seat in front of you. Like a child. She didn’t stop you from sitting back there but you can’t sit beside her. Maybe she prefers it too. Her touch has always said more than her words. She despises you. 

The colours of the city blur. Pallid and dull with the late dregs of winter. You hug yourself and a new tide of nausea overwhelms you as you touch your stomach. You try not to. It’s a reminder. You’re not showing yet, not there, but in other ways. You can feel it even if you can’t see it. 

Ann sighs as she rolls slowly down the suburban street. You recognise the brick house. You rarely see the outside of it. She hits the button below the rear view mirror and the garage door opens. You know what they do. They don’t let you out of the car outside, only in the garage. They’re hiding you. 

As she pulls in, you slump against the door. She unlocks the doors and clicks the button on her belt. You unhook your own seat belt and follow her at a delay. It’s easier to just do everything she wants. 

She hums as she stands, “oof, I’m sore,” she complains, “will you get the door.” 

You nod and go to the button mounted on the wall. Before you can hit it, a grizzly voice wafts through the frigid air, blowing in with the wind under the open garage door. Your hand lingers before the close button but doesn’t hit it. 

A man ducks to see through, “hi, excuse me,” he says as he raises a hand above him to grip the metal, “I’m looking to deliver a package...” 

“Oh, a package?” Ann echoes, “I’m not expecting anything.” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s for... Dr. Steve Kemp?” He shifts the flat box under his arm to read it. “It’s pretty cold out here. Think you can take it off my hands?” 

“Why, of course,” she strides along the length of the car, “I’m his wife.” 

The man nods as she approaches and his grey blue eyes wander over to you. His dark stubble refines the angle of his jaw as a tuque covers his hair. You squint. He’s familiar but you don’t know how. He stares for a moment then hands over the package, “just sign here.” 

He takes out his phone and presents it to her. She drags her finger over the screen then pulls back to examine the box, “thank you, sir. Bit late for a delivery.” 

“Got backed up with the ice up on the freeway. Everyone’s taking the back roads today.” 

“Ah, makes sense,” she says, “well, you have a good day.” 

“You as well, ma’am.” 

He backs up and marches off without another look or word in your direction. She looks down at the box and rolls her eyes. She backs up.  

“Close the door. It’s freezing.” 

You tap the button and the door descends with the thrum of the motor above. You wait for her to go inside first before you follow. You hear the kids and Steve’s low timbre. You wonder why the courier didn’t knock on the front door. Maybe he did but couldn’t be heard. The TV is blaring as the kids giggle and holler. 

“Steve,” Ann calls out as you leave your shoes on the mat, “you got a delivery.” 

He doesn’t answer. She keeps on down the hall and drops the package on the side table against the wall. She stops to peer into the front room. 

“Honey,” she says curtly, “package.” 

“Alright,” he says, slightly agitated as he helps Harper build blocks into a castle. “Thanks. Any idea what it is?” 

“I don’t know. Looked like more of those magazines. Aren’t those supposed to go to your office?” 

“Could be an old subscription,” he shrugs. You stand back in the shadows but he finds you, “how’d it go?” 

“Fine. She’s on track. She’ll have a scan next week,” she sniffs. “You made a mess in here.” 

“The kids are bored. It’s too cold to go outside,” he grumbles. 

“As long as I’m not the one cleaning it up,” she tuts. 

“Love you too, honey,” Steve says dryly.  

“Got enough to worry about with the baby...” she mutters, “I’m thinking of sending out a card as an announcement.” 

“Ann, really? No one cares about a third kid,” he chuckles. 

“I care,” she snips. “Aren’t you excited?” 

“Of course I am. I just don’t see why it needs to be a whole broadcast.” 

You shrink away from their argument as the children give pause at their parents’ tones. They might be young but there’s an obvious tension there. You don’t dare interrupt. 

“It’s a big deal,” she growls. “It’s almost dinner time. Did you take out the chicken like I asked?” 

“I promised the kids pizza. Figured we’d order.” 

“Pizza? It’s so expensive these day--” 

A knock cuts her off and she winces. She huffs and shakes her head. “Busy day.” 

“Could be Jeff. He borrowed my drill.” 

“Tell him to keep it,” she ignores the door and struts back down the hall. “You never use it anyway.” 

You flatten yourself against the wall to let her pass. You stare up the stairs, wondering if you should just go and hide. When they need you, they’ll find you. 

“Get the door, will ya, sweetie?” Steve says. 

You hesitate. That’s all you are these days. A thing to be used. You’re not a person to them. Just a means to an end. You nod. 

You go down the hall to the door. You’re nervous. You don’t like strangers. You’ve had enough of them for the day. All those nurses poking and prodding and preening over that thing inside of you. 

Just get it over with. You make yourself open the door. 

Before you can say a word, you’re name whispers with the wind. You’re seized and pulled into a hug. You barely catch a glimpse before the woman has you in her arms. You can smell her. She always smells of cinnamon. 

“You’re alive,” she says. “Oh my god, you’re alive.” 

“Huh?” You wriggle in confusion, “Amber?” 

“I’ve been...” she loosens her hold but keeps her hands on your arms. “I’ve been looking for you. All these months. I’ve been...” her eyes gleam with tears. “I’ve been so afraid.” 

You’re frozen by more than the chill creeping in around her. Something cracks. Like a toothpick between your fingers, you feel it. All those weeks of hiding behind a wall, of telling yourself not to feel, to just get through it. It’s more than her being there, it’s the care and gentleness in her touch. That’s different. 

She lets you go and holds you at arm’s length, “hey, bub, what’s... you okay? Come on, let’s go home.” 

You blink at her. You look around at your eyes burn with a glimmer of tears, “what?” 

“Home, bubba. Please.” 

“Why?” You breathe. 

“Why? Because...” her voice trails off as you sense a shadow behind you. 

You turn as Steve stands in the doorway, his hands on his childrens’ shoulders. His eyes narrow and his jaw squares, “kids, go find your mother.” 

“Daddy?” Avery says. 

He hushes her and nudges them both down the hall. They run up the stairs and he turns to face you. And Amber. You don’t like the way he looks at her. 

“Ah, took you long enough,” he steps up next to her. “Right, dove? She really took her time. Almost like she doesn’t care at all.” 

You look between them, a sinking sensation rising in your chest. “What?” 

You can’t understand any of it. That wall is slowly crumbling. The only protection you have from any of this. The only thing keeping you from destroying yourself. 

“As if you do, doctor!” Amber snaps.  

He snorts, “as far as I have it, I’m the only one who ever tried to help you find her. Thanksgiving wasn’t that long ago, was it? You can’t blame me for your lack of follow up--” 

“Bullshit,” Amber snarls, her tone and words frightening you. “I’ve been searching for months. I’ve been tearing my hair out and you’ve had her all this time. Do you understand what that man’s been doing? He just sits outside my house and--” She throws her hands up, “you’re just like him.” 

“I’m helping this poor woman escape years of abuse and neglect. Neglect of her mental wellbeing, narcissistic abuse, using her to prop yourself up--” 

“I never—she's my sister. I take care of her.” 

“You do, Amber? So where have you been?” Steve chuckles. 

She lunges forward but doesn’t reach Steve as he steps back and she’s caught from behind. Another man stands behind her, his arm hooked around her middle as he restrains her. It’s him, the delivery man. You recognise him now. He was on her Insta. 

“Amb, please, calm down,” he holds onto her, “shhh, come on. Everyone, let’s be calm.” 

His voice alone puts his words into effect. You feel calm. He slowly releases Amber and squeezes her sleeve. He looks between you and Steve.  

Steve grabs your wrist and pulls you behind him, “I should call the police. You’re disturbing my family--” 

“She’s my family,” Amber growls. “Bub, please, come home.” 

“This doesn’t have to be hostile,” the other man says. “We came here to bring her sister home. That’s all.” 

“She is home--” 

“Ask her,” Amber cries out. “Look at her. I know she wants to come home. Right, bubba? Ask her. Ask. Her.” Amber’s close to tears as she begs, “please. Listen to her. Why does no one listen to her?” 

The words hit you like a punch in the gut. She’s right. No one listens, not if you don’t say what they want. No one but her. Your sister. The only person you ever had. The one who kept you behind her when your mother was having one of her fits, the one who told you to lock the door when the screaming got loud, the one who held you even when it hurt too much to be touched. 

The one who loves you.  

“Home. I want to go home,” you say and try to push past Steve. He turns and holds you, an arm across your chest. “No, home. With her. Amber--” 

You reach for her but he keeps you from getting to her. Amber extends her arm as you wriggle against the restraint. You stomp your feet and thrash. 

“This isn’t my home!” You holler. “This isn’t--” You’re breathless and dizzy. “Amber, help! Amber!” 

“Let her go, man,” the other man says. He’s taller than Steve. He steps up, filling the doorway. 

“Curtis,” Amber whines. 

“She’s not fit. She’s manic. Having an episode. You don’t understand. She’s in treatment. I’m a doctor--” 

“She says she wants to go.” That man, Curtis, grits through his teeth. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Ann snarls sourly as she comes down the stairs, “there are children in this house.” 

“Shouldn’t be,” Curtis sneers. “The meaning is simple. We came for her, we’re not leaving without her.” 

“And who the fuck are you, pal?” Steve puts himself between you and the door. Ann latches onto your wrist and tugs you back. 

“Let her go!” Amber cries out. 

You twist your wrist free as the room tilts and spins around you. Your head bobbles as you look around at the hazy figures. You back up and turn, racing away from the chaos. You hear your sister wail and that man she’s with snarls. There’s footsteps and a clamour. A mess all around. 

You hurl yourself upwards and stumble over the top step. You’re not thinking, just doing. You burst into the guest room and tear open the drawer in the nightstand. You grab your sweater and your journal and a few random pieces of clothing. You bundle it all up and charge back out. 

“Fuck off of her!” Curtis barks. 

“She’s trespassing,” Steve snarls. 

“Oh, stop it! Stop it!” Ann shrieks, “would you stress a pregnant woman like this? Oh my, oh my!” 

You barrel back down the stairs and stop at the bottom. You look at Ann as she touches her stomach. You curl your lip and the realisation startles on you. Locking you up in the room, not letting you out front, keeping you inside all day long... 

“What is all that?” She turns on you. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

“Come on, bub,” Amber shouts as Ann grabs your ear. “Let her go, you bitch!” 

Steve slips in his socks as he tries to hold her back. He flies back as Curtis throws him into the wall and stomps forward. Ann cries out and cowers away as the sting of her pinch throbs in the shell of your ear. 

“Shoes,” Curtis snarls, “go get em.” 

You look down as he glances at your feet. He turns back and grabs Steve by the back of his sweater and drags him away from Amber. He spins him by the shoulder and pins him to the wall. He snaps his fingers. 

“Amb, help her find her shoes.” 

Amber squeezes by and Ann moves toward you. Your sister puts her arm across you and steps up to the other woman. 

“Touch her again and I’ll rip your pretty hair out,” Amber lurches as if she might actually do it. Ann shies away with a screech. 

“Please, please, don’t hurt me,” she keeps her hand on her stomach, “you wouldn’t hurt a pregnant woman.” 

You shrink away and scuttle down the hall to the mat by the garage. You bend down the back of your sneakers as you step into them. You come back as Ann sobs. 

“Oh, please, we were only helping her,” she rocks against the wall. “Please, don’t hurt my husband. Steve, baby, are you okay?” 

“Fucking take her,” Steve shoves Curtis off of him as he kicks his foot into the wall. “She’s broken anyway. Can’t fix that.” 

Curtis staggers a single step and tilts his head dangerously. His hand balls to a fist. “That’s fucked up, doctor.” 

“Curt,” Amber puts her arm around your shoulders and ushers you forward, “let’s just go.” 

“Yeah, fucking run like you do from everything, Dove. Isn’t that how it goes?” Steve snarls. 

You stop beside him and waver. Amber stops too. You look at her and nod. You pull away and she lets you go. You face Steve with watery eyes. 

“You’re evil. I hate you.” You say. “You don’t deserve those children. Or mine.” 

His eyes flare and he stands straight. Curtis looms and you turn away. You walk forward and Amber follows. You don’t look back. You can’t. You’re going home. 

[avonne-writes]

Oh my gosh happy early birthday Avonne!!!

Could I request: [ CARE ] sender nurses a sick / injured receiver🥰🥰

Thank you so much, dear! ❤️ it took me a few weeks, but here it is at last. Although I'm usually wary of a/b/o, I was hit by an idea that I had to explore, I hope you like it 😊

~

When Gale shuffles out of their bedroom that morning, scratching at his chest sleepily, the smell of scrambled eggs hits him from the kitchen and he finds himself suddenly, violently sick. He rushes to the bathroom as bitter bile floods his mouth. He barely makes it inside, but there’s no holding it back - he throws up into their toilet.

The noises he makes sound terrible even to his own ears, so he isn’t surprised when Bucky appears at his side as if summoned.

"Shit." Bucky cringes as Gale shakes and clutches at the ceramic. He’s in a 'kiss the cook' apron and sweatpants that must be Gale's because they're too tight at the waist. "Let me get you some water."

Gale wants to tell him that it's pointless at the moment, but he’s too busy puking his guts out. Bucky kneels beside him and rubs his back through it, his big, warm palm soothing despite Gale's misery. He strokes Gale's hair away from his forehead and shushes him comfortingly.

There’s nothing else he can do. But it's nice to have his mate there. Before Bucky, Gale never really had anyone take care of him like this.

When the nausea finally subsides, he sits back on his haunches and lets Bucky wipe his face with a soft towel. He rinses his mouth, then takes a sip of the glass of water Bucky presses to his lips.

"Thanks." He mumbles when Bucky starts stroking his back again. He can tell that Bucky's trying to put out calming pheromones. To some extent, it works, because the ache in Gale's stomach settles to a gentler ebb and flow.

His body begins to relax. He rinses his mouth again, then puts the glass down. His hands are still trembling, but that starts to subside too when Bucky gathers them between his palms to hold and caress Gale's skin.

"Only plain toast for you this morning." He tells Gale with a lopsided smile. "Pity, 'cause I was gonna spoil you with my Michelin-level breakfast."

When Gale thinks of those eggs, he feels his stomach roil again. He squeezes his eyes shut to fight it. "Must have eaten something bad."

Bucky hums in thought, combing Gale's sweaty hair with his fingers. "Or maybe you got it from me."

"What do you mean?" Gale asks as he’s pulled forward into Bucky’s embrace, Bucky’s neck bared for him to let him scent to help with his nausea. Grateful, he presses his nose to Bucky's pulse point and takes a long inhale. He smells sweet and content. Like home.

"Huh. You don’t smell sick though." Bucky muses as he scents Gale in turn. He draws his hand up and down Gale's back gently. "Still, I bet you five bucks it's the same stomach bug I had at work."

"What stomach bug?" Gale asks more insistently, pressing himself closer. His mate's scent is so comforting and warm, even more so than usual - he wants to get high on it to forget the pain still rolling in his belly.

"I didn’t wanna worry you with it." Bucky starts, and when he shrugs, the tip of Gale’s nose rubs right against his scent gland. Gale’s eyes fly open. "I threw up at work a few times this week but it always kinda went away immediately. I'm all good now."

Bucky pulls back and gives him a rueful look. "Should have figured I'd give it to you."

Beyond the smell of sickness and cleaning products and the lingering waft of scrambled eggs, Gale can feel it now. It’s everywhere. Now that he quite literally buried his face in it, he can’t ignore it, can’t put it out of his mind - the delicate, trickling sweetness of new life. A heady, content shift in the essence of Bucky's fragrance, underlying all of his emotions. Gale has been around enough pregnant people in his life to recognize it.

A baby.

Bucky snorts in amusement, mistaking Gale's wide-eyed stare for worry. "Told you, Buck." He stands and pats the small curve of his belly. "Fit as a fiddle. I could drink Curt under the table."

Gale whimpers. "Please don’t."

Bucky extends his arms to help him up, completely oblivious. He steadies Gale with an arm around his waist. "I know you're really sick when you don’t roll with the joke."

Gale swallows against the tumultous emotions swirling in him and takes another deep breath as Bucky guides him to the couch. The scent follows them.

It’s not just an illusion.

He's going to be a dad.

[slightlygaywritesslightlytoomuch]

Olivia Benson x fem!Reader

FREE PALESTINE

ANGST

Masterlist

(Credit to the owner)

The precinct lights cast a sickly yellow glow on your face as you slumped back in your chair. The file lay open on your desk, its stark details screaming at you. 10-year-old girl, missing for two days, possible abduction. The picture of the little girl, bright smile and eyes full of life, mirrored your own sister's at that age. A wave of nausea washed over you, bile rising in your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing it away.

Olivia found you like that, head buried in your arms, the silence in the normally bustling squad room a dead giveaway. Concern etched lines on her forehead as she knelt beside you, her hand brushing against yours hesitantly. You flinched at the contact, the dam finally breaking.

"Hey," she murmured, her voice laced with worry. "What's wrong?"

You looked up, vision blurred with tears. The words came out in a broken whisper, "It's Sarah. The case, it's Sarah."

Olivia's brow furrowed. Sarah was your younger sister, the sunshine to your storm. You rarely spoke of her at work, preferring to keep your personal life separate. But this, this case ripped through those carefully constructed walls, leaving you raw and exposed.

She pulled you into a hug, your trembling form a stark contrast to her steady embrace. The familiar scent of her vanilla perfume and leather jacket did little to ease the storm raging inside you. You clung to her, burying your face in her shoulder, tears soaking the fabric of her uniform.

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice a soothing balm. "Let it out."

You didn't hold back. The image of the missing girl, so like Sarah, the fear of what she might be going through, the helplessness that clawed at your insides – it all came pouring out in a torrent of choked sobs. Olivia held you tight, a silent pillar of strength amidst the wreckage of your emotions.

When the last sob subsided, leaving you drained and shaky, she pulled back, wiping away the tears that streamed down your face with her thumbs. Her green eyes held a depth of tenderness that both soothed and ached.

"You don't have to pretend to be okay," she said softly. "We'll find her. We always do."

The unwavering certainty in her voice offered a sliver of hope. But the memory of countless cases with less fortunate endings loomed large.

The ride home was a blur. Olivia drove in silence, her hand resting on yours in a comforting gesture. You stole a glance at her profile, the strain etched on her face mirroring your own.

Once inside your apartment, the weight of the day truly hit you. You collapsed onto the couch, burying your face in the cushions. A choked sob escaped your lips.

Olivia knelt before you, her hand cupping your cheek. Her touch was gentle, a silent question in her eyes. You looked up, the raw vulnerability in your gaze a stark contrast to your usual stoicism.

"I can't," you whispered, voice thick with emotion. "What if we don't find her? What if..."

Olivia didn't let you finish. She pulled you close, cradling you in her arms. You melted into her embrace, the familiar scent and warmth a grounding force amidst the chaos.

"We will," she said fiercely, her voice a promise. "We always do everything we can. But it's okay not to be okay. You don't have to carry this alone."

You clung to her, the sound of her steady heartbeat a lighthouse in the storm. Tears streamed down your face again, a mixture of grief, fear, and a sliver of hope rekindled by her unwavering support.

As the minutes ticked by, your sobs subsided into sniffles. Olivia remained by your side, a silent pillar of strength. When you finally pulled back, your eyes red-rimmed but a flicker of determination returning, she brushed a stray tear from your cheek.

"We'll get some rest," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "And tomorrow, we fight like hell to bring that little girl home."

You nodded, a newfound resolve settling in your gut. The case wouldn't be easy, the path ahead uncertain. But with Olivia by your side, a love that had weathered countless storms, you knew you could face anything.

Later that night, as you lay curled up beside Olivia, the weight of the day finally lifted. The gentle rise and fall of her chest lulled you into a restless sleep, haunted by flashes of the missing girl's face and your sister's bright smile.

The following days were a blur of activity. You and Olivia dove headfirst into the case, chasing down leads, interviewing witnesses, the urgency to find the missing girl a constant

[pixie-in-a-moonlantern]

F/M Durgetash one-shot I birthed within a single day. Dead Dove: I don't like Gortash (hence the title), but I do find him mysteriously, annoyingly attractive. Couldn't get him out of my head - so I tried, the best way I knew how - by writing a fic xD. I hope you like it, but it's not essential to my wellbeing, I just really needed to get this off my chest. But it's been fun, so hopefully you'll have fun too.

Explicit 18+, F/M, Enver Gortash / The Dark Urge (old name Talas, new name Nara, some half-elf or other, unimportant), rough sex, cunnilingus, p in v, creampie, some emotional trauma, light stabbing/cutting with a dagger, a bit of aftercare in the form of bathing together.

Yes, Gortash bathes in this story. TWICE. He really needs it :P.

I Don't Like You

01 - Brain worms having a field day.

The night is slowly creeping in, but I’m in no state of mind to sleep. I pace and I rake my hair and I groan. My friends are watching me with concern in their eyes. I can’t blame them—I must look like a lunatic, more so than usually.

I feel like I’m going insane and for a whole new set of reasons than before.

What were we?

Gortash got into my head and now he’s refusing to leave. Was he just trying to mess with me? Did he notice the unmasked disdain in my face and decide to make my skin crawl in revenge? He must know I only have red fog in my brain where my past should be. And he looks just like the kind of man who would lie about it to make me nauseated. No way I’ve ever let those grubby hands touch me.

Yet…

I can hardly admit it to myself, but nausea is not the full extent of my reaction. I feel as if my own body knows this man. My memory is still a blank page, but something in me recognizes him. Something primal. Something hungry.

The urges I’ve been having since meeting Gortash have very little to do with Bhaal.

“Honeymuffin, are you still not ready for bed?”

I hear Halsin’s soothing voice and immediately feel myself relaxing. I turn to him, grateful for the distraction. He’s only dressed in his underpants and the sight of his bushy chest hits a dirty note.

I ignore his question and just press into him, kissing his gentle lips with ferociousness he hasn’t experienced from me yet. He’s responsive and gives in for a few seconds, but then chuckles into my mouth and drags me off of him by the shoulders to inspect me.

“What has gotten into you, my love?”

I groan, freeing myself from his grip. I always appreciate how sensitive he is to my moods and thoughts, but right now, I would die of embarrassment if someone actually found out what’s running through my head.

“I’m just irritated,” I lie through my teeth. “Gortash is one annoying son of a bitch. I hate that we have to pretend to work with him. ‘Notice the way he just kept us there under the threat of violence, to witness his sham of an inauguration? After everything he said about wanting to be partners? Ugh, I could just…” My fists close of their own accord, crushing the imaginary windpipe.

Halsin chuckles again and runs a calloused palm softly along my jaw in a comforting gesture.

“I know, Nara, I know,” he grumbles low, pulling me into a hug. “He irked me, as well. He isn’t worth the stress, though. Let’s sleep. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

But I can’t sleep. Once Halsin goes into his trance, it’s like he’s not here to hold me together anymore. I toss and turn. I grit my teeth. I grunt and pull on my hair. I try to silence my thoughts with a pillow over my head. It’s no use. I know what I have to do to get some peace of mind.

I get up as quietly as I possibly can. I don’t bother changing—I don’t plan to impress anyone. I just take a small dagger and throw a cloak over my shoulders, so I can hide in the shadows more easily, and sneak out of the inn.

I’m going to make him tell me the truth.

02 - Urge! But not to kill.

Getting into the Wyrmrock is laughably easy. I know the guards would just let me pass, but there’s no way in the Nine Hells I would embarrass myself like that. Little ol’ me going to see “Lord” Gortash in my casual clothes in the middle of the night—what a delicious story for the Baldur’s Mouth it would make. So I utilize every last muscle memory from the past I don’t remember, slipping in completely undetected.

He’s in the throne room, but not sitting on the damned thing. The main section is drowning in darkness, but I see a sliver of light coming from behind the door to one of the adjacent rooms. A study, maybe?

I almost trigger one of the traps as I’m sneaking towards him. There are Steel Watch still stationed around the room, but they appear less than attentive this time. Do they have some sort of down time? Or did Gortash put them in do-not-disturb mode?

I’m trying to not get myself executed, so I push down the instinct to grip the dagger I’m hiding under the cloak. If he wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have made such theatrics to gain my cooperation this morning. The question of whether I wanted him dead remains to be answered.

I take a quiet peek into the warmly lit room and suppress a whistle. It’s a study alright, but one Gortash seems to be using as an apartment—a wide, comfortable, richly adorned bed stands next to his desk, draped in red silk. He’s not in it, though—he sits by the desk, bent over a document, clad only in what looks like a bathrobe.

I try to filter myself through the crack in the door, but the stupid hinges creak so loud I gasp and just inelegantly stumble inside.

Gortash jumps off his chair and twirls around, body taut, eyes alert, a quill in his left hand held like a weapon, the other hand ready to shove the metal claws of his fancy gold netherstone-adorned gauntlet into someone’s eye. I grit my teeth and consider pulling out the dagger—but the second his gaze lands on me, he straightens and lets out a half relieved, half amused chortle.

“Sneaking up on me again?” He shakes his shaggy head. “Are Bhaalists simply unable to set up a meeting, like the rest of us?”

I open my mouth, a scathing comeback ready, but as soon as I let the air in the room in, I’m stunned. There’s a distinct fragrance of soap and perfume, a freshness that only comes from thoroughly scrubbing yourself clean, and, among them, the unmistakable scent of him. The musk that speaks directly to the undamaged parts of my brain.

I can’t believe how clean Gortash looks now. He evidently didn’t plan on any public appearances this late at night, so even his hair is not styled into spikes anymore and it’s just messily sticking out in natural directions, still a little damp from the bath. Funny—he didn’t think to wash before his big inauguration, but he washed now, when no one important is scheduled to see him?

He takes my silence as an opportunity to speak more, instead of waiting for an answer. He tilts his head, gaze slowly gliding down my body, and smirks.

“Shouldn’t you be curled on your bed next to the enormous druid, sleeping soundly? Wouldn’t he be oh so hurt if he knew you were seeking another man’s company?”

“What the fuck would you know?” I snap, his tone setting off a charge of anger inside me. “You don’t know him. Hells, you don’t know me! You don’t get to make snarky remarks about my enormous druid.”

Gortash cackles quietly and puts up his hands in a calming gesture.

“Of course I don’t.” His smirk deepens, his eyes studying my face. “But trust me, kitten. No one…” he takes a seductive little step towards me, “knows you like I do.”

“I doubt that,” I rasp barely audibly, a lump forming in my throat. My guts clench, breath shortening in panic. It’s all just an elaborate joke, I’m sure… but it feels so familiar.

“You really don’t remember,” he quips softly, as if to himself, and I can hear a hint of disappointment in his tone.

“What were we, Gortash?” I whisper, voice quivering on the cusp of a mental breakdown.

He stares at me, chewing his cheek, and his answer is a single word: “Enver.”

“What?” I scowl, anger rising again.

“My name,” he reminds me quietly. “You used to call me Enver, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me pet names, Gortash,” I force through my teeth. “Whatever you dreamed was between us, it’s most definitely not there anymore.”

“Alright.” He presses his lips together in annoyance, but steps closer, eyes radiating something close to malice. I gulp, my hand curling into a fist, pressing to the hilt at my hip. “I won’t call you kitten, or love, or sweetheart. Those were all just words I used to tease you with.” Drawling, stretching his words, he hovers above me. “But I have earned the right to call you Talas.”

That makes me pause and I just blink at him blankly for a second. “Who’s that?”

Genuine shock colors his face. He takes a step back, mouth agape. “That you don’t remember my name, I would understand. But how do you not remember your own?”

“Because someone caved my head in, trying to kill me!” I scream, suddenly overflowing with something I haven’t felt for a while: self-pity. I feel tears prickle in my eyes and that just makes me want to yell louder. “Because someone took everything from me. And where the fuck were you when I was bleeding out into the dirt?! If you were such a shitty partner, why in the Hells did I even bother with you?”

Gortash’s features softened, pain and regret gleaming in his eyes.

“I wasn’t your keeper, Talas,” he countered. “You were always an independent force, often off on business I had no say in. But when you didn’t come back one day, I searched for you.” His eyebrows join in a pleading line. “I searched for you with every bit of resources I could spare. Then Orin muscled in on our plot and made me stop under the threat of unraveling the whole thing. I accepted you as a loss… but I mourned for a long time.”

His words eat their way into my chest like acid. I don’t want to believe a single one, but something in me knows it’s the truth.

“Don’t tell me you loved me,” I hiss. “You don’t strike me as a man who allows himself such weaknesses.”

He smirks and I bristle. I knew it. Liar!

“Love is for children,” he chuckles. “We had something much more precious. We made a great team. Your monstrosity and mine were in perfect harmony. No one understood me like you did. No one encouraged my every exploit like you did. You were such a horrible influence on me,” he purrs, his eyes half closed. “Delicious. Deplorable. Delightful.”

I gulp and shiver under the intensity of his gaze. It feels like he’s undressing me with his eyes and I can’t decide how I feel about it. I want to be disgusted, but that knot low in my belly has a different agenda. Without remembering a single minute of knowing him, my body knows it used to crave this man’s attention.

He extends his unclawed hand to me and grazes my skin. It burns and it tickles and it sends powerful signals all over my nervous system. But this is not what I want. It can’t be.

Quick as lightning, I pull my dagger out and press it to his neck in warning.

“Don’t. Touch. Me,” I filter through my teeth.

He catches my wrist quicker than I would’ve given him credit for. Instead of pulling it away, though, he presses the blade closer, almost cutting into himself. I gasp in shock, struggling against his strength. His dead eyes flicker to life, ablaze with desire.

“There she is,” he whispers almost breathlessly, biting his lip. “You seem so different… but I knew my pet monster was somewhere in there.”

“I’m nothing of yours,” I force through my dried throat, my voice failing me.

Suddenly, he moves my hand away from his neck, only to press my white-knuckled fist to his lips in a kiss. My whole body responds, buzzing in approval. “You don’t mean that,” he teases, his hot breath tickling the spot he kissed.

“Don’t do that,” I breathe out, a lump forming in my throat, making my voice sound funny.

He pulls my wrist to his mouth and licks it with a quick flick before his teeth start to nibble on the sensitive skin, sending shockwaves of ecstasy down my arm.

“Stop it,” I beg, the command I meant to utter melting into a pathetic mewl.

I twist and try to get away for a second or two, but he keeps moving lower and lower, licking, sucking, biting, and every last defense I had crumbles into ashes. It doesn’t matter that I’m someone else now. It doesn’t matter that I would never consciously and honestly team up with him again. It doesn’t matter what I think of him or what I believe he deserves.

I never had a chance. My body knows him, my body craves him. He’s like a drug addiction I never quite shook, and at the slightest sweet taste I relapse right back into him.

03 - A master. A slave.

He pulls me in, mouth still hungrily devouring my arm inch by inch, while his free hand frantically unties my cloak, revealing my simple shirt and long skirt underneath.

“You used to wear fancier things.” He side-eyes my clothing, not letting it distract him from my skin too much. “And would get mad when I tore them to shreds. This is perfect.”

My sluggish thoughts haven’t even begun to analyze the meaning in his words when he presses me flush to his chest, moving from nibbling on my shoulder to assaulting my mouth. I gasp for the breath he keeps stealing with every touch, but let him surround me and trap me with his body. I feel his desperate need mirroring my own. His taste is surprisingly sweet, with just a hint of hot spice.

“No,” I manage to mumble through our locked lips, grasping at the last straws of control. My hand is finally free—I try stabbing him in the crook of his neck. He yelps and groans, but my muscles are so useless I’ve barely scratched him. A thin streak of blood trickles out of the cut, marring the delicate fabric of his robe.

“You thought that would stop me?” he purrs, pulling the robe off his body. “Your knives left more than one scar on me. It was our thing.”

I stare at his muscly, hairy chest, mute. I see scars on his torso, criss-crossing his skin like a crude carving. That couldn’t be my doing… But the metallic scent of his blood sends a new sort of excitement through me. I know it’s my Urge, I know it’s not really me, but my will is weakened. My hand raises and cuts him again—just a little, but enough to satisfy the craving.

“Your body remembers,” he whispers into my ear, standing my hair on their ends.

His gloved hand caresses my arm and shoulder and closes around my throat. I gasp in panic, or I think I do, but heat pools in my lower regions in response. He presses a touch harder; his gold ornaments are digging into my skin, claws pinching my nape and my head is starting to swim with lack of oxygen. My fingers wrap around his wrist, but for some reason I don’t pull him away.

“Every time you hurt me, I will hurt you back,” he promises in a sweet, sin-filled voice. “Call it our love language.”

He lets go of my neck, hands roughly gripping my waist instead. He twirls us around and sits me on top of his desk. I fumble to find balance and end up sending his documents, ink and quills all over the floor. Instead of complaining, he eagerly swipes the rest of the items off the surface and pushes me down on my back.

The panic it triggers gives me back a chunk of my reason. Instead of letting him, I fight back, clawing at his bare chest with my nails and my dagger, leaving bloody gashes over his skin.

His head lulls back for a moment, which makes me realize I’m not helping at all. He’s enjoying the pain I give him. He takes fistfuls of my shirt and bends down to bite my shoulder—hard. I yelp, reaching into his hair to pull him away, but he’s already ripping clothes off of my torso, baring my skin, spilling my breasts.

“You are even more magnificent than I remember,” he rasps, grazing my curves with his gaze alone. The reverent look on his face sets my loins on fire.

I’m beginning to understand how I could’ve let him so close to me. A young, confused little thing, raised in worship of the Lord of Murder, would have no idea what love looks like. I’m still learning and stumbling, despite Halsin’s best efforts. A man who could make her feel so beautiful, so wanted among all the blood and death… such a man would have had the key to her rotten little heart.

I’m not that girl anymore. But I know that feeling. Its draw is familiar and powerful. My hands let go of his hair and fall next to my head, letting him run his rough palms across my chest and knead the pliant shape of my breasts.

His teeth close around one of my nipples and press just hard enough to shoot a barbed string of ecstasy directly to my sex. I muffle the moan with my hands. I can’t just let him win like that. I’m not doing this because I’m easy. I’m doing it so I don’t go insane.

“I missed this,” Gortash drawls, his lips and tongue making slow circles on my chest. “I missed you.” He bites into my flesh, gently, teasingly, while his hand slowly moves towards my sex. “In all your glory, Talas.”

“Stop calling me that,” I protest weakly, but he just chuckles and continues lower, and lower.

“You may not remember me,” he breathes on my folds, shamefully wet and wanton, “but I remember everything about you.”

And he dives between my thighs like a man who’s been starving and now can finally eat.

I gasp loudly, my hands instinctively grasping for something to hold onto—his hair. My legs twitch and wrap around him. I’m half worried I’m killing him, but he gives no indication of discomfort. His mouth is making the most intimidatingly dirty noises I’ve ever heard and I’m melting on his face.

All it takes him is a few minutes, stretched impossibly long in my damaged mind. I swallow the urge to scream and just grunt, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He looks up from my lap, slick and gasping for breath, and smirks smugly. He knows I enjoyed it, no use hiding it.

He picks his robe off the floor and wipes his face, still watching me. My brain is too hazy to worry about the way I’m splayed on his desk, eaten out, undone. He props himself above me and studies my face.

“This is your most beautiful look,” he sighs, taking in the flush of my cheeks, the sweat glistening on my brow and the mess I made of my hair. “Precious little Bhaal-babe.”

I’m still coming down from the high when I feel him slip inside me. I distantly realize I should’ve gathered enough wit to stop him, but it’s too late. I squeeze around him in welcome and let out a long and thoroughly embarrassing moan. He matches me, closing his eyes.

“You still fit me like a glove.”

He’s so right. I live for the delicious stretch of Halsin’s gentle, loving thrusts—it’s the only sex I remember having, but I would kill for more—but this… Gortash feels like he was tailored specifically for me. My body knows his shape, just as it knows his touch. It’s like coming home after a long time and finding your old room exactly as you left it.

“Oh gods, I really do,” I groan as he lazily moves inside, savoring each stroke.

I wrap my legs around his waist and just enjoy the sensation, closing my eyes to ignore his intimate gaze for the sake of my sanity. If he’s trying to make me fall for him again, he’s as out of his mind as I am.

Clearly getting bored of the slow pace, he pulls me up and plops me back down on my belly. I’m too weak and needy to issue a protest, I just whine at the unexpected and unwelcome absence of him. He silences my discontent with a firm thrust that makes me gasp and clutch the edges of the desk so hard my knuckles turn white again.

“I know you love this one,” he purrs and presses my legs together with his own. “Sometimes you like to be in control. Other times you like to be controlled. You were the most fun I’ve ever had with anyone.”

I let out a growl at him mentioning his other partners while balls-deep in me. Perhaps he didn’t really want me back. Maybe he just missed the “fun”.

“You’re also the only one who made me consider settling down, Talas,” he continues as if he understood very well why his words upset me. “I wanted to breed you and watch you teach the little runt how to gut people.”

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” I sputter, miraculously finding enough ire to at least issue a warning, while still being happily pinned under him.

He chuckles. “Your response is still the same. Last time it was Daddy dearest… but you changed your mind about doing his bidding. Is Halsin aware you’re not going to give him a litter of cubs one day as he might hope?”

I don’t know how he even learned all these things about me, but I don’t care much. I grab the dagger left forgotten on the desk next to me and jam the blade into his thigh. Not deep enough to cripple, but definitely causing a lot of pain.

Gortash lets out a strangled scream, which mixes with a moan of pleasure not two seconds later. Fuck. I didn’t mean for him to like it.

What he does next pushes all irrelevant thoughts out of my head: he grabs my hair and yanks hard, pulling my head back, making my little cry sound ever more pathetic. His free hand digs fingers into my hip, holding me steady as he begins pounding into me with force.

I just open my mouth mutely, gasping for air, my eyes filling with tears. My brain turns into mush under the intensity of sensations he’s sending through my tortured body. I can’t see, I can’t speak, I can’t think. I hear a high-pitched whine through the mist around me… and I realize it’s mine. I’m screaming, lost in the sweet place between pain and complete ecstasy.

I spasm around his length so hard I can hear him gasp as well. My whole body shakes and curls into itself, a shaking, sweaty, moaning mess writhing on the cool polished wood of the desk. I can feel him swell within me, hot and ready, and I know he’s coming too—still inside me.

But I don’t care. I want it. Whatever he might hope to gain from it, I know I’m safe.

Instead of going slack like a good boy, he pulls out and flips me on my back again. He holds my legs spread, admiring what he did to me. I feel his seed leak out of me and drip to the floor. He smiles contently, dragging a fingertip across my clit, drawing out every last twitch my muscles are willing to give.

“This could be us every day,” he says softly. “Think about it.”

I don’t have an answer he would like, but he doesn’t wait for one. He picks me up in the most unexpectedly gentle way and carries me to the other side of the room. I thought he was putting me on the bed, either to sleep, cuddle or continue blissfully torturing me, but my breath hitches in surprise when he suddenly dips me into warm water. I slip into a roomy bathtub, blinking in confusion.

My brain needs a minute to restart, so I just watch him get inside with me, sitting me in his lap, cradling me. I don’t have the strength to protest. I just watch the little pinkish streaks, as water begins to wash out his wounds.

04 - This is why we can’t have nice things.

“How did you have this ready? Do you have invisible servants or something?”

Gortash chuckles and I vibrate along on his chest, making frantic little waves on the surface.

“The miracle of technology, Talas. My desk has a few convenient buttons and this tub fills and warms up automatically. I pressed one before we began.”

Well, that is convenient. I’m not sure if I want to be in this bath with him now, but it sure feels good on my exhausted muscles and aching sex. His arms around me feel nice, too, as much as I hate admitting it. I can hate a person and still enjoy their closeness, right? Right?

His hands caress me under the water and I let them.

“Good to know you bathe with your gauntlets on,” I quip, noticing the distinctive feel of metal against my skin.

He pulls his right hand up and turns it from one side to the other, letting the gold reflect the glimmer of flames in the nearby fireplace. The netherstone pulses with its own light, alive and tempting as the power it holds.

“While I’m more than happy to entertain you, I’m not letting my most prized possession just lie around for you to steal,” he smirks and I turn my head to have a better look at him, honestly impressed. “You changed. Your goals inevitably changed, too. I don’t trust you anymore, Talas.” He runs a soft finger along my jaw, dropping to the line of my neck and to my clavicle. I shiver, even submerged in warmth, too tired to correct the name this time. “If you want it for yourself, you’re going to have to kill me.”

I give him an evaluating once-over; then my eyes move to the dagger I left on the desk. His gaze follows mine and his smirk stretches more.

“Just keep in mind that those Steel Watchers outside will only take about ten seconds to join us. And even you, my dear, don’t have the skill to defeat them all naked and unarmed to get out of here alive.” His fingers trace the shape of my lips. “I would hate it if something happened to you before I had the chance to win you over.”

“You’re so full of shit, Gortash,” I sigh, laying my head in the crook of his neck. I feel too lazy to murder anyone right now, anyway. “You sent me to hunt Orin down and told me to not come back without her stone. You expect me to believe you actually give a fuck about me and care what I think about you? I’m here against your explicit orders, your lordship.”

“You came to see me surrounded by your new friends,” he grumbles and I finally hear discontent in his voice. “In the company of your new lover. What did you think I would do, fall on my knees in front of all my esteemed guests and your openly hostile troupe and beg you to come back to me?”

“Hmm, so your excuse is your pride?” I sneer. “I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth, no matter how trustworthy you somehow manage to sound. I only agreed to your deal because you didn’t give me any better choice. Karlach was furious. She wants you dead oh so very much. She gets really graphic, describing how she wants to kill you. You’re lucky I didn’t bring her along.”

Gortash groans and pinches the root of his nose.

“The company you keep nowadays,” he chides. “No wonder you changed so much. Every one of those bloody soft-hearted idiots putting their own opinions in your emptied mind.”

“When that’s what you wanted to do.” I nod in mock commiseration.

“I want us to be partners,” he scowls, tone wounded. “Equals. Sharing the power over the whole world. The Lord is only a part for me to play in public, while you reign over your own murderous kingdom from the shadows, unobstructed by law, unhindered by so-called heroes trying to stop you. We can have everything we’ve ever wanted. Together.”

I can’t believe how tempting he sounds right now. I close my eyes, letting my Urge surface just enough to enjoy the pure simplicity of the world he describes. I could let go. I could stop fighting for every sliver of free will. I could bathe in blood and have people worship my god through me. The Urge would be sated—I could feel the sweet rush of ecstasy from killing without worrying I might hurt someone close to me.

I would be lying if I said this vision of the future never crossed my mind. It’s an everyday struggle, trying to stay good, trying to do only good. A struggle I’m inevitably going to lose if my Urge grows in intensity for much longer. Killing Halsin. Or Lae’zel. Or Gale. The death of anyone in my camp—by my hand—would break me.

I care too much. Sometimes I imagine what it would feel like if I didn’t care at all.

“You would never tolerate any of my friends by my side, Gortash,” I say flatly. “If you really do want me, you want me all to yourself. Isolated, depending only on you. Malleable. So that if—gods forbid—I disagree with you, you could push all the right buttons and get me to change my mind, with no one to challenge your influence over me.”

I don’t know how, but I know it’s true. It’s what all people drunk on power do. The more powerless they feel without it, the more they enjoy any sliver of it they get and abuse the shit out of it. It’s why Gortash wants control over others in the first place. Inside, there’s a small, scared, unloved little boy, whose parents sold him to a devil.

I blink, my heartbeat spiking, as I realize I’ve just recalled a bit of my past—our past. Something I couldn’t have learned since the nautiloid. Was it Gortash himself, who confided in me, or did I discover this piece of history by myself? It feels like something he would keep very close and tell no one, so it wouldn’t damage the lofty image he’s trying to maintain.

“You’re just being paranoid, kitten,” he brushes me off, but his expression is no longer sporting his typical airy easiness. “When we were together, I was your confidant and your strength against the increasing demands of your Father. But you weren’t some impressionable child. You were determined and unyielding. Sharp as your blades.”

Sharp blades. Bhaal. His demands.

A sinking dread begins to fill my guts and I lift off Gortash’s chest to put some distance between us. My brain is still fuzzy, but bits of memories are beginning to float to the surface of my consciousness.

“Bhaal’s grand design,” I say in a shaking voice, “is for everyone to die for him. I was supposed to kill you, and then myself, as the last mortal alive. Did you know?”

Gortash’s eyes round in horror.

“Of course not! What kind of crazy design is that? How would he get any more murders with no one left to die?”

He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to try and carry it out, anyway. Just like mad Orin is probably doing now. What a good little Daddy’s lapdog.

“But that wasn’t what you planned for yourself, was it?” I press, my voice steadying with my increasing certainty. “And so I was suddenly in the way. Just what would it take for you to turn on your closest ally? Is her planning your murder enough?”

“What are you trying to say, Talas?” he hisses, but I can see fear in his eyes.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” I growl, sliding away from him, so I can get out of the bathtub without him catching me. “You tried to kill me! Just so I wouldn’t kill you first.”

I jump to my feet, nearly slipping on the smooth wet surface, but holding my balance well enough to scramble out of the water. He tries grabbing my hand, then my leg, but I slip out of his grasp easily. I throw myself towards the desk and retake possession of my only weapon. By the time he’s out of the tub, I’m already pointing it at his throat.

“Listen to me, Talas—” he puts his hands up in a calming gesture, but I’ve had enough of his smooth words for one night.

“You picked up a fucking rock and you beat me and kicked me and tossed me against stone walls!”

I scream and I’m sure my prevalent feelings are pure rage, but out of nowhere I get ambushed by tears and sobs. My memories are still a mess, but the flashes of my body being beaten to a pulp are vivid and terrifying.

“Talas, please—”

“I bled and begged, and you teased and laughed, as if it was the funniest shit you ever got to do! And now that I’m somehow back, you’re trying to get me to believe your sweet lies, just so I won’t remember what you did to me. But I remember! I REMEMBER!”

I know I sound completely unhinged, but my chest is so filled with a mix of the worst feelings I’ve ever experienced, that it threatens to burst.

“IT WASN’T ME!” Gortash’s volume finally matches mine, making me wince and pause just enough for him to get a word in. “I would never hurt you like that! If I really had to kill you, dearest, I would’ve done it quick and clean. Because I love you, you stupid thing!”

His confession feels like a slap to the face. I didn’t see that coming. My first instinct is to pronounce it as another lie, especially in retrospect to the first time he mentioned love tonight, but my mind finally calms enough to actually think.

A man like him wouldn’t say anything like that if he didn’t mean it. It sounded… pathetic. Baring his soul similarly to revealing his most embarrassing childhood memory, knowing his feelings are unrequited. His pride would never allow him to grovel so much. Not anymore, not when he’s got a taste of actually being respected.

“Please, believe me,” he pleads, breath ragged, eyes wide. “I have no reason to hate you. This sounds like someone who had every reason. Who enjoyed your agony and loved seeing you on your knees. I. Would. Never.”

“But you…” I exhale, confused. I’ve almost had it. I’ve almost found the one responsible for my unfortunate fate. “Then who the fuck did this to me?” I whisper and stifle another sob.

“Please put down the dagger, Talas.” Gortash points at the sharp tip still hovering between his clavicles. I reluctantly lower it. I’m honestly pleasantly surprised he let me threaten him for so long without trying to disarm me. It makes me trust him just a smidge more. “And maybe we can figure it out together.”

“Stop calling me that!” I lash out annoyedly. “My name is Nara now. Deal with it.”

“When you stop calling me Gortash,” he smirks in response, his easy charm back.

I groan, rolling my eyes. “Fine. Enver,” I say begrudgingly, but the name feels much better on my tongue than I expected. I must’ve been used to calling him that, just as he said.

I turn to the desk, intent on putting the weapon back, but I freeze mid-step. A mix of stimuli, a flicker of light, a rustle of the fur rug on the floor, perhaps even a smell… and the memory of my attempted murder clears a bit more.

I see a shiny red surface with an opalescent finish. Hear a rustle of a long braid and the pitter-patter of bare feet on stone. I hear laughter again, but this time I’m not just imagining Gortash’s… Enver’s, I clearly recall a woman’s voice having the time of her life.

“Orin.”

The name falls flatly from my lips. I feel cold dread seep into my soul at the image of her. I never quite understood why she had this effect on me—until now. Even though my memory was coming up empty, she was triggering a post-traumatic response all the same, just like when my body yielded to Enver.

“Hm?”

I turn back, dagger still in my hand. I don’t plan on letting go of it any time soon. Enver watches me warily, with a hint of curiosity in his face.

“It was Orin.”

He frowns at first. Opens his mouth, presumably to defend her. Then closes it again, his features smoothing out.

“It makes sense. She took your place, both in the cult and in the Absolute plot. She wanted you gone. And she really seems to hate you, though I wouldn’t expect her to need any solid reason to kick someone to death. She would happily do it just for fun.”

I close my eyes for a second, but I only need a few gulps of breath to make up my mind. I pick up my torn and discarded clothes off the floor and put them back on, securing them in place as well as possible.

“Where are you going?”

Enver reaches for me and grabs my arm. I toss him a warning glare, but don’t move. He’s still naked and wet from head to toe, he poses virtually no danger to me.

“To hunt,” I answer plainly. “I know a mad bitch that needs killing.”

“Don’t be rash,” he shakes his head, some of the slicked back damp hair falling into his eyes. “You can’t know where she is. Or who she is. She could slaughter your whole camp while you sleep and you’d be left alone to face her. Remember, she is the Slayer now.”

“Well, since we’re counting suspects, she could very well be you,” I give him a wry smile. “But I doubt she would keep going this long, having me all to herself like that, so you’re probably safe.” He doesn’t appreciate my joke, scowling like a jack-o-lantern, concern crumpling his features. “I need to go back to my friends and figure out a way to find her before she does any real damage, Enver. I need to go now.”

He slowly lets go of my arm, letting me finish putting the cloak on.

“No need to sneak through the throne room, by the way,” he notes, watching me hide underneath the wide hood. “The Watch was instructed to let you in. If someone could really just sneak past them like that, I could easily expect Orin in your place. Thankfully, the Watch can spot the difference, with you having a tadpole.”

My eyebrows rise. So that’s why he took that bath? Did he think my unsettled hormones would lead me back to Wyrmrock to see him? I clearly never liked grimy men—and he knows it.

“You were waiting for me?”

“I was hopeful,” he confessed, dropping his gaze for a moment. “I couldn’t risk just inviting you. But at least I made sure you would get in without complications. You always did like to have all the facts.”

I chuckle and shake my head. I still believe at least half of his words are lies and most of the other half are cleverly picked and arranged bits of truth. But now I’m also pretty sure there’s something genuine in him, too. Hidden very deep, surrounded by enemies—but it’s there.

“Be safe, Talas,” he says quietly. “Nara,” he corrects himself, smiling softly. “You have your work cut out for you.”

“I’ll do my best to not disappoint,” I shrug, sheathing my dagger, stepping away.

“And will you at least consider my proposition?” He calls after me when I’m almost out the door. His voice sounds tentative. “That’s all I ask.”

I let my gaze slide down the length of his naked body, weighing my options. Well, consideration really costs me nothing, does it? It’s very unlikely that I will agree to it. I have much better prospects in my scope now—much healthier ones. But the least I can do for him is give it a thought.

“Sure,” I grace him with a little smile. “I will consider it.”

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[sugar-omi]

cove and his pregnant wife!mc where she’s having lots morning sickness and sometimes can’t make it to the bathroom in time and she’s just all upset cause she feels so insecure

and cove just sits there and holds her hair every morning, rubbing her back and cleaning up some of her messes while she just apologizes

and he assures her he doesn’t mind, how she’s stronger than he’ll ever be because he would never be able to carry a baby and still care for everyone in her life and do all the things she does

just some fluff and comfort for a super insecure reader :,))

i enjoyed this idea sm more than i thought so mayhaps i.... got carried away,,,

pls cove w pregnant mc and just dad!cove in general is so GOOD i love him sm, he'd be such an angel w preg!mc let alone as a dad. man i wish we could get a dlc like that id actually scream n i'd never play anything else 👐👐👐

tags : comfort, pregnant fem/afab reader, reader has at least shoulder length hair, 1st trimester, morning sickness (vomiting), insecurities, drabble + hc's

synopsis : your pregnancy is running you through the ringer, cove is here to help you feel better

even when you find out you're pregnant, you're still taking care of so much

you do your usual chores and work / school on top of that

you still do things for cove that he insists he should be doing for you instead

like cove insists on doing all the cooking, or at least the majority so you have a break and can take care of yourself as you and your body goes through this adjustment

or the cleaning- don't even worry about putting the clothes in the washer, he'll do it before he leaves!

of course you tell cove you're pregnant, not incapable and he understands and lessens up but still hangs around in case you need something and does things that makes your day easier

however when you start experiencing bad morning sickness, cove insists on taking over more of the things you do since you're always so drained after spending the night throwing up

the first time it happens its in the middle of the night, around 4am and he wakes up because you're struggling in his arms...

cove grumbles, face pinched as he blinks through blurry vision. "wha..."

you grunt and huff, shoving cove on his back and that makes his eyes go wide as he lays there with his arms open and hanging in the air, as you run to the bathroom.

his shock doesn't last long though when he hears you heaving and he trips on the covers trying to get to you.

cove blinks through blurry vision, not even thinking about his glasses but subconsciously thankful he can at least make it to the bathroom without turning the room upside down.

you're leaned over the toilet bowl, trying to keep your hair out of your face but between throwing up your dinner and wiping your spit away in between waves its a bit hard, especially since you just woke up.

cove sits beside you, gathering your hair in his hands as he leans over you for a hair tie,

and he brushes your bangs off your sweaty forehead.

the ponytail leaves a lot to be desired, but that's something for another day

he starts rubbing your back, massaging your shoulders and placing loving kisses between your shoulder blades while you pant over the bowl, spitting.

it's quiet for a minute, a lucky break before another wave of nausea hits.

you spit and clear your throat before you mumble weakly. "sorry..."

you leave it at that, thoroughly embarrassed and stressed that you pushed cove so roughly earlier and now you're sick like this in front of him.

it doesn't make much sense, you've known each other for more than 15 years so you've seen each other in basically every state possible, especially since you've been married and dating for a good few of those.

cove smiles at you, trying to soothe you visually as well. "its okay, don't apologize about anything."

the next time you throw up, you're taking a nap on the couch and when you wake up you feel very queasy..

before you can do anything more than sit up from the couch, you end up throwing up on the floor.

you clutch your shirt, feeling a bit weak after such a long nap and a rude awakening but you push yourself up from the couch and drag yourself to the kitchen for some paper towels.

it's a bit hard, you're still nauseous and a headache is coming on but you snatch the roll off the counter and make your way back, trying to wipe it up quickly before cove gets back from work. thankfully, it didn't get on the rug, so it shouldn't be a hard clean.

but of course, another wave of nausea comes over you, finally making it to the bathroom this time.

when cove finally comes home and hears you in the bathroom, he puts down the food and flowers he brought home for you and finishes cleaning up for you.

you come out, having brushed your teeth twice before you deemed it good enough to finish the day with for now.

cove smiles at you, having just finished up wiping the floor with a wet rag.

you welcome cove home with a kiss on the cheek, but go on to fret. "you didn't have to clean it up i-" you start choking up a bit. "I could've finished it..."

cove takes you in his arms, seeing that you're starting to get teary eyed. "its okay, I wanna do it for you."

you wrap your arms around him and let his body heat comfort you and his solid arms wrapped so nicely around you helps ground you and calm you down.

"so uh.." cove rubs his arm. "I brought food, I don't know if you want any now but I have flowers too!"

he picks them up from the coffee table and presents them with a sheepish grin, looking for approval.

you smile and take the bouquet.

when cove wakes up in the middle of the night, he finds you crying in the kitchen.

even if you were crying quietly, when he flipped over in bed and realized you weren't there, he immediately got up to find you.

"y/n!"

you startle, surprised to see your husband up.

you start wiping at your tears, although it's fruitless since he's already seen you.

cove puts his hands on your shoulders. "what's wrong? are you okay?"

you nod, affirming that you're physically okay. or well, at least as okay as you can be with all this morning sickness. (why call it morning sickness if you're going to wake up from sleep at 4am and can't even take am afternoon nap without an unpleasant surprise!)

you sniffle, covering your face from cove and turning your body the other way.

you cant face him, you're so overwhelmed..

"y-yeah I just.." you huff, tears of flusteration coming over you again. "I'm so tired of being sick! I can't even sleep without throwing up, and I definitely can't trust myself not to throw up in public!"

you're getting really worked up now, and your hands are waving in the air as you animate your frustration. "I'm just so tired of being pregnant, I hate this.." you sigh, dragging your hands down your face, and you let yourself sick to the ground.

"im excited for the baby, but I'm so over it already..." you curl in on yourself. you feel guilty, as much as you love the new addition to your family already and are looking forward to the new stage of your life, you hate how sick you've been and you hate how cove has to take care of you and clean up after you.

it makes you uncomfortable even though there's love in his actions and you feel it, but it's hard when it feels like there's no end to this..

cove sinks to the floor beside you, pulling you into his lap, and you hide your face in his t-shirt, holding tightly onto his hand.

you sit in silence for a moment as cove thinks about a way to comfort you. he's not good with words, but clearly, that's something you need right now, and even so, he wants you to know just how much he loves you.

"I think you're really brave, and strong y/n..." cove starts carding his fingers through your messy hair.

"I could never carry a baby, and I'm not just saying that." cove laughs light heartedly, "even if I could I'd be way too scared.. but you're doing a really amazing thing, and I wish I could make you feel better."

cove is starting to fret a bit himself, he really wishes he could take everything for himself and make you feel better.

"you've always taken care of me, putting up with me crying all the time, letting me vent about my parents and all the things I struggle with.. you always wait for me, like when we shared a bed for the first time." you both laugh a bit at how much of a fail that was at first.

"and even now, even though you're carrying our baby, you take care of me in any little or big way as you always have." he urges you out of hiding, wiping away a couple of stray tears coming down. "its amazing. you're amazing. i know it's tough, and I wish I could do something more about it..."

cove starts to cry, so it's your turn to laugh and wipe away his tears. he takes your hand on his cheek and leans into your touch. "its my turn to take care of you. okay?"

you nod, still sniffling but this time it's because you're so moved by cove's determination to explain how much he loves and appreciates you.

"cool. now, what do you think about ice cream in bed?"

[valaruakars]

We Have Chemistry (Together)

A bonus chapter/prequel oneshot for Let's Get Physical

Gen || Jayce & Viktor || 3.7k || Modern/College AU || Ao3 Link Tags: Baby frat boy Jayce, developing friendships, misunderstandings, emotional hurt/comfort (shitty), hazing, underage drinking (for us USAmericans), alternating POV, no Beef!Reader today sorry babes

Help is high on the list of what people typically want from Viktor. Usually in class. Sometimes in the elevator beforehand or in the hallway after, or following a light tap on the shoulder in the library. All academic help, strictly speaking. But this wasn't about their lab report.

Sweaty palms, shaky hands—he’s got one shot at this. One phone call. He knows the landline and his mom’s cell by heart, but he can’t call her. Can’t let her see him like this. Can’t think of who the hell else to call—who even memorizes phone numbers anymore?—so maybe he’d better get comfortable with sleeping upright and a permanent wedgie. There are worse things, like the disappointed purse of her lips; the way she sighs and bows her head and makes him wonder if it’s his fault her hair’s already shot through with gray.

Except.

Area code, same as the rest. Dorm number. Cait’s birthday.

He types it out. It looks as familiar on the screen now as the first time he saw that string of numbers, when the coincidences jumped out at him as the patterns in numbers always do. Enough to make an impression, apparently. Just like the person it belongs to.

Who, in all likelihood, won’t be thrilled about this.

But he decides then and there that he’s just desperate enough for normal underwear and his too-firm twin XL bed—and, fuck, there’s a quiz in materials performance first thing in the morning so he really needs the sleep—to hit call.

It rings three times. He feels a hot surge of nausea two in, the rising urge to puke into his purple foam hat. It’s bitter in his throat like those IPAs he didn’t want to drink in the first place, but he’s never been great with peer pressure.

And on the fourth, above the rustling:

“Hello?”

He sounds annoyed.

He usually sounds annoyed, but sometimes Jayce wonders if it’s all in his head, because Viktor’s voice softens when he explains the equations to the girl that sits next to him and snaps her gum too loud and misses every other class. He’s heard it gently ask the professor for a letter of recommendation in the hall after lecture, and lilt into the phone—in what? Russian?—on the bench outside before it. It’s only when Viktor’s talking to him, which is already rare, does it get quick and terse.

But maybe he hears it wrong half the time because there’s part of him that’s been intimidated since day one. That first day of class, when he’d taken the last seat at the front and stuck his hand out to the guy beside him. He was nervous. It felt like the right thing to do. But those egg-yolk eyes had ticked curtly from Jayce’s hand to the professor he’d just introduced himself to, with a detour to his crooked pink bow tie. Maybe it was a little much with the blazer and ironed slacks in sweltering August. And in hindsight, yeah, maybe shaking the professor’s hand and explaining how this class fit into his three year plan was definitely too much, but Jesus fucking Christ *was it also too much to just come out and call him egotistical *for it.

Without even shaking his hand! Who does that?

Really, he’s just trying to make this feel like a good idea. It’s not.

It’s also too late to back out. “Hey—Hi, yeah, it’s Jayce… Your lab partner. From chemistry?” He’s already started running his mouth.

“Ah. I realize.”

He wrings the hat in his lap. The iron-on stars are starting to peel off. Glitter flakes cling in the creases of his wet palms. It’s delusional, isn’t it, to imagine that Viktor doesn’t hate him.

Only with a deep breath can he get himself to say, “I know it’s late…”

“It is.”

“But I really need your help.”

—

Help is high on the list of what people typically want from Viktor.

It’s what he’s good for—all those questions along the lines of, ‘Did you do the homework?’ which means, ‘Can I copy it?’ (No.) Or, ‘Do you know what he’s talking about?’ which means, ‘Can you explain it like I’m five?’ (Yes, but try to keep up.) *Sometimes it’s, *‘Have you taken any of Heimer’s classes?’ which either means, ‘Can you give me the study guides?’ (There aren’t any.) or ‘Can you tutor me, but we somehow hook up and never speak of it again?’ (Depends.)

That’s usually in class. Sometimes in the elevator beforehand, or in the hallway after, or following a light tap on the shoulder in the library. All academic help, strictly speaking.

But this wasn’t about their lab report.

If anything, it should’ve been about their lab report. Because what else could Jayce Talis—who moved seats after the first day of class and made a face like a whipped animal when they were partnered for lab work last week, who pledged a fraternity (abhorrent) and has his pick of pretty friends—possibly want from him?

It feels as though he blinks and thirty five minutes of his life have just dissolved* since he hung up the call, so lost in theoreticals of *why *and *me that curiosity itself must’ve found his pants and his wallet and led him here by the hand. Rumpled, but fully clothed. This is novel and extremely necessary considering he’s standing in a squat, brutalist building at the front desk of campus security.

All because Jayce asked, ‘Can you come pick me up?’

And Viktor simply agreed.

There’s no bail, no paperwork, no real formality here. The only requirement to walk Jayce out is to be over the age of eighteen, and he clears that easily enough. The state ID he hands though the sliding glass window of reception says as much, but he still has to remind the campus cop who flips it over three times like there’s something confusing about it that it’s just as legitimate as a driver’s license, thank you.

“Time to go, Talis,” the man bellows, snapping Viktor’s ID onto the counter with thick fingers and no further acknowledgement. As he pockets it, a metal chair scrapes across the linoleum somewhere out of frame, behind a door with a decades old pin-punch lock.

“You’re a lucky one, kid,” the officer chuckles, deep and phlegmy with the sound of black lung. “If I hadn’t laughed so hard you’d be at county intake right now.”

“Do I… Um, do I need to sign something?” Jayce asks. His voice is world-weary more than ass-kissing.

“You want this on record?”

“No, sir.”

“Then there’s the exit.”

By that point, Viktor’s already tapping his way to it. Jayce will follow, and with his long legged stride, he will catch up easily. Probably to thank him with that performative politeness that drives him to say ma’am or sir *or to *shake the hands of strangers, and then they’ll go their separate ways after has Viktor served his purpose. Like whatever this was never happened.

Behind him, a hydraulic arm shrieks, the intake door claps shut, and Jayce whispers an apology to no one for rattling the lobby’s musty silence as Viktor pushes outside. The tepid night air rushing against his face, and because he’s not rude, he holds the door open for Jayce.

But Viktor gets stuck. Or maybe stunned. Perhaps it’s flummoxed, or even transfixed. There’s no one perfect word to describe why he’s stopped, blocking the door and staring, which is rude, but happens to him with enough regularity that he’s owed a pass or five, and he’s using one now.

He blinks.

Blinks again.

Once more, and yes, Jayce is still standing in the doorway clutching a cheap wizard hat in his hand and a child sized blanket around his body. It strains around the bulk of his arms, stretching, cracking the gold vinyl stars. It matches the purple beneath his eyes, complements the tawny red his face is turning, and does not, in fact, reach low enough to cover his too small speedo.

Or the knee high boots.

A cape, Viktor realizes. Not that he’s just eyed Jayce from top to bottom with enough scrutiny to notice that he’s unnaturally hairless and his thighs are ribbed with stretch marks, or that his own face is set in a hard frown like this is all somehow unsavory. (It’s… not. Definitely not.) No, Viktor simply notices that the starry patterned blanket has a collar, which makes it a cape.

And despite this revelation, the fact that Jayce is mostly naked remains unchanged.

‘Why’ is on the tip of his tongue. It usually is; its natural habitat is in his mouth. But Jayce’s eyes flit from Viktor’s down to his pointy toed boots, then back up again, and he preemptively explains, bitterly, “Nothing in the lost and found fit.” Which actually explains nothing.

Viktor nods as though he understands (he doesn’t), and forces himself to just start walking.

Jayce tails him down the sidewalk in uncomfortable silence. It’s when they pass the parking lot that Jayce picks up the pace, falling into stride side by side. The pieces fall into place too—late night, terrible costume, and now, the acerbic smell of stale beer wafting off him. Frat party.

It’s worse on Jayce’s breath. “So…” A tight, tried sort of impatience undercuts his attempt to sound casual. It’s familiar. Understandable, too, after sitting through a scared straight experience on a weeknight. “Where’d you park?” Jayce asks.

Lack of a car notwithstanding, the implication he’d ever be swindled out of eight hundred dollars a semester to park on campus is a joke. Not a laughable one. “I took the bus,” he flatly answers.

“Oh.”

For a moment, Viktor can ignore the palpable disappointment—that he is disappointing. He can even empathize with the situation. Riding public transit dressed like that isn’t exactly ideal. But then Jayce asks, “They run this late?”

“The city ones do.”

And then Jayce says, “It’s just… I don’t have any money.”

“They’re free to students.”

And then Jayce mutters, “Uh, cool. Good to know,” because he doesn’t have to know, has never had to know. And suddenly Viktor doesn’t feel so bad for him anymore, that he gets to learn tonight that need-based scholarships don’t buy cars or taxis, and that sometimes it’s slightly inconvenient when you fuck up. Perhaps that should be more obvious to someone who just lucked out with a slap on the wrist for flagrant underage drinking.

Except they stop and Jayce takes one look at the bus stop bench; notices—what is hopefully just—dried, congealed soda spilled across one side. He asks, “Do you want to sit?” because he’s ignorant, yes, but not the worst to ever live.

Viktor says, “No, thank you,” knowing what Jayce doesn’t: the bus schedule, and that up and down in short order won’t feel particularly good.

When it grinds to a halt at the curb two minutes later, Jayce pulls his student ID out of his boot and soldiers onboard with his head down. He collapses full bodied onto the seats running parallel down the center aisle the same way he'd collapsed on the bench outside: hunched over with his face in his hands. Luckily, people are sparse at this hour, and there is nobody sitting across from them. Unluckily, someone in the back laughs openly.

With so much space, Viktor leaves an open seat between them. It feels right. But in the awful fluorescence before the lights wink out, Jayce’s skin looks waxy and his shoulders rise and fall with the deep, intentional breaths, and Viktor is struck by how alone he is—how strange it is that he’s alone in this. Where are the drunk friends that should’ve been picked up with him, or the cavalry that should’ve pulled up in a dirty Jeep with Greek letters on the bumper to save him?

He sits up as the dark bus drives on, soberly tucking his cape and forearms over his stomach, and Viktor snatches his eyes away. It doesn’t add up—not really. Jayce* does not particularly like him*, and Jayce has other friends.

He should probably ask which dorm is Jayce’s or if he knows what stop to get off at, but he knows the right question now. “May I ask—?” Viktor tries.

Only to be shot down with a clipped, “No,” which is strange to be on the other side of, but he’ll learn nothing from it.

Viktor nods and sits back quietly, the plexiglass window cool against his skull. The vibrations ghost shifting patterns behind his eyes. The silence is filled with the rumble of the engine accelerating, and the time with drafting a polite, impersonal email in his head to request they not be partnered together in the future.

At the next stop, two people get off, and when the bus drives on the silence is different. It lacks the subtle undertone of whispers and snickering, of other passengers entirely. Viktor opens his eyes to find there’s no one else left but the driver with her headphones in.

“Okay, fine,” Jayce suddenly sighs, like he’s been holding his breath the whole time. “Ask.”

They don’t look at each other. Viktor watches the traffic light ahead tick to green out of the corner of his eye. “Why did you call me?”

Jayce leans back and groans, pained, into his hands. “No, about the outfit. You’re supposed to ask about the outfit, or the night, or how I got caught.” He pulls the tiny cape tightly around himself again. It doesn’t contain how badly he smells of pore-distilled alcohol and nervous sweat. “Any of those.”

He considers, briefly. “Explain the night, then.”

“I went to this pledge party…”

“On a Wednesday?” admonishes Viktor, who is known to stay out at the library until they banish him at close and sleeps the minimal amount to function most days of the week; who smokes and drinks and fucks enough for at least two frat boys, just in a wholly different context. Who is, sometimes, kind of a hypocrite.

“It’s Thursday now,” Jayce corrects as if it matters, stalling for seconds. “It was mandatory, okay?” He’s embarrassed, shrinking in his seat. “They had us drink, then confiscated our phones and gave us these costumes. I was supposed to do magic—” which explains the conical wizard hat, ”—but I wasn’t doing a good enough job, so I had to go out onto campus on a special errand,” he accentuates with limp, one handed air quotes, “to, uh, get something.”

“Is that not considered, eh…?” Viktor forgets the word. It doesn’t have much of a place in his vocabulary; was never really relevant during freshman year orientation.

“Yeah, it’s hazing, but it’s not a big deal,” Jayce snaps, filling it in defensively. He deflates just as quickly, resigning to his lot. “It’s just something that happens.”

But Viktor shrugs, “I see no benefit to the situation.” That’s putting it mildly. He’d rather amputate his own leg than be humiliated and told what to do. “Quit.”

This is, apparently, an offensive suggestion. “It’s—No, it’s about the connections.” Jayce is resolute. “Networking. Knowing the right people who can probably get me in the door at the places I want to be one day.”

One word stands out: “Probably?”

“It’s not exactly guaranteed, but if it means the odds are better…”Jayce is less resolute. Like he’s trying to convince himself, confidence in his own choices waxing and waning fretfully.

“And,” asks Viktor, “you think this is worth it?”

“I don’t know,” Jayce whispers in a small, scratchy, tired voice. He knows what this means. The heinous costume; risking his academic career; having to embarrass himself in front of a classmate he hardly knows or cares about. “I just… I thought it would make it easier to make friends, but I don’t want the whole *parties and drinking and girls and ‘haha, isn’t it funny I failed that test?’ *experience.” For a moment he looks like he wants to put his face into the hat in his lap and scream. Instead, he pinches his eyes shut. “They pushed me harder than anyone else tonight, because they know I don’t belong. My grades just bring up their stupid academic average.”

Viktor doesn’t know what to say. It’s not uncommon, this helpless sensation of floundering when confided in, when faced with the enormity of things outside his ability to change or control. He didn’t know what to say when the girl he was tutoring last year told him she lost her scholarship, or when he caught Heimerdinger’s last TA sitting shell shocked on the bathroom floor after finding out their partner cheated. He didn’t know what to say when his mother told him babička wanted to go home home to die (she’s fine, just dramatic and bitter about getting old), or when she saw him changing his shirt while they were packing up the apartment and cried for how she failed him (she didn’t).

He does know that saying I’m sorry never feels right. That it’s empty, and nobody really feels better hearing it. But Jayce is smart and attractive and also, perhaps, just dramatic too. He belongs somewhere, even if he hasn’t found that place yet. “How valuable could these, eh, connections with stupid people be, hm?”

“I mean,” Jayce mutters, “it’s not that they’re stupid—”

“Don’t argue. I’m aware of nepotism and how it functions,” Viktor huffs, tempered by Jayce’s soft laugh of the same quality. “There are always other avenues to get what or where you want. Find them. Your time is better spent than,” he gestures broadly, “on this.”

“Yeah…” Jayce nods. It’s a kinder resignation this time. The troubled creases in his face start to ease away. “Okay.”

Cars pass. Silence settles, strange in that it’s easy. Or, it starts to. But Jayce takes a breath. Hesitates. Takes another one that turns into, “There was no one I could call.” He crosses his legs. Uncrosses them again. Can’t get comfortable with himself or the admission:* *“Not because they took my phone, there just isn’t anyone else.”

“Your friends?”

“Still in high school, and she’s not even old enough to drive yet.” He finds himself on the receiving end of a curious stare, and gets the why of it wrong. “It’s not like that, I swear,” he cringes. “She’s a lesbian, Viktor.” Which is all fine and good, but has nothing to do with why Jayce is speaking in singular. He asked about the plural.

“Your roommate?” he tries.

“Dropped out two weeks ago, and please don’t suggest my mom next.” Jayce rolls his eyes, and they don’t find their way back. He stares off, down at the floor, canting his head away. There’s glitter in his hair. “Trust me on this. It’s not like I wanted someone who hates me but has an oddly memorable phone number to be my one phone call tonight.”

He would’ve been allowed multiple phone calls is the first thing that Viktor thinks. The second: “I don’t dislike you.”

Another eye roll. “You gave me a look.”

“I look at plenty of people,” Viktor hand waves.

“No, a look,” he insists. “It was this ‘if we were in a Russian prison right now, I would shank you’ kind of look.” Viktor narrows his eyes, so he specifies, “When we got assigned in lab?”

“Why,” Viktor asks slowly, “is the prison Russian in this scenario?”

“Because you’re—”

“No. Do not finish that sentence.” Wildly rude and too common of an assumption, but, “In the spirit of forgiveness, I will let that slide,” he holds up a slender finger, “once.” Jayce mouths sorry as Viktor considers the sort of look his face is being accused of. “I…” But he only remembers reading the clear disappointment on Jayce’s. “Was probably thinking about something at the time,” Viktor shrugs.

“How much you wish I’d switch majors?”

“Mm, no. It was the end of class, so probably how much homework I could accomplish before work study, or how late to my next class I could reasonably be if I showed up with coffee from the dining hall.”

“Yeah, but…” He pivots in his seat. His thighs squeak on the plastic. “But you still called me egotistical on the first day of class!”

Yes, when Jayce made a painful show of ingratiating himself to the professor before class. Jayce throws that in his face like some sort of gotcha; in reality, it ranks one of his top ten social failures. “It was a question.” He was simply asking if, in hindsight, the action could be misconstrued as egotistical. “Not a criticism.”

But Jayce scoffs, “How was I supposed to think that when you wouldn’t even shake my hand?”

“It was stuck.” Viktor lifts up his right hand. Empty, but the cane still comes with it, dangling where it’s looped around his wrist. “You took yours away before I could get it out of the strap.”

“But I didn’t know yet that you—” Jayce scrubs his hand down his face, quiet until he whispers a revelatory, “Fuck.” Then a slightly hysterical, breathy, “Fuck,” and he’s smiling, gap-toothed and too brilliant for the lateness of hour.

“Eh, still a weird thing to do, though,” Viktor shrugs. He’s smiling a little too. It’s a private, wry thing. It’s a start.

And by the time they finish, on the other side of campus, on a sidewalk, at a bus stop much like the one they came from, things are very different.

For instance, Jayce has put the horrible wizard hat on. Ironically, of course.

They meander past the library, its windows tall and dark, cutting across the quad in front of it toward the residence halls. “What was your special errand, anyhow?” Viktor asks. “You never said. I’m curious.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to forget the horrors. Y’know, of getting caught trying to break into a building with my entire ass out,” he says sheepishly, catching the hat as it starts to slip. It’s not his entire ass. Only about eighty five percent. “I had to borrow something.”

There’s a word he’s avoiding. “What, exactly, were you trying to steal?”

“Borrow,” Jayce counters. “There’s this paperweight in Heimer’s office. Looks kind of like chalcedony, but it does have these faint striations, so I think it might be agate—

“I’m familiar.”

“Anyways, that. I was supposed to get that. Probably because it was impossible.”

“Mm, no, not impossible,” Viktor hums. “You should’ve called me sooner,” he says, dragging a carabiner from his pocket, stripped of paint and utterly ancient. When he holds it up, the street lights catch on tens of little metal teeth. “I have the key.”

[wsdwriting]

little snippet of writing for these guys \o/ if you’d like, listen to Susie Save Your Love by Allie X to hear the song that inspired this bit!!

(go here for character information)

reblogs appreciated \o/!!

Luz wakes up with a piercing headache, and curled around someone. She squirms—pulling herself in closer and pressing her face more firmly against the other person. Tries desperately to block out the light leaking through her eyelids. 

Her movement wakes them, though. They stretch, before laughing softly and running a hand through her hair. 

“Good morning, Luz.” Comes Amalia’s amused voice. 

Luz freezes. Tries to run through her memories to figure out what events led her to here—except she can’t recall anything. Stupid alcohol. 

She pulls away, braving the sunlit room. 

“‘Morning.” She mutters, throwing an arm over her eyes. 

“Let me get the curtains.” 

The bed dips and creaks as Amalia leaves it. Luz listens to the sound of curtains being tugged tightly closed, and removes her arm to probably the darkest they’ll get during the day in a room like this. 

Amalia flops back onto the bed, crawling under the covers. Her hair is messy, and she still hasn’t taken her makeup off from last light, and she looks beautiful. 

And Luz really shouldn’t be having those thoughts even if both of them are single. 

But… then again… they also spent the night together. And she’s wearing one of Luz’s shirts. 

“Um…” As much as she’s almost too nervous to ask, she has to know. “Did we…?”

“Luz!” Amalia exclaims, sounding a little scandalised. But before Luz can panic too much, she laughs. “No, no. You were much too drunk, anyway. I just drove you home, and you got clingy.”

Embarrassing, but probably less of a mess than fucking her friend. 

“Ah.” She tugs the covers up to hide her face a little. “Sorry…”

“It’s fine—I don’t mind.” Amalia smiles. “I wouldn’t have signed myself up as designated driver if I did.”

“True, true.”

“There’s water and painkillers on the bedside table, by the way.”

Luz turns so fast she flares up her nausea and has to take a second to recover. Amalia does not manage to cover her laugh. Not that Luz thinks she was particularly trying to. 

“You’re a life saver, Pedra.” Luz declares, quickly swallowing down the painkillers. 

“It’s nothing.” But Luz can tell she’s pleased. “I just figured since I was already here… oh, and by the way”—she plucks a small piece of paper from her bedside table—“you got someone’s number.”

“Oh, man…” Unsurprising, even though she’s been trying not to do that recently. “Do you remember who’s it is?”

“Not really.” Amalia looks over the paper like it’ll help her remember. “She was bald, I think. And pretty butch. I don’t know, I wasn’t paying much attention—too focused on getting you home, you know?” 

Luz tries to conjure the memories to mind and fails miserably. 

“What should I do with it?” Amalia asks, leaning to the side to dangle it over where Luz knows her rubbish bin by the desk is. “Put it with the others?”

They’ve gone through this whole post-club song and dance before—even if Amalia has never actually stayed the night. Luz throws away almost every number she gets, but that’s usually because she was just flirting to get free drinks. 

This time she can’t remember what happened. It could’ve been someone she really hit it off with—like Amalia. And even if it truly is like what happened with Amalia and she just gets a new friend, that’s a good thing, too. 

“No, no, I… I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll… think about it?” Amalia raises her eyebrows.

“I just want to see if I remember more, you know?” Then she groans. “Besides—I, um… I need a rebound after that last guy.”

“I thought you were over him.”

“I am! Miguel even made sure I deleted his number because they’ve seen what happens if I don’t. Just…” She sighs. “It’ll be easier with someone else, you know? So I can stop thinking about him entirely.”

Amalia opens her mouth likes she’s going to say something. Then she seems to think better of it and leans back to the bed, depositing the paper on the bedside table again. 

“If you’re sure.” She settles on. 

“Well… I guess I am… Maybe I’ll get some memories back after breakfast and decide to chuck it, anyway.” Luz says, laughing a little. “But we exchanged numbers at a club. So you never know, right?” 

“Right.” Amalia climbs out of bed, and heads to the door. “Wait here, I’ll go make breakfast.” 

“You’re my saviour, Pedra!” Luz calls after her. 

She doesn’t get a response, but figures Amalia was already too far away to bother. So, she curls up in the blankets again, content to catch a few more minutes of sleep before breakfast is ready.

——

hope you enjoyed \o/!! this is set kind of like… towards the end of the start section I would say. if you have any questions about the story feel free to send them in \o/!!

(also let me know if you want to be on a taglist for this writing!!)

[rachi-roo]

loved your BSD fic involving Atsushi with a migraine! 🤍 I’d love to see how you’d write some Akutagawa whump 👀 just wanna see that stubborn frail man SUFFER—

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Bungou Stray Dogs: Breathe Easy.

⚠️WOOP! WOOP! WOOP! WHUMP ALERT! WHUMP ALEEERT!⚠️ Thank you SO much for saying so! I had fun writing that one, and this one, too! Whump just 😭👌 You know? I hope this one turns out to be your liking, buddy. As someone who has experienced some ATROCIOUS asthma attacks, I'm writing this purely from my worst experience. For the juicy whumps. XD

Summary: After a mission, Akutagawa suffers and asthma attack, and Chuuya races against time to find and save him!

Tw: Asthma symptoms, vomiting, CPR

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Chuuya's voice crackled through Akutagawas earpiece as he exited through the back door of a port yard wear house. "Meet up at the extraction point. We'll head to the meeting from there."

The cold sea air caught in Akutagawas throat as he stepped out the door, a cough getting stuck in his chest as he responded to Chuuya. "Y-Yes, mhm. I'll be there ihin- cough-!" He had just finished wiping out a gang of weapon smugglers, and for some reason, it left him more out of breath than usual.

He covered his mouth, breathing steadily through his nose.

Calm down. Calm down.

"Akutagawa?" Hearing his partner coughing wasn't unusual for Chuuya, but he had learned to tell when it was serious. "You good?"

The other cleared his throat, feeling his chest tighten slightly.

Don't panic. Breathe.

He tried to speak again, but all that came out was an aggressive string of dry coughing. He clutched his chest, desperately trying to will himself to breathe, but nothing worked. His chest grew tighter. His breath shortened by the second.

An asthma attack.

They always come on so quickly. One. Two. Three. Four. Seconds passed, he never had time to think. Panic set in as he felt his lungs ache, being robbed of oxygen as he coughed again, dry wrenching as he doubled over in pain.

I can't breathe.

He wheezed, leaning one arm on a wall for support, his hands starting to feel tingly with numbness. A cold sweat pooling on his forehead.

"Ch- gasp Chuya-!" He called desperately through his raspy voice. What else could he do? Chuuya was his lifeline right now.

"I'm on my way. Stay put. Have you got your inhaler?"

Of course he didn't. Carrying one of those around made him look more feeble than he already was. A foolish move, which he regretted every time.

He stumbled to his knees, heaving and gagging on another round of harsh coughing. A line of saliva falls from his mouth as he begged internally for a breath.

His stomach churned with the strain his body was under, throwing up aggressively on the concrete. The acidic sting in his throat worsened as he tried breathing in directly after. The smell stinging his eyes. He fumbled frantically with his Jabot, ripping it from his neck as if removing it would make some kind of difference.

Hurry. Please.

The human body can last thirty to one hundred and eighty seconds without oxygen before collapsing. Time was short. Akutagawa couldn't help the tears that started to stream down his cheeks, his eyes red and sore with the effort and strain of the coughing. Unable to get a deep enough breath, his vision started to fade as black shapes danced before him.

The pain was unbearable. He looked around for someone to help him. Anyone. Another wave of nausea hit, Akutagawas heaved, throwing up for a second time, almost choking on the acidic bodily contents.

I can't see.

"H-Help-!" He wheezed through his tears, barely louder than a whisper, almost completely blind by this point even with his eyes open.

His mind started to faulter. Hearing things that weren't there. A strange, booming sound echoed through his skull, his own heartbeat. Unbearably loud, blocking out the sound of Chuuyas words as he desperately tried to find him among the various giant buildings and machinery at the dock.

Hands numb. Chest throbbing. Throat burning. His body gave out, collapsing onto the ground, barely missing the pile of puke beside him as he rolled onto his back, wheezing and gasping for air. The ends of his coat, Rashōmon, thrashed and flailed as it also felt his panic and fear.

"Akutagawa! Answer me! Damn it, where are you?"

The only sound he could make was a strangled gagging as he lay flat, barely able to lift a finger as the numbness had spread. In only eighty seconds, the mighty and feared Akutagawa Ryūnosuke had been defeated by a cruel mistake placed upon him by his own genetics.

His body twitched, his lips starting turn a shade of blue only comparable to that of a corpse. The ground fell from beneath him, dropping him into an endless, cold abyss.

Silence...

"Akutagawa!" Finally, Chuuya found him, rushing to his side and immediately beginning chest compressions.

"Akutagawa! Come on, come on buddy-!" Mouth to mouth. Becoming Akutagawas lungs for him. "Wake up-!" Chuuya growled through gritted teeth, pressing on his chest again.

One, two, three, four, fi-

A sharp gasp suddenly ripped from the black clad boys throat as he jolted back to life. Wheezing and grabbing at whatever was in reach in a flustered panic.

"There we go, c'mon, sit up. Easy, eeeeasy." Chuuya cooed, helping the boy to sit up straight as he wiped the streaks of Akutagawas vomit from his own mouth. "Deeeep breaths. In... And out..."

In a daze, Akutagawa coughed again, cringing in pain as he swallowed as much air as possible. He leaned against Chuuyas chest, feeling exhausted, like he'd been asleep for hours.

"Where... Am I?..."

"Hey, look at me." Chuuya gently held his chin, looking at his face, wiping the sweat and tears from his cheeks. "Can you hear me?... Aku?" He used his nickname, hoping the familiarity would help ground him better. The other blinked vaccantly in response, struggling to keep his head upright as it lulled to the side.

"...Dazai?"

"Not quite." Chuuya sighed, looking at Akutagawas blue fingertips, realising just how close they came to a true tragedy. He frowned, feeling Akutagawas forehead, making him blink as the movement startled him.

"Look what you've done, dumb ass. You're burning up now."

"M'fine..." Akutagawa wheezed, leaning into Chuuyas chest, too fatigued to support his own bodyweight. "I'm... Jus' tired... Where's home?" He slurred, closing his eyes as they burned, stinging from the tears.

Chuuya huffed, shifting Akutagawa so he could carry him piggyback. "You'd better not throw up on me... And from now on, whether you like it or not, you're carrying an inhaler."

"Mhm..." Akutagawa had no memory of what happened once he stepped out of the wear house and stayed in bed for the next few days, sleeping off the fatigue and pains he endured. Safe to say, he was fairly embarrassed that such a situation was so easily avoided if he had just remembered his inhaler.

There was one good thing that came from this event, Dazai popped in for a visit. And he brought figs.

----------------------{ END }------------------------

Thanks for reading!!

[rpedia]

[Ask RPedia] Writing Panic Attacks?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heart palpitations or accelerated heart rate

Feelings of numbness or tingling sensations

Excessive sweating

Trembling or shaking

Shortness of breath or smothering sensations

Feeling of choking

Chest pain or discomfort

Nausea or abdominal pain

Feeling dizzy, unsteady, lightheaded, or faint

Chills or hot flashes

Derealization and/or depersonalization

Fear of losing control or going crazy

Fear of dying

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[xuer]

kind eyes extended notes

for kind eyes on ao3

be prepared for the yap fest. please read this after the fic because there are spoilers.

1)

first of all, I wrote this fic very out of order because of several reasons. one, because my caffeine-addled brain couldn't string together a cohesive story or outline before it was begging me to put something down, and two, because I took a little bit of creative liberty with my characterization of oscar, which leads me into…

2)

oscar is usually a really analytical and cool/collected guy, very logical and realistic, but sometimes he just can't think around lando. he's in romantic/platonic love (reader's choice!), your honor. he never lets his emotions get the best of him, so when they do he has no idea how to handle it and can't even recognize it until hourssss later. his thoughts are a mess and he needs a bit of time to even begin to process what happened. when lando's in the vicinity, he's even more scattered. he's struggling to catch up, really, and he's trying desperately to read the social cues that lando is usually so open with but is kind of on and off with this time around.

he's also obsessed with lando's eyes. I mean OBSESSED. which, me too, I kind of projected hard on this part, but it shows through the fic because oscar is like, "lando look at me!" "lando please show me your eyes" "lando pay attention to me, don't avoid me" yada yada yada. it stems from lando being the kind of person where you can usually tell exactly how he's feeling. he doesn't shy away from showing his emotions on camera or in front of other people, even if they're very very ugly to look at. we kind of saw the peak of this in austria, where lando didn't mince his words AT ALL after the race despite knowing the backlash he would get (this kid will give me a stress induced heart attack one day I swear). we've seen his ups and downs, his high after scoring pole in barcelona and his crushing low after losing it, his fury after the on-track incident at the red bull ring, to his… honestly I want to say slow and steady loss of hope after silverstone. he still gives his everything in every race, he's still determined to go out there and do the best he can, but like you can tell the difference in his reaction after he got pole in spain vs in hungary - there was a very big difference and a lack of unfiltered excitement this time around. he knows what it's like to win and to be so so close to a win he can feel himself lose it. lando feels everything so strongly, and after so many disappointments and close calls he's kind of learned to protect himself in this way. going into budapest, he still expected and wanted to win, but his confidence has definitely taken a hit. oh my god this turned into a lando character analysis I'm so sorry let me cut it short and just say his eyes are so expressive and after hungary he was very subdued and oscar's internal lando alarm sounded and was like "show me your eyes!" "why won't you show me your eyes!" "even when you look at me I can't tell what you're thinking anymore something is wrong!!!" until lando does something very obvious with his face like smile at him. oscar you silly boy.

all this just to say in this fic oscar's just a bit of a dunce, and I mean that in the most affectionate, loving way possible. he doesn't know the full story getting out of the car (neither of them do) and all he cares about is if lando is mad at him, but he can't even admit that to himself so he just feels like a crazy person whenever it looks like lando might be upset and he doesn't even understand why. every bit about the dread he feels, the lightheadedness, nausea, feeling cold, etc. that's all his physical and visceral reactions to lando not looking happy, to him being scared his relationship with lando won't survive this. along the same lines, the pressure in his stomach easing up, the warmth he feels, being able to breathe and think (relatively) normally again, those are all reactions to him seeing lando react or interact with him positively. I'm sorry, but he's whipped and he has absolutely no clue. but yes, that's what the unreliable narrator tag is for.

3)

some other details I mentioned in the fic but didn't really expand on:

there's a lot of other parallels and barely touched upon details in this fic to be honest. besides the obvious and reoccurring mention of lando's eyes and oscar's desperation for eye contact throughout the whole thing, there's oscar seeing his reflection in lando's visor at the very beginning and in his own phone screen at the very end (he just wants to see lando's eyes but instead he's seeing his own, he wants to figure lando out and find out how upset he actually is with him but what he actually needs to do is look at himself and figure everything out from his own side first).

oscar doing everything on autopilot and muscle memory at the beginning because he's still sorting things out in his brain, cringing at himself a lot which isn't normal behavior but he genuinely does not know what to do or how to act in this situation, only rebooting just in time to give some non-answer to nico in his interview and barely coming fully back online when lando first actually talks to him, how it really doesn't hit him that he won (HE ACTUALLY WON. THIS TROPHY IS HIS.) until he's basically (almost) alone in a familiar setting after he has time to process everything.

lando procrastinating taking off his helmet because he, too, needs time to school his expression into something. decent.

lando being uncharacteristically quiet in the beginning, silently congratulating oscar in the car, silently acknowledging him. silently motioning for him to get to his interview, his first actual words being trivial and ultimately meaningless small talk ("no big fumbles. good interview.") he's still teasing oscar, he wants oscar to know they're okay, but he still needs time to process what he lost, lick his wounds a little, needs to cool off for a bit before he can start to actually be genuinely happy for oscar's achievement. it's why it takes him until after the interviews, the cooldown room, the podium, when they're both alone (3 hours later) for him to finally muster up the strength to text oscar an actual heartfelt congratulations.

and his simple "you will" at the end of the first section is his unwavering belief that oscar won't stop here, he'll keep rising, this is nowhere near his peak as a driver, despite what lando wants or wishes for in regards to his own career, wrapped up as a nice little generic reassurance. oscar catches the weight of the words, but he doesn't know what it means exactly. yet.

oscar in the cooldown room expecting to eventually get a verbal knockdown from lando (max his best friend on the grid someone he's known for a decade wasn't even safe a few weeks ago, oscar's nobody special in comparison, lando's definitely mad he got prickly at LEWIS OF ALL PEOPLE oscar is not safe) so he's trying to find the right thing to say but then lando notices him floundering and trying to fix things for him so he just deflates and apologizes to lewis and smiles at oscar.

mclaren social media admin (who is faceless and genderless and honestly only in this fic because of reasons discussed in section 5) mentioning that oscar seems happier alone just staring at his trophy, which, again, yeah it only just registered for him, but also, he's in the comfort of his driver room with no actually hostile cameras around so he isn't on high alert for every move he makes and lando isn't here so he can actually think! hurray!

another kind of obvious one is the texts. oscar's knee-jerk reaction to seeing a message from mark, someone who's supposed to be on his side all the time, is negative? he's very surprised at himself and he doesn't know it's because he knows mark dislikes lando and can already envision how his opinion will only worsen after today. he's like noooo don't hate him I don't even know why I'm defending him I'm upset at what he did too but I hate that you hate him. absolutely zero below-surface level thoughts. soooo real.

also oscar's contact names for them (bless his heart), how mark uses correct spelling and punctuation while lando's dyslexic ass just wings it (and how some of the only messages without misspells are his congratulation messages because he painstakingly typed those out ok?), lando calling oscar by name and not any of the stupid nicknames he came up with that oscar secretly hoards close to his heart, and the timestamps, ugh. and yes, mark's last message is a reference to red bull and multi 21. sorry, even the commentators mentioned it and you want me to not bring it up in the fic? [loud buzzer noise] never. lando is also very much running away from everything that's why he's hiding out on max's private jet they can both wallow and drink their sorrows and beef with their engineers away together 30,000 feet in the air.

throughout the fic as well, you can kind of note the changes in tone. the beginning focuses a lot on minuscule details, how oscar feels millisecond by millisecond, because that's all he's able to process at the time. as the fic progresses, oscar's internal monologue gets less self-judgy and gets its snark back. it goes from "god, he doesn't know how lando does it" and "what is wrong with him today?" and speeds up as he goes back to normal and starts being... well, funny again. "after lewis has enough of waterboarding them both" "his phone starts up its never-ending seizure of notifications again" like ok king we're so back.

and then it proceeds to all come crashing down again.

oscar's (loud QUOTE UNQUOTE) "sickness" (read: unintelligible mixed feelings) makes a reappearance when he's listening back on lando's radio messages because he had no idea to the extent of what will was saying to him and it is extremely shocking I'll give him that. even I was like. jaw on the floor when I found out. because your engineer, the little guy in your ear, is the one person you're supposed to be able to trust unconditionally. they are the ones keeping you out of harm's way, the ones keeping you from crashing, your direct and only link to the rest of the team connecting you to the mechanics and the pit wall, the person telling you the strategy, like. it's not the norm, but it is also not entirely uncommon for when a driver switches teams to literally take their engineer with them. that's how instrumental they are to a driver's race, and it takes a lot of time to build up that trust and rapport. mclaren has a separate underlying issue where lando for some odd reason has three different race engineers that just switch out between weekends and it's SO ODD but that's a whole different story. point is this - a driver's race engineer messing up and giving out of date/incorrect information to them by accident is one thing, but a driver's race engineer guilt tripping and straight up lying to their face is another, and it is a hugeeeee no no. will joseph did that to lando, and now that trust might be completely broken. as one driver to another, oscar knows exactly how big of a deal this was. it's something he never expected from them.

at the very end after oscar realizes what exactly happened during the race and watches the compilation video and realizes despite everything lando is still so so genuinely proud of him for winning, he feels so many mixed and indistinguishable emotions that he's just kind of in shock for lack of a better word, which is why it kind of just... ends like that. sorry guys, it's going to take him another few hours to work through that one as well.

and again, the eyes. the entire point of this fic is centered around lando's eyes and how he expresses his emotions through them, and how oscar is so used to looking at them to tell how lando is feeling, so that's why he's always so desperate to actually be able to see his eyes. lando is genuinely happy for oscar winning, but it's incredibly bittersweet (and I explain more why in section 4). the pit in oscar's stomach starts out as dread, that lando's pissed and won't continue to be on good terms with him, it fluctuates up and down whenever he thinks lando is happy for him or mad at him, and gnaws away at him for the rest of the fic before eventually settling on a combination of fear that their relationship will never be the same again and guilt that although what happened was something he couldn't control and wasn't even aware about until much later, it still happened, and despite it all lando still looks at him with the kindest eyes. it's sickening to think about.

4)

some things I didn't get to add into the fic because one, I couldn't figure out where to fit them, and/or two, my wrists are close to giving up and I need to clock out for the day. I have just used up all my writing inspiration for the next year.

anyways, part of the original reason why I wrote this in the first place was because I was reading some other new landoscar fics about what happened and (absolutely no shade to them!!!!! I want to stress) I didn't agree with some of the ways they portrayed lando or oscar. ultimately, they're both f1 drivers. they're both selfish, they wouldn't be on the grid if they weren't. lando didn't want to give up the position because he's selfish and is desperate for that second win. oscar wanted him to because this is the strategy they agreed on earlier that day and he also wants that first win, even though TECHNICALLY prioritizing the driver ahead in wdc rankings wouldn't necessarily be a wrong call. they're each other's closest competitors, all they have as an equal comparison is each other, and they know it. lando has his pride as someone older, more experienced, who has been with the team a much longer time than oscar has. he had to wait more than five years for his first win. oscar gets one almost dropped in his lap just a year and a half into his career when he didn't have to stick with a singular team through all their trials and tribulations, when he wasn't lugging a glorified shoebox into the points for all of 4 years amidst criticism of renewing with the same team again? it's not fair. oscar plays the team game because he's biding his time, he is intimately aware of his position in the team as the second driver, but he lucked out to be at a mclaren because it's currently the only front running team that acts like it's still in the midfield and prioritizes "being fair" over a championship. he knows if he follows the rules normally he can capitalize on them being "fair" again and he'll have a chance to prioritize himself. both of them know this and if there's an opportunity to win, no matter the situation, they'll capitalize it. it's not actually really fair to either of them, but that's the nature of f1, and no one should be blaming either of them for their line of thinking.

got a little away from me there again, but you get the point. neither of them really blame each other for acting the way they did in hungary, but at the same time both of them blame each other for not acting better, if that makes sense. oscar is not going to apologize for asking for team orders to be honored. lando is not going to apologize for waiting until the last possible minute to let him through. oscar was going to do anything for the race win. lando needed to prove his point. in f1, this is how it works. both of them are warring with emotions of happiness, guilt, pride, etc. and it just turns into a mess.

oscar is thrilled by his first win, but it's tainted by shame of the way he had to win it, how he wasn't really good or fast enough for it, and guilt of making lando give up the lead. lando is pissed that he lost out on yet another race win, genuine happiness at seeing oscar succeed, and crushed pride of being treated like a second driver and berated on live tv because of this so called fairness. still, deep inside, lando wishes he could have ignored that strategy call until the very end and just took the win. still, oscar does not regret winning this race, no matter how it ended up happening or what anyone else had to do.

there's also the whole thing about lando starting his interviews off with "the team messed up" and somehow progressing into "I didn't deserve to win", missing scenes from media pen interviews, the press conference, etc, how he blamed himself for his bad start while nico rosberg the man himself was like lol no that was not your fault??? and chewed andrea Stella out on live tv, backstory on mark's one sided beef with lando, events after oscar's immediate reaction when he realizes the truth and how he would war with himself but still end up being selfish and glad he won and feeling even more guilty about it, the tense team debrief, lando being miserable, the subdued meal with the rest of the team after lando hightailed it out of there at the earliest possible opportunity, oscar's lonely plane ride home, the possible dinner with mark, eventual confrontation or closure ("you never did answer nico properly back there, did you doubt I'd give the position back?"), and so many others... but I never planned on including a lando pov in the first place which a lot of these scenes wouldn't work without, and also oh my god my wrists.

I wish I could have included all of this in the fic somewhere, but disjointing rambling on tumblr will have to do instead.

5)

lastly, and I promise this is the very last section, I tried my best to stay as close to actual events possible for a lot of televised scenes, but f1 broadcasts are notoriously stingy with letting people rewatch things that didn't happen in the race itself, especially since I. do not pay to watch this stuff lol. so I had to scour social media and youtube for clips of lando's radio messages, the post-race interviews with nico, what happened in the cooldown room and on the podium (rip lando he's being torn to shreds right now but it's ok I support his rights and wrongs), etc etc etc

there are still some things I'm not too sure about (i.e. the order of events, some quotes, non-televised events) so I took a bit of creative liberty regarding those. I'm pretty??? sure??? it went both park in parc ferme > lando congratulates oscar while he's still in the car > lando doesn't go to the team while oscar goes to them > both get weighed > both do the outdoor interview for podium finishers with nico (in finish order so oscar, lando (paraphrased), and lewis (not pictured but just imagine him flirting with nico and that's basically what happened)) > cooldown room > podium > media pen interviews (not pictured because at this point I just wanted it all to be over and I didn't watch them anyways) > press conference (also not pictured for the same reason) > go back to drivers rooms and clean up > team debrief (also not pictured partially for the same reason and partially because what I had was already a decent stopping point)

so again for all of this I tried to base it on real footage as much as possible. it basically matches every single move for move from the beginning until the interviews with nico (the question nico asked and oscar's response are both real quotes, lando and oscar's little interaction at the tables afterwards is partially real but the dialogue was written by me because I couldn't hear what they were saying). the cooldown room scene was my own little fix-it for lando because god he stresses me out sometimes (lovingly) but the overall events written did happen.

the podium is more accurate to what actually happened. randy was actually up there, god forbid, but the broadcast angle gets really awkward and crops lando out of a lot of the celebrations because he goes into the corner, so I'd say it's almostttt move for move again.

for the driver room scene, the social media admin is literally only there because I needed to fit in the part where oscar just lovingly gazes at his trophy and soaks it in a little (this also did happen check mclaren social media) and for that I needed for one, the trophy to get to him somehow, and two, someone filming him while he's making his trademark heart eyes at a lump of ceramic. everything after that is obviously events I came up with. there's no one video I referenced for lando's radio messages but they're all real quotes and you can find them... multiple places online. the second video that oscar watches is completely made up, but it also probably exists somewhere. those two can't exactly take their eyes off each other.

aaaand I think that's it! honestly, this is just all rambling that couldn't fit within the character limit in the fic end notes, and like I stated above, won't make sense unless you read it. if you got this far thank you so much and also I'm so sorry for subjecting you to this. let me know what you think about the fic itself by commenting there or about these notes by replying here or sending an ask... at your earliest convenience! (hah.)

[sheena-is-a-punk-rocker]

Sometimes brains are assholes, and that's okay

Got a prompt request for a Rick sick fic with Harley taking care of him over on AO3 and this is what I came up with. Not your typical sick fic!

The apartment is dark when Harley gets back from her roller derby match—the first one Rick’s missed since she got out of prison. She’s trying not to be too broken up about it though, he told her before she left that he wasn’t feeling well and was gonna try to nap.

She drops her skates and padding by the front door and makes her way to the bedroom, expecting to find Rick dozing in bed. Except the only thing on the bed is the rumpled sheets that haven’t been touched since this morning.

She starts to panic. He wouldn’t just leave without telling her—that’s not like him.

The only option left is the bathroom. The door is ajar but the lights are off. “Rick? Baby, you in here?” she calls out cautiously as she flicks the lights on—trying not to imagine the worst.

“Ow!” she hears. “Too bright!”

She breathes a sigh of relief now that she can see Rick—who’d managed to squeeze all six foot one inch of himself into their tiny ass bathtub.

She turns the lights off and uses the moonlight shining through the bathroom window to find the tub. She kneels down and reaches out to touch his back. His shirt is soaked with sweat and he’s shaking a little bit. “You okay, hun?” she asks—immediately shifting into what Rick has dubbed her Doctor Mode.

“Migraine,” he grits out.

Ah yes, those pesky migraines he’s been having. Not surprising given the fact that he’s had four concussions since she met him—and that’s just on missions they were on together. He hasn’t had one in a while though.

“Baby, I thought your doctor gave you meds for those.”

“Ran out. Thought I had a refill but I don’t. I’ve been trying to get a hold of him to get an emergency refill but he won’t pick up the fucking phone—as usual. Fucker probably doesn’t even think I need ‘em. And eventually the headache got so bad that I ended up in here.”

Here, meaning where it’s darkest and coolest, she realizes.

“Did ya try the pharmacy?” she asks, as she runs a washcloth under the faucet.

“They won’t fucking refill it unless the doc pushes it through!” he yells, and then moans as another wave of nausea hits him.

She places the cold washcloth on the back of his neck and he lets out a sigh of relief.

“I’ll be right back, hun. Where’s your phone?”

“Living room, I think.”

She kisses his temple before leaving the bathroom. Time to yell at another doctor.

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

Rick focuses on his breathing and trying not to vomit as Harley leaves to presumably yell at another one of his doctors. Honestly, as much as he appreciates her, he’s not really sure how much further she’ll get. He’d been on the phone with the pharmacy and doctor’s office for hours. They just kept putting him on hold.

“How’d I get your personal cell phone number? I’m Harley fucking Quinn, motherfucker! Now push the prescription through or I’ll break your kneecaps—pharmacy closes in an hour.”

Maybe he spoke too soon.

He hears her come back in and feels her fingers carding through his hair. “I’ll be right back, baby. Gotta go pick up your meds.”

The room continues to spin as he lays there pathetically in the bathtub. He’s not sure how long Harley’s gone for—could be hours for all he knows. He’s too nauseous to focus on anything but not puking.

“Sit up for me, hun.”

“I don’t wanna,” he moans. “Too dizzy.”

“I know, baby, I know. But I got your meds right here. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

It takes a monumental effort to sit up but he manages to do it. Harley hands him two pills and a glass of ice water. He throws the pills back obediently and then sinks back down to the floor of the tub, laying on his side since it’s so fucking tiny.

He hears some shuffling behind him and then Harley’s squeezing herself behind him, spooning up against his back and looping an arm around his chest. They both barely fit but instead of feeling claustrophobic he feels comforted, and safe.

“It should kick in faster since I gave ya two,” she says quietly—slipping a hand under his shirt to rub his chest and stomach softly.

He focuses on that feeling as he waits for the nausea to subside and his head to stop pounding.

Next thing he knows he’s being shaken awake. “C’mon, baby, let’s get ya into bed.”

“But I’m comfy,” he whines—and truly, he is. The most comfortable place he’s ever been is wrapped up in Harley’s arms.

“Baby you’re gonna hurt your neck if ya sleep in the tub.”

He complains the whole time but lets her pull him out of the tub, stumbling a little as the blood rushes back to all the right places. She catches him easily and guides him back to their bedroom in the dark. She sits him down on the bed and rummages around in one of his drawers for a pair of pajama pants that she throws at his head. He catches them and manages to change into them without too much trouble.

She ushers him under the covers and slides in behind him—spooning up against his back again and kissing the back of his neck. “Get some sleep, hun, I’m right here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“Might need to knock me out with your baseball bat,” he jokes, even as his eyes drift shut.

“Shut the fuck up—I know you’re exhausted, asshole.”

He manages a small chuckle. Just before sleep claims him he feels Harley squeeze him around his middle and hears her whisper, “I love ya, baby.”

He’s too exhausted to echo the sentiment back but grabs her hand and squeezes it in response.

He falls asleep to the feeling of Harley’s breath on the back of his neck and her hand wrapped tightly in his.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Grey Zone 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, age gap, bullying, toxic parental figures, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your parents has never been good, and that with a family friend takes a strange turn(goth!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Oh my mustachioed man!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Lloyd pulls in at the last rest stop before you officially enter the true desolation of the northern wilds. You open your door before he can even turn off the engine, unable to hold back the spew of sickness. You spit onto the tarmac as the sun sets darkly above. You grip the door and flinch as Lloyd reaches over to rub your back.

"You okay, baby cakes?" He asks as you press the back of your hand to your mouth and sit back, trapping his hand against the seat.

"Yeah, I just get car sick, like I said," you're almost breathless as the bile sears in your throat, "I should go rinse my mouth out."

"Need help?" He asks and you send him a confounded look. He winks as you struggle to decipher his meaning.

"No," you unbuckle your seat belt and grab your little leather knapsack.

"I guess you're not in the mood for any snacks?" He says as he climbs out on his side, mirror you as you shut your door.

"No, I'm good," you cough.

You walk in stride with him, trying to keep ahead as you're paranoid about your breath and any possible dribble from your vomit. He reaches past you to open the door and holds it open. You flit in and search for the bathroom sign, leaving him behind as the taste of your sickness dries on your tongue.

You hurry down the hall and push into the ladies. You crank on the sink and bend over to rinse your mouth out. You dry off, wiping away much of your black lipstick. 

You fish a mint out of your bag and reapply the tint to your lips, checking your reflection one last time. You go into one of the stalls, just to be sure and wash your hands before venturing out into the store. 

As you come out. Lloyd stands by the magazine shelf, browsing without intent. He glances over at you and smirks, his hands full.

"Got ya... ginger ale," he holds up the green bottle, "and some anti-nausea stuff." He shakes the box of tablets.

"Oh, you didn't have to..."

"I saw it, so... whatever," he hands over the items, "paid and good to go, unless you need anything else."

"All good," you muster a smile.

"You just relax, sweetheart," he waves you towards the door, "we're looking at making midnight if we're lucky. You rest up... you'll need your energy for your vacation."

"Thanks," you mutter. You don't plan on relaxing, you have textbooks and more than enough homework.

"Let me get this," he opens the door for you again.

You step through and he follows closely, just grazing the loose fabric of your pants. You feel a tug but don't think much of it right as he passes you and hits the unlock button on his keys. You near the car and drop into the passenger seat with your goodies.

You crack the seal on the ginger ale, the mint tainting the flavor. You open the box of pills and break one free of the insert. You swallow it with another swig of soda and put the bottle in the cupholder, tucking away the pills in your bag before shoving it between your feet. You lean back and buckle up.

Lloyd turns the engine and flips the stereo on again. You're tired already. You're glad he's taken on most of the driving, aside from his lead foot.

"That's it, you just chill," he reaches over and claps his hand on your thigh, "we'll be home before we know it."

"Home?" You wonder.

"Home away from home," he shrugs and pulls his hand back to the wheel and shifts into gear. "don't worry about it, babe. I got you."

You don't respond. You're not really sure how to and you're stomach is still gurgly. You just want the meds to kick in so you can close your eyes without getting dizzy.

"Alright, back on the road," he steers around the lot, following another car towards the ramp, "huh," he snorts as he speeds up.

"What?"

"Nah, just thinking... feels like... a movie," he muses as he sits back, keeping one hand nonchalantly on the wheel even as the speedometer ticks up, "like we're going away on a honeymoon. Some ridiculous romcom... or maybe a horror movie. You seem partial to the latter."

"I guess. That's a stereotype though. I'm not really a horror person."

"No?" He sniffs, "my bad. I saw that Poe collection on your shelf, so I assumed--"

"I like to read, not so much into seeing gore," you shrug.

"Fair," he replies, "surprising..."

"Why's it surprising?"

"I didn't take you as squeamish with the whole..." he points to his nose, "ring thing."

You reach up to touch your septum.

"Oh, I couldn't really see them doing it," you say.

"Not that I don't like it," he assures you, "it's a look."

You furrow your brow and nearly laugh. Is he trying to sound young and hip or something? At least he's not like your mother, lecturing you on mutilating your body.

"You got any ink? Tattoo or something?" He asks, "something mommy and daddy don't know about?"

"Um, no," you say, "it's... expensive."

"Oh, do I ever know," he clucks.

"You have a tattoo?"

"Sure do," he pats his chest, "I'll give you a look once we get where we're going. It's nothing hardcore. Mostly a college mistake."

"Ah, makes sense."

"What else is college for?" He winks at you in the rearview, "making memories."

"Sure," you agree and yawn into your hand.

"I'll shut up now," he scoffs, "you rest that pretty head."

You look at him, hesitating before letting yourself relax against the seat. You cross your arms and lean into the door, closing your eyes to keep from glancing out the window. He must have got the drowsy stuff, your head is swimming.

🖤

Soon the motion of the car turns from alarming to soothing. You let yourself sink into the anti-nauseant laced drowse itching on your eyelids. You blink, slower and slower, as you succumb to the dark sky and your induced exhaustion. You drift into semi-consciousness, the engine still whirring in your ears.

The hours slip by like seconds and you wake much before your ready too. Not quite all the way as your head wobbles and your body feels buried in sand. You drag your hand across your face clumsily as the car slows and you hear the chirping of crickets. You grumble, batting your lashes before letting them close again. You nestle into the door, reaching for sleep once more.

A soft rumble, like a chuckle, rises as the engine quiets completely. You feel a shift and hear the driver's side door. You can't tell if it's real or you're dreaming. Not until your own door opens and your seatbelt barely keeps you from falling out of the car.

Lloyd nudges you back and snickers again, "ah, look at you, sleepy girl."

He bends over you, his fingertips fluttering over your stomach as he reaches to undo your seatbelt. You moan as you struggle to keep your eyes open. His shadow blocks the moonlight as your tongue sticks dryly to the roof of your mouth. You feel... more tired than you should.

"Let's get you to bed, huh? Look at you," he lets his hand wander down your thigh, "fuck, you're so warm." He tickles you through the fabric of your pants and you shiver, "and it's damn chilly, isn't it?"

He pushes his hands between your thighs and you gasp. You reach for him and he bats your hand away easily. He cups your cunt through your pants and you squirm. He puts his other arms below your chest, pinning you to the seat.

"Wha..." you babble.

"Shhhh, it's alright, babe," he purrs as he bends, pulling his hand down your thigh as he parts them wide, dipping his head into your lap. "Mmmm, you smell delicious."

He buries his face in your pelvis and takes a deep breath before exhaling hotly into you. You whimper and push on his head. He chuckles and pulls his head back. He raises the hand he had cupped against you and sniffs that too.

"The way I'm gonna taste you and find out it you're just as good as you smell," he stands and hooks his arms under yours, lifting you out of the seat, "and you're gonna be begging me for it."

"What are you talking..."

"It's okay, honeybee,  you're fucking out of it," he snaps shut the passenger door, keeping you against him, "if I wanted to, I could fuck you in the dirt right now but that's no fun."

"Huh?" You lean against him, your feet unsteady in your platform boots.

"My dicks been hard since we got in the car, you're lucky I don't test your throat out," he guides you along the pebbles and twigs, a large structure looming limned in moonlight.

"Mr. Hansen?" You eke out.

"Relax, I'm gonna put you to bed, nice and cozy. Cozier on my dick but we'll save that," he teases as his hand creeps down to squeeze your ass, "you got some of those rings in your nips too? Kinky shit."

You shake your head, stumbling with him up the wooden steps of the cabin. The place is dark and you didn't notice if your dad's SUV was there yet. They must have got there by then.

Lloyd angles you through the front door and moves seamlessly through the dark. His strength is unsettling, knowing he could do anything and you couldn't fight him off. Even if you weren't groggy.

"Come on, princess," he hums as he takes you up the stairs, each step creaking.

"Please," you beg, "why..."

"Shhh," he hushes you as he gets you to the top.

Your panic pulses and you try to shove away from him. He lets you and you go crashing into some unseen shape and bounce onto the floor. The noise of your tumble is deafening. Lloyd cackles and you hear something else. Suddenly, footsteps barreling but uneven, a door opens further down.

"What the fuck is going on?" Your mother snarls drunkenly.

"Nothing, Connie," he calls through a chortle, "girl's just a bit hopped up."

"Hopped up?!" She shrieks and you hear her struggling before she emerges, shining a light at you from the flash of her cell phone, "what?!"

"Calm down, she had some dramamine," he scoffs, "she doesn't have the same tolerance as you, Con."

"Oh, shut up," she huffs and turns back, casting the light away from both of you, "keep it down, some of us are trying to sleep."

"Pleasant as ever," he mutters as he slides his arms under you and lifts you. You touch your forehead, dizzied as he cradles you against his chest. He walks down the hall and stops to push open a door with his foot. He stands in the frame and clucks, "just like a honeymoon, huh? Me carrying you over the threshold." He enters and moves carefully through the dark as it thickens, "but we'll save the fun stuff for now."

He puts you on the bed and you grumble. He hovers over you, his hand trails down your body. You shiver and he presses his lips to your forehead and growls, "I can wait…"

He pushes away and stands straight, lurking as you feel him staring down at you. You hug yourself and roll onto your side, weak and disoriented. He takes in an audible breath and lets it out. 

"I'm not even gonna jerk off, as much as my balls are swinging like barbells," he taunts as he leans back on his heels, "I'm saving it all up for you, baby." He clicks his tongue in his cheek, "I'm even gonna be a gentleman and bring your stuff in. Don't worry, you can be naughty for me."

You don't say a word as you close your eyes, hoping to shut out this twisted reality. You hear him retreat, slow deliberate steps that stoke your nerves. He's letting you be for now, but it won't be forever. And now you know exactly what he wants…

🖤

The morning greets you with the sight of an unfamiliar room. Your memory doesn’t rush back but trickles in. A patchwork begins to form in your mind; your father sending you off with Lloyd, his herky jerky driving, the rest stop, and the wobbly scenes that came after.

You remember a conversation but not every word. Only enough to set you on edge. You sit up sharply as the words etch in your mind; ‘don’t worry, you can be naughty for me’. You want to shrug it off as a figment of your own imagination but it’s all too real in your mind.

You look around at the bedroom. Hardwood side for the walls and similarly coloured slats across the floor. The bed frame is elaborate, hand-carved with ornate knobs at the top of each post. There’s a quilty haphazardly pulled over you, gathering at your waist as you hold yourself with palms flat to the mattress.

Your duffle is in the plaid armchair set in the corner. It’s empty. You shake your head, clearing out the last of the cobwebs. Despite the nausea meds and a night of almost lifeless sleep, you wake swiftly. You feel eerily alert of every detail. 

You get up and near the tan dresser, your reflection appearing in the circle mirror perched above. Your eye makeup is smeared and your lipstick only left at the edges of your lips. You’re a mess.

Your hat hangs on the one of the posts that holds up the mirror and your knapsack from the other. You rest your hands on the thin metal handles and slide the top drawer open slowly. You look down as the wood grinds loudly.

Your underwear is neatly folded to one side but you didn’t pack enough to fill the whole drawer. At the other side, there’s something else, something unfamiliar. You touch the lacy fabric and hook your fingers through the slender straps. 

You pull it out of the drawer and let it hang down to the floor. It’s a full body suit, lace in the pattern of spiderwebs, with no lining. It wouldn’t hide much at all. You look up and see yourself positioned behind it, as if you’re trying to see what it would look like on.

You lower the garment and clear your throat. Last night wasn’t a dream, you’re lucky it was a nightmare. You quickly tuck the lacy bodysuit back into the drawer and close it.

What do you do? Do you tell your parents? You don’t imagine your mother would believe you, if she even listened. She’s already into the wine. And your father, Lloyd is his friend. He’d probably shrug it off as one of his jokes.

You back up and turn to the rest of the room. You hear the birds chirping, trees swaying, and the soft breeze flowing in through the slightly open window. You cross to the pane and look out at the deep cluster of trees that stretches for miles. It’s all the more obvious then that you’ve walked straight into his trap.

[fourmula1]

generally unprotected sex 0-3 months after you switch birth control is discouraged because your body hasn’t regulated yet so an angsty au idea where Daniel’s finally working through his depression, finally wants Max again, and then they have a pregnancy scare? They’re both super emotional and conflicted because on one hand baby (culmination of their desire and future plans) but they are also so relieved that Daniel isn’t pregnant because they aren’t ready for a baby right now.

depressed omega daniel universe. 2,004 words.

-

The thing is.

The thing is that Daniel’s scared.

And then surprised, and then kind of proud of himself for having a feeling. A few feelings. Scared. Surprised. Proud. He hasn’t done that in awhile.

But he’s been feeling other things, lately, too, and those things are physical and scary. Nausea. Intense hunger he hasn’t felt in ages. Tenderness in his chest.

He’s been avoiding dealing with it for a few weeks now but Daniel suspects the worst.

And then feels bad all over again for thinking that being pregnant would be ‘the worst’.

He and Max have talked a lot about wanting pups some day; about how they both want to be dads and have a few kids running around and even talked about names they’d like and…

It’s just.

He can’t have a baby right now. Daniel can barely take care of his own self at this point and he knows things are getting better, kinda, a little bit, but he can’t have a baby. He can’t. He can’t stop taking his antidepressants because he’s only just sort of getting back on track to being somewhat of a person again. There’s no way Daniel can manage a whole pregnancy right now, but. He can’t really deny his symptoms he’s experiencing.

He'd asked Michael to pick up a pregnancy test with the usual groceries and supplements he brings over for training, and sworn Michael to secrecy, and felt a little shame at the look Michael had given him. He knows he’s in no state to be having a pup.

“I’m on birth control,” he’d said, sat at the kitchen breakfast nook where he’d been finishing up the smoothie Michael had made him. “I don’t know. There’s those rare times when people get pregnant aren’t there?”

“But this is a new one, isn’t it?” Michael asked, because he knew – had to know – the ins and outs of Daniel’s body and medications and nutrition at all times.

Daniel had looked up at Michael from his smoothie, eyebrows knitting together in a little frown.

“Danny, it can take a few months for the new ones to be as effective as what you stopped taking,” Michael had explained and Daniel’s heart had plummeted into his stomach.

He’d been so stupid. So happy that he’d finally had a sex drive again, so eager to re-affirm his and Max’s bond again, so pleased to finally be knotted by his alpha again. They hadn’t been having a ton of sex – not back up to their pre-depression levels – but enough that that, plus the risk of his new birth control… apparently a recipe for disaster.

Sighing, Daniel hides the pregnancy test away in the bathroom cabinet for later. For now, he has to face Max.

Daniel goes out to the bedroom where Max was sat up in bed on his phone, having not yet got up for the day. Brad knows better than to hit Max up for training before 11am. Daniel’s always been an early morning kind of guy.

“Hi,” he says as he climbs back into their bed to sit, criss-cross, facing Max. “I gotta tell you something,” Daniel finishes, tugging his hoodie sleeves down over his hands, a nervous habit. Max looks up at him, curious, phone set aside onto the bedside table in an instant.

“Are you okay?” He asks, because of course he does. Max is the most attentive and wonderful alpha Daniel’s ever known. Daniel can see the way Max’s nostrils flare a little, taking in Daniel’s scent.

“I think I might be pregnant,” Daniel says, just getting it over with and out there. His heart pounds as he watches Max’s face go through what seems like a million stages of emotion. Confusion, shock, surprise, fear.

“What? No. How?” Max asks, sitting up in bed a little straighter now, shifting to reach over for one of Daniel’s hands. “You’re… you take your pill every night, I see you do it,” he says, and he’s not wrong. They brush their teeth together for bed, and then Daniel takes his antidepressant and his birth control while Max rinses his toothbrush out. Routine practically set in stone.

Daniel sighs, nods his head a little and squeezes Max’s hand in his own.

“I think we were a little stupid,” Daniel says with a frown. “I should have been more careful. Just. It can take awhile for a new kind of birth control to be, like, effective, I guess. I feel like I should have known that. But. I was just really happy to feel like I wanted you again… and, maybe. I guess we fucked up,” Daniel sighs, dropping his gaze to where he’s holding Max’s hand in his lap.

Max is quiet across from him, no doubt processing the information. He knows this isn’t Max’s fault. What do alphas know about birth control and omega bodies? Daniel was too caught up in the excitement – and feeling the excitement – of having a sex drive again and now, this.

“But you don’t know, for sure?” Max asks quietly, and Daniel looks up at him again.

“No, but I feel… I’ve been nauseous and really hungry lately. And my chest hurts and I think I’m… my chest is bigger, I dunno. I have a test to take,” Daniel says with a little shrug. “Maybe I should have taken it first to be sure before even talking to you, I just,” he pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Hey, no,” Max says as he moves to get closer, tugs Daniel into a hug and nuzzles into his neck. “You of course should tell me everything you want to any time,” Max tells him and Daniel feels a little bit calmer with the way Max scents him.

He pulls back after a moment and finds his resolve to go actually take the test, but not before stealing a kiss from Max before he heads to the bathroom to find out for sure.

-

In bed, Max watches the bathroom door close and lets himself sag back into the pillows, hands running over his face as he lets out a slow breath.

This is so not the time.

Max hates himself for thinking it because they both know how badly he wants Daniel’s pups. He’s made it so clear to Daniel that he wants to give Daniel lots of babies and raise them to be so happy and free to choose their paths, to be little family full of love and so much happiness.

But Daniel’s only barely getting out of bed in the mornings by himself these days. It’s only been recently that he or Michael haven’t had to literally make him get up and function almost like a person.

Daniel’s been better. He’s been so much better. But he’s not… he’s nowhere near where either of them would ideally want to be to have a pup.

Max sighs again and hates himself for the tiny bit of hope he has that Daniel isn’t pregnant.

He’d noticed that Daniel was actually eating more lately, and not being made to do it. Honestly Max just thought Daniel was finally gaining some weight again and he’d noticed the changes – Daniel’s chest and abs filling out a bit more, but he’d been eating! He’d been too skinny and now he was filling out a bit and Max had thought nothing of it, only good things.

If Daniel is pregnant Max can only imagine one option, as much as it pains him to consider. But he knows his mate, and he knows Daniel would have to do what’s best for him and his health right now.

Max gets out of bed pads to the bathroom door, knocks softly and leans his forehead against it.

“Can I come in?” He asks quietly, knowing Daniel might want his space for this.

“Just a sec,” Daniel answers and Max listens to the sounds of Daniel washing his hands and puttering – killing time – before Daniel finally opens the door. He can’t help but to immediately lock his eyes on the pregnancy test sitting on the counter, waiting for them.

“You smell upset,” He says, easily picking up on the sharp tang of Daniel’s scent. “I should have probably noticed earlier but I just thought you were getting back to normal. You smelled so much like you again and it made me so happy Daniel. I of course should have realized that maybe it was something else,” Max says with a frown, disappointed in himself for not picking up that maybe Daniel’s change in his scent was pregnancy. Alphas are supposed to be able to tell.

“I’m just scared,” Daniel tells him, steps back to let Max come into the bathroom. Daniel leans up against the counter while Max sits on the edge of the tub. “I feel like I fucked up so badly and if I’m pregnant I… you know we can’t…”

“I know,” Max acquiesces. “You know whatever you choose I’ll support you,” he says, and he means it. As hard as it would be, as much as he would – does – want this pup, this is not their time.

Daniel’s about to respond before his phone trills on the bathroom counter, no doubt an alarm he’d set when it was time to look at the results of the test he took. He silences the alarm and looks back at Max, and Max can see the fear on his face.

“Let me do it,” Max says as he gets up from where he was perched on the edge of the tub. He crosses the bathroom and grabs the test off the counter before Daniel can protest.

Max holds the little test in his hand and tries not to think about how this moment could change the course of their entire lives. He looks up at Daniel who’s leaning his hip against the counter and looking back at him.

Max takes a little breath and finally lifts his hand, looks down at the little screen before his eyes. Nothing in this life could have prepared him for the immense wave of utter relief he feels at reading the little digital ‘NOT PREGNANT’.

“It’s negative,” he says, barely, before Daniel’s snatched the pregnancy test from his hands to look for himself.

Not pregnant. Daniel is not pregnant. They’re not going to have a pup.

Not now, anyway. Not now.

“Oh my god,” Daniel breathes, test clattering to the bathroom counter before Daniel tosses his arms around Max’s neck. Max pulls him close, cuddles his perfect omega into his arms and presses a kiss to Daniel’s mating mark. He’d been right, after all. Daniel wasn’t pregnant. Daniel was just getting healthier. Gaining weight. Eating. Feeling better.

“It’s okay,” Max breathes, squeezing Daniel close when Daniel shudders a sob into his shoulder. “It’s okay, Daniel.”

Max can smell Daniel’s relief, can sense the confusion they both feel at being so relieved and yet sad at the same time. He knows they both want pups, one day. But he’s relieved it isn’t today.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Daniel says when he pulls back again, Max watching as he wipes his eyes. “I should have just done this before telling you anything,” he says and Max’s heart clenches.

“I want you to tell me everything,” he says, because he knows what it’s like to be with a Daniel who hides how he really feels, and he knows that it’s scary. “We’ll have pups when we’re ready, okay? I would hate it if you had to make such a hard choice right now about to keep it or not. I’m glad you don’t have to, Daniel,” he tells his mate, cups Daniel’s cheeks to look at his big, sad brown eyes.

“Okay,” Daniel agrees, and he accepts the kiss Max gives him easily before cuddling back into Max’s arms.

“Maybe tomorrow you can ask Michael to get us some condoms, hm?” Max asks with a smirk, and he’s grateful for the beautiful, truly missed, sound of Daniel’s laughter.

[bellysoupset]

PETITION FOR LEO TO CATCH THE BUG! Jonah can try and be as comforting as possible but we all know he is gonna tap out, so maybe Lucas can be the primary caretaker since he’s already had the bug and he can handle puke?

Petition accepted with flying colors!

And some angst for sprinkles, this time not mental health related for once! (this might be a part 1)

-----

Normally, Leo loved his job. He was one of five paralegals in a big law firm and the fact that his future was painted very clearly before him was one of the things that grounded him the most. Besides, he liked the challenges it offered and the benefits too.

Today wasn't one of those days.

His head felt stuffy ever since morning and he hadn't been able to focus on his classes, much less in his job now. Everything just felt kinda... Off.

He wanted Jonah, but the fact that his stomach was such a mess made him wonder if it was even a good idea to go back to his boyfriend's place. It just sounded like it'd be more convenient for everyone if he went back to his shitty dorms and holed up until the queasiness passed.

Yeah, he was going to do that, he decided while rubbing his temples, just as soon as he got energy to get up from this chair.

"Hey, Wagner," his colleague poked his arm, "help with these files? Where the hell do I store them?"

By the time his shift was ending, Leo's queasiness had evolved into full blown nausea and he had just spent the past fifteen minutes swallowing the extra saliva while listening to his boss, Mrs. Mitchell, rant on and on.

He really just wanted to be lying down, but luck simply wasn't on his side. In order to get back to the dorms he'd have to take the bus. If he went to Jonah's apartment he could probably catch a taxi, since it was close enough (or walk if he had been feeling better, like any other day), but to the dorms? A taxi there would cost... A lot.

Leo found himself right outside of the building, leaning against a street lamp while he attempted to get his scrambled thoughts in order. It was a difficult task, he knew how awful he was feeling was clouding his judgement.

Finally, when another wave of nausea threatened to send up his lunch, he fished out his phone and hit 1 on the speed dial, holding it to his ear, eyes shut and gulping down as he waited for the nausea to back down.

"Hel-"

"Can you come pick me up? I don't feel well," Leo blurted out and he expected Jonah's usual quick and dry response, but it wasn't what he got.

"Leo?" Lucas' voice rung through the line, "what do you mean you're not feeling well? Where are you?"

Shit.

"Uh, sorry Luke, I meant to call Jon-"

"Where are you?" Luke completely ignored him and Leo could tell from the rustling around in the background that he was already moving. He sighed, at least it was better than nothing.

"Work..."

"Court or-"

"No, actual-" another wave of sticky nausea washed over him and he couldn't help but gag. He spat on the curb, breathing deeply through his nose, "the actual firm's building."

"You're throwing up?" Luke sounded extremely concerned, "look, just- Just hang in there, my place isn't far. Stay put."

"No, Luke, you don't-"

Lucas hung up on him and Leo didn't have it in him to call back and try and convince him not to come. Lucas was as good a caretaker now as any and he'd get him to the dorms no issue, lying down with a bowl preferably. Quickly.

True to his words it didn't take Luke a long time to pull up. Even so, Leo was drenched in sweat by the time he did. He had long removed his tie and moved as far away from the entrance of the building as he could. Last thing he wanted was to get fired because of decorum.

"Geez, Leo, you look awful..." Lucas said worriedly, as soon as he jumped out of the car. Leo, still bracing against the street lamp, opened a sarcastic smile.

"Thank you."

"C'mon, let's get you out of here, we can talk in the car-"

"I'm gonna be sick," Leo shook his head, eyeing the car suspiciously. He knew carsickness would kick in the minute they drove off.

"Right now?"

"No," he pressed a hand to his mouth, gagging unproductively again, "but soon."

"It's fine, I brought you a bag," Lucas beamed, then didn't wait for Leo's answer and wrapped an arm around his waist, all but dragging the blonde to the car.

Leo felt drunk. He collapsed on the passenger seat, panting, "I don't- I don't feel well, Luke."

"I'm sorry," Lucas sighed, reaching in and stripping him of the tux jacket, "you'll be in bed in a second, promise- Do you want- Do you want to go to the hospital...?"

"Over a stomach bug?" Leo glared at him, tiredly, and Lucas let out a sigh of relief, back on his caretaker mode.

"Okay, uhm- Here," he opened the big, thick plastic bag and Leo couldn't help but let out a snort.

"Is this a trash bag?" He mumbled tiredly, causing Lucas to shrug as he started to drive out.

"It was the quickest thing at hand, I brought the entire roll," he squeezed Leo's shoulder as he glanced over his own to reverse the car, "try to aim."

"Ok," Leo sighed, too tired to come up with a better response. It felt like his arms were made of concrete, so instead he just opened the bag as wide as he could and let it plop back on his lap, hanging awkwardly over it. He really couldn't stop drooling, it was beyond embarrassing.

His stomach gurgled unhappily, pressing against the social pants and Leo pressed his hand to it, bringing up a soft, airy belch that brought no relief.

"Have you been sick already?" Lucas' free hand came to rest on his shoulder, keeping him steady. Leo shook his head no.

"Don't wanna-"

"Shhh, just let it up. You'll feel better, trust me," he squeezed his shoulder in a reassuring manner and Leo groaned loudly, pressing his forehead to the dashboard as a cramp hit him.

"Fuck, it hurts-" he groaned, then gagged immediately as Lucas took a turn and the inertia sent his head swimming. He grabbed the bag hurriedly, barely having time before lunch was spilling forth, not in a powerful gush, but slowly and painfully.

Vaguely he was aware that Lucas was trying to comfort him, but his stomach was truly churning and it didn't matter how hard Leo tried to breathe, all he could do was continue to cough up the half digested mess.

The car came to a stop and then Lucas' hand was rubbing his back up and down, applying enough pressure to dislodge a burp and with it another watery stream of vomit. Leo panted, still hunched forward, the smell making him even sicker, "fuck... I still- I don't feel better."

"Yeah," Lucas winced sympathetically, "that the flu. C'mon, let's get you inside."

"Inside?" Leo finally raised his head and realized Lucas hadn't driven him to the dorms - it had been too quick a drive for that - but instead to his own building, "Luke, what the fuck, I can't-"

The driver's door slammed on his face, Lucas not paying him any mind.

He opened the passenger side, reaching for the bag first, "let me take care of that-"

"I'm not done," Leo groaned, still holding it tightly, "and I don't- Luke, I can't stay in your place-"

"There's zero fucking chance I'm letting you go back to those horrible dorms, so don't even try arguing," Lucas glared at him steadily and it reminded Leo of Jonah. Same self righteous anger, all arrogant, "besides, I already had the bug and I don't get sympathy sick. Win win situation."

"Doesn't sound like a win on your part," Leo groaned, allowing Luke to help him out of the car, "fine, I'm-" he wrapped an arm around his stomach as it gurgled fiercely, "I'm too sick to pretend to care."

"That's the spirit," Lucas said cheekily, reaching in the backseat of the car to grab the roll of trash bags, which he had actually brought. Leo let out a huff, smiling at his friends antics.

"You're very weird, Luke," he sighed, getting in the elevator and pressing his forehead to the other man's shoulder, "comfy though."

"You're burning up."

"Uhm..." Leo dug his fingers into his belly, cradling it not so tenderly as much as trying to stop the offending organ from crawling up his throat. He felt far from empty, as if he was filled with hot swirly soup, "fuck..."

"Almost there," Lucas mumbled, hitting the button to his floor once more, as if that would, somehow, make the elevator go faster.

"What about- What about," Leo winced against the bright lights, hiding his face further against Lucas' green sweater, "what about Bella?"

"What about Bella?" Lucas shrugged and Leo whined when the movement jostled him too.

"Won't she get the bug?" Leo vaguely noticed he had started to shake. He was freezing.

"She's not here anymore," Lucas answered, planting a hand on his back to guide him inside the apartment as the elevator came to a stop with a soft Ding!

"Uhm-" Leo immediately went for the couch and collapsed down, undoing his pants, "whatever do you mean Bella isn't here anymore? You sound like she died," he tried to joke, but felt too shitty to properly deliver the line. Jonah would've chuckled, Leo thought sourly as Lucas simply stared at him.

"We broke up," he cleared up, "two weeks ago."

Leo was so shocked that for a second even his belly was stunned into shutting up. He stared at Lucas, "you- Two weeks ago!? Does- Did- Are you okay? Why didn't you tell us? What- Does Vin know?"

"Vince and I are not dating, you know?" Lucas rolled his eyes, "he doesn't have to know about me breaking up."

Leo frowned, then the shock wore off enough to give space for nausea and he pressed his fist to his mouth, "Ugh- fuck-" he grabbed on the couch to force himself up, hoping he could stumble to the bathroom on time.

He barely made it, his knees aching as he collapsed before the guest toilet, just in time to cough up another chunky stream of vomit, this one burning his throat and nose, causing him to start crying.

"Hey..." Lucas' cooed, crouching down behind him, "dude, take a deep breath, you're choking-"

"I-" he coughed again, squeezing the toilet and hissing as another cramp hit him, "fuck it hurts, Luke..."

"I know, I'm sorry..." Luke rubbed his back, "just get it up and I'll get you a hot water bottle."

His stomach turned at the mere idea of having something pressing on it and Leo let out a moan, reaching blindly to flush, mouth hanging open as he couldn't seem to close it.

He heaved again, but nothing came up. Still Leo felt far from empty, even if he didn't recall eating all that much during lunch. He had already been queasy, he had only nibbled on some of his order... The thought of food made his belly squeeze again and Leo groaned as even more hot liquid rushed up his throat.

"Shit-" he heard as Lucas moved his hand to cup Leo's forehead, keeping his head steady, "you're good, get it up."

He really didn't need the added incentive. Leo leaned his weight heavily against the hand pressed to his forehead, retching again and then once more, so forceful he felt the pressure change in his inner ear.

By the time he was done the whole world felt fuzzy, his ears were ringing and Leo was thankful Luke was still holding him, because otherwise he'd have collapsed.

He panted and let out a groan as a wad of wet toilet paper came toward his face, Lucas wiping it all clean without looking even the least bit bothered.

"Done?"

"Yeah..." he breathed out, closing his eyes and leaning against the cold wall behind him, "still- not empty."

"I frankly doubt that," Lucas scoffed, then finally let go of him, settling Leo against the wall, "hang in there, I'll just get the room settled."

"The room...?" Leo blinked, confused and more than a little spent. Lucas didn't answer him, so he let his head hit the wall behind him softly once more, trying to muster up the strength to move.

He heard, faintly, as Lucas moved around, and then he was back, now no longer wearing shoes and changed into a pair of sweats. Leo looked up at him expectantly.

"I need to call Jon..." he mumbled, as Lucas helped him up from the ground easily, "let him know I wasn't kidnapped."

"You kinda were," Lucas grinned, helping him stumble towards the guest room. Leo eyed the fresh pair of sweats sitting on top of the bed, the blankets already pulled back, bucket on the floor and he felt tears brim up.

What the fuck? He sometimes couldn't believe these were his friends, his life. It was lightyears away from the kid who thought everything had been over when he was 17.

"Leo?"

"Sorry..." he mumbled, sniffling, "I just-"

"Is it hurting that bad?" Lucas said, helping him sit down, "I'm sorry, I know it hurts, I got you the water bottle-"

"It's not that," Leo blinked quickly, getting his emotions in check, swallowing the tears before they fell, "I'm fine."

"If its not the pain-"

"Luke," he glared at the man before him, "I'm fine. Help me out of these clothes, they're disgusting."

"Honestly," Lucas agreed with a whistle, helping him peel off the shirt. Leo glared as his normally flat belly immediately poked out over his pants, bloated and gurgly, clearly stretched.

"Oh that's gross," he groaned, wrapping an arm around it and pushing the pants down, while Lucas unfolded the hoodie.

"Just a little," he smiled, helping him inside the new clothes. By the time Leo was allowed to fall back against the pillows, he had started to sweat all over again, stomach sloshing uncomfortably.

Lucas sat on the edge of his bed, grabbing the silicon hot water bottle and placing it on the front large pocket of his hoodie, right over his stomach. Leo let out a sigh of relief, then curled up around it.

"So..." he hiccuped, actually looking at Lucas in quite a while if he was honest. His friend looked different. A little paler, more withdrawn, "you and Bella broke up? What the hell, Luke?"

"It was a while ago," Lucas said strongly, pulling the blankets around him and going through the first aid until he found the thermometer, "I'm fine."

"Two weeks ago is not a while ago," Leo scoffed, allowing him to place the thermometer in his mouth, even if the intrusion caused him to gag, "what-'ppend?"

"We had a fight, she left," He shrugged, jaw tense. Leo frowned.

"Luke... You don't have to pretend to be fine, it's just me-"

"I am fine," Lucas scoffed, retrieving the thermometer, "The fever is not good, but not that bad. Get some rest, I'll try giving you meds in a little."

"Not gonna stay down," Leo sighed, realizing it was a lost fight to try and get Lucas to talk about his feelings. He let his eyes slip closed, exhaustion overtaking the concern he felt.

Next he opened them, Lucas wasn't in the room anymore and it was dark outside. The door was only half open and Leo could hear perfectly as his friend paced around, talking.

His stomach gurgled viciously and Leo groaned, rolling onto his side, trying to get some of the warmth from his hot water bottle, but it had long gone cold.

"-an idiot, you can't see vomit. He's fine, I know how to take care of people, I'm not ten," Lucas argued outside the door and Leo would've smiled as he understood Jonah was the one on the phone, but instead he had more pressing matters at hand.

Such as his stomach's contents sliding up his throat, burning hot. He reached in blindly, grabbing the bucket with one trembling hand and then heaved.

The half lying down position, bent over the side of the bed, was enough added pressure that he didn't even have to put any effort at bringing up the rest of whatever was inside of him. Burning water it felt like.

There was movement and then the hallway light half lit up the room, Lucas holding him by the shoulders to stop Leo from falling down the bed and straight into the sick bucket.

His belly wasn't happy, he knew he was empty, but it didn't stop contracting and causing him to burp sickly, "fuuck- It's in my nose-"

"Here," Lucas handed him a wad of tissue, from the roll sitting on top of the bedside table that Leo hadn't even registered was there all along, with water and meds too.

He blew his nose, throwing the tissue inside the bucket and then curled up more, hugging his knees to his chest and muffling a burp against the pillow, "why does it feel like my stomach is on fire?" Leo groaned, swallowing convulsively as the movement seemed to send even more hot liquid to his throat.

"It's the acid," Lucas sighed, taking the hot water bottle from him, despite Leo trying to cling to it, "Jonah wants to come here."

"So we can harmonize when puking? How romantic," Leo scoffed, "tell him I'm fine..." he closed his eyes, taking deep measured breaths, "this nausea won't stop."

"It kicked my ass too," Lucas said sympathetically, resting a hand over Leo's stomach, over the hoodie. Not quite rubbing, just a reassuring presence. Leo nodded, burping against his hand again.

"How long until it stops?"

"It took me three days," his friend squeezed his arm in a calm manner, "but Jonah's was way shorter, right?"

"Right," Leo agreed, feeling faint. He couldn't do three days of this, he already felt like death, "...Can we cuddle?" his cheeks burned just as he said it and he expected at least some teasing, but it seemed Luke was feeling just as wretched as Leo, only in a different way.

Without a word he climbed on the queen bed, curling up behind him and scoffing, "I think your fever is higher."

"Feels like it," Leo agreed, unhelpfully, "I might puke on you, I really don't feel well."

Luke shrugged, squeezing him just a little tighter, probably craving the comfort more than Leo, "whatever."