#it was almost instant dizziness and nausea

[50000bears]

Ughh I have so much to do today but I suddenly got really sick 5 minutes before leaving the house

[perpetuallyburntout]

“Can you come get me?”

Five Hargreeves x gn!reader

Five takes care of you after you get injured.

Word Count: 990

TW: blood, mentions of injuries and needles/stitches

My back hit the door, and I sucked in a breath as my legs gave out and I sank to the floor. Unbuttoning my shirt with trembling hands, I looked down and examined the injury in my side, feeling a wave of nausea as I saw the blood and a new wave of pain overcame me.

I fumbled for my phone, not really thinking as I unlocked it and called a number I knew by heart. It rang for several painstaking seconds, before a familiar voice deadpanned from the other side.

“I take it you’re not dead.”

Hearing Five’s voice was enough to make me relax slightly, but I swallowed hard and kept myself as alert as possible.

“N-no, I’m not…” I said with a weak huff of laughter. “Disappointed?”

There was a short silence, then his tone of voice was slightly different as he asked, “Are you… what did you need?”

“Oh, um…” I leaned my head back against the wall, taking a deep breath. “C-can you please come get me? Now?”

If I hadn’t been trying to ignore the pain in my side and the dizziness in my head, I would have been flattered by the lack of hesitation in his voice when he replied, “Be there in a minute.”

I almost asked him to stay on the line, but he hung up before I could get anything else out. Dropping my phone at my side, I kept my eyes up at the ceiling and tried not to glance down at my injury. Just a minute. I just had to hang in there for a minute.

It could have been a few seconds, a minute, or an hour that I waited with how slow time seemed to move, but finally, with a brief flash of light, Five appeared a few feet away from me.

His brows raised slightly as he noticed me, a curse leaving his lips before he knelt beside me. “Who did this to you?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but he abruptly cut me off before the words could leave my mouth. “It doesn’t matter right now. I’m getting you out of here.”

As he leaned down and hooked an arm around my waist, I muttered. “Your power makes me nauseous.”

“Yes, well, unless you’d like to walk, you don’t have any other options,” he told me shortly.

His grip on me tightened slightly, and in an instant, my world spun. I felt like I was floating until, as quickly as the floor was gone from below me, it was back. My mouth watered with the urge to throw up, and I forced it back.

“Throw up on me, and I’ll leave you to die,” Five hissed, letting go of me and stepping hastily back. I watched him as he walked across the room—his room, I realised—and opened a drawer, digging around for something. He glanced back at me briefly. “Start talking. I need you to stay awake.”

“What is there to talk about?” I sighed, flexing my fingers.

“You tell me.”

“Ugh… I just got caught is all. I incapacitated most of them.”

He returned to my side with a first aid kit in hand, moving my shirt out of the way and wiping away the excess blood around the wound. “Most of them?”

“One got away,” I told him, glancing down as he worked.

“I’m going to kill them,” he muttered, then said louder, “You’re not gonna die. But I need to stitch this up.”

I winced. “Do you have anything to numb it?”

“No.” He pulled stitches out of the kit and prepared them. “You ready?”

“No. Do it anyway.”

“Good attitude.”

I couldn’t watch as he pressed the needle into my skin, but I felt the pain as he got to work. I inhaled shakily, blackness crowding my vision as another wave of dizziness hit me.

“Y/n,” he snapped, but my eyes were fluttering shut. A sudden sharp pain in my cheek snapped my eyes back open. He smacked me.

“Prick,” I muttered.

“Now’s not the time for naps,” he retorted with a sarcastic smile. “I’ll do it again if you get any ideas.”

I gritted my teeth, but focused every bit of my energy on keeping my eyes open as he finished stitching the wound. Afterwards, he cleaned up the extra blood and started bandaging it, wrapping the bandages around my abdomen, not too tight. Another minute later, he leaned back.

“Done.”

I let out a long breath, hair falling over my face as I dropped my head. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Can I sleep now?”

“Can you stand?”

I braced my hands against the floor, pushing myself up and hissing at the pain. Five wrapped an arm around me, helping me up and leading me to his bed, letting me sit back against the mattress. He made a face. “I’m gonna have to wash my sheets after this.”

“Oh, what an inconvenience I am to you,” I retorted, leaning back carefully until my head reached his pillow.

“You have no idea.”

He glanced towards the door, but I spoke up before he could disappear. “Wait, Five…”

I reached out to grab his wrist, but stopped short. He noticed this. “What, do you want me to stay, too?”

I winced, dropping my hand, and his sharp gaze softened slightly. Sighing softly, he dragged a chair over to the bedside and sat back in it. “Fine.”

I shut my eyes briefly, relief crashing down on me. I didn’t want to be alone right now. “Thank you. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” he said simply. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He wasn’t going anywhere. He was staying. Thank god for that.

As my body sank further into the mattress and I inhaled the lingering scent of him on the sheets, I could feel myself slipping away. My last thought before blackness swamped me was that I really needed to repay him someday.

[katsu28]

🍭 lollipop -26. “Just breathe. Like that. That’s it” from List 4 with steve pls?? ty<3

i combined this one with another request—"relax, i've got you." because i thought they went pretty hand in hand with each other, i hope that's okay! ty for requesting! <3

dad!steve harrington x pregnant!reader, mentions of pain and pregnancy symptoms, 1.3k

Being pregnant was proving to be one of the hardest things in your life. You’d had enough dizziness and nausea in your first trimester to last you a lifetime, enough achiness and swollen feet in your second than anyone should ever have, and now in your third, you’d discovered something brand new to put on your list of pregnancy woes.

False labor pains, otherwise known as Braxton-Hicks contractions (as Steve had very quickly informed you after a trip to the library that resulted in a pile of what to expect when you’re expecting-esque books residing next to his side of the bed). Paired with an extremely active baby girl with a horse strength kick who loved to make it known 24/7, this home stretch was your toughest one yet.

The telltale open and shut of the front door signaled Steve’s arrival, even before his voice. “Honey, I’m home!!!” He sang.

You made a vague noise of acknowledgement from your sprawled out position on the couch, waving your hand over your head haphazardly. You’d been stuck in the same spot for almost the whole day, seeing as every time you tried to get up, either another well placed kick or a false contraction dragged you right back down.

“How’re my girls doing?”

“Your daughter’s doing her daily karate routine against my organs, but other than that we’re great.”

“Oh so she’s gonna do karate now? I thought she was gonna be a tap dancer? Or a soccer player?” Steve teased gently, tossing his keys into the bowl on the table near the front door. He kicked his shoes off too, hanging his jacket on the hook next to yours before crossing the room to rub your shoulders with a kiss pressed to the top of your head.

“She can be all of them when she grows up, but I wish she’d stop it right now.”

He let out a snort of laughter, rounding the couch and kneeling in front of you. One hand came to rub your belly gently, the other coming to land on your knee. “Anything I can do for you?”

“Tell her to cut it out.” Another laugh from him. “How was work?”

“Pretty uneventful. Robin says hi though, wanted me to ask if you two were still on for lunch on Tuesday?”

“Oh my god, I totally forgot to call her back!” You gasped, hands scrabbling for purchase on the couch cushions as if you wanted to push yourself up.

“Hey, hey, slow your roll, sweetheart. Take it easy, I’ll give her a call later.” Steve eased you back down, shooting you a pointed look when you pouted up at him. “I promise, ‘mkay?”

“‘Mkay.” You sighed, slumping back into your previous position. Then, barely even taking a beat, you shot up straight again, this time moving to grab Steve’s shoulders as leverage.

His brows furrowed in instant concern. “What? What’s happening now? Are you okay?”

“Gotta pee.”

“Jesus, you really scared me for a second there,” He breathed, pressing a hand against his chest but going to help you up anyways.

The second you made it to your feet, you were hit with another Braxton-Hicks, this one so big that you would’ve keeled over at the strength of it if not for Steve still holding on to you. You squeezed your eyes shut, sinking back down on the couch yet again with a choked whimper. For something called false labor, the pain sure was really goddamn real. “Whoa, okay. Relax, I’ve got you. You’re alright, sweetheart, you’re doing great. Just relax.”

“Tell me to relax one more time and I’m gonna wring your neck, Harrington.” You said through gritted teeth, fisting his shirt in your hand as if it would help you ride out the pain.

Steve ignored your threat, because he knew you didn’t actually mean it. You’d been growing a whole tiny human inside you for the past eight months, the least he could do was stomach a few gripes here and there. “Squeeze my hands. Just squeeze my hands, it’ll help.”

You gladly took him up on the offer, borderline crushing his hands with a strength neither you nor him knew you had, but he’d never complain about it. A popped knuckle and temporary loss of blood flow was nothing compared to what you’d been having to endure nonstop.

Tears welled up in your eyes at the worsening spasm in your back and abdomen, like someone had taken your insides and was twisting them around in their grip.

“Just breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth.” Steve soothed, mimicking the deep breaths he wanted you to take. “Like that, that’s it. There you go. Just like that, baby.”

“This is the cramp from hell, Steve, deep breathing isn’t helping anything.”

“Okay, alright, let’s try something else then. Didn’t the doctor say moving around would help lessen the pain?” He suggested, trying his best to rack his brain despite the numbness creeping through his hands. “Or maybe drink some water? I can get you a glass of—”

“Can you just shut up for a minute?” The sharpness in your words shocked you, and should’ve shocked Steve too, but he didn’t seem phased at all, instead just nodding, gazing up at you with wide honey eyes currently filled with concern.

Guilt pooled in you as soon as the contraction finally subsided, and somehow, the guilt felt worse. Steve had been nothing less than the perfect partner this entire pregnancy, and here you were snapping at him for being supportive. Again.

You inhaled a shaky breath, bringing his hands up and pressing a kiss to each of his palms. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Stevie, I don’t mean to be mean to you, I just—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, okay? You can do and say anything you want to me, sweetheart, and you never have to apologize. You’re carrying our kid, you’ve got every right to be as mean as you want.” He assured you, cupping your face. His thumbs stroked across your cheeks featherlight despite the firmness in his grip. “I’m a big boy, I can take it. Never be sorry. You don’t have to be.”

“I love you,” You sighed miserably, melting against him like a popsicle on a hot summer day.

“I love you most, sweetheart.” He replied softly, leaning down to press his lips against your belly before adding something. “And I love you most too, baby girl, even though you’re giving your mom a tough time right now.”

“I swear, she’s bullying me more and more everyday.”

He chuckled softly, smoothing a hand down your back in light circles. “I’m sure that’s just her way of saying she’s excited to meet us.”

“I know. I’m so excited to meet her and I know she’s already everything we’ve ever dreamed of, but I’d kill to be able to sleep on my stomach again.”

“One more month, baby. Just one more month and then you can sleep on your stomach all you want.” He murmured, breath ghosting across your skin with each word.

“One more month.” You echoed, curling your hand around the back of his neck. One more month of discomfort for a lifetime of anything and everything with your baby girl. That, you were excited for. Slightly terrified, but definitely more excited. “I’m nervous. Are you?”

“Oh yeah. Nearly-shitting-my-pants nervous. All the time. I don’t think that feeling is ever gonna go away, honestly.” He snorted, nodding sharply. He pressed one more kiss to your belly. “But it’s worth it. As long as I have my two girls, anything is worth it.”

“I hate how perfect you’re being right now.”

“Just right now? I think you mean always.”

You pressed your lips together suddenly, scrunching your nose at him. “Stevie, you’re about to hate me.”

“I could never, but good try.”

“I still need to pee.”

Steve barked out a laugh, heaving himself to his feet and gearing up to help you in your endless attempts at standing up. “C’mon, preggers, let’s get you to the bathroom before karate kid in there decides to try out for a new belt.”

[luvbuggggg]

knockout. — remus lupin

summary: a quidditch game gone wrong leads to you in the hospital wing with a very worried remus by your side.

genre: fluff ; remus x quidditch captain!reader

warnings: injuries, violence, slight food issues(??), profanity

blinding lights filled your vision as you fought to open your eyes. a hand shot up to protect them from the harsh luminance, but you were greeted with a searing pain in your arm instead. a hand took yours. it was warm, almost too warm. you unscrewed your eyes to take a look at who the hand belonged to.

remus lupin. just about the only person you’d be okay with holding your hand right then. he looked like a wreck. bags under his eyes more prevalent than normal, disheveled hair, chapped lips. yet, he still looked phenomenal. it was unfair, really, how he could be a mess and still be one of the most attractive boys in hogwarts. personally, you felt no one else could hold a candle to your friend, but some of your dorm mates felt very strongly otherwise.

he rubbed circles on your hand with his thumb as he spoke to someone on the other side of the room. madam pomfrey soon hovered over you, immediately forcing a vial to your lips to drink. you obliged, gulping down a horrific tasting potion. she returned to her cabinets, rummaging for something specific. what for? you had no clue.

your eyes turned back to remus, who was still intently watching pomfrey. you cleared your throat, trying to gather strength to speak. even opening your mouth sent a pain through your chest. “what happened?” you mumbled.

looking back to you, remus frowned. “you don’t remember?” you shook your head gently, instantly regretting it. any sudden movements sent pain and/or dizziness through your being. he continued playing with your hand, looking around the room for something to focus on. you wished he’d just look at you. you squeezed his hand, trying to regain his attention. he looked back at you, looking almost as bad as you felt.

“there was a game, and one of the beaters kept targeting you with a bludger. it caught up to you, love, and took you out.”

moments of the game filled your memory. the exhaustion from the very beginning. you had been so focused on making sure your team was well fed that you had forgotten to eat as well. it was only until your team was walking onto the pitch that you realized your fatal mistake. as quidditch captain of your team, it was vital that you never forgot to take care of yourself. this game was so important to you, though, everything slipped away.

up in the air, all you could think about was making your goals and the nausea rushing through you at the same time. everything was going smoothly until a bludger met your temple. one minute you were upright, and the next, you were plummeting hundreds of feet. the impact of the ground still evades your memory.

you looked up at the boy, tears building in your eyes. “i tried so hard,” you croaked. he slumped in his seat, feeling worse than when you were asleep. his free hand stroked your hair, his other still entwined in yours. you pathetically tried to wipe your tears, but the pulsing aches prevented your arms from moving.

“i know you did, love.” he whispered. “nothing could’ve stopped them from hitting you. they put a spell on the ball to follow you until you were off your broom.”

the sadness melted away in an instant and was immediately replaced with anger. pure, red-hot anger. you sat up, to the best of your ability, and looked remus right in the eye. “what?”

he was startled with the change in your demeanor. he pushed a pillow behind your back to help you stay up straight as he talked. “i think it was their captain that did it, but we weren’t sure. the whole team knew, though. the boys and i thought it was odd that no one was really touching the bludger.”

“does dumbledore know? does anyone in authority know? i could’ve fucking died, remus. i fell hundreds of feet, all because some dickwad was too afraid to lose a game of quidditch to my team.” your vulgar language was met with a shush from madam pomfrey, along with an advisement to calm down. you were still healing, after all.

“they’re figuring everything out now. i think the boys are handling it, then handing it over to dumbledore and mcgonagall.” he traced fingers on your arm, careful to avoid any bruises you gained from the altercation. his touch had a way of calming you slightly, but in no way were you okay. you could’ve been killed for godrick’s sake. it felt good knowing that james, sirius, and peter were taking care of whoever did this.

remus took your silence as anger. in an attempt to calm you, he began telling you about how good your team played before the incident occurred. plays you had planned with james went phenomenally. he snickered at the fumbles made by the other team. you wondered how bad they had to have been to need a hexxed bludger. that’s truly embarrassing. as he rambled on and on, you felt your heart rate slowly decline.

the peacefulness was interrupted by three boys slamming through the door. remus’ friends. your friends. all looking bruised and disheveled, but they stood with large grins on their faces as they stared the two of you down. remus dropped your hand, not caring to bother with any teasing while you sat in a hospital wing bed.

“we beat the son of a bitch up!” james exclaimed, earning a hiss from madam pomfrey. taking a seat next to remus, he lowered his voice. “we found out it was that sick slytherin bastard, the captain!” he nudged remus harshly. “old moony here knew it all along, didn’t you?” he wiped at his nose, dried blood flaking away.

sirius sat on the end of your bed, not bothering to watch for your (still very sore) legs and feet. his knuckles were red, faint bruising prevalent under the skin. “he put up a fight, didn’t he? but wormy kept him from getting away!” he clapped peter on the back, who stood at the foot of your bed.

“he should probably be here, considering we got him pretty good, but he’s in dumbledore’s office now!” peter grinned at their accomplishments. you grinned back. violence was never the answer, in your opinion, but the asshole tracked you down with a bludger. a violent retaliation had to have been fair.

as they continued telling the consequences your assailer would face, peter pulled up another chair in between james and sirius, who remained perched on your bed. remus scooted closer to you to give the rest more space. the closer he got, the more you missed the feel of his hand in yours. you glanced at him, moving your palm closer to his, hoping he would get the memo.

without a second glance, he took your hand in his, continuing the conversation. unbeknownst to you, as you laughed along at the jokes being thrown about how pathetic the opposing team was, remus snuck glances at you. in awe of how pretty you managed to be even after breaking and mending basically all of your bones within twenty four hours. amazed at how you managed to laugh and make jokes even though you were the target of a violent act. so happy that you comforted him, even though he had remained by your side to ensure your comfort.

after hours of quips on how remus hadn’t moved since you’d gotten there and snickers about their plans for the rest of the slytherin team, madam pomfrey ushered the four of them out of the hospital wing. you were glad to know that the next person to look at you funny would receive the same treatment that poor slytherin captain got.

wc: 1.3k words

xoxo — leigh

[mamawasatesttube]

timkon w “here, let me carry you” xoxo

Reality comes rushing back in an overwhelming roar. Tim opens his eyes with a harsh gasp, hand flying to his side for a bo staff that isn't there; he tries to spring to his feet, adrenaline thrumming through his veins with the burn of sheer panic, and bites back a swear as his knees buckle and the world swims around him.

He has to get out of here, he has to warn Kon—

Strong hands catch his shoulders; dark hair and luminous cyan eyes swim into view. "Whoa! Hey, hey, relax, it's me!"

What?

Tim squeezes his eyes shut, willing the fog and vertigo out of his mind; he feels all... all... soggy, and disoriented, and wet, and exhausted, and... and awful, the panic roiling in his gut still churning to the point of nausea. He doesn't understand. The last thing he knew, he was in that warehouse, surrounded, realizing he'd fallen for a trap and they were going to use him to get to Kon, and...

"Kon?" he finally rasps, and immediately winces. His voice is raw, and his throat hurts like a bitch. Ugh, what even happened?

"Yeah, sunshine." Kon's arm wraps around his shoulders, his other hand tenderly cradling Tim's cheek. Tim blearily opens his eyes as the panic drains away; it's impossible to be so desperate and terrified when he knows Kon is here. "I got you. Easy, honey, just breathe. I got you."

"The aliens," Tim forces out, despite the pain, because Kon needs to know. "They want to get to Superman through you, they—I'm bait, you're not safe—"

"Shhhh." Kon's brows are furrowed, his jaw tight with worry; the edges of his lips tug downwards. Tim doesn't like seeing him so upset. "Don't worry. I know. I know. We took care of it. Everything's gonna be okay. They had you in stasis for a couple days."

Days. He vanished at that warehouse days ago? His poor Kon has to have been out of his mind with worry. Tim aches for him just at the thought, just for an instant, before the rest of Kon's words catch up to him and relief slams into him like a freight train.

They took care of it. Kon—Superman and everyone else too, but mostly Kon—isn't in danger. It's all okay..

It's okay.

"Oh," Tim breathes, dizzy from sheer relief; he's not even standing, but he sways again, slumping forward against Kon's chest. Kon smells of sunlight, his favorite aftershave, and a bit of ozone; Tim can feel his heart beating.

Kon's here. He's safe.

"Yeah. There you go." Kon's lips brush his forehead and linger, soft and warm against Tim's clammy skin. "Everything's okay, sunshine. You're safe now."

All the pain and exhaustion hits him tenfold as he starts to relax in Kon's arms; being held in a stasis pod clearly did very little for the injuries inflicted by the trap in the warehouse, and his whole body screams in protest. His head is killing him, and his eyelids are heavy, and his limbs are leaden.

"Here," Kon murmurs, his voice a bit distant even as he gathers Tim into his arms. Tim's head lolls against his shoulder. "Lemme carry you. Wanna go home?"

Tim can't quite muster up the energy to nod against him, but hopefully Kon gets the idea. He's really, really tired. And he's safe now, because Kon is here.

"...Tim? Tim—oh, shit."

Kon is here. So it's okay for him to close his eyes again, to sink down into the depths of his exhaustion. To give in and rest.

There's wind against his face now, he registers vaguely, and sunlight. That's nice. And Kon's arms, firm around him. "Okay," Kon murmurs. "You just—you just rest, baby. I'll get you taken care of. Promise."

As the darkness fully takes him, Tim almost laughs. That didn't need to be a promise; obviously Kon's gonna take care of him. That's the entire reason he's letting himself pass out to begin with.

Kon's here. He's safe.

He lets himself drift.

[boxfullaturtles]

Once upon a time, I had an idea for a Rise x FFXV fic. I'm not going to write it because I'm not THAT crazy, but here's a bit I wrote for it at the time because I still think about it sometimes.

Mostly for the silly hahas and the angst and how now everyone has to ride chocobos because the party no longer fits in the car lol.

Anyway, here's this. Uh, lead up? Someone was stealing supplies from the campsites while the Chocobros were out. Manage to track the thief down and it's two turtles? And one of them's really hurt? Would it be a lie to say stranger things have happened to these guys?

-----------

“So, what are you guys anyway?” Prompto asks the question through a mouthful of meat, looking Mikey up and down with unashamed curiosity.

“Dude, really?” Noct elbows Prompto in the ribs, almost tipping him over, “They’re obviously turtles.”

“Hey!” Prompto aims a sloppy kick at Noct, missing by a mile, “I meant why are they turtles walking on two legs and talking!”

Ignis loudly clears his throat when Noct and Prompto start kicking at each other. They immediately settle down and tuck back into their dinner.

Mikey hides a laugh as he answers, “Weelllll, we’re mutants! We used to be regular turtles, but then we got combined with some ooze and human DNA and BAM! Instant mutant turtle, baby!” He shrugs at the blank looks he gets from the four humans, “It’s kind of a long story. And complicated.”

When he doesn’t continue, Prompto raises his eyebrows expectantly. But Mikey just takes another bite of food and doesn’t elaborate. Noct trades a glance with Gladio and then with Ignis. The crackling of the campfire fills the silence.

“You mentioned earlier,” Ignis finally tip-toes carefully into the awkward space, “That you believe you and your brother to be...lost?”

“Brothers,” Mikey corrects and it’s the most solemn he’s sounded all day. He lowers his fork so it rests absently on the edge of his plate, staring into the fire, “There’s four of us. Me, Leo and Donnie, and our big brother Raph. I don’t...I don’t know how we got here. It’s all messed up in my head, just confusion and light and…” He takes a deep breath, “I don’t know what happened. I just remember trying to grab onto my brothers but we all got ripped away from each other and then,” He shrugs absently, gaze distant, “I dunno, I woke up somewhere I didn’t know. Wandered around until I managed to find Leo.”

“Leo, he say how he got hurt?” Gladio asks, “It looks like a real nasty voretooth bite but—”

“Yeah, and how come you guys were in a cave instead of a Haven?” Prompto interrupts, “Can’t believe you weren’t attacked this whole time!”

Mikey blinks, “A Haven? What’s a Haven?”

“This is a Haven,” Ignis explains over Noct hissing things at Prompto, “They are safe places that protect travelers from the dangers of the night. Their blessing keeps evil at bay.”

“Oh,” Mikey looks down at the gently glowing runes beneath his feet. It’s darker now, the only remains of the sun a pale red stripe along the horizon, and they blue glow is brighter, clearer, “Huh.”

He’d felt something whenever he set foot on the runes, some kind of tingling warmth washing over him like a gentle tide. But he’d never lingered long enough to chase the feeling or find its source. He’s about to reach out to it with his Ninpō, just to see what would happen, when there comes a sound from the darkness beyond the Haven.

Something flares in the night, darker than black, a frothing void of pitch and foul tar. It yawns open, boiling at the edges as the world crumples to make way for it, and a grotesque creature unfolds from within it, spilling out into the night. It’s yards away, barely visible, but Mikey can just make out the writhing tentacles from the starlight alone.

His throat closes and he’s on his feet, his nunchaku in his hands. A terrified, dizzying nausea is making his gut churn, heart racing so hard its like it’s trying to tear from his chest. He swear he can feel the thing’s eyes on him in the dark, just at the edge of where the firelight can reach. Rage and terror boil inside him, his mind racing. Can he protect everyone here? Can he keep Leo safe? He doesn’t see a metal suit so maybe—

A hand presses on his shell and Mikey starts badly, nearly swinging his nunchaku up to hit whoever touched him.

Ignis doesn’t even flinch at Mikey’s aborted movement, just keeps a calm expression, patient as he looks out into the dark, “A mindflayer. Rather nasty foe and one I would not recommend facing alone.” He turns back to Mikey, keeping a steady hand on the curve of Mikey’s shell, “It’s quite all right, Michelangelo, daemons cannot come near Havens. As I said, they are warded against evil. For one to spawn so close is unusual, but it won’t be able to get any closer. There, see,” Ignis nods his head as indication, “It’s already drifting away.”

Mikey glances from Ignis back to the thing that had crawled into existence—the mindflayer. It’s no longer facing them, already disappearing into the shadows of the trees and fading out of sight. Mikey tries to steady his shaking breath and lets his arms fall to his sides, ends of his weapons knocking against his legs.

They’re safe here. They’re really, actually safe.

[thedreamlessnights]

A Little Creative

Viktor x F!Reader || NSFW ||

Summary: After a pounding headache has been killing your concentration at work, your friend Viktor lends you a painkiller. Only… you ended up grabbing the wrong medication, and now you’re absurdly horny.

Warnings: Accidental use of an aphrodisiac, descriptions of a migraine, masturbation, implied mutual masturbation, a handjob, multiple orgasms, love confession.

A/N: Listen, it's really fucking late but it's still October in my timezone so... here you go. The other kinktober fics are still coming, they'll just be in, uh... kinkvember, I guess.

Word Count: 3.6k

The headache starts on your left temple.

It’s not much at first, nothing more than a slight throbbing - barely detracting from your work aside from a slight annoyance. Then it blooms, stretching out in petals of electric agony from your brow to the bridge of your nose. Opening wide to the back and crown of your left skull, squeezing in on you until you can barely think.

Viktor’s words sound like he’s speaking to you underwater when they come through - distorted and rippling through the band of anguish until you translate them, one syllable at a time. 

“Are-you-al-right?”

Part of you wants to say that you’re fine. Having Viktor’s attention focused on you makes you anxious, and you’d like to have it elsewhere. But with your face buried in your hands to block out the light, it wouldn’t exactly be believable. 

“Just a headache,” you say, clenching the words out from gritted teeth, hunched over into your stomach. “Or… migraine.”

“Oh,” Viktor replies. “There’s pain medication in my bag, if you‘d like.”

You could kiss him for that - the sheer, sweet possibility of relief.

When you lift your face from your hands, the light is blinding - it shrieks in shades of yolky fluorescent that makes the throbbing so much worse. Relief. You need relief. 

With great effort, your eyes remain open.

Your movements are slow and stiff when you turn, finding Viktor in the middle of testing out a prototype. He distractedly nods to his feet when he realizes you’re out of your fetal position - his hands temporarily preoccupied with his work. 

The light has turned your pain into a throbbing, shooting, flaming mass on your skull. It paints fireworks in your vision, sparks of red and blue that feel like the beat of an ice pick into bone. 

Your lunch threatens to come up - heaving, hot acid that scorches your throat as you make your way over to the bag, fighting to keep squinting eyes open. You know it won’t stop until you get that medicine.

Your desperation translates into shaking hands, carefully fumbling through the contents of Viktor’s bag until you come across a pouch of various medications. 

“It’s a red bottle,” Viktor says, gaze concentrated on his work. “Black lid. Measure out a capful.”

Mercifully, you find it almost immediately - a ruby bottle with a black lid, the shimmering contents gleaming in the light. 

You don’t hesitate a moment before tilting the liquid into the cap, swallowing down bile before you gratefully tilt it to your lips and gulp it down. 

It’s like swallowing ice. The frigid liquid becomes an icy trail down your throat, making you shudder as it passes through - from your mouth to your chest to your stomach, where the sensation finally stops. 

The relief is immediate and dizzying. It strokes over your skull like a gentle kiss, wiping the pain away in an instant. The nausea goes with it. 

You have to fight back tears at the euphoria of it.

Your feet are unsteady when you stand and thank Viktor, who gives you a distracted nod as he continues his motions with what you can now see is the Hex claw - seemingly adjusting the precision of the laser. 

After you return to your desk, basking in ambrosial respite, you get back to work.

This state only lasts for three or so minutes before another sensation starts to course through you - not painful, but… worrying. It’s like a warm hand is being trailed across your skin, looping over your thighs, up your stomach, down your arms.

That’s strange. 

Maybe it’s a side effect of the medication, or some weird allergic reaction to your new clothes. 

Two more minutes pass before it becomes vastly more uncomfortable. Raging hot burning flames in your abdomen, searing up through you. Your hands shake, and your breath grows uneven. 

“Vik?” you ask, voice strained and airy. “Is it - is it supposed to be burning?”

Viktor, who has just finished with the claw and is adjusting the hand strap, freezes in place.

“Burning?” he asks, spinning his chair to look at you. “What - do you mean?”

“It burns.” 

Your voice is almost a whimper, and that would be incredibly embarrassing if the medicine wasn’t so distracting.

“The medication you took. What did it look like?” 

Viktor’s voice is firm, and that’s making you nervous. What was in that bottle?

“It was just like you said, a red bottle with a black lid,” you reply, gripping the desk. You’re trying to keep calm, but that’s growing increasingly more difficult. 

Viktor digs through the medicine pouch, and promptly finds the one you’d taken, along with another one - both of them a red bottle with a black lid. His face goes slack. 

“Kurva,” he curses, pushing himself up using the desk and shuffling through papers. You don’t need to ask him to know what that word means. Something is wrong.

“Viktor?” you ask. Your voice is trembling now, and your entire body seems to be trembling, too. “What is that?”

“I - I’d forgotten it was in my bag. It’s my fault, I should have - have given you better instructions, or - or grabbed it myself. Jak jsem mohl být tak hloupý!” 

He grabs his cane and begins pacing around the room, muttering under his breath.

“Vik, you’re scaring me. What did I take?”

He stills, expression softening as he turns to look at you.

“A pain medication,” he says. “A very effective one, but it’s… it’s not officially prescribed due to - eh, side effects.”

“Not officially prescribed? What does that mean?” 

The sensation is only getting worse. Your thighs squeeze together in an attempt to avoid letting out a whine.

Viktor pinches the bridge of his nose.

“It… is not technically legal to distribute.”

Your heart drops to your stomach. Oh, God. You’re going to die. You can’t seem to get air.

“Illegal?”

“Technically, but-”

“-Vik, what’s it going to do to me?”

“-It’s perfectly safe-”

“-Safe?”

“-I promise-”

“-How much is it going to hurt? Will I be alright? Should I go to the hospital?”

And upon seeing your borderline hyperventilation, Viktor simply says, “Here,” and takes a swig from the bottle. 

You go numb watching him swallow it down.

“Like I said,” Viktor says, disarmingly serene. “Perfectly safe. Try to relax.”

The two of you stare at each other a moment before you burst into hysterical laughter.

“So you’re saying I took a black market medication?”

“I’m saying you took a pain medication that also happens to be used as an aphrodisiac,” he says, and suddenly the heat between your legs makes an incredible amount of sense.

He watches your reaction, letting out a soft sigh. 

“That’s why they don’t distribute it.”

The situation takes a moment to settle on you. 

“And you… you just took it, too,” you say, still numb. “Won’t you -?”

“Yes.”

There’s a long beat.

His eyes are piercing when they meet yours head-on, shining in the hazy evening light from the lab’s window. Bright, soft, golden eyes that you know too well - seemingly analyzing you before they slip downward, to your lips. It only lasts a moment, short enough to make you wonder if it was real, but it must have been there. 

Must have, because he flushes deep - gaze shifting away from you as his cheeks go a dusty pink. His thumb rubs over the smooth wooden handle of his cane like it’s a worry stone, and he swallows hard.

Yes, it must have been real, because you’re doing the same thing.

Your gaze seems permanently fixed on soft lips, honeyed eyes, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Any attempt to look away only becomes a glance somewhere else - his hands, his neck, his forearms.

On a good day, you already have to fight not to stare at him. On a good day, you have to hide your soft laughter at barely-there micro-expressions that only come in quiet moments - moments you’re supposed to be working, not staring at him. Not wondering what he’d say if you asked him to dinner, not torturing yourself over scenarios that wouldn’t happen.

Like him kissing you.

He’s the worst person for you to be stuck in a room with when you’re like this, with want pressing through your veins. Between your legs, striking - almost painful. 

“I’m - I’m going to go home,” you say, rising from your desk.

It’s a bad idea. Your knees are shaking, and the feeling of fire seems to shoot up your thighs until they fight just to keep you upright.

“I… would not recommend that,” Viktor says. “Based on my past experiences with this, it’s unlikely you’d make it home.”

You believe him.

A part of you knows it - knows that something bad will happen if you walk out that door, but you’re so afraid of what the consequences of staying might be that you consider it anyway -    pondering about what would happen if you grabbed your bag and left, trembling legs barely getting you out the door, wishing Viktor a good night even though there’s nothing that you want more than him. Ending up desperate, in a stranger’s bed.

No, you should stay. 

When you’re finally able to focus on Viktor again, he’s packing up his things.

“W- where are you going?”

Your voice is winded.

“To the other room,” Viktor says. “It would, eh… not be a good idea for us both to be in here. Not with the current situation. I - I am alright now, but the medication works quickly.”

“You’re leaving?”

Your voice is back to hysterical. The sensation is bordering on painful now, and your mind keeps slipping to inappropriate things - callused fingers over thighs, pushing up your skirt. Slipping inside you.

“I - what do I do? Wait for it to go away? Try to distract myself?”

Viktor sighs, gaze stalling on his bag.

“Distraction will not work,” he says plainly, swinging the bag onto his shoulder. “Waiting will be agonizing.” 

He gives you a pointed look. Your jaw goes slack.

“Masturbation relieves some of the symptoms. That’s all I can recommend.” He takes you in for another moment, grip tightening on his cane before he shakes his head. “I’m so very sorry. I did not - did not mean for this to happen.”

Without another word, he heads to the door and steps through.

“If there is an emergency, I will be in here. If you need, I… Well, you most likely can imagine what I will be up to.” He pauses for a moment, fingers lingering on the door handle before he moves. You’re too shocked to respond.

The door shuts, and it leaves you in silence. The only thing you can hear is the ticking of the clock. 

Viktor’s absence seems to alleviate some of the fire. It fades to kindling - embers of heat, but nothing more. You lean back in your seat and close your eyes, trying to relax. Trying not to focus on what you’re feeling.

But as soon as it had gone, the want - need - flames again, and all you can think about is Viktor. Nimble fingers. Soft eyes. Soft lips. His hands on you, lips on yours, fingers fisting in your hair, tongue pressing into your mouth. 

All you can think about, over and over, is how he’d explicitly said you should touch yourself. 

So you do. 

It comes to a point where you can’t help it - where all you can think about is relieving some of the searing ache between your legs. And, at first, it helps. The motion of your fingers against your clit is familiar and easy, and you’re cumming before you know it. 

Seconds after you come down, you’re thinking of Viktor again. And, if anything, the want seems worse. 

It begins to drive you insane - the thought of him in the next room, touching himself. Is he thinking of you? Is he panting, working himself through orgasm after orgasm, the way you want to? The way you might be able to, if it wasn’t him - if he wasn’t so maddeningly close, holding you back?

Only then do you start to process what he’d said before he left.

“If you need.” 

Well, what the hell does he define as need? Is it aching to the point of tears? Dragging your fingers over your cunt and sobbing at the thought of him inside you? Ready to beg for him to touch you? Ready to throw away all sense, every voice in your head that tells you that going to that door is a bad idea? 

If that’s what he defines as need, you sure as hell fucking need him.

It takes great effort to rise from your chair. Your legs are shaky. You’re fucking soaked. You must look like a complete mess. But everything else but Viktor has gone out the window, and you can’t stand another second like this.

When you knock, you swear you can hear him whine through the door. And, unlike earlier, being near to him seems to clear your head a great deal. Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop you from asking perhaps the dumbest question of your life.

“Are you alright?”

Viktor laughs in response - muffled a little by the wood of the door.

“Are you really asking me that?”

“I - No. Don’t answer that.” You rest your back to the door, slowly sliding down to the cold ground and pulling your knees to your chest. “Y’know, Vik… this is pretty shitty.”

“I agree.” There’s a slight sound of ruffling, then a sigh. “I - I didn’t want to scare you, but  you took a double dose. I’ve never taken this much.”

“So… we’re screwed?” 

“Relatively speaking, it’s safe,” Viktor says. “People frequently use that much in Zaun, but… it will be stronger, and - last longer.”

There’s too many things you want to say to that. It takes you a moment, picking the right phrase.

“I’m so sorry.” Tears well in your eyes, just as stinging and hot as the slowly-returning fire between your legs. “It’s all my fault that we’re in this mess.”

“That’s not true,” Viktor says sternly. 

You hear more rustling, although it’s different this time - almost as if he’s shifting closer. When he speaks again, his voice seems clearer. 

“I was the one who told you what to grab. You followed my instructions. I should have given it to you, or - or taken more time to think about what was inside the pouch. And I was the one who chose to take the medication tonight, not you.”

As awful as you feel, his words are comforting. The casualty of the conversation is strange, but it doesn’t feel wrong. 

“Want to know something funny?” you ask. You have to choke the words out, taking in a shaky breath.

“Yes.”

“I like you.”

The words, unexpected, seem to spill out of you - backed by years of anxiety, wanting him. Years of being afraid to say that very phrase. And once it starts to come out, you can’t seem to stop. 

“I like you. And I have for years. You’re the worst person I could have taken an aphrodisiac with, because I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you. I already want you so much, just being in the lab and - and watching you work. Not even just wanting sex, but - wanting to hold your hand. Wanting to kiss you. Wanting to be with you. And I know that if I don’t tell you that right now, it will come out later, and it won’t be the way I want it to be said, so… I might as well tell you now. See if… you feel the same.”

Viktor’s response is immediate. He says your name, then the tips of his fingers slip under the gap in the door, searching for yours. You gently touch them, daring to hope, and his movement stills. There isn’t enough room for you to wrap his fingers around his, or for him to \get more than the first knuckles of his hand under the door, but the gesture says enough to have your heart racing in your chest.

“I’ve wanted you like that from the very beginning,” he murmurs. “I - I can’t tell you how much. All I’ve been able to think about is you.”

There are simply no words to fully describe the way that makes you feel. You laugh first, before the sound is choked out by a sob of relief, sheer giddiness, ten million tons that seem to come off your shoulders. 

He wants you. 

And all of that, all that emotion, is mixed with the most feral, dizzying horniness you’ve ever felt. It occurs to you that touching him must have triggered some sort of response - pure joy fades into images you don’t even dare to acknowledge.

“I’ve - I’ve been trying to keep you out of my head,” you manage to say, “but that feels like a waste of effort now if… you don’t mind it. Or if you want it.”

Viktor’s hand pulls back from under the door. You immediately miss the loss, but it fades when there’s more shuffling and the door swings open. 

You’re lucky that your full weight hadn't been resting against that door, or you’d have fallen all the way back. Instead, you topple to the side, catching yourself with your hand before you look up to see Viktor - who looks absolutely ruined. 

His hair is in disarray, shirt wrinkled and partially unbuttoned, cheeks flushed. He’s achingly hard in his trousers, his eyes dilated, pants half-undone. He swallows hard when he sees you - probably taking in the similarly wrecked sight of you - and that has you on your feet in an instant, hands hovering over his arms, not knowing what to do.

With a shaky hand, he brushes his thumb over your jaw. 

Then it goes to your bottom lip.

You can’t help kissing it - keeping your eyes trained on him - and that has his breath stuttering in his chest before he moves his hand to the back of your neck and kisses you.

It’s everything you could have wanted - soft but desperate, searching, yearning. The kind of kiss that says a thousand words as he draws you close, one hand on his cane and the other in your hair. 

The kind of kiss that doesn’t stop until your lungs threaten to burst, until you’re both gasping but don’t want to stop. Until you somehow both find yourself against the wall, and you’re desperately wishing that there was a fucking bed in this place, wanting - needing - more and more and more.

The two of you make do with a table - you sit on it and Viktor spreads your legs, biting at the lobe of your ear and groaning when he feels how wet you are. 

You just kiss his neck in response, shaking as he trails his thumb over your clit. 

“When - on the occasions my pain was bad enough to take this medication,” he breathes, nipping at your jaw, “I thought of you. Every time.”

A whimper escapes you as he begins to rub circles against you with his thumb, watching as you start to come apart in seconds under his fingers.

In moments, you’re on the edge again - so close that it almost hurts.

When you shut your eyes, overwhelmed and shy, helpless to do anything but whine, he slows his actions.

“Look at me,” he says. “I want to see you.”

Once your gaze is on him again, his fingers are relentless, building you up until finally, you choke out a moan and grip his arm as you clench around nothing, again and again and again.

By the time you’re done, Viktor’s eyes are almost completely black - pupils blown wide, irises the slightest hint of golden-grey in the light.

“Beautiful,” he whispers. 

Just like it had before, the climax only satiates you momentarily. Within seconds, you’re aching for him inside you, and Viktor seems to be feeling similarly.

He whimpers when you palm him, leaning into your touch, grip tightening on his cane.

“I - I think we should move to the couch,” Viktor says. “The… the cushions are washable.”

That’s enough to get you off the table. 

You can’t even begin to think of how many surfaces you’ll be disinfecting later. Luckily, Jayce is on vacation, and there’ll be plenty of time for that when the two of you aren’t… well, on an aphrodisiac.

When Viktor sits down on the couch, setting his cane to the side, you’re right behind him. Once he’s settled in, you don’t hesitate - straddling his lap, kissing up his throat, palming him just to hear the lovely sound of his corresponding moan.

He tilts his forehead into yours, panting as you free his erection. 

For a moment, you are completely transfixed at the sight of it - the rosy head, precum pearling at the tip, cock silky and practically throbbing in your hand.

When you stroke up its length, he shudders. When you start to build up a rhythm, he’s practically driven to the edge, just like you had been. Eyes glazed in pleasure, lips parted, hand tangled in your hair.

All it takes is a nip at his ear and he’s done for - spilling onto your hand, letting out a sharp moan as his cock twitches and throbs its way through his orgasm.

“Fuck,” he says, almost dizzily. 

It quickly becomes clear that he’s not going soft anytime soon. If anything, cumming seems to have made him harder. More sensitive, too, when you swipe your thumb over the tip. He shivers and pulls you close, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

“How much longer will it last?” you ask, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Hours,” Viktor says. His hands rest at your waist, a gentle pressure. “It will get less intense over time, but…”

“It’ll still be there,” you finish for him. 

He nods. 

“Well, then,” you hum, leaning in to nose against his jaw. “I guess we’d better get a little creative with all that time, don’t you think?”

[ghibli-love-s]

Elephant on my Forehead

Overview: simply your boyfriend Damon taking care of you when you come down with a migraine

Character(s): Damon Salvatore

Category: Fluff

Tags: sick fic, fluff, soft Damon Salvatore, forehead kisses

Warnings: n/a

Words: 904

You're doing laundry in your apartment, the low thrum of the dryer filling the room when the dizziness hits.

Your vision tilts for a moment as you brace yourself against the wall, dropping the basket in your hands with a loud thud. Closing your eyes against the onslaught of nausea that accompanies the spinning, you press your hand against your eyes as a flash of pain bursts out behind them.

Great. Just what you needed. A migraine in the middle of a productive day.

Swallowing you open your eyes, only managing one wobbly step before you call it quits, sliding down the wall and burying your face in your knees. Tears spring to your eyes as the pain slowly grows, the sound of the dryer and the light in the room definitely not helping, though you’re in too much pain to do much about it.

You don't know how long you're curled up on the floor before the sound of a familiar voice calls your name from the front of your apartment.

You weakly answer back, your voice just loud enough for Damon’s vamp hearing to make out over the dryer before he's entering the room, eyes landing on your figure.

He's kneeling in front of you in an instant, eyes scanning for any injuries, one hand gripping yours while the other runs through your hair in a soothing motion.

Only when he calls your name a bit too loud for your head to handle in the small room does he understand. His hands leave you for a moment, almost leaving you whining in your compromised state for him to come back.

When darkness descends on the now silent room, you lift your head gratefully, hand immediately finding his own as he kneels back down in front of you.

“Can you make it to the bedroom or do you need help this time, sweetheart?” His voice is quiet, careful not to cause you any pain as he studies you, thumb running across your knuckles.

You bite your lip, glancing at him before closing your eyes in defeat and resting your head back on your knees.

“Can you help me…please…?” Your voice is weak and riddled with pain, a sound that makes Damon’s guarded heart twist uncomfortably.

He nods, moving to your side as he drops your hand, slowly slipping his arms behind your back and under your knees, careful of any quick movements to not cause you more pain.

Damon’s movements through the house are slow and easy, your head tucked against his chest to block out the light streaming through the open windows. Curse your productivity today.

Finally, finally, you reach your room, Damon laying you on the bed and using his speed to turn off the lights and close the blinds, bathing you in comforting darkness. He returns after a moment, a cold compress in his hands as he pulls the covers over you. Moving your hair out of your hair as he puts the compress over your eyes, drawing a relieved sigh from your lips. The coolness against your eyes and forehead has the tension in your head and shoulders starting to release already.

He rounds the other side of the bed, climbing under the covers after kicking off his boots, coming to rest against the headboard. You find him blindly, letting him guide your head to his lap, gripping one of his hands while the other runs through your hair.

Just before you drift off you feel Damon press a kiss to your head.

~

It's a few hours later when you wake up, the compress resting on the bedside table, and the sharp pain now a dull throb. You're curled into Damon’s chest, head resting under his. One hand is still running through your hair, the other is resting on your waist, your legs tangled together comfortably as he holds you closely.

You pull away just a little, long enough to stretch before you retreat back into Damon’s arms, clinging to him like a koala.

The hand in your hair comes to rest on your cheek, gently tilting your face until you're looking at him, his eyes taking in your current state.

“Any better, sweetheart? Or do I need to grab your emergency medicine?” His voice is soft, sleep clinging to it as if he had just woken up himself not long ago.

You shake your head gently. “Not today. Just a dull throb now. Could probably finish my laundry in a bit if I'm lucky.”

Damon rolls his eyes, tutting at you. “You aren't going to do anything for the rest of the evening. Besides, I already took care of it,” he says, his signature smug smile on his face.

You blink at him owlishly, “what? Damon, you didn't have to do that.”

“I didn't have to. But you were in pain. And I can't have Stephen being the only Salvatore brother who takes care of his damsel in distress.” He winks, playfulness dancing in his eyes.

You huff out a small laugh, pushing his chest playfully. “You are something else, Damon Salvatore.”

“Oh trust me, I know.”

“And I love you for it.” You smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Love you too sweetheart.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead as you close your eyes and rest your head back against his chest, content on staying there for as long as the universe will allow you.

[the-dreaming-writer]

Crush VI.

The lid had lifted soundlessly, unattached to the rest of the wood, and at once, I felt a wave of dizzying nausea rush over me. It was an alien sensation— yet it was eerily familiar, and my mind readily supplied me with a memory so vivid, I now wonder if the events that followed came solely from the box, or if it was merely a catalyst for something that had been a longtime brewing.

I suppose it doesn't matter much now.

My memory of early childhood is patchy, isolated images and impressions, but this came to me better than most. It had been the morning after a sleepover— important because we had been a group of sleep-deprived thirteen year olds, none of which lends itself well to coherent decision-making. One of the boys had had the bright idea to go up on the roof— and although the rest of the girls had stayed back, I remember agreeing largely because they had all but counted me out.

It was perhaps also why I had showboated, making a point to linger on the edges of the roof, boasting how unafraid I was. I was afraid, although only the correct healthy amount, as soon-to-be events would prove, and I suspect all of us secretly were, under our faux teen-bravado.

Like you probably guessed, I fell, although to my credit, through no fault of my own. It had been a strong gust, sudden enough to have even stumbled the athletic kids, and in an instant, I had found myself without footing, toppling face-first off the roof.

It wasn't a very tall roof, as you can also guess, since I'm here talking to you. I can also tell you that it was only a two-story house and that the fall shouldn't have been long enough to even think a single full thought. Except that was not what had happened.

I had clenched my eyes shut, arms shielding my face as I braced for the impact.

It didn't come.

For a moment, I had wondered if I had just fallen on the roof, looking like a dumbass, but I had felt absolutely nothing. Nor had I heard the laughter that would have absolutely followed if I had.

I have been told numerous times, by people I have shared this story to, that they too have similar childhood memories. Ones where they flew, levitated— dreams so vivid they had been stored as memories in our prepubscent brains.

I usually left it at that, had even half-believed it, but I know— in my heart, that it had been something deeply different. One, this was a memory in my teens— while theirs were almost always as a baby or a child. And two, I hadn't been flying. I'd been falling.

I know because I remember the air whistling past my ears, I know, because even though my eyes were tightly shut, I could hear the surprised shouts of the others fade away at frightening speeds, and I remember— that sensation, that unquestionable certain sense baked into the core of every living thing, that I was falling.

And then I had opened my eyes, eyes I had kept closed in fear that it was the only thing keeping me from the inevitable ground, and I saw the sky. I remember how plainly blue it was because I remember wondering, despite everything, how I had managed to flip myself midair, why I couldn't see the lip of the roof that I had fallen from, where the sun had gone.

And then I hit the ground, or I assume I hit the ground, because a blinding pain shot up my arms, my nose, and then everything went black. I had woken up in the hospital soon after, fortunately with just a broken nose— though I'd been disappointed that I wasn't going to have a cast.

And that was that.

No crippling new fear of heights, not even a long-lasting mark to show for it. My friends had watched me fall off the roof, normally, which then earned me a bit of precious respect in my school, and my dad had told me that the slowing of time in danger happens sometimes— although now I have to distrust that explanation as well.

Truth be told, I had all but forgotten the experience until that very moment— on my couch, lid in one hand, the other holding onto the table with an intensity that I hadn't consciously chosen, staring into the interior of the box— if you could even call it that.

It was the sky. Cloudless. Sunless.

I tore my eyes away from it, a herculean task that I am sure I only managed because it permitted me to do so, and my gaze landed on the bottom of the lid, onto the face that had been looking inwards, where a single line of engraved symbols lay, circling around another identical knob.

A warning. Except it couldn't have been— since there had been no way to know of it before lifting the lid. A mocking, then, although the finality I felt from them were far too solemn to be anything but sincere.

Then my eyes were forced back to the sky, and I knew that this was the same sky, the one that had stolen me all those years ago, and the sensation doubled in strength— then again, and again, until I was no longer sure I was still in my room, although I could still see it, the table, the couch, the floors, and the walls.

For the next few minutes, although it had felt like hours, even days, I could only think one thought— and the rest that I'm about to tell you, the descriptions, the wonderings, the paranoia, would only come after, although not long after. But it's important to stress, again, that during that long moment— there was only the sensation, growing stronger with every second. The one sensation.

I was falling.

(...)

[skyloftian-nutcase]

can i have backstory for hyrule, please? what HAPPENED to that kid. why's he so young and mysterious —🌕

“Hey, new kid, what’s wrong?”

Link leaned against the wall, trying to ignore the nausea that was sweeping over him in waves. He felt embarrassed that the ambulance ride has made him feel so sick - he’d hitchhiked and done all kinds of things and had never gotten motion sickness.

Mo laughed, clapping him on the back. “Hey, it’s okay. I almost threw up on my first transport. Riding backwards and typing info onto a computer or doing vital signs at seventy miles an hour will throw your stomach for a loop. Go grab some ODT Zofran from the med bag.”

Nodding, Link dragged his feet to the med bag in question. He was still trying to familiarize himself with everything, and he fumbled through to find a darkened bottle of pills. He was pretty sure this was what his new partner was talking about.

Popping a pill under his tongue so it would dissolve, he sighed and hoped it kicked in soon. He still had eighteen hours left on his shift.

For a minute it seemed like it helped. But then Link felt strangely dizzy, and his head was killing him.

“I… I don’t…” Link mumbled, stumbling and trying to grab something to catch his fall. He missed entirely, and he heard Mo calling out to him before blacking out.

When he came to, his partner was watching him, and the instant he’d ascertained Link was actually okay, he started laughing.

“Read the bottle next time!” He cackled, waving the bottle in Link’s face.

Link blinked. Focused on the bottle. Read the word nitroglycerin.

Oh.

[quotemenevervore]

And without further ado, here’s the rewrite for chapter two, speedran because the discord gave me an angsty idea and I ran with it

(This is not canon to the actual story, it was just an idea that I wanted to write and thought it would fit as a one off)

Content warnings: description of injury, description of body horror/injury healing (there is a tw at that part specifically as well), starvation, character falling, character thinking they’re going to die, fear, panic.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There was a lot he didn’t know about being that size. Having to climb and run around, always on edge in case he was heard or seen, it was rough learning the ropes. What was even rougher? Learning about food intake. It started around the second day he had lived in the walls, his stomach growling more than it should have. And maybe he should have taken it more seriously, but.. he’d been so used to not eating so often that he hadn’t considered that with how much more energy he has to exert, he needed to up his food intake.

He brushed it off, went on a borrowing trip and got some string and fabric pieces, brushing the heaviness of the fabric off as being heavy for his size. Day three left him struggling to move around, weakness seizing his limbs and making it hard for him to move around. But day four had almost been the nail in his coffin. He woke up barely able to move, hunger and nausea battling within his core. He was so weakened that any kind of movement made his limbs shake, and he felt bad, almost like he was anxiety-ridden. He.. really needs to eat, huh?

He crawled to the opening, limbs trying to give out every step of the way. Flopping out of the hole and onto the counter almost made him black out, stars dancing across his darkened vision. It was with the most determination he ever had in him that made his eyes open again, taking a shaky breath as he forced himself upright and leaning against the wall as the dizzy spell that followed almost sent him sprawling onto the ground again.

His eyes could barely open past half-lidded as he tried to find the closest thing to eat. Thankfully, his fiancés made a little fruit basket and had it filled with apples, on the other side of the counter. It was a little close to the edge, but beggars could not be choosers, and he slowly managed to make his way over to the basket. He could practically taste the sweet apple, it being the only thing his starved mind could focus on. But his luck in this life so far hadn’t been the greatest, and he.. honestly should have seen something coming.

There was a loud slam as the front door was closed, and the noise made him flinch, losing his balance and slipping right off the edge. All he could do was flail, mouth open in a silent scream. It.. was almost peaceful. It felt like time had slowed, and as his body flipped thanks to the angle he’d fallen in, and his eyes slipped shut as the ground came closer.

If he managed to survive this, he’d be surprised, but he was already thinking of what he’d say to Schlatt upon seeing him again.

~ ~ ~

Karl stepped into the kitchen, intent on grabbing an apple for himself and Sapnap when he froze at what he saw.

There was a tiny man on the floor. Which, normally he wouldn’t think much of it with everything he’d seen thus far, but.. it seemed like the man was laid in an uncomfortable angle on the ground. His heart leapt into his throat and he yelled. “Sapnap!” He was on his knees in an instant, carefully scooping the tiny up and holding him up to his face. His eyes watched carefully for any moment from the man, anything to show that he was alive. For a heart stopping moment, he couldn’t find anything, but he didn’t give up and held the small body up to his ear.

There was a very faint heartbeat. His chest wasn’t moving as much as it should have, but he was breathing at least, and his heart was still beating. However, as he pulled the man away from his ear to look over him again, he noticed a couple things that told him what had to have happened. His clothes seemed baggy on him, and gently running a finger over his chest gave him the awful confirmation that the tiny man was practically starving to death. And then his leg was at a very wrong angle, the bone obviously snapped in half. Two bones, actually. The one in his thigh and calf.

“Holy shit, what happened-“ “Sap, I need a regen potion. His leg’s completely broken, he’s starving-“ “Got it. Let’s make him some soup after I get that potion. Stay here.” As if I’m going to move him any more than I already had. He looked down at the small figure, trying to decipher how the man looked familiar to him. He kind of looked like Helga, but that couldn’t be right.. could it? He was probably Helga’s descendent, like how they all were descendants to the people he interacted with in the past. His focus was more on his chest, making absolutely certain that he was still breathing until his fiancé returned with the potion.

⚠️tw for vague body horror

“He’s unconscious, we’re not gonna be able to get him to drink it.” “We could pour it on his leg, couldn’t we?” “It won’t be as effective, but yea.” Sapnap used a knife to carefully cut away the pant leg of his broken leg, pouring a good amount of the potion onto it with a hand cupped under him to catch the rest of the healing liquid. Karl winced as he heard the man’s bones pop themselves back into place, watching the skin writhe around as the bones shifted. His eyes snapped back to his chest, unable to watch the horrifying display any longer.

⚠️End of tw

Sapnap frowned as the particles disappeared, leaving a wicked bruise and a swollen leg behind. Pouring more potion onto the leg didn’t help, and his brows knitted in concern. “It’s not healing.” “What!? Why!?” “I think it’s because of how starved he is, his body can’t handle the potion to heal. We’ve gotta get him awake and some food in him.” Karl held his hand out, letting Sapnap take the borrower from him so he could start making some soup.

“He may only be able to drink the broth, but I’ll put the other stuff in anyway. That way the broth’s a little more flavorful, and we can eat the soup too.” “Sounds good. I’m gonna head to the living room, see what else we can do for him.” They separated to do their tasks, Sapnap sitting on the couch and looking over the borrower, his missing fiancé, their third.

“What happened to you, Quackity..?”

~ ~ ~

Quackity did not expect to wake up. He really didn’t, and it sent a bolt of fear through his spine. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing setting his nerves on fire, and he gasped at the sharp pain shooting through his leg. His eyes snapped open, looking up with growing dread as he registered his surroundings.

He was being stared at by his two now giant fiancés, and he was injured. Worse yet, now that he’d woken up his stomach was rolling again, desperate to have something in it. He couldn’t even tell if his shaking was because of fear or hunger any longer, and he didn’t have the water in him to cry. It didn’t keep the tearless sobs from wracking his form.

“Oh, Q..” Sapnap’s expression was full of pity, and it made him feel worse. “Karl, do you wanna go heat up that soup?” “Of course! I’ll be back.” His voice was quiet, and he made sure his movements were slow until he was out of sight, in which the avian could hear the man’s rapid footsteps towards the furnace. “Hey, you’re okay..” the fireborn’s thumb ran gently against his chest, the touch barely grazing his skin. “Karl found you on the kitchen floor, your leg was broken in like two spots. We poured a regen potion on it, and the bones set back in place, but it’s not fully healed. I think it’s cause you’re starving..”

Another sob jerked his body, and the larger’s thumb left his form completely. “We’ve gotta have a talk after we get some food in you. It’s not bad, I promise. We just gotta figure out what’s going on.” Karl came back in, a bowl of steaming soup in his hands. “It’s not hot hot, just warm. I didn’t wanna risk burning him..” “That’s fine. Think you can sit up if I help you?” As if I have a choice. Still, he let the other sit him up, and being too hungry to refuse, he took as many sips as he possibly could from the spoon of stew offered to him.

It was mostly the broth, he didn’t trust his body to be able to process the vegetables or meat properly. They were patient with him, letting him take his time to rest before Sapnap motioned the other to move the spoon away, half of it emptied. Sapnap had done it because he could feel the tiny man’s abdomen swelling under his thumb, and he didn’t want to overwhelm him. It didn’t stop his heart from hurting at the heart wrenching whine it pulled out of the avian him when Karl put the spoon back in the bowl. “You’ve gotta take it slow, or you’re gonna get sick again.” Sapnap gently soothed him, now running his thumb against his back. Quackity couldn’t tell if he was trying to be comforting, if he just missed him this much, or a mix of both. “Yea, little guy. We don’t want you to get worse, but I promise you’ll have food any time you want it now.”

Little guy? Is he seriously patronizing me!?

Sapnap must have sensed the tension building in his shoulders, because he thought up a task on the fly for the other. “Karl, can you go tell George I won’t be able to come today? Don’t tell him what happened, just say some stuff came up.” Karl nodded, stepping away and once again making his footfalls audible and slow until the door shut quietly behind him. “Let’s go wrap your leg, make a splint or something.”

Sapnap kept his hand as steady as possible as he walked them to the bathroom, setting the other on the counter while he gathered the first aid kit. Pulling out a popsicle stick, he held it against the other’s leg to measure before cutting it down to size. As he wrapped Quackity’s leg to the stick with gauze, he began to speak.

“Before you get upset, hear me out, okay?” It was a little late for that, but he didn’t exactly have a choice. He pouted against the other’s fingers, making sure the blackette could see it.

“So, this is gonna sound crazy, I know, but I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t confident that it was true.” And that statement alone worried the man, because what the hell could possibly come out of his mouth next? As he finished wrapping his leg, tying it off neatly and carefully to not cut off circulation, he finished his statement. Apparently, the words his fiancé was going to tell him were the weirdest, and most heartbreaking thing he could imagine.

“Karl doesn’t remember you, Quackity.”

[blackjackkent]

Melissan's body hits the platform with a dull thud and Caden stands above her, his sword at her throat. He wants her dead - for the safety of Faerun, primarily, but there is also a painful throb of Bhaal's lingering power at the back of his mind, demanding vengeance...destruction...murder...

He squeezes the sword, closes his eyes tightly, gasps for breath in the stifling heat...

And a voice breaks through the chaos, driving the place to utter stillness in an instant.

Melissan, writhing on the floor in utter rage and desperation, reaches up and grabs the blade of Caden's sword, trying to twist it out of his hands. Blood wells between her fingers and smears on the metal and she screams like a wounded animal.

The solar looks on, unimpressed, at this show of panic.

Light flashes from the angel's fingertips, striking into Melissan at the eyes and then surging over her whole body. The woman goes abruptly rigid, then topples to one side, silent and still on the platform.

As if nothing at all had happened. the solar turns to look at Caden with that unruffled, detached smile.

At Caden's side, Imoen shifts, then steps forward to stand next to him, her head high in spite of the fear he can see in every line of her face.

Caden almost laughs - certainly it can't be so easy - but the sound dies on his lips as another wave of blue-white light washes over them. He hears Imoen gasp, and then she sags slightly, one hand going to her chest, feeling the emptiness there where Bhaal's power lay. Then she relaxes, looks to Caden and smiles cautiously.

Caden feels tension spread through his whole body at once as the solar's eyes turn back upon him again. He swallows, tries to stand as straight as possible, even though all he wants to do is lie down forever. The blood is still dripping off his blade onto the floor.

Caden listens, staring at her in wonder. What she describes...it sounds like unmitigated bliss. To live as a man with no touch of a god in his veins? To live among his friends, with no need to fight or to shoulder the burden of the world? To be free?

He is so tired. He wants to lay his head in Aerie's lap and sleep for a year. He wants freedom and life and home so badly that it aches in his chest.

How can there be another choice than this? What else could the solar possibly think he would want?

Oh. Of course.

Caden feels slightly dizzy, a wave of nausea rising in his throat. With a word, he could turn the course of the gods. He could claim his murderous father's power - perhaps for good, or perhaps until his mind cracked with the overwhelming evil.

The solar speaks as if this is some tempting choice, as if something about this would call to him more than the idea of life and freedom. And, more astonishing than that...his friends think he might be tempted, too.

Rasaad is the first to speak, and it's evident he is trying very carefully to be controlled, impartial.

Caden once again feels his throat tighten with unshed tears, unable to speak. The affirmation means more than he can say, the confidence from this man whose opinion he values above almost all others that he would make a good use of this terrible power...

But he does not want it.

The others circle around him, and he can see the muted grief in their eyes - all of them ready to bid farewell to someone who has meant so much to them. There is the attitude of a funeral in every expression. Their words tumble out over each other, each of them feeling some pressure of time slipping away and desperate to make sure he hears them before he disappears.

But in the midst of them all is Aerie, who has gone very still while the solar spoke, and her eyes are locked on Caden's as if even to blink would be to lose a moment with him.

He reaches out, grabs her hand tightly and presses it to his lips, shaking his head. His throat feels stuck, and all the words he wants to say won't come out - I'm not going, I won't do it, I want to go home, I want to live, I want to be yours, always...

What emerges instead is ragged and hoarse, a few stammering words that do not do his heart justice.

Tears well in her eyes and she throws herself against him, wrapping her arms tightly around him, face pressed into his shoulder where he feels his shirt dampen from her tears.

He holds her against him, presses his face into her hair. Even as he struggles to articulate his feelings, he can sense the solar watching them, those burning eyes digging into the back of his head.

Is he making the wrong choice? To deny an angel when it offers him such power? Is Rasaad right? Could he use it for good?

She hiccups, trying to control the overwhelming fear that has her clinging to him, and nods slightly against his shoulder. He can see her struggling to square her shoulders, to be brave as she has learned to be in their adventures together. And even as his heart aches for that fear and love that he feels from her in equal measure, he is proud too - so proud of who she has become.

And in that moment, as she gathers herself to stand alone, he knows that his first instinct was right. He cannot leave these people, this world, this life. This is where he belongs.

She starts to draw back, but he holds her to him, catches her cheek in his palm and turns her eyes to his. "Don't fear, my love," he whispers, and tips his head to press his lips against her mouth. "Don't fear," he whispers against her skin. "You will never be alone. Not today, or ever."

He lifts his head, glances to the others, meeting each gaze intently. Some steadiness has returned to his bearing, and he says, with a sudden calm certainty, "I am not going anywhere."

The solar has been watching this play out, expression unmoved but suddenly intensely interested.

The solar tilts her head slowly to one side - and then smiles, the first true smile Caden has yet seen from her.

A ripple of uncertainty and then relief passes through all of his companions in a moment. Imoen grins widely and throws an arm around his shoulders, hugging him tight to her side.

The others gather around him, grins bursting on to each face in turn - but Aerie's reaction is the only one that he truly has eyes for. If her grief tore at his heart, her joy is similarly all-consuming; he thinks he could simply drink in the light in her eyes for all of the life now remaining to him.

Her arms are around him and her face back in his chest, and his friends are on all sides like a protective wall against everything that he has endured. And they are free, all of them.

It is over... The idea is bewildering, overwhelming. None of them seem quite able to process it.

The solar waves a hand, and the teleportation spell wraps around them.

The last thing they see as they disappear from the platform is the harsh green light lancing out to envelop Melissan's body, and the last thing they hear is her scream of rage and agony.

[casspurrjoybell-28]

Alpha's Temptation - Chapter 54 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Flashbacks of the midnight escapades of Daemon and I through that window flood through my mind all at once.

And the fact that he's the only one I've ever known to be able to scale a two story house in seconds.

"Don't be silly, you're going to hurt yourselves," I plead.

"I'm sorry, Ash," Wren replies solemnly before suddenly shifting.

His small black wolf bounds out the window, Lylah follows suit and her red one leaps out after him.

I run to the sill, looking down to see them scrambling down the roof tiles.

Their wolf forms give them an advantage, only struggling a bit over the edge before they find their way to the ground.

My limbs start to shake, apprehension and anxiety flooding through me.

They could get hurt, something in my gut just tells me they could, that they will.

Without thinking anymore, I brace myself to shift, wincing as my bones crack and my clothes tear off.

Once it's over, I grab one of Daemon's huge shirts in my jaw.

Then I scramble past the window sill, skittering down the roof as my claws painfully catch on the tiles.

Whining in pain, I get to the edge and leap down to the next one, going as fast as I can.

I end up a heap in the bushes, moaning in pain as the sharp twigs irritate me through my fur.

Moon Goddess, I'm glad I'm alone because that was embarrassing.

Catching my breath for a second, I scoop up the shirt in my mouth from where it fell and sprint after the scent of my friends.

I'm exhausted almost immediately, each step agony and I regret not working out with Daemon more.

My hikes have not cut it, endurance wise.

I decide to shift back into human form, quickly pulling on Daemons shirt that is more like a dress on me.

Now that I don't have to traverse rooftops, I prefer to be in the form I'm most comfortable in.

I'm about to sprint past a row of houses when I hear a loud shriek of pain.

Wren.

I bolt in the direction of it, coming across an alleyway.

But when I witness what I find there, I stop dead in my tracks.

The world goes quiet.

All I can hear is the loud thump of my heart as it palpitates frantically, my entire being in shock of the sight, the person, that stands before me.

The person that is the source of all my pain, suffering and scars.

The person I thought I would never have to see again.

The person that Daemon swore to kill because of all that he did to me.

And that very person is here, now, in a place I thought I'd be safe from him, violently yanking one of my best friends by the hair.

Wren's body is naked from having transformed and his legs are bruised and bloody as my stepfather forcefully drags him across the cement.

"I smell that bitch on you. Where is he? Where is Ash Willow?"

Wren only cries, struggling to get away.

"Stop. Stop hurting him," I scream, rushing forward blindly.

The action is effective because he drops Wren like a piece of hot iron.

His eyes gleam with madness and he's on me in an instant, snatching my arm in a crushing grip.

"There you are, you little runt. I've been looking everywhere for you," he snarls, pulling me close to his face, his putrid breath invading my senses.

My eyes water, nausea and terror overcoming me in a painful wave.

This can't be real. How can this be happening?

"Thought you could run from me? Stupid boy. Whoring yourself out to the enemy pack was the best you could do?"

I tremble, my body feeling likes it's been paralyzed.

I can't do this. I can't have him touching me.

It makes my body feel like it'll implode from how horrible it feels.

For a moment, I try to speak but before I can choke out Daemons name he wraps a hand around my neck and presses harshly.

My knees buckle, dizziness hitting my and my vision flickers out.

I can only hear Wren scream my name before I'm lost to the world

********

I feel like I'm dead.

Maybe I am, if my stepfathers found me.

Maybe he's finally done it, buried me in the grave right next to my mothers.

But I become aware of the feeling of being jostled, a regular pattern of feet hitting the ground and I realized I'm slung over the Alpha's shoulder, the blood rushing to my head.

I choke out a strangled cry, immediately attempting to get out of his hold.

I claw at his back, which earns me a hard smack on my behind.

"Disobedient little boy," he scolds harshly.

"L-let me go. Let me go," I scream, panic overwhelming me.

He can't do this.

He can't take me away from the magic of my life now.

Not to go back to that horrid place.

"Not a chance."

"Please. Why are you doing this? Why are you taking me? I thought you wanted me gone from your life."

"So you get to go off and do whatever you want? No, Ash. You are property that I get to decide what happens to. That is how it has always been. How dare you disrespect me the way you have?"

"You tried to kill me," I sob, kicking my feet to no avail.

I can't get away.

Why do alphas have to be so strong?

It's not fair that I am forced to go along with their whims simply because I cannot fight back.

"Don't be dramatic. As an Alpha, I can do whatever I want to a pathetic Omega like you."

Tears of frustration and dread pool in my eyes, blurring my vision.

"I j-just don't understand why you can't let me be."

He scoffs, as if what I'm suggesting is incredulous.

"I deserve something for bothering to raise a useless runt like you. The least you can do is get me some coin once I sell you off. I had Alphas lined up for you, Ash. But like the ungrateful child you are, you didn't appreciate how I kept your chastity safe because they were willing to pay a handsome price for your virginity, your first heat."

I let my lip curl over my canines in anger.

Him and his fucking perverts for friends.

"Those things are gone now. I found my mate and I gave everything to him. I'm spoiled now, worthless to you."

He shakes his head, scorn overtaking his tone.

"I knew the second you got away you'd let any passing dog have a go at you. Dirty boy," he snarls.

"You're the dirty one. You're disgusting," I shout, banging on his back.

I'm so scared.

I'm so disoriented that all I can do is lash out blindly.

I hate him. I hate him so much.

"Here's what's going to happen. You're going to shut that bratty mouth of yours unless you want me to sew it up. And then you're going wait patiently until I sell you off because if you haven't forgotten, I OWN you. And you're not going to say a word about your precious mate and the things you did with him or I'll slit your throat. You should be grateful, really. Some fucker is finally going to give you a bit of worth when he knocks you up."

I vomit.

He shouts in disgust, throwing me to the ground.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He lands a harsh kick to my stomach and I cry out, sobbing as I dig my hands in the dirt.

He rips off his soiled shirt, throwing it to the ground.

"You nasty mutt. You really have lost all your obedience. Where is the sweet boy I raised?"

"He's dead," I scream, scrambling up and attempting to run but he lunges at me, pushing me to the ground.

I don't have time to react before a blunt force hits the back of my head.

Daemon.

'Daemon.'

[psychopompbride]

i move out for college and got a place near my uni bcs I can't drive any vehicle whatsoever and public transportation is a myth. i lose my appetite often and walking quite some distance (to and from uni) with empty stomach got me dizzy spells and nausea unlike any other. i go to bed hungry bcs i compile my daily food intake in one meal only. i lose weight (which is good but also unhealthy) and my hair fall is getting worse. there were desperate moments when I can't eat anything bcs my work wasn't done yet and I don't have time to get up and get some food in. water can be nice but it's a temporary solution and i don't feel like going for a pee every 5 seconds.

at a time like this i could imagine ripping my teeth through a kilo of boiled chicken breast, or a whole loaf of bread lightly toast, or a whole pot of instant noodles. it's not the most pleasant thing to put into your belly, but when you're so empty you feel like you need most of everything to fulfill you. it's not the tastiest nor most nutritious but it curbs the hunger and you'll be able to carry on, even though the grease and carbs settling in your belly doesn't feel the least good. it's easier than cooking on your own, bcs I'm no cook so it might be shitty and it takes too much of my time anyway. in some sense, it's almost as if you could feel yourself withering away.

this is dramatic af but i think the severe state of hunger kicked my brain to work a bit and reflect on how i also applied this treatment to other aspects of me and my life, subconsciously or not. i realized i keep watching the same show on repeat (it's not a comfort show and no offense to other people who do this) bcs i know how it would make me feel, even though the boredom and mundanity might kill me someday. i never get to read new books or start a new podcast or pick up new hobbies that I've been dying to get to bcs it's long and i might not like it. i miss opportunities bcs what if i tried and turns out I'm no good for it? i forget about that lovely moss green dress bcs wearing it for the first time might resulted in a wardrobe malfunction.

so i don't really know what to make of this realization. that i have an eating problem and anxiety that stems from shitty time management? maybe. any advice?

[prowlspaparazzi]

TFP Dreadwing x sick!gn!reader

tw: vomiting and nausea. And very sappy dialogue.

word count: 1,365

Your head pounded, causing dizziness to swirl your body to the side. You gripped the wall near you and breathed slowly, recalibrating yourself to keep walking. Dehydration, you thought. After all, keeping a steady flow of fluids on the Nemesis was a bit of a challenge, even with the water system Soundwave had been nice enough to install for you. You walked to Dreadwing's habsuite where your stuff was in. Some water was definitely needed. Maybe a vitamin gummy too.

Then the nausea hit you like a freight train. Definitely a vitamin gummy now. The habsuite was empty when you arrived. You used this opportunity to drink water, eat that gummy, and even take a shower. Your room was a quick staircase up, with a balcony and your door in the wall. You were drying your hair on said balcony when Dreadwing had walked in.

"I thought I would find you here." Dreadwing spoke once his eyes found you. "I was... saddened to not see your face to greet me when I came back." He continued, his voice was soft and tender as he usually was when he was with you.

"Oh I'm sorry, I wasn't feeling well so I came back to get some water. And wash up since I think I might be getting sick." You explained to him.

"With what illness? Is it a fatal disease?" Dreadwing asked slowly as to not alarm you but there was still an urgency to his voice. Humans were either fragile, or very resilient, this much he knew. He hoped you were the latter.

"I dunno. I know last time I was at the store some people were talking about how there's a stomach bug going around." You answered, wringing out the last drips out water out of your hair.

"A parasite then?" He was much closer to you now. Even though your balcony was elevated, Dreadwing still had to bend down a bit to meet your gaze.

"It's a virus, actually. Stomach bug is what people call the stomach flu." You began to stand up. "I just need to rest, stay hydrated and be careful of what I-" Dizziness fell over you like a wave, sending you falling backwards. Dreadwing was quick to react, catching you with a single digit. "Careful of what I eat. Ugh," You held your head as it pounded with the aftershock of dizziness. Your body was a blender of sickness, mixing and swirling as nausea set in. You leaned your full body weight on Dreadwing's hand, unable to trust your own feet to keep you upright.

"_____? Is it the stomach bug?" Dreadwing questioned. "Do you need anything from me?"

"I'll be good in a sec I just-" Your stomach sent red alarms throughout your body. You were gonna hurl, and it was coming no matter what. You dashed away from Dreadwing's hand in an instant, grabbing the small trash bin near your door and emptied out your stomach in a gross concotion of your last meal while on your knees. You had half a mind to face away from Dreadwing to hide some of your shame.

You groaned deeply afterwards, pushing the nasty trash bin away from you and into your room.

"Are you alright?" You heard Dreadwing behind you, concern obvious in his voice. You sniffled and shuddered, feeling pathetic and weak like... like a human.

"No... Not at all." You uttered out.

"I shall get..." He almost mentioned Knockout, but Knockout wasn't a medic for humans. Nor did he show any interest in learning 'fleshy medicine' as he would state it. He was unsure who to call for to help you. His hesitation must've been apparent by the way you interrupted his pause.

"Love," A petname you use for him on occasion, usually to soothe or reassure him. Everytime you use it though, he hums in embarassment, "It's a stomach bug, so I'll be able to get better on my own. I'll just need help retrieving the things I need to get better. Stuff like medicine, and water. Some crackers too. I'll be stuck in bed for the next few days though." Your voice was hoarse, and your throat was beginning to get sore. Explaining what you needed to was more important, is what you told yourself. But you also knew that you didn't want to look like a fragile helpless human, the way every cybertronian saw you. Toughing this illness out was a way to prove that.

"Do not strain yourself further. You will rest and I shall collect what you need." He was a commander, but gentle in the way he spoke to you.

"Okay..." You whimpered out. Dreadwing offered one of his digits to help you up, which you took. You grabbed a bucket, a water bottle, and headed to your bed.

-

In a few short hours Dreadwing had somehow retrieved all the necessary items you listed out before. Normally, you would've asked about it but that could wait. For now, you were focused on keeping the medicine down.

"Is there anything else you may need?" Dreadwing asked outside your door with a knock.

You shuffled your way to the door with a blanket wrapped around you to answer, and apologize too maybe.

"I think I have everything." Your voice was thick with illness. "Um... Sorry for puking in front of you. That must've been really gross to see. I'm... a little embarassed you have to see me like this actually."

Dreadwing seemed perplexed by your apology. "You are so considerate of my feelings that you're...apologizing for getting ill?" He scoffed endearingly, a rarity to witness.

"Sweetspark, at your lowest I want to be there for you. At your highest I want to cherish you. I want to be beside you, loving you...for as long as I can. I want to witness all of you. Including the parts of you that you deem 'gross'." Dreadwing had graced a digit on your head, a small slow motion. He may not have said it out loud, but he was worried that your final moments alive were upon him. That his time with you had ran out so quickly. He was well aware of this dramatization in his thoughts, but nonetheless it was a small reminder that you must be treasured in every single moment he has with you.

So many of your defenses shouted in your head. What if this, what if that. You realized that all your defense mechanisms to keep yourself safe from pain, were keeping you from loving and feeling loved so closely. You decided that enough was enough. You were going to break through these defense mechanisms and let yourself be vulnerable, and be okay with whatever may come with it.

Dreadwing's digit was still on your head, so you reached up, letting your blanket fall, and hugged his hand as tight as you could. Your eyes screwed shut as you tightened your grip, but you could feel Dreadwing's hand escape you and you heard the sound of metal shifting and transforming. You opened your eyes to see Dreadwing's arms wrap around you. Mass shifting inside the Nemesis was rare for him, but for you he'd do just about anything.

Being held so closely almost made you forget you were even sick. Maybe the power of love was healing you. You scoffed at the thought.

"What's so funny?" He asked.

"The power of love, that's what." You chuckled.

"...No matter how much I believe I'm close to knowing everything about you, you always find a way to surprise me."

"Let me rephrase. I'm so glad I have you. I appreciate you taking care of me." You smiled up at Dreadwing. His eyes reflected your loving gaze.

"There is nothing I would not do for you." His voice was barely above a whisper, even in the close proximity. One of his digits held your chin up as his face got closer, merely centimeters apart before you realized something.

"Wait I'm still sick!" You exclaimed.

"With a human illness, sweetspark." He gently corrected.

"Oh, right right." You stood on your tippy toes to capture the kiss from Dreadwing to which he happily obliged.

[gavinsdeviant]

Wello I was kinda nervous to request this or maybe I am shaking cause of the flu But I love your content and would like to request something of David caring for angel wile they are sick?

Don’t be nervous!! I’m really glad you love my content :D I’m sorry this is late, but I did it. 

Here you go!

cw/tw- just sick Angel (nothing to see here lol)

word count- 774

fandom- RedactedAudio

pair- David/Angel

@thesunandmoons-blog @sherlo-ck-holmes @daveysangelsposts

                                              7 Hours Ago

Angel stares up at the ceiling, swallowing against the nausea that had jarred them awake a moment before.

They sit up. 

Their head throbs as they rest shaky palms on their knees, breathing hard. 

They look down at their socks and try to distract from the bile pushing up their throat. 

It doesn’t work. 

They roll over in bed, reaching for Davey but feeling the cold against their skin when they come up empty. 

They sniff and rub at their aching skull, tangling a hand in their hair. 

It’s probably nothing, they think and get up despite the dizziness.

They shuffle to the kitchen, smelling breakfast as they lean a hip against the doorframe. 

“Hey, big guy,” they say softly. He turns around and sets down what he’s doing. He comes closer and takes their face in his hands. 

“Hey, Angel,” he says and kisses them. They hum against his mouth. 

“You want to eat right now?” he asks and pulls away.

They swallow. 

“Would it be okay if we ate later? I’m not feeling great right now, but that’s okay!”

It’s quiet for a moment, and before David can say anything, they beat him to it. 

“What are you making? It smells really good.” They get up and peer into the pan- anything to put off the feeling in their stomach. 

“Love.” Davey’s eyebrows furrow. 

“You should have woken me up. I could have helped-”

“Angel.”

A wave of dizziness crashes into them again, sending Angel damn near stumbling to the nearest chair. 

Davey is at their side in an instant, steadying a hand on their elbow. 

“You’re not okay. Just sit down,” he mutters. 

They do, playing with their hands in their lap. They didn’t want to make him worry but they’d practically bounded towards a seat, so there went that plan.  

“What’s wrong?” his words are urgent, so concerned as he takes his hand in theirs. I love him. 

They sigh. “I haven’t been feeling well.”

“Well no shit,” he says, rolling his eyes but still smiling. 

A few minutes pass with Davey sitting next to them and helping them to breathe through the light headedness. 

“I need to throw up,” they say, almost breathless as they jump up on wobbly legs. He picks them up, bridal style, and carries them to the bathroom. 

They didn’t want him to carry them but can barely protest as he put them back down. 

They sag over the toilet bowl, breaths coming fast. 

They feel his large palm on their neck and then their hair being pulled out of their face. 

“It’s okay. Just let it out,” he soothes and runs a hand down their side, up and down. 

After a while of throwing up, they sit back, feeling completely empty. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” he says but Angel swings their head to face him, their eyes pleading. 

“I’m fine, Davey. I feel much better. It’s nothing, I just... have to wait it out,” they whisper, throat burning. 

“You’re shaking, baby. It’s not nothing.”

They look down at their trembling fingers and nod. “Yeah,” they say and their voice sounds brittle, even to their own ears. “It’s probably not nothing.”

David’s hands move from their sides to their back, rubbing lazy circles. 

“It’s not. You’re sick and you need rest. You need to owe your body that, Angel.”

He looks at them and pushes himself up with a groan. 

“Sit tight. I’m getting you water and pain meds,” and before they can protest, he’s gone. 

When he comes back, he sees his mate still sitting on the floor. They hug their knees to their chest and their eyes are closed. 

“Hey,” he brushes a few fingers over their knee. “Baby, it’s time to take some medication. You’ll feel a lot better once you do.”

They nod sleepily and take the pills from his outstretched hand, swallowing it with the water he gives them next.  

He gently pulls them into his arms again and carries them to the bedroom. 

They curl up into his side with their warmth wrapping around him. 

I love them so much, he thinks. 

He starts rocking them back and forth. 

“I think it's time to let you know,” he sings softly. 

“Just how deep the ocean goes.”

“Cause I’m still in love with an angel, she won’t let me in her head or a heart now, so far away from the place where where we were 7 hours ago.”

“I've sailed across the ocean blue.”

Fire and brimstone just for you.”

And Angel knows those words are just for them as he sways them against him. 

“To speak those three words loud and clear.”

“I love you,” they whisper, their heart full.