Today is an IBS flare day and I'm regretting all of my life decisions

You know, when I kept getting asked "so you didn't ever have severe pains before now?" in the hospital and I kept replying "I have a high pain tolerance" I meant it. However, there is only so much pain my tiny 4'9" body can hold... (aka I am sweating and in agony bc I'm getting told to use LESS severe pain meds so I don't rely on them too much and it is AWFUL)

Ignore this if you don’t take requests but I loved your Nathan Bateman taking care of a sick reader and I’d love it if you could write something about him with a reader on their period. I feel like he’s not the type to get grossed out by blood

Of course! Thank you so much for the ask! (I'm so sorry I can only write soft!Nathan, I can't help it.)

In Pain

Nathan Bateman X F!Reader Rating: T Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: TYPOS, SWEARING, fluff, hurt/comfort, blood, reader on their period, Nathan being a softie, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

Word Count: 1161

_______________________________________

You’d bled through onto Nathan’s couch. The thumb sized spot of red was seeping into the upholstery as you stared, thoughts frozen, mind blank. 

His stupid, fucking couch that looked like shit and was probably worth more than any house you’d ever lived in. (Present abode excluded, of course.) 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You hissed under your breath. How were you going to explain this? You weren’t even due until next week. “Fuck.” 

Hastily, you scribbled on a scrap piece of paper and left it to the side of the stain. While it was unlikely that Nathan was going to crawl out of his office at any point today, stranger things had happened. And it would be just your luck if he did.

Getting to your room was fine, but the pain started shortly after you stepped into the shower. A deep twisting just below your belly button, like someone was slowly trying to rip your insides out. And, in a way, that was exactly what was happening. 

You managed to get out of the shower and changed with a fresh pad, your vision swimming slightly as the pain began to overwhelm the simplest actions. You just needed to find your meds, lay down and try to sleep through the next- 

Knock, knock, knock. 

Of course. 

You swung your bedroom door open with a little more force than necessary. Your tone clipped and strained. “Yeah?”

Nathan raised his eyebrows at you. He had your tone in his left hand. ‘I’ll fix it.’ scrawled in your rushed handwriting. 

You were surprised he wasn’t holding an itemised bill. 

He paused for a moment, looking you over with a level of scrutiny you weren’t used to. “You okay?”

That wasn’t the question you’d expected. 

You hummed an answer and nodded once. “Fine.” A cramp sunk its claws into you as you spoke, giving your voice a shuddered edge. 

“There’s blood on the couch...” He said it slowly, the slight raise in his cadence towards the end turning the statement into a question. 

Your stomach clenched as another cramp seized your muscles. It took all your willpower not to double over. 

“I’ll pay for it.” You spoke at the exact same moment Nathan said, “what happened?”

The cramp was not easing up, all you wanted was to lay down and possibly hit yourself over the head with a hammer so you could stay unconscious for a few hours. 

“Wha-”

“I bled through okay?” You snapped, displaying the first signs of true annoyance Nathan had seen since you got here. His mouth audibly snapped shut.

“My period came early,” you stared at his chest as you let the words just fall out, it was always easier not to look at his stupidly beautiful face, “and I fucking bled through and didn’t realise it, and I’ll pay for the fucking damage.” You breathed out heavily, regretting your tone instantly. Fuck, you were going to have to-

“Oh. Okay.” 

“What?” You frowned, looking quickly to his face. 

“I said okay. Though you don’t have to pay anything, that’s fucking stupid.” 

You made a sound, words starting to form but then said nothing. 

“It’s an accident.” Nathan pulled a face, “you can’t help bleeding. Do you know how many times I’ve bled on the furniture?” 

Your mind wasn’t quite catching up quick enough. “You, wait, you’ve bled on the furniture?” 

“Yeah?” He looked at you like you’d asked the stupidest question in the world, and walked past you into your room. (Without an invitation.)

“Wait, you can't just not expla-”

“What meds have you got?”  Nathan looked at your desk, on top of your bedside table. His hand going to open the drawers. 

“Did I say you could come in here?” 

He looked at you over the top of his glasses. “It’s my house.”

“Natha-”

“What painkillers have you got?” He continued when you didn’t answer quickly enough for his liking. “Periods hurt right? You’re in pain, it’s obvious. And I bet you only have shitty over the counter stuff.” He sighed. “Lay down.” He gestured to your bed as he walked out of the room. “I’ll be back.”

You were too flabbergasted (and preoccupied with the searing pain in your stomach) to argue. 

Slowly you sat on the edge of the bed, a little annoyed at yourself for following his instructions. 

The pain was getting worse, swelling with every breath and you carefully doubled over, pressing your hands to your stomach as if the pressure could stop the cramps. 

You sat up quickly as Nathan came back into the room. 

He tutted. “I said lay down.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

A small smirk pulled at his lips. “Technically, I am. Here,” he held out two pills and a glass of water. “Take these.”

You frowned. “What are they?”

“Pain killers.”

“What kind?” 

“The good kind.”

“Nathan-”

“They’re not going to hurt you. They’ll help you sleep for a bit.”

You conceded and took the pills and the water. “I don’t think much of your bedside manner.” You muttered just before you swallowed. 

“Well, you’re a very irritating patient.” He said with the widest smile you had ever seen on his face. 

He took the glass from your hand and put it on the side, purposefully not using the coaster that was obviously there, and took a small hot water bottle from where he had been holding it under his arm. “Sorry, it’s the only size I’ve got.” 

You barely got the chance to stammer out, “thank you,” before Nathan took hold of your legs and lifted them up onto the bed. 

Then, to your utmost surprise, he climbed into bed next to you. 

“Nathan, what-”

“Trust me, okay?” 

You paused, staring at his eyes for an impossibly long second before you swallowed and nodded. 

He carefully guided you to move onto your side before laying down behind you and moving close so that his chest was flush with your back. 

“Comfortable?” He whispered. A shiver ran up your spine in spite of his body heat. 

You nodded.

“Good.” Slowly he reached down to the hot water bottle and slipped his hand over yours to hold it firmly against your stomach. 

“This okay?” His voice was barely audible. 

You nodded, not trusting your voice. 

The pressure of his hand, his arm wrapped around you, the warmth of him against your back was comforting. Soothing. Everything. 

Sleep had nearly overtaken you when you jolted. 

“Hey, hey,” the gentleness of his tone seemed wrong, unnatural almost to becoming from between his lips, “it’s alright-”

“I might bleed on you,” the words came out in a rush, an old fear rearing its head, despite the pad you could still leak, “I might-”

“I don’t give a fuck if you bleed on me.” That same tone, soft and kind, barely a breath. “It doesn’t matter. Come on,” he pressed a feather light kiss against your shoulder. “Relax, try to sleep.”

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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Band-Aid

MASTERLIST

Hi guys, I’m back! Sorry I was gone for so long, I got so busy this past year, I thought I might have to retire this blog for good. But I’m going to try and make time for it, let’s hope it works out this time!

Disclaimer: It has been a LONG time since I’ve written ~anything~ so I am plenty rusty lol.

Thanks for the request anon! This is such a cute prompt! Hope I delivered! After this I’ll have four drafts left and then I can answer the requests in my inbox!

Warnings: Mentions injuries/illnesses, blood, let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 1k

Remember that gifs aren’t mine! If you like them, pls click through to show their OPs some love!

You have to laugh as Seungcheol loudly announces to Jeonghan that his head is hurting

You two have been going through this cycle since you were first hired a few months ago

At the beginning, Coups had an excuse to talk to you all the time

Since you were new to the team, he took point on explaining important info to you

What allergies the boys had

Previous injuries you needed to be aware of

Where they generally kept their first-aid supplies

But once you had it all down, there was no reason for him to talk to you on a daily basis

But by this point, Cheol had realized that he very much liked speaking to you

He felt that you two had connected well and wanted to get to know you more

But since you were on the med team, you were often quite busy seeing as there were thirteen members that were in constant need of check-ups, aid with different levels of injuries, and general everyday care to combat the strain they put on their bodies

You hardly ever had time to just speak to him

The only time you really could 

Was when you were treating him

So Seungcheol had started to come up with any excuse under the sun to come and talk to you

First he was constantly complaining that he must have sprained his wrist, or twisted his ankle or pulled a muscle

Then he was constantly getting stomache aches

After that he was getting rashes or little scratches

Now he was in a phase of faking headaches to come and talk to you about it

You knew all of his injuries were fake from the very beginning

He stopped cradling his first “sprained wrist” to tell Seungkwan off for being too loud

He ate full meals that the other boys ordered even when he had his “stomach aches”

You had started carrying around makeup wipes to clean off his supposed “scratches and rashes”

Someone complaining of a headache was a little harder to disprove though

But you were sure you’d catch him somehow

You had begun to enjoy playing this little game with him

As well as the time you got to spend with him because of it

“Well you don’t have a fever,” you tucked your thermometer back into your medical bag

Seungcheol sat in front of you with a pout on his face

“Are there any other symptoms?” you ask

Seungcheol dutifully shakes his head

“Well do you want a pain reliever? Or maybe I should tell them to send you home and rest?” you feel his forehead once more for good measure

“Oh...” he hesitates, “I don’t think it’s serious enough for either of those...”

You smile to yourself

It was quite cute to watch him fumble with trying to feign sickness without  exposing himself

“Well should we schedule an appointment with a neurologist to make sure this isn’t a problem?” you push him further

“No, you take care of me well enough” Seungcheol beams

“Well we have to find a solution eventually,” you sigh. “How’s your water intake? Or did you add anything new to your diet? Increase your screentime?”

“No, they just started out of nowhere,” Seungcheol shrugs innocently

“Well I suppose I can let you go for today but, if it happens again, I’m sending you to the doctor”

“[Y/N]!” one of the managers calls for you. “We need your help prepping supplies for the next concert.”

You give Cheol a bit of a smug look, knowing you’ve backed him into a corner with his latest fake sickness and then

You rush off to help

Seungcheol sighs as he watches you leave

He just lost another excuse to spend time with you

Later that evening Joshua watches with pure amusement as Seungcheol paces back and forth in the dorm 

“Should I say I think I have a sinus infection? Or maybe I could claim of frequent muscle spasms... I feel like constipation has to be my last move.”

“I feel like constipation is a never move,” Joshua interrupted. “Just tell [Y/N] that you like them.”

“I can’t do that, what if they don’t even like me?” Seungcheol complains

“Well then you have an answer and you can stop wasting both of your time,” Josh shrugs

“Wasting time,” Seungcheol repeats. “What if they really don’t like me and I’ve just been annoying [Y/N] this whole time?” 

He hates the feeling settling in the pit of his stomach

He begins to remember all the times you would shut him down as quick as possible 

Or when you would rush off to help someone else as soon as you were done exposing a fake injury of his

How you would sigh and roll your eyes before walking away

Apparently he failed to notice the playful look on your face as you did so

“What? I don’t think [Y/N] would put up with it if you were truly wasting their time,” Joshua protests

“No, I really should stop. It’s [Y/N]’s job and I should leave them alone to do it. Let’s just start getting ready for the concert tomorrow”

Seungcheol’s mood is noticably down for rehearsals the next day

The other boys are off because of it and they’re trying all they can to cheer him up

You notice as well and begin to wonder if Seungcheol is genuinely sick for once 

And then you feel really worried because he usually would use any excuse to come speak to you but he’s not even trying to mention what’s obviously bothering him

“Are you feeling alright?” you corner him, once again pressing a hand to his forehead

“I am, just worried about this performance,” Cheol reaches up to grab your hand, his thumb pressing into your palm as he pulls it away from his head

Then he just walks off

You feel really uneasy about the concert

Everyone else does too

Seungcheol may not be exhibiting any symptoms of sickness but it’s obvious he’s distracted and not ready to perform

Anxieties rise throughout the day but quickly stave off as the concert begins

As usual, Seventeen pulls through and the concert goes well

Even with Cheol somewhat distracted 

But the good feelings end as quickly as they begin

When Cheol falls during a song 

At first it looks like just a simple stumble

But as your watching the big screen, you see the horrified expression form on Seungkwan’s face as he looks down at his leader

You rush to the side of the stage as the other members help him off

They set him down on a chair in front of you and run back off to do crowd control

You quickly see why Seungkwan had seemed so disturbed

When Cheol had tripped, he had fallen against one of the stage props and scraped up his shin

The wound didn’t seem deep but it was large and producing plenty of blood

Coups feels terrible

Not even 24 hours after he decided to leave you alone

And here is a situation where you have to be with him

He can’t even think of his injury

He can only think of how he’s going to apologize and get out of your hair

He’s tested ten different apologies in his head before he actually looks at you

Your hands are gentle as you clean the blood and sanitize the wound

Cheol notices how you hesitate everytime you rub the disinfectant over his leg, seeing if it’ll cause him pain or not 

There is a time where it does sting and he sucks in his breath

You look up at him and Cheol’s heart clenches

You look so worried

Your eyebrows are furrowed and there’s sweat on your forehead 

“Does it hurt a lot? I promise I’m almost done” you say 

Your voice is so genuine and kind

Cheol has to stop himself from grinning at how sweet and caring you’re being

“I’m ok, do what you need to do”

You wrap the bandages carefully once the wound is clean, even going back over where you feel you didn’t do a good enough job

“Does that feel ok?” you stand and put a hand on his shoulder, indicating with your other hand that he should move his leg and test the wrappings

He nods, “Thank you”

Then he gets up and heads towards the stage

“Woah,” you stop him with a hand on his chest, “where are you going?”

 He grabs your hand the same way, a thumb pressed to your palm, but he doesn’t move it away from him this time

“Back out,” he gives you the smile he uses when he wants something

“You can’t go back out there,” you insist, hoping he can’t feel how warm you’re getting while he holds your hand

“It would be best for the fans to see that I’m ok,” Cheol says more seriously this time

You think it over

“...You’ll have to sit in a chair for the rest of the performance,” you insist

“I’ll accept that with my own condition,” Cheol is beaming at you again

“And what would that be?” you laugh

“I take you to dinner after”

Before you can respond, he pulls you towards him, kisses your cheek, and runs off onto the stage with a chair

And your hand flies to your own forehead to check your tempertature

Levels

Professional//Victim

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LEVELS

Tommy woke up to his door shutting hard behind Caius, who re-locked it behind him before pocketing the keys. 

Tommy startled at the sound, and clutched his sheet to his chest for a moment, trying to calm himself. 

Caius wasn’t holding any food or medications. That wasn’t a good sign. He had that serious look on his face, the one where he pretended he didn’t enjoy his pain. Damnit. 

“You’re in trouble.”

Tommy’s stomach dropped. He started to sit up against his pillow, but hissed with the pain his movement inspired. He sank back down and pulled the sheet up over his nose.

“Why?”

Caius sighed, disappointment clear on his face.

(Fucking prick.)

“You can’t try to talk to me when you’re with a client, Tommy. You know that.”

(Oh.)

It all came back to him then. Lisa’s hair framing a face his mind had already blurred. Mark’s hands on him - no. Stop it. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. Stop. Stop the thoughts.

Tommy turned from him and stared at the ceiling. He hated that his eyes prickled, threatening tears. Was it not enough?  Was living like this not a punishment on its own? He felt like he couldn’t go any lower than how he felt after last night. 

“I’m sorry.” Tommy said, and his broken voice sounded sincere. He was sorry he ever tried. He was sorry he still thought there was hope. His apology was just a weak attempt to shield whatever was left of himself. 

“No meds for a week.”

He shot up in bed at that, grimacing at the pain. 

“A week?!”

“Could be longer,” Caius offered with a raised eyebrow. Tommy sucked in a breath and became silent. 

“Antibiotics?”

“You’ll get those. Nothing for the pain.”

“But- but,” He scrambled for some defense.

“Pain - pain management is an important part of the healing process, you’ll delay my recovery and it’ll be that much longer before I can - before I can go with another client.”

It was technically true. A plea to Caius’s logic was his only possible bargaining chip.

Caius pretended to chew it over for a moment. This logistic hadn’t slipped his mind, and he had already made peace with it. He stepped back to the door and unlocked it once more.

“I can wait.”

He didn’t give Tommy a chance to reply. The door locked behind him, and Tommy slumped back to his mattress. Helpless tears finally spilled from his eyes and he wanted to scream and scream. 

He hadn’t even had a chance to take inventory of the damage yet. His ass felt like he’d been sitting on hot coals, it still radiated heat like a particularly brutal sunburn. His wrists and ankles felt swollen and sore to the slightest touch. Trying to move his hands only made the muscles spasm, and they were too weak to lend him his usual control. 

A whole week without painkillers. He’d taken them away before, but never that long. It meant he could count on sleepless nights up with the agony. Even though he rarely broke rules anymore, his punishments got worse, not better. 

He wanted to scream and curse Caius, but “throwing a tantrum” would only land him a harsher sentence. He rolled over and shoved his face into the pillow and punched the mattress until he was exhausted and hurt enough to slump back down to rest. 

He clenched his eyes closed, begging his body for sleep again. One week without drugs would last an eternity.

—

He’d made it through four days. For four days, Caius made him take daily walks to keep his body from seizing with pain. The rest of the time, he laid as still as he could and wallowed. He wanted to be left alone, but Caius suddenly had all the time in the world for him. 

“Go,” Caius instructed, gesturing to the basement steps. Standing at the bottom, Tommy could not imagine making his way up them, just as he had every other day. He didn’t want his sentence lengthened, but he swallowed hard at the prospect of another arduous journey up.

Caius’s hands found his shoulders and he guided him to the first stair, his touch agitating the wounds on Tommy’s shoulders. 

“Could you - I could follow you? I just - need a minute.”

“You can do it. One step at a time.”

He was already trembling on his feet. His ankles pulsed with a dull, merciless pain. His legs hurt, his ass hurt, his thighs were still sore to the point of weakness. 

“I don’t think I can do this, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, can we just - I can walk a few times around the basement maybe? I-”

He was cut off by a hard shove between his shoulders, sending him sprawling onto the stairs. 

“If you can’t walk, then you can crawl.” 

Caius moved up onto the stairs, and leaned down to grip a generous handful of the prone boy’s hair. He started to ascend the stairs, dragging Tommy close behind by his hair. Tommy had to start scrambling up the steps on his hands and knees to try to keep up. His hands fluttered around Caius’s grip, wanting to wrench his fingers open, but he didn’t dare. The cement was cold and gritty under his palms and his knees, but he dragged himself up each step, desperate to end the pain. At the top he was released, and he crumpled to the floor, breathless with the strain. 

Caius let him lay there for a few minutes until he bored, moving again and beckoning to Tommy to follow. Tommy pulled himself onto trembling legs, leaning heavily against the wall. Caius coaxed him forwards, taking him a different path than they usually took for these walks. 

Tommy grit his teeth and walked.

He was so focused on trying to stabilize that he didn’t realize where they were heading until he was led to the bottom of the upstairs stairwell. The stairs there were carpeted and clean, with an elegant banister slithering up the side. When Caius directed him to take the stairs, he balked.

Looking into Caius’s face was like trying to read a mask, but Tommy searched for a clue if this was some kind of sick test. He had never been to the upper floor. He assumed that’s where the others lived, or worked, or whatever they did with most of their time. 

Caius waved him on, one eyebrow quirked expectantly. 

“Caius…I don’t think I’m allowed up there…” 

(What fresh hell is this? A trick? He played those sometimes…)

“I’m telling you to go up, so you aren’t allowed to go anywhere else.”

Tommy held his hands to his chest, squeezing them to console himself. The stairs looked endless, curving to the side and out of sight after an already arduous stretch.

“Please Caius, I’m trying, I am, but the stairs, I really don’t think-”

He was interrupted by the sharp snap of Caius’s fingers in front of his face, followed by a sharp finger pointing up the stairs. 

“Three more days.”

Tommy gasped, his hand rising to touch Caius’s arm for just a moment before he remembered himself. He didn’t know what he was trying to do, he just - wanted to do something, anything. He wanted to hold onto him. He had nothing more to comfort himself than the very source of his misery. 

Judging by the murderous glare Caius was giving him, he was out of time.

When Caius got in this kind of mood, Tommy knew to shut up and put his head down. In the moment it took to register consciously, he was already stepping up the stairs, his hands reaching out to the carpeted stairs ahead of him tentatively. His back felt agonizingly stiff, but being able to support himself more comfortably on all fours helped a little. 

(Ignore the pain. Put it in the back of your mind. Move. Just keep moving.)

He made it to the top and froze, unsure of what to do. Caius was only a step behind him, and his fingers hooked the back of his collar. He guided him by the back of the neck over to a tall white door. There was a skylight above them casting soft, bright light down, and Tommy’s eyes watered with the change from his dim basement room. Tommy pushed himself onto his feet and stood uncertainly in the hallway. Caius quickly moved to corner him up against the door, and Tommy blindly grabbed for the handle, finding it locked. Caius was too close, so suddenly, and Tommy could smell him, could feel his breath on his face. The warmth of his body pressing him against the cool wood, reaching beside his hip to unlock the door and turn the handle.

He released his grip on the collar with a grin.

Tommy stumbled backwards as the door gave way, sprawling on the floor in a defeated heap. He groaned and covered his face with his arms, trying to shield his face. Some days, Caius just wanted his pain. It was starting to look like one of those days. 

Caius padded in behind him and closed the door. From between his fingers where he laid on his side, all Tommy could see were his feet. 

He shivered there, for a moment, anticipating the blows. (At least the carpet is soft.)

(Fuck. Really, really soft.)

He forgot how nice a good carpet felt. The one in his “bedroom” was old and ground into a thin mat over the cement. The carpet beneath him was a clean cream color with padding beneath him, making it cushier than his mattress. 

Moments passed and there was no strike. A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him up until he was sat against the side of an enormous bed, a rich blue comforter spilling over the side. He looked blearily up at Caius, who crouched before him. He pinched his chin and turned his face from one side to the other, looking at his eyes. 

(Why am I in your bedroom?)

He didn’t say anything. He’d already switched gears, resigned to whatever Caius fancied doing to him today. The new environment and the big bed put him ill at ease though, and he felt nauseous. His brain was in low power mode, trying to forget what was happening as soon as it did. He wanted to walk far away from his mind and stay somewhere where the carpet was always so soft and clean.

His eyes accidentally connected with Caius’s for a moment. He always forgot what he looked like somehow, and it was so hard to look him in the face. The clear rim of his glass, the chestnut strands that cradled his face. Those dark brown eyes. 

He looked like the devil to Tommy.

“Stay.” 

He nodded numbly, grateful when Caius turned away and broke eye contact. For some reason, he couldn’t make himself look away first.

Caius pulled a long chain lead from the top drawer of his nightstand. Tommy leaned his head back and submitted his throat to him, accepting the lead locking onto his collar with nothing more than a nervous swallow.

(Better than being dragged by my hair…I think.)

When Caius rose, he pulled the leash, and Tommy struggled to his feet. He was afraid to support himself on the comforter, the fabric too fine for his calloused touch. 

Caius coaxed him onto the bed with a tug of the chain. The moment Tommy made contact with the bed he whimpered, his muscles turning to jelly in fear of retribution. But Caius joined him on the bed and sat up against his pillows, winding the chain around his fist to gather Tommy closer. He reluctantly crawled to him, the nausea growing stronger.

(Don’t do this. Don’t open that door.)

Caius settled him on his side though, and drew his head down to his lap. One hand curled possessively in his hair again. Tommy braced himself, but his fingers gently combed through, soothing and untangling the strands. Lately, he could get whiplash with how fast Caius’s moods came and went. Shocking, blinding cruelty would be followed with unnerving gentleness

. A book was fetched from his nightstand and rested open on his cheek, one wing of the hardcover supported balanced on his face. 

“Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the British Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the library regarding Transylvania; it had struck me that…”

The bed was cushy, and sank in generously at his touch. It unnerved him, a gnawing feeling plaguing him that the mattress might sink like quicksand beneath him. In spite of himself, he began to relax to the soothing cadence of Caius’s voice, slowly relinquishing the tension coiled in his body. With his face covered, he didn’t have to focus on making his expression acceptable to his unpredictable host. The fingers in his hair didn’t pull or punish, and their rhythmic caresses started to lull him to sleep.

Caius smelled…he smelled like sandalwood. He smelled clean. He smelled warm. He felt warm, his legs beneath him radiating a comforting warmth. 

Tommy’s heart suddenly ached fiercely. Desperate to soothe it, he nuzzled into the warm body beside him. Caius paused as it upset his book, but he let Tommy cuddle closer without correction.

 It had just started to overwhelm him, this odd moment of domesticity. He’d been alone for so long, and the gentle touches were few and far between. He just wanted to embrace the feeling while he had it, before it could slip through his fingers. He’d spent so long just trying to numb the world out, it felt so good to be here and pretend he wasn’t prey in the arms of a predator. 

Caius held him, and it felt good.

“I never used to be able to keep a relationship.”

Tommy tilted his head to look at Caius. Their eyes met, and Caius looked into his face so fully and honestly that it paralyzed him.

“It wasn’t a problem getting them, but they never stayed. They wanted me until they saw all of me and then they left.”

Silence hung between them. Tommy was wordless at the sudden admission. 

“I guess my longest relationship is you, huh?”

A chill ran down Tommy’s spine. Caius’s hand touched his cheek and he stared at it, enraptured by the contact with his ward. There was something wrong in that look. He didn’t look at him like a lover, but like a doll. Like a muse. 

Tommy shrank away from his touch, but Caius’s hand caught him and pushed his head down to his lap. Suddenly his touch didn’t feel so warm and so gentle. The ache came back to Tommy’s chest, as the warm feeling drained from his face.

(You can’t always play pretend.)

“You know I used to do insurance? That’s how I met Rory. We just clicked, he was the only good thing about the job. One day he tells me that his tech whiz friend has got this start-up….that was Michelle. But he wanted us to relocate to Quebec. Can you imagine living in Quebec? Working for some french freaks?”

Tommy wondered if they would have taken him at all. If some boy up north was spared being in his place because of a sliver of francophobia. 

“Once he moved here, it all kinda fell into place.”

Tommy missed the other story.

“You know, I never let my licenses lapse. I’ve renewed them three times. I just kept thinking, this is too good to be true. Something’s going to happen and I’ll be back at a desk.”

His position no longer felt comfortable, and Caius’s hand was fully pushing down on his head, seemingly without noticing. He could feel his heart start to pound.

“I think I’ll let them go this year. All in, I guess.”

Anger burned suddenly on the back of Tommy’s neck. 

(Are you committed now? Finally into it? I’ve been in it all along. You took away my choice and locked me in a basement and let people torture me for money. You took my life away…but now you finally want to take the reins and invest? I hope Hell exists just so there’s a place for people like you.)

“Hey. I know you hurt. I know it’s been really hard to get through the last few days. How would you like to make a deal?”

Tommy turned his head at that. He was weak for Caius’s deals. He could never manage to turn them down, no matter how many times he paid for it. But sometimes it wasn’t so bad, so he always fell for the bait.

He stared at Caius’s chest, unable to meet his eyes again.

“That’s what I thought you might say,” Caius said with a smile, to Tommy’s obviously piqued attention. 

“You take another punishment now, and I’ll count it for the rest of the week.”

(Oh, no.)

(He had to take it, right? What’s a little more pain in the short term? He could just get his drugs right after, right?)

(No, don’t get ahead of yourself. At least ask.)

“What punishment?” he murmured. 

“You’ll get the cane,” Caius answered. He said it in that humiliating way, as if he was explaining something in a caring voice.

He mulled it over briefly. Canings were fucking agony, but it might be worth it to cut his time short.

(Fine.)

“Okay.” It came out in a whisper. 

As soon as he said it, it started to really sink in. He was suddenly stunned in disbelief that this was happening, As Caius moved him to the side and slipped off of the bed, making his way to his closet. When Caius returned, holding a long, thin whip of a stick. He suddenly remembered sobbing underneath it the last time Caius took him to task. He couldn’t even remember what he had done. Sometimes he didn;t have to do anything at all. 

Caius directed him on the bed like a trainer handling his dog, putting him in the same position his last clients had whipped him in. His face down on Caius’s soft sheets, his chest pressed to the mattress. On his knees, and Caius reached between his legs to take his hands. He pulled his hands through and coaxed him to grip his ankles, holding himself in that humiliating position. 

Caius’s hands brushed over his ass before slipping his fingers into his waistband and tugging them down. 

Tommy whimpered as he was exposed, the fabric feeling like sandpaper as it slipped over the raw skin there. 

“Wait, Caius, wait, I take it back, I don’t want to do this.” It came out in rush as the panic properly started to set in, realizing how bad this was going to hurt. He was already covered in wounds, the bruises fully ripened, the skin starting to itch and crack. He let go of his ankles and tried to pull his hands back before Caius could stop him.

He didn’t succeed, and Caius’s hands on his wrists gripped like claws. 

“No, that’s not how this works. You took the deal.” Already having anticipated this, Caius grabbed a roll of tape he had secreted onto the bed.

“You’ll keep your hands right there if you want to be forgiven the rest of the week. Otherwise, you’ll get both.”

Tommy held onto his ankles as hard as he could, until his hands hurt as much as his feet. He felt like a great weight was coming down on him as Caius wound the tape around his fists, mummifying him there as he bound the limbs together.

Tommy was already crying when Caius finished wrapping him. He felt a hand on his hip, a curious thumb tugging at the edges of his pain. Getting a good look at him in this state. He told himself he had only imagined it as soon as he heard the soft click of the phone camera behind him. 

“Caius please, please Caius, don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me anymore,” He begged, but there was no answer to his prayers. 

He heard the soft whistle through the air before Caius struck him. It lit up a long slash of pain on his backside, and he panted under the blooming pain. Whip. Whip. Criss-crossing over and over on the backs of his thighs, down nearly to the backs of his knees and up to the swell of his ass. The blows were quick and merciful, reducing him to a sobbing mess of trembling flesh. It burned so bad and he pulled frantically on his bindings, trying to escape the steady battering. Caius started to hit harder, or maybe it just hurt more and more, or maybe both. Sometimes Caius just needed to work something out tanning his hide, and the pain was horrific. 

(His own, personal whipping boy.)

The soft mattress beneath him felt like less of a comfort as his face sank in, and he struggled to catch a breath as he wailed into the sheets. At least his knees didn’t hurt. The give of the cushion underneath him let him rock very slightly back and forth, the best he could do to ease the desperate need to move away. 

The steady hits sped up and plateaued, finally slowing and stopping. It could have been a hundred strikes. It could have been five, but it took centuries until he was satisfied. He was sweating frantically, and the salt stung his welted skin. 

“There we go, that got us there.” Tommy felt like a quivering slab of raw meat on a platter before him. Caius left for a while, letting Tommy cool off and finish his crying jag. When he returned, he had a pot of ointment in his hands. He worked the thick salve into his skin slowly, working an agonizing massage across the bloody strokes. Tommy whimpered and whined with the pain, but the intimate touch stirred unwanted tingles of pleasure in him. He pressed his thighs together firmly, but he couldn’t keep it up with how weak his legs felt.

Finally Caius was done molesting him and cut away the tape holding him in place. Tommy rolled over onto his side and dry sobbed until Caius decided to put him back. Mercifully, Caius helped ease him down the stairs, and took him over his shoulder to carry him the last few yards to his room.

Tommy laid on his bed and shivered. His bed wasn’t more comfortable, but it was familiar. His whole body pulsed with pain. Caius tethered him and Tommy struggled to keep his eyes open, he was so tired after the whole ordeal, though he doubted he would be able to sleep.

(Wait. The meds.)

“Can I please have my medicine now?” The idea of getting some relief from the pain made his teary-eyed all over again.

“Yes, after the three extra days you earned.”

(No)

(No)

(No.)

“Caius!” he moaned, but then his breath caught in his throat.

“I’ll be back after tea,” Caius promised as he locked the door behind him, leaving Tommy to burn in his bed. 

I'm steadily falling in love with Jonah's character! I loved that Leo carsick fic where he was nervous about Jonah because he knew he'd get called out once Jonah noticed. That being said, I have a prompt for you! What if the team goes out for breakfast the day they have a long bus ride ahead of them, and as they start the journey, whatever Jonah ordered starts to give him awful indigestion. He feels horribly bloated, which eventually makes it impossible to properly muffle the painful burps that keep sneaking up on him. He of course gets called out by teammates for his double standards, and is pissed about it until one deep belch brings up his entire breakfast.

"Alright everyone," coach Eric all but yawned, pointing the bus, "get in."

It was late evening and they had just done a quick stop for a light dinner, after much much complaining from Vince and Ryan. Now most of them were too tired for all the ruckus and chatting that had been in the morning and they obeyed without a word, falling on their respective seats.

Jonah settled on the back, because nowadays Leo took his seat on the front in order to not get obnoxiously nauseous - not that it helped 100%, but it was better than nothing.

The problem with sitting on the back was Lucas and Vince's non stop bickering. Tonight, however, they were stuffed to the gills and quiet, or as quiet as they managed to be.

They were going to be driving into the night, so Jonah took his neck pillow out of his backpack and settled against the window.

"I don't think that's right," he heard Lucas mumbling to Vince, "they're not gonna kill off Tom, he's the main character."

So much for quiet.

Jonah frowned, but said nothing for a moment, hoping they'd take the hint and shut up. To add salt to the injury, not only he was sleepy and cranky, but his stomach felt stretched tight, making it difficult to breathe.

His annoyance grew as he overheard Vince go on a spiel about the main couple of their tv show. Couldn't they do this in the morning?

"Shut the fuck up," Jonah snapped at them, "some people want to sleep."

"We're being quiet!" Lucas cried out and Jonah glared at him.

"Not quiet enough!"

Both men grumbled and complained, but eventually shut up as Mikey too joined in Jonah's chorus of "just shut up dude"

Happy he had some peace and quiet, Jonah closed his eyes and settled back down. Now, however, he had no distraction from the pulsing in his stomach.

Literal pulsing, it felt like his belly was stuffed full and pulsing under his hand. He shifted on his seat, pressed the heel of his hand to his side and rubbed it in circles. In the half lit bus, no one could tell, or no one cared.

He winced as a sharp cramp hit him, then grimaced even more as a hot burp rolled out of his mouth. It burned its way up and made Jonah regret having the spicy chicken. Bad idea and he blamed Leo for that.

Jonah opened his eyes to glare at the front, at the general direction of his friend. Leo was curled up against the window, knocked out by meds and blissfully unaware he was being cursed at.

Jonah groaned as he felt his stomach start to churn. it was already bloated and pressing against his jeans, but he'd be damned before opening his pants in the crowded bus. The pants hurt, though, pressing against his belly and squeezing him right in the middle. He burped, loudly now and felt his cheeks burn.

"Gross" Lucas scoffed, while Vince joined in with:

"Some people are trying to sleep".

"Fuck off," Jonah scoffed, turning on his seat again and cradling his stomach. It was starting to feel really disgusting inside of it and the thought of his dinner came back, now powered by repulse.

He belched wetly, clamping a hand over his mouth and Vince kicked his seat.

"Shut. Up. Jon."

"Kick my seat again and I'm going to-" he cut his threat short with another large burp and now Mikey, who genuinely had been trying to sleep unlike Lucas and Vince - who were just assholes - joined in.

"Goddamit, Jonah, shut up. Your burps are disgusting."

"I'm not tryin-"

"I want to sleep," Lucas said cheekly and Jonah glared at him, then winced as a cramp made him want to curl up. He didn't curl up.

He tried to swallow down the burps or at least to let them out slowly under his breath, but it wasn't bringing him any relief. In fact, every little airy burp he shakily let out, tasted just like dinner and Jonah dizzily planted a sweaty hand to the bus window, trying to unlock it. it was jammed shut like all windows, because of the constant a/c they had.

His stomach gurgled omniously, loud and clear, and a hiccup wrecked through him. It made the contents in his gut slosh up and morphed into a burp at the end.

"Jonah, dude!" Mikey whined and Jon wanted to tell him to fuck off, but another hiccup sent him into a burping fit.

One, two - the third one got stuck in his chest and he heard Vince scoff, "finally"

Jonah had a hand firmly clamped over his mouth, but his jaw and head felt heavy... He gagged, then the stuck burp came up, loud, wet and carrying with it his dinner.

It sprayed between his lips, on the seat to his right and Jonah didn't have a second to breathe. He retched again, loudly, and more orange vomit joined the mess, covered his lap-

"Ah shit" he heard someone say, then the lights overhead were turned on, by either Lucas or Vince, while the other ran ahead to get the bus driver to stop.

His stomach was far from done and Jonah moaned, giving up on trying to hold it back, since he was already drenched in it. He seized with another gag and burped up more vomit, coughing as the chunks clung to his throat.

Finally the violent heaves tampered off, though the nausea didn't.

"Fuck, Jon" it was Leo's voice and he could've cried, because Leo was twenty times a better comfort than Vince or Lucas or any of the others.

"I don't feel well..." he groaned, pathetically, eyes still squeezed shut and breathing through his mouth. If he saw the mess, he knew he was going to hurl again.

"Yeah, no shit, man" Vince sounded guilty as he said it, planting a heavy hand on his shoulder, "we're stopping in a second, ok?"

Jonah's only answer was another deep belch and with it more watery puke, that covered the arm he had wrapped around his complaining stomach. It was still churning fiercely, nowhere near done.

"You're okay" Leo sighed, voice gentle like he was talking with a wounded pet, "try to breathe, Jon."

"Can't-" he choked up, gagging, "...sick."

Jonah felt, before he heard, the bus stop. The lack of movement helped, minimally. Helped the vertigo at least, if not the nausea.

Then, "oh hell no-"

"Get out of the way then"

And then a hand was grabbing his arm and throwing it over someone's neck, another arm coming to sneak around his waist as he was pulled up.

Jonah didn't dare open his eyes, he clamped his mouth shut and buried his face on the person's shoulder, as he was guided past the seats and down the steps, to the cool night air.

He sucked in the clean air greedily and opened his eyes, looking anywhere but his soiled shirt and pants. It was Lucas holding him up. Fuck, Jonah thought vaguely, but what he said was "gonna hurl on your shoes."

"I'll live" Lucas all but shrugged, the insufferable prick, "I'm sorry for being a dick earlier-"

"Ugh definitely gonna vomit now," Jonah scoffed. The last thing he wanted was a pity apology.

He heard as the other guys also left the bus, just in time to witness as he burped up another weak stream of vomit, covering the humid grass on the side of the road and splashing on the toes of Lucas' sneakers.

"He's gonna be dehydrated at this pace," Leo worried and Jonah blinked, blearily, at him.

"He is right here" he scoffed, throat hoarse, "I'll be fine. I'm fine."

Lucas snorted, "yeah, you're fine" he snickered, still holding him up, "where's the coach?"

"Talking with the driver" Vince answered, still sounding extremely guilty and holding a water bottle for Jon, as well as his bag in the other hand, "you need to change out of this mess."

He belched as he opened his mouth to agree, something wet and disgusting that had Vince and Leo jumping back, Lucas holding him a little tighter.

"Jonah?" Vince called, practically whined, causing him to groan.

"I'm fine-" his stomach gurgled angrily in response, but he ignored it, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Leo jumped to action, helping him strip it down, carefully avoiding getting the puke in his hands or Jonah's hair. Vince had fished out a shirt out of his bag, along with sweatpants.

Leo glared at Jonah's jeans, the zipper, the hem and the button were all covered in vomit. Just glancing at the mess made Jonah gag, which caused Lucas to scoff.

"I'll do it" he said, passing Jon's weight to Vince, the only other one who could hold him up with such ease, and then crouching down, going for the jeans.

Jonah's stomach of course chose this exact moment to gurgle, causing Lucas to pause as he opened the jeans, "are you gonna hurl? Because not on my hair, Jon, c'mon."

"Not-" he gulped the urge to gag, "jusst rush"

Lucas sighed as he finished pushing the ruined jeans down, rolling them up and using the dry parts to wipe the vomit from Jon's lower belly and the top of his boxers. The rough texture and the pressure, even if Luke was being extra delicate, pushed out a burp and dislodged a cramp.

"Fuck" Jonah whimpered, giving up on all dignity and cradling his puffy stomach, "hurts."

"Shit" he heard Vince whisper, sounding panicked, clearly triggered by Jonah curling up with the pain.

"I wanna lay down" he all but whined, so sick and tired of this night, "I'm done."

It seemed like it took forever. Cleaning the bus (hardly helped and he spent the next twenty minutes coughing up bile in a plastic bag), then stopping at a side of the road motel and finally being able to lie down.

Jonah was beyond lightheaded when he managed, still burping wetly, but quietly. He took a minute to realize it was Lucas sharing with him and not Leo.

"Whaa?" He tried to question, squeezing his eyes shut against the nausea. Lucas shrugged, handing him an already opened water bottle.

"I'm the best option" he explained and Jonah knew it was because he had taken care of his mom during the final stages of cancer and witnessed way worse than some indigestion nausea, but it didn't make it any less humiliating.

"Leave me alone"

"If you're well enough to be a dick, you're well enough to drink your water" Lucas scoffed and Jonah groaned. He was in for a long night

Post-Op Day 4

Today has been exceedingly educational. Aka, when everyone says "don't stop taking your meds" you should probably listen:

You might need them for longer than you think.

I tried to taper off the percocet - I did fine with 12 hours between doses, so buoyed by my previous success and relative lack of pain, I tried to hold out for 24 hours.

That turns out to have been a mistake.

I have writer brain, so I'm filing this all away for future reference. But I understand now that people react very differently to pain. I think I always sort of knew that, just like I know sometimes I feel sick because I have a bad headache, and not because my stomach is upset.

I saw a lot of posts about people crying, or screaming, when they didn't keep up with their post-op meds (or waited until the nerve block wore off to take them.)

I didn't see anything about throwing up, so I'm going to add my experience to the hat which is to say:

Pain makes me nauseous. I felt sick to my stomach before I even realized I was in pain. When I did, it was that burning again - only worse. I've never been tazed, but I'm imagining it feels something like this, on your whole leg.

Imagine someone replacing your leg with a hot fire poker.

The good news is, percocet kicks in pretty quick. So after white knuckling it for about 30 minutes, hoping it would just pass, I gave up and went for the meds.

I will say, my diversion tactics seem to work to a certain extent - pain is noise and if I give my brain enough other noise to focus on, it seems to help.

Some of it is literal noise - apologies to my eardrums, but it's for a worthy cause. And the rest is sensory - I refilled my water bottle with cold water and put it against the side of my face. I'm not saying I could have functioned in that state, but it was slightly more bearable (and I managed not to puke while waiting for the meds to do their thing.)

Tomorrow we're going to stick to the 12 hour schedule, but on half doses. Just to be on the safe side.

I took my notes and that's not an experience I care to relive.

On a bright note, I finally started Horizon: Forbidden West today. I set it to Ultra Hard to make it last as long as possible - so far so good, since I haven't managed to beat the tutorial boss.

It'a good to have goals.

And skills - I've gotten really good at using my non-op leg to move my bad leg around. I had a lot of practice since I injured it mountainside, then had three days before leaving, then on and off the plane and back to the airport again, and all the time after when my quads weren't firing.

Nurse Hottie was shocked post-op by how well I could maneuver without help. I didn't consider it much, but now I'm remembering a friend explaining how she had to hold her son's leg when he went to the bathroom or showered, and how it was awful for both of them because sometimes she would drop it on accident.

Which is a lot of words to say that no one can be as careful with your knee as you are, and I've been really lucky because I've been managing without a designated Leg Lifter.

Which is probably why I was so startled today when I finally dropped my leg for the first time. I've been elevating on an wheeled ottoman, with stuff behind it so I can't accidentally slide it away. The problem is that then it's in the way when I want to get up, and I can only push it so far, so I need someone to slide it the rest of the way.

Well. They did that thing, but boy was I ever not ready. I'm not sure who was more surprised when my leg came crashing down. It hurt (surprise surprise), but I'm pretty sure it's going to take more than a little unexpected gravity to undo my surgeon's fine handy work.

My lesson here is to put up warning signs, by which I mean micromanage and advocate loudly for your needs to whoever is helping you.

It's one thing to hurt yourself, and another for someone who has no idea what hurts where to accidentally do it.

Fizzarolli’s Backstory Part 2

Hey all, here’s part two! This part covers from the signing of the contract to when Asmodeus buys his contract.  Part 1 X

Tw: Mammon, abuse, graphic injuries, PTSD, phantom pains, incontinence, low self esteem, arguments, break ups, alcohol and weed mentions and lots of angst. 

Mammon finished explaining what the contract would entail and even presented it to him. 

In all honesty, Fizzarolli didn't like the sound of this deal much. It didn’t sound like a good deal at all, he was basically trading away all of his freedom to Mammon. He wouldn’t own his own likeness, his name, his limbs, anything. But he didn’t see what choice he had, if he didn’t take this deal he would be left critically disabled for the rest of his life with no way to achieve his dream or even perform ever again, and the thought of that made him feel even more sick to his stomach than the idea of giving everything to Mammon did. 

Fizzarolli sighs softly, “Can I have a day or two to think over my options?” He asks meekly as he grits his teeth to deal with the immense pain he was still in. 

Mammon glares a growl coming from him, “Fine. You have until tomorrow afternoon. I hope you make the right choice.” He says as he stomps out of the room. 

As Mammon leaves the room, Blitzo enters, holding a small bouquet of flowers. He smiles meekly at Fizzarolli, “Hey baby.” He murmurs to him.  Fizz glares daggers into Blitzo, he could scream, he should scream, he should scream and shout and tear Blitzo a new one after what he did. His voice fills with venom as he practically spits his words at Blitzo, “Don’t you fucking dare hey baby me.” He snarls, “You nearly killed me you fucking idiot!” That’s when he realizes something, Blitzo is entirely uninjured. Besides his voice being a bit raspier than before, he was fine. Fizz growls at Blitzo, it wasn’t fair, how come he had to get broken practically beyond repair but yet Blitzo, the one who caused this, was completely fine. He was going to lose it. 

Blitzo stares at his distressed boyfriend, “Um.. I’m really sorry about-” He starts. 

Fizz cuts him off with a bout of cruel laughter as tears sting his eyes, “Oh you’re sorry?! Oh you’re fucking sorry alright, you are a second rate clown at fucking best, and you are the absolute shittiest boyfriend in the entirety of hell! You only ever think about your damn self. I don’t know how I lasted a fucking year with you as my boyfriend. I should have abandoned that shit hole of a circus and you along with it when I had the chance!” 

The words hit Blitzo like a semi truck, Fizz knew exactly was to say to get under his skin, he drops the flowers, he was not going to cry, not now, not in front of him, he was going to hurt him just as badly as he hurt him. “Oh that’s rich coming from a sellout like you. You didn’t even talk to me about it! What kind of boyfriend does something so big without talking to their partner?!”  The two go back and forth until visiting hour is over, and Blitzo is dragged out by security screaming and shouting. The last thing Fizz says to him is “AND DON’T COME BACK YOU NO GOOD WANNA BE!” 

However, once it was just him, alone in the cold, sterile room, tears fall from his eyes and he whimpers, wrapping his tail around himself for comfort no matter how badly it hurt. He had just lost the only person who would have cared about him genuinely in this state. He looks at the contract Mammon had left for him. He really had no options left but to sign it. He manages to get a pen into his mouth and sign the damn thing.  When Mammon came to see him the next day, a wide smirk graces his features,  Fizz was already regretting his decision.  It took a whole month for Fizz to finally be released from the hospital, he had a plethora of meds to take now, not to mention he had started to learn just how badly his injuries were going to affect him on the daily.  He stood on unsteady robot legs, it felt wrong, he had been going through physical therapy and he would need more. The whole experience was humiliating, he had to learn how to do everything all over again. Save for talking thankfully. He was thankful to finally be free from the hospital until he realizes that there are multiple reporters in his face. He looks at Mammon in panic, he had no idea that he was going to have to do a press event right now. At least it explained why he was in a new jester costume rather than something comfortable.  Lights flash in his face and he stumbles backwards, his tail nervously flicking. With no time to prepare for the questions or the swarm of people he was caught completely off guard and had no answers prepared. He felt like shit and hardly could think of anything witty to say as he was bombarded with questions.  He could feel a cold glare from Mammon, it sent shivers down his spine, oh Lucifer, he was royally fucked for this failure of an interaction. As soon as they were in the limo, Mammon smacked him across the face. Fizz yelps in pain as he’s sent flying back from it. His tail flicks as tears well in his eyes.  “You idiot! How hard is it to answer a few simple questions, don't tell me you’re a waste of money already!” Mammon roars.  Fizz shakes his head and whimpers, “N-no, I’m not a waste, I w-was just caught off guard. I’m sorry.” He answers quickly, his whole body shaking, he doesn't even notice that he’s wet himself in fear.  Mammon looks at him with disgust, “You’re disgusting. Clean yourself as soon as I drop you off. You start working again tomorrow so you better figure out your shit.”  Fizz can only nod, his head hangs low in shame, he can’t believe he had wet himself. Mammon shoves him out of the limo. Fizz looks up at the trailer in front of him. Well, at least he wasn’t living in a tent anymore. He walks inside and looks around, finding the bathroom with ease. He tosses the soiled suit into the laundry basket and turns on the water for a shower. Tears slide down his face, as he tries to keep himself calm. He’s shaking like a chihuahua and he swears he can feel a sharp pain in his left arm, despite the impossibility of that.  Eventually, he got used to his new life, to the abuse. He expected it at this point. He had also found out that Mammon saw his limbs as a privilege that he could revoke. Fizz hated when he did that, because he would be left to lie in his own filth when that happened and there was nothing he could do about it. He could take the abuse, he was a tough little imp, and he could just zone out as it happened besides everything Mammon did to him was nothing compared to the accident. What he couldn't handle was the PTSD attacks, he couldn't escape what had happened to him at every turn, every night he was plagued with night terrors and he would always wake up in a cold sweat. On really unlucky days he would wake up with his tail dislocated or worse, his limbs gone.  His life felt like a constant downwards spiral, he turned to weed and alcohol to numb everything. His personality on stage was still as eccentric and fun on stage, but behind the curtain was a different story, he was detached. Completely void of most anything feeling, and mean. He used to be able to be friendly to people he worked with but now he was snippy and a bit rude. He would always apologize when he caught himself. And most people let it go, they knew the imp was living through the worst thing anyone could really think of and had that horrible accident happen to him too.  Life was quickly becoming meaningless to him, even performing was starting to feel more and more like a chore. His joints ached and his shoulders and hips cracked on bad days, and were silently painful on good ones. Constant trips to the chiropractor for his fucked up spine eventually were replaced with doctor visits as his a metal rod was added to support his spine and help keep his limbs stay more securely attached to him. And he couldn't care less.  He sat alone in his trailer, drinking straight from the bottle of some expensive wine or another. He didn't care about anything anymore. He had so many regrets. He glared at his reflection in the bottle, “Worthless. That’s what you are.” He slurs to himself, he throws the bottle at the wall shattering it, “Shut up.” He tells the glass.  Eventually Mammon got him an apartment near LooLoo Land, Fizz didn't really see the point in it. All it did in his opinion was give crazed fans more chances to jump him. What did it matter? He was going to die tragically young in an alley due to some obsessed fan. He was sure of it. But how could he complain? He had gotten everything he had ever wanted. He was famous, known throughout hell. But that didn't matter to him anymore. Nothing did.  “Ragdoll!” Mammon roars, getting Fizzarolli’s attention.  Fizzarolli stopped practicing and looks at Mammon, a clear lack of care in his eyes, “Yeah, Mammon?”  “Meet me in my office. Now.” He says with a glare.  Fizz sighs, what did he do wrong this time? He swears half the time he hadn’t done anything and Mammon just wanted to take his anger out on someone. And Fizz happened to be his favorite victim. 

They arrive at Mammon’s office and Fizz freezes as he notices who else is there. Asmodeus, the demon prince of lust sat in the chair next to where Fizz was meant to sit. Oh great, now Mammon wanted to turn him into a whore.  “Ragdoll, meet Asmodeus.” Mammon says, gesturing between the two.  Asmodeus waves to Fizz. Fizz raises an eyebrow, but offers a small wave in return.  “He wants to buy your contract from me. I figured you should be made aware of the change in ownership.” Mammon says simply with a shrug.  Fizz just nods, little did he know, his life was finally about to turn around. 

get well soon bff 🫶🫶🫶 sending love x

Thank you so much sweetie ♡ it means A LOT you have no idea !

Cuddles ?

Today was one week anniversary of this *bitchy* infection yeah I called her *bitchy*, she costed me more money than if I was her sugar mommy and she made me suffer all week.

Joke aside we are drifting away from the lowest point. It happened on sunday, it was so painful that I was about to risk all by taking more meds than I was supposed to just to ease the pain and end it with it. I was alone at home since 4 days and it was getting worse and worse.

To describe the pain it's like ..~mussels shells crushed , the sharp edges pointy and cutting everything they touch and now those crushed bits are pushed into your ear canal so faaar that you can ear ocean waves and those bits are also heated with flame🔥 because it's very warm all around your ear , swollen, painful, anyway and sometimes one Sharp bits hurt you more than others like a violent note created on a violon , pinch of the string ziiiioup..🎻🔪 constant vibration tho it's persistent and you feel liquids going out and on inside your head and not hearing a thing like being in a tunnel , someone is pushing those sandy mussel sheds constantly so you feel your own heartbeats. And last but not least for my part it wasn't only the ear the jaw was also blocked and when crushing food it resonated directly vibrating the painful ear like when your teeth touch something they shouldn't a bone or squeeze something acid. .. And they slide. When the pain wakes up it goes to all my teeth of my left side it's like they were pealed with razor blades.

I had like crying crisis you know like the ones when you have almost the hiccup because it just go through all your body by waves like you were a metalic foil? It was too late to ring anyone and I felt just so bad.

Now after healing my moral as well as my 👂 and after the deception that were the ER with doctors basically saying "courage we know it hurts a lot we can only give you higher dosage of painkillers that's all about it and new antibiotics with larger range to get rid of the infection. That will be 70 euros . Good luuuuck"

That day^ in total I saw 5 doctors. Not gonna tell the total amount I paid between 3 apointments + ER apointment + meds price... I was at the end of the roll.

Currently I have a shedule and plan to manage the pain that goes :

8 AM first ibuprofen + antibio + breakfast made of something goey to be able to eat it.

Try to sleep while the ibuprofen kicks in because the night was tough

2 PM maaaax second antibio + ibuprofen best moment of the day because it's the more efficient pain relief so the only time frame I can do something with my life for +- 6h

4PM 1st Dafalgan because the pain starts to tickle again the ear

6PM 2nd Dafalgan to be able to eat at 8

8PM last antibio with or without ibuprofen trying to make the ibuprofen last to sleep more than 4h if it's ok to postpone

10PM big max so far : ibuprofen with something to eat and hope for the best.

3AM last Dafalgan

5AM to 8AM prayers , it will hurts hold on

I added some tricks to it :

warm water bottle every 3hours , harleem oil in and out of ear , cleaning of the ear a bit , wearing a hat all day long at any cost, travel cushion to stay steady and not lie down, drinking a lot of water, probiotics and yaourt and yakult (funny it's now sponsor of LTigers) for the stomach and that's rather all about it !

Ok I know why I took time to write all that it because we are near the last Dafalgan and I need it really tonight so... It was good distraction to write this guide of what to do with ear infection and eardrum pearced ✌

Me going downstairs early hours of the night for microwaving my water bottle like a sneaky racoon :

Why Is My Stomach So Sensitive Lately? Causes & Solutions

Does your stomach feel weird lately? Maybe it's grumbling when you didn't even eat much, or you feel a bit gassy and bloated. A sensitive stomach is such a drag. It can make you uncomfortable and unsure about what to eat. If you keep asking yourself, "Why is my stomach so sensitive lately?" – don't worry, you're not alone! Let's figure out what's bothering your belly and what you can do about it. What Causes a Sensitive Stomach? There are loads of reasons your stomach might be giving you trouble. Some are easy to fix, while others need a bit more attention. Here's a look at common culprits: - Indigestion: Troublemaker #1 Everyone gets indigestion occasionally. It happens when you eat too much, too fast, or go for foods that are spicy, fatty, or hard to break down. Think of it as your stomach saying, "Whoa, slow down!" The result? Bloating, gas, and maybe even mild pain. - Food Intolerances or Sensitivities: The Sneaky Suspects Ever eaten something that made your stomach go nuts, even though it didn't bother anyone else? You might have a food intolerance. Common ones are: * Lactose intolerance: Trouble digesting dairy (hello, upset stomach after ice cream!) * Gluten sensitivity: Wheat, barley, and rye make your belly unhappy. * Other sensitivities: FODMAPs (a type of carb), fructose, eggs...the list goes on! Is it more than just food? - Stomach Infections: When Germs Attack Ugh, the dreaded stomach bug! Viruses or bacteria can cause vomiting, diarrhea, and leave your stomach super sensitive. Usually, this passes in a few days, but keep those fluids up! - Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS): The Chronic Culprit IBS is a whole different ballgame. It's a long-term condition that messes with your gut, causing pain, bloating, changes in how often you go to the bathroom. - Stress and Anxiety: Your Gut's Worst Enemy Did you know there's a strong link between your brain and your gut? When you're stressed, your digestion gets out of whack, leaving you with stomachaches and other annoying symptoms. - Medications: They Can Help AND Hurt Some meds are lifesavers, but they can have side effects – and upset stomach is a common one. Antibiotics, pain relievers like ibuprofen, and even some supplements can irritate your tummy. How to Calm a Sensitive Stomach Now that we've looked at what causes the trouble, let's get to the good stuff – solutions! Here are some ways to tame your tummy and feel better: - Dietary Changes: Listen to Your Gut If you suspect certain foods are the problem, it's elimination diet time! But don't just guess – a food diary can help. Note what you eat, how much, and any symptoms. You might pinpoint patterns to avoid in the future. - Bland is Best (For Now) When your stomach's in revolt, give it a break. Stick to gentle foods like the BRAT diet: - Bananas - Rice - Applesauce - ToastAdd other easy-to-digest goodies as you improve: yogurt, crackers, cooked veggies. - Hydration: Your Stomach's BFF Water is key for digestion, and it helps flush out stuff that might be irritating you. Aim for plenty throughout the day. Bored with plain water? Try herbal teas or add a squeeze of lemon or some cucumber slices! - Over-the-Counter Remedies: When You Need Backup - Antacids: Neutralize stomach acid for quick relief from heartburn or indigestion. - Bismuth subsalicylate (Pepto-Bismol): Coats and soothes your stomach, plus helps with diarrhea - Probiotics: "Good" bacteria for gut health (find them in yogurt or supplements) - Stress Management Techniques: Calm Mind, Calm Belly - Deep breathing: Simple but powerful! Slow, focused breaths calm your whole system. - Mindfulness: Notice your thoughts without judgment, helps break stress cycles. - Exercise: Even light walks boost mood and help things move along smoothly. - Natural Remedies: The Power of Plants - Ginger: A nausea-fighting superstar. Sip ginger tea or add grated ginger to meals. - Chamomile: This gentle herb soothes the stomach and helps promote better sleep - Peppermint: Can help with bloating and gas. Try peppermint tea or capsules When to See a Doctor Most of the time, a sensitive stomach clears up on its own with a little care. But don't ignore these red flags – they mean it's time to call your doctor: - Why is my stomach so sensitive lately, and it won't go away? Stomach troubles lasting more than a few days need professional help. - Severe pain: More than mild discomfort is a major warning sign. - Blood in your stool (black or red): This could be serious, don't wait. - Weight loss you can't explain: This points to an underlying issue. FAQs - Q: Is it normal for my stomach to be sensitive all the time? A: No, it's not normal. While occasional tummy troubles happen, persistent sensitivity might mean something else is going on. Track your symptoms and if they don't improve, talk to your doctor. - Q: What helps relieve a sensitive stomach quickly? A: Besides the tips we've covered, here are a few fast-acting ideas: * Settle nausea: Small sips of clear liquids (broth, diluted juice), bland crackers* Soothe cramping: A warm compress or heating pad on your belly works wonders. - Q: Can stress really cause a sensitive stomach? A: Absolutely! Stress messes with your hormones and digestion big time. That's why managing stress is CRUCIAL for gut health. - Q: Are there any tests to find out why my stomach is sensitive? A: Yes! Depending on your symptoms, your doctor might recommend tests like: * Food Allergy or Intolerance tests: Pinpoint problems with specific foods. * Stool tests: Check for infections, bacteria imbalances, or inflammation. * Imaging tests: X-rays, CT scans...for more detailed looks inside. Additional Tips for Managing a Sensitive Stomach Here are a few more ideas to keep your tummy happy on a regular basis: - Eat smaller meals more often: Keeps your digestion from getting overloaded. - Chew your food well: Helps break it down before it even hits your stomach. - Watch out for hidden triggers: Sugary drinks, caffeine, and alcohol can also be irritants. - Listen to your body: It knows best – if a food bothers you, avoid it, no matter what "healthy food lists" say! Fact: Did you know that your gut contains millions of neurons, making it like a "second brain?" No wonder it reacts so strongly to food and emotions! Foods to Enjoy vs. Limit Foods to EnjoyFoods to Limit or AvoidBananas, Rice, Applesauce, ToastFatty or greasy foodsPlain yogurt (if tolerated)Dairy (especially if you have lactose intolerance)Cooked vegetables (start with softer ones)Spicy foodsHerbal teasSugary drinks and sodasLean protein sources (chicken, fish)Processed snacks Note: This is a general guideline, what works for one person might not for another! Conclusion Having a sensitive stomach can be frustrating, but it doesn't have to control your life. By understanding the possible causes, making simple changes, and knowing when to seek help, you can get your gut health back on track. Remember, be patient with yourself and your body – progress, not perfection, is the goal! Do you have any other questions about sensitive stomachs that haven't been answered here? Leave a comment below! Key Takeaways - A sensitive stomach can be caused by a variety of factors, including diet, stress, and medical conditions. - Simple changes, like identifying trigger foods and managing stress, can often provide relief. - Natural remedies such ginger or chamomile tea can be soothing - Seek medical advice if your symptoms are severe or persistent. Hopefully, you now feel confident figuring out if your breath needs some attention! Most cases are easy to fix, but don't feel embarrassed to get professional help if needed. Fresh breath can improve your confidence and make everyday interactions a lot more pleasant! Disclaimer: The information provided on this website is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice. Always consult with a qualified healthcare professional before making any decisions about your health. Read the full article

reflection

TW: depression, anxiety, bpd, suicidal thoughts, self-harm.

the last time i went to therapy we did an exercise which shook my mind a little. she asked me the reasons why i chose law as my major for uni, and i told her i had a talent for debating, writing, storytelling and languages. as far as she could see these were all things that i loved and hoped to use in a profession which is a good match to those skillsets, what happened? why was it causing me so much confusion and upset?

i realized that the reasons i thought law was a good match for my skillset do not exist anymore, or rather i never got to start. not that its too late now but there are only 2 years left in my 5 year degree, which will be hectic af. 2020 COVID hit its peak, my college life started on Microsoft Teams and logging in just to sleep through the classes. the downward spiral which began in 11th grade culminated in crippling depression and anxiety in the 12th grade when i was about to make the change to uni.

i felt nothing, and the numbness scared me more than feeling all the highs and lows. 2 years...i scraped through them and did the bare minimum, pacifying the 'gifted kid' expectations of myself inside me, telling myself that i had to focus on doing what i had to do to survive even if that meant being ok with passing an exam, not topping it. the bland poorly made hostel food did not help, and the constant depressive episodes had me awake till 4 AM then asleep till the afternoon. i'd stare at the ceiling for hours after i woke, not getting up unless i had to go to the washroom. i only ate when the hunger made my stomach ache and i could not have my meds without eating first. i forgot to eat half the time. i was alone in a different city and i did not have my best friend physically with me.

in my desperation, i clung to the only hands i could find when i searched the dark, that is those of my now former friends. i came out of the social distancing and quarantine so starved for human connection that i trusted the wrong people with my vulnerable self. obviously i wasn't damn well thinking straight, if i was then i would not have trusted people who have known me for less than 6 months with my whole medical history. but i had no choice because the emergencies happened every other day, i attempted every time i was alone and the intrusive thoughts got too overwhelming. i had to msg them crying that someone had to drag me away from there or i was about to throw myself off the building. looking back i was so grateful to have friends at all, people who tolerated and acknowledged my presence, because i could barely tolerate myself.

i wanted to erase myself and the life which gave me pain as i breathed. i felt like a disgusting waste of space, a burden to everyone i touched. i never realized it was the least bare fucking minimum, to help when needed and care when hurt. i did not even tell them shit unless it came to violent panic attacks, anxiety attacks or just frozen stupor of me unable to breathe, move or think. was it ever a burden at all? was i just too starved of love to see that what i thought was unimaginable generosity was just the bare fucking minimum? they were peers who were just as fucked up as i am if not more, who had not even properly known me for more than 6 months, and i still apologized for everything they said i did to hurt them regardless of whether it was my fault or not.

i felt horrendously guilty, and suffered through weeks of anxiety and random panic attacks because i felt their loss. i gaslit myself saying, everything is fine, they're not leaving, you're just being paranoid and anxious until everything blew up in my face at the end of 2nd year. i was forced to move back in with my parents and commute the 2 hours to uni everyday as a day scholar although it exhausted the fuck outta me. the whole of 3rd year was spent just dragging my ass outta bed and managing my attendance because of all the backlogs i already had. getting on my own two feet took everything i had, and ironically my mental stability came when i distanced myself from everything and everyone i thought was my support in uni. i had so much shit to do and so much to catch up with, i threw myself into it and hit the ground running. i was finally able to complete all existing and pending exams at the end of 3rd years with months of breaking my back, working my ass off to break that vicious cycle of despair.

thats why i don't blame myself for what happened or what i had to do to survive...because i was there and i know how bad it was, how much worse it got and where that lead me. i did what i had to do to survive. i did not deserve to be ganged up on, and read my list of sins like i had sold their kidneys for a laptop. i did not deserve being told that i was a liar, a manipulator and a person who had taken advantage of them by using my mental illnesses as an excuse. after that fiasco, i asked around to convince myself i was not hallucinating my feelings, and turns out my gut feeling was right. it took a lot of reflection to make myself see that this was not how friendship or even human connections work. the people i loved most, my best friends at home, had never resorted to the type of shit i was subjected to. we always managed to calmly talk it out and work together to strengthen the relationship, instead of being ambushed like i was that time. the communication was not non-existent or so poor that everything was taken out of context and misunderstood.

i chose to stop talking to them, and for the first time in a long time, peace was there when i finally learned to prioritize doing what needed to be done for my own mental health. right now, although nothing went the way i thought it would 4 years ago, i am back to square one. i will probably have to rethink what i wanna do with this damn degree and the career i may choose since i lost all these years to mental illness. for the first time since forever, i am truly breathing. i have the conviction to say i survived through the worst of it despite everything. i am able to like being myself sometimes. and my 17 year old self would be proud of who i have become while enduring everything that life threw at me.

your anger, your depression, your anxiety, your truths, your tears, your lies, your despair, your hatred, your desire, your longing and your love...they are all trying to tell you something you might not be ready to hear and accept. so...listen, and believe that voice.

never blame yourself for the what you had to do and the person you had to be to survive the darkness.

Hey, I broke my foot yesterday and I've kind of been in my feels about it. Would you be willing to comfort a poor fluff starved fool with some comfort from Steven/Marc?

I appreciate you a lot and love your work so damn much.

AN | I just really want to give nothing but the best to this bb 🥺🥰 PS - I appreciate you and hope you're doing okay!

Pairing | Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

Warnings | None

Word Count | 2k

Masterlist | Main, Moon Knight

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

“This is ridiculous,” you huffed as you tried to use your crutches to get up the stairs to your flat. You tried to unsuccessfully get up the first step before stopping and almost throwing the stupid things down and trying instead to hobble up the steep concrete stairs. 

You just had to go and break your dumb foot. You just had to be clumsy enough to trip over yourself and land just wrong enough to go and create a fracture. Who does that? Who breaks their own foot?!

You were tired and worn down, exhausted enough to just plop down on the front step and wait a few minutes. You pulled out your phone to see if you could call someone to try and help you but unfortunately your phone was dead. In your current state, it didn't take much to push you over the edge. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you tucked the phone back into your pocket. This was quickly turning into a horrible day - worse than horrible. Terrible.

"Excuse me?" The soft voice was enough to pull you out of your little pity party as you wiped away your tears. You looked up and blinked away the remaining tears to find your neighbor looking at you with concern, "is everything alright?"

"Yes," you said without even thinking about it, "I mean no, not really at this moment. But I guess overall I am. I'll move out of your way."

"Oh no," he insisted as you raised an eyebrow at him, "I was…do you need help? I've never had a broken foot but it looks like it'd be quite a pain, yeah?"

“I don’t think the pain’s fully set in yet,” you sighed lightly, “I just left the hospital and they gave me some pretty heavy pain meds. But it’s still a hassle so far.”

“Did no one come to help you?” a genuine note of concern colored his voice as you just shrugged your shoulders. Did you really want to admit that you had basically…no one? You didn’t need even more of his pity; not that you thought he was trying to be anything but kind. You’d seen him around the building often enough and spent some time talking to him and he had never been anything but sweet when he saw you.

“It just happened this morning, so fast,” you explained, not ready to admit the full magnitude of your clumsiness, “so I just took myself in-”

“How did you manage that?”

“Hobbled to the elevators and out here and then to the cab?” you replied unsurely as if you hadn’t just gone through it a few hours ago, “to be fair, I didn’t really know it was broken. I just thought it was a bad sprain or something.”

“Oh dear,” he opened and closed his mouth a few times, almost as if unsure of himself. You couldn’t help but smile lightly at the flustered expression on his face. Before he said anything else, he picked down and picked up your bag, and slung it over his shoulder, “at least let me help you up to your flat so you don’t hurt yourself more. Last thing you need is a broken arm on top of it, love.”

“Are you sure?” a warmth bloomed in your stomach and slowly radiated out to your entire body as he just nodded and smiled. He was so kind when he had no real reason to be like that; it was a nice change of pace compared to how cold and horrible people could be, “you really don’t have to. I can...manage. Just have to take a few moments to rest before going up.”

“I insist,” he picked up the crutches you had discarded in haste before offering you his hand to help hoist you to your feet - well foot. He was gentle in his touch and movements but still felt solid and strong. Before you could find your balance, you started to fall forward and he quickly caught you by wrapping an arm around your waist and holding you to his chest, “easy there.”

“Thank you, Steven,” your whole face felt warm under his intent gaze and you had to look away from his soft eyes, “I tend to be pretty clumsy…almost took you right out too.”

“You know my name?” his eyes widened as you laughed before nodding. He didn’t think anyone paid him enough attention to actually know his name. The thought alone made him feel…something. 

“Of course,” you grinned, “Steven-with-a-v Grant. You work at the museum gift shop.”

“How did…you know that?”

“You’ve told me,” you reminded him, giving him a curious expression. Did he think he was just as invisible as you felt?

“You remembered…”

“Yes,” you promised, giving his arm a gentle squeeze, “I wouldn’t forget something like that. You’re always…nice when we see each other. I like talking with you.”

For a moment it seemed like his brain was nothing but fuzzy TV static as he watched you with soft eyes. He whispered your name, and for a moment you were surprised he knew it, but then again if you’d remembered his, naturally he would remember yours. You were starting to feel like you were more similar than you originally thought, “come on, let’s get out of the cold and upstairs.”

“Yeah, okay,” you bit your lip and looked away for a moment before letting him take your hand and slowly help you up the hard concrete stairs. It was difficult with his assistance, you couldn’t imagine how hard it would have been without his help. You already felt winded once you were at the top, taking a moment to catch your breath before stuffing the crutches under your arms. Steven held the door open as you slowly (painfully slowly) made your way inside and to the elevator.

“Slow, love, easy does it,” he matched his steps to yours, his hand on the small of your back just in case something happened. The kindness and care he showed you was enough to make you want to cry - you knew it wasn’t just the pain medications doing that. How wonderful it was to have someone carry out such an act of kindness without asking for a single thing in return.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Once you arrived at your flat - which was conveniently just down the hall from his - he pulled out your keys before fumbling with the lock. It was the first time you genuinely laughed that day; he was so flustered but looked so cute as he tried his best to keep his cool. He finally managed to get the door open and held it so you could make your way in. 

His eyes immediately flitted around the flat, taking it all in. It was filled with warm colors, and everything looked so cozy and inviting. He thought it suited you perfectly. You noticed him studying everything with interest, which caused you to immediately wonder what he would be like to spend time here with him. What would it be like to be curled up on the couch and watch a movie with him? How would it be to make dinner with him in the kitchen? 

“You can just throw my bag anywhere,” you pulled yourself out of your little daydream fantasy. It was better not to let yourself get too far gone, “you’ve been absolutely wonderful, Steven. I really appreciate your help.”

“Don’t mention it,” he set your stuff down on the small table by the door before coming to help you settle on the couch, “how are you feeling?”

“Tired,” you admitted, “sore. I wish I could sleep and wake up to find that this was all a bad dream. But…then you wouldn’t be here and…you’ve been the best part.”

“Maybe I should have found an excuse to come over earlier,” he joked lightly as a flush of crimson crept into his cheeks. He moved the crutches out of your way so there was no possibility for you to hurt yourself - he was a quick learner. You couldn’t hold back your yawn, which prompted him to pull the blanket from the top of the couch and draped it over you, “you should try and take a nap and get some rest.”

“I have things-”

“You need to rest,” he insisted softly, but with a firm enough edge to where you didn’t argue, “I’ll go and make you some tea and then you rest. Whatever you need to do, let me know and I can help.”

“Really, I’ll be okay. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do-”

“I want to do this,” he whispered, “let me take care of you.”

The simple words washed over you and caused emotion to well up inside of your heart. No one had said anything like that to you in so long. It was easy to try and be independent and strong all the time but it was even easier to let those walls come down. You blinked back a few tears before shyly nodding, pulling the blanket tighter around you. 

“What kind of tea do you like?” he headed toward the kitchen before stopping suddenly, “wait a moment. I’ve got some I know you’ll love. I swear it could solve any of your problems. I’ll go and grab it and come right back.”

He was out the door and gone before you could even say anything else. You settled into the couch and let yourself relax. Even if this was all temporary, lasting only for today, you decided that it was okay to let yourself enjoy it - enjoy his company.

By the time Steven came back a few minutes later he found you already half asleep. He was going to say something, but stopped himself, opting instead to let you rest while he prepared tea. 

“Steven?” you sounded half out of it and he couldn’t help but smile as he busied himself with the kettle and getting some mugs. 

“Yes, love?” the term of endearment came out without him even needing to think about it. 

“Thank you for everything,” you said in between a yawn, grabbing a pillow and tucking it under your head, “no one’s done anything like this for me for a long time.”

“It’s my pleasure-”

“And you’re really cute,” were the medications making you loopy or your half asleep state speaking what was on your mind? Either way, you weren’t with it enough to care about your confession, “I’m just going to close my eyes for a few minutes.”

“O-of course,” he was properly flustered now but peeked over to find you bundled up. You thought he was cute? That alone seemed like a miracle, coming from the neighbor he’d pined after for some time. He stood there silently as he listened to the water boil before meticulously preparing a cup for himself and for you. 

When he came back into the living he set the cups down on the table. You didn’t seem to be deeply asleep and he contemplated waking you up, but decided against it. The tea could wait, but you needed to rest. He couldn’t stop himself from gently pushing a few strands of hair out of face and tucking it behind your ear. 

Before he could sit down in the armchair next to the couch, you opened one eye and caught his attention, “will you stay? Please?”

“Yes,” he grinned, “of course. Whatever you want.”

“You,” you smiled lightly, “make yourself at home. Thank you for the tea. I’m sure it’ll be great later.”

“I’ll even make it fresh for you then.”

“I know,” you whispered, “that’s just the type of person you are. So kind.”

“Just rest now,” his whole body felt like it was on fire and before he could overthought everything, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. You were already asleep but he could see the way your lips curved into a small smile, “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Thank you.”

Can you please write a part 2 to this

https://padfootdaredmetoo.tumblr.com/post/668066068238073856/can-you-please-write-something-where-campbell-and

Part one

I didn't know where to take this... so I went back to when she first wakes up and goes through the recovery. How the family try to help her. Pretty much just straight hurt/comfort.

Thanks for requesting this! I really enjoyed going back and adding more detail to the situation. Hope you enjoy XOXO

Warnings: *Explicit Drug use, mild violence, description of injuries, nightmares, grief, recovery, getting better, Orgasm while on pain meds, fingering.

Part two:

I decided to rewrite the ending as I kinda just jumped back to happy ending everything is fine. But re-reading it obviously she wouldn't be sitting at the table by lunch.

Your eyes opened but you weren't awake.

You were somewhere far away, as if you were observing the ceiling of your bedroom at the end of a long tunnel. Your vision wasn’t the best, it felt spotty and out of focus. But that horrid wallpaper was unmistakable. This was your room, your attention moved to your bed. You couldn't feel its usual comfort. You couldn't really feel anything. You could have been lying in a painting of your room, but that was a ridiculous thought.

Cold hands were placed on your thigh and your eyes snapped to see a man leaning towards the bed trying to speak to you. He was handsome and young, nice suit, but certainly not your husband. Stupid man, he should know better than to come into your bedroom and try to touch you.

Without any control you hit him as hard as you could. There was a commotion and finally the face you’d been waiting for was in focus, if only he could speak louder. He cradled your face, looking so panicked. If Thomas was scared, things were very bad. Very bad indeed.

You wanted to comfort him, protect him from this man. But your vision started to fade again, it was too much.

_______

You came in and out of focus, back to that same painting of your room. Most of the time Tommy was there reading to you or half sleeping. Warmth radiated off of his body and seeped into your numb skin. This sensation was a comfort that compared to nothing else, it was the only area of your body that had feeling in it. It felt like his life force was caressing your corpse. Maybe you were dead.

Other times you’d see Polly there, cleaning you up. Her hands were never cold as they brushed over your skin. She spoke to you in a strange language, it was heavy and smelled like flowers and spices. Her voice would drift into your head like a church choir singing in Latin. Her words would bring you back slightly, as if they had summoned fresh air back into the room forcing it into your lungs.

A hot hand was pressed to your chest and you eyes flew open and your lungs heaved.

“That’s it. Come back love.” You heard his voice clearly for the first time in so long.

“Tommy?” Your voice scratched out of your dry throat.

“It’s me, love.” His hand stayed firmly on your chest exactly where you wanted it. His free hand brushed hair behind your ear.

Fire light danced across the ceiling and the room was filled with that same heavy smell. Polly’s voice was back speaking words that only your body understood, her fingers ran across your forehead leaving it prickling.

“Where am I?” You asked as well as you could manage.

“At home” He responded but his voice sounded wet.

“I know this is my home” You took a deep breath enjoying the way your lungs stretched and burned with the strange air. “Am I dead?”

“No.” You realized then that he was crying. His grip on you was deliciously painful, but his hands were shaking as if he was trying to hold you to this earth.

“Don’t let me slip away then. I know I’m heavy but I’d like to stay here.” He made a choking sound that hurt you somewhere deep in your stomach.

“Not going to let you go anywhere. You just keep fighting eh? You're a Shelby. You're going to stay here with me.” He murmured.

“Nothing to fight. anymore” There was a radiating sensation running through you. Slowly your body woke up. You tried to sit up and made it almost the full way before getting light headed. Your vision swayed but you enjoyed the feeling, it meant there was blood moving in your body.

His hands caught you helping you lean forward and you groaned. He held you like that for a long while, one firm hand on your chest and the other placed on your back.

You took in your awareness. You had heavy necklaces draped across your neck, you were wearing a soft black fabric that gave you the missing information. You were going to die, but chose not to. Polly and Tommy kept the door open for you to choose.

“I’m not dead.” You said out loud, your voice sounding like your own for the first time. You felt Tommy place a kiss on your bare shoulder. “Why do I feel so heavy.”

“Gave you some painkillers love.”

“Shit - this stuff - this stuff is wow-” You didn't know how to describe it. Your body was pulsing in a strange way.

“You want to rest?” You thought about his words, in all honesty you wanted him badly. The pulsing, the raw ache in your stomach. You wanted him very badly. You didn’t know what to say so you nodded. He helped you lay back. You head resting on the strange pillow.

You felt Polly grip your face tightly, her eyes bore into yours and you felt like everything your brain had ever thought was somehow on display.

“You chose to stay. Rest now.” Her words felt like the ending of a book. They were final words and you felt comfort knowing that whatever this was, was over. She placed a kiss on your forehead and spoke to Tommy in Romani.

She shut the door softly and you settled yourself against Tommy’s strong body. He held you tightly which only made the burning sensation in your veins intensify.

“Can you help me” Your fingers searched through the soft quilts to find his hand.

“ ‘course” He looked at you with searching eyes. Your fingers found his wrist and you pulled his hand where you wanted it. “No, You need to rest.” He seemed equally worried and amused by the situation. All you felt was burning desperation.

“Please just touch me.” You whimpered, he sighed and you didn't understand what there was to think about. You barely lasted against his fingers, his arm kept you firmly crushed against him. The air in your lungs was his air, the heat in your body was his. Feeling etched its way through your limbs and you felt your muscles tense and contract. It was heavily layered with something not from this world, he pushed your body over the edge and your mind rocked and swayed. All the connections established themselves, the emptiness in your stomach filled with a sense of love.

You felt the efforts made to hold you here and basked in your husband's warmth knowing it was the sun to your world.

You fell asleep against him.

_______

You woke up the next morning light pouring through the curtains. A wave of sensations crashed upon your body. You needed the toilet, and your stomach growled painfully.

You sat up and felt your body protest. You felt stiff and your muscles were still bruised. Tommy’s arms found you instantly.

“I need to use the water closet.” You mumbled. He got you up and out of bed, you expected him to leave but he closed the door behind you. There was a black scarf covering the mirror. Strange things seemed to be glaring in your face, but you couldn't bring yourself to question it just yet. Tommy picked you up once you were done and carried you back to the bed.

“Gonna get a bath sorted for you, love. And get you some breakfast. Just don't move” You did as you were told.

He got you into the bath and you snacked on a piece of toast. Your body was a poor sight. Large dark bruises covered your body and cuts ran up your arms.

You should probably ask about that. You thought to yourself, but your gut told you that it was not his doing so you didn’t care just yet.

“I have some business to attend to. If I leave you with Pol, Ada, and Esme will ya be alright till I get back?”

Your body suddenly prepared for a fight, you didn't want him to leave you. Not ever.

“You’ll come back?” He nodded. “When?”

“By tonight.” He answered seriously. You nodded.

“They gave you some heavy stuff. If you start to come down just remember that I'll be home soon eh? Do everything that Polly tells you to.”

“Okay” It sounded simple enough. You ate half a loaf of bread, three eggs, a sausage, and some fruit. You felt so full and sore that falling asleep seemed to be the only reasonable task.

Things were blissful, till the nightmares set in. You felt the way your body had crumbled under the man hundreds of times. Over and over. Your body stung where he had hit you. Esme laid next to you, trying to comfort you while you slipped in and out. Tommy took her place once he was home.

Three days you were like that. In and out of your mind. By the fourth day you were desperate to keep moving. Laying in bed felt like a prison, your mind needed a task so it could fully embrace the fact that it was over. You were too scared to go outside just yet, and avoided the kitchen.

You were well enough that Charlie was back on your hip at all times. He needed you more than ever and you desperately hoped that his little mind wasn’t able to hold memories yet. You couldn't stomach the thought of him carrying that for the rest of his life.

Tommy came home that day and handed you a very large project. A house.

Johnny dogs wanted to set up on the river at the far edge of the property. You’d responded before Tommy could, and soon you had him by the river. You got to pick the maids and the cooks.

The decorating, all of it was up to you. With Charlie on your hip the two of you put together a classy house, with warmer areas like the kitchen, bedroom, study, and a living room. All the rest of the house was for show, for dinner pastries and nonsense. But those other rooms were for the family.

Charlie was soon obsessed with the stables and the three horses that lived there. You spent many afternoons resting in the overcast comforted by their presence.

You would have random attacks, night terrors, hallucinations….. Tommy and the boys seemed to understand it very well.

A car backfired out front of the betting shop. The loud noise cut through your body like knives. All the air rushed out of your chest and you couldn't remember how to breathe. You had the sudden urge to climb under your desk into a ball.

Arthur’s hands landed on your shoulders and you were grateful he caught your punch before it landed on his jaw.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Just the band kicking up. That's all, love.” He awkwardly prevented you from sitting down. “Gotta stand up straight when it happens.”

You tried to stand as tall as you could, and he pushed your shoulders back a little bit. Your body fought you hard, every muscle started to shake, you wanted to collapse against him. You started to sway slightly.

“Nah! You gotta stand straight, love. ‘Sthe only thing to stop it.” He stood with you for a few minutes and you were amazed the shaking stopped. You took a deep breath. John came through to your office.

“Ah got the shakes eh? It will pass with time.” He answered easily, but in his eyes you could see he felt for you.

“I hope so. Sorry for almost -” You gestured towards his face.

“You wouldn't be the first Shelby, and won't be the last love.” He chuckled, patting you on the back.

__

You woke up and rang Polly in the middle of the night unable to help yourself.

“Thomas?” She answered in an annoyed tone.

“No It’s me” You were unable to bring your voice above a whisper. Your nightgown was stuck to your skin, the air in the study was cold making you shiver.

“What’s wrong, love?” She answered worriedly. You took a deep breath and tried to stand up tall like Arthur showed you.

“I had a dream that my stomach fell out. A big red hole in my torso. A man took your necklace from my neck and I bled out in the field behind the house.” You dragged the phone over to the couch lighting a fire. You paced the room with your shoulders back, trying to remember all the details of the dream.

“Hmmm I don't think it’s about the future, I think it’s about losing the baby.” She answered softly. It comforted you as she went into detail about why it would be about the past.

“What about the necklace? If it’s taken from my neck I’ll die right?” Your voice quivered slightly. You heard Polly make a strange sound on the other side of the phone.

“No love. You could have taken that off once you woke up. I should have told you that. You chose to stay, it's something that won’t be unwritten till long after I’m gone.”

“Okay.” You took a deep breath and tried to take the necklace off, but couldn't. “Polly, I can't take it off. I just can’t” She chuckled softly.

“Then don't. I’ll come by tomorrow to look at it.” She responded.

“Sorry for waking you. Thank you.”

“Anytime love” She wished you a good sleep and you felt betting knowing she would be back in the morning.

You thought of going back up to bed but couldn't manage. So you paced the room trying to keep a steady pace, keep your body straight.

You jumped when you caught Tommy’s appearance in the doorway. It was almost enough to send you back into a fit but you just kept walking.

“Career change? Thinking of being a model?” He lit a cigarette and leaned on the edge of his desk.

“Arthur said it’s the only way to stop the shakes. Just have to stand straight, breathe even.”

“That’s what Arthur said eh?” You nodded. He was quiet for a long moment and you realized this probably looked like insanity. Thoughts of him putting you in a home ran through you threatening to take over.

“I’m not crazy - I just-” You started to lose control.

“Stop that.” He motioned for you to keep walking. “This isn’t crazy, this is surviving. There’s a big difference. I’m sorry I did this to ya.”

“It’s alright. I’m tough, I’ll make a way through this.” You mumbled, focused on keeping a steady pace. You and him revisited the conversation you had been avoiding. You didn’t blame him. His intentions were good, and he was working as hard as he could to prevent it from happening again. The family was closer than ever now.

There was a knock at the front door and you got to the floor immediately. All the air was gone. You heard Tommy grab his gun and go to the door.

“What a greeting. Is she still up?” Polly’s voice called up and you forced your body to get up off the carpet.

“You just scared her half to death but she’s up.”

It was a struggle but you righted yourself and brushed the stray ashes off your white pajama set. You started to pace again. Polly came in and took in your form.

“You won’t be like this forever.” She said calmly. She walked up to you and took the black necklace from your neck. You fought the urge to fight her. She pulled our forehead against hers and pulled a necklace from her neck over her head onto yours.

“You’ll be fine. You're strong enough to be fine.” Her words put you at ease. You looked at her, she was in her nightgown with a large fir jacket. She must have driven over as soon as you ended the phone call. You gave her a big hug.

Tommy was good intentioned, but ambitious. Sure he got you dragged into all sorts of situations, most of them scary. But he loved you like a husband should love his wife. Polly loved you like a mother should love her daughter, his brothers were your brothers. All of this love you were deprived of growing up, it was worth the risks that were frequently taken.

You did get better, slowly at first, and then suddenly. Things drifted away somewhere they could only rarely go up against you. When they did you were ready.

Tags list: @tommydoesntpayforsuits @misselsbells06 @kpopgirlbtssvt

*** Disclaimer I feel like my stories have been pretty heavy on the Polly love. Really missing her and struggling from my own losses. Needing some motherly love these days. Anyway! I hope this isn't bothersome.

Can I please please request one where Natasha and Yelena have another younger sister (Y/N) and she gets badly injured and her older sisters are hysterical since they’re afraid to lose one they love the most

A Race Against Time | romanoff fam fic

Summary: Natasha and Yelena do their best to help their hurt younger sister.

Authors Note: Thanks for requesting!

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2 |  Main Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @/twitalents

“Everybody alright?” Natasha asked as Alexei and Melina approached her and Yelena. The redhead herself definitely hadn’t gotten out of the whole ordeal without injuries. In fact, from Dreykov punching her to the fight against the Widows, and the fight against Antonia (not to mention the injuries from the past few days that she hadn’t taken care of), she was in some pain. However she didn’t worry about herself, she knew she’d be fine. She always was.

Natasha glanced over and spotted Y/N making her way over to them, too. From the distance, Natasha couldn’t tell that she was limping and was very hurt.

“I am clearly injured,” Melina deadpanned, causing Natasha to look back over and send her adoptive mother a smile as an apology. With a quick glance, Natasha could tell that she’d be okay, she’d just need a cast on that ankle and-

Thump.

The sound, accompanied by Yelena’s loud gasp and yelp, broke through Natasha’s thoughts and caused her to whip around suddenly. The sight her eyes landed on instantly sent what felt like an ice shard plunging into her chest. No. No.

By the time she snapped out of it, Yelena was already by Y/N’s unconscious figure, which the thump must have been - her plummeting to the ground - and Alexei was helping Melina over as fast as he could. Natasha sped past them and dropped to her knees, her brain wired to already be processing the situation and formulating a plan, while she lightly stopped Yelena’s wrist to prevent her from going to shake Y/N.

“You don’t move someone who is unconscious unless necessary - it could injure them,” she breathed out. Yelena, who could see that her older sister was in autopilot mode, sat back and let her do her thing, opting to look up at her parents, instead.

Both their eyes were glued to Y/N. Alexei’s eyebrows crinkled and, after taking a big breath, muttered (just loud enough for them to hear), “There’s blood on you.”

Natasha’s eyes snapped down and sure enough, her knees were bloodied. She quickly looked up only to see blood beginning to come from Y/N’s stomach where she had fallen on her side. Closing her eyes for a moment to allow herself to think, Natasha carefully and gently pulled up Y/N’s shirt, only to see an open gash in the shape of the Widow hourglass.

“Wha-?” She said, barely forming a word, and Yelena leaned over to see.

She immediately began shaking her head and pushed Y/N onto her back. “I-I know what this is, I think. I remember hearing about a weapon that’d leave that mark,” she rambled out.

Melina peered over Natasha’s shoulder and when she saw it, her face went pale. “That-that weapon, it ejects a blast that makes that mark when it meets the skin. It was made as a precaution in case any of the Widows went rogue - it was made years ago. But only a few were made because they were so confident in themselves. It-it goes along with a process they constructed to re-brainwash the Widows. The blast gets under her skin, in her body, with a chemical that’s in it, and that chemical starts the brainwashing process,” she explained.

A park of hope entered Yelena’s eyes. “So she won’t be fully brainwashed?” She asked.

“Not without the rest of the procedure,” Melina began, but then her eyes widened when she remembered something and horror quickly flashed across her face. “But if the process isn’t completed within a certain time period, the chemical will wear off its brainwashing effects and instead will start hurting her . . . A lot . . . But I have an antidote-” her tone sped up now, “-It’s back at the house. We need to get her there.”

Natasha and Yelena nodded, both having gone through a great wave of emotions throughout Melina’s words. Yelena, while racked with worry, still remained hopeful, and Natasha did her best to be, too, but her tears were drying and she was sniffling.

“The jet is-” Alexei began to say, when the sound of the engines of cars rapidly approaching cut him off.

Natasha looked over. “Shit, Ross,” she said, regretting even tipping him off to their location in the first place.

Melina bit her lip. “You girls go. Take Y/N home. The antidote is labelled ‘Ant-Widow,’,” she told them firmly.

Yelena’s lips parted to protest, not wanting to split up, but catching Natasha picking up Y/N out of the corner of her eye stopped her. She nodded, rising to her feet.

“We’ll distract them. They won’t want anything to do with us when they realize you’re not here,” Melina insisted.

Natasha sent her a look that she could only hope was conveying everything she wanted it to. A million thoughts whizzed about in her mind, none making room for each other. She wondered, would they leave them alone? Or would they be taken into questioning? Shouldn’t she be the one facing Ross - since she called him there? Is Y/N going to be okay? Will they get there in time?

By the way Melina looked back at her, Natasha thought that her message had been received. There was no time to go over the plan any longer, if they stayed even a couple more seconds they’d get caught by Ross, whose army of cars headed to a halt.

Natasha bolted off in the jet’s direction, Yelena quick on her heels. They rushed inside and Natasha took her time to gently put Y/N down before going to the pilot seat. Yelena sat down in the back, wanting to watch over their little sister.

Neither of them said anything until Natasha had gotten them off the ground and away from the field. Yelena could hear the engine whirring and she knew that Natasha was going as fast as this aircraft could probably go.

“Natasha,” she said, her voice small and hesitant, reminding Natasha of her own self when she was younger. The redhead braced herself for her sister’s words. “Do you think we’ll get there in time?”

Natasha let out a slow yet steady breath, fighting back the urge to tell her not to say that. She wondered the same thing, and she hated it. She didn’t answer, though, because she didn’t want to lie. She didn’t know herself, and she also hated that.

Yelena looked down in defeat when she didn’t get an answer and continued watching Y/N. She couldn’t stop herself from worrying and when she spotted the other injuries — bruises, cuts, scrapes — littering her body, she got up and went to the back.

The blonde grabbed the med kit they had stored and went back, quickly opening it up and getting everything she needed. First, bandages. Yelena put pressure on the wound even though she knew it wouldn’t bleed out, and a twinge of guilt hit her when Y/N moved and groaned unconsciously.

She then wrapped up Y/N’s stomach and tended to her other injures, every so often glancing at Natasha, who she could see by the way she was sitting up straight that she was tense. Upset. Worried. Yelena had to admit she was feeling those same things but busied herself by taking care of Y/N.

This carried on and they were about ¾ there when everything shifted. Y/N, who had been mostly quiet throughout the journey, suddenly rolled onto her side, eyes opening with a startled gasp.

Natasha frantically looked up at Yelena and the latter jumped to resolve the situation. Gently, she put her hands on her younger sister’s shoulders and tried to turn her onto her back, but Y/N fought her off and scurried back, against the wall.

“Y/N,” Yelena said, slowly putting her hands up in a “surrender” gesture.

The younger one shook her head as tears began to flow down her cheeks. “It-it hurts,” she got out, wrapping her arms around herself.

Yelena sent Natasha a frightened, desperate look and the glint in Natasha’s eyes held tears in them. “I can’t go any faster!” She cried out in frustration, her anger at her helplessness beginning to grow.

Yelena turned back to Y/N. “Take deep breaths with me, okay?” She said, and took a couple deep breaths to show her. It took Y/N a second, but she followed along. However, the pain didn’t take a break for long, and quickly came crashing back to her, like a magnet.

She let out another cry, but this one filled with that much more anguish, desperation, a pure rage from wanting it to be over, a rage that nearly caused her to vomit. Y/N leaned forward, hoping that there was something - anything - that could relieve this pain for even just a second. The warmth she was soon filled with from her older sister’s arms wrapping around her and pulling her close did nothing to soothe pain, but she found someone to have a steady grip on, someone to hold.

This continued on. In every cry let out, Yelena could’ve sworn each one was louder than the last. She didn’t know what to do so she did the only thing she could and stayed there. After  a particularly loud cry from Y/N, Yelena couldn’t stop a “Natasha!” from escaping.

“I’m trying!” She shouted over the engine and over Y/N, doing her best to blink away the tears and focus, but everytime she was on the brink of it, something tore her away.

After what felt like what could only be described as eons, Natasha managed to touch down in the same spot she had just a day ago. The moment they made contact, she leapt out of her seat, nearly tumbling to the floor, and practically fell against the door.

“Stay with her,” was all she said to Yelena before pushing all her weight against the door and breaking off into a run towards the house.

Natasha had run fast before. To escape Antonia, on countless SHIELD missions, and even to beat Sam in a race, but none amounted to this. The mountains and trees whipped by so fast that she felt like she was in a race car and it made her head spin. Nonetheless (and she thanked her extensive training for that), Natasha’s stamina held out and she ran through the house, tripping over things and knocking others over, until she reached Melina’s office.

At first, everything looked like a normal office space for a normal business woman, but the underlying science and spy secrecy that she knew had to be inside was revealed. Cabinets upon cabinets filled with vials upon vilas and files upon files. She scoured the entire room and nearly dropped the green-filled file when she saw its label. This was it.

A moment of victory passed until Natasha remembered the weight of the situation and she got back on her feet, running like the wind, and leaving behind the office looking like some raccoons had gotten inside.

By the time she reached the top of the hill, Natasha could make out the outline of Yelena carrying Y/N (who was draped over her like a curtain, by the way) toward her.

They met in the middle and Yelena put Y/N down, the older sisters kneeling beside her. Y/N was half-conscious at this point and Natasha moved at the speed of light to get the vial lid off. “She was getting worse, I couldn’t wait!” Yelena yelled.

When she got it open, Natasha pushed it towards Y/N’s lips. “Y/N, honey, c’mon, you gotta drink,” she encouraged, hand trembling as Y/N attempted to fight her off. It was only Yelena running her hands through her hair that calmed her down, and she took a small sip of the vial’s contents at first before gulping it down.

When she stopped squirming and seemed to no longer be in pain, instead falling into a peaceful sleep, that’s when both Natasha and Yelena had calmed down. It had been a rollercoaster, but they did it, and she was okay. The two held each other, relieved.  

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Hi Eve

It's been a while since we've seen hattie... do you think you'll bring her back? I'd love to read some soft Coops and Hattie fluff.

Or maybe angst and fluff?

Sure! I'm always down to write my girl :)) SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, but Hattie is mine!

TW for panic attack

It started almost as soon as Sirius put his keys on the countertop. He stopped in his tracks as a chill crawled up his spine and a nauseating stone fell heavy in his gut. They were bored.

The logical shreds of his thought process reminded him that no, James and Kasey were actually involved in the conversation, but—no. His palms were too hot on the cool marble counter. You always talk too much. Nobody can understand you.

The second you left, they actually started having a good time.

“Shit,” he hissed through clenched teeth as his vision began to tunnel, bracing himself on the kitchen island so he didn’t wobble and fall. He had taken his meds. He hadn’t dredged up anything particularly new or painful with Heather that week. He had done everything just right, and yet he could still feel the thick pressure in his throat building building building—

Sirius eased himself to the floor without opening his eyes; the lights were too bright for his pounding head and he knew that if he moved too fast, the nausea would only get worse. His chest was constricted to the point where he could hear his own lungs catching. Every inch of skin revolted against the fabric of his clothes.

“James invited me,” he said aloud, resting his forehead on the cabinet door. “He wanted me there.”

But Kasey didn’t.

Sirius took a shuddering breath in through his nose. “They both wanted me there,” he corrected, voice breaking. “And Kasey asked the question in the first place and I didn’t talk for that long—”

Any time is too long. You never make sense to anyone but yourself.

“—and they kept talking to me even after I was done.” Wet warmth trickled down his cheeks and he gripped the cabinet handle even tighter. Any anchor would do before his whole body floated away. The sheer size of the house he was in hit him like a truck; it was empty and lonely and cold. He hadn’t separated himself from the environment he was raised in one little bit.

It didn’t matter what James or Kasey thought, he realized as the ringing in his ears drowned everything else out and he leaned heavily on the wall for extra support. His mother’s words were cemented in his brain and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He deserved it, didn’t he? The second he accepted the spot as captain, every single one of his friends stopped caring about him. He became the cranky tyrant his parents had always wanted him to be. There was no hope to get back into their loyalty or their good graces. You brought this on yourself, he bit out in his head. It’s all your fault.

“No,” Sirius murmured, thudding his forehead against the cabinet. “No, no, no, no, no, I’m sorry.”

It felt like the world was crumbling around him. He had the sudden, terrible understanding that he was going to die right there on the kitchen floor with his lungs folding in on themselves and his stomach hurting and his head pounding and—

Something cold and wet prodded his arm. Sirius’ muscles were made of stone; he couldn’t even flinch at the strange new feeling as tremors rocked through his body. There was a soft whine and another poke, then the creature began snuffling his ear with far more intensity than he was prepared for. Confusion started to leak in around the edges of the banshee-cries in his head.

After one extended sniff by the hinge of his jaw, the fuzzy thing smacked him on the thigh with a more insistent noise of distress, and Sirius managed to release his shoulder joint enough to make room for it to worm its merry way right into his lap.

He stared at it. Large silver eyes stared back. “Hullo,” he managed thickly. It huffed, licked a truly incredible stripe of slobber from his chin to his eye, then rested its nose on his shoulder with a long sigh.

And to Sirius’ astonishment, the shakiness in his abdomen eased. His mother’s voice quieted by a degree; the feeling returned to his toes in pins and needles once he began to match his breaths to the steady rise and fall against his chest.

His fingers creaked as he peeled them off the cabinet handle, but he managed to find his way to the soft black fur making itself at home in the hollow between his body and the wood. Gentle, he reminded himself on instinct. Gentle scratches just by her belly, then up to her shoulder blades.

Sure enough, Hattie gave a happy little wiggle in response. Her pointed ear tickled the side of his face as he leaned into her. Sirius’ heart rate calmed.

“Mon chou,” he mumbled once his voice decided to work again, wrapping his other arm around her in a loose hug. She pulled back to nose around his face and lick at the tearstains streaking his face until an inexplicable laugh bubbled out of him—her tail thumped on the ground and she pawed at his chest. Sirius’ bit his lip and buried his face in the thick ruff at her neck, holding her closer than she usually enjoyed but enough to feel the weight of her across his whole front while the dregs of his anxiety ran their course.

Hattie stayed perfectly still until the sobbing subsided and the shaky hand combing through the fur of her back flattened. Her light rumbles took the place of every screeching thought in Sirius’ mind.

“Good girl,” he finally said, wiping the tears away on his shoulder so he could give her some ear scratchies at the same time. “Good girl, Hat Trick. Mon petit chou. Je t’aime. Merde, you’re such a good dog.”

Her tail continued to wag, but she just watched him with that same easy gaze.

“You can get up, if you want.”

Hattie yawned so wide she squeaked.

“I’m okay now.”

A car backfired outside and one ear pricked toward it. She didn’t so much as twitch from her spot in his lap.

Sirius closed his eyes again with a slow breath and wove his fingers through her dense undercoat, focusing on each silky strand. He still felt a bit sick and the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that told him James and Kasey didn’t really want him at lunch kept on pinching him, but it didn’t hurt as much. He was more tired than anything else. Something about Hattie’s soft fur under his fingers and her familiar weight on his shoulder eased the shrieking panic running riot through his veins and made something that usually had him on the floor for an hour almost…bearable.

“You’re my best girl, huh?” he asked her once he trusted his voice. “You know what best girls get? Treats.”

That got her attention. She let him up with little fuss, her nails tip-tapping in excitement on the floor as he steadied himself and padded over to the pantry. His muscles were weak and he was sweaty all over—she didn’t seem to care a bit as he took the treat bag out, grabbed a handful, and sat right back down to feed them to her one by one.

“Can you sit for me?” Hattie’s body was tense with barely-contained anticipation as she laser-focused on the last cookie and slowly settled her rear on the floor. “Good girl!”

Sirius didn’t even open his hand all the way before she launched herself back into his lap to claim her prize, coating his palm in a layer of slobber before planting herself in the cross of his legs as if she owned the place.

“That was a little much,” he informed her. “But you get a pass because you’re a very sweet puppy.”

Hattie pawed at him for a moment before squirming around to splay across his thighs in a dead-weight blanket, nestling her head in the crook of his knee with a grumble. Sirius paused as tears pricked his eyes again; the house was big, yes, but not empty anymore. Pictures lined the walls. The junk drawer was practically overflowing with trinkets that belonged to everyone he loved. And he had a dog, his dog, that would lay in his lap and never let him spiral into himself again.

Sirius leaned his head back against the kitchen island and closed his eyes, still running his hand in long lines across Hattie’s side as she dozed. A nap didn’t sound like such a bad idea, after all.

The Traveling T-Shirt

No Pairings

No Warnings

It's just Morgan's t-shirt traveling through the BAU one person and story at a time

It starts with a coffee spill in Seattle. With Aaron, startlingly enough.

Six days in the rain and it seemed even their cleanest, driest clothing was damp with the chill from the constant downpour. Though, six days on their feet with clothing they’d already worn at least twice that week on their backs, they looked more and more “rag-tag” as the hours bore on. Even Hotch had lost his cookie-cutter charm. His white t-shirt crumpled where it was typically pressed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. His hair wouldn’t stay gelled into the style he liked it in, leaving it fluffy and soft on the top of his head. He looked significantly less like SSA Aaron Hotchner and a lot more like Aaron.

Maybe he had lost SSA Hotchner somewhere along the days and victims because SSA Hotchner would never spill coffee on himself. But Aaron would and Aaron did.

Derek watched the whole thing take place, unable to take his eyes off of Hotch since the second that he walked in. Something about his tired zombie-like lurches just couldn’t break Derek’s curiosity and he had to know what would come out of Hotch’s current state. Despite the far-away look in Hotch’s gaze, the tired bags of discoloration under his eyes, Derek would not have predicted this as the outcome. Hotch is so out of it that all he can do is stare at the mess he’s created, glaring at the mess of coffee grounds across his less than pristine white dress shirt.

“Here,” Derek shakes his head, has to manually clear the fog occupying his brain. He pulls at the loose clump of napkins someone had left atop the coffee table for this exact situation, presses the mass into Hotch’s stomach. It feels akin to something else, distinctly deja-vu. Like he’s pressing into a wound, holding him together with nothing more than cheap napkins.

The physical contact brings Hotch back to the Earth and with a few blinks of his blood-shot eyes he sighs irritably and mumbles, “I don’t have any more clean shirts.”

Derek would argue the one he’s currently wearing is not clean either. It’s got a few dots of red expo marker on the left elbow where Reid bumped into him, rambling quickly about his map and the geographical profile. On the cuff of his right sleeve, there’s something brown or black which could be something from a pen or an expo marker or something else he’s just stuck his hand in. God knows what else is on this shirt.

Hotch puts his hand over Derek’s, holds the napkins himself. Derek pats his shoulder, “it’s alright, man. I’ll get you a shirt.”

They could go just about anywhere and just buy him a shirt. It could be some looney graphic t-shirt from the boy’s sections of some store down the street or another white dress shirt to replace the one he’s wearing but Derek just gets one of his. It’s a light grey, the color worn down by how frequently Derek wears it. Where it fits Derek snugly, hugs his chest and back tightly, it fits Hotch oddly. Displays to them all just how right they were in the assumptions they have held about how his recent divorce is affecting him.

He’s lost weight.

Too much.

One thin grey Hanes t-shirt can’t fight off the chill and overtop it, covering his visible bones, Dave throws him a sweater. He stays buried in that sweater and shirt all day, long into the night as they go hunting out in the streets with flashlights. Rain comes down heavy and thick.

Dave gets his sweater back. Folded neatly and smelling of the distinct fabric softener Hotch uses, it makes his whole office smell nice and Dave nearly can’t bring himself to wear the thing again. Doesn’t want the scent to fade, every inch of that sweater is now stitched together with something more.

The t-shirt gets left at the bottom of a drawer, to be discovered months from now.

Emily finds it six nights after Foyet left Hotch in Saint Sebastion’s hospital held together by sugrical staples and the stubborn will to live. All of his clothing has been hunted through, his shirt drawer is nearly empty. JJ and Penelope had undertaken the job of finding Hotch clothing for the hospital -- anything that he could just slip his arms into without having to lift them above his head. The only things left in his drawers are regular t-shirts and jeans, meaning Emily doesn’t have a whole lot to pick through right now.

She hadn’t anticipated this need and as much forethought as she put into staying the night was assuming Hotch would have clothes she could steal. She hadn’t really thought she’d be here tonight but she doesn’t think she can leave him alone. Doesn’t think it would be kind of her as his friend to see him like this and still choose to leave him for the night.

She decides on a thin grey shirt that she finds, turning her nose up to his university t-shirts (as if she’d wear those) and a pair of sweat pants on his floor that she thinks are clean or at least don’t smell bad. It’s not the best but she came unprepared and she’s not going to complain, both are comfortable even if the pants are giant on her.

To her surprise, he’s still fighting off his meds. Hazy brown eyes blink open when she steps back out into the living room, following her as she comes to the couch. She’s careful, even if she does it nonchalantly, as she moves his legs a little so that she can sit down beside him. He’s stretched across the couch, too big so he’s pinched up in places, but he doesn’t want to sleep in his room. Stubborn like a child being asked to take a nap -- “but I’m not tired”.

“T’as not my shirt,” he mumbles into his blanket. He’s got the heating blanket pulled up his nose, wrapped tightly around his shoulders and hands.

Emily looks down at it and frowns. “Well, then who the hell else’s is it?” She reaches for the TV remote on the coffee table, turning it on without waiting for his answer. Clearly, she doesn’t care who’s it is, she’s not taking it off now. His grunt, muffled by the blanket, means he doesn’t know and he doesn’t really care enough either to figure out who it is.

He doesn’t last much longer, falls asleep with her squishing him on the couch (though, arguably, he’s squishing her). She’ll brush off his timid embarrassment at having to need her around the next morning, for waking up in the middle of the night having to be held down. Sobbing incoherently about something, neither of them really sure what. Only calming down when she put his head in her lap, stroking his hair back until he fell back asleep. Which is how he wakes up, his head in her lap and his hand holding her’s hostage.

But she shrugs it off and says she only did it for the free shirt, “don’t worry about it.”

She keeps the shirt, uses it several more nights as they graduate from sleeping on the couch to him finally going back to his bed. To being mentally present enough again to fight her about taking meds, to walking her to the front door every night, and watching her leave.

She buries the shirt too. It feels too tight on her skin, wrong. She touches the material and remembers seeing him hysterical, writhing in pain, and unable to be comforted. Can smell the antiseptic from his skin. Can hear the doctor warning her about his heart. That shirt feels like losing her best friend but she can’t bring herself to get rid of it.

JJ uncovers it a year later (before Emily has done the unspeakable, the unimaginable, and died and come back to life). It’s a girls night gone wrong but not impossibly so.

“Just grab one of my shirts,” Emily says, still laughing.

JJ glares back at her. She’s covered in water from the sink -- Emily sprayed her with the faucet. It’s revenge, payback for the pasta sauce JJ swiped down her cheek.

“You two are devious,” Penelope insists, waving her fingers at them. She’s still chopping up mushrooms, trying to size them as best as she can so that they are spread evenly throughout the alfredo sauce. “Behave before you ruin the sauce and I have to tell Dave that I not only shared his recipe but that you two ruined it.”

JJ has to search for a shirt from Emily’s pajama drawer. She doesn’t want any of the old college shirts and certainly doesn’t want any of the dopey graphic t-shirts Emily is so partial to. She ends up on a grey shirt, worn and old and soft.

Emily knows the shirt the second the JJ comes out and it takes her a moment to hide and stifle the anxiety that its presence gives her. Hotch’s health is better, he’s got a routine down with the medication he’ll be taking for the rest of his life because of that attack, but he’s smiling again. It’s harder than it was before to win one out of him but he can do it, they happen.

“Which one-night stand is this?” JJ asks, plucking the shirt with her fingers and raising an eyebrow.

Emily shakes her head, clears her throat of the residual guilt, and smirks, “trust me, you don’t want to know.” Hotch would be mortified at the insinuation but it’s funny and what he doesn’t know (and what they don’t know) can’t hurt him. She’s sad to see the shirt go, it’s a door closed, but relieved of its burden she can breathe again. Feels Foyet leave her completely.

JJ goes unburdened.

That old shirt is a comfort. She nurses Henry through fevers in it. Uses its edge to wipe his tears from his face. It’s always at the top of her laundry basket, the first thing she puts on when she gets home from a rough case. Will isn’t sure where she got it from because he knows it’s not his. It’s not the first time JJ’s stolen someone else’s clothes (he’s picked up enough of them to know that Reid wears a size small, that dark shirts sized medium are Morgan, and that white t-shirts in a medium are Hotch’s). He thinks it’s cute, she’s been stealing his shirts for as long as he’s known her.

In October, the fall of the same year that Emily leaves for Interpol, JJ gets held up in a meeting with Hotch. Something to do the with Department of Justice and all she manages to get out over the phone is that she’s absolutely pissed and Reid can just faintly hear Hotch offering her a coffee before she thanks him and the line goes dead. Will is on night shift and he can’t come home. So Reid fills in, their impromptu babysitter for the night.

It’s fine, calm… for the most part.

Reid lasts about an hour and a half before he finds himself in need of a change of clothes. He’s got pumpkin all over him and his fun little idea to let Henry carve a baby pumpkin was obviously a bad idea. He just didn’t know that in advance. He’s watched Jack enough times to feel fully confident in his skills but the age gap between Henry and Jack is severe. There are a lot of developmental differences in children only two years apart in age, Reid was not prepared for that.

He feels weird about stealing a shirt but his own is soaked in pumpkin guts and Henry’s bathwater.

JJ doesn’t notice the shirt exchange. She just grins at the sight of Spencer and Henry curled up on the couch, Will sitting beside them eating popcorn while “It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” plays softly.

Three days later Morgan sees his shirt on the back of the couch. It’s been washed and is waiting to be returned to JJ but he knows damn well that it’s his. “How the hell did you find this?” Morgan asks, lifting it up. Reid had called him over to fix a leaking pipe (Reid is supposed to call his Super who has a mechanic who can do it but he’s too anxious for that) and Morgan was less than prepared to find his missing shirt.

Reid frowns, confused, “that’s JJ’s. I borrowed it Thursday night when I babysat.”

Morgan shakes his head, no this is his shirt. He’s sure of it. It’s been gone for years. He thought the washing machine ate it. He couldn't remember where else it would have gone off to. That or he left it in some hotel but here it is. Grey and worn and soft, it’s his.

He takes it to work in his go-bag and all but rolls his eyes into the back of his head when he watches Garcia stumble and drench herself in cold, left-over tea. He stands from his desk, sighing hard, “it’s alright, baby girl. I’ve got a shirt you can borrow.”

He’s never getting this shirt back.