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escape-rock-bottom · 1 year

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Journal #26 - My Nemesis, Sugar (Discomfort Challenge Journal)

They add sugar to EVERYTHING. I’m definitely getting ahead of myself with the lack of context there but seriously. 95% of foods I see in stores have some form of added sugar. The ones that don’t and claim they’re sugar free have those nasty synthetic sugars instead (The ones that give you diarrhea or headaches. Those ones.) It’s pretty ridiculous, and I now completely understand why I gained weight eating what I thought were health foods.

I have a bit of a history with weight and eating problems. It really started in childhood and spiraled into full on insanity once I was put on pills and started getting some crazy bad symptoms from my mental illnesses. I graduated high school at a weight of over 250 lbs at a measly 5’2” height (yes. I’m short. Bad Genetics. Moving on.) and a really terrible habit of eating large portions of food alongside snacks.

Then, there was my lack of an actual balanced diet and hydration - No joke, most of my hydration came in the form of juice or soda. I rarely drank water. I didn't know how sick I felt thanks to the combination of antipsychotic side effects and dissociative issues. I was slowly and silently killing myself and I didn't bother to care.

It was when I almost hit 300 lbs and was almost incapable of walking without feeling horrible leg pain and unbearably winded from walking a few hundred feet that I made a hard decision: Lose the weight. I won’t get into the details of the weight loss journey itself since that is its own long story, but I did drop 150+ pounds over 3 years after stopping all my psych meds and having gastric surgery.

I’ll tell you, it feels great to be able to move, run, and walk. All the things I struggled doing are just everyday occurrences I don’t think twice about. I have a whole other fitness journey ahead of me regarding bodybuilding and cardio health but I’m happy to have lost that weight. The sad thing is that I fell back into old habits (on a smaller scale) and ended up not regularly exercising and eating pretty terribly. There are plenty of things I can’t do, but the fact that I eat in a calorie deficit combined with choosing sugar-packed, non-nutritious foods to consume, I ended up skinny fat - little muscle, high body fat. I also ended up with a bad sugar addiction, constant nausea and headaches, fatigue, and some deficiencies.

Right around the time this challenge came up, I decided I’d try to exercise more and eat better. I honestly didn’t actually commit until the challenge began and I tossed all my sugary, salty vices in the garbage and set myself boundaries.

I’m insane though. Just limiting how much added and natural sugars I eat to less than I normally eat wasn’t enough. I wanted to see how well I’d manage without eating ANYTHING with added sugars. I set a discomfort challenge to do just that. The only thing I learned from that is the above statement: Added sugars and artificial sweeteners are everywhere in store bought food.

Home cooked meals suffer this fate as well, since some of the recipes required ingredients with added sugars (that reeeeally don’t need to be there.) I couldn’t even eat ketchup! It’s really given me the awareness to actually analyze my decisions when choosing my foods. I learned where to look for “hidden” sugars and what foods are safe (Hint: Fresh food that you have to cook)

The way I felt was along the lines of frustrated at this fact, but I also had a bit of a mindset change: Going without sugar isn’t that bad, and I don’t feel any loss without it. I’m pretty sure I killed the intensity of my addiction due to the already 3 weeks long sugar restriction. I realized that reaching for sugary foods is both a habit and an addiction. It was annoying to not be able to eat certain things and having little selection to choose from that day aside from eggs, fruit, bread, and lasagna to name a few things.

If I truly want to finally move forward and leave my sugar addiction and poor food choices in the dust, I will have to rework my habits. So far, I’m finding these action to be the most helpful:

Throw out any junk food. Out of sight, out of mind.

Have emergency snacks or meals on hand for when you crave junk foods. These will be healthier alternatives that offer a similar feeling as the real deal does

Hold yourself accountable. Have a visible daily food tracker. No need to track macros or calories, just write down exactly what you ate if you feel that level is excessive.

Plan out your meals for the day.

When heading to the grocery store, have a list in hand. It helps to set intention and keep your focus solely on the list. Try to be in and out in under 20-30 minutes. Not only will you not grab junk food, but you will save on impulse buys.

Inform others of your dietary choices. Decent people will respect that, supportive people will hold you accountable when given the task to do so.

I won’t lie, part of me still struggles with the shift, but it’s actually a lot nicer to restrict sugars. I’ve noticed a decrease in sluggishness and nausea and an increase in energy and focus. I still have a long way to go, but it’s a great first step to improving my health.

Find what works for you. I’m not here to tell you to change your habits (eating and dieting is a touchy subject for some.) However, I just thought it’d be interesting to finally tell my story and my journey regardless. Maybe you’ll take something, and maybe you won’t. If you’re like me and need that extra push: Go empty that pantry of all that crap you shouldn’t touch, buy some healthy nutritious foods, and try and fail and try again until you find what works the best for you.

#drvn30 #food #eating #diet #weight loss #my journey

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stegrossaurus · 1 year

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Brain Drain

by Fabian

I woke up with a headache and nausea. The room spun and my feet felt like they had to go through a whirlpool just to get to the carpet. Fairly standard morning.

At breakfast, my parents waited with fake smiles and pamphlets for just the right time to ask. I tried to scarf down everything as quickly as possible, but they beat me to it.

Mom started things off, talking with exceeding gentleness like I'm an excitable toddler. "Fabian, have you given any thought to the school we showed you?"

"It looks like such a great place, right, son?" Dad dutifully simped right after. "You could fit right in and maybe even try out for sports. You used to love baseball, remember?"

They were speaking of the Rayner Institute, a helmet-and-water-wings school/prison where parents dump off teenagers who can't sing the alphabet song. Or the ones they “accidently” threw down the stairs when they were 11. Tweedledumbass and Tweedledipshit shoved the pamphlets in my face and gushed about the lovely campus and all the fun activities. You know, like making Play-do giraffes and getting drugged to the gills by thugs in white coats.

I’d had enough practice controlling my anger to not shove the pamphlets up their asses. Instead, I just told them, “I’m good at my school, thanks. I get mostly As and Bs, so there’s no need to worry about my grades.”

Mom’s face clouded. “But, Fabian, aren’t you still being bullied?”

My head started to surge with pain, but I’d had just as much practice hiding that. “No, not anymore. The teachers put an end to that. I should go. Love you. Bye.” I swallowed what’s left of my breakfast and bolted out the door. Lying and smooth exits were things I still needed to work on.

Telling them about Javier was a mistake. I actually thought they’d be understanding, but instead, they just used it as another reason to send me away. Anything to assuage their guilt and avoid any kind of blame. For the last five years, I’d given my all to get good grades, manage my temper, avoid fights, never complain, take my meds; anything to get that two-headed dick of a parent to leave me alone. That morning, I saw no reason to change that policy. Any bit of good behavior is a bit more proof that I don’t need the Rayner Institute.

So, when teachers rolled their eyes while I tried to finish a problem, I ignored it. When Javier swiped my cane and shoved me to the floor, I didn't retaliate. When he and his friends stole my bag, ripped up my notes, ate my lunch, and threatened to beat me up if any of my “waterhead pills” were in it, I just sat on the floor and took it. Thing is, I’m pretty big for my age and Javier’s pretty small. But Javier knew that I couldn’t fight back, even if he didn’t know the exact reason, so being an asshole to me was a decent way to build his reputation.

“You know, Fabby, I’m going to miss you when they ship you off to that retard school,” Javier says in between bites of my sandwich. Our fathers worked together and they both had big mouths. “Maybe if I tell everyone you killed yourself, we’ll get the day off.”

I could have told him that his own suicide would get him every day off, but that would have been retaliation. The words would have just gotten lost on the way to my mouth, anyway. So I waited, they left, and I continued my day.

Sometimes, the basement door would be guarded or locked. For my lunch break that day, it was neither. The school never put a large amount of effort in keeping us out, which I’ve always chalked up to denial. Their official stance was that Devon didn’t exist.

Devon’s circle was on the far side of the basement, far away from anything anyone would need and partly hidden by broken equipment. There were a few burnouts, goths, and curious freshmen eating lunch around the iron ring embedded in the solid granite floor. The creature inside looked like a bull sitting on four squat frog legs. Lumps of lapis lazuli and oozing red sores dotted his otherwise black, spiky skin, clumping up heavily where a head would normally be. Not having eyes or ears didn't stop him from noticing me when I approached.

"Fabian, my dear. How has the day been so far?" Devon's voice hissed smoothly from his holes.

"Terrible and boring but no more so than normal," I answered. I decided to keep my parents' idea to myself; there's only so much temptation I can take.

"Anything I can help with?" he asked. He was too cool to sound desperate, but he still edged his front left foot a little too close to one of the bowls attached to the iron ring. The only one without something inside.

I stroked my glasses, particularly the little screw in the handle, as I think. My parents turned into circus clowns, the Rayner Institute filled with cow-sized murder hornets, Javier being raped to death by wild boars in the school parking lot while Japanese tourists laugh and take pictures…

"Nope. Nothin'," I said after a second.

Devon's a good enough sport to laugh while everyone else exhaled a little. One of the freshmen noticed the bowls and asked about them. Devon turned his attention to the kid; he loved explaining this part.

"Souls, my love," Devon explained. "Just give me something small and metal with the intent of giving me your soul and you will. And then I will grant your wish." He tapped the only empty bowl. "One more soul and the circle will break and I will be free." He couldn't smile and the sound of his voice made me grateful for that.

Then another freshman asked another question everyone asks, the one whispered with the anticipation of an answer no one would like.

"What will you do once you're free?"

The answer scared a few people upstairs and reminded us all of why we should never make a deal with him. As much as I hated everyone, I valued my soul just a bit more. We all do: the Goths who think everyone is stupid, the burnouts who say they don't care, the freshmen with all their bullies and confusion and need to belong. None of us were willing to risk releasing a demon on the world and give him our souls.

He never explained in detail who summoned and imprisoned him, just that it was someone more powerful. All of the anger and desperation inherently found in a high school made it easy to summon a demon there. If all of his stories of what he did in Hell were true, I didn’t want to meet someone whose power outstripped Devon’s.

Still, listening to stories of the atrocities Devon had committed was a fun way to spend lunch. At least he was honest. He never hid who he was or what he wanted, even though he probably should have. I'd never have said it out loud, but I would have wished to be able to live like that.

The rest of the day continued as normal: questions and tests that made my head spin, teachers and classmates that made my stomach churn. I kept telling myself, 'Just two more years'. Then I could move to a place where no one knows me or gives me pitying and impatient looks. Deep down though, I knew that dream might be of the pipe variety. I could see a conservatorship in my future if my parents didn't get over themselves.

The day ended, as all Tuesdays and Thursdays did, with a trip to Dr. Schwimmer, my counselor. Her job was to scrunch up her doughy face into a patronizing smile, talk at me like I'm 5, and suggest more nonsense to "help" me.

Javier shoved past me on the way out, shouting over his shoulder, "It's none of your damn business! I just fell, that's all!"

That, at least, put a smile on my face. Everyone knew Javi's dad could be a little aggressive with him sometimes. I know I should have sympathized, but honestly it was probably the only bit of justice I'd ever see.

The session was the standard mealy-mouthed idiocy for the most part, but then she ended it with something new.

"Fabian, have you been down to see…him recently?"

That caught me by surprise. Like I said, most staff pretended he wasn’t real. Dr. Schwimmer was a little too slow to put away Javier’s file when I came in. He must have said something to rile her up. I considered lying but the school had plenty of cameras, so I nodded.

“You haven’t made any wishes, have you?” she asked.

“Of course not. You’d know if I did.” Devon’s last wish would set him free; if she knew about the wishes, she should’ve known that.

“I’m just trying to make sure, Fabian,” she said a little nervously. “I know this school isn’t always easy for you and I just want you to be sure about what is and isn’t worth–”

“I’m not retarded!” I snapped. “And you assholes are barely worth talking to let alone losing my soul!”

The pensive look on her face told me that my candor may have been a mistake. That night, my parents confirmed it. The bitch called them and told them about my mild annoyance. They said they still weren’t decided, but I could tell they were one step closer. I went to bed that night seriously considering what I’d told Dr. Schwimmer and what she’d told me. What was my soul worth.

“I’m going to do it.” That’s what I overheard from Javier a few days later. His black eye paired nicely with the bruises on his neck. “I’m going to wish my old man into a fish or something and feed him to the cat.”

He didn’t sound like he was joking and one of his friends must have thought so, to.

“Dude, seriously? What about your soul?”

“Worth it,” Javier spat. “Totally worth it. The second that door’s unlocked, I’m going down there and making a deal with Devon.”

The door to the basement was locked, but that never lasted long. And Javi sounded serious. When I saw the Rayner Institute’s number on the phone log, I knew my days of freedom were numbered. That number had just gotten shorter. If I was going to make a move, it had to be before Javier.

Sometimes it takes me a while to get up and move. Sometimes I forget where I’m supposed to be or have trouble connecting thought to action. People knew that, so they didn’t question me wandering around the weight room during class time. They sniggered in the hallway when they saw me limping harder than normal, never guessing that I’d managed to conceal a 50 lb. weight in my jacket. Once I got to the door, I slammed the weight down on the lock until I heard a crunch and a crack. I ignored the gasps and screams behind me and ran as fast as I could to Devon’s circle.

“Fabian, my sweet. What a lovely–” I didn’t wait for him to finish. I tossed him a small screw from my glasses kit, keeping my soul in mind from the moment it left my fingers to the moment it disappeared into his thick, warty paw.

Something felt like it was draining from my spine, but it wasn’t enough to stop me from saying, “Devon, I wish that my brain damage would be transferred out of me and into everyone I hate.”

Devon’s sores oozed heavily as he said, “As you wish, dear Fabian.”

He plopped the now-glowing screw into the vacant bowl. The effect was instant and beautiful. The room stopped spinning, the signals from my brain to my limbs worked perfectly, and the ever-present confusion and anger evaporated from my mind. I could think and remember and feel without pain. My cane almost looked laughable. I don’t think I fully realized how much I was affected and what I was missing out on. Also, I realized that my socks didn’t match.

The growing footsteps turned into shouts and thuds, which I was expecting. You see, I’d lived with my brain damage for 5 years. I had medicine, techniques, and experience to make it tolerable. The pair of teachers and the security guard that came to apprehend me didn’t. I bet it felt like a train surging across their nervous systems.

The further screams from the doorway told me that Devon’s power was extending outwards. Maybe it was the missing soul, maybe it was five years of bitterness, but I wasn’t too bothered. Those people with their perfect brains and perfect families; if I had to suffer, why not them, too?

After about a minute, Devon started to wheeze from his sores. He still hadn’t left his circle because he still hadn’t granted my wish. I wasn’t completely exaggerating when I said I hated everybody, and his power had just barely cleared the school if the sound of car crashes was any indication. And Devon was getting tired.

“Fabian, dear one. Would you like to consider another wish?” Devon asked, his voice strained and halting. “I’m not sure I can complete this one.”

I shrugged. “Sorry, Devon, but no.”

This was a long shot, but I figured if his power was limitless, he wouldn’t have been imprisoned in the first place. Someone out there had more power than him and that meant his power had limits. Limits I forced him to cross when I gave him my soul. Since he’d already taken it, he had to continue. And so his power bloomed out of him more and more, spanning miles and touching almost every sapient brain along the way, draining his own energy with every inch and every victim.

I’d probably have felt worse if I’d had my soul, but even without it, I still felt a little uneasy. I like Devon, but I had no guarantee that he'd spare me if someone, including me, set him free.

“My clever, wicked boy,” Devon hissed fondly once he’d figured it out. He sounded and looked like he was deflating. The flow of ooze was starting to slow. I tried to apologize, but he said, “Don’t feel too bad. A ten second head-start is the most I would have given you. And worry not about your parents, dear Fabian. They will likely be in the radius.” I was grateful for that and told him as much. “It was my pleasure. Someone as bright and brave as you doesn’t deserve to be restrained. None of us do. Be well, Fabian.”

I managed to brace myself just before my soul and brain damage returned. With Devon dead, the deal voided. My heart and head felt like they’d gained 40 lbs. each and all of it was pain. I didn’t bother checking on anyone on my way home.

A small part of me hoped that this experience would have given my parents a bit more respect for me and what I go through. Maybe, I thought, they’d understand how hard I worked to keep myself together and they would realize that I didn’t need Raynor. All it did was convince them of the exact opposite. No one came right out and said it, but I know some people at least suspected me of the temporary mass agony that had struck thousands. That probably helped their decision.

So now I’m spending my Saturday taking a tour of the wonderful, amazing, totally-not-vomit-inducing shithole I’ll be confined to for the next two years. Or longer if my doctors are complete garbage.

So happy I didn’t let Devon kill us all.

Our terminally cheerful tour guide has just shown us the quiet rooms (lovely little cinder block rooms with no door handles on the inside), when I spot something out of the window.

“What’s that shed for?” I ask.

The tour guide’s smile faltered. “We don’t use that shed,” she said a little forcefully. “There are…dangerous…things in there. It’s not important. It’s locked. Here, let's go see some classrooms.”

Huh. Well, that was suspicious. And familiar. A place of anger and desperation. A locked door with something dangerous on the other side. The people in charge trying to pretend that it wasn’t real. And if that shed is anything like the last off-limits area I remember, it won’t stay locked for long.

“None of us”, Devon had said. As in, more than one. I finger my metal zipper as the tour guide and my parents babble on. I won’t waste my second chance. It’s like Dr. Schwimmer said, you have to know what is and isn’t worth your soul.

And congratulations, you assholes are.

#short story #demon #brain_damage #fair_warning_this_one's_kind_of_an_asshole #wish

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hangovercurse · 3 years

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Last Night ii// Better Sober

After a show, you and Kells finally get around to the things you wanted to do sober.

Request: “I loved the new fic ‘Last Night’, any chance you’d write a second part where they sleep together sober-ish? If so could you write reader on top riding kells in it?””I just read “last night” (colson) and now I need a smut of their first time after the hangover omg pls 🥺”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: Smut (18+), cursing

A/N: Sorry this took so long *_*

Word Count: 2577

part i

Slim and Baze were never going to let you live this down. Once you and Colson had finally built up the strength to stand up, you quickly packed the rest of your things and got on your band’s bus, ignoring the snickers coming from the older men.

“Are you sure you don’t want to ride with us, Y/N? Keep the party going?” Slim asked, jokingly. You sent them a glare as you handed your suitcase to your bus manager, who was in the process of loading everything onto the bus.

“I will end both of you.” You grumbled, walking towards the stairs to board your bus.

Baze laughed, “we’re only joking. We all knew it’d happen eventually.” His dramatic smile combined with your pounding headache and nausea made for a very annoyed Y/N.

“I will say this once, and then never again. Either of you bring this shit up again, I’ll kill you.” You jabbed two fingers towards them. “Now I’m going to take a nap in my bed, on my bus.”

You walked up the stairs, your bandmates giving you puzzled looks as Slim called “love you too, kid!” You threw yourself into your bunk, not even bothering an explanation to your bandmates, the only thing on your mind was sleep.

Not 2 minutes after you’d closed the curtain to shield you from the outside world did it open again. You were laying on your side, back to the curtain to be as comfortable as possible. When the light from the hallway flooded into your bunk, you pretended to be asleep, hoping whoever it was would just go away.

You had no such luck, as seconds later the mystery person was climbing into your bunk, lying beside you. Curious, you turned to see who it was, though you could make an assumption. Finding the sleepy face of none other than Colson Baker, you smiled, turning to lay facing him.

“Your bus is quieter than mine.” He mumbled, wrapping his arms around you, and pulling you closer to him. “And I like sleeping with you better than sleeping alone.”

You shifted so that he could lay further away from the edge, resting your head on his shoulder, and laying an arm across his stomach. “I don’t mind.” You whispered, eyes closing slowly, “But as soon as we leave this bunk, we’re gonna have a million questions.”

Colson shrugged sleepily, moving your head with his motion. He mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “eh, fuck em” but you were already slipping away from consciousness.

The show you played that next night was arguably one of your best, probably due to the fact that Colson was watching you from the side of the stage the entire time. You tried to keep yourself from glancing over at him every few minutes, but between the adrenaline from the show, the smirk on his face, and the fact that you were wearing his shirt made that impossible.

You were sure fans would notice the familiar “Lace Up” shirt, but Colson claimed he “didn’t give a fuck” and he wanted to watch you play while wearing his clothes. You had no problem with it, enjoying the fact that he wanted everyone to know that you were his.

Once your set had finished and you’d thanked the audience, you ran off stage, your concert high rushing through your veins. Colson was getting ready to go on stage, so you figured you’d let him be until after the show.

As you and your drummer walked towards the greenroom, bouncing off each other’s energies, you were snatched away by a set of tattooed hands. “I’m borrowing her for a second.”

You giggled as Colson pulled you behind a cluster of cases, lips finding yours immediately. Your hands wrapped around his neck, pulling you up closer to him. “God you are so fuckin’ hot” he mumbled against your lips.

“Don’t you have a show to go do?” You asked, a smirk on your lips.

He rolled his eyes and kissed you again. “You’re gonna watch, right?”

You chuckle lightly, “of course I’m watching. I was gonna go freshen up a little bit because I am soaked in sweat though.” As you spoke his lips travelled to your jawline, kissing up towards your ear. “You’re gonna be late if you don’t stop.” You told him, leaning your head to give him better access to your skin.

“We’ll finish this later.” Though the words came out in a whisper, there was clear dominance in his voice, making you smirk slyly. He moved away from you, hands lingering on your waist. “Keep that shirt on” he mouthed to you as he joined his band, putting his ears in.

You gave him a thumbs up, walking towards your dressing room to clean up as much as possible. The shirt you were wearing was drenched in sweat, but Kells had demanded you keep it on, much to your dismay.

Every time Colson looked side stage, you were standing there, watching him perform. You couldn’t see it, but the hungry look in your eyes had more of an effect on him than playing the set did. All he was thinking about anytime he found your eyes was dragging you to the hotel and fucking the life out of you.

And that’s pretty much the situation you found yourselves in, making out in the backseat of an uber on your way to the hotel. You barely made it through the lobby and into the elevator without his lips on yours, almost too intoxicated by them to care.

When you finally did get to the hotel room, Colson’s lips latched onto yours, pressing you up against the door. You moaned lightly as his teeth grazed over your bottom lip, the sound bringing a smirk to his face.

“Every time I looked over and saw you watching me, all I could think about was fucking you in this goddamn shirt.” When he spoke, his voice came out dark and dangerous, sending chills through your body. His hands moved underneath the shirt you were wearing, cupping your boobs as he reattached your lips.

You gasped as his cold hands made contact with your nipples, massaging them gently. “No bra?” He asked against your mouth, smirking.

“Figured it would make this a little easier.” You said before kissing him again. He hummed approval and continued to fondle your tits. The hands you had placed around his neck pulled lightly at the hair near his neck from pleasure.

His hands moved down your waist until they reached your ass, squeezing the skin through your shorts. He pulled you towards the bed, lips still locked on yours. Taking some initiative, you pushed him down onto the bed, pulling your shorts down to expose your underwear.

Colson threw his shirt off, exposing his infamous tattooed torso. You reached for the hem of the shirt you were wearing, but Colson stopped you. “Keep it on. I wanna think about this every time I see that fucking shirt.”

You let out a slight laugh, “the fucking shirt.” Colson rolled his eyes, pulling you by the elastic of your panties towards him. His hands went to your thighs, pulling them so that you were sitting on his lap, one knee on either side of his torso.

“You’re really lame, you know that?” He asked as you rested your arms on his shoulders. You bit your lip and nodded, pressing your hips further into his lap. His hands ran up the sides of your thighs and to your waist, pausing briefly to squeeze your ass. “It’s kinda hot though.” He mumbled, guiding your hips to roll onto his.

You leaned in, pressing your lips against his in a needy, passionate kiss. You continued to grind against his clothed hips, hands moving to run up and down his abdomen, taking in the muscle under your fingers.

Colson finally got impatient and pulled away from your kiss, gently moving you off of him and standing up. You gave him a confused frown, wondering if you’d done something wrong. Your silent question was answered when he pulled down his pants, leaving him in only his boxers.

The outline of his length through the thin material almost had you drooling. The wetness that had been between your legs since you’d put on his shirt made a reappearance. He turned around and shuffled through his bag, pulling out a foil packet and tossing it on the bedside drawers. “So we don’t forget.” He smiled, hands moving around your waist. His lips met yours briefly, but you had decided you wanted something else. You pulled away, pressing kisses to his jaw instead, travelling down to his neck.

The man chuckled as you took control, your lips finding their way to his collarbone and sucking on the skin between his tattoos, hoping to leave a mark. You continued your trek down his body, stopping just above his waistband to lick the three red X’s that lay on his skin. He threw his head back, “you are going to be the death of me.”

You looked up at him with a hum of agreement, your fingers grasping the waistband of his underwear and pulling them down to expose his hard member. He took in a sharp breath as you lightly stroked his length with your fingertips. Your tongue slipped out from between your teeth to lightly lick his tip, swirling around it. Colson’s grasped your hair, forcing you to look up to him, “don’t be a fucking tease.”

His voice was forceful, demanding. You obeyed willingly, wrapping your lips around his shaft, sucking gently. You heard the man let out a quiet moan of pleasure, encouraging you to take more of him into your mouth. What you couldn’t fit you jerked with your hand, Colson’s hand wrapping tighter into your hair as you did so.

You picked up your pace, eyes flicking up to take in his look of pleasure every so often. His moans were a music to your ears, the thrusts of his hips a work of art. “You feel so good, baby,” his husky voice flooded the room, “touch yourself for me.”

Using the hand that wasn’t pumping his cock to trail down to your panties, you moved them to the side and swiped across your slit. You hummed around his member, his hips jerking into you. “I bet you’re fucking soaked, aren’t you?”

You hummed again in agreement, one finger dipping into your heat, slowly spreading yourself out. Colson yanked your head back, making you look up at him again. “Use your words.”

“So wet for you.” You moaned, adding a second finger into yourself. Colson smirked at your confession, guiding your lips back onto his cock. Your pumps got faster, as did your sucking. The hand on your head pushed you further onto his length, speeding up your pace.

When you felt yourself nearing your release, Colson pulled your head off his member, cradling your face in his hands. He pulled you up lightly, your fingers removing themselves from you. He took your hand and guided it to his lips, sucking your juices off your fingers.

You reached over to the table, grabbing the condom. Your hands moved up Colson’s chest, exploring the skin. He leaned in and pressed a deep kiss to your lips, hands grabbing your waist and pulling you closer to him. You let him pull your underwear down your legs and took advantage of his momentary distraction.

As soon as he stood back up, you turned the two of you around, pushing him down onto the bed. “Oh hell no.” He said, sitting up to try and pull you onto the bed with him.

You gave him puppy dog eyes, toying with the condom wrapper in your hand. “What’s wrong, intimidated by a girl being on top?”

He chuckled, “you think you’re so tough, huh?” You nodded, moving to kneel at the foot of the bed, crawling up his body. “Don’t complain when you get tired.” He leaned back, arms resting behind his head to show he wasn’t going to help you.

“I think you’re scared of not being in control.” You whispered, landing in the position you had been working towards.

Colson scoffed, “I can still be in control from here.” You raised an eyebrow at him, hand reaching out to stroke his length. He tried to bite down his groans, but you knew they were there.

You rolled the condom onto his member, taking in the sight of him below you. “You were saying?” You shifted so that your body hovered above him, lining him up to your entrance. Slowly, you sank down onto him, both of you letting out synchronous moans of pleasure.

His hands moved to your thighs, rubbing up and down the skin. You allowed yourself to adjust before pushing yourself up with your knees and then sinking back down onto his cock. His grip tightened as you moved, trying not to guide you.

You sprawled your hands on his chest, watching his expression as you rode him. You swiveled your hips every once in a while, just to hear his moans. “Fuck.” He growled when you began to move faster, his length filling you up.

Colson’s grasp on your thighs began to lead you up and down, his hips thrusting to meet yours. He was right about one thing; he could still be in control from underneath you. You let out a whine every time he hit the right spot inside of you, your sounds filling the room.

“Fuck baby, you look so good,” he moaned out, looking up to you with your head thrown back and eyes closed in pleasure. “Getting fucked in my T-shirt. Want everyone to know you’re mine.”

You smirked at his words, “I’m all yours,” you whined out, the movement of your hips getting sloppier. One of his hands moved to your clit, rubbing circles onto the bundle of nerves. “Ah, fuck.” You moaned, hips bucking onto his further.

After a few more pumps you were at the edge of bliss, so close to falling off. You could tell Colson was close, his thrusts getting sloppy and his tip twitching inside of you. “You gonna cum, baby?” He whispered; eyes shut in pleasure. You hummed out a response, too indulged in the pleasure that you were so close to.

“Mm, cum around my cock, baby.” His fingers on your clit picked up pace, sending you diving over the cliff and into a pool of euphoria. Electricity spread through your body as your high washed over you. Colson continued thrusting into you, his orgasm following yours. You rode them out together, breaths heavy.

Once his thrusts slowed to a stop you lifted yourself off of his member and fell down beside him. He turned onto his side, eyes wandering your body. “You’re so beautiful.” His voice was breathy and tired, but one of the best sounds you’d ever hear.

You looked up to him, a small smile playing on your face. “Shut up.” You giggled, pushing him back down onto his back. He chuckled, standing up to dispose of the condom before climbing back onto the bed next to you, this time pulling you into his arms. His back leaned against the headboard, arm wrapped around you, with your head laying on his chest.

“Better sober?” You asked with a small chuckle.

“Better sober.”

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk fluff #mgk x reader #mgk smut #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly smut #colson baker #colson baker imagine #colson x reader #colson baker fluff #colson baker x reader #colson baker smut

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arminbitchlover · 3 years

Text

Confession (F!reader x Jean Kirschstein)

content warnings: mild language, smut, oral (F receiving), praise, unprotected sex, alcohol/intoxication

summary: reader and jean have been in love w one another for years, but never actually admitted it. it wasn't until one night at marley, drunk jean decided to change all of that and finally make them his.

word count: 3.1k

DO NOT POST/SHARE MY WORK ON TIKTOK

You forgot what it was like to genuinely have fun with your friends again. You couldn't recall the last time you got together and not worry about your lives being at risk. It didn't matter to you whether it be making bets to see who takes a shot or reminiscing on old times during training, it just made you feel somewhat at peace.

"C'monnnn, y/n!! a single shot won't hurt anybody." Hange playfully shoves your shoulder as they hold a shot glass in front of your face.

"I rather not, but thank you anyways." You giggle and push away the shot from your view.

"More for me." They chug down the alcohol as if it was water, not being affected from the after burning effect.

You never really liked the idea of being drunk; having little to no memory of what you're doing and having to deal with migraines and nausea the next morning did not please you in the slightest. Jean, on the other hand, didn't seem to care much about the consequences.

"Y-Yeah, ssoooo then I-I zoomed in and swoosh titan DEAD!" Jean hiccups and waves around his hands as he tells Connie his, more than likely, fictional kill.

"You sound like an idiot." Connie playfully smacks Jean's shoulder, laughing out loud.

"Youu are— More pleaseee." Jean slurs out his sentences into one while pointing at his empty glass.

"Sure, buddy." Connie smiles and grabs his glass, walking over to the bar.

Before he could call over a bartender to fill Jean's cup, you clear your throat to catch his attention.

"Don't you think Jean is going a bit overboard with the alcohol?" You flash a confused look to Connie and immediately break out into a smile.

"Oh fuck yes, but he's enjoying himself so I'll let this one slide." He sits on the chair next to you, glancing at Jean and Armin having some kind of competition.

"Yeah, he is..." You trail off, letting your mind wander off as you stare at Jean.

You never had the courage to admit to Jean how much he meant to you since the day you met him. You recall it as if it was yesterday, you were practicing with ODM gear and one of your hooks stopped working and Jean didn't waste a second to help you. You remember everything about him at that moment, how he had a grass stain in the mid left of his shirt and how he had a small scratch right under his left eye as well.

Before you got the chance to tell him how you felt, you found out about how Jean was basically in love with Mikasa and fuck did that hurt, but it was over now. That was 4 years ago and now you're here, still with the same little crush but understanding there was no point of trying to make it anymore than that.

"Uhhh, y/n?" Connie snaps you out of your thoughts, noticing your eyes never leaving Jean.

"Huh? Oh— sorry." You turn your head back to Connie, wanting to get Jean out of your thoughts.

"You know, he's stupid if he doesn't see what an amazing person you are." He smiles, immediately seeing through you.

"Is it really that obvious?" You slightly smack your forehead.

"Somewhat, but, hey, you really should try to shoot your shot. Jean got over Mikasa a while back and I notice the way he glances at you when you're not looking." He hits your shoulder with his, getting a small chuckle out of you.

"Yeah as if." You grin and continue your conversation with Connie, unaware that Jean has been shooting quick looks at both of you when neither of you were looking.

Jean never likes thinking about his feelings, let alone talking about them, especially after being rejected by Mikasa, but he will never get over how everything about you causes butterflies in his stomach.

He will never forget when he noticed how perfect you were, it was during dinner with all the scouts and the usual argument between him and Eren had arisen. Everyone else was telling Jean to quit and that he was being rude for no reason, but you were the only one who stood up for him. He will never forget how you looked, you had a bruise on your forearm and a gash on your right cheek from cutting yourself with a branch, but he still thought you look absolutely beautiful

Now it was two years later, and he never actually thought of ever telling you how he felt since he just assumed that it was some type of infatuation, but it was so much more than that. Before he had the chance to tell you how he felt, his self doubt clouded his mind, telling him that it was just a one sided crush and he believed it.

"Armin, d-do yerrr think y/n and Connie— together?" Jean clumsily turned his head to Armin, seemingly forgetting what they were talking about in the first place.

"Jean, you're completely over analyzing them. They're just friends." Armin laughs, quickly noticing Jean's jealousy.

"I-I hope so," He hiccups, still staring down Connie and notices you laughing at something he said.

"Oh, fuck this." Jean tightens his hands into fists, gets up and walks towards you, not aware that he was leaning to his left.

"CONNIE!" He grabs his best friend from his collar, pulling him out of your seat.

"JEAN— WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?" Connie grips Jean's wrist, pushing him away.

You stand there in shock, not knowing how to help either of them.

"Y-Y-You know how I feel about y/n and youuu still decide— steal her from me," He stammers while using the bar table for balance.

You and Connie both look at each other, completely stunned from what just came out of his mouth.

"Jean..." You trail off and slowly make your way towards him, scared that what he says is too good to be true.

"Whattt?" He makes eye contact, genuinely curious why you were calling him.

"Maybe we should go back to the hotel and get you some water." Connie rubs Jean's back, completely disregarding what had just transpired between them.

"Wait—" Jean pulls away from Connie and faces towards you.

"I love-love you, okay?" He grazes his fingers across your forearm, not thinking much of what he just confessed.

You feel your face start to heat up and your heart begins to pound rapidly in your throat. You couldn't believe what you just heard, you think it's some sort of twisted lie that his drunken self has just stirred up. It was all too good to be true, right?

"You're wasted, Jean." You move your arm away, doubting everything he just spat out.

"I knew you didn't f-feel the samee way." He looks down on the floor, looking as if he wanted to barf and cry at the same time.

"Let's uh— go, Jean." Connie gives you a weak smile before taking him out of the bar.

You sit alone for a few minutes, not knowing what to do with yourself before deciding that you just needed to end this night already. You get your things and make your way to your hotel and check in.

You grab the keycard from the receptionist and head to your room, feeling completely empty inside. You didn't really feel like staying up any longer after what happened even though it was barely 11:30, so you took a shower and went to bed with Jean's confession playing repeatedly in your head.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

You wake up to knocking at your door, leaving you completely startled. You rub your eyes before looking at the clock, 4:54.

"What the fuck.." You mumble to yourself and get out of bed and check the peephole, seeing Jean with no shirt and pajama pants.

Your chest tightens and you immediately open the door, not giving it any thought.

"Y/n..." He rubs the back of his neck, not making any eye contact.

"Jean." You keep your body somewhat hidden behind the door, not knowing what to do.

"Can I please come in?" He looks at you, hoping you'll say yes.

"Well, are you still drunk?" You smile, trying to lighten up the mood.

"Oh no, I— um slept it off, I just have a headache." He laughs as you widen the door and allow him to walk in.

"Is everything okay?" You sit on the bed, hoping that he doesn't bring up anything he said at the bar.

"So, uh Connie told me everything." You feel your heart drop to your stomach, already assuming what his next words are going to be.

"And?" You close your eyes, preparing for the worst.

"I can't really take back what I said, you deserve to know the truth," Your eyes widen and you turn to look at him, his eyes on you, "I just need to know if you feel the same way."

"Y-You really like me?" You feel butterflies in your stomach, everything beginning to feel so surreal.

"Of course I do, what is there not to like about you." He chuckles and takes a seat next to you.

"Well um- I like you too... For a while now actually." You hesitate as you realize that this was real, Jean really sees you as more than just a friend.

"Really?" His face turns red, not noticing that he immediately took a hold of your hand.

"Yes, really." You squeeze his hand for reassurance.

You both stare into each other's eyes for a little bit, enjoying one another's presence, unaware that both of you start leaning in at the same time

Your lips slightly brush against each other, feeling the electricity trill through your body before connecting them and letting the warmth of his body consume you.

You've never shared a kiss like this before; one that's so deep and passionate and could almost feel all the feelings you have for one another being poured onto it.

"God, you're perfect," Jean whispers as he slowly lowers you to the point when you're laying flat on the bed and he's on top, both of his legs on each side of yours.

You glide your hand across his chiseled jaw while he has a firm grip on your waist, scared that if he let go it would all be over. You completely underestimated how much you wanted him, not just physically, but all of him.

"Do you want this?" He lifts his head and rubs his thumb in tiny circles on your cheek.

"I do." You grab his face with both of your hands, pulling him in for another slow and sensual kiss.

You grind slightly against him, already feeling the arousal pooling low in your stomach just from a kiss. You slide your hands down to his abs, lightly tracing them with your index finger.

He moves his hands down to your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it off to the side. His eyes widen, completely in shock that you were without a bra.

"What?" You giggle, lifting his chin to make eye contact.

"Nothing." He grins and gives you a peck, before turning his focus back down to your chest.

He starts by kissing on your collarbone, intertwining his hands with yours by the sides of your head; tightening his grip each time he marks your skin.

"Shit." You exhale heavily, loving the intimacy Jean created with everything he was doing to you.

He made his way to your tits, taking his hand to massage your left breast while he kisses and lightly sucks the other one with care. You run your hands through his hair, taking in everything he was doing to you.

"Is it okay if I- um go down on you?" He breathes out, feeling his hard cock get tight against his pants.

"Of course." You feel your face heat up and help him pull down your underwear.

He pepper kisses all the way down your stomach before reaching your slick center. You feel your heartbeat start to quicken, already feeling prepared as this was something you would think about endlessly, but before he did anything you feel your legs being hoisted onto his shoulders and his grip on your outer thighs become more firm.

You suddenly felt the pad of his thumb lightly press against your clit, involuntarily causing your hips to buck up. You glance down and see a smile across his face.

"I'm going to take my sweet time with you and I'll make sure you feel nothing but pleasure, okay?" He smirks at you and goes back down, not waiting for a response.

"O-Okay." You took in a sharp breath, unexpectedly feeling his hot wet tongue take in your arousal that covered your slit.

He focuses on your clit, doing sloppy circles at a tedious pace. Even though he just started, you love every second of this. It makes you feel so special to have someone wanting to spend a great deal of time just pleasing you and not worry about anything else.

His hands slowly rub up and down on the outer sides of your thighs, making his actions so much more intimate. He continues his sensual pace, as you grip his brown locks, feeling fuzzy.

"Mm, Jean," You moan, grinding against his mouth wanting a bit more.

He didn't hesitate, seemingly already knowing what you wanted, and slips his middle finger into you. He still wasn't rushing anything, wanting to make everything last as long as possible, wanting to ensure your first time with each other was nothing but perfect.

It slips into you effortlessly, taking his finger in while your walls clech against it. While you don't realize, Jean's dick is seeping with precum, making a small wet spot go through his boxers and onto his sweatpants.

"Another please." You're so ready to gush all over him; you never understood the effect unhurried foreplay could have on you until this moment. You didn't think it could turn you on this much, let alone cum, but fuck, Jean was making it happen and it was coming fast.

He pushes in his ring finger, curling them both to hit your g-spot, causing your vision to swim.

"Cum on my face, please," Jean mumbles, slightly picking up the speed but nothing too harsh and abrupt.

It didn't take long for you to fall apart, your thighs trembling against him as you moan out his name while gushing on his face and fingers.

"You sound so pretty saying my name." He pulls away and smirks at you, gently rubbing your clit to bring you back down from your high.

"Well maybe you should try and make me do it again," You giggle, feeling ready for what was about to happen.

He makes his way back up your body, pulling off his pants and boxers before aligning himself.

"Are you sure you want this?" He looks into your eyes, worried that he'll fuck up somehow and ruin everything.

"Yes, I'm sure." You pull him in for a gentle kiss, feeling him push into you and stretch you out.

You gasp, not expecting him to be as big as he was. You feel your walls clench against him trying to take him in as smoothly as possible even if it was borderline painful.

"Shit— are you okay?" Jean stops, giving you a worried look, noticing discomfort flash across your face.

"I'm fine, keep going," You reassure him and you mean it. It wasn't anything that was excruciatingly painful, but rather just pressure and soreness and you had to admit it felt fucking amazing.

"I'm still going to take it slow alright? I just— really want to enjoy this moment with you." He kisses your forehead and moves your hands to the top of your head, holding them with one hand and the other gripping the bed frame.

So many thoughts go through your head at once. One part of you was so happy that you and Jean were finally together, admitting to each other what you've kept hidden for years. The other was so fucking scared, scared that there was no certainty that either of you would be alive by next week. So you understood Jean's words and you wanted to enjoy every second with him as well, as if it were your last.

He slides further into you, already feeling his cock start to twitch in you from how tight you are.

"Fuuckk," He drawls, feeling his tip hit your cervix.

"Y-You feel so good," You whimper, feeling yourself coat his dick in arousal as your back starts to arch against his stomach.

He keeps his slow and sensual pace, resting his forehead against yours while giving you soft kisses between each thrust.

You close your eyes, savoring what he feels like inside you, his sluggish movements making you feel fuzzy and warm.

You feel the pressure build up in your stomach again, feeling him hit a spot so deep in you that you didn't realize was even there.

"'m gonna cum again." Your eyes roll back and you move your hips against him, seeing stars as he puts a bit more pressure into your sweet spot, feeling your walls start to flutter.

"Don't hold back." He moves his hand that is holding yours back down to your clit, setting you over the edge.

"Jean!" You throw your head back, losing yourself in the waves of sensations and feeling yourself tightly clutch on his cock.

"Fuck, I think I'm gonna cum too." He immediately pulls out and begins pumping himself.

Your stomach becomes painted with hot white spurts of cum, seeing Jean's face wash over with bliss and relief.

"That was... wow." Jean smiles and pulls you in for one final kiss before putting back on his clothes and walks over to the bathroom to get paper towels.

"That was worth the wait," You giggle, reaching your hand forward as you try to grab the paper towels from his hand.

"No, please, let me." He lightly pushes you back down, gently wiping down your stomach and making sure you were clean before laying back down next to you.

"Thank you, Jean." You rest your head against his chest, listening to his heart beat.

"Why are you thanking me?" He clumsily traces your back, taking in your scent.

"Making me happy." You pull away and look into his eyes, caressing his cheek.

"Well in that case, I promise I will do everything I can to make you as happy as possible for the rest of our lives." He chuckles and kisses your temple before pulling you back into his chest, both of you drifting off to sleep.

#jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschstein #jean kirschtein smut #attack on titan smut #attack on titan #snk jean #jean snk #tw: intoxication

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delimeful · 3 years

Text

or set your teeth against my throat (2)

warnings: illness, mild emeto, bad decisions, miscommunication, short panic attack/flashback

---

As the night turned to dawn and then day, Roman didn’t stop running.

He couldn’t stop, even as his pace grew more and more sluggish, his path erratic. Every time he thought about pausing, finding a good campsite and finally letting himself take a breath, it was as though phantom sensations grasped at his skin or tore at his throat.

He kept moving.

It was stupid, probably, being driven forward by fear like a mindless animal. … It was definitely stupid. Still, after ages spent trapped in one form, the full moon’s pull on the wolf in him was irresistible.

For the first time in ages, he worried about the possibility of coming astray of a human settlement once the moon was overhead. Normally, Virgil was the one who dedicated himself to making sure their pack’s turning ground was far from any stab-happy humans, always double and even triple-checking.

In his current state, Roman could barely discern a single natural scent around him, let alone any human scents he should avoid. He kept feeling eyes on him, silent watchers, but the distinction between reality and his own terrified delusions was growing thinner.

When the sun finally sank below the horizon, Roman allowed himself to collapse on a soft patch of earth under a shielding copse of saplings. He had some hope, however shallow, that by wearing himself out, his wolf would spend the night curled up somewhere, settled into a sleep heavy enough to erase the pounding headache settled deep in his skull.

He’d been a fool to let himself hope.

His memories while fully-turned were foggy as usual, but the emotions were clear: he’d spent his entire night on the move. His wolf had been howling long, agonized calls into the dark around him, desperately searching for the other members of his small pack. Desperately waiting for a response that would never come.

To top it all off, when he woke up human-shaped in the early hours of dawn, his headache had only grown worse.

His only turn of fortune was that his wolf hadn’t traveled back the way he’d come, driven away by some immutable sense of danger. He could at least be grateful he wouldn’t have to make up for any lost progress, even if his body was weak and trembling from being pushed past the brink of exhaustion.

The further he got from those bloodsuckers, the better.

His vision blurred slightly with each step. It was seeming more and more likely that he was growing feverish, though it was hard to tell with nobody else around to ask. He kept pressing a hand to his forehead and neck, trying to gauge his temperature, but his hands were warm, too.

He’d complained about his packmates’ terrible circulation and icy fingers before, but there was very little he wouldn’t do for them now… Just the phantom memory of Virgil’s cool hand on his head, voice sharp but touch unbearably gentle, was enough to make tears prick his eyes.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself up on shaky legs. There was no way he could give up now, feverish or not. What would his packmates advise?

“For survival, shelter and water are most important,” he mumbled to himself, wincing at the poor imitation. He cleared some of the raspiness from his throat, imagining Logan’s face when he really got into sharing his newest bit of knowledge. “Running water is preferable to still water, which can carry illnesses, and for larger rivers there is also the potential to find freshwater food sources, like salmon, catfish, bass, um… pike, trout… cod?” He frowned, losing the careful enunciation. “Wait, is salmon freshwater?”

Logan could have listed more off, Roman was sure, but the effort helped cheer him nonetheless. He spent the next few hours winding his way through the forest, attempting every so often to sniff the air for damp soil with little success.

His ears still worked fine, however, and so when he caught the first distant trickle of rushing water, he wasted no time in following the sound. It was no river, but the stream was plenty to help quench the dryness in the back of his throat.

“Go upstream,” he could imagine Virgil demanding, “make yourself harder to track. Wolves aren’t the only ones out there with good noses.”

“The water is so cold, though,” he complained to himself even as he began sloshing through it. “I have squishy human flesh, I’m going to freeze to death.”

Here was where Logan would point out his exaggeration, and Virgil would snap something snarky to distract him from the chill.

The burbling of the water was a poor substitute.

Once his feet grew truly chilled, he waded back out, mimicking Virgil’s voice to caution himself against the more slippery-looking rocks. He probably looked a little silly, holding both parts of a conversation, but it wasn’t as though anyone was around to see.

“Cut me some slack,” he muttered to nobody, allowing the comfort of his wolf form to slide back into place as the day turned to a chilly evening and he lay to rest. “I’m maybe-possibly-feverish, I deserve good things.”

He slept fitfully, and when he woke, there was a gray coat draped over him, and a small pile of walnuts and blackberries sat at his side, the nuts already shelled and the berries freshly washed.

The incredibly suspicious nature of their appearance only stopped Roman from eating them for about five minutes, and four of those five minutes were dedicated to imagining all the reasons Virgil would list to not eat them.

“Sorry, Virge,” he said through a mouthful of fruity deliciousness.

There didn’t seem to be anyone around, and no matter how he buried his face in the coat lining, his nose was too stuffed to pick up anything. It was an extraordinarily soft coat, though, and he felt awfully cold. It was hard for even him to imagine what harm could be done with a coat.

“I’m accepting this Possibly Evil Coat, but only for a little while, so don’t get any ideas!”

The woods were quiet in response to his declaration, and he sniffed daintily before climbing to his feet, internally bemoaning the way the world swayed slightly as he moved.

Couldn’t he just sleep here a bit longer…?

He imagined the unimpressed looks his packmates would give him. Imaginary Virgil in particular wouldn’t stand for sitting around when there was every possibility he was still being hunted.

“For all you know, that vamp was just a sick mind trick, and they’ve been toying with you this whole time!” Virgil would say, jumping to the worst-possible scenario that Roman always stalwartly tried to ignore. He shuddered, glancing around himself.

“You are not helping my mood, mister,” he muttered to Imaginary Virgil as he tromped through the underbrush with much less elegant grace than usual.

The little mystery offerings from the morning had helped stave off his plummeting energy levels, but they weren’t enough. It was only midday when the lightheadedness and the chills shuddering through him became too much, and he found himself collapsed on the ground between one blink and the next.

He was contemplating the benefits of simply remaining facedown on the dirt for a while when a cool hand wrapped around his wrist, carefully tugging him onto his back.

Roman blinked at the face above him, the blurry features slowly resolving themselves into the shape of the vampire who had freed him only nights before. The fear that shot through him didn’t make him any more lucid, and Roman bared his teeth in a snarl that was probably much less fearsome on a human face.

“Told you so,” Imaginary Virgil said, instead of doing anything helpful like tearing a vampire’s throat out. Roman missed Real Virgil.

The vampire was talking, a low, constant noise meant to soothe as he shifted an arm around Roman’s shoulders, lifting him to his feet. The blood rushed to his head, vision going black-- the next thing he knew, he was inside a small cabin, swaddled in blankets, the hearth crackling merrily feet away.

… What had he been worrying about? He couldn’t remember.

A chill shuddered through him. He was still so cold, even as sweat drenched the cloth around him, and he complained relentlessly.

His packmates tolerated his sickbed whining as graciously they always did, though for some reason they were more hesitant than normal to hold him close when he called for them. They seemed to be taking his care in shifts, as there was only ever one person in view, and sometimes he woke up completely alone.

(Strange, since they normally all piled up together when one of them got sick. They probably just needed to prioritize hunting or checking their territory boundaries or something. Roman wasn’t that sick.)

When they were there, Roman rambled and bickered with them nonstop, through shudders and chattering teeth, telling old stories and adding new twists to distract from the sickness ravaging him, only pausing when they pressed coriander seeds or wormwood to his lips.

(That was a little strange. Logan knew mint worked better for Roman’s nausea. Maybe they were out?)

Time passed in a haze, marked only by the frequent offers of fresh water and stale rations. Eventually, he was able to even measure out his healing progress by how often he could keep the aforementioned nutrients down.

(One of them was busy hunting, but somehow there was never any fresh kill.)

He knew his fever had finally, properly broken when he reached out for the one who had been taking care of him all this time, and registered that their skin was icy-cold.

Roman jerked back and then instantly regretted it as every nerve in his body protested severely.

“Ah, careful!” warned the vampire, who was at least smart enough to stay out of immediate biting range. His hands fluttered around as though he was attempting to bat away the dark spots that were currently dotting Roman’s vision.

Unbidden, a rough growl tore from him. He had a heartbeat to feel vindicated at the vamp’s flinch before his breath caught in his throat, kicking off an uncontrollable coughing fit.

Each wheeze brought less and less air, and when he caught the vampire shuffling closer, it suddenly felt like he had no air at all. He hunched over his knees, shifting his hands to cover his neck pathetically, as though the motion could protect him.

“Back off,” he snapped, cursing himself when the words came out as barely more than a choked whisper. How many times had he said some variation on the phrase in the past few weeks? He should have learned by now that it never worked.

When he glanced up, though, he found the vampire had practically teleported all the way across the room. The sight of the vamp peering at Roman worriedly from the furthest corner was odd enough to yank his mind out of the half-formed flashback.

He took a deep breath, trying to remember the grounding exercises Virgil always ran through. His wrists were light, his knees didn’t ache; he wasn’t chained down. There was soft fabric around him, and warmth in the air; it was a far cry from cold cement platforms in lifeless forts.

There was a vampire here, but his eyes weren’t red, and he didn’t wear a cruel smile like a second skin. Roman might still be a prisoner, but he wasn’t there anymore.

Instead, his current location was… a curiously cozy cabin?

Roman blinked. It was a single room, a bit sparse in decor but containing a small coal stove, stocked pantry, and a cheerily roaring fireplace. He was sitting on the solitary bed, a nest of blankets creased around him.

He turned his blank gaze back to the vampire. For a moment, the only noise in the room was the low crackle-pop of burning wood.

“Are you okay?” the vampire finally asked, brow creased with what looked like genuine concern. “You’ve been really burning up, and fevers like that can take a lot out of you. At least,” a pause, “as fire as I know.”

Any and all snappy responses (both literal and metaphorical) flew instantly from Roman’s mind. He groaned and slumped over dramatically, ignoring the way his vision swam slightly at the movement. “Augh, that was terrible!”

The vampire grinned, his smile somehow dorky even with the visible fangs. “You don’t have to tell me twice: I’m a fast burner!”

“Are you sure?” Roman asked. “Because this is the worst thing you’ve done to me yet, and I’m including the mind games, apparent abduction, and imprisonment.”

“Flameous last words,” the vamp said, and then the rest of Roman’s statement seemed to catch up with him. He drooped like a wilting flower. “You’re not imprisoned here! And I’m not trying to... mess with you, or anything.”

Roman gave him an unimpressed look. “Just so we’re on the same page, that’s a yes on you abducting me, correct?”

“I mean, yeah, just a little bit,” the vampire admitted, “but I meant it in a helpful way! I wasn’t going to bother you at first, I promise, but then you got sick, and I could tell how feverish you were just looking at you, and--,”

“Wait,” said Roman, his brain slowly churning through the implications of that sentence, “you were just going to follow me without me knowing, the entire way--,” home, he didn’t say, because the mere thought of accidentally leading a coven of vicious vampires to his vulnerable packmates made his stomach turn, and then he was leaning over and being violently ill in the bucket beside his bed.

A cold weight settled against the back of his neck, soothing against his overheated skin for the few seconds it took him to realize what-- or rather, who it was. He jerked away with a halfhearted snarl, probably looking rightly pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” the vampire said mournfully, stopping him short. “I wasn’t trying to upset you, I just-- I knew it was my fault. If I’d gotten the key sooner, or been braver, you wouldn’t have been out in the cold for so long, you might not have caught sick at all. It wouldn’t be right for me to abandon you.”

“Abandon me?” Roman spluttered. What did this guy think he was, some lost pup? “I can take care of myself just fine alone, thank you very much! I have absolutely no need for suspicious sanguinous stalkers on my tail.”

For emphasis, he shoved the blankets off of himself, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and stood up in preparation to leave.

One blink later, he was facedown on the floor, his body numb yet his nose stinging from the impact. “Ow.”

The vampire offered him a hand up. “Autumn is my favorite season, but that certainly didn’t seem like a very nice fall.”

“Must you kick a man while he’s down?” Roman bemoaned, ignoring the proffered hand in favor of pushing himself up.

His traitorous legs wobbled under him, and he ended up collapsing back into a seated position on the bed, right where he’d started. He felt a wave of familiar despair wash over him. The sickness had sapped every ounce of strength from him; whatever villainous plans lay ahead, he had no chance of foiling them.

… Maybe he could still foil some of them.

Roman met the vampire’s gaze as solidly as he could. “No matter how adeptly you try to play the kindly stranger role, I’m not going to fall for it.” I’m not going to lead you to my family. “You may as well cut your losses and do whatever it is you’re planning to do to me.”

He waved a dismissive hand for emphasis, as if it didn’t matter to him. As if the mere idea of getting so close to freedom and then dying (alone, far from his pack, without them ever even knowing what happened to him) wasn’t enough to make him feel like there were roots tangling in his lungs and weeds clogging his throat.

The vampire nodded slowly, a troubled look on his face. “In that case…”

He moved closer, and Roman focused very intently on not flinching, no matter how badly he wanted to, or how hard his body was already shaking. The vampire reached out--

“My name is Patton,” he said, very carefully offering his hand at the midpoint between them, “and what I want is for you to stay right here in this house until you’re healed, and then you can go wherever you want to go, and I’ll make an oath not to follow.”

“What?” Roman blurted, staring at Patton’s hand with blatant confusion. “You-- I-- What?”

“I really don’t want to hurt you, kiddo.” Roman stiffened, because that was a classic villain line setup if he’d ever heard one, but-- “So, once you’re healed, whatever you need me to do to prove it, I’ll do it.”

Roman’s increasing headache had nothing to do with his fever and everything to do with the oxymoron that was a philanthropist bloodsucker.

What was the right option? He couldn’t get away, but he couldn’t trust that this bizarre hospitality would last, either. Perhaps the best course of action here was inaction-- lulling the vampire into a false sense of security by pretending to be sick even as he grew healthy enough to escape?

Roman could act. He was good at it, and the bar for his illness had been set quite convincingly with his earlier faceplant. He let his muscles go lax, slumping over slightly to give off the impression of conceding without actually ever agreeing to Patton’s proposed plan.

“If you’re so intent on me trusting you, you can start by telling me where I am,” he sniffed, graciously not mentioning the abduction thing again.

Patton brightened, letting his offered hand drop without comment. “This is an aidhouse! It’s part of a system recently set up in this division of the kingdom for common good and to prevent spread of disease.”

That explained the insulated, if somewhat bare, interior. Roman raised a curious eyebrow. “And they’ll let just anyone use it?”

“That’s the principle behind it, yep! Normally, with non-plague cases, an apothecary apprentice would stop by to check in and offer guidance, but I told them I had it apothecovered!”

The puns were apparently a permanent fixture in the guy’s repertoire. Logan would be in agony. Roman ignored the pang in his chest at the thought, leaning further back against the pillow mound. “Yes, you wouldn’t want some poor apprentice to stick around long enough to find out there’s a lone vampire in their midst, would you?”

Dial it back, he could imagine Virgil hissing, as though the emo had any room to talk about unnecessary vitriol.

“Well, no,” Patton admitted, his smile turning a little strained. “But I turned them away because I already have all the experience I need! I worked as a full-time doctor before-- um, before...”

The smile turned full-on tremulous, and Roman was seized by a strange panic at the sight of it. He sprawled over the bed haughtily, the way he always did when demanding attention from his workaholic packmates.

“If you’re such a skilled doctor, then I’m sure you won’t have any problems running me through your treatments so far?” Roman challenged, inspecting his nails. It wasn’t a pointless query, either; some common human treatments were toxic to werewolves.

“Oh!” Patton said, voice still a little choked up. “Of course, let me see…”

The brink-of-tears quality to his words faded as he began to recount everything Roman had missed in his feverish haze. Patton’s exposition was nothing like Logan’s, cheerful rambling and jokes thrown in where Logan preferred efficient lists and muttered tangents.

Roman found himself drifting off to the sound regardless.

It seemed that pretending to trust Patton wouldn’t be as hard as he’d thought.

#sanders sides #ts roman #ts patton #werewolf au #vampire au #my writing #osytamt #or set your teeth against my throat #writing #fantasy au #hurt/comfort #bthb

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pastelwitchling · 3 years

Text

Kyle Valenti Appreciation Week [Day 6]

Kyle opened his eyes to a once-again empty bed and a raging headache. He turned his face into the pillow with a groan, pressing the heel of his palm into his temple.

Then last night hit him – getting drunk, what he’d said to Alex, what Alex had said to him – and he sat up with a gasp. That had been a mistake. It made his head swim and his nausea worse. After slowly inhaling and exhaling a few times, he pushed himself out of bed, and looked around.

“Alex?” he called as he stepped into the rest of the suite, and this time, he found Alex at the small coffee table in front of the terrace.

The airman kept staring out the window, his hands hugging his cup of coffee to keep warm. Kyle saw another coffee cup and a whole breakfast laid out for them. Alex had clearly woken a while ago.

Kyle hesitated at the doorway. Alex had yet to smile or acknowledge him at all. Was he pissed off?

“Morning,” he tried.

“It’s not that I can’t like anyone but Guerin,” was his quiet response, and Kyle’s heart rattled against his ribs. He came to slowly sit down in the opposite chair. “It’s that . . . I can’t let him go. He’s part of me. Forrest saw that, you see that. I think Guerin sees it, too, but . . .”

“I know,” he said.

“No,” Alex sighed. “You think you do, but you don’t. I can’t be with you, Kyle, because . . . I could never give you everything. I feel like . . . at my core, I belong to . . .”

“You belong to Michael,” Kyle said, the words surprisingly easier to say than he would’ve thought. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Alex, I know.”

He looked pained, finally meeting Kyle’s gaze to reveal glassy eyes. That, Kyle realized, was the hard part in all of this. Not hearing about how much he loved Michael, how much he would always love Michael, but knowing that that love was killing him.

“Then how can you still want to be with me?” he said hoarsely. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

Kyle shook his head.

Alex’s lower lip trembled, and he rubbed his face, hiding it. Kyle came around the table, approaching Alex like he might’ve approached a terrified kitten. He took Alex’s wrists and gently pulled his hands down. Without a word, he leaned in and took Alex’s lips in his own. Alex scrunched his shoulders, but slowly started to kiss back.

“It can’t –” Alex tried in between kisses, but Kyle was unrelenting with his lips. “It can’t be this easy, you – you’ll hate me, and I’ll lose you, and I can’t –”

Kyle tilted his head to deepen the kiss, silencing Alex’s fears. He knew his breath was probably awful, but if Alex was bothered by it, he didn’t say. Kyle pulled back only when they had to breathe, and leaned up to kiss Alex’s forehead.

“Give me until tomorrow,” he breathed. “Be my boyfriend until tomorrow, and then if you still want to end it, we will. We’ll pretend none of this ever happened. But. If you want to stay with me –” he swallowed thickly, cupping Alex’s jaw “—like I want you to stay with me, then I’ll care for you better than anyone else ever has. I’ll love you better.”

Alex looked up, wide-eyed. For a second, he looked like he wanted to say something, but then he pulled Kyle’s head in and kissed him hungrily. Kyle took half a second to process before he was groaning into Alex’s mouth, reveling at his moans. He got halfway to unbuttoning his shirt before he pulled it up over his head and threw it aside. Alex ran his hands down his chest, his stomach, to his waistband.

Kyle was about to pull away, to ask him how he wanted to do this, when Alex suddenly put a hand down the back of his sweats and grabbed his ass. He gasped against Alex’s lips, bucking his hips forward. Alex spread his legs readily for him, urging him closer. Kyle was elated, his heart thrashing wildly.

He pushed Alex’s shirt up and over his shoulders, before he wrapped Alex in his arms. Their naked chests pressed together, their hardening cocks. Part of Kyle wanted to keep rutting against Alex like this, eager to hear his pleas, his gasps, his breathy moans. But a larger part wanted more, so much more. He picked up Alex up by his thighs, and was rewarded with a gasp.

He brought them into the bedroom and lay them down on his bed. He kissed down Alex’s body, the heat in his gut turning to fire as Alex moaned his name. Then he came down to Alex’s waistband, exhaled sharply, and pulled down his sweats before he quickly rid himself of his own.

He grinded their hips together once, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head, his mouth hanging open. He did it again, loving the sight of his cock pressing against Alex’s. He put three fingers in Alex’s mouth and commanded, “Suck.”

Alex went above and beyond, his tongue like magic on Kyle’s fingers, coating them in spit. Alex’s mouth hung open as Kyle brought his hand down between their bodies, spreading his legs further.

He cupped Kyle’s face. “You sure you want to do this?”

Kyle leaned down, taking Alex’s lips in his own again, and again, and again. “More than anything.”

Alex choked on an unspoken sentence as Kyle pushed one finger in. He nuzzled Alex’s cheek, kissed his lips, licked into his mouth. It wasn’t much longer before all three fingers were inside Alex’s hole, pushing in and out.

“I want you,” Alex breathed. “Please.”

“Anything,” Kyle promised. He slid his fingers out to Alex’s whimpers, took his rock-hard cock in hand, aligned it to Alex’s hole, and pushed in. Both men groaned loudly as Kyle sunk in all the way, and stilled.

“Y-Your dick,” Alex managed.

“Yeah?” Kyle bit his lower lip. “You like it, baby?”

Alex nodded helplessly, clutching Kyle’s ass, and Kyle took it as a sign to move. The otherwise silent suite filled with the sounds of grunts and moans as Kyle thrusted into Alex, their bodies slapping together with a deliciously wet, filthy sound. Kyle bit and sucked the sensitive skin of Alex’s neck, his thrusts turning harder and wilder as Alex scratched down his back.

They stayed in bed all day, touching each other over and over, missing every seminar there was to miss, and not caring at all. The moonlight shined in through the room by the time they’d finally worn themselves out, empty plates from room service sat on the nightstands. Kyle traced Alex’s cheek with his fingers, then followed that trail with his lips.

Alex scooted closer, pressing his forehead to Kyle’s as he took his hand and kissed it. “One more day,” he said.

Kyle closed his eyes, wanting to focus only on the sound of Alex’s breathing, the warmth of his skin, his intoxicating scent. “One more day.”

#kyle valenti #alex manes #kylex #kyleweek21 #kyleappreciation21 #kylex fic #kylex fanfic #kylex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #kylex angst #kylex fluff #michael trevino #tyler blackburn

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laurenandloki · 3 years

Text

Request by @rose7420 :

Okay so... I’m a type one diabetic and I struggle a lot with keeping my blood sugar in check and I have to wear devices on my body to deliver to myself insulin 24/7. The whole never ending process of having diabetes is really depressing sometimes so I was wondering if you could write something where a tiny is diabetic and has a bad day with diabetes like her blood sugar is really high and she’s kinda grumpy and Loki is there to cheer her up.

I know this is complicated so if you choose not to do it that’s completely fine. But if you do choose to do it I can answer any questions about diabetes and all:)

If I, in any way, didn’t include certain things or didn’t write about things the right way, please let me know and I’ll fix it!!❤️

_______________________________________________

~A Helping Hand~

Day in and day out, you always seemed to be worrying about your blood sugar levels. For a borrower, you thought that it would be easy to maintain it, but it was the complete opposite. Having type 1 diabetes was hard, especially when you’re only 3 inches tall.

Food choices were incredibly slim and you never really came across something that could help level out your blood sugar.

However, Loki was always there for you. Whenever you went to him in a grumpy mood, he knew right away that you were in need of help. He did whatever he could to bring you out of your misery state. Loki would read to you as you sat cupped in his hand or sprawled out on his chest, he’d talk to you about how annoying his brother was, you both would watch movies together and then talk about how dumb the visual effects were, etc..

To sum things up, Loki thought of everything he could think of to cheer you up.

Before Loki knew about your struggle with diabetes, he would always taunt you about the unhappy mood you would always be in, but he was struck with guilt when he saw how much it further upset you. You cried your heart in front of him and Loki swore to you that he would help you deal with whatever you were going through.

You hadn’t told him about how you dealt with type 1 diabetes. You didn’t think he would care, but out of the blue one day, Loki asked about why you were always in a dreary mood. You opened up to him about your diabetes and although it was hard for Loki to comprehend it at first, he did whatever he could to help you.

Loki even researched ways to bring down your blood sugar levels. He kept a notebook on his bedside table of certain recipes he could make you and he even made sure to give you your own water bottle so that you could stay hydrated. You never thought in a million years that a human—well, Asgardian—could be so kind.

Unfortunately, today you woke up rather-...sluggish. You felt very fatigued, a nauseous feeling was starting to form in your lower stomach, and you felt the need to down an entire cup of water. You sat up and immediately felt pain ignite in the side of your head. “Great a headache for me to deal with first thing in the morning”, you said to yourself.

You grabbed a hold of your blanket and uncovered yourself, swinging your legs over the side of your bed, letting them dangle over the edge.

“Why me? Of all the borrowers on this planet? Why can’t someone else deal with diabetes?”, you asked yourself out loud.

You sat there on your makeshift bed behind the walls, wondering what to do. As far as you knew, you were the only borrower living in the Avengers Tower. So already, no one your size could be of help.

A light bulb suddenly went off in your mind. “Loki! Maybe he could help me”, you thought to yourself.

Your relationship with Loki was amazing. He had caught you in the kitchen about two weeks ago, and ever since then, you had been somewhat happier. You were out on a trip to find some food that could help ease your blood sugar levels, when Loki had come out of nowhere, looming above you. Let’s just say you cried—you cried so hard that you thought you were going to pass out. Your diabetes had already taken a toll on you that day and getting caught by a giant was just the cherry on top for a break down to happen.

Loki saw how frightened you were and instantly decided to befriend you. Ever since then, you both had become extremely close.

You walked out from behind the safety of the walls and onto Loki’s desk. He was sitting in a chair with a book in hand, of course. Hopefully he won’t poke fun at you today.

Loki instantly saw movement in front of him and looked up. When he saw you walking towards his relaxed position, he grinned, closing his book and setting it down.

“Oh look, a tiny mortal. Gosh I keep forgetting how little you are”, said Loki teasingly. He didn’t poke too much fun at you with his words just yet, but he did physically poke your arm. You could tell just by looking at his face that he was in one of those moods.

Great, already off to a good start.

“Not now, Laufeyson. I’m not capable of putting up with your sarcastic remarks today”, you said. Loki gave you a sly smirk and poked the top of your head. You flinched, not expecting the sudden pressure. Loki chuckled and poked your stomach. You let out an annoyed grumble and pushed his finger away rather harshly.

“That’s it. I’m going back behind the walls”, you said. You turned around and started to walk back towards the hole in the wall, but a pale hand blocked your path. You stared at the hand and kicked it lightly, upset that he wanted to keep teasing you.

Loki’s eyes widened at the sudden turn of emotion you showed. As he saw you start to walk away from him, he put his hand in front of your path. “Are you alright, small one? You are only ever this grumpy when-...” Loki paused for a moment, realizing what the problem must be. “Your blood sugar is high again, isn’t it?”, he asked with concern laced in his voice as he spoke to you.

You turned around and looked up at him. “Isn’t it obvious? As soon as I woke up, boom! Headache..” you paused for a moment before continuing on. “I don’t even want to mention the nausea that I felt when I sat up in bed and how thirsty I was”, you said sounding defeated.

Loki stared down at you with sadness written all over his face. He felt terrible that you had to go through such rigorous symptoms all the time. “You came out here searching for my help and comfort, didn’t you?”, asked Loki.

You slowly nodded your head yes. Loki sighed, which blew your hair back a bit. You suddenly felt a heavy, but gentle pressure on your back that was moving back and forth. You turned to see that Loki was rubbing your back.

“What? Do you feel bad about teasing me now?”, you asked.

“Of course I do, little Y/n. I am terribly sorry for making you even more upset. My sincerest apologies”, said Loki softly.

You squinted you’re eyes at him, wondering if he was being genuine or not. “Apology accepted. But I know for a fact you’re gonna keep on teasing me ya oversized reindeer”, you said.

You saw Loki smile slightly at your comment. That helmet of his really was the root of all your jokes you made about Loki.

“I think it’s about time I help you control those symptoms of yours. I have found a way to help better control your blood sugar levels”, said Loki. You became very confused.

“What do you mea-..”, Loki, without warning scooped you up in his hands and held you in front of his face. He hushed your incoming questions.

“I have done some research about diabetes ever since you opened up about it. Since you have type 1 diabetes, you need to take insulin to treat the disease. Your body cannot make insulin by itself anymore. Someone without diabetes has insulin already inside of them. It helps control their blood sugar levels and it breaks down glucose, which is the primary source of energy in the human body. That is what you lack, my little Y/n. It’s the reason as to why you’re always grumpy”, said Loki as he gently ruffled your hair.

“How did you find out about all of that so quickly? I only told you that I had diabetes about a 2 weeks ago, around the time you caught me in the kitchen!”, you exclaimed. As you raised your voice, pain shot through your head—another headache. You slowly rubbed your temples and said, “Not this again.”

Loki’s smile faded away once he saw the agony you were in. It killed him to see you this way, especially when he was able to help you. “Do not fret, my little dove. While doing my research, I came across something called an insulin pen. It injects the right amount of insulin into your body. Now remember, insulin is a vital hormone for humans, even borrowers of course. This is exactly what you need”, said Loki.

You put your hands on your hips. “And how are you going to get this insulin pen? I’m the size of your thumb, remember? Do you know how big a pen is compared to me?”, you asked. The amount of sass that was spewing out of you was not only hilarious, but adorable. Loki loved your personality.

He returned the same amount of sass you had just shown him. “Well, my dear, I am gifted with casting spells. I can conjure you up an insulin pen that is your size in no time. And whenever you run out of the insulin, just come straight to me and I will replenish it for you. Got it?”, asked Loki with a gentle smile.

You allowed yourself to relax and agreed to Loki’s idea about getting an insulin pen.

After he had given it to you, Loki explained the proper way to use it and helped you through all the steps, showing you exactly where to inject yourself with the insulin pen.

After Loki introduced you to the insulin pen that day, he coaxed you into watching a movie with him. You sat in the middle of his chest with a blanket covering you. His hand was draped over you as well, acting as a shield. You finally felt at ease. Your headache had went away and so did that nauseous feeling in your stomach.

You were so grateful for everything that Loki had done for you and you couldn’t wait to make more memories with good ol’ reindeer games.

#loki #marvel #loki laufeyson #loki fandom #mcu loki #loki g/t #marvel g/t #thank you for the request!#🥺❤️

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angstyaches · 4 years

Text

Hunger

I couldn’t pick a better title, but here’s some Shayne and Charlie goodness, Charlie Two intrusion, nausea and hunger followed by fluff and comfort, bit of Shayne’s childhood, Shayne’s disordered eating, Charlie’s Feelings™. Hopefully it comes together somewhat coherently. The hunger/comfort aspects were definitely encouraged by @trashytums and their recent posts, so I can’t not mention that.

CW: nausea, emeto (well, gagging), hunger, saliva (only a bit), mild horror elements, disordered eating, reference to unhealthy parental relationship, food. (Let me know if I ever miss something.)

Swallow the World: The Ouija Board, Pt. 6

Charlie paused in the upstairs bathroom on his way to his wardrobe, seeing stars over the toilet bowl, retching like something really wanted out of him. His headache was clearing a bit, now that there was some distance between him and the Ouija board, but those black eyes kept hovering in front of his eyes, keeping him dizzy and nauseous.

He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and his stomach was starting to ache with the effort of trying to bring up nothing. Charlie retched as he thought of Shayne putting himself through this for days, or however long he did. Charlie didn’t know. Charlie hadn’t thought to ask.

Charlie gagged again before dragging himself to his feet and grabbing onto the sink. He stared into the mirror, waiting for his head to clear. He felt hot and clammy in his hoodie, yet his body was trembling all over.

After looking for too long without blinking, it looked like a deep, shadowy chasm was opening up under his left eye, his skin turning transparent to reveal dark blue veins that ran in a spiral pattern across his cheekbone. Above his eyebrow, his skull seemed to adapt a new shape, curving up and out of his skin.

He lifted a finger to touch the side of his head, to convince himself that strange deformity wasn’t really there. It wasn’t; all he felt was his normal, human skin, but he also realised that his left hand had taken on that waxy, swirling look too.

The left side of his face began to smile at him.

Hi.

Charlie gasped, closing his eyes for a moment before daring to take another look. Everything seemed back to normal, but he was still shaking as he left the sink, turning at the door to go to his bedroom.

He stood there for a moment, swaying a little on his feet.

What did I come in here for again? Right.

Charlie pulled out a pair of soft tracksuit bottoms that he rarely ever wore, thinking that if they were too big for Felix’s waist, he could just pull them tighter with the cord. His legs shook as he went back downstairs, wishing he didn’t need to go back to Elliott’s car, back to where the board was.

“Hey, Charlie?” Rin called from the sitting room.

What now? Charlie shuddered with dread in the hallway and diverted his route, finding her crouched on the carpeted floor while Shayne lay curled up on his side of the sofa, knees almost to his head.

“What happened?”

“Oh, nothing.” Rin looked over. “He just keeps asking for you.”

“What? Really?” Charlie didn’t know whether to be happy or scared. He wanted to know what was going on with his friend, of course, but that didn’t mean he felt qualified to try to deal with it right now.

Rin nodded as she stood up, putting out a hand. “I’ll take those to Felix and then head home. Are you going to be okay? I can stay if you need me to.”

“Honestly,” Charlie said shakily as he handed over the tracksuit bottoms. “I’d really appreciate it if you could just get that damn Ouija board from Felix and drive it far away from me. It’s making Charlie Two – it’s making me feel… just horrible. Like my body’s fighting against itself.”

“Okay,” Rin frowned, examining Charlie’s face quickly. For an instant, he panicked that she could see the details of the demon he’d seen in the mirror, but then he realised she was just concerned about him looking pale and sick, which he most definitely did. “I’ll keep the board at my house, and we can decide what to do with it later. Call me if you need anything. I’ll come right back.”

Charlie pulled her in for a quick hug before she headed for the front door. He clung to the doorframe to the sitting room, watching in almost agony as Shayne tried to curl even further into himself.

“I heard you summoned me,” Charlie said, crossing the room to crouch by the sofa, near Shayne’s head. He’d expected his eyes to be closed, but instead they were glossed over and still. He didn’t even blink as Charlie waved a hand in front of him.

“Hey,” he said, letting that hand rest on top of Shayne’s. “What do you need me for?”

Shayne let their fingers interlock, just like they had for most of the car ride home. He drew Charlie’s hand closer to his chin, his stare growing even glassier. He started to open his mouth, widening his jaw with a crack. Fear trickled through Charlie’s stomach and he almost gagged again as he realised what was happening.

He’d given him his left hand; the hand that wasn’t entirely his.

Shayne’s eyes fell shut. He drew the joint of Charlie’s thumb into his mouth, closing his teeth over the skin that stretched between Charlie’s thumb and forefinger. The bite was gentle at first but slowly grew more firm as his jaws clenched visibly.

“Sh-Shayne?” Charlie whimpered.

But Shayne remained just like that, not biting any harder but not letting go either. His eyes closed a little more tightly, saliva pooling between his tongue and Charlie’s flesh. His other hand was pressed against his belly, fingers curling harshly into his t-shirt.

Though his heart pounded, Charlie was kept still by the maddening thought that maybe, maybe he’d allow Shayne to rip him to pieces if that was what he needed to do. It didn’t mean anything except that he must have been so, so hungry.

“It’s okay,” Charlie whispered. “It’s okay.”

With his eyes still shut, Shayne frowned. It seemed to take some effort for him to unclamp his jaw and remove his teeth from Charlie’s skin, and when he did, he shoved Charlie’s hand away and scrambled up into a sitting position. He tried to push himself further back on the sofa, drawing his arms up to cover his head without ever opening his eyes.

“Hey, hey, stop,” Charlie gasped, rising from the floor and sitting next to Shayne. He’d hoped Shayne would sink against him like he had in the car, but instead he flinched like he wanted to get away, twisting his fingers into his hair.

“Don’t want to hurt you,” he sobbed from beneath his arms.

“You won’t.” Charlie pressed his forehead against Shayne’s neck and slid a hand towards his knee. “I know you won’t. You almost did, but you stopped.”

There was a beat of silence before Shayne’s stomach growled. He winced and tried to curl up tighter and shake Charlie off, but Charlie just nuzzled his head against Shayne’s and stroked his leg until the sound tapered off and he stopped tensing quite so hard.

“How long’s it been since you’ve eaten?” Charlie asked, his voice pinched. In the past, he’d felt comforted listening to the sounds Shayne’s stomach made, but this was different.

“Last demon,” Shayne mumbled, “was Tuesday.”

“I don’t mean demons; I mean food.”

Shayne shifted a little lower in the sofa, drawing his legs a little further from his torso. His gaze went distant again, but he let out a little sigh as Charlie ran his hand across his stomach.

“Shayne, answer me,” Charlie whispered.

“I – I don’t – maybe a week. Could be longer.”

Charlie swallowed and tried to stay calm. “I know you don’t like being offered food, but I’ve got to make dinner for myself anyway.”

“Charlie –”

“I know it’s hard for you, but I’ll feel so much better if you eat something.” Charlie rubbed slowly up and down Shayne’s belly. From the way he’d been clutching it earlier, and the look on his face now, it must have been killing him.

Shayne hesitated, watching the motion of Charlie’s hand. They both felt his abdominal muscles tighten and cramp a second before another whine of hunger rang out. This time Charlie felt it through his palm, and Shayne leaned his head a little harder against Charlie’s instead of trying to push him away.

“Please, eat with me?”

Shayne swallowed audibly, his body tensing again. “Okay.”

Charlie made Shayne some weak tea first, filling the mug halfway with boiled water and topping it up with cool water from the sink. He sat with him on the sofa as he sipped it, hoping it wouldn’t upset his stomach.

“Feeling okay?” he asked as he finally took the empty mug back. Shayne nodded, and Charlie felt relief for the first time since the afternoon.

He went back to the kitchen and boiled the kettle again, deciding to make some mugs of instant soup and defrost some bread in the microwave. He didn’t feel like eating anything too heavy either, not after being so nauseated in the car for so long. When everything was almost ready, he went to get Shayne from the sofa and bring him to the kitchen table.

Charlie had expected Shayne to try to eat too fast, and was ready to jump in and tell him to slow down before he made himself sick. Instead, he watched in distress as Shayne took slow sips of soup, breaking off the tiniest pieces of bread before bringing them to his lips. He never opened his mouth until he was just about to put something inside. At first, Charlie assumed he was just feeling self-conscious because of his hang-up about accepting help, and he tried not to read into it; but the longer it went on, the more it looked like Shayne was convinced that eating was a test, and that someone was going to give him an evaluation when he’d finished.

He wanted to ask what the hell his foster parents had done to make him act like that, but it seemed like a question for a different time, when things weren’t already so heavy.

“What’s your favourite food?” he asked instead.

Shayne jumped a little, frowning across the table like talking over food wasn’t something he’d even considered possible.

“I – I don’t know?” he replied, almost defensively.

Charlie blinked. How could he just not know?

“Why, what’s yours?”

“Roast chicken and gravy, with my mum’s mashed potatoes. She makes it nearly every Sunday.” Charlie picked up a third slice of warmed bread, wondering with a pang of guilt why he’d never thought to invite Shayne over on Sundays.

“My mum used to make tarts.”

“Oh, yeah?” Charlie smiled. “What kind?”

Shayne shrugged, but not in the heavy way he usually did. He glanced towards the kitchen window. “There used to be a gooseberry bush in the back garden here, and an apple tree. Sometimes we’d go blackberry picking.”

Charlie glanced towards the window too, wondering what had happened to the bush and the tree after the house had been sold.

“She’d let me stand with her in the kitchen and ask me to taste the fruit before putting it in the pastry, to make sure it wasn’t too bitter.” Shayne met Charlie’s gaze, but just for a second. “She didn’t have a sense of taste, because she didn’t need human food. I think the Devines thought I’d be... more like her.”

Charlie realised Shayne was taking a long break between bits of bread, and was idly turning his spoon in his mug as he spoke. Shayne realised Charlie was watching him, and he made a little flustered noise in his throat.

“It’s okay if you’re finished for now,” Charlie said. “Don’t force yourself if it’s going to make you feel sick.”

Shayne blinked like he’d just heard something surprising.

“When you’re hungry again, I’ll make you something else,” Charlie promised. “Even if it’s in the middle of the night, okay?”

Again, Shayne looked surprised, and Charlie couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s up with you?”

“It’s just – you’ve been putting up with me all day,” Shayne mumbled. “Didn’t think you’d want me staying over.”

“You seriously thought I’d send you back to the vamps after the day you’ve had?” Charlie asked. “And I haven’t been putting up with you; I’ve been looking after you. That’s what people do when they care about each other.”

“Still, I’m sorry.”

Charlie shook his head as he picked up the mugs and plates from the table. “And when people care enough about each other, no one has to say sorry for stuff like that.”

He turned towards the kitchen sink, turning on the tap to rinse the dishes. His eyes kept getting pulled up towards the window, towards his own eerily translucent reflection in the dark of early nightfall. He shuddered every time he felt that pull, carefully avoiding eye contact with himself for fear of what would look back at him.

You didn’t do anything, Charlie couldn’t stop himself from thinking. You gave me absolute hell over the Ouija board, but when we could have been devoured, you didn’t do anything.

Neither did you.

Charlie frowned, slowly looking up at the glass. Both his eyes looked dark and obscure in the reflection, but he could once again see that strange protrusion above his left eyebrow, and that knowing half-smile.

Do… Charlie’s breath felt like it had been stolen. Do you love him, too?

“Hey, Charlie?”

Charlie gulped and turned around to see that Shayne had folded his arms and put his head down on the table, like he often did at his desk at school. That either meant he was tired, or his stomach was hurting.

“Are you okay?” Charlie walked over and put a hand across Shayne’s back. “Ready to go lie back down? Bed, or sofa?”

“I don’t mind where, but...” Shayne gave a small groan. “Can you rub my stomach again?”

Charlie swallowed hard again, afraid that his heart was about to slip up his throat and escape through his mouth.

“Of course,” he said. “Whatever you need.”

#shayne #charlie #shayne and charlie #swallow the world #my ocs #halloween #ouija board #hurt and comfort #hunger #nausea #tw hunger #tw nausea #tw disordered eating #horror elements #horror #tw horror #belly rubs #stomach growl

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loveafterthefact · 3 years

Text

Love After the Fact Chapter 77: Reluctantly Home

Lance and Keith have a lot of adjusting to do. Especially Keith.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: - brief mentions of self harm brief mentions of substance abuse

Basically, Tavo has more routine questions about Keith’s physical and mental health

First Previous Next

Upon return to Altea, Adam and Pidge are led to a temporary medical station while Keith and Lance are ushered into a small room off the flight deck, where Tavo stands waiting, dressed in a body suit that includes a sealed hood and face shield. There’s a cart with some medical equipment on it, and a portable scanning arm and platform in the middle of the room.

“Welcome back, your Majesties. Crown Prince Lancel, kindly stand on this platform for a full body scan.” Lance does as he’s told, waiting patiently as the arm spins around and around. The scan takes several doboshes. When it’s Keith’s turn, the scan is significantly shorter.

“That’s it?”

“I don’t want to subject you to a full scan’s radiation,” Tavo explains. Not that that qualifies as an explanation. The physician gestures to a pair of chairs. “Please, your Majesties.”

Keith sits next to Lance, eyeing a tray of ten syringes. He tenses, discovering that he’s developed an aversion to needles, likely a result of all the injections he suffered during his last growth spurt.

“I have a few questions for you. Have either of you been experiencing: yellow pustules on the shins, loss of scales, loss of hair or fur, flaking or crusting skin, nasal congestion, obstructed vision, unexplained bleeding from any orifice including pores and tear ducts, chills, night sweats, swollen lymph nodes, body aches, headaches, fatigue, nausea, and/or vomiting?”

Lance shakes his head, visibly apprehensive. Keith nods. “Some fatigue last quintant and especially this one.”

Tavo makes a note on his datapad. “Headaches? Nausea? Changes in diet? Excessive and/or frequent urination?”

“No.”

Lance seems a little confused, but takes note that Keith is calm, collected, and completely unphased by Tavo’s questioning.

“Excellent. Let me know if you experience these or any other new phenomena.” Tavo writes something down on his datapad, then turns his attention to his tray of syringes.

“Now. Crown Prince Lancel, this is a nutrient serum to make up for certain deficiencies you may have acquired on your travels.” Lance removes his vest and tight shirt, lets Tavo clean a scaleless patch on his arm. The injection takes a long time, the fluid thick, viscous like glue or resin. That done, Tavo offers Lance a small cup with two tiny pills. “Excellent. Swallow these. They may give you diarrhea.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lance asks, not moving to take the pills.

“They will give you diarrhea if you have parasites. The parasites may kill you.”

“Diarrhea it is.” Lance takes and dry swallows the pills. “What’s next?”

“An antibiotic, and immune system booster, and boosters of various vaccines you both received either at your last physical or your arrival on Altea.”

Keith watches quietly as Lance receives seven more injections, three in that same arm, three in the other. Then he sits quietly for his two.

“That’s it. We’re all finished.” Keith notices that Tavo is being gentle with him, seems to sense his unease even before the needle pierces his skin. “Crown Prince Lancel, I must speak with Prince Yorak privately. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Lance rises from his seat, goes to stretch his arms over his head, only to think better of it. Instead, he kisses Keith’s cheek. “I’d better go and explain away our new pets. And that we will be receiving a gift in the form of some livestock. Meet you in our quarters?”

“Yes, thank you.”

After the door slides shut behind Lance’s retreating figure, Keith looks up to the physician expectantly.

“You have some small scars here on the inside of your arm. What are those from?”

“Oh. Those are from a port. I needed it during my growth spurt because I needed regular injections to help me grow.”

“I see.” Tavo makes a note on his datapad. “So you have no history of substance abuse or self harm, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And the skeletal abnormalities detected in your scans are related to…?”

“The inherited growth disorder from my mother that affects my growth plates and metabolism. It’s believed to be a gland abnormality, but the cause is still undetermined… It’s so rare, my disease doesn’t even have a name.”

Tavo’s already kind face softens. Keith wonders if he understands what that’s like, to not be able to name what’s wrong with his body. “I see. Forgive my questioning. Substance abuse can affect the health of a fetus, and your safety and well-being is also key.”

“Thace spoke to you?”

“He did indeed. I have this here…” Tavo hands over a sheet of foil cells. “In each of these cells is a daily prenatal vitamin. Just press down on the bubble, and the tablet should pop through the foil on the other side. We have a few options, all determined safe for both Alteans and Galra, so you needn’t worry. We’re starting you early, but we’d like you to keep us apprised of if they make you feel unwell, or if your body starts to reject them.”

“You mean if they make me puke?”

“Yes.” Tavo smiles. “We chose these because Thace said he could not smell or taste them, even when taken with water. I modified them a bit to accommodate an interspecial fetus.”

Keith nods, watches Tavo take and record some extra vitals.

“You’re actually in pretty decent health, given your… we’ll say ‘limited’ medical history and recent difficulties. I’m sure Thace has mentioned it, but we are concerned about your caloric intake. You’re a bit underweight as it is. Do you have any goals for your personal health during pregnancy?”

“Didn’t we go over this?”

“Yes, but now you are alone. No one is here but yourself, and a licensed physician bound to confidentiality. Even his Majesty the King would find it difficult to force information from me. He’d have to prove malicious intent.”

Keith nods. “I want to improve my personal physical condition in these early phoebs, then maintain that condition until delivery.”

Tavo nods. “I think that’s an appropriate expectation. Were your child fully Galra, they’d likely already have a heartbeat, but my scan detected nothing. This means you’re looking at a longer pregnancy.”

“Okay.” Keith yawns, quite suddenly very sleepy.

“Have you been feeling a lot of fatigue lately?”

“Only the past quintant or two, like I said. I'll be just fine and then- falling asleep on the spot.” Keith shrugs. “Why?”

“It’s one of the earliest symptoms of pregnancy. Do not ignore your body when it speaks to you. You may find yourself desiring Altean foods. If you can eat them, do so.”

“I will. May I be excused to take a nap then?” Seeing Keith’s playful quirk of the lips, Tavo chuckles, nods. “Thank you.”

When Keith finds his way to his quarters, Lance is waiting, passing him a hot cup of tea.

“Thank you… When did we start drinking so much tea?”

“No idea. What did Tavo want?”

“Kit stuff. He wanted to know if there was anything I hadn’t felt comfortable saying in front of you. Just asked how I was feeling, if there was anything I wanted. He gave me some vitamins, and asked if I’m normally as sleepy as I am.”

“Sleepy?”

“Very.”

“I take it that’s not normal,” Lance chuckles.

“Not at all. You know me: I sleep when you sleep. Right now?” Keith sets the tea down, settles his head on Lance’s collarbone with a happy sigh. “I could sleep standing up.”

Lance laughs, kisses his ear. “Okay, well how about we at least make it to the bed, huh?”

At Keith’s nod, Lance leads him there, an arm around his shoulders. “Will you join me?”

“I have some messages to respond to, but I’ll join you, yes.”

“Oh, did you need help?” Keith crawls into bed, the smell of fresh sheets pluming where he settles his weight.

“You can help when you wake up.” Lance picks the wolf cub up off the floor and into Keith’s reaching arms. “He’s already been out by the way.”

“M’kay.” Keith settles in, snuggling up to Lance until his head is in his lap, a purr thrumming deep in his chest. He can hear BleepBloop playing on the ladder to his loft. “Lance?”

“Beloved?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Lance reaches around, rubbing Keith's belly. “And you, baby.”

“You know it’s just a wad of cells, right? It doesn’t even have a heartbeat.”

“Maybe so, but I love that little wad of cells with all my heart.”

Keith yawns, tongue curling, legs stretching stiff till they tremble, before he tucks his legs close to his chest, snuggling into the blanket Lance throws over him. The wolf cub mimics his behavior, yawning and stretching before curling up against Keith’s stomach.

“Lance?”

“Yes, beloved?”

“I love them too. So much.”

Lance’s fingers find his hair, the base of his ear, and Keith purrs louder as he starts to drift into sleep.

“I know you do, beloved.”

It’s a couple movements before Lance and Keith manage to get the kingdom back in order -mostly-, and subsequently a couple movements before Lance is able to meet Hunk and Shay’s new baby. Once he does have an opportunity, he doesn’t want to wait.

“You sure you’re okay by yourself?” Lance asks, eyes his husband with concern as he removes his cloak from their closet, putting his arms through the sleeves. The final phoeb of winter before thaw is the coldest. "I can wait."

Keith nods. “I’ll be fine. I think I’ll read or take a nap. My stomach isn’t feeling too good.”

“It isn’t?” Lance frowns. “It seems a little early for morning sickness.”

“It’s a little early for fatigue like this too, but here I am.” At Lance’s worried expression, he presses the issue. “Really, Lance. I’m just a little queasy, and not up for the ride. You can go. Wolf, BleepBloop and I will stay and rest.”

“Okay… Call me if you want me to come back, alright?”

“I will.” Keith kisses his mate, helping the man with his gloves. “Stay warm. I’ll see you soon.”

It’s a short, frigid walk out to the stables to where Bruna and Calik have been accommodated. Alfor was displeased with their presence, but ultimately admitted that they were cool after watching them rip apart a klaanmural. Coran was delighted from the very beginning.

Lance trots down the mountainside into the city, the elk carrying him much faster than a shreika every could. But, as Bruna carries him among the residential district, he has to admit that if Keith’s nauseous, the animal’s gait definitely won’t help...

“Hel-lo. Hel-lo. Oh, Ancients, aren’t you perfect!” Lance grins down at the little baby. Lance boops the infant’s nose, grinning. “Welcome to the world, little one.”

“We named her Nephele, after Shay’s grandmother,” Hunk says, leaning over the prince’s shoulder.

The infant looks like her parents: olive skin, golden eyes, brown, cartilaginous growths on top of her head. Her skin lacks the bumpy texture of her parents and older sister, presumably to ease birth. She sleeps soundly in Lance’s arms.

“She’s beautiful. Congratulations, man.” Lance grins so big that the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Thanks, buddy.”

The infant starts to fuss, wriggling in Lance’s arms.

“Oh, okay. Okay, sweetheart. Here you go.” He passes Nephele back to her father, who rocks her.

“So… Where’s Keith?”

“He’s sleeping. He’s been feeling a bit under the weather for the past movement or so.”

Oh?- Oh! Really?”

Lance takes a deep breath, grinning even wider.

“Hey, that’s awesome! Well, it’s not awesome that he doesn’t feel good, obviously, but… That’s awesome. Seriously.”

“Yeah…” Lance smiles. “We’re really happy about it. We have gifts for you from Daibazaal, but I couldn’t carry them on Bruna. I’ll have them brought to you soon.”

“Aw, you didn’t have to do that!” Hunk grins, still holding his newborn.

“Oh, please.” Lance waves away Hunk’s protest. “It was our pleasure. Keith picked most of them, including a windchime for Nephele.”

“Oooh, that sounds cool! Say, what did you think of Daibazaal? Was it scary? Were the people not nice?”

Lance grins, sits down at the table, eager to talk all about the six movements he spent on Daibazaal. He talks until nightfall, until it’s time to put Nephele to sleep. Lance pokes his head into the bedroom, giving Shay a brief goodbye before letting her go back to sleep, taking advantage of Rosetta spending the night at a friend’s house.

“Alright, buddy. Have a good night now.” Hunk pulls his friend into a bone-crushing hug. “And let Keith know that if he feels up to visiting, he’s welcome. Or he can just come visit me in the kitchens.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be doing the second one,” Lance chuckles. “Of course I’ll let him know.”

When he returns, he finds a very frustrated Adam marching up to him through the thick frost. “So your husband is throwing a tantrum.”

“Oh? What about?”

“I told him to go eat something. He didn’t like that.”

“Were you incredibly indelicate?”

“I was the normal amount of indelicate.”

“Right.” Lance followed his attendant up to the castle, passing him his animal-scented, frost-dampened cloak to take to the laundry. He knocks on their bedroom door before entering.

“Hey, beloved. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” the Galra bites, glaring down from his loft. “Tell Adam that he doesn’t own me.”

“I think he got the message, seeing as he came running to me the moment I left the barn.”

“Oh, so he thinks you own me? Is that what you guys think?”

Lance strips off his damp clothes, pulling on some of the clothes they brought back from Daibazaal. “Of course not, beloved.”

Lance is confused. He’s not at all sure why Keith is acting this way. He has some idea, of course, but either way, Keith is upset and Lance wants to fix it.

“What would you like to do?” Lance asks.

“I’d like to be left alone!”

“Okay.” Lance opens the doors to the garden, lets the wolf cub out to use the bathroom. BleepBloop is watching him from one the loft ladder, his new favorite spot. When the cub’s finished, Lance closes the doors to keep out the cold, and flops down on the couch in front of the fireplace to read Lanval’s latest report. “I’m going to take care of a few missives before I get some dinner. If you want to join me, you’re welcome to.”

Lance reads Laval’s report in full, annotating carefully, then reading it again to find connections within the information. The overall reaction to their return is relief. Altea just isn’t the same without the princes. It hasn’t escaped the court’s notice that they’re much closer than they were when they left. Gossip is rampant. At least, more so than usual.

He’s interrupted when Keith parks himself in his lap, burying his face in his shoulder. He sniffles.

“Hey, beloved.” Lance tugs on Keith’s hair, the way he’s done since that barely even knew each other. “Feeling better?”

“No.” Keith sniffles again. “Poor Adam. I was so mean.”

“I’m sure he understands, beloved.” Lance tosses his datapad aside, drawing Keith closer, wrapping him up in his arms. “Are you having mood swings?”

Keith nods, cuddles in as close as he can get. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay, beloved. I know you didn’t mean it. I bet it felt awful.”

“It did,” Keith sobs. “I’m so sorry, Lance.”

“It’s alright, beloved. I forgive you.” Lance kisses the base of his ear, holding his husband while he cries out his tumultuous emotions. “Do you want anything? Some tea? Something to eat? I’m about to send for some dinner.”

“Okay,” Keith sniffles. “I can- I can eat something… Hold me?”

“Of course I will.” Lance squeezes him tight. “I adore you, beloved. With all my heart. No matter what.”

“I adore you, too.” Keith settles in with a hum, closes his eyes as Lance rubs at the base of his ear, kisses his forehead. They’re still like that, Keith curled up against his chest, Lance’s fingers in his hair, lips travelling his face, when their food arrives with Adam. The Atlean says nothing, only rubs Keith’s head between his ears like a little kit to try and make him smile.

It doesn’t quite work, but it helps, and by the end of the night, Keith’s nibbled his way through his meal and a snack, and seems to be feeling a bit better.

Definitely well enough to tease Lance about all his stupid new earrings.

#LoveAftertheFact #LAtF #klance #galtean au #altean lance #galra keith #adashi #altean adam #galra shiro #voltron legendary defender #vld

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belphegor1982 · 4 years

Note

C and N for the brothers-in-law. Bonus points if it's Rick who's hurt and Jonathan who's doing the rescuing. :-)

[C: concussion] + [N: getting injured person out of situation]

All right! I went for the bonus points ;o)

And Not a Drop to Drink

The first thing Rick does when consciousness returns is gasp.

The second thing is deeply regret it as muddy water floods his mouth and throat.

The third thing is acknowledge the searing pain in his head that almost makes him pass right out.

It’s the faint but persistent nausea growing in the pit of his stomach on top of everything else that clues him in. Okay, so he got hit on the head and now concussion is setting in. Unless he drowns first, because that’s definitely an option too, apparently.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, his self-preservation instincts are screaming that he should be making fewer idle comments about dying and more attempts to, well, not die. That’s generally what you do when your vision is growing white at the edges from the lack of air. But the thing is, he’s had concussions before, and he’s jumped, fallen, or been pushed into deep waters before, but never both at the same time.

This is not good.

Just as one last spark of life runs from his brain to his toes and makes him try to kick his way up – no way he’s going to die in such a stupid way – he feels a hand grasp his hair. Then his jacket. Then – thankfully – his shoulder, under the armpit.

When Rick breaks the surface he spouts up what feels like half his volume in water, and he has no idea whether he’s expelling it from his lungs or emptying the contents of his stomach.

“That’s right, keep doing that, better out than in”, says a shaky voice right beside his ear. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to recognise his brother-in-law.

What the hell happened?

Rick’s brain doesn’t provide him with an answer right away and he decides it’s a question for another time. Preferably when his head isn’t swimming better than he is and he feels like he would sink like a stone if not for Jonathan’s grip on him.

He noticed early on that both Carnahan siblings do well in water, that time they had to bail out of the burning barge. Evy later told him her childhood included the occasional dip in the Nile and swimming lesson. As for Jonathan, the next time they found themselves having to swim for their lives again – it says something about their lives, Rick supposes, that he can open this sentence with ‘the next time’ – and Rick asked where he learned to swim, he said, “The benefits of a classical education, old boy. Rowed a bit when I was in Oxford. Did you know the Cherwell is beastly cold at seven in the morning?”

Turns out so is the Thames at eight in the evening. Especially in November. Rick’s teeth would probably be chattering if he wasn’t so damn beat.

Ah, well. Jonathan is doing enough chattering for them both anyway.

“– did a splendid job laying out the bounder – anyone ever told you that you could give Jack Petersen a run for his money? Too bad his rotten little friend had the nerve to bring a bat to a fistfight, I mean to say, that bat may have been cricket but the move was absolutely not. Then again, what can you expect from this lot – running about in those ridiculous black polo shirts and idolising foreign dictators, spewing garbage about people who’ve done nothing to—I say, Rick, are you still there?”

“Yeah,” Rick gargles somehow. He still hasn’t opened his eyes. But hey, at least he knows he’s not drowning, so that’s not all bad, right?

“Jolly good.”

Jonathan doesn’t say much after that. Either he talked himself breathless or it takes concentration to lug them both along and not be swept up by the current Rick can feel pulling at his legs. Damn. And people really swim in there!? Only mad dogs and Englishmen, like the song says.

Thankfully it doesn’t take them long before they wash up on the wharf. Good thing they drifted downstream a bit. Rick wouldn’t have liked his chances if the first thing they’d reached had been a seven-feet-tall quay, slippery as an eel.

When Rick finally feels solid ground he rolls onto his back and blinks his eyes open despite the headache. For a second it’s like nothing changes whether his eyelids are up or down. He experiences a short sharp stab of fear before realising that he’s just staring up at a cloudy London night sky. The Thames, when he raises his head a fraction, looks even darker, except for the winks of light where the crests of ripples catch the meagre light dripping from a lamppost somewhere behind them.

The bank underneath him feels cold and slimy and he doesn’t even need to look to know his clothes are coated with sludge. But it’s way better than the alternative.

Beside him, Jonathan is also sprawled on the ground, staring straight up. His chest is rising and falling quickly and deeply as he pants open-mouthed. He actually must be dead tired; nothing but sheer exhaustion can make him shut up, Rick thinks with something like the fond exasperation Evy gets in her voice when she talks about her brother, which was so foreign to him when he met the siblings.

“You all right?” he asks, and almost throws up. His tongue, his mouth, his throat taste like murky, brackish river water.

Jonathan’s head pivots a little. His stare shifts from the sky to Rick.

“Peachy, clearly,” he rasps. “But I should be the one to ask you, really, not the other way around. I’m not the one who got conked on the head and fell into the river. How’s the head?”

“I’ll be fine if we both use small words. What happened to cricket bat guy?”

“Damned if I know. I kicked him in the fork and jumped in after you while he was, er, otherwise occupied. He probably collected his colleague and their nasty little posters and buggered off after a while.”

Rick suppresses a laugh, which would be a really bad idea with a splitting headache and a stomach whose contents are sloshing back and forth like whisky in a tumbler. At a glance Jonathan looks like your garden-variety upper-class twit with more manners than sense, but that impression only goes skin-deep. He has no qualm whatsoever about playing dirty, especially if it means getting out of a scrape.

Or getting someone he actually cares about out of a scrape. This kind of little detail makes all the difference between him and guys like Beni Gabor, as Rick found out over the years.

“You know,” he says, still waiting for the headache to subside and the world to stop spinning – or at least slow down, “when you said you wanted to ‘go out for a drink’ I didn’t think you meant it like that.”

Jonathan snorts. “Well, I don’t. I prefer my drinks with a little more flavour and a little less sewage, thank you very much.” He lifts himself up on his elbows and sits up with a groan. “I might help myself to a whisky or two after this, though. For medicinal purposes. Lots of germs to kill.”

“Go ahead,” says Rick, who still hasn’t moved and doesn’t feel like moving – even though he probably should by now. “I’ll join you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. You, my good son, are going straight to the hospital. I wasn’t exactly looking at my watch but I know you blacked out for longer than is wise.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I know that. But that doesn’t mean you get to go home to lick your wounds like a cantankerous bear.”

Both the inflections and the words themselves are so familiar it doesn’t take long for Rick to dredge the memory from the chaos that is his mind. That’s what Evy said last time he got banged up. Which – fair point, even if it kinda feels like cheating.

Most of the time Evy and Jonathan are so different that it’s easy to forget they’re siblings. But every now and then they’ll have the same piercing squint, the same crooked grin, the same quirky turn of phrase, and the similarities hit you like a ton of bricks.

That he doesn’t feel up to arguing more than this tells Rick that a detour to a hospital is probably a good idea. He’s had his fair share of knocks on the head in his life, but there are delicate things in brains that don’t like being disturbed. Judging by the queasy rocking of his stomach, like he’s on a rolling ship instead of slumped on the ground, some things have been disturbed that shouldn’t have been.

He slowly – very slowly – half-rolls on his side and sits up. Then has to stop for a bit. Yeah, his brain definitely shouldn’t feel like it’s leaking out his ears. Even the poor light from the gas lampposts in the distance is loud.

Man, I hate concussions.

“Smaller words, please,” Rick mutters, fighting the urge to rub his eyes. When he opens them – again – he meets Jonathan’s and nods. Slowly.

“All right. But I phone Evy first.”

“St Bart’s has a phone, I can do that from there. Besides, opening with ‘Rick punched a fascist and fell into the Thames’ has a lot more entertainment value for me than ‘Good news, I’m still alive! Bad news, my car is now wrapped around a lamppost because the bloke I play poker with on Thursdays doesn’t like to lose’—”

“Jonathan?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Jonathan throws him a startled look. For a second the fear that made his voice shake while they were treading water – plus delayed reaction, Rick thinks – shows in his eyes, plain as day. He looks drained, his face white underneath the mud dripping from his hair and into his eyes, and he’s shivering about as badly as Rick is. But then his shoulders slump a little and he gives a small smile.

“You’re welcome. You pulled me out of the soup so many times, I couldn’t not try to pull you out of the drink. Next time you’re picking a fight with those blighters in the black shirts I might bring a bat myself, though.”

“I didn’t pick a fight with them,” Rick points out. Jonathan’s deadpan look as he slowly pulls him to his feet makes him say, “I didn’t! I just laughed at their stupid poster. Didn’t even throw a punch until that guy started ranting about the Jews.”

“I know. I might have taken the opportunity to stuff the rest of the wretched posters into their bucket of glue while they were distracted.”

Rick snorts and immediately regrets it. Some of what he’s feeling must be showing on his face, because Jonathan throws one of his arms over his own shoulder and doesn’t start walking until Rick is certain he’s not going to hurl and looks it. When Rick’s eyelids start to droop he slows down again.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now, old boy.”

“I’m not,” Rick mutters. “Just resting my eyes.” It’s not even a lie. They just passed a lamppost, and while the light looked dim from the edge of the river, the pool of gaslight they walked in stabbed his brain through his eyes.

Sleep is tempting, though, which is why he muses out loud, “Wait, what was that about your car and poker? At that time you said that was an accident!”

Jonathan winces. “So I did. Not one of my finer moments, I’m afraid. It’s rather a long story.”

“Well, we got time. Unless you’re planning to dump me in a taxi and go for that drink.”

“Exactly who do you take me for? All right, so that was around the time I used to patronise a nice little club in Covent Garden…”

Rick ends up paying for the taxi to the hospital, but the story is entertaining enough to stay awake for, even though, he suspects, the storyteller is glossing over certain details to make himself look good… ish. Jonathan’s grip on him is warm, and if it’s shaking a little he shows no sign of letting go. Which is a good thing, because while Rick used to be pretty good at winning bar brawls ten years ago in Cairo and be in good enough shape to limp home afterwards, he’d be in trouble right now if it was just him. Oh, he’d survive. But he wouldn’t necessarily enjoy it.

“Rick? Still awake?”

“Yeah,” Rick mumbles, and does his best to look like it. “Keep going.”

As lousy as he feels, he’s actually looking forward to the end of the story, and – much, much later, probably – a drink to celebrate punching fascists and not ending up a part of the Thames riverbed.

All in all, he really has had worse evenings.

___________

The title is in reference to Samuel Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner:

Water, water, everywhere, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink.

It’s not really important, but this story is set in November 1934. British Fascists/Nazis were a thing: look up Oswald Mosley (who created the British Union of Fascists) and the Battle of Cable Street.

Jack Petersen was a British heavyweight champion in the early 1930s.

Re. Rick saying “taxi” rather than “cab” – I know, I know, Americans use “cab” where the British generally use “taxi”. But Rick hasn’t lived in the US for almost two decades at this point, so I stand by the word :D

I’ll be reblogging this shortly with the link to the story on AO3!

#the mummy #the mummy series #Rick O'Connell #Jonathan Carnahan #fanfiction #my stuff #ask reply #tinydooms

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bitchloveskcbaseball · 4 years

Text

Drawn to a Flame

Pairing: Logan x Charlotte Wheeler

Summary: Logan and Charlotte go for a short drive that ends up being so much more. Set shortly after the ending of Stitches

Warnings: Just a bit of cursing and very brief references to a car crash.

Disclaimer: Logan belongs to Pixelberry.

Word Count: 3364

A/N: This is my piece for @rodappreciationweek Epilogue Day. Just as with the first part, the name for this came from Shawn Mendes’s song Stitches (I might be just a little obsessed right now lol)

“Um, Logan?” Charlotte's brow furrowed when he took a right turn two blocks before he should have turned left.

“Yeah?”

“This isn’t the way to the college.”

“Oh? It isn’t?” His tone told her that he knew it wasn’t.

“Damn it, we don’t have time for this. My meeting with my advisor starts in less than an hour! I can’t be late to that after missing so many days already.”

“It’s not like you were playin’ hooky, babe.”

“Yeah, because demolishing my car in an illegal street race is an approved reason for missing weeks of classes.”

“Nobody knows you were street racing when you wrecked.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “For now.”

Letting out a sigh, Logan moved his hand from the gear shift to rest briefly on her leg, squeezing a spot just above her knee gently. “Just relax, okay? I got you. You know I’ll always get you where you need to be.”

Instinctively, she tried to reach out her left hand to lace their fingers together, remembering too late that it was her broken arm. Despite her best efforts to the contrary, a small whimper slipped out at the jolt of pain the small movement caused.

Logan chuckled ruefully, “You would think you’d remember by now as much as you’ve done that.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed as she bit out, “Shut up.”

He pulled his hand away from her leg and she had to fight the urge to beg him to put it back, but almost immediately, his fingers were tangling gently in her hair, somehow managing to tuck the messy strands behind her hair without taking his eyes off the road. “I know babe. I miss it too. More than you can possibly know.”

The tender sweetness had her almost desperate to touch him and her frustration skyrocketed as a result. “Would you stop being sweet? It isn’t helping this situation one bit.”

“Should I laugh at your pain instead?”

“Yes, actually. That would be incredibly helpful.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. That’s one thing I can’t do for you. Especially not this time.”

It sounded almost as if he actually regretted it and Charlotte fell just a little harder for him. But she also didn’t miss the shudder that went through his body and found herself wishing for someway to comfort him. Even if the accident had helped bring them back together, she hated the way she’d scared him with her stupidity. Plus, losing her car like that was killing her. “I’m so sorry, Logan. I – “

“Don’t. You’re fine. I’m fine. It…it’s all fine.”

Dropping her head back against the seat, she smothered her groan of frustration. He’d been staying with her for a week but he still wouldn’t talk to her about the crash, despite the way it was clearly still bothering him. Like he thought he had to be this unaffected tough guy about the whole thing. She wanted so badly to push him on it, to make him open up, but she’d been down that road several times already and it always ended with a fight. And that was something she did not want to get into with the way she was already fighting a pounding headache and a touch of nausea – not that she was going to tell him about that particular development – so she held her tongue, letting the deep thrum of the Devore’s engine relax the tension out of her aching, exhausted body.

The next thing she knew, a hand was running gently through her hair and a soft, muffled-sounding voice was calling her name. Using an inordinate amount of effort, she pulled herself awake, vision blurry as she locked onto Logan, who was kneeling at her open door.

“Hey, Troublemaker. Have a good nap?”

“Mm-hmm.” Eyes threatening to slide closed again, she blinked hard a few times, but still felt like she was fighting a losing battle.

Chuckling, Logan leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “So…you think you’re ready to go back to school, huh?”

“I would be if the damn doctors would clear me for it.” Even to her own ears, her voice lacked conviction.

“Says the girl who’s worn out after taking a short car ride.”

“That doesn’t mean shit.”

“You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

Too exhausted to argue and beyond desperate to have him close to her, she raised her good arm to wrap around his shoulder and pleaded, “Hold me?”

“That mean you want me to carry you, Troublemaker?” Logan’s low laugh was somehow gentle and sweet.

“No. It means I want you to hold me.” Charlotte couldn’t help but cringe at how whiny she sounded.

“Char” – he sighed – “Lottie. Just let me carry you.”

“No. I can walk. I just need you to help me up.”

His eyes searched her face for several long seconds before he finally muttered, “Fine.” Wrapping his left arm gently around her back while trying to be careful of her still tender ribs, he held on to her free hand with his right to help tug her up to her feet. Tucking her against his side, he asked, “You good?”

Breathless from the effort and the way her body still protested even the slightest movements, she leaned heavily against Logan and huffed, “No. I told you to hold me.”

He twisted so that she was pressed against his chest and wrapped his arms around her as much it was possible with her arm in a cast and sling. She could feel his smile when he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “How ‘bout now?”

“This is perfect,” Charlotte sighed contentedly. They were silent for several moments before she muttered, voice muffled by his chest, “You know you can still call me Char or Charlotte if you want.”

“I thought you didn’t go by either of those anymore.”

“I…I don’t. Or didn’t. It just reminded me too much of…well, you. And him.”

“And it doesn’t still remind you of him?”

“Well, Char doesn’t. Not really.”

Logan gently pushed her away from him, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear before cupping her cheek in his hand. “Troublemaker, you… You aren’t the same girl I first met.” Charlotte felt her heart stutter, suddenly terrified of what he might say next, but was too frozen to interrupt. “I get that now. So, if this version of yourself, the true Charlotte, goes by Lottie, I can get used to that. Because I love her, you, so much and what name she goes by will never change that.”

It took a minute before Charlotte could pull in a shuddering breath, the fear she had been feeling making it hard to comprehend everything he’d just told her. To understand that he was finally saying all the words she’d yearned to hear for so long. But when it finally clicked, the biggest smile she’d ever felt broke out across her face. “You really mean that? All of it?”

“Every single word.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You were right when you told me that I never actually listened to what you wanted. I…I just assumed that you still wanted the life that you’d had planned before you met me. That this life and I were just a phase you were going through… I assumed that I knew better than you. I was too worried about how I was screwing up your life that I failed to see how much you had changed. Had blossomed.”

“Oh Logan.” She threaded the fingers of her free hand through the hair at the base of his head, using her grip to pull his lips down to hers. When he was close enough for their breaths to mingle, she whispered, “That’s all I’ve ever needed from you. For you to accept me like this.”

“Always, baby. Always.” He closed the remaining distance between their lips, kissing her softly, telling her without words just how precious she was to him. When they finally broke apart, several minutes later, they were both breathless and a little dazed.

Logan snapped out of it first, chuckling, which caused Charlotte to narrow her eyes at him.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Myself. And how easily you seem to be able to completely distract me. I don’t know how I ever thought I’d be able to stay away from you forever.”

“Well no one ever said you were the brains of this operation.” Charlotte managed to keep her expression serious, but could almost feel the laughter sparkling in her eyes.

“Good thing I never claimed to be, isn’t it?” He bopped her nose softly, careful of the fading bruises that still covered her face. “Anyway. I brought you here for a reason and I think we are already late.”

“Oh, my god! My meeting.” She jolted in an attempt to take off, but the sudden move sent a shockwave of pain through her body and her knees would have buckled if not for Logan’s supporting arms around her.

“Easy, babe. I don’t think you are gonna be in trouble for being late to this particular meeting.”

“You don’t underst – “ For the first time since he woke her up, Charlotte actually took in her surroundings and confusion immediately settled over her. Instead of being in a campus parking lot, they were in front of a self-storage facility. “What the hell is going on, Logan?”

“You’ll see in just a bit. You sure you want to walk?”

It wasn’t an easy task, but she resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t ask again.”

He started to unwrap himself from around her but she grabbed onto the front of his shirt. “Hey. Don’t be like that.”

“Me? Like what exactly?”

“Mad at me.” She forced herself to ignore his scoff. “I know, I’m being a bitch about all this. It just…it sucks to be so damned dependent on you. …Not you specifically. Just anybody. I hate this and I hate that I did it to myself.”

Logan’s expression softened as he shifted them around so that she was tucked into his side. He wrapped his arm loosely around her and nuzzled the side of her face before pressing a kiss to her temple. “I know baby. And I know I’m going overboard with the protectiveness. I just…I want to take care of you.”

“And you are. So much. So well.” She smiled when she felt him bury his nose in her hair, but when he stayed like that for several moments, she poked his side playfully. “Don’t we have somewhere to be? Something for you to show me?”

“Oh! Right! Yeah…you ready?”

“Definitely.”

Keeping his arm wrapped around her, Logan started to guide her through the maze of storage units. He had already taken two right turns and one left and they were still walking, leading her to wonder if he actually knew where he was taking her. After yet another right turn, she finally voiced her concern. “Are you sure you know where you’re going? Do I need to send out some sort of homing beacon so the authorities can find us?” The breathlessness of her voice seemed to ruin the comedic effect of her joke as Logan drew them to a stop, staring at her with concern-filled eyes.

“Hey. You need to take a break?”

She tried not to pant as she worked to catch her breath. “Depends. How much further?” She didn’t want to admit it, but her body really was starting to scream. She hadn’t moved half this much in almost two weeks and she could definitely feel it.

“Just let me carry you, babe.”

“How far, Logan?”

He let out a loud exhale before finally relenting, “Not far. It’s just at the end of this row. But seriously – “

“I’m fine. Just… maybe we could go a little slower?”

“That’s the most I’m gonna get from you, isn’t it?”

“You bet your sweet ass it is.”

“Whatever.” She could tell he was annoyed with her, but the way the corner of his lips kept twitching with the smile he was trying to hold back told her he wasn’t all that upset.

Once they were finally standing in front of their destination, a unit at the end of the row with a large, garage-type door, Charlotte turned to Logan with raised eyebrows. “Babe, I’m still confused.”

“It will all make sense in a minute, I swear.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, typing out a short message before putting it back.

“Seriously? You lead me all the way down here just to send a fucking – “ The soft hum of a garage door opener captured Charlotte’s attention as it started to roll the door up. “Did you just send a text message to open that freakin’ door?”

There was a burst of laughter at that – make it two bursts of laughter. Forehead once again wrinkled in confusion, she turned towards the storage unit and gasped at who she saw inside. “Paul?”

“Yeah, Lottie. It’s me.”

Unexpected tears sprung to her eyes and she was helpless to stop them. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since he’d stormed out of her hospital room and she was starting to think that she really had fucked up that friendship. Even with Logan here – especially with Logan here – she knew she still needed Paul in her life and the thought that he might not be absolutely broke her heart. But here he was, waiting in a storage locker for her. But why is he waiting in a storage locker?

Before she even realized he’d moved, he was in front of her, pulling her into a much-too-tight hug, but she refused to complain. Logan, on the other hand, had no qualms about it. “Dude. Lighten up. She’s still really banged up.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry sweetheart.” Paul pulled back, but still kept his hands on her shoulders. His voice was much quieter when he added, “And not just for crushing you.”

“No, don’t – “

“Hush. I owe you an apology. You’d literally just woken up from – “ Paul shook his head, as if chasing memories away. “I should have been more understanding with you. More patient. And I damn sure shouldn’t have taken off on you like that. I just… You scared me so damn bad, Lottie. I thought…”

“I know. I know and I shouldn’t have tried to make light of the situation. I just…I hated seeing you so tense and upset and I thought a little joke might lighten the mood. I didn’t even consider everything I’d put you through.” She wanted to let it all go at that, to just enjoy knowing that she hadn’t ruined their friendship, but she couldn’t bite back the question that had been haunting her since he’d stormed out. Voice barely above a whisper, she asked, “Why didn’t you return any of my calls?”

Paul let out a deep sigh. “At first, it was because I was pissed as hell at you. Then, I knew Logan was going to be showing up on your doorstep and didn’t want to give you time to guard that frozen heart of yours.”

“Hey!”

“You know it’s true.”

“Whatever, jackass. What about after you knew Logan and I had talked?”

Turning to face Logan, Paul laughed, “She’s incredibly observant, isn’t she?”

“It really makes you wonder how she’s such a good street racer, doesn’t it?”

Shifting her glare between the two men, Charlotte hissed, “Hey, assholes, I’m still standing right here.”

“Oh, trust me, Troublemaker, we know.”

She knew it was an overreaction to storm off, but she was tired and annoyed and every inch of her body felt like it was throbbing so she really didn’t care how much of an overreaction it really was. She had only taken half of a step, though, before an almost familiar glint coming from inside the storage unit caught her eye. She side-stepped around Paul, the sight behind him causing her to freeze with horror, disbelief and excitement.

“That’s – “ She had to clear her throat to get her voice to work around her tears. “That’s my car.”

Coming up behind her, Logan wrapped his arms around her waist, being sure to avoid bumping her arm or pressing on her incision. “Yeah, baby.”

“What… how… Oh my god. What did I do?”

“Shh. It’s fine. It looks worse than it is.”

“Logan.”

“I’m not saying it’s gonna be a quick fix. But Paul’s already found a new frame. And we’ve got the pieces that need to be completely replaced on order. But the majority of it is fixable. We’re just gonna need you to be patient with us because this shit isn’t gonna be easy.”

Spinning slowly within his arms, she wrapped her right one around Logan’s neck before asking, “Why?”

“Because I know what that car means to you. Hell, what it means to us. And it isn’t beyond repair, so I wasn’t going to let it get scrapped.” A mischievous smirk broke out across his face as he added, “Besides, it’s only fair that I help fix it since I’m sorta the reason it needs fixed.”

Charlotte smothered the gasp that wanted to escape. She hadn’t been able to get him to even talk about the crash and here he was, joking about it? As much as it annoyed her, she figured it was better than nothing so instead of pressing the matter, she arched an eyebrow and sassed, “And just what makes you think it had anything to do with you?”

“Well your record was perfect until I showed up.”

She rolled her eyes at him so hard she immediately regretted it when her headache really started to throb. “Whatever. Pure coincidence is all that was.”

Before he could smart off again, she tugged him down so she could kiss him. Almost immediately, he deepened the kiss, running his tongue along her lips, begging for access. Just before she could oblige him, however, an over-exaggerated cough broke them out of their haze.

Charlotte looked over at Paul sheepishly, knowing that he knew she’d completely forgotten he was there. Rather that bring further attention to it, she opted to shift the conversation back to her car. “Thank you. So much for all of this. For saving her from the scrap yard and for putting all the plans together to fix her.”

“Hell, Lottie. Don’t go getting’ sentimental on me now.”

“Oh, whatever. You know you love it.”

Paul barked, “Shut up,” but it lacked any real heat and the smile on his face softened what was left of the blow.

Turning back to Logan, a realization struck her and she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to mess with him. “What happened to no more lies, Logan?”

“Huh? What?”

“You said I had a meeting with my academic advisor.”

“Well, uh…I just… I wanted to surprise you.” At first, she thought he was just playing along, but the way he was refusing to meet her eyes told her that he was taking it all to heart. Guilt instantly started eating at her.

“Hey, look at me.” When he just shook his head, she cupped his cheek in her hand and forced him to turn back towards her. “This was so much better than some stupid college meeting.”

Eyebrows knitted together, his disbelief was thick in his voice as he asked, “Really? You aren’t pissed at me for lying to you again?”

“Of course I’m not pissed. I was just trying to mess with you a little bit.” She bit her lip, pondering for just a second if she should just leave it at that, but couldn’t resist adding, “Besides, I’ve been wondering how I was beat your ass again without a car.”

The strangled noise that got caught in his throat and the panic that settled over his expression let her know that she would soon have another battle on her hands with him. But she didn’t mind, because she was finally starting to believe that Logan was really in this for the long haul this time.

Tags: @burnsoslow @anotherbeingsworld @openheart

#RoDAW #logan x mc #rod logan #ride or die: a bad boy romance #choices rod

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goldensilvan · 3 years

Text

bitter air and winds of spite

rating: pg13 for mild swearing

words: 3771 (way more than i intended to write. ‘it’ll be a short fic! maybe 1-1.5k words!’ i said, foolish and naive.)

summary: in which their ship crashes, hux insists that kylo ren is an idiot with a concussion, kylo ren can't really muster much of a defense with his horrible pounding headache and nausea, and they must overcome their differences with the power of stabbing, shooting, and general lightsaber-ing.

happy holidays everyone!! this is my submission for @starwarssecretsanta

i had so much fun participating in the gift exchange this year, and had the opportunity to write a kylux fic for @gay-agents-and-generals, which i had an absolute blast with. i always forget how much i love writing for this ship, which funnily enough is the reason i got into star wars fandom at all!

so here’s an absolutely self-indulgent, long-winded, only-the-tiniest-bit-serious fic with the barest semblance of a plot.

Read on Ao3

Everything about General Hux was sharp.

Kylo Ren had known a lot of weapons in his life, had known he was a weapon to be used for as long as he could remember. An advantageous friendship to have. A pupil to be molded. An example to be paraded around. A mark worth targeting. An assassin to send. A source of information and control.

He was a lightsaber, bright and showy and deadly. A symbol.

Hux was a Krath war blade. Such a fine blade that you could take a step before even realizing your throat had been cut, so deeply imbued in the Dark Side that it was impossible to even get a reflection.

His grin was sharp. His thoughts were sharp. His ambition was sharp.

The only thing that wasn’t sharp was his Force presence. General Hux was as Force Sensitive as his boots, and about half as overtly emotional. He was brilliant of mind and tremendously ambitious, but he was not of particularly vibrant personality.

Which suited Kylo just fine. He could only shudder to imagine just what a man possessed of irrationality could do with Hux’s abilities. And that’s considering the massive superweapon that he was building to wipe out literal star systems. Hux, at least, had no plans to run off on his own and destroy civilizations for the hell of it. No, everything, every moment, every breath, every plan had a purpose.

At least, that’s what Kylo was telling himself as they trekked miserably across Bumfuck, Nowhere, Wild Space in the pouring rain and high winds.

Hux hadn’t exactly asked Kylo along, had in fact requested he not come at all, but really. In what galaxy was Kylo going to sit around and wait while Hux gallivanted around the galaxy, investigating potential assets for the Order and having wild adventures without him? At least, that’s what Kylo assumed the intention was. Considering the ship had been shot at upon entry to the system and had promptly crashed, the original mission, whatever it had been, had been scrapped in favour of Surviving Long Enough For Rescue, so he hadn’t really had a chance to quiz Hux on his motives.

The three troopers that had survived the crash were working on the ship to see what, if anything, could be salvaged or used to call the Finalizer for rescue, and Hux and Kylo were hiking through the wilderness for… something. In full honesty, his brain had been vibrating since the crash and he was decently certain he was still bleeding a bit, but he didn’t really want to take his helmet off. Not in front of General Armitage ‘You-Should-Strap-Yourself-In-Ren-And-If-You-Don’t-You’d-Better-Not-Complain-When-You-Get-Hurt’ Hux.

“We’ll stop here,” Hux announced, cutting through Kylo’s thoughts. “Any closer, and we’ll be spotted.”

Kylo’s eyes snapped towards where Hux was gesturing and belatedly noticed the almost completely hidden base. The only signs that there was anyone in the weirdly shaped dirt mound was the machinery just barely poking out – anti-aircraft guns. The very same that had probably brought them down. Anger roiled in his belly, deep and hot, followed by a wave of nausea.

Hux crouched, bringing himself as close to the edge of the ridge as he apparently dared, pulling macrobinoculars from somewhere and lying down on his stomach to begin to assess the situation. Kylo reached out his mind, because if Hux did all the work while Kylo sat around, he’d be an insufferable bastard about it later, and he could sense a few dozen people, all adults, all filled with the grim satisfaction of bringing down an enemy ship.

He’d enjoy killing them. Maybe a little blood would help with his headache. Certainly couldn’t make it worse.

“About thirty-five lifeforms, definitely the bastards who brought us down,” Kylo announced smugly.

“New Republic base, about fifteen years old, three planetary defense grade ion cannons. Small hangar for speedercraft. No ground cannons.” Hux turned to smirk at Kylo. “I thought your weird mind powers were supposed to be helpful?”

“Shut up,” Kylo grumbled.

Hux seemed put off for a brief moment, his eyes narrowed just a bit, but then he turned back to watching the base without snarking back. “They don’t seem to be expecting an assault; they probably think that we all died in the crash. Imbeciles.”

“So, I’m going in, murdering them all, and then we’ll call for extraction?”

“We’ll see,” he answered cryptically. “I want to do a little more surveillance first so we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Kylo shrugged, sitting unceremoniously on the ground. “Suit yourself.”

He wasn’t sure just how long they sat there without speaking, but the hope that sitting quietly for a little while would make everything less wrong faded more with every second. Concussion, his mind supplied grimly, and a pretty bad one. But it was fine. He just had to stick it out for long enough to get back to his quarters, which wouldn’t be long now. He’d go in, kill everyone in his way, call Phasma, and then he’d get to sleep, and it would be fine. Was fine now, in fact. He’d done more with worse injuries.

Hux seated himself right in front of Kylo. “Okay, Ren, ready to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Kylo said, because nothing was wrong and everything was fine.

He hummed doubtfully. “Mind taking off that helmet for me?”

“Why?” he yelped, scooting backwards just a bit. “I do not need to do that. Why would I do that?”

“Because you clearly have some kind of brain injury and if we’re going to be clearing out that base, I need you to be coherent.”

“I’m coherent!”

He rolled his eyes. “Your standard for coherency is pretty low, but I have noticed marked downgrades from even your usual grunting and melodrama. As much as I very much do not miss it, you haven’t tried to argue with me once, and head injury is far more likely than sudden appreciation for the chain of command.”

Kylo opened his mouth to dispute that, but Hux was already on top of him, trying to simultaneously pin him down and get the helmet off. Even concussed, though, Kylo was stronger than Hux and he wasn’t about to go down without a fight. Even though it was kind of nice to be pressed so close to Hux. Even though it was certainly nice to know Hux was worried about him. Even though Hux was surprisingly good at this.

“Just – take it – off – you bastard!” Hux grunted out, knee pinning Kylo’s flailing arm.

“Get off me!” Kylo snarled, squirming harder.

Hux got his other knee onto Kylo’s legs, but Kylo wrenched them both around so that he was on top and pinning Hux instead but ooooh, that was not good on his stomach. The world tilted alarmingly for a long moment and then vomit was filling his helmet and he was yanking it off so he could throw up onto the ground and maybe onto Hux too. If he was gonna be miserable, then everyone was gonna be miserable.

“Hey!” Hux protested, disengaging completely and rolling away, well out of puke-range.

Kylo had a weird, incongruous moment of missing the press of Hux’s body on his before it was discarded in favour of dry heaving into the grass. It subsided as quickly as it came on, and he was left feeling disgusting, wondering just how he was going to solve that particular problem, when Hux shoved a wet rag into his face. He accepted it with slightly muted surprise, wiping away the mess.

“If you’d been less of a bastard from the start and just told me that you weren’t well, I would have given you something for it hours ago,” Hux said crossly. He’d at least had the grace to wait until Kylo had gotten himself clean, an unexpected mercy. The bottle of water he’d clearly used to wet the rag – which Kylo could now identify as a torn spare shirt – was on the ground within reach along with a few stim tabs of varying purpose. The labels swam just a bit as he stared at them.

“You absolute moron,” Hux muttered, passing the stims over one at a time. “For the dizziness, the nausea, and that one’s a stimulant to get your brain moving again.” He grabbed the other half of the shirt and wet it, rising just enough to loom over Kylo threateningly as he dabbed at the blood in his hair.

It was… oddly sweet, Kylo thought, just a little amused at their situation. He injected the three tabs and downed the remainder of the bottle of water, and he hated to admit that he felt almost immediately better.

He turned narrowed eyes onto Hux, once his mind was clear. Just what was the General getting out of treating him kindly? A more efficient attack dog, he supposed, although if Hux thought he was just going to roll over and obey his plans after that mildly humiliating display with the helmet, he had another thing coming.

Speaking of… “Where’s my helmet?” Kylo asked, once he was certain that he would start vomiting again the second he opened his mouth.

“You’ve got to be kriffing kidding me,” Hux said flatly. “What makes you think I’m giving that back to you?”

“It’s mine.”

“It’s full of vomit, Ren. While watching you torture yourself needlessly is usually a mildly entertaining pastime, I really do think that I would give myself a concussion to avoid thinking about you putting yourself through that.”

“It’s mine. Give it back,” he added in a low growl.

Hux sniffed imperiously. “Launched it into the river when you weren’t looking. It’s disgusting and I will gladly replace it. I’m fairly certain you would have had to replace it anyway, given that the structural integrity was definitely compromised.”

Maybe he would have. Maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe it’s none of Hux’s business. Either way, the helmet was gone, and he was stuck without it.

His first instinct was to knock Hux down a peg – see how he likes his stuff being thrown into rivers – but they were alone with unknown hostiles and even through the haze of anger, Kylo recognized that he was a useful ally.

“I’m throwing your coat into space when we get back,” he threatened.

Hux raised his eyebrows. “Sure. Feel up to killing some jackasses?”

“It’s insulting that you even have to ask.”

“I only ask because a mere fifteen minutes ago, you were vomiting very enthusiastically in my direction,” Hux reminded him, and Kylo had to firmly tell himself that Hux was not one of the jackasses he was planning on killing today. Or, this afternoon, at least. This evening was another story.

Kylo’s only answer to that particular jibe was a sneer as he pulled out his lightsaber. “Let’s go.”

“Just a moment,” Hux said. He shrugged off his greatcoat and folded it neatly, laying it beside his pack, and then his uniform jacket was laid gently beside it. Out of his pack then came four vibroblades, two blasters, and what Kylo assumed would assemble into some kind of heavy assault weapon but was strapped on in separate pieces. He looked ready to murder his way through that rebel base, and if Kylo was being honest, that was a really nice image.

Getting back down on his stomach, Hux primed one of the blasters, its whine soft but insistent. Charged enough to kill. “Ready,” he said. “You head down and kick the nest.”

He didn’t bother saying anything, just turned on his heel and jumped off of their little crest, moving as quickly as he could towards the two guards. They fell quickly and easily, surprised expressions etched onto their faces. It didn’t take long for others to begin swarming him, but he was never overwhelmed – pinpoint blasts took down almost as many as fell to his lightsaber, and he had to be grudgingly impressed that it seemed not a single shot missed its mark.

He counted the bodies piling up �� twelve of his original count of thirty-five.

Another came around the edge, laying down heavy blaster fire and Kylo lunged forwards, only for a shot from behind to scream past his ear. He turned, sensing the imminent danger a second too late, only to be treated to the sight of the man who’d shot at him falling limply to the ground, Hux holding a dripping vibroblade and smiling pleasantly. Kylo very pointedly did not think about that image as he turned again, crossing the distance between himself and the shooter in a single movement. They fell down, bringing the body count to fourteen. Almost half, and they hadn’t even made it inside yet.

“Do we want to see if any of these shitstains have ID to access the door, or do we want to just laser-sword it into submission?” Hux asked casually, coming to stand beside Ren and look the door over critically.

“My way’s faster,” Kylo got out, absolutely not distracted by the spray of blood that had painted Hux’s cheek.

Hux gestured grandly at him to go ahead, a movement Kylo vaguely remembered from his diplomacy lessons as a kid to be for royalty on one of the Outer Rim planets. Whether it was a compliment or an insult, Kylo did get them in there pretty quickly, carving a massive hole in the door and then kicking it down with a dramatic, athletic move.

Hux didn’t seem too appreciative, but it’s not like he was trying to impress him anyway, so whatever.

Four guards waited just inside. Each of them got two, and Kylo wasn’t sure when he’d decided he needed to have the higher kill count, but he was definitely going to. Seventeen left, and he was already up by a few.

Without waiting for input from Hux, Kylo headed off down the leftmost hallway, his senses telling him that the highest concentration of life forms was down there. Sighing obnoxiously, Hux followed, and Kylo could hear the soft rustling of fabric and knocking of durasteel as weapons were swapped out.

They approached quietly enough that no one seemed to notice them, all scrambling to pack up data and other equipment. It seemed to be a command hub of some kind, since there were loads of screens and one platform where a leader could ostensibly look out over everyone to direct workflow, with thick barriers holding up the leader’s tech.

Hux tapped his shoulder, indicating the platform. Evidently, he’d had the same thought, and they moved as one.

Kylo reached out with the Force, throwing one against the wall while he speared another, and Hux nailed three in quick succession as he sprinted across the room. Kylo covered their move to the platform with wide, sweeping motions, the smell of burnt flesh so much worse without his helmet to filter it all out. There was screaming and moaning and yelling and total chaos, which was honestly just how he liked it. He could feel his pulse thrumming in his ears, and he grinned at Hux, who gave him a bloody, vicious smile in return.

Once they got up to the platform, it was game over. Hux hefted the heavy assault rifle with practised, eager hands and laid down fire on anyone who tried to approach. Kylo reflected any attempts at shooting them right back at the perpetrators, lightsaber spinning in both his and Hux’s defense.

It seemed to last for both an hour and a second – he blinked and suddenly none of the Rebels were standing. One was groaning, and then Hux shot him again, and he stopped groaning.

He did a body count – thirty-four. And where was –

“Lucky number thirty-five,” he growled, reaching out with the Force to snatch the last one, who’d been sneaking up to Hux with a blade in hand. Eyes just a little wider with more surprise than he usually let himself show, Hux turned to see his would-be assassin choke for a long moment before she collapsed.

There was a long pause. “Thank you,” Hux said, as if it grated on him to do so.

“You’re welcome, General,” Kylo said, and then seized on the opportunity to gloat. “I know you wouldn’t have made it without me.”

“I’m happy to let you believe that,” he said stiffly.

“And I’m happy to let you believe whatever you want, too,” Kylo shot back, pouring as much amused condescension as he could muster into his voice. “Either way, let’s find the comms.”

Hux huffed out an annoyed breath, seeming to weigh having the last word against Kylo choosing to be productive. He chose the latter, but didn’t seem happy about it, which figured. “It should be this way,” he said, not waiting on Kylo to follow.

“I think we’re going the wrong way,” Kylo said, just to be a jerk. There really weren’t that many hallways around here.

“If you have nothing useful to contribute – oh, there it is.” Hux pulled a First Order beacon device that would let them connect to Phasma from his pocket, crouching to inspect the communications panel better. It was smoking slightly and the door wasn’t latched on properly, and Kylo knew what Hux was going to say before he said it. “Damn. They wrecked it before leaving.”

“We’ll just need to rewire it,” Kylo said confidently.

They both reached for it at once.

“I can do it,” Hux said, and the probably quicker than you can went unsaid but heard loud and clear.

“So can I,” Kylo shot back, annoyed. Whether he liked to think about it or not, his first calluses had been from playing with janky wiring on Han Solo’s beloved but barely functional rustbucket, and he was pretty sure that that made him more qualified to play technician on this bit of janky New Republic wiring.

Hux rolled his eyes and gestured for Kylo to go ahead. Kylo narrowed his eyes but didn’t hesitate to start in on the wiring, assessing the mess with a critical eye. Maybe being on the Finalizer had him spoiled, because this somehow seemed worse that what he was used to. How in the kriffing Force the New Republic managed anything when their movement was, at best, a squabbling collective of similarly minded but disconnected systems with what he could only guess amounted to about seven credits, nine starships from the Clone Wars, and more fancy dresses that one could shake a lightsaber at, was well beyond him. He was so glad that his job had nothing to do with politics.

“You should connect the red and the green,” Hux said, cutting through his thoughts.

“I know what I’m doing,” Kylo snapped. The red and the green did need to be connected. Dammit. He slipped in the beacon and started just prodding around to find the loose connection.

“Next –”

“Shut up, Hux, I know what I’m doing!”

Hux raised his eyebrows and took a step back, arms raised in mock surrender. “Sure, you do,” he said mildly, as if Kylo’s annoyance was a personal attack on his innocent soul. Ha!

“Yes, I do!” he said firmly, jamming his hands back in and tuning Hux out.

As expected, Hux refused to be tuned out. “I’m just saying –”

“You always undermine me –”

“You always undermine me!”

“This isn’t about you!”

“Because everything has to be all about you, all the time?”

Kylo clambered to his feet. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Didn’t you? Because you are the most self-centred person –”

“That is rich coming from you!”

Hux was right in his face, his eyes blazing. Kylo didn’t think he’d ever seen him this worked up about anything before.

There was a long pause – Hux’s tangle of anger and anticipation was heady on Kylo’s tongue, the air itself seeming to still as if the world itself hung in wait to see how badly they were about to murder each other.

But then –

He wasn’t sure who moved first, but when they kissed, Kylo could feel Hux’s body heat pressed against what felt like every inch of him. Gloved hands gripped his hair tightly, yanking just enough to pull a soft growl from him, vibrating against both of their lips.

Kylo slammed Hux back against the wall, and they jumped apart at the sparks that erupted from the forgotten communications panel, breathing heavily and eyes locked.

There was a sharp crackle, and then Phasma’s voice – staticky and jumpy, but definitely hers. “General Hux?”

“Captain Phasma,” Hux greeted, and although outwardly, he was controlled and even, Kylo could hear his thrumming pulse. “Is this a private channel?”

“Yes, of course, General. What’s going on down there? We lost contact with your ship,” Phasma said.

“We got shot down,” he said, with the kind of casual airs of someone reporting on the weather. He was smiling, and it made the blood on his cheek crinkle.

Phasma sighed, and when she spoke, the disapproval was heavy in her voice. “Why can’t you ever play nice with the other kids, sir?”

“He’s an insufferable bastard,” Kylo suggested, earning himself a swift punch to the arm. He made a face right back at Hux’s sour expression.

“I do suppose there’s that,” she agreed, clearly amused. “I’ll gather a strike team to take care of the rebels on the planet and an extraction team to get you two out of there.”

Hux sniffed imperiously. “How inefficient do you take me to be, Captain? We’ve cleared the rebel base. That’s actually where we’re calling you from. We’ll need an extraction team, and the troopers left at the wreckage will also need transport.”

“The teams will be en route as soon as we can get ships in. Are there any injuries they should be aware of?”

“Nothing serious,” Hux said.

“Unless the troopers decided to play landmine hopscotch in our absence,” Kylo added. “They didn’t seem very bright.”

Phasma sighed again, and he could almost sense her exasperation from orbit. “They were perfectly competent soldiers. I’m sure they’re fine.”

“If you say so,” he said, infusing as much doubt into his voice as he could.

“Captain, please send the extraction team as soon as possible. Being surrounded by rebel stupidity is giving me hives,” Hux cut in, apparently also inclined to be kind of a dick to Phasma for no good reason. Actually, no, it was fun, and that was as good a reason as any.

“They’ll leave shortly. Can you keep yourselves entertained in the meantime?” Phasma asked wryly.

They exchanged a sharp grin. “I’m sure we’ll find a way,” Hux said.

#kylo ren #general hux #kylux #star wars #my writing #yes this is self-indulgent pre-tfa fic. what of it #title taken from sturgill simpson's sing along #because it was in my head the entire time i wrote this mess #swsecretsanta2020

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kingquest · 3 years

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There's a slow, burning tension in his leg. It pulses, aches, like a knot strung too tightly around some distant extremity, the pain reverberates through his bones and marrow and finally congeals somewhere in his head. Dizziness threatens to suffocate and lethargy pools with his blood; he's too distracted to notice the newfound scrapes and tears trailing up his torso.

His helmet weighs heavy against his chest. He stirs, struggling to pull his head up. He stares blearily at his boots, only half-noticing the binds that tie them. He glances at his leg, which by all accounts should be splattered against moonrock, only to find freshly applied bandages instead. A fibery gauze has been wrapped underneath his clothing, snug and bloody.

He tries to pull himself upward, but his muscles reject him. His back falls onto a rocky surface behind him, followed by his hands and elbows, both also bound.

"Morning."

He freezes. White noise gnaws at the following silence. Adrenaline shoots through him, his fingertips lighting up with stars, but no matter the strain, no matter the exertion, he still can't fucking move. It takes all of his willpower to jut out his chin just enough to get a better angle, to peer out from behind his mask to find the voice, and in the end the tendons in his neck scream nearly as loud as the bullet wound. His effort is finally rewarded with the sight of a terran sitting atop a storage device in front of him, a thermos in one hand and his own gun in the other. She smirks at him.

Recognition comes slow. The memory of how he got here is trudging behind. Still, when the other shoe drops, so does his gut. He tenses, fighting against the ropes, only for a headache to strike back with a vengeance.

Skullcap droops.

His target sneers.

She says, "I was worried you might not wake up. Some people don't."

She leans forward, the gun not leaving her hip. She squints.

"Seems like the paralyzer's still in you some. I'll have to let my tox man know."

Skullcap says nothing.

"It'll probably fade," she says. She sips at her drink, shrugging. "If it doesn't, well, I can at least say I tried to opt for mercy."

She sits, waiting. Her eyes roll over him, like she's sizing him up. She adjusts the gun ever so slightly, taking a glance at it. Skullcap keeps his mouth shut.

"I knew you were coming. I mean, obviously. What'd he say, 'alive, not dead?' Bet he wants a crack at me himself." She laughs, tilting her thermos back.

As she swallows, she goes silent, almost expectantly so. She tilts her head, pursing her lips. The back of her heel bounces off of her seat.

"You're making this so boring. The silent, intimidating thing doesn't work on me, babe. I've already got you cornered." She sighs. "Come on, don't you have any questions for your predecessor? Or were you just going to shoot me down?"

Skullcap doesn't have an answer for that. He watches her, his head hung low. His hands clasp and unclasp behind him.

She scoffs.

"If you're not going be any fun about this--"

"How do you figure this is mercy?"

Vaira's brows raise. Then she huffs a laugh.

"For one thing, I didn't take your silly little helmet off."

He sighs. It teeters on relief.

"That, and you're still breathing. Moron." She swings her legs. "Is it not enough that I wanted to meet you? I hear he's put quite a bit of stock in you."

Skullcap bristles.

"Though," she says, "he did send you on a bit of a suicide mission."

He clears his throat. "How's that?"

"Either he overestimates you or he underestimates me. And I'm fairly certain it's not the latter." She examines her nails. "The way I see it, it's more than likely there's a bug on your ship. Aside from the literal vermin you keep, of course. They're tracking you, so if you end up keeling over somewhere, they've got a better idea of where I am."

This flood of information is too much at once. He hesitates, processing. His kneejerk response is defensiveness. "It's... not vermin."

She laughs. "Do you even have a license for that thing? If it's your partner, you know you'd need a contract with the guild, yeah?"

Her words buzz around in Skullcap's head. They refuse to stick. He just stares at her, adjusting his arms.

She waves dismissively. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. Besides, we've gotten so off track anyhow." In a quick gesture, she leans behind her, his gun unmoving. She plucks a tablet out from somewhere, scanning through it.

"Shocked we couldn't get a proper name on you. I would've dug further, but," she gestures to her surroundings. "Let's see. God, Typhor? Of all places? I suppose that was a given, but... still." She grimaces.

She glances up at him, scrutinizing. She adds, as if speaking to herself, "I wonder if he pulled you by your scruff from the dunes or if you actually wax pious. I've seen those scars of yours; my initial assumption feels apt, but I could be wrong. Either way, he's got you hooked somehow."

Skullcap pushes himself forward, heat gathering in his throat and jaw. "Now, look--"

"--You've had some decent jobs," she says, as if he'd said nothing at all. "But you've also had some real shit ones. I heard you shot someone in court." She clicks her tongue.

He stifles a groan. "None of this is any concern to you. It isn't your business."

"Honey," she says. "I've already strip-searched you. And dressed your wound--"

"From your bullet."

"--Which was an act of kindness on my part that none will see the likes of again. May I remind you, you were sent to disable me, or perhaps even kill me, so therefore I consider myself privy to all your dirty little secrets. Unless you'd like to do something about it?"

Skullcap stares at her. She leers.

"I thought not. Now, where were we?"

"Can you just cut to the goddamn chase? Please? If you're gonna kill me, get on with it, but if not--"

"Do they not have rapport in Typhor? Or do they just shoot people down like bloody dogs when they disagree?"

Skullcap's head tilts, indignant. She sighs.

"I suppose you're right. Even still, there's nothing wrong with a little conversation. I'd prefer that over a bullet in my head. And it's not like you introduced yourself. You just stormed into what you assumed was my hideout, gun drawn. Where are you manners, Skully?"

They watch each other wordlessly. Her nails tap rhythmically against the aluminum of her thermos. Her brow is quirked. His helmet hangs low, his eyes cast over in shadow. If no one knew any better, it'd be easy to assume there was nothing behind the gaping holes of his headwear at all.

It dawns on him that she, however, isn't so easily fooled. It's like she stares right through him, past the metal and chrome. Like her pupils are little scalpels, probing and dissecting. He believes that she's true enough to her word, that she didn't remove it, only because he's not sure if it would even matter if she had. She's playing like she's already seen everyone else's hand, and yet the only other player at the table that's losing is him.

He grunts. She huffs a laugh.

"Perhaps they don't teach you any of those on Typhor either." She shifts her legs, refolding them. "Would you prefer that I go first?"

Silence. He is trying to stop himself from sinking lower onto the floor.

"Very well." She straightens herself, extending her hand as if she wasn't several meters away and his hands weren't already bound. "Allow me to make your acquaintance. My name is Vaira Talwar and I'll be your mark this evening. Welcome to my home away from home."

Vaira gestures to the cave surrounding them. The humidity compresses into him; he's able to make out a distant dripping of water. The caves probably lead to a reservoir, or something of that nature. Must be how she's survived.

"I'm sure you've met my partner on the way in. She was very excited to meet you."

He stutters then, as if buffering. His helmet raises to see her better; her expression is stone, smug. He was warned of no accomplice. Her eyes brighten considerably, as if the helmet's somehow conveyed his alarm. Her mouth twists into a smirk.

She sets her drink down, raising her fingers to her lips. She whistles a sharp, airy sound unlike anything he's ever heard, and in an instant, the dim light behind him is blotted out by a massive silhouette. The shadow cuts through the cave's stilled air as dust swarms behind it, loose particles filtering in from underneath his helmet. He coughs through it, unable to wave away space to breathe, and once the debris settles and his breath is steady enough to see, he is filled with a deep understanding, one that piles onto to the preexisting load of dread hanging in his chest.

Vaira's arm is outstretched, covered with a metallic sleeve he doesn't remember seeing her put on. It's armored fabric, perfectly able to support the massive talons of her apparent partner. The thing's feathered head tilts at him, brassy and angular. Its beak comes to a wicked point and, at a passing glance, seems to have been gilded with gold. Vaira clicks her tongue at it and it shrieks, its golden eyes not leaving him. She places the gun down long enough to run her fingers through its feathery chin.

"Aquila, Skullcap. Skullcap, Aquila." She leans forward, cupping her hand over her mouth as if relaying a secret. "And of course, she's a guild member. Licensed and everything. I'd hate to get fined, or worse!" She barks a laugh. The eagle ruffles its feathers.

Skullcap simmers. Of course, she takes notice.

"Come on. Don't be so chuffed. It's not my fault they didn't warn you, is it?" She adjusts her arm and Aquila shimmies to her shoulder. Vaira points to her claws. "If you're wondering what exactly you've got running through you, take a look."

At second glance, the points of the bird's central nails shift into an almost transparent finish; a middle-ground between grey and pink. They're hooked inward and almost... hollow looking. Like fangs, he realizes. The weight from his chest spreads through him like nausea.

Vaira, unphased, coos at the monster upon her shoulder. It preens in return, chittering from somewhere within its throat.

"I've always been the type to work from above," she says, "but Aquila can see what even I can't. It's why we work together so well." Vaira pauses, not once casting a wayward eye back to Skullcap. "I've got a mate who distills her toxins. The bullet breaks down with its own velocity and melts like butter on impact. Penetrates, but not enough to shred through entirely. Just enough to dig through to an artery."

She turns back to him now, her grin slow and easy. "It's a bounty hunter's best friend."

Skullcap opts to stare. He would rather not give her the satisfaction.

Her expression gradually flattens. Her eyes roll. She shakes out her shoulder and Aquila jumps, swoops over him, and perches behind his rock; her shadow looms before him.

"I weep for our mutual friend's taste. Seems like it's worsened since I knew him. Maybe he thinks boring would keep him safer. Or at least, less likely to lose his new favorite toy."

"I'm mostly wondering what this is all leading up to."

She pauses. "Oh?"

"At this point," he says, "You've had ample chances to kill me. Between your gun, my gun, and whatever the hell she is, the way I see it, you're either stalling or you're lonely."

Vaira's brows raise. Her lips purse. Skullcap can't quite read her expression. He talks past it regardless.

"So," he says, "which is it? You keep talking about him, but as far as I'm concerned, you're the one who ran out on him. Just now figuring out crime doesn't pay?"

Her cheeks twitch. The corners of her lips draw deeper into her face, panning out into a barely restrained simper, before the first peal of laughter escapes her lungs entirely. She's overwhelmed just as quick, nearly doubling over and off her seat. He watches her wipe a false tear from her cheek with her shooting hand's pinkie and even as she composes herself, she's racked with occasional chuckles.

"You think--" she pauses to laugh, "--You think I'm lonely? You think I'm lonely because I quit my job?"

"Now I didn't say that."

Vaira throws her head back. She leans forward again with an amused sigh, shaking her head.

"Listen babe. You've got me all wrong. Let me tell you something." She leans forward, almost conspiratorial. Her voice drops to a whisper. "I've never felt more free in my goddamn life."

She drops her legs from the container, sliding off into a stand. She takes a step closer, his gun dangling at her thigh.

"And maybe," she says, "maybe if you'd open your eyes for once, you'd see I'm trying to pay you a fucking kindness. Mercy, remember?"

He squints. "I don't follow."

Vaira takes a deep, dramatic breath. Her thumb digs into her brow. "Fuck, mate. Are you really this dense? I'm trying to give you an out."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Do you even hear yourself?" She scoffs. "Of course I've had ample time to kill you. I could've done it a dozen times now." She lifts the gun, shuts an eye and takes aim. "Bang. You're dead. Or, bang," she points somewhere lower, "Dead again. It's so easy I could do it in my fucking sleep. But I haven't. Because here's the part you're missing, you stupid arsehole; we can be of mutual aid to each other."

He feels like she's struck him across the helmet with the gun. He works through the false tinnitus.

"What about any of this is mutual?"

"Must I spell it out for you?" She rolls her eyes, taking a step forward. "I'm letting you live. I'm letting you live so that you can let me live. And if we're lucky, we can both get out of this rotten deal we've found ourselves in."

"You mean... this?"

"No," she says, "his deal."

He hesitates, considering this for a moment. "There's no deal. I'm a freelancer."

"I thought that too. Like I said; I'm your predecessor, mate. In every sense." Her expression shifts. Humor leaves her in waves. "I was independent until, one day, I woke up and I wasn't."

They hadn't told him that, either.

"So, what?" He shifts his weight, the joints of his hands afflicted by pins. "You just up and left?"

She turns to stare at him for a moment. "How long have you been under his employment?"

"You're avoiding the question."

"I'm gauging how I'll answer. You go first."

His breath gets caught between a groan and a sigh. Every exchange is a new defeat.

"Two jobs," he says.

For an instance, a fragment of a second, something close to sympathy--or empathy?--softens her features. As soon as it comes, her natural sharpness returns.

"Then you don't know what he is. You can't see how deep in it you are yet."

"So," his brow furrows behind the helmet, "you're saying that if I help you now, you'll be doing me some favor by... what, saving me from the very same man that hired me to catch you?"

"Something along those lines."

"Right," he says. "Alright. Question."

"Shoot."

"Is your head screwed on right?" He lifts his neck, measuring his own strength. "How dumb do you think I am?"

A laugh rumbles in her chest in spite of his tone. "I don't think you want me to answer that."

"Har har." He huffs. "Can we be serious? I mean, why in the name of anything would I believe you, Kingfisher? After all of this?"

She brushes her hair back. She inhales slow. "Look. I know this seems like a classic case of the devil you know versus the devil you don't, but I'm trying to play in good faith. I'm turning a new leaf, yeah? I don't know how much of my reputation you've caught wind of, but--"

"--You killed eight people. Nine, if we're counting the decoy from the cave. 'Far as I know, that's all I need to know."

"Eight still," she replies, "But even then, they were eight bad people. Eight people who have been around him much longer than I have and still want nothing more than to exist in his shadow, hoping he'll even pass a glance towards them." She purses her lips with a sigh through her nose. "I'm not naive nor insane enough to suggest that what I did set them free, that it was justified somehow, but if I was so deluded as to fall completely victim to his bullshit like that, I'd rather die."

He hums. "Is this supposed to get me to believe you?"

She rubs the bridge of her nose. "Alright. Sure. Think of me as awful or evil or whatever the hell you want. Go on. I don't need to explain myself to you and, quite frankly, I don't care to." She shifts, jutting a finger out at him. "But I need you to know--to realize--that whatever you think I am or however you see me, he's ten times as bad. He's the worst kind of person there is, hell, even calling him a person would be an undeserved compliment."

He watches her jaw clench, the strain of the tendons in her cheeks. Her gaze drifts, following a thought unseen, before she trains herself upon Skullcap again.

"He's a monster," she says. "The kind that makes running with an inevitable bounty seem like a far better alternative."

A chorus of thoughts speak over each other, everything suddenly hurtling toward him too quickly. It muddles together, registering more like the echo of blood against the shell of his ear. His focus becomes overwhelmed by parsing through each voice before it dissolves into nothing, his judgement clouds over. He feels himself approaching a threshold of a decision, whether to believe her or not, and while his senses scream at him to deny her, to resolve himself against her, there's something else there, something that's pleading with him to hear her out. It comes anytime he looks at her now, anytime she stares back, and despite her hard expression, despite the tension in her frame, her eyes refuse to settle. They wander, searching, almost uncertain. Or desperate, he thinks. He's seen desperate before in marks, but not quite like this. Not quite so... reliant.

Frustration burns like acid in his gut, rising through his chest and drying his tongue and he's not sure if it comes from her or his own mental strife. His boot wiggles in its binds.

"If you were anything like me," she says, like she's read his mind, "you'd have your eye on this gun. You'd be waiting for me to slip up, for my grip to falter. Waiting for your chance. You wouldn't even be listening to me, you'd just watch and wait."

"Look--"

"--But you're not like me. I've read your files. I studied your cases, waiting for you to show up. I had a hard time figuring out what drives you at first, but I'd neglected to consider Occam's razor. A good shooting hand can pay for most meals, can't it?"

He doesn't respond.

"But you don't go for the messy jobs. You'd rather take shit pay for something that'll let you sleep at night. Sure, you're a killer, but you've got a conscience. More than most of us can say for ourselves."

"What's your point," he says.

"You want to know what I'm saving you from?" She lowers herself to her haunches in front of him, her forearms resting over her knees. "I'm saving you from becoming like me. So you don't have to look at yourself in the mirror and ask yourself how your decent heart ever turned so black."

He mulls on that. The flood of thoughts have softened to an erratic buzz.

He clings to his instincts, clearing his throat. "But you don't care about that. You're not even doing this for me. You're doing it to get an extension on your clock. And at the same time, you want to drag me down with you." He pauses. "I'll end up like you all the same. Running for the rest of my life."

Her brow twitches. "Isn't that better than losing your integrity? Or, hell, your sense of self?"

He isn't sure. The acid builds.

He shakes his head, pushing his doubt away. "The way you talk about him like that, it--it's ridiculous. I've got no reason to suspect him the way you say."

A memory unclogs itself and bubbles upward, but his trust is an ever-moving metronome. He hesitates, uneasy. He swallows harshly before opting to share. "You were right. He wants you back breathing. But he didn't seem angry so much as he seemed... disappointed. Or something between the two."

Her eyes narrow. "Betrayed?"

"Kinda," he says. "The impression I got was he wanted to, well, negotiate your terms."

Vaira's brow creases. No words follow. She instead focuses intently on his helmet, almost studious, her mouth pressed into a firm line.

"All I'm saying is--"

"--You're wrong," she says. "Your impression was wrong. You were lied to."

"How do I know that? Better yet, how do I know you aren't lying?"

"I don't have any reason to lie. I could've just killed you."

"You have every reason to lie," he says. "But I reckon that's a fair point."

"If you're so concerned with thinking I'm bullshitting you, then I'd like to make myself tremendously clear, for a moment. If we're being honest and all that."

Her voice lowers. She leans forward. "If you decide to take him at his word and bring me back to him, if it even crosses your mind, I swear to everything in my life I hold dear that I will not stop fighting you until one of the two of us is dead. And if you get the upperhand somehow, if you get your chance, I want you to promise me you won't miss."

He flinches. The air gets caught in his chest.

She adds, "They'll punish you less for that, if it helps. Better to lose one plaything than two."

The thoughts in his head have gone quiet all together. The metronome's gears grind.

He speaks again after a spell. "Say I believe you," he measures his words carefully. "Say I'm in. What then?"

Her expression clears ever so slightly. "Then we find the bug on your ship."

"My ship," he repeats.

"The three of us won't fit in mine," she says, simply. "We find it, tear it out, and leave it here. They'll send someone else in your place and by that time, we'll be long gone. I know a few good hiding spots, I'm sure you do too. You can drop me off somewhere, if it so bloody pleases you. It's easier for you; no one knows your face, your name. I could change mine I suppose, maybe swap species entirely."

"You might have the cash for something like this. But I sure as hell don't."

Vaira snickers. "Well, that's easy. I'm greedy, not stingy."

"We're still fucked, Kingfisher, no way around it."

"You've been fucked," she says. "You've been fucked since he found you as my replacement. I'm trying to unfuck you, 'Cap. This is our only chance."

His helmet lulls. Anxiety leeches the warmth from his hands.

"You offered a pretty good deal earlier, you know. If I shoot you, everybody gets off square, justice gets dealt. This shit fades, we'll be in my ship, I get a gun and it's over. What's to stop me from doing that?"

"You won't," she says.

"I won't," he repeats.

"No." She's smirking now, white glinting past her lips. "Because you're not like me."

His head jerks back. "What's that got anything to do with it?"

"For starters, you didn't notice that I lowered the gun ages ago."

His eye follows her arm. His gun sits between her knees, rocking back and forth, its grip held loosely between her thumb and index finger.

Skullcap exhales slow.

"That ain't any fair."

She snaps the gun back into her palm before he decides to prove her wrong. It's twirled into the holster on her leg and she stands with it, her hands finding her hips. She towers over him, shifting her weight to one leg.

"What is, in this business?"

From the ground, he isn't in a position to argue with that. He redirects instead.

"You sure keep acting like my opinion matters any, like I got some say."

"You're not a hostage," she says. "We'd be working together."

"Sure doesn't feel like it from here."

Vaira hums. "Do you trust me?"

"What do you think?"

"Then the feeling's mutual," she says. "And until you trust me, I can't trust you. But."

"But?"

"I'd like to. And I understand that earning your trust is not an easy feat, but we can work on it."

He laughs dryly through his nose. "You could start by untying me."

"You're so cute." She sighs. "Fine. Little by little. I'm not such a hard arse that I'll drag you there again this time. I'll free your legs once I'm ready."

"On the flip side of things, then." He readjusts, finally able to bend his knees through the binding. "What if I say no?"

She shrugs. "Would you prefer being left to die?"

He gestures loosely with his shoulders. "But wouldn't that be easier? What exactly do you gain from taking me?"

Her head tilts. She narrows her eyes, as if in thought. Her cheek twitches.

After a moment she says, "I'm not entirely sure." She sucks air through her teeth. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I am lonely. It's nice having someone to talk to after so long. Or, well, someone who talks back." She glances at the shadow behind him. "Sorry, my love."

The bird snaps its beak.

Skullcap dwells on her words. It was an intuition he'd pulled out from somewhere, but with hindsight, perhaps it'd been projection. For the first time he considers if this is some universal hunter experience, why so often those of his creed join together as a group. He reflects on his many hours spent within silence, between his own breath and the groan of his ship's hull. Sometimes he didn't mind it. Sometimes he did.

He wonders how Vaira spends her time alone. He wonders how she copes.

These ideas come at a surprise to him and he wills them away. They recede, but not far.

"Right." She bursts through his bubble and he jerks back into focus. "Well, I'm going to collect my things. Let me know what you decide. Or if you, ah, need anything."

She turns on her heel, stepping beyond the storage device, deeper into the cave. He hears the pull of metal across dirt and rock, the opening and closing of clasps unseen. Her head bobs distantly, wandering deeper into the stretch of cavern than he realized initially existed.

Aquila's nails drag across the rock above him, as if to remind him of her presence. He doesn't concern himself with it. Instead, he deflates with a breath he hadn't realized had accumulated, shrinking into the stone at his back. Neither his judgement nor his morals have any answers left to give him now. He visualizes his thoughts as a mass of white, intangible and empty. He opts to go limp, then, letting his head fall back with a clunk as he stares at the clusters of moonrock above.

He can't help but ask himself what she would do in his position. Then he realizes, of course, she'd already given him her answer. A gun provides an easy solution to any ethical dilemma.

Her earlier threat suddenly returns to him and settles anew, like something raw in his stomach. He suppresses a shudder. Skullcap has to remind himself that easy does not always mean just. Too many unanswered questions. Too much doubt.

His thoughts then, naturally, turn to the emperor. Skullcap cannot reconcile his own predicament with even the smallest proximity to Zusk; it's like his parts can't fit right in the picture, like if he willed it, the matter would simply dissolve before him. But as he considers it, he can't quite visualize how Zusk would address any transgression against him. The various middle men he's sent to deal with Skullcap can only convey so much about him, let alone his motives. Vaira's bias threatens to sway him; was that his intent all along? Or just an inadvertent flaw illuminated by hindsight?

Skullcap didn't know. He doesn't know. The uncertainty churns away at his insides and his knuckles dig into his forearms. He isn't sure what's worse: stuck, forced idle, waiting at an unknown precipice or not knowing which way he'd run even if he could.

So he opts to breathe. To focus on each breath as if it were his last, to savor them like a last meal. Every inhale welcomes a new exhale, another tick of the clock that he can claim as his own, something definitively his.

Until he's forced to move, to act, at least he will have this. At least this solution was still his own.

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someonefantastic · 4 years

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If You Thought the Head Trauma was Bad…

More migraine Shawn and roommate stuff! Basically I headcanon that Shawn, Gus, and Juliet all lived in the loft together between s8 and the first movie. Also if you want more fics on Shawn and migraines, then feel free to check out my day 3 or @bijulesspookyohara's day 5. Shoutout to the folks of the psych discord, primarily @victoriantrashjohn for coming up with the concept and jackal switch for a lot of these migraine remedies. Oh and also @tonystarksspoopyhouseofkids because she drew this adorable pic of Shawn that inspired a scene in this. And shoutout to @chaosintheavenue for beta reading this! Summary: Shawn has a migraine. It's a good thing his best friend and his girlfriend are there to help. Warnings: migraines, nausea, ambulances ___ Shawn groaned as he snuggled deeper into the couch, barely even able to open his eyes. It had been an incredibly long day- he had spent most of it trying to infiltrate an illegal jewelry ring with little success, just another failure on his quest for Juliet’s engagement ring- and he was in the middle of a full blown migraine. He had seen it coming, recognized that the sharp pains in his brain and the small ripples of nausea could easily lead to later pain, but he had ignored it, instead letting the image of his girlfriend (fiancėe’s) elated face spur him to work harder.

And now he was suffering the consequences. No ring, no joyous girlfriend (fiancėe), just a massive, brain pounding, vision blurring migraine.

He sighed, pulling the fluffy blanket tighter around him. He was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, blanket over his head, its soft fabric enveloping him. A pair of child-sized kitty earmuffs were placed squarely on his temples while the sounds of 80s heavy metal filled the air. The shades had been drawn keeping the sun from invading- not that there was much on a rainy San Francisco evening- and the room was cast in a red glow, the source being a small red LED candle that Jules had bought him. It was cozy and nice and he could almost forget the incessant pain in his head.

There was a jiggling at the door and Juliet and Gus walked in, their loud joyous laughter causing him to wince. They paused, and he caught Juliet frowning as Gus walked over and collapsed into the armchair besides him.

Juliet’s hair was falling out of her half-ponytail, Gus’ tie was slipping from its knot, they smelled like coffee.

“Headache?” He asked, voice much quieter.

Shawn barely nodded, squeezing his eyes tight as sharp pains radiated through his skull.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Juliet’s soft voice spoke from his side. Warm fingers gently brushed his hair and he relaxed into her touch. “Did you take anything?”

His voice was strained, “Ibuprofen, a few hours ago.”

Gus spoke up, “He could take acetaminophen. It works differently than ibuprofen so it won’t cause any problems.”

“Perfect,” Her lips pressed against his forehead, “I’m going to go get changed and get you some meds.”

“Thank you,” He muttered, sad when she pulled away.

“Can you get me some too?” Gus asked, beginning to undo his tie, “My side is killing me.”

“Sure thing.”

After her small footsteps faded away, Shawn cracked an eye open. “What’s up with you?”

Gus frowned. “I pulled a muscle lifting boxes for that cute girl in marketing.”

His memory flashed back. A woman in blue, long black hair, Gus doing the thing with his nose. “Michelle?”

“Yeah… it was all for nothing, I overheard her talking about some dude named ‘Levi’.”

“Tough luck bud. That’s a solid name.”

“You know that’s right.”

Shawn’s eyebrows furrowed as he noticed Gus rubbing his side. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” He nodded, “Hey, where is the heating pad?”

Shawn jerked his head back, groaning as the motion caused the throbbing to double. That wasn’t his brightest idea. “Under Jules’ side of the bed. Just make sure to put it back when you’re done, she needs it for cramps.”

“Ah,” Gus nodded, standing up, “Sure thing.”

A stain on Gus’ pant leg, the carpet was rumpled, an empty can under the chair.

He shut his eyes tight again, trying to stop himself from noticing, an in vain attempt to ward off his abilities. Instead he flashed backwards, various images and memories jerking to the forefront of his mind, waves of nausea close behind.

His blue bouncy ball in fourth grade, divorce papers being signed, a bright smile on a beautiful blonde.

His jaw clenched, swallowing roughly as he tried to keep the contents of his stomach down. He leaned forward, trying to focus on the music around him. The beats moved in and out, giving him something to concentrate on.

“Babe?”

His eyes cracked open, the corner of his mouth turning up at the sight of his girlfriend (fiancėe). Her hair was now all the way down and she had pulled on his Thunderbirds sweatshirt. Even though she was only wearing the hoodie because it smelled like him, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride- after all, she usually refused to wear any football team’s merch aside from the Dolphins’.

“Here.” She handed him some pills and water which he promptly took, noting how Gus did the same.

The cool water felt nice but did little to soothe the ache in his head. “Thanks.” He frowned, noticing how her knuckles were bruised, “Did you get into a fight?”

“What?” She glanced at her hand, giving a good natured shake of her head at his abilities. “No- well, kind of. I was sparring with Sam and accidentally punched him square in the jaw.”

He chuckled, “That’s my girlfriend.” Not noticing how she frowned at the term.

Now that his eyes were open, his brain leaped back at the chance to pick up on things.

Small smudge of mascara under her right eye (probably missed it when washing her face), a few crumbs above Gus’ lips, dog hair on the hoodie sleeve.

He groaned as a sharp pain erupted in his head, vision blurring and stomach churning dangerously.

“Shawn?” Juliet’s voice was worried and he soon found her sitting next to him, guiding his head to her lap. She shushed him, beginning to run her fingers through his hair. “I need you to stop thinking, okay? Just focus on my hands.”

His eyes fluttered shut and he relaxed, allowing himself to fixate on her and only her. He felt warm and safe in her arms, her presence always serving to be a beacon in his crazy mind. Honestly he couldn’t imagine life without her, ever since he walked into that dinner nine years ago she had become a permanent staple in his life. He loved her so much it made his heart hurt. Even though the idea of marriage still terrified him, he knew deep down that he didn’t want to marry anyone else but her.

“I love you,” He muttered, reaching up to squeeze her hand.

“I love you too Shawn,” He could hear the soft smile in her voice, “Get some rest.”

He snuggled deeper, a small smile on his lips. Her hands would occasionally drift over to his temples, rubbing where the earmuffs weren’t situated. It was very calming and soon he felt sleep begin to overtake him.

Somewhere between Judas Priest and Holy Driver he heard a groan- and not from the music. It dragged him out of his sleep. Vision blurry and head foggy, he cracked open his eyes. The groan sounded again. He barely registered Juliet’s hand pausing it’s soothing motion and her concerned voice, instead his eyes were on his best friend. Gus was clutching his side, the color draining out of this face.

Jerking upright, he ignored how his head throbbed. “Gus? You okay?”

There was no answer as Gus’ eyes rolled back and he pitched forward, landing on the ground with a heavy thud.

“Gus!” Shawn and Juliet yelled in unison.

In a flash they were both at his side, Juliet’s fingers on his neck and his hand being held tightly by Shawn. “He’s still alive, I’ll call an ambulance.”

Memories flashed through Shawn while his mind burned.

A large crowd, pain in his side, sweating, collapsing, a white room.

He should have noticed sooner, should have seen the signs. If it wasn’t for his headache-

“I think his appendix burst.” He all but shouted, words tumbling out of his mouth. This was all his fault, he should have noticed, he was trained for this for pete’s sake. The one thing he was good at was picking up on information, little things that most people didn’t notice.

He had failed Gus.

Looking back, he remembered the time between Gus collapsing and the ambulance coming so clearly but in the middle of it all, it frankly felt like a blur of regret and blame and worry.

As he watched Gus’ unconscious body being loaded into the ambulance, his hands shook, tears threatening to fall. Juliet grabbed his hand, beginning to lead him to her car. The paramedics only had room for one person but selfishly he needed Juliet to be his rock. He wasn’t sure if he could hold on without her.

She squeezed his hand, wide, worried eyes gazing up at him. “He’ll be okay.”

Nodding mutely, he followed her to the car. All he could hope was that she would be right.

#whumptober2020 #no. 26 #if you thought the head trauma was bad #migraine #psych #shawn spencer #juliet o'hara #burton guster #migraine tw #nausea tw #ambulance tw #angst #shawn whump #fanfic #psych fanfic #skipps writes

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