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cuddlepilefics · 3 years

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Ginger Ale and Crackers

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Felix

Caregiver: Chan & Changbin

Prompt; @sicktember

No one's POV.:

About halfway through their afternoon dance practice, Felix' stomach had started to give him hard time. All the jumps they had been practicing had left his stomach unsettled. He had felt hesitant to drink anything during their breaks, afraid the next jump or turn would send it right back up his throat. That hadn't happened but Felix had admittedly barely had any water during the afternoon, so it wasn't much of a surprise that by the end of their practice, his head felt swimmy while also pounding painfully. With how much he had been sweating, he clearly had to be dehydrated, yet he was still unsure whether he should have a drink. They were done with practice, so there wouldn't be any more jumps but the thought of swallowing alone almost made him gag. Felix himself had no idea why he was suddenly feeling so bad. He had been fine this morning and hadn't eaten anything weird since then. Maybe he had just overdone it with his dancing, going all out, but that was what he usually did, yet he never felt like this after dancing. Looking at his water bottle with an almost disgusted expression, the Aussie shoved it into his bag and waited for his members to pack up, so that they could head home. He was exhausted, almost too exhausted to take a shower but he knew he'd be uncomfortable all night if he didn't.

Not daring to eat dinner for the fear of upsetting his stomach more, Felix crawled into bed right after taking a shower. He had been plagued with cramps the entire time he was in the shower and had barely managed to stand up straight, wanting to curl up into a tiny ball right there. When Chan came into their shared room to get the younger for dinner, he found the boy deeply asleep, hugging his pillow to his middle. Not having the heart to wake his dongsaeng, the leader left and quietly closed the door behind him. He made sure to save Felix some food in case he woke up hungry before telling the rest of the members to keep it down a bit. The next one to check on Felix was his other roommate Changbin. After dinner he went to their shared room to collect his headphones, finding the Aussie tangled in his sheets, groaning quietly. It worried him a bit, knowing how hard the younger had been working lately. Seeing him this exhausted was just heartbreaking for the rapper. He too decided not to disturb his dongsaeng, hoping he would get as much rest as somehow possible. It felt wrong to see their energetic sunshine like this.

Felix had stayed asleep the entire time, no matter how loud the rest of the members in the living room were. He didn't even hear his roommates come and get ready for bed. All he knew was that by the time he woke up again, both of them were sleeping peacefully in their beds. Unlike Felix, who had woken up in cold sweat. His breath got caught in his throat when he was hit with another cramp, the pain unexpectedly intense. Whimpering quietly, he felt his stomach turn, now more than certain that he was going to be sick. Felix heart sped up, knowing he had to get to the bathroom fast but afraid he'd be sick immediately if he as much as moved a single muscle. With adrenaline rushing through his veins, he rolled out of bed, hand clamped tightly over his mouth as he stumbled to the door. Throwing it open, he staggered down the hallway, dizzily crashing into the wall next to him. As he fought to get his footing, his stomach cramped, sending a gush of his lunch up. Feeling the warm mush spill through his fingers, the Aussie's eyes stung with tears. He tried to avoid the puddle as he dragged himself to the bathroom, collapsing to his knees in front of the toilet, instantly throwing up more.

Chan awoke with a start to their door slamming against the wall. Shooting up in his bed, he found Changbin awake as well, looking at the older with a horrified expression. Only a few seconds later, they heard a muffled cough followed by a splattering noise. Cursing, Chan got out of bed and hurried down the hallway, only barely avoiding the puddle of sick. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, light streaming through the crack. Hearing faint cries behind the door, the leader rushed to find Felix draped over the toilet, head buried in the toilet bowl. The dancer startled when he felt his hyung's hand on his back. "Ssh, you're okay", Chan promised, rubbing his back. Felix wanted to laugh at him, telling him that he was very much not okay, but before he was able to get a single word out, his stomach lurched again, a large wave of his lunch splashing into the bowl. Changbin had followed them not long after, frowning when he saw the position his friends were in. Felix' chest was hitching with quiet sobs, which certainly didn't help his stomach settle. Retching again, the dancer reached behind him and took a hold of Chan's had. He clutched onto it tightly as he kept throwing up. When he finally got a chance to breathe, he rasped: "Can you turn off the light? It's too bright." Changbin was quick to comply while Chan continued to rub his dongsaeng's back. "Do you have a migraine?", he asked carefully, afraid his voice would hurt the other more. Felix shook his head, gagging weakly before he was able to reply: "My stomach's been bothering me since dance practice."

Sighing, Chan brushed his hand against Felix' neck. "You're running a fever too. Is that new or did it start along with your stomach", he hummed worriedly. Giving a strained cough, the dancer groaned: "I don't know? I just knew that my stomach felt bad, so I wanted to sleep it off. Oh god, please make it stop." Before Chan could say anything, Felix had ducked his head into the bowl again, retching painfully. While the leader tried his best to comfort the younger, Changbin went over to the sink and ran a washcloth under cool water before draping it across the dancer's neck. They could barely see anything as the only light source was the hallway light streaming through the cracked door but they didn't have to see much, the short glance they had gotten earlier had been enough to see how ghostly pale their dongsaeng was. Felix seemed to be done for now and tiredly rested his head on his arms. He just wanted to go back to sleep. That was when he remembered the mess he had made on his way. "Ugh, I -I got sick in the hallway too", he whimpered, raising his head to look at his hand. Looking at the bits of his lunch still stuck to his hand only triggered another gag. When Felix was done, the tears wouldn't stop falling, his fever messing with his emotions. Handing him a wad of toilet paper to clean his hand with, Changbin whispered: "I'll clean that up... don't move."

While the rapper fetched the cleaning supplies and took care of the mess in the hallway, Chan stayed with Felix, helping him up from the floor, so he could wash his hands properly and handing him some mouthwash to get rid of the vile taste. As they made their way back to their room, Felix shakily clung to the leader's arm, his head spinning. "You're okay, almost there", the older promised, when Felix' legs suddenly gave out. Catching him around the waist, Chan picked him up bridal style and carried him the last few meters to his bed. The sheets were a mess and it took the oldest a while to detangle them, so he could tuck his dongsaeng in. Placing a bottle of water on the nightstand and pulling the trashcan out from under the desk, Changbin hummed: "Here's the trashcan if you need it. Try having some water when you feel ready, we don't want you to get dehydrated." – "Thanks", the younger rasped quietly, eyes already fluttering shut. Falling asleep however wasn't as easy. His stomach was still in knots, rumbling loudly. "Was your stomach making all that noise?", Changbin frowned, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, sliding his hand under Felix' shirt. The dancer hummed in confirmation, relaxing as the older stroked his stomach in soothing circles.

By the time Chan had to get up for a meeting with their managers, Felix had been up retching over the trashcan twice. Neither times was he able to bring anything up though, which wasn't surprising, considering he had skipped dinner and had barely had anything to drink. Although he hated to wake his members when they were sleeping, Chan carefully woke Changbin up by shaking his arm. "Hey, could you stay back from the studio today?", he asked quietly, afraid to leave Felix at the dorm by himself, "I'll tell the others to just go to their schedules as usual and come check on you two as soon as the meeting's over." – "No problem, I couldn't focus anyway, knowing he'd be sick and alone. I got him, hyung, don't stress too much", Changbin whispered, waving the older goodbye before going back to sleep.

The rapper woke up again hours later to a weight on his chest. Yawning, he tried to sit up, only to find himself pinned down. "Sorry, I was cold", Felix mumbled lowly. He had woken up not too long ago, his stomach still hurting but not as nauseous as he had been before. Instead, he was shaking with chills. Bringing his hand up to the Aussie's forehead, Changbin hummed: "Your fever's up. Did you try to drink anything yet?" The dancer shook his head not even opening his eyes. He really didn't want to be sick again, so he wasn't willing to risk it. "You're getting dehydrated, Lixxie. Isn't your head hurting?", he frowned, running his hand through his dongsaeng's hair. "It is", Felix admitted quietly, "But so are my stomach and throat. I'm fine as long as we just stay like this." Sighing, Changbin decided that they could stay like that for a little while longer before he'd try to get the younger to drink something again.

It was already close to lunchtime when Changbin decided he wouldn't let Felix go without having at least some water. Luckily, the Aussie was awake, merely resting with his eyes closed, because the rapper didn't think he could wake the boy. "Come on, Lix", he whispered, "At least have a few sips and if you let me get up, I can go and see if we have any medicine. Just not consuming anything isn't going to help. It'll only make you worse." – "Hyung", the dancer whined, holding onto Changbin's shirt, "Please, no." Though Felix had his hyung wrapped around his little finger, the older knew better than to give in. He wouldn't let his dongsaeng get worse. If Felix wasn't getting up, he would have to get the Aussie off of himself. Carefully shifting to the side, Changbin managed to slip out underneath the younger and gently removed his hands from his shirt. "Sorry", the older cooed, pulling the blanket up to Felix' shoulders and leaving the room.

Rummaging through the bathroom cabinet, Changbin found some anti-emetics and made his way to the kitchen. He knew Felix didn't want anything but after skipping dinner and throwing up, the dancer needed something in his system. Guessing that plain rice would be the safest option, Changbin grabbed a small bowl and took it back to their room. Felix' water bottle was still untouched on the nightstand. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he ran his hand up and down his dongsaeng's back. "Can you sit up for me, Lix?", he hummed, peeling the blanket back. The Aussie let out a discontent whine but propped himself up on one arm. "Can you try and have a few bites of rice and some water for me? I also found you medicine", the rapper tried. Shaking his head, Felix insisted: "No, medicine yes but the rest no." – "How are you going to get the medicine down without water?", Changbin quizzed, "Come on, sunshine, for me?" The dancer huffed but shuffled around till he sat up against the headboard. Accepting the bowl of rice from his hyung, Felix eyed the food with disgust before forcing himself to take a small bite into his mouth. Slowly chewing, he pulled a face and handed the bowl back. Changbin didn't take it back though, instead giving the younger a stern look. Pouting, Felix forced down two more bites before handing the bowl back to his hyung, who traded it for the water. He also handed the dancer a pill, which he swallowed dry before taking one tiny sip of water. "Lix, I'm pretty sure you're already dehydrated. You did so well, I'm sure you can take another sip", Changbin hummed, earning a glare from the younger. Though he didn't want to, Felix had some more water before handing the bottle back.

His food wasn't settling at all and mere minutes later, Felix sat hugging his churning tummy as his mouth watered. "H-Hyung?!", he choked out, hand clamped over his mouth as his stomach gurgled. Noticing the boy's slightly greenish complexion, Changbin rushed to place the trashcan into his lap. He knew he had been pushing it but he had hoped the medicine would keep him from throwing up again. Sitting down next to the dancer, Changbin gently massaged his shoulders as they waited. With his breathing coming in nauseous little huffs, Felix felt the room spin around him, desperately holding onto the trashcan to steady himself. He could feel his food right at the back of his throat but it wasn't coming. Hesitantly, he gave a little cough, which was all it took for his stomach to send everything up. Though he was pretty sure, everything he had just consumed had come up in one rush, Felix couldn't stop his throat from contracting with unproductive gags. Coughing, he choked out: "I hate you." – "I know you do", Changbin sighed, comfortingly rubbing the younger's back and brushing his sweaty bangs from his forehead. He felt sorry for making the Aussie sick again but if he kept going without keeping down any water, they'd have to take him to hospital.

When Felix finally deemed it safe to remove his head from the trashcan and lean back against the headboard, his forehead was glistening with sweat. His shirt clung to him making him feel even more disgusting than before. Changbin grabbed the trashcan and placed it down on the floor. "Let's take that off, hm?", he asked, gently pulling the dancer's shirt over his head, "Are you still cold? Do you want one of my hoodies as compensation?" Felix nodded tiredly, barely finding the energy to lift his arms, so the older could put it on him. "How about a change of scenery? The others are gone, so you could nap on the couch. We could put on some boring drama in the background", the rapper offered. Nodding, Felix rasped: "Sounds like fun but... Can you carry me? I don't think I can make it there." – "Sure thing", Changbin chuckled, picking the younger up. Placing him down on the couch, he told the dancer to wait there, so he could get a bucket and his water in case the Aussie would let himself be talked into drinking something. After getting everything settled, he lifted Felix' head and placed it on his lap, so he could play with the younger's hair. Exhausted from the whole ordeal, it didn't take long for Felix to drift off again.

While Felix was asleep, Changbin texted Chan about the dancer's condition, emphasizing that he really couldn't keep anything down at all. Now becoming more worried too, the leader stopped by a store to pick up some ginger ale and crackers for his dongsaeng. He hoped those things would settle better, at least he knew that that was what their families had always used in such situations. If it didn't help settle his stomach, it might at least give the younger a sense of home. While walking, Chan already started to shake the bottle of ginger ale, opening it repeatedly to get rid of the fizz. He quietly entered their dorm, not wanting to wake Felix up if he was resting. The sight looked truly pitiful. The dancer laying on the couch with his head in Changbin's lap, face white as a ghost except for a faint feverish blush on his cheekbones. He was wearing one of Changbin's sweaters, arms hugging his middle in his sleep. Chan wordlessly waved at Changbin, not wanting to disturb as he went to the kitchen to pour a glass of ginger ale. He also grabbed a small plate and put a few crackers on it. They looked really lonely but he'd already be happy if he could convince Felix of having a few of them.

Hearing a hushed conversation in the living room, the leader figured Felix had woken up and made his way over to them. "Hey, Binnie told me you're still not doing so well", he whispered with a sympathetic smile. The dancer shook his head and glanced at the things Chan was carrying. Realizing he was most likely supposed to eat that, he couldn't help but grimace already. Crouching next to the couch, Chan rubbed his arm through the hoodie and hushed: "I know you don't feel like eating that but we need to get you back on your feet somehow. You always used to eat those, right? Don't even have to be many crackers." Groaning, Felix sat up and rubbed his face. He knew Chan was only trying to help, Changbin too had meant well but his stomach was till so upset. He didn't think he could stomach anything. "I got all the fizz out of the ginger ale, so hopefully it will settle a better", the oldest mused, glancing at the box of medicine Changbin had left on the table, "Have a cracker and then just try having this medicine again, please?" Scrunching up his nose, Felix nodded and accepted one of the crackers. He took his time, nibbling on it. It didn't feel that bad on his stomach, so he nibbled down another one. The ginger ale really reminded him of home and he gladly took the medicine again. Sitting on the couch, he rested his head on Changbin's shoulder. Every once in a while, he took a small sip until the glass was empty and he laid back down to let the older lure him back to sleep.

#stray kids #skz #fanfic #fluff #sickfic #fanfiction #sick #sicktember2021 #comfort #emeto #changlix #chanlix

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slowpoke-fics · 3 years

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Migraine

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean x reader, platonic Sam x Reader

Summary: reader is scared to let the boys in and tell them about the chronic migraines she suffers from, after a hunt the truth comes out and you're shocked with how they respond

Warnings: smut, no a too whole lot, two paragraphs on 3000 words, nothing too triggering I think, medicine, as always, I might have missed something read at your o w n risk

A/N: It might be a little long, tbh I dont know what a long/short fic looks like but it's def one I could've split and didn't. I really enjoyed writing this one, am having a little bit of a block after writing six fics in a day. shout out to my first smut in at least five years.

You had been hunting with Sam and Dean for a couple of months, finally feeling like you had earned your place. You didn't feel comfortable letting them know your weaknesses, which is why you didn't tell them you had migraines. You were able to cover for the most part, hiding it from the family you've come to know quite well. Most of the time. Sometimes you just couldn't, the pain overbearing and you just had to stay in bed all day, "It's just cramps." You lied to the boys, who assumed that you were covering your face and curled up like a child because of your embarrassment and pain. Sooner or later they will find out, and that's just what happened on this witch hunt.

You were the first one back into the motel, just wanting to lie down, Sam and Dean following suit. Dean slammed the door, causing you to jump with a jolt of pain to your head, reminding you of the already particularly bad headache you had. Thank god you'd be home soon. You went into the bathroom, wanting to shower after a long day of hunting the witch down, turning the lights off as you shut the door, you sighed, the pain growing. You turned the shower on, making it just a little warm, undressing and sitting down, putting your knees close to yourself, held together by your crossed arms with your head on your knees just enjoying the relief the water brings you.

You must've lost track of time because the next thing you hear is Dean, pounding on the bathroom door, basically screaming, "Y/n, damn, we want hot water!" You groaned, "Fuck off Dean! I'll be out in a minute," you shouted, much harsher than you wanted. You heard Dean grumble but couldn't understand it. Ignoring him, you finished washing your body, head already hurting bad enough it was too much to have to stand and wash, worried you might puke if you moved around more than you needed.

You came out of the shower, laying on the bed, closing your eyes, waiting to leave when you heard Sam speak up. "Did you get hurt and not tell us?" You rolled your eyes, then rose up and looked at Sam. "What?" You were confused, why would you not tell them if you got hurt? You looked over your body for any marks as Dean spoke, "Why else would you take so damn long?" You glared at him, "Sorry, I guess I won't enjoy my showers anymore." You laid back down, Dean looked at you with a pang of guilt you didn't see. He was just, in his own way, trying to check on you.

When both Sam and Dean had showered, you packed up your stuff, not caring if you left anything behind, you led out the door, crawling into the backseat of the impala. As you started rolling out, you realized it was going to be a long trip when the first wave of nausea hit you. Leaning into the window, enjoying the cold, you closed your eyes, knowing sleep would not come.

About two hours into the trip back to the bunker, after not saying a single word, you finally spoke up. "Dean," he looked at you through the rearview mirror, "pull the car over, Sam you gotta let me out." Dean was a little shocked, "What," he said quickly. "Pull the car over, before I hurl in your baby." At that, the car near immediately stopped, Sam quickly allowing you to get out. Almost as soon as your foot hit the ground, before you were even all the way out of the car, vomit spewed from your mouth. Sam was rubbing your back, not sure why you were sick, as you'd never gotten car sick.

Dean got out of the car, circling it to come to your side, worry written all over his face. Dean replaced Sam, Dean whispering something to him that you couldn't hear over the splashing on the road. You heard the car door shut, and felt Dean pull your hair back. Once you were done, Dean, helping you raise up, asked, "What's going on?" You looked at him, worry still plastered on his face.

"Nothing, I just got car sick," still feeling like you could throw up, you took a deep breath. The pain of your headache intensified by the fit. Dean laughed a little, "You've never gotten car sick in your life," shaking his head and adding, "I mean," down to a whisper, "are you pregnant?" You had to laugh a little, regretting as pain soared through your head, "No, Dean, why would you even ask that?"

"Well, in the same night you take an hour longer showering than you usually do and vomit on the side of the road." He smirked, reminiscing, "I mean after our encounter a couple of months ago-" You had to interrupt him, "We fucked once, I also recall telling you I was on birth control." Dean chuckled, "What can I say? I've got strong swimmers." Smug son of a bitch. "I'm not, can we please just go home? I got car sick, it happens."

Dean got very serious, "Not until you tell me what's going on, I'm worried now." Silently panicking, afraid that if you told them you had chronic migraines they'd think you couldn't go on hunts and you'd be alone again, but really not wanting him to worry, you finally spoke up, "It's just a migraine." Dean's face contorted in confusion, "A migraine? Since when do you get migraines?" You looked away from him, toward the trees lining the side of the road, "They're chronic, I've had them for years." Deans face softened, he reached for his passenger door and opened it for you, allowing you to crawl in.

"You all right?" Sam spoke from the backseat, thankful you didn't have to crawl back there again. You just nodded, bringing your knees to your chest and lying back against the window with your eyes closed. Dean started the car and after a few minutes he couldn't keep his mouth shut, "Why didn't you just tell us?" Sam didn't say anything, also wanting to know why this was such a big deal for you to keep a secret.

You took a sharp breath in, not moving a muscle, not even looking at them, "I was afraid you'd tell me I couldn't hunt with you guys anymore." Dean looks at sam through the rearview, the guilt on Sams face matching his own, "We would never-" Dean gripped the wheel a little tighter, "We would have worked around them, so you can be home when they're this bad. It wouldn't be puking on the side of the road horrible." Dean shook his head, reaching across to you to rub your arm, you looked at him, and he jerked his head in a come here motion. You did as you were told, starting to scoot over, he redirected your movements so your head was in his lap. His fingers running through your hair, his hand finding the back of your neck apply just a tiny bit of pressure right at the base of your skull, rubbing up and down softly, alleviating some of the pain, somehow letting you sleep the remaining trip.

When you woke up Sam was already out of the car, Dean opening your door you sleepily sat at the edge of the seat, head throbbing. Putting your hand on your forehead, elbow on the back of his bench seat, eyes still closed, you felt Dean pull your hands to his neck. "No," you jerked back, eyes filled with tears at how bad the morning light was making you feel, "I can walk." Dean huffed, "Shut up and let me carry you." You resigned and put your arms around his neck, laying your head in the crook of his neck, loving how he smelled.

You noticed as he carried you in, every single light that could be out, was. Sam must've done that for you. Opening the door to his room, you started to protest, "Shhh," he gently laid you on the bed and pulled the covers up for you, "just let me." Dean left the room, you're not sure where, but there was a pang of sadness in your chest, wanting to be near him. He came back and placed a cool rag on the back of your neck and one on your forehead, he touched your lips, slowly dragging his thumb over your lips, speaking softly, "Open up, let this pill dissolve on your tongue okay? It might be a little nasty, but it'll help." You took the pill, as it started to dissolve you scrunched up your face at the nasty taste, causing Dean to chuckle.

Dean headed to he door, it was now or never, "Will-" you started and your voice broke a little, you're not sure out of embarrassment or pain, "will you stay?" Dean smiled at you, coming to the side of the bed, crawling under the covers with you, "As long as you want me." You rolled over to him, laying your head on his chest as he put his arm around you. He started playing with your hair, running his fingers up and down your arm.

You wanted to be able to properly enjoy this, but your head hurt so bad. After about fifteen minutes you couldn't help but cry, silently, wanting the headache to go away. Dean noticed, feeling his damp shirt, he didn't say anything, just kissed your head. "They're not normally this bad," you sniffled, "I can usually push through them." Dean started rubbing your back, knowing how nervous you were to tell them, not really understanding why you'd believe they would say you couldn't hunt with them. "Y/n," he contemplated on what to say.

"You don't have to hide anything from us, you don't have to push through them, if you're in pain it's okay, we all have our faults, you don't ever have to be afraid that we'd tell you to leave. You're our family now, we need you. I need you." Your heart skipped a beat, did he really need you? In what way does he need you? "What do you mean?" Dean had to admit it, had to come clean, now or never.

"I don't mean just hunts," you looked up at him, shocked, tear stained eyes which broke his heart. He gently cupped your face, leaning forward and bringing his lips to yours, you instantly responded, pressing into the kiss, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth, he pulled back, "God you taste better than ever." You laughed, laying your head back down, "Okay, I understand." He couldn't do chick flic, it was hard enough for him to say he needed you, but he needed you to know.

Sam came in, replacing your rags, "You want some more medicine?" You nodded, pushing your hand on Dean's chest so he knew he couldn't get up. "Sammy, she'd love that but doesn't want me to get up." Sam laughed, your cheeks flushing, "No problem, Y/n." Dean placed his hand on yours, "I feel like a bath might help, I can run you one." You shrugged, "lotta work." Dean copied your shrug, "Not really, just gotta start the water and put the bubbles in." You instantly responded, talking over him, "Not you, me," you pause and lifted your head to looked at him, eyebrow cocked, "bubbles? I don't have bubbles?" Dean laughed heartily, "Not you, me. My bubbles and my work, I'll do it all, nothing I ain't seen before." He winked at you, smug bastard. You laid your head back down on his chest, shrugging again.

Sam came back, Dean lifting his hand up to take the medicine from Sam as you lifted yourself up and grabbed the cup from him, "It's coffee, it might help." You couldn't turn to face him, didn't want to, "Thank you so much." Sam smiled, but you couldn't see, "Of course, anything." You heard the door close softly as you took your place back on Dean, resting the cup on his chest.

After a few minutes after you had taken the medicine, Dean slid from underneath you, taking the coffee cup, causing you to groan in displeasure. Dean chuckled, and headed toward the bathroom. Once in there he lit a singular candle, started the water, and put the bubbles in. Coming back to you he wrapped his arms around your waist, letting you move your limbs to where they needed to be.

He sat you down on the bathroom sink, while he took his shirt off you removed your own. He reached behind you, unclasping your bra and pulling it off you. Dean wanted to tell you how gorgeous you were, wanted to touch you, but he knew you were more than not up for it. He knows when to be respectful and when to be downright filthy. You slid off the counter, you pushed your pants down, just enough so they could effortlessly fall off of you.

Dean stepped into the tub first, holding his hand out to you. You happily took it, just wanting to lie back down. Dean put your back to him, wrapping an arm around you he slunk to the ground, water splashing lightly. He pulled you back to him, allowing you to lay your head back on him. His fingers found their way to your scalp, applying a small amount of pressure, taking some of your pain. You had no idea that the Dean Winchester could be this, soft.

You just laid there with Dean, letting the water sooth you, letting Dean make this better. You couldn't think, just lay. You don't know how long you laid there, laid in complete silence with Dean taking care of you. "Do you want me to touch you?" Dean spoke, barely loud enough that you could hear him, you hummed, wordlessly asking what he meant. "I did some research while we were in the bed, lots of women have said that masturbating can seriously help." Still speaking softly, making sure that you weren't going to get overstimulated. You thought for a minute, all the times that you had touched yourself in hopes for the pain to lessen-all the times it worked. "Mhmm." Dean just continued rubbing your scalp, "Say it." A twinge of need pooled inside you, "Touch me Dean, I want it."

Dean needed no further encouragement, he needed to know this is what you wanted, needed you to admit it. He wasted no time, slowly working his hands to your nipples, fingers teasing, tickling their way to touch you. He twirled your nipples between his thumb and index finer, gently pulling them up, eliciting a whimper from you. "Don't worry good girl, I'm gonna make you feel better." Deans hands trailed to your waist, pulling you up a couple of inches, giving him better access.

Dean's right hand tiptoed to your clit, gently rubbing your bundle of nerves, rubbing circles until your hips bucked forward, wanting more. Dean's left hand moving to your lower stomach, resting lazily. You opened your eyes and stared into his eyes, a soft moan falling from your lips, "More." Dean smirked, quickly raising his left hand to push your head back, nonverbally communicating for you to rest, just enjoy this, then returning his hand to it's home.

Dean's thick fingers slid inside you with a thrilling stretch, you gasped, forgetting how good he filled you up. "Good girl, I know you can take it," Dean started to pump his fingers slowly, curling them upwards to hit just the right spot. "Mmmm," you hummed, almost singing, "please." Dean sped up, his fingers hitting your g-spot, palm rubbing your clit, you clenched tightly around him, slowing him down but making him damn near growl. You bucked your hips forward, panting, squeezing his wrist with one hand and grabbing the side of the tub with the other. "Gonna make you cum," Dean nipped your earlobe, a whimper. "Gonna show you that you need me," moved to your neck, a moan. "Gonna remind you what it feels like to gush around me," another nibble, another kiss. A desperate desire pooled in your belly, pussy clenching, clit throbbing. "You gonna cum for me? Cum on my fingers like a good girl?" Dean pressed his left hand down, the pressure sending you over the edge, you spasmed around his fingers, legs shaking, juices leaking out of you and into the tub. He let you ride it out, until your legs had calmed and you had stopped pulsating around his fingers. He moved his hands back to your scalp, continuing the previous scalp massage.

You tried to catch your breath, his thick cock resting between your legs, you could almost see it throb. You reached in-between your legs, starting to pump his cock but he moved your hand. "No," he kissed your lips, then your forehead, "once you're feeling better we can discuss it." You moved your hand to rest on his thigh, "can we just lay here a minute?" He hummed in approval, letting you close your eyes and enjoy the moment of bliss.

After awhile, you had almost fallen asleep, Dean started to get up, slowly dragging himself out of the tub careful not to disturb you too much. Once Dean had found the towel in the under lit room he reached his hand to you, helping you stand up. You stepped out of the tub, reaching for the towel but he pulls it just out of your reach. Dean sighs, "You may feel a little better but I still want to take care of you," starting to pat you dry, making sure to get the dripping tips of your beautiful hair, "I want to, please let me." You let him finish drying you off, let him slip his own shirt and boxers on you, wondering when he'd have gotten them. You even let him carry you back to his bed. Once he laid down, you were immediately beside him, filling the perfect spot next to him. "Sleep." He commanded, it was not a suggestion, and you did.

When you woke up, your back was facing Dean, his chest pressed to you, arm wrapped tightly around you like you'd run. You turned a little to look at his sleeping form, surprised when his eyes fluttered open, "Mornin', any better?" You turned towards him, placing your leg between his, your own arm underneath his and wrapped around him, "Manageable." You laid there, for how long you weren't sure. Eventually Dean spoke up, "We should go get some breakfast." You nodded, reluctantly rolling to the side of his bed, swinging your legs over.

You and Dean walked to the kitchen, Sam already cooking, hearing you cross the threshold into the kitchen he spun around. Upon realizing you guys had gotten up he immediately grabbed the coffee pot and filled up the cup sitting next to a few pills on the counter and creamer. You gently chuckled, "What a saint," you slapped Deans arm. "I told you," Dean started as you sat down and he moved to get his own cup of coffee, "we could've helped you manage."

You started fiddling your thumbs, not able to look at the boys, "I know-sigh-I was afraid, I'm sorry, I know it's dumb but-" looking to Dean, "I was afraid I'd be too much, lose the family I've come to love. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you." Sam turned to you, pausing from the breakfast. "It's not dumb, Y/n. If you're hurting, if you're struggling, if you're afraid, we face it together, all three of us. Because you're right, we're family, and you belong here. Your problems are ours." Dean beside you now, hand placed on your back, thumb drawing small figure eight's, "We can help you, face anything this hellhole throws at us, stick together and say fuck it together," a kiss placed on your lips, pressing into you with loving force, "you just have to let me."

#supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fluff #supernatural smut #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x you #dean Winchester x you #dean smut #dean fluff #dean Winchester smut #dean Winchester fluff #dean winchester fluff #sam x y/n #sam x reader #sam x you #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader

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jinmukangwrites · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 20

Lost

Ao3

Warnings: attempted kidnapping, concussions

-o-o-o-o-

When Dick opens his eyes, he immediately regrets waking up. Everything hurts… like he's just taken on a pride of lions all on his own and had the bruises to prove it. His head especially hurts, more than everything else. So much so, that it's all he can do to keep his balance as he slowly raises himself to his feet, placing his hands on the lip of something metal to keep him steady.

He pants through his nose, trying to make sense of what's going on. His head really really hurts, and every time he tries to think back on what he could have been doing before waking up here in this… alleyway?… pain spikes.

So, instead, he tries to figure out where he is now rather than where he was. First things first, he's in his Robin uniform. That's... that's good. It makes more sense for Robin to wake up with a definite concussion in the middle of some ratty alleyway than it did Dick Grayson.

Next things next, he's wet. Like. Soaked. Which is understandable considering it's raining and he's currently inside a dumpster—leaning against the walls. His bare legs are smeared with foul smelling juices, and his cape is a solid ten pounds heavier thanks towards the water. He leans his shoulder against the side of the dumpster and searches through his utility belt for his communicator, but when he finds the blocky device and pulls it out, he's disappointed to find it crushed. Little wires poke out of cracked plastic like vines splitting a rock.

He stuffs the broken communicator back into the belt and inhales sharply through his mouth. His head’s still pounding, and it doesn't feel like it will stop anytime soon. He needs to… figure out what's going on and find Bruce. Bruce doesn't like it when Dick's not by him.

Dick doesn't like it when he's not by Bruce either.

He takes in a few more breathes, preparing himself to fight through what will probably most likely be a very uncomfortable experience. Before he can change his mind, he tightens his grip on the lip of the dumpster and hefts himself over the edge.

He hits the cracked asphalt on the other side hard. He just manages to keep his feet under him as his skull pulses like the seven dwarfs were trapped inside, causing his stomach to plead for rebellion as the only thing he's aware of for a few moments is how he can feel the world spinning.

Once he's pretty sure he isn't going to keel over and throw up, he lets go of the dumpster and begins to study his surroundings. It looks like any old alleyway in Gotham. Long, dark, covered in trash and puddles. He risks light-headedness to look up, but all he finds is a cracked gargoyle staring off from the corner of one of the tall buildings making the alley.

He has… no idea where he is. If he could climb up and get a rooftop view of his surroundings, he should be able to at least pinpoint where the police department is—because Bruce told him to always pay attention to the police department, and if Dick was ever alone and needed help, he should find Jim Gordon. But… looking up makes him dizzy. The thought of climbing up to the rooftops makes him dizzy.

It's probably best he searches by foot.

Step one is leaving the alleyway.

He looks down both ends, and neither look that exciting or familiar. He curls his sopping wet cape around his shoulders and slowly begins to walk down a random direction. He only realizes that he chose the direction the gargoyle was facing when he catches it in the corners of his eyes.

Bruce likes the gargoyles.

Dick decides this should be a good direction, then.

When he reaches the end of the alleyway, he finds himself walking onto the cracked sidewalk lining a narrowed street caged by buildings that definitely look like they've been around since seventeen hundreds. There's no signs on any of the buildings, and the street names are worn down and spray painted over. If Dick had to give a guess on where he was, he'd say it's probably somewhere in the Theater District. There's no other place in Gotham that's as ratty and disgusting even on the streets where civilian's live.

He just… needs to find a payphone. Or at least a place he recognizes. He's come into the Theater District enough times, more than any other neighborhood in Gotham, in the times he's been fighting crime with Batman.

Even if it hasn't been for very long…

"Okay, Robin," he whispers to himself as he brings a hand to his temple to rub at the migraine, "you can do this…"

He turns right and goes to take a step, but then suddenly a voice calls out.

And it doesn't sound like a friendly voice.

Dick spins on his heel to look behind him—which makes him dizzy but he's just able to ignore it. His eyes immediately latch onto a group of men, some standing and some sitting with interested faces on the doorsteps of a run down home, sheltering from the rain under a little overhang, each with a cigarette hanging on almost limp fingers or at the corners of their mouths.

"Oh shit, it is Robin," one man sneers, bringing the cigarette from his mouth and huffing.

"Where's the bat?" Another man asks, sounding nervous. "They say the kid's never without the bat…"

Dick swallows and takes a weary step back as someone steps out from under the overhang with a grin on their face. "He's here…" Dick says, trying to sound brave. His voice wobbles against his will through, and he's not sure if it's from the sudden fear of being alone, faced against what must be five men each bigger, meaner, and stronger than himself… or if it was simply because of the cold rain that still poured. "So- so stay away and we won't have any… any reason to hurt you-"

"Look at him shake in those little shoes," someone laughs, joining the first man out in the rain. "He's all alone."

And Dick knows right then that he has to get away. Like. Now. These people… they didn't look friendly. Dick can't fight them, he can barely stand. If they catch him, who knows what they'll do to him. Little kids go missing in Gotham all the time… sent to horrible places Bruce doesn't want him to know about yet because he's too little.

Now all the men are out in the rain, the smoke of their cigarettes leaving a snake's tail behind them as the rain pelts against the foul smelling flame. They pick up speed, grinning maniacally… and Dick runs.

He turns heel, his breath catching in his throat and his head spinning, and runs.

Everything hurts, and his body doesn't want to move the way he needs it to. It's all he can do to duck under a grabbing hand and dodge into another alleyway. The people are hot on his heels though, even as he forces himself to run faster. He's… he's scared. His heart is in his chest and he's so cold and he just wants to cuddle up in his bed and cry.

In a split second of dangerous desperateness, Dick grabs onto his grapple and aims it towards a fire escape placed above him. He presses the trigger, preparing himself for how much this is going to suck with his concussion and nausea, but as he's about to launch upwards, something violently tugs on his neck. Dick watches in horror as the grapple flys onwards without him. He has just a split second of true despair before he's jerked back and tossed to the rough ground by the fabric of his cape.

His knees and hands scrape painfully on the asphalt, causing various cuts to open up and weep pink into the water. His neck hurts, his head spins, and he's shaking from exhaustion and fear. He tries to scramble to his feet, but then large arms wrap around his middle, pinning his arms to his side, and dragging him up so his legs kick in midair, his back pressed against someone's chest. He can smell tobacco. He can hear laughter cutting through the pounding in his heart.

"Let go!" Dick shouts, doing everything he can to choke down cries. He struggles in the grasp and kicks out his legs, but nothing works. He goes to scream at them, but one arm transfers from his chest towards his mouth and he's effectively hand-gagged.

And now he can't keep back a sob. It's all so awful. The people are all laughing and sneering while they drag him back further and further into the alley.

And for a moment, Dick thinks that this is when it will happen. This is when Bruce will swoop in and save him.

He looks up towards the rooftops, and all he finds are uselessly staring gargoyles.

Bruce isn't... coming? Dick is alone. If he wants out of this… he has to do it himself.

Which is so much easier to say that it is to do. The hand on his mouth presses harshly against his jaw, which only serves to make his skull pound worse. His limbs feel so weak to where he can only wiggle in the arms holding him captive. His kicking isn't doing anything. He's so small and light—even for an 8 year old—that his struggling is basically useless.

What can he do- what can he do?

His fingers brush on his utility belt and he almost stills. That's right, he has more things than a broken communicator and a missing grapple. Dick's not very good yet at thinking ahead and keeping track of all the tools Bruce gave him. There's so much to remember… but now he thinks… he might just be able to do something.

Which is better than giving up here and now.

"I have a buddy who works for Riddler," one man says excitingly. "Maybe we can hook up and sell the brat."

"I have some rope at my place…" another puts in. And while being the Riddler's hostage isn't exactly the worst thing in the world—much better than Joker or Scarecrow that's for sure—Dick isn't exactly eager to be put in any death traps that are riddle encrypted.

So, even as his head spins and his body shakes with both fear, adrenalin, and the cold rain, he forces himself to take in a deep breath of air through his nose before grabbing at the small, round cylinders hidden inside his belt.

He pulls them out, and before anyone can say or do anything, he presses one of the buttons.

He closes his eyes, and he knows the flash bombs have worked the moment the people around him all yell and the arms around him drop. He plummets to his feet and just manages to not faceplant by throwing his scraped up hands out in front of him. Before the flash can dim or anyone does anything, he jumps to his feet and forces his legs to move as quick as he can pump him.

He runs. And runs. And he doesn't stop, even as he blinks tears out of his eyes and gasps for breath.

He turns a random corner, as he has done several times before during this night, but he's immediately met by a solid wall of flesh. Large hands fall to his shoulders and he panics.

"Stop! Let go!" Dick throws his fists out but his wrists are immediately grabbed. Dick hiccups and struggles, even as the shadowed person tightens their hands around his arms and ignores his shouting.

Dick can't do this anymore tonight. He's so tired. A sob tears through his mouth and his legs give out. He can't he can't he can't he can't-

"Chum, calm down-" a graveled voice says, and Dick freezes like he's just been doused with a bucket of ice.

Dick… he knows that voice. Sobbing and kneeling on the soaked ground, his wrists still in tight holds, Dick opens his eyes to get a better look at his new captor.

He recognizes the jaw. The clothes. The cowl. The eyes.

Bruce.

Somehow, the realization just makes him cry harder. Only, this time, instead of trying to escape, he flings himself forward and wraps his arms around Bruce's neck the second Bruce lets go of his wrists. His throat feels clogged and snot is probably running down his nose, but he's so relieved to finally be safe. He buries his head into the crook of Batman's jaw and clutches.

Safe. He's safe.

And he thinks somewhere at the back of his mind that he shouldn't feel so safe. He's only known Bruce for a couple of months… have only been Robin for a little less.

But when Bruce finally relaxes and wraps his arms around Dick, lifting him up in a way that's so gentle and caring compared to the men who tried to kidnap him… safe is all he can think about.

Bruce speaks softly, his voice rumbling through his chest like a cat's purr, explaining that he tried his best to find Dick earlier, and that he didn't mean to take so long. He mentions something about Poison Ivy but Dick's too tired and relieved to care. His skull still pounds. He can bug Bruce later on details, figure out why he woke up in a dumpster with a concussion and no memory of how he got there.

He just holds on tighter, shaking his head when Bruce asks why he's so upset.

"I want to go home," Dick gasps through a wet sob, and Bruce stiffens all over again.

Home. Has Dick… ever thought of the manor as home before?

Before he can panic and take back the word, Bruce tightens his embrace around Dick's body and huffs. "Okay… let's go… home. We can talk later."

Dick can only nod and try to quiet his ongoing hiccupping sobs as Bruce begins to walk away. He wants to fall asleep now, especially with the adrenaline falling, but Bruce notices the concussion and forces him to stay awake until the Batmobile comes to a stop in the cave and Alfred checks him over.

He goes to bed immediately then, and when he wakes up in the morning he finds Bruce had taken the day off from work. He doesn't ask questions on why Dick was so upset the night before. He just smiles and holds up a pair of car keys.

"Zoo?"

Dick grins back, even though the concussion still hurts and will probably hurt for a long time.

But at least he's safe.

At least he's found, and he has a feeling Bruce won't let him get lost ever again. Not on his watch.

"Let me grab my shoes!"

He runs back upstairs, his mouth hurting from smiling while Bruce lets out a genuine laugh behind him.

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #nighting #batman #dick grayson is robin #dc #dc comics #batman comics #fic #fanfiction #jin writes #whumptober2020 #no.20 #lost #it ends in hugs i promise

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gaykimjisoo · 6 years

Text

money is power

rating: m

pairings: sanayeon (twice)

word count: 2153

triggers: gore, violence, mentions of sex

summary: twice is a tight knit mafia, famous all over korea for being able to get away with most everything. they have the government under their thumb, and their skills are unmatched. to be frank, no one fucks with them.

loona, a smaller, unknown mafia doesn't want fame. they just want money and revenge, so blaming their crimes on the most well-known mafia is a no brainer.

when twice notice they're getting credit for things they didn't do, though, it starts to become a problem.

first chapter (ur here!) | previous | next (to be updated)

read on ao3

nayeon doesn’t spend idly. if she’s going to use her hard-earned money on something, it better be the most important damn thing in the world. she won’t waste it on some toy she’s using for the week.

but she’s been using sana for months, she reasons, so it’s okay. and besides, it’s her birthday, so asking couldn’t hurt, even if it will be embarrassing.

and sana has been stressed the last few weeks due to her work; nayeon should know, being her boss. unfortunately the position doesn’t come with the benefit of controlling the workload, so she has to watch sana work herself into exhaustion daily. maybe it’s a bit painful, even if their relationship has no strings attached.

“what do you think of a birthday dinner?” nayeon asks the day before, words muffled in sana’s neck.

sana giggles. “i didn’t know we were that serious,” she teases.

“you don’t seem to be opposed.”

“not necessarily,” sana replies. “as long as it’s expensive.” she then mouths at nayeon’s neck to stop her already weak-willed protests, and damn if it isn’t an effective end to the conversation.

the next night, when nayeon sees sana gape at the restaurant as she slides out of the car, she knows she’s met her standards.

“do you like it?” nayeon asks anyway.

sana answers by crashing their lips together, borderline making out with her in front of the richest people in seoul. nayeon would be all for this, but the reservations cost too much to go to waste, and it’s raining, so she breaks away and ushers sana inside. they grin smugly at the appalled rich crowd, and nayeon thinks, for a fleeting second, they’d make a damn good couple.

they’re sat down at a table in the back and given a selection of drinks. nayeon orders water and sana orders champagne; when nayeon raises an eyebrow at her across the table, sana just smirks back, and nayeon decides not to question it. when the waiter leaves, sana stretches her hand towards nayeon’s, and she reluctantly takes it.

“so, darling,” sana drawls, “what are you getting?”

“probably the salad,” nayeon responds, and she knows sana’s going to notice it’s the cheapest thing on the menu. it’s a subtle sign, one she doubts sana will answer, but she can hope. “what about you?”

“the myungwolgwan looks good,” sana says. nayeon glances down, and indeed, she winces at the price. nayeon gives sana the stink eye, which sana ignores and searches to make eye contact with a waiter.

(when the waiter takes the order, he gives nayeon a pitiful look. she must appreciate these little things.)

“you’re evil,” nayeon wants to say. “i hope it’s good,” she says instead, a bit more passive, but still effective in letting sana know she’d kill her if it wasn’t her birthday.

sana shrugs. “i said it looks good. i’ve never actually had it before.”

nayeon tightens her grip on the arm of her chair.

sana’s face becomes worried for a few moments. “you... you’re not having any work problems, are you?”

nayeon rolls her eyes. “i thought we’ve been over this. no talking about that while we’re alone.”

“that rule only applies when we’re having sex,” sana says, and nayeon thinks she hears someone choke on their food nearby. “now is a perfect time to talk about this.”

truthfully, nayeon has been a bit stressed lately. the most well-paying clients are often the most migraine-inducing, and her paycheck is higher than ever before. not that she’d ever tell sana that; she knows the girl has her own set of problems she needs to deal with before she cares for others.

“no, it’s not,” nayeon says, gesturing about the restaurant. “just don’t order the myungwolgwan again and i’ll be perfectly fine.”

sana’s gaze flicks up a few degrees above nayeon’s head. “hm. you’d rather i eat it on a paper plate, don’t you?”

shit.

nayeon couldn’t turn around to look at whoever had a gun on her; it was probably in the warehouse building behind her. she had scoped this place out, and knew the risks, but she didn’t expect people to follow her here. she hadn’t told anyone else of her plans with sana, so why the fuck was someone trying to assassinate her?

“how rude,” nayeon huffs instead.

“we should play a game,” sana says, and her eyes are still calm when they go back to nayeon’s.

“that’s a terrible idea,” nayeon tells her, because it is. not that sana would ever take that advice to heart.

“too bad.” sana leans towards nayeon, almost spilling her water. “whoever kills more people tonight gets to top next time,” she whispers, a glint in her eye.

nayeon sighs. “we really shouldn’t make bets on this stuff.”

“that’s not a no,” sana counters, sitting back in her seat.

“you’re fucking disgusting,” nayeon says. “tell me when to duck.”

sana squinted back up. “now’s a great time, actually,” she tells her, and nayeon dips her head. a few seconds later, a shot rings out, and the glass vase in the center of the table is ruined.

it takes a few moments for the screams to start up, and a few more after that for the doors to bang open. the sound of a machine gun starts going off as sana flips the table over and they dive behind it.

“i never got my champagne,” sana pouts.

nayeon is about to apologize before she continues. “but this is a hell of a lot more exciting.”

“you’re insufferable,” nayeon groans as she pulls out her glock. “you have yours?”

“i’m offended you think i wouldn’t,” sana answered playfully, tapping it against her temple. “you ready, babe?”

“always,” nayeon growled, and they jumped out in sync.

sana fires off a few shots in the direction of the entrance as nayeon races over to the fire alarm and pulls it. the sirens make everyone wince for a second, giving nayeon ample time to put a bullet in the heart of some gangster a few feet over. god, she missed this; being so high up in rankings meant she was rarely put on risky missions. she’s a bit out of practice, but the sight of blood splattering against the floor is enough to wake her up.

“one!” nayeon yells out, and sana laughs in response.

she hears two gunshots in quick succession. “same!” sana yells back.

nayeon feels a bullet zip by her head, and she whips around to a man in a mask reloading his gun. she knees him in the gut and grabs a shard of glass off a table, stabbing him in the neck. she flings him off herself as another man tackles her from behind, throwing her to the ground. the hit is enough to make her head spin, but she doesn’t miss a beat as she dodges his punches.

he grabs her arm, and she spits at him. he blinks for a moment, and it’s ample time to shoot him in the leg with her forgotten gun. his scream is cut off by a second bullet to his temple.

she takes a breath as his body falls on her, then snarls and pushes him off. three.

a woman takes a few shots at her from just a table away, but they all miss, and nayeon can’t find it in herself to be disappointed. she’s always appreciated how incompetent the people they send after her are. she takes a knife from her boot and rushes at her, dodging the next shots as well, though one does catch her in the arm. she winces and drives the knife into the woman’s gut, relishing the feeling of the kill.

“whore,” nayeon breathes into her ear, and lets her drop.

“nayeon,” a voice says from behind her. “i didn’t expect to see you here.”

she turns, and smirks. “jennie. you were hired and didn’t bother to ask who the target was?”

“guilty as charged.” jennie raises her gun to nayeon’s forehead. “what to do, though?”

“oh, you wouldn’t kill me,” nayeon says with conviction. “you like the game too much.”

“i’d say it’s gotten annoying, though,” jennie broods. “with you being better than me and all.”

“at least you can admit it,” nayeon chuckles, and sana presses a gun to the back of jennie’s head.

jennie’s breath catches, and sana laughs maniacally. “put the fucking gun down, bitch,” nayeons says for her.

“i got six,” sana converses. “including the sniper. you, darling?”

“four. guess i lost, huh?”

“you like it too much. i changed my mind. i got two.” jennie’s hand is sneaking up to her waist, something sana’s definitely seeing, but isn’t bothering with.

“this is why i don’t like making bets with you.” nayeon knocks the gun out of jennie’s grip and has a knife to her throat in two quick movements. her bad arm screams at her, which she ignores, for now. “so unfair.”

“i like bottoming. don’t judge my preferences.” jennie’s face scrunches up at sana’s words, and nayeon has to keep in her laughter.

“‘kay, girls, let her go,” someone says.

“and who are you to give us orders, jisoo?” sana asks, not putting her gun down. “i think her brains on the wall would be beautiful. don’t you think so, nayeon?”

“agreed. especially,” she pushes her knife a little closer, “knowing all the trouble she’s caused us.”

“do it,” jihyo snaps, and they immediately retreat.

jennie rubs at her neck, glaring at jisoo. “i thought i told you i don’t need your help.”

“you clearly did, though,” jisoo says, and turns to jihyo. “sorry for her. she’s an idiot.”

“just keep her in line from now on,” jihyo responds with a tight-lipped smile. “i don’t need allies trying to kill my people. come on, nayeon, sana,” she adds, beckoning them.

“i expect to know who ordered this,” nayeon grumbled, glaring at jennie, but obliged along with sana.

jihyo’s smile twitched, but she didn’t say anything. “we’re leaving, before we can start another war.”

once they were out of earshot of jennie and jisoo, nayeon tapped jihyo on the shoulder. “uh, ma’am…”

“shut the fuck up, or i might slit your throat myself,” jihyo snapped under her breath. “i interrupted a very important meeting for this, just to see my people fighting with the people i was trying to make amends with. and no, i don’t care who started it, you two know i’m trying to get jisoo on my side.”

nayeon quieted down. sana grabbed a bottle of champagne off a forgotten service trolley and flipped jennie off when jihyo wasn’t looking.

“i wasn’t supposed to be stepping over bodies tonight,” jihyo continued, muttering angrily. “i was going to drink expensive alcohol and have one less worry on my hands. who knows what jisoo will do now, that crazy bitch. if i could, i’d fire the both of you.”

“you won’t, though,” sana singsonged, slinging her arms around jihyo’s chest. “because you love us! you’re, like, our mom.”

jihyo sighed. “especially you. i would definitely fire you,” she claims, but her voice was a bit softer, fondness seeping through. nayeon disregarded the pang of jealousy she felt.

“i’m going home alone,” jihyo tells them once they’re outside. “i can’t take another second of this shit. go and fuck each other, or something. from what i heard, nayeon’s doing that, actually, but- nevermind. fuck this.” she puts a finger on nayeon’s chest. “i will have you killed if anything like this happens again.”

nayeon knows she won’t, but she nods in agreement anyway.

jihyo storms off, and sana leans towards nayeon as they watch her together. “you know, i’m kind of worried about her, sometimes.”

“worry about your damn self,” nayeon retorts, turning towards her. “you’re so stressed all the time. we don’t need you to care for us; just do your job.”

“i worry about you, too,” sana continues like she hadn’t heard nayeon. “you put so much weight on your shoulders. i’m always here for you, alright? not just to let off steam, but to talk, too.”

nayeon rolls her eyes and shoves sana’s shoulder so she’s facing her. “you have blood on your lip,” she comments.

sana grins cheekily. “wanna get it off for me?”

nayeon answers with a kiss, and her mouth tastes metallic, but she doesn’t quite mind. “i’ll get the rest off later,” she says, observing the red on her chest and arms.

sana snorts. “fine. just take me home.”

sana starts walking, but nayeon’s mind pulls a blank. she hasn’t had a lot of time to think about it, but she’s getting too involved with this. their gang is tight knit, sure, but someone might die at any moment; making friends was unadvisable, but inevitable. falling in love with one of them was the worst possible situation she could think of.

“coming?” sana calls without looking back.

“... yeah.”

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overwatchdaydreams · 7 years

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May I request some arguing action w/McCree x Reader? Feel free to add anything else you want to. And thanks for writing it!

Added heated accidental love confessions because it’s required. Thanks for the request!

Kinda long so I’m putting it under a read more; it is SFW.

PS: Proof reading is for chumps.

You crawled through the mud beneath barbed wire, holding a pistol in each hand as you tried to breathe in more air than water. It was difficult, considering the downpour that was pounding against your back, but you managed. Your hair stuck to your face, nearly blinding you–not that you’d be able to see that far anyway with all the rain. Of all the days you decided to get your ass in gear and train no matter the conditions, why did it have to be today? Someone upstairs was challenging you with the harsh weather, the cold daring you to give up.

But you didn’t. You scraped your back as you emerged from beneath the barbed wire, easily ignoring the tiny cuts that sunk into your skin. A cardboard cutout popped up to your left and you shot it in the heart–your fifth masked enemy down. Heart racing, another cut out emerged from behind a barrel and you aimed, just barely stopping yourself from pulling the trigger on a child. Lowering your weapon, you saw the end of the field and started stalking towards it, eyes darting between every possible hiding spot. As you kept your guns closer to your chest, ready to draw should anything appear, you began to sidestep to your right. Just as you were at the end a large cardboard cutout jumped at you, smashing into your shoulder and head. You shouted, falling to the ground and dropping your guns.

Stars dotted your vision and you struggled to stand. You tried to get your senses straight but the spinning world made it hard to see anything. You could see the cut out, a masked figure, and beyond that movement. You shook your head, trying to shake the stars from your sight but only made them worse. Blinking hard you tried to stand when your stomach rolled and you were forced to bend over, throwing up your breakfast.

“Shit, kid,” you heard someone say, “what are you doing out here alone?”

“Training,” you muttered, wiping at your mouth. You felt something smear across it, unsure if it was water or mud or something you’d just expelled from your body. Based on the taste you’d guessed it was mud. You wiped your mouth on your sleeve, spitting onto the ground. “Or I was until I just got my ass kicked by a piece of cardboard.”

Looking up you saw the red glow of 76’s visor. He reached towards you and grabbed your uninjured arm, lifting you to your feet. You wouldn’t call the gesture gentle, but he wasn’t as rough as he normally was.

“This area’s meant to train teams,” he stated. Your right arm hung loosely at your side, and you let out a groan at the pain. “And that looks dislocated.”

“‘M fine,” you muttered, grinding your teeth. “Just shove it back in.”

“I’ll leave that for Angela.”

76 helped you to the medical ward where you caught a few glimpses of yourself reflected in the tools. Matted hair, mud on every inch of you, and if there was blood you couldn’t tell. Most of your vision faded in and out of focus, and when 76 lay you on the nearest bed you threatened to pass out. You wanted to moan, more from how pathetic you were than from the pain. You couldn’t even finish a damned training course without getting a concussion and dislocated arm, how could you ever go into the field?

If 76 was giving you a pitying look you didn’t know. He arched a brow at you, silent, before leaving to find Angela. She quickly came to your side, and he vanished, replaced with Jesse McCree, your closest friend since joining Overwatch.

“I can’t see so great right now but I’m sure you’re frowning at me,” you told him with a grin. You closed your eyes, trying not to wince from the pain as Angela touched your arm.

“You got a lotta nerve smiling at me right now,” Jesse stated, arms crossed. “You said you were sleepin’ in this morning.”

“I mean, I did,” you said. “Got up at ten after five instead of five.”

“Time for a nap,” Angela declared. You felt a needle pierce your neck, and then your vision went from blurry to black.

When you woke up you weren’t alone. You could tell your arm was back where it was meant to be, and already healed thanks to Angela. Your head, however, still pounded as you lifted heavy eyelids. Jesse sat next to your bed, his boots resting atop the blanket with his arms crossed, eyes on you.

“You been glaring at me the entire time I was out?” you asked, smiling. No pain from that, at least.

“He has,” Angela answered. She was on your left, reading something off a holopad. “I have assured him you are in relatively good health and he has nothing to worry about.”

“Relatively good?”

“You are in the beginning stages of a nasty cold, and you’ll have a migraine for a few more hours, but other than that, you are free to go.”

You gave her your thanks as you sat up, finding yourself still a little dizzy from the movement. Slowly you threw your legs over the right side of the bed but Jesse didn’t move. He only cocked a brow at you and said, “Nothing you wanna say?”

“Mmm, nope.” You stood, balancing yourself with your fingertips against the bed. Jesse had you cornered in, his long legs blocking you from getting past.

You sighed. “All right, I’m sorry I told you I couldn’t do breakfast because I wanted to sleep in.”

His lips were a tight line. He lowered his legs from the bed, but with the length of them you still couldn’t get by. There was no indication he was going to move so you did what you always had to; you stepped over him. It was awkward and difficult with your head still swimming, and as you lifted your second leg to travel over him your boot caught on his knee. You stumbled, foot inching across the ground as you tried to catch you balance when Jesse shot up and grabbed you around the waist. He held you up as if there was nothing to it, his eyes wide with panic. For a moment, anyway. They soon narrowed as he straightened, leaving his hands on you long enough for you to get your bearing.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, a blush coating your cheeks. The room felt hot suddenly, and you quickly spun on your heel and started moving. You didn’t know where exactly you were going but anywhere but he sounded good.

“Hold up now,” Jesse said, his hand snatching your wrist just as you made it to the doorway. “You have any idea what you put me through today?” he asked.

You looked up at him, brow furrowed.

“I didn’t think so,” he muttered. His hand stayed on your wrist, locking you in place. Without any other patients in the ward, and Angela slowly tiptoeing her way out of the room you weren’t sure what to do. Jesse had gotten mad at you before for getting hurt in training, but never like this. Normally he’d scold you a bit, laugh, and then pick you up and carry you to the couch to binge watch your latest obsession. He’d never looked so…torn. Then again, you’d never gotten so hurt before.

“It’s not a big deal.” You tried to pull out of his grip to no avail. “Just got a bump on the head.”

“You got lucky is what you got.” He pulled you closer, leaning down to get on your level and making you dart your eyes away. “If 76 hadn’t been there you coulda slipped into a coma if you weren’t found. You’re lucky he keeps that damn visor on morning, night, and noon and he spotted you get knocked on your ass.”

Your eyes fell to the ground before you wrenched out of his grip. “So what?”

Jesse flinched back as you glared at him. You went on, “So what if I got hurt? People get hurt all the time. 76, you, Angela, everyone! You guys go out on missions and risk everything, so why can’t I? I need to get better and train, so that’s what I’m gonna do!” You took a step forward and he actually took a small one back, surprised by your sudden outburst. Your head ached, and there was a hollow feeling in your chest that only grew bigger with the knowledge of your failure. Angry tears began to form in your eyes but you made sure to hold them back, at least in front of Jesse. You pointed a finger at him, teeth bared, before whirling and stalking away.

You and Jesse never really fought. There were mock fights, ones that from an outsider perspective sounded like fights, but they were in good fun. You were both argumentative, opinionated, and would butt heads, but nothing more. Nothing that made you want to cry. Nothing that made Jesse give you an actual glower. You hated that he’d worried about you, knowing exactly what it was like to feel that way–it was how you felt every time he went on a mission. So after your outburst you expected him to stay stunned in the medical ward, but as you moved down the hall you heard his heavy footsteps coming for you.

You whirled again, too quickly, and wavered on your feet. Your hand smacked against the wall as you held yourself up when Jesse’s protective hands fell on you again. You swatted at him. “Stop helping me! I can handle myself just fine.”

“No.”

You looked up at him, finding he wasn’t glaring anymore. If anything, his downturned lips and furrowed brow showed just how worried he was.

“What?”

“No, I ain’t gonna stop helping you. ‘Specially when you need it.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Well I don’t care if you don’t need it, I’m gonna keep helping you.”

You stuttered a few noises, unable to form a proper sentence. All you could manage was a mangled, “Why?” Yes, he was your friend, but he was friends with the others too and he didn’t go so far to help them. He didn’t get mad at them when they got hurt. His eyebrows didn’t pinch together like they did now when others made mistakes. He always laughed with them, gave them a slap on the back and told them to get back to work. So why was he so different with you?

“‘Cause I love you damnit!” he shouted, making you jump. “And I sure as hell ain’t gonna let the person I love run around hurting themselves if I can help it.”

Jesse’s chest heaved with each breath as you stared at him. He watched you, and after a long beat a blush began to creep across his cheeks. He raised a hand to his face, pretending as if he was going to stroke his beard but you knew he was trying to hide himself.

He groaned. “Now look what you made me do.” You were still stunned by his sudden confession that you could only watch as his hands gently cupped your face and pulled you forward, his lips pressing against yours. Your eyebrows shot up as you closed your eyes, relishing the warmth of his skin and the scratch of his beard.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there in shock, but eventually your feet slid forward, and Jesse’s did the same. You both moved until you were pressed against his chest, your hands rising to grab at his shirt. You pressed onto your toes when he finally pulled back, cheeks even redder and eyelids low.

A wave of dizziness rushed through you and made your knees buckle. Jesse quickly looped his arms around your waist, ensuring you didn’t hit the ground. Pulling you up, you leaned against his, trying to get your vision to even out and will your stomach to stop doing flips.

“That better be cause of the kiss and not the concussion,” he said, his voice low.

Clinging to him, you replied, “No guarantee. We should probably try that again though, just to be sure.”

He chuckled, the vibration ringing through your body. “I can get on board with that.”

#jesse mccree x reader #overwatch request #heated love confession #accidental love confession

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healthfitessweblog · 7 years

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My Holistic Medical Experiences With Sugar: Migraines and Blood Sugar

My Beginnings with Holistic Medicine In 1991, I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. This is quite unusual to have at age 50, as this disease, or Manic Depression as it is also called, usually doesn’t strike past the age of 40. I was in clinical depression when my wife Marcia dragged me into Manhattan from our home on Long Island about an hour and a quarter drive by car. A friend of hers, our insurance agent Jerry, suggested that the Atkins Center could help. Robert Atkins M.D. died a few years ago, but back in 1991 he had a five or six storied building that was devoted to what he termed Complementary Medicine. Complementary meant that the good Dr. Atkins was adding certain holistic medical approaches to his internal medicine cardiology traditional training. Upon arrival early in the morning, I was given a 5 hour blood glucose tolerance to determine whether I was either hypoglycemic (low blood sugar) or hyperglycemic (possibly diabetic), blood was withdrawn for a variety of analyses, stool samples were collected, and food and other allergies were tested.

Sugar and Migraines When I was twenty-seven and returned to Toronto from Israel with my Ph.D. in Biophysics, my headaches that I had all my life turned into migraines that I thought I would now have all my life. The migraines were much worse and my pain took on a new dimension of intensity. I had learned to tolerate pain since age four but this pain was excruciating. Migraine headaches are vascular in nature where one first triggers the vasoconstriction or squeezing of blood vessels in the head and neck followed by the vasodilation or expansion of blood vessels. During the second vascular phase, the blood vessels expand way past where they originally started and the poor migraine sufferer feels the horrific throbbing of the migraine. I don’t know about giving birth but you can’t imagine what the pain is like unless you are a migraine sufferer yourself.

After years of living with this physical pain, I read a book by a South American doctor in the early eighties on the relationship of sugar to migraines. I can’t remember his name or the name of the book, but I do remember what the doctor wrote. He said that sugar triggered a migraine in certain individuals who were susceptible to the biochemical changes initiated by sugar. My science background allowed me to understand what the doctor was suggesting and I was looking for any explanation for my migraines as I was desperate. I had gone to the Headache Clinic at Montefiore Hospital in the Bronx, New York and no such explanation was offered. Basically, table sugar or the disaccharide sucrose gets broken down to the monosaccharides, glucose and fructose, in the body and causes insulin to be secreted by the pancreas.

The insulin is needed to transport the glucose breakdown sugar of the sucrose into our cells for energy, for work in our muscles, and for making triglycerides in our fat cells. A complex biochemical process takes place and there is an exchange of certain ions like magnesium and calcium across cell membranes that cause changes in the bioelectric character of the cells. If too much sucrose is broken down to glucose, the pancreas will secrete an overabundance of insulin. The insulin action can actually reduce the blood sugar levels to even lower levels than normally found in a person’s bloodstream, sometimes to a level which is considered hypoglycemic. The decrease in blood glucose triggers the body to secrete the hormones, epinephrine (adrenaline) and norepinephrine (noradrenaline), to cause the breakdown of glycogen stored in our cells in order to raise and rebalance our blood glucose levels. Blood glucose levels are actually our blood sugar levels but use of the word sugar is actually a misnomer because when we say sugar, we usually mean sucrose but it is the breakdown product of sucrose which is glucose. In any event, the secretion of epinephrine and norepinephrine can be a problem in some migraine sufferers whose blood vessels are sensitive and susceptible because these hormones or neurotransmitters, in addition to breaking down glycogen which is a string of glucose molecules, cause vasoconstriction of the skin blood vessels in the head, neck and shoulders. The consequence is that the migraine will commence and becomes difficult to arrest.

The South American doctor noted that shortly after taking sweets, the migraine began in individuals. Anywhere from forty-five to ninety minutes after the sweets would do it. I noted his findings in the early 1980s in my head but never attempted to carefully watch my foods. That is until the Atkins Center in 1991. I weighed 175 pounds at the beginning of my treatment at the Atkins Center. A couple of months later on a carbohydrate-restricted diet I was 150 pounds. Miraculously the migraines disappeared at the lower weight. When I gained the weight back, the migraines returned. Not a double blind study for a scientist although it convinced me that there was some validity to the relationship of sucrose to migraines. I still haven’t seen any writings on this subject; however, I suggest you try it to see if there is a relationship of sugar to your migraines. There may not be. Migraines have other causes such as food allergies and genetics but it may be worth a try.

Sugar and Why You Can Gain Weight Low carbohydrate was the whole premise for the Atkins diet to lose weight and it does work if you restrict your diet according to his suggestions. There has been a lot of controversy over the Atkins diet that you can read about elsewhere. With Dr. Atkin’s death, the diet has lost some traction although there are still quite a few successful imitations out there. Some argue that the diet is not a healthy one and it is a truism that there is risk with everything. I’m back to my 175 pound weight but I do watch the sugar. The truth is that only about twenty-five percent of us can adequately metabolize sugar and get it out of our bodies quickly so that it doesn’t cause weight gain. The rest of us can be affected by ingesting carbohydrates. It’s also a fact that although total daily calories are important, you can reach a state when you are older when it’s not how much you eat but what you eat. You probably ask yourself why you are gaining weight when you are hardly eating, or so you believe. The whole weight loss syndrome is like making your way through a mine field. And why are some skinnier people diabetic while some overweight people do not have the illness?

We need glucose for all our cells to provide energy in the form of ATP when the glucose reacts with oxygen inside our cells. The brain needs lots of energy and requires about 20% of our blood glucose. In addition to energy our muscles need the glucose to convert to lactic acid so that they can function for example in throwing a punch or in exercise. Finally the glucose gets transported into our fat cells and initially forms triglycerides which can be assimilated, with the components of the triglyceride being converted into other lipids inside our fat cells. It is all of these lipids that form which can put on weight, especially if we are storing more fat than we are burning. In the Atkins diet, the low carbohydrate-high protein diet forces the body to burn fat and thus Atkins saw the weight loss in his patients. If the weight loss is dramatic as in a very overweight person then if you have Type 2 diabetes, and you may not, the diabetes can be partially or fully reversed since the pancreas still has the potential to produce insulin. At the higher weight with so much sugar in the bloodstream, it is necessary for your doctor to prescribe insulin for you. At the lower weight your own insulin can do the job in controlling the blood glucose.

Insulin resistance first happens for the energy in our cells and brain although we usually have enough to function. There is a slowing down of the rate of glucose transport (thus the amount of glucose removed from the bloodstream is also decreased) which can be increased through medications such as Metformin or a nutritional supplement known as alpha lipoic acid. Now the glucose has accelerated more into our muscles and fat cells than into our cells and brain. This can happen at 150 pounds or 275 pounds depending on the person and his or her biochemistry. Next the muscles slow down in the insulin transport of glucose, so the best option for the body turns out to be transporting the glucose into fat cells. The muscle cells in addition to our other body cells have become more insulin resistant. The last to become insulin resistant are the fat cells, so if we are susceptible, we will gain weight until our fat cells become insulin resistant. We may weigh 350 pounds but we may still not be that bad in terms of insulin resistance in the fat cell systems. We keep gaining weight because we haven’t reached insulin resistance with our fat cells. Or we can be that 175 pounds and already be insulin resistant everywhere. Once all three systems become significantly insulin resistant, the blood sugar (blood glucose) levels may rise to the point where we are considered pre-diabetic. The insulin from the pancreas responding to the glucose in the bloodstream can no longer do its job. When levels of glucose go even higher in the bloodstream, diabetes can occur irrespective of whether you are fat or skinny. There is however more of a correlation between diabetes and being overweight for other biochemical reasons.

Conclusion Many years ago before we all were born, the sweet taste was satisfied by the berries that our ancestors picked in the wild. Today sugar has become a staple of the American diet and our children love it. The refinement of white sugar from sugar cane is the culprit and we have gotten accustomed to the sweet taste. Food producers place sucrose or glucose or sugar derivatives like corn syrup into a majority of the products found on supermarket shelves. You might ask the question, “What is it about sugar that we like?” I’ll leave you with a brief badly designed experiment that was conducted with baby rats. researchers placed the rat pups on a hotplate and the pups only lasted a few seconds before jumping off the hot plate. If the scientists pre-fed the pups sugared-water, the pups were able to stay on the hotplate significantly longer. The conclusion was that sugar stimulates the rat and presumably our endorphin system which distracts us from the pain. Anything in life that gives us an endorphin high in life makes us feel good. Yet every action has a reaction and their our costs for pursuing the good life.

As a professor for thirty years, I published seventy-five scientific articles including seven patents. I also published four fiction and nonfiction books. See my website http://www.jerrypollock.com In April 2012 I and my wife Marcia coauthored a unique book, Putting God Into Einstein’s Equations: Energy of the Soul. Marcia’s soul suggested and confirmed from the spirit world. Our souls communicated by thought-energy telepathy. Purchase book on Amazon.

Find More Atkins Diet And Yeast Infections Articles

from Lose Weight http://healthfitnessweblog.us/diets/my-holistic-medical-experiences-with-sugar-migraines-and-blood-sugar-2/

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