#(but I also passed out for three hours and had to phone doctor for antibiotics I can't hear nothing no more)
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went into work today with mask on because I am very very sick and my boss got jump scared by how pale I was which is an accomplishment because despite the fact I live in australia, I am a sickly looking fucker.
#✧˖*° gwyn speaks.◞ ― ᴏᴏᴄ ᴛᴀɢ *ೃ༄#(I work in office and away from people so. even dying from infection I gotta grind)#(but I also passed out for three hours and had to phone doctor for antibiotics I can't hear nothing no more)#(wish me luck I am but a sickly Victorian young lad that is the vibe atm)#(anyway that's my ol update I will be online a bit just dash watching and then hopefully-! write tomorrow)#(mwah <3 hope everyone is having a good night (or day))#(side note: the way I am so comfortable on a dash / in a community again?)#(old me could never)#(we don't talk about the dark days. the war. the eclipse even. of the foul rpc back in the years)#(so I cherish you all and I am a bit out of it so I am rambling oop)m
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Inbetween Days
Pairing: Bruce Wayne x F!Reader
Warnings: Spoilers, crime mentions, injury mentions
Word Count: 2539
A/N: Here’s part 24 of Convenience! Thank you to everyone who commented on and reblogged the other parts, it really means a lot. This is a side blog so I can’t reply to comments but know that I read them all! Here's the song this chapter is named after. Anyway, I hope you like it!
Series Masterlist
Masterlist
Headcanon Requests Open!
Bruce could feel the exhaustion all the way down to his bones. He pulled the charger to a stop in the station and climbed out. He had been worried that he had not parked it on high enough ground, but luckily it was still there when he got back. He did not want to think about how upset Y/N would have been if he had lost it. He was trying, and failing, to not think about her; about the scream she had let out when the guy sliced her shoulder open, all the blood that had soaked her shirt, the look of pain on her face each time she moved.
He stripped off the suit and left it on the floor by the desk; he could clean it when he got back. His limbs felt sluggish as he got in the elevator and pressed the button for the penthouse. The phone was flashing on the table when he got out. It seemed the phone lines were not down in this part of the city. He pressed the voicemail button and listened to the message. It was a receptionist at the hospital telling him that Y/N was there, and as her next of kin and emergency contact, they were letting him know. At least now he could go straight to the hospital without waiting for the call. He caught sight of himself in the hallway mirror and realised he was going to have to shower first. The mud had managed to get under the suit, meaning he was still covered in it. He sighed and walked upstairs, at least a cold shower might wake him up.
****
Bruce looked around the hospital lobby as he walked in. The whole place was packed with people waiting for relatives or friends, or waiting to be seen for minor injuries. He got in the line for the receptionists desk, his fingers anxiously playing with the strap of the bag in his hand. He had grabbed Y/N a change of clothes and some other things he thought she might need before he left the apartment. The line felt as if it took hours to go down, but in reality it only took a few minutes. He swallowed back the panic as he got to the front of the line.
“I’m here to see Y/N Wayne.”
“Okay, your name?” The receptionist started typing on the computer.
“Bruce Wayne.”
The receptionist glanced up at him, as if to check he really was who he said he was, before looking back at the computer. “Okay, I’ll let them know you’re here, the doctor will come and collect you. Have a seat while you wait.”
He nodded and walked away from the desk. There were no empty seats so he just leaned against one of the walls.
Barely fifteen minutes had passed when a doctor approached him. “Mr. Wayne?”
His head snapped up to look at her. “How is she?”
“She’s okay, in fact we’re ready to release her. If you want to follow me?” She started walking down the corridor. Bruce followed after her, his full attention on each word she said. “The knife tore pretty deep into her shoulder, it took twenty six stitches to close it. Her bandages will need changing once more today, and then twice a day from tomorrow. I’ve already set her an appointment to get the stitches taken out. She has a mild concussion, so it would be best not to let her sleep for a few hours.” The doctor checked to make sure Bruce was listening. “She also has three cracked ribs and one broken one on her left side. The x-rays showed that they’re stable and not a danger, but she will need to be careful, no heavy lifting or rapid movements for a few weeks. I’ve also given her a prescription for some painkillers and an antibiotic, she knows all the details about when to take them.”
He nodded. “Anything else?”
“I assume you brought her a change of clothes?” She eyed the bag in his hand.
“Yeah.”
“Good, she’s in here.” The doctor pushed open the door to a small observation room.
Y/N looked up as they walked in. She was sat on an observation table, wearing a hospital gown. He looked her over. The bruise on the side of her face had come out a dark blue and purple colour; the small gash in the centre held together with steri-strips. He could see the edge of the bandages under the shoulder of her hospital gown. Her left arm was wrapped in a sling to stop her moving it and tearing her stitches. Her hair was damp, she had showered he was glad to see. He did not know how he would have reacted if she was still covered in her own blood.
She watched his reaction carefully before shooting him a small smile. “Hey.”
“Hi.” He tried to return it.
The doctor walked over to her. “Your husband has brought you a change of clothes. Do you need me to send someone to help you get dressed?”
“No, I think we’ve got it.” Y/N said, her eyes glancing to Bruce as he nodded.
“Alright, once you’re dressed, just go to the front desk, they’ll have some forms for you to sign, and then you’re free to leave. If anything changes, any ripped stitches, difficulty breathing or sharp pains, come straight back to the hospital and someone will sort you out. Okay?” The doctor picked up a clipboard from the desk at the side of the room.
“Yes. Thank you, doctor.” Y/N smiled.
The doctor returned it and nodded at Bruce before walking out. He closed the door, glad that the observation room did not have a window like Alfred’s room. He walked over to her and placed the bag on the bed next to her.
She looked him over, scanning for any obvious signs of injury. “Are you okay?”
“You’re sitting in a hospital room and you’re asking me if I’m okay.” He laughed, but she could see the pain in his eyes.
“That’s precisely why I’m asking, because you’ve not been checked over by a bunch of doctors, and I saw you take that shotgun blast to the chest.” She reached out her right hand and grabbed his hand. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He dragged his thumb along her knuckles, glancing down at their hands before looking back up at her. “Promise me you’ll never do anything like that again.”
It was her turn to laugh, flinching slightly when it caused a spike of pain in her ribs. “Sure, next time I’ll just let you take a shotgun to the face.”
“Y/N-”
She cut him off. “Do you think I would have been able to live with myself if I hadn’t got involved and you’d died? I’d have spent the rest of my life wondering if I could have done anything to make a difference. I’d have sent myself crazy.” She pulled her hand out of his and ran a finger over the bruise forming on his jaw. “I’m fine, all things considered, and I’d rather have a few new scars than be planning your funeral.”
He nodded, not finding the words he wanted to say.
“Now, you better help me get dressed because we have to go and see Alfred.” She pulled the bag towards her, fumbling with the zip as she tried to open it with one hand.
Bruce stopped her and unzipped it himself. “Any particular reason we need to see Alfred?”
“I asked the nurse to ask him about setting up a relief package, and they told him I was here. They wouldn’t let him come down and see me. I don’t think he was too happy about that.”
“I bet he wasn’t. Come on then.” He grabbed her good arm and helped her down from the examination table.
She rested a hand on his shoulder as he knelt down in front of her and helped her into her underwear and the leggings he packed. He slipped on her socks and shoes and stood back up. He unfastened the sling and set it to one side before untying the hospital gown. He slid it from her shoulders and picked up her bra from the bed.
“Better leave the left strap off.” She told him, not missing the way his eyes were trained on the blue-purple mess under the strap-up tape over her ribs.
He tore his eyes away as she put her arm through the right bra strap. He fastened it for her before reaching for the jumper he had packed. She was happy to see it was one of his. He was careful of her bandages as he helped her put it on. He picked the sling back up and fastened it in place again.
“Right, you got everything?” He asked.
She picked up the prescriptions and placed them in his outstretched hand. “That’s everything. Believe it or not, they had to bin my clothes and I lost my bag in the flood.”
He did not look impressed as he took her right hand in his left and opened the door.
“Okay, at least tell me that you didn’t lose my car.” She kept her voice down as they walked down the corridor.
“No, don’t worry, the car’s fine.” He gave her a half-smile.
She took the half-smile as a win because at least that meant he no longer looked like a kicked puppy. “Good.”
They filled out the necessary paperwork at the front desk before jumping in the elevator up to the sixth floor. After the only other person in the elevator got out on the second floor, Y/N took the opportunity to ask Bruce a question. “You know you’re going to have to teach me some stuff, right?”
He looked at her in confusion. “What?”
“I hit that guy with everything I had and evidently it wasn’t enough.” It had been bothering her since she got to the hospital. The doors opened and they walked out. “If you and Alfred aren’t around and something goes wrong, Bruce, I want to be able to defend myself.”
He stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned to look at her. She could almost hear the gears turning in his brain as he thought it through. “Okay.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. For my own piece of mind. I’ll teach you enough to be able to defend yourself, but that’s as far as I’ll go.” He told her.
She smiled. “Thank you.”
He shook his head but could not help but smile himself as they started walking again.
Alfred was propped up in bed with numerous documents scattered across the adjustable table in front of him. He looked up from the papers and watched them as they walked in. He did not say anything as Y/N carefully sat on the edge of the bed and Bruce shut the door. He moved to hover behind her, resting his hand on the footboard.
“Nice to see you’re both in one piece.” Alfred said, before focusing on Y/N. “What on earth were you even doing there?”
“Bella Reál called and invited me. Well, it felt like less of an invite and more of a demand.” She explained.
“And how did that happen?” He gestured to her left side.
“She saved my life.” Bruce spoke up, causing Alfred to look up at him. “I made a mistake, one of the guys caught me in the chest with a shotgun at short range. I fell off the edge of one of the suspended walkways and couldn’t pull myself back up. The guy was leveling the shotgun with my head when Y/N smashed him over the head with a rifle.”
Alfred looked between them both with shock clearly written across his face.
“But I didn’t hit him hard enough.” Y/N added. “He got back up and grabbed me. Bruce got him off me.”
Alfred sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The pair of you are going to be the reason I have a heart attack one day.” He picked up one of the pieces of paper from the table in front of him and handed it to Y/N. “I sorted the relief package. It just needs both of your signatures.” He passed them a pen and they both signed before handing the pen and paper back to him.
“I’m going to go collect these.” Bruce held up the prescriptions before walking out and closing the door behind him.
Y/N watched him leave before looking back at Alfred. “He’s mad at me.”
“No, he’s mad at himself. He thinks it’s his fault that you got hurt.” Alfred told her.
“He couldn’t even move.” She creased her eyebrows together. “He had to give himself an adrenaline shot just to get the guy off me.”
“You think that matters to him? In his mind, you got hurt on his watch. He cares about you more than you know.” Alfred gave her a knowing smile before changing the topic. “I should be thanking you, anyway. They told me that you pulled me out of the flames.”
“You would have done the same.” She smiled. “Oh, you should probably know that Bruce spray painted a mind map on the floor in the main room, and I don’t know how to get it off.”
“I wish that surprised me.”
Y/N chuckled but regretted it immediately as the pain shot up her side again.
Alfred noticed her wince. “Broken ribs are no fun.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Maybe.” Alfred smiled.
As they waited for Bruce to get back, she filled Alfred in on everything that had happened since the bomb went off.
“I was surprised you weren’t with him when he came to see me.” Alfred said when she was finished.
She twisted her wedding band. “I thought it was a conversation you would be better having just the two of you.” She said. “Plus he cracked the fuel line on the charger and I had to replace it.”
They both turned towards the door as it opened and Bruce walked back in. He shut it behind him and walked back over to the bed. He placed the pharmacy bag down and pulled out a sandwich. He handed it to Y/N. “You should eat something.”
“Have you?”
The look on his face told her he had not so, she opened the packet and handed one of the sandwiches back to him. He huffed but took it anyway. Alfred watched them both with a smile on his face.
“You should both go home and get some sleep.” Alfred noticed them starting to protest and held up his hand. “Believe it or not, I’ll still be here tomorrow. And you both look terrible.”
Part 25
#bruce wayne imagine#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne#batman imagine#batman x reader#battison#the batman#alfred pennyworth#robert pattinson
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Breaking in pt.2 w/ Aizawa, Shinsou and Bakugou
Request: Hi!! SoooOO I recently found your stuff and it's safe to say I am ✨obsessed✨ I LOVED the post you did of the BNHA reacting to someone breaking in with Hawks, Dabi and Todoroki. I was wondering if you could do another one with like Shinsou, Bakugou and Aizawa. I feel like Baku would throw mad HANDS. love your work stay stuff and have a good day x - anonymous
Okay I too love rescue fics and being kidnapped or held hostage is one of my favorite tropes. Throwing your kids in the mix is immaculat at least for me because I’m a die hard fan of domestic AUs. So of course I’m gonna write this trope again with these three idiots. I enjoyed writing the previous one so hehheehehehhe. Love ya. 💖💖💖
masterlist II rules
warnings: some descriptions of violence, some crying but fluff/comfort in the end.
Aizawa Shota II a son (Kaito)
-He was running late.
-He hated running late.
-Today the class had extra training hours and it lasted longer than he expected, so much so that he had to call for someone to fill in his spot on patrol tonight.
-In reality he really wanted to spend the night at home with you and your 2 year old son, canceling his patrol because the kids didn’t finish training was just an excuse.
-He had shot you a text informing you that he would be home tonight but a little later than usual.
-You had just picked up Kaito from his aunt when you got Aizawa’s message.
-You were excited to spend some time with your husband.
-Between your time teaching and his midnight patrols, the only moments you truly got to spend with him were in between the classes or when he came home for dinner and then immediately left.
-You knew he felt bad leaving the two of you alone for so long and you knew he beat himself up for missing precious time with his son.
-Opening your apartment door you were met with complete silence which was odd.
-Usually your three cats, Mochi, Mocha and Coco would meet you at the door, mewing and purring at your feet, Kaito always wanting to be put down so he could pet them.
-Now though none of them came and you immediately knew something was up.
-Your spidey senses were tingling.
-Setting your stuff down you held Kaito closer to you as you slowly walked around your living room and kitchen.
-Nothing seemed amiss.
-Kaito let out a small whimper and shifted in your grip as something moved behind you.
-Just because you retired from being a hero doesn’t mean your skills have disappeared.
-Oh no, as a new mom you were hyper aware of your surroundings and you easily dodged the blow that was aimed at your head.
-Whipping around you came face to face with a hooded figure that seemed more like a burglar than a villain.
-The dude's eyes quickly landed on Kaito and he let out a shaky breath.
-They definitely weren’t villains.
-People were aware of Aizawa’s family and any villain who tried to get to him through you would have known about Kaito’s existence.
- “Shit…. Yo she has a kid!”
-Another one came pounding from the hallway, eyes quickly landing on the baby you had clutched to your chest.
-Letting out an exasperated sigh the second intruder rolled his eyes, grabbing an umbrella from the hanger and slowly making his way towards you.
- “Just knock her out and tie her up, put the kid in a crib or something.”
-You weren’t about to let them touch your son, they wouldn’t even be able to come remotely near him.
-Activating your quirk, thrumming filled the air as you were prepared to fight them, to keep them away from the crying child in your arms and that’s when you saw him.
-He is always so silent, his footsteps so gentle on the marble floor of your apartment that you have convinced yourself that he is indeed half cat at this point.
-Aizawa was burning holes at the back of their heads, hair up as he activated his quirk, cancelling theirs.
-You kissed Kaito as Shota let his capture tool fly across the room successfully trapping the two burglars.
-In six strides you were next to him, checking for injuries on each other while simultaneously trying *and failing mostly* to calm your 2 year old down.
-The police were called, naming this whole incident as a random burglary and not a scheduled attack, relieving both of you; you didn’t wanna move again.
-That night Kaito slept in your room, cuddled on Aizawa’s chest as you were nestled under his arm.
-Three fur balls were curled at the foot of your shared bed, purring away lulling you to sleep.
-You found those three locked in your bathroom.
-Apparently Mocha had scratched the living hell out of one of the burglars and they had locked all of them in the bathroom for safe measure.
- “I’m sorry for this.”
- “Burglaries happen Shota, it wasn’t your fault. I’m glad you came when you did, fighting while holding Kaito would have been kinda difficult. I think I might be getting kinda rusty.”
-He stroked Kaito’s plush cheek before letting out a sigh.
- “I have never seen him cry like that. When he sees me he always calms down but now-”
- “He was scared, Shota. He saw them before I did and the whole situation shook him up. But he’ll be fine, he’s got us.”
-Giving you a kiss and then placing another one on his son’s forehead, he closed his eyes, arms tightening around the both of you a little.
Shinsou Hitoshi II a daughter (Kei)
-Hitoshi had been to every single pharmacy in the area searching for Kei’s medication.
-She had gotten sick and you had asked him to fetch some antibiotics your pediatrician had suggested you give her if her fever didn’t go down.
-Now, Hitoshi was getting desperate.
-It was the flu season and almost all the pharmacies had emptied their shelves from this particular antibiotic.
-He was ready to pull his hair out.
-Apart from that, he also hated leaving you alone like this.
-You both needed him at the moment and he wasn’t helping at all.
-Kei was suffering from her fever while you were about 7 weeks pregnant and he was out here running around like a maniac.
-In one last desperate attempt he entered another pharmacy and to his surprise they had what he was looking for and he was out the door in a flash, leaving the store without giving the clerk enough time to say a single ‘thank you, come again.’
-Sprinting home, he dashed into your apartment complex and up the stairs, fumbling for his keys as he neared your door only to find it already ajar.
-Slowing down he looked at the open entryway; he was sure he closed it on the way out.
-Why hadn’t you closed it?
-Pushing it open he came face to face with a disheveled living room, Kei’s toys scattered everywhere while one of your armchairs was knocked over.
-A small whimper suddenly pierced the air and Hitoshi would recognize his daughter’s cries from anywhere.
-A deep voice told her to shut up which was answered by your angry voice threatening to beat the living shit out of them if they touched her.
-With silent steps, Hitoshi tiptoed to your daughter’s room where he could hear the talking only to stop dead in his tracks when shuffling came from your bedroom.
-Another figure emerged from your bedroom halting once they saw Shinsou.
- “What th-”
- “Sleep.”
-Without bothering to check if the intruder passed out, Hitoshi pushed open the door, his anger radiating all around him at the very thought that someone had touched his family.
-The second person whipped around at the sound of the door opening, eyes wide as they met Hitoshi’s, fumbling to activate their quirk.
-They made the fatal mistake of speaking though and soon they were unconscious just like their friend, laying on the pastel carpet of Kei’s room.
-In one swift motion he had Kei in his arms and untied your wrists, rubbing the irritated skin and checking for injuries.
-Kei wouldn’t calm down, her grip on his shirt turned to iron once the police dragged them out of your house.
- “I wish I could beat their ass.”
- “You know you can’t use your quirk right now kitten.”
- “Yeah but they pissed me off.”
-Your doctor had forbidden quirk use during the pregnancy and that’s why those two morons had managed to catch you.
-The scowl on your face had become almost permanent and Shinsou couldn’t decide if he should find it cute or terrifying.
-Kei became attached to Hitoshi’s chest.
-Hitoshi refused to let her go just like she refused to let him go, staying in his embrace for the rest of the day, any attempt to get her away from him resulting in tears.
-You are kinda salty but some ice cream will fix that.
Bakugou Katsuki II A son (Tatsuo)
- “Okay kids, you have a nice weekend and don’t forget to finish your family portraits for Monday. Tatsuo and I would love to see them.”
-A multitude of goodbyes came through the screen as your kindergarten class, some of your students even opened their cameras to wave at you and your son who was sitting on your lap.
-Tatsuo babbled back at them, little byes leaving his lips as he too waved back at your laptop.
-Being in quarantine wasn’t that bad for a kindergarten teacher.
-Your online classes weren’t difficult to manage and you got to spend more time with your two year old son.
-The class loved seeing him and would ask if he was joining them each morning.
-Closing your laptop, you hugged your mini Katsuki as you started heating up his milk.
-You were humming, gently rocking him as you waited for the milk, giving him stray kisses here and there just to see his little nose scrunch up reminding you of Katsuki more and more everyday.
-Checking your phone for any new messages, you let out a sigh at your husband’s message saying he was coming home; that was thirty minutes ago.
-Hero work didn’t let up despite the quarantine.
-Bakugou was as busy as ever, leaving first thing in the morning and most of the time returning home late in the afternoon sometimes staying out even after midnight.
-Today though he had managed to get off earlier than usual, promising to cook for both of you tonight.
-You knew he wanted to spend more time with Tatsuo and the fact that he was gone for the majority of the day was eating him up.
-He was so worried that he was neglecting his son; he even convinced himself that Tatsuo would soon come to hate him.
-Your son on the other hand was attached to Katsuki’s hip, always searching for his dad in the morning and beaming when Katsu came home.
-He could never hate him.
-The sound of the door opening snapped you out of your little Katsuki infused dream state.
-Turning around you expected to see your husband in the living room, arms stretched out as he smiled at the two of you.
-But you were met with three strangers; three hooded strangers holding a crowbar and two bags.
-It was a staring contest for a solid five minutes before either of you moved.
-One of them noticed Tatsuo and nudged his “coworker” who then informed the leader of the trio.
- “Better not make a sound sweetheart, I’d hate hurting that pretty little face of yours.”
-He took a step forward only for you to take a step back, until your back hit the cupboard.
-He let out a chuckle and motioned for his rookies to search the place as he continued walking towards you.
-Tastuo was gripping your shirt, eyes trained on the man, his brows downcast in anger.
-Your phone lit up on the counter and in one swift move you grabbed it, pressing your emergency call button as the intruder rounded the counter.
-You sprinted for the front door just as Katsuki picked up only to be grabbed by one of the other two and dragged back inside the house, Katsuki’s yells echoing through the phone.
-Now you are aware that your husband is one of the top pro heroes.
-You know that in order to rise to the top charts in this industry you need to have certain attributes like strength, tactical thinking ….speed.
-You felt him more than saw him.
-You were wrestling to get the hands of the intruder off of you when you felt the windows rattle.
-And before you knew it, your husband had tackled the man holding you to the floor, knocking him unconscious with a single punch before pouncing on the other two.
-Tatsuo was letting out small hiccups as tears rolled down his cheeks, his grip on your shirt never wavering but he refused to sob.
-He had his father’s pride okay? Even at the age of two.
-Katsuki had you both in his arms in a flash, calling the police before checking both of you over for injuries and what not.
- “Did they hurt you? I swear I’ll kill them if they did.”
- “We are fine Katsu, just a little shaken.”
-The moment Tatsuo was in Katsuki’s arms he began to cry, burying his face in his dad’s chest still holding on to your shirt.
-It took an eternity to calm him down and even longer to put him to sleep, even though he was sleeping in your bed.
-The next morning Katsuki was on the news for marching to the police station and beating the living hell out of the burglars.
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#aizawa x reader#aizawa x you#aizawa x y/n#aizawa shota x reader#aizawa shota x you#aizawa shota x y/n#dad aizawa#aizawa shota#shinsou x you#shinsou x y/n#shinsou x reader#shinsou hitoshi x reader#shinsou hitoshi x you#shinsou hitoshi x y/n#dad shinsou#shinsou hitoshi#bakugou x you#bakugou x y/n#bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki x you#bakugou katsuki x y/n#bakugou katsuki x reader#dad bakugou#bakugou katsuki#domestic aizawa#domestic shinsou#domestic bakugou#bnha#bnha x you#bnha x reader
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Emily's Top Surgery (Read on AO3)
Penemily / Gen / 4038 words
Emily has top surgery and their loving, perfect, beautiful girlfriend Penelope is their caretaker.
Notes: I refer to Emily as Penelope's girlfriend intentionally; Emily is a non-binary lesbian and in this particular story, is comfortable with the gendered term "girlfriend". However, if you see Emily referred to as she/her at any point, that's an editing mistake on my part and I mixed up their pronouns with Penelope's. I went through this a couple times to make sure I gendered them correctly, but one might have slipped through the cracks!
Also feels important to say that Dr. Dolan is a totally fictional doctor and not a reference to any real life surgeon
-
Surgery Day
Penelope has seen her team through too much already. Kidnappings, stab wounds, bullets – their jobs aren’t exactly arts and crafts. Yet, she thinks this might be the most nervous she has ever been. She’s been rapid-fire tapping her heel for the last hour and forty-five minutes, and trying to distract herself with her cell phone. Morgan texted a couple times to check in (once on behalf of Reid), but otherwise, radio silence. The few messages mean more than she can say; she is intimately familiar with how busy they are on a case. But she really wishes any of them were there to squeeze her hand right about now. She’d even take Strauss.
In the middle of Penelope’s billionth Candy Crush level, a doctor materializes in front of her. She startles and fumbles her phone trying to click it off. “Is it over? Can I see them now? How’d it go?”
As the doctor peels his surgical mask off, she sees he’s laughing at her. That’s good, right?
He says, “Everything went just fine, Ms. Garcia. Emily’s in the recovery room now, and we’ll let you back there about twenty minutes after they wake up. They’re going to be a little groggy and maybe nauseous. It all depends on how their body reacts to the anesthesia. They’ll most likely sleep for the rest of the day, but make sure to keep up with their medications, alright?”
Penelope nods fervently. “Absolutely, Dr. Dolan. Can do. Will do! And I’m sorry to ask this again but I really have to make sure, the whole operation was totally fine? Nothing went wrong? Everything…chopped off okay?”
The doctor stifles a chuckle. “Yes, Ms. Garcia. Everything went exactly as planned, no complications as of yet. We’ll see you tomorrow for Emily’s one day post-op appointment to check the surgery site and switch out the bandages for a binder, and then for their first week post-op. Okay?”
Penelope smiles back, still nodding along like Emily’s health depends on it.
The doctor shakes her hand and ducks back into the surgical ward, leaving Penelope to update the group chat.
“Emily’s out!!!!!! Doc says all good!!!!!! Will be with them soon 😍💖🥳”
She types almost as quickly as her heart is beating.
Penelope makes it through another few rounds of mobile games and desperately refreshing her Twitter feed before she risks checking the clock. It’s been half an hour. Shouldn’t Emily be awake by now? What if they never wake up? Could someone be permanently anesthetized? Reid would know. Maybe Penelope should call Reid. No, she can’t do that. They’re all off in Texas trying to catch a serial killer and she doesn’t need to distract them, not when they’re already down two team members. Kevin Lynch is pretty good, she hopes. She’s seen his work and it’s adequate. Nothing like the multi-tasking Penelope pulls off, but in the same ballpark. His boyfriend, Grant Anderson, vouched for him. It was unnecessary, and maybe Kevin shouldn’t have sent the person who got Elle shot to sing his praises, but at least they knew Grant. Kevin was a stranger from another department. A back-up.
“Penelope Garcia?” A nurse calls as she emerges from swinging double doors.
“Yes, right here!” Penelope chirps. She leaps to her feet and scurries over as quickly as her heels will allow.
The nurse walks her through the recovery ward and the steps to Emily’s post-op instructions. Emily has four different prescriptions already filled and two cannot be taken at the exact same time while one is an antibiotic and the other is just for nausea which they might not need and –
“This is all written down, right? Sorry, my head’s just like, woo, swimming right now,” Penelope says. Her eyes are wide and darting frantically between the curtained beds. She hates the fluorescent lights. Her skin is buzzing with all the sour electricity. The nurse assures her they’ll send them home with physical copies along with phone numbers in case of emergency.
They round the nurse’s station and finally, come to Emily. They’re shifting slightly in their bed, leaning forward and sipping at a dixie cup of water. They're groggy and slow, with the IV still in their arm. Penelope’s glad they don’t have a mirror – their bangs are scattered over their forehead in three wispy chunks, a way Penelope knows Emily hates.
“Hey sweetheart,” Penelope coos. She leans over the bed's plastic siding to kiss the top of Emily’s head, and run her fingers through their dark hair. Emily leans into the touch.
They croak, “Hey,” and cough to clear their throat, wincing all the while.
“That’d be because you were intubated,” the nurse says. “Take plenty of cough drops and you should feel much better.”
Penelope assures the nurse they will while Emily drifts in and out of focus.
“Did it work?” they ask.
“Did what, Em?”
“M’surgery.”
“Oh! Yeah, totally. You’ll see in a little bit. You’re just sleepy.”
“M’kay,” Emily says. Their head lolls back into their pillows as the muscles in their face tighten.
“Emily, what would you rate your pain out of ten?” the nurse asks, coming closer with her clipboard at the ready.
“Uh, five? Maybe six.”
Penelope looks to the nurse. “Is that bad? That sounds bad. I thought it wasn’t supposed to hurt right now.”
The nurse jots down a few notes before she answers. “It’s not unusual. We’ll up their pain killers before we remove the IV.”
Penelope plants herself firmly at Emily’s side in the meantime. They’ve redressed Emily in their own clothes, an oversized button-down and sweats. Well, Penelope assumes they put Emily’s bottoms back on. The blanket is still tucked tightly around their body like they’re some kind of soft, hot mummy. They stay like that for another fifteen minutes, Penelope working her nails through Emily’s scalp as they try to relax.
When Emily rates their pain at a four, then a three, Penelope helps the nurse settle them in a wheelchair. They roll a few feet into the hall before Emily claws for Penelope’s arm.
“Where’s the barf bag?” Penelope asks. She has her hand out and ready for the nurse to pass it over, and swings it into Emily’s face.
Emily, thankfully, does not puke. Their slow, steady breath crinkles the blue plastic bag, but all they fill it with is air. They keep a tight grip on the thing for safekeeping, even as they’re helped into the passenger’s seat of Penelope’s car.
“You ready to go home, lovebug?” Penelope keeps her voice low and sweet, like dark honey. Emily nods and Penelope grants her wish, starting the engine and turning out of the parking lot.
-❤-
One Day Post-Op
Penelope holds her breath as the nurse unwraps the medical bandages. She wonders if Em is doing the same. While she’s watching them, Emily’s eyes flit between her and the floor-length mirror fastened to the exam room wall.
The nurse is talking, and they’re both supposed to be listening, but who could expect them to? Emily has spent a couple grand (after insurance) and something like four years waiting for these next seconds. Penelope is just as invested, if not more, in Emily’s happiness. She’s not going to get the camera out, but wonders if she should just in case Emily cries.
Their eyes follow the final bandage as it unravels from Emily’s form.
And Emily’s mind goes quiet. They have two, deep red swoops where their chest used to bulge. Above and below, their body is nothing but smooth skin. They thought this would feel like shock. Like disbelief that they were finally here. Instead, it just feels right, as if this is the way it’s always been and some crappy daydream is over at last. They giggle, and Penelope glows like the sun has risen.
“Wow,” Penelope says, soft. She’s wrenched with admiration.
The nurse is smiling in the corner. She takes out a roll of Steri-Strips and measures them against Emily’s new scars. Scars! Emily finally has scars!
“Now the bruising should lessen in the next three to four weeks,” the nurse says. Oh, bruising. Emily almost hadn’t noticed. Their body is splotched with patches of yellow, green, and purple as if it’s trying to camouflage itself, but Emily’s not hiding from anything anymore.
They’re given more practical information, like how often Emily should be walking to avoid blood clots, how high they should lift their arms, how much they should be carrying – most of which tells them to stay reclined, arms down, to sleep as much as possible, but get in ten minutes of walking every few hours. Penelope hears more of this than Emily does, and again, they’re given written instructions just in case.
Emily takes one last look before the compression vest goes on. This will be the most uncomfortable part of the process, thank god. Emily chose a surgeon who used a tighter suture method rather than the typical drains intentionally. Still, the fit of the binder is exciting. Emily’s never had something lie flat on them before. Their body now falls in one fluid line without anything, even nipples, to interrupt.
“Em?”
Emily snaps to Penelope, who is standing and holding the door for them.
“Oh, right,” Emily says with half a laugh and a daze in their eyes. They thank the nurse, and the receptionist, and a passing surgeon that isn’t even Emily’s on the way out. This is the most gratitude Emily’s ever contained in their life, and they need to flush it through their system.
“And especially you,” Emily gushes as Penelope helps buckle their seatbelt. “You’re amazing. I can’t believe you’re taking time off for me, or that you’re not stir crazy already. Thank you.”
Penelope grins like she might burst, and can’t answer just yet. She gets them safely onto the highway for home first. “Of course I’m here for you, dumb-dumb! Not only because you literally can’t do anything for yourself right now, or because the hospital said you couldn’t have the surgery without having a caretaker, but, well – okay, maybe half for those reasons too. But because I love you. I’m so happy for you, and how happy you’re going to be, and that this is so good for you. I love you so much.” Penelope sniffles.
“Maybe you should have said all that before we left?” Emily asks. “You’re gonna cry the whole drive back, babe.”
Penelope swats at them. “I know, I know! But you’re on a strict schedule, my lovely angel, and you need your meds in like, thirty minutes.”
Emily laughs and catches Penelope’s hand in their own. They squeeze it tightly and press their lips to Penelope’s fingers. Emily only releases when Penelope tugs their grip toward the steering wheel.
“Next stop, Recoveryville,” Pen jokes.
-❤-
Five Days Post-Op
Emily is more or less comfortably laid on their couch. They have an arsenal of pillows stationed behind them, under their arms, and at the bend of their knees, and Penelope’s militant care routine keeping them afloat. For the last four days, they’ve done nothing but watch French art films together, eat ice cream, and order takeout. It’s been a nice break, Emily realizes. One they didn’t know they needed.
Penelope emerges from the kitchen with a bag of Doritos and a bright blue DVD in her hands.
“This looks like a bribe,” Emily says with a wry smile.
“That’s because it is. I am in no place to object to your choice of movies, especially after I promised I wouldn’t make fun of the accents anymore. But I was sorta hoping this would be a good opportunity to manhandle you into watching a real classic.” Penelope blocks the television in her pink pajama pants and Emily’s Yale hoodie. Penelope is well aware that Emily loves when she wears their clothes; she has to be doing this on purpose. And it’s working.
Emily bobs their head from side to side, considering the offer. “Alright, shoot. I’m willing to cut you a deal.”
Penelope slaps the movie cover over her face. Mamma Mia! (2008) Dir. Phyllida Lloyd.
“Oh, god.”
And Penelope reemerges, scowling. “Hey! I didn’t complain when you made me watch that sad movie about the woman with the dead family. This time, no one’s dead! And they’re in Greece! Okay, admittedly no one wants to hear Pierce Brosnan sing, but if you ignore him and focus on Meryl Streep the movie gets a lot better!”
This is not the first time Emily has heard argument on behalf of Mamma Mia! and it likely isn’t the last, either. Movie night in the Garcia-Prentiss household is in a state of constant debate and usually decided by a fair and unbiased coin toss. Emily considers it a miracle that Penelope’s lasted this long without putting up a fight, and considers it part of her generosity as their caretaker.
Emily scooches themself into a more upright position. “Trois coleurs: Bleu is a beautiful movie and you said you liked it, first of all. And I thought we were watching my movies because I’m the one healing.”
Penelope hesitates. “…Yes, but I may have also been doing a little eensy weensy bit of work at the same time because they’re also like, really slow and boring and Kevin needed the tiniest, tiniest bit of help on the Texas case.”
“Traitor!” Emily is aghast. “What about the deal?”
The deal, of course, was the promise they made each other after their third movie night. Emily was texting throughout The Muppets Take Manhattan and not entirely invested in Kermit and Miss Piggy’s wedding. Penelope was hurt, Emily was confused, and didn’t fully get it until Penelope fell asleep twenty minutes into Deux ou trois choses que je sais d'elle. From that point on, they agreed to compromise more on movie selection and to pay undivided attention to the films they did pick.
“You passed out! I thought the deal was void if you weren’t awake during your own movie!” Penelope said.
“Why didn't you wake me up?” Emily argued.
“Oh, yeah, I’m going to wake up the person who just had surgery so they can pay attention to the third sad foreign movie of the day. You need your rest, and Kevin has maybe half of my inimitable skills!” Penelope’s words were jumbling together as she went up an octave. “I know I’m on vacation but the team needed help and I didn’t want to abandon them with some computer monkey who doesn’t know the first thing about my system, much less the way the team works, and isn’t even a regular assist on cases like me and—”
Penelope is cut off by three short raps at their front door. A welcome escape.
“Pen!” Emily calls after her. “We’re not done here!”
“I think we are!” Penelope shouts back. She passes down the hall and peers through the peep hole, though, she really doesn’t need to. She recognizes the voices on the other side.
“We’re not too early, are we?”
“It’s two in the afternoon, genius.”
“I mean in days since Emily’s operation. They might not be up to company.”
“Then we’ll say hi to baby girl and head out, no big deal.”
Penelope swings the door wide open. “Definitely say hi to me, definitely do that!”
Morgan and Reid stand in their building’s hallway, Derek carrying bags of Chinese food, and Spencer juggling some sort of gift basket. Their eyes are tired and Derek’s stubble is looking rougher than usual, but they perk up in the light of their friend.
“Hey, there she is,” Morgan says. He comes in for a tight hug as he and Reid crowd themselves inside. “How’s everyone holdin’ up?”
“Peachy keen,” Penelope says. She squeezes Derek’s shoulder and leads them back to Emily by Reid’s hand. “Look who missed their favorite co-workers!”
“Hey, guys,” Emily says. Their heart warms at the sight of them. “What’re you doing here?”
“Now how’s that any way to greet a friend?” Morgan laughs. He lowers their takeout food to the coffee table and dives onto the couch beside Emily. “You been good to Garcia so far, or do we have to put the hurt on you?” He playfully punches Emily in their arm, and they cower in mock pain.
“Hey, no roughhousing!” Penelope scolds. “If anyone pulls any sort of muscle in the next twenty minutes, you’re all in timeout.”
Emily and Derek snicker in their seats and launch into the most recent case details. It’s a lot of the gory, icky stuff that Penelope doesn’t want to know unless she’s in her bat cave, so she takes Spencer and his basket into the kitchen.
“Doritos, huh?” he notices the bag Penelope drops on the counter. “You were trying to get something from them?”
Penelope answers with her head stuck in the fridge as she paws to the back for Spencer’s La Croix. “I may have wanted to watch one of my movies today, and I may have offered chips in payment.” She fishes a couple cans of LimonCello out, and huffs. “So what’s all this?”
“It’s from JJ. She wanted to come herself but didn’t think bringing Henry over was the best idea,” Spencer explains. He holds his drink gingerly with both hands and peers into the basket. It looks a lot like the one Penelope used for JJ’s baby shower, and is also definitely the same basket. Inside are a few bags of beef jerky, chocolate, a backscratcher with a little pink hand at its end, and an airline neck pillow with the Texas flag patterned over it.
“Awe. I’m definitely baking her cookies,” Penelope says. She leans back against the counter and eyes Spencer up and down. “Tough case?”
Spencer shifts from side to side and looks into the dark pit of his La Croix can. “Not much worse than usual. It was just… long. And Emily would’ve been a big help. None of us speak Spanish.”
“But you didn’t want to call right now,” Penelope guesses. “It’s all over though, right? All good? Everything wrapped up with a bow for good luck?”
Spencer nods and purses his lips. He looks over his shoulder to the living room, where Derek is describing something with his hands and Emily watches, wide-eyed and entertained. Spencer says, more to himself than Penelope, “It’s always good to be home.”
-❤-
Two Weeks Post-Op
“Emily Elizabeth Prentiss!”
Emily freezes with one arm reaching desperately above doctor-recommended height, and another gripping the cabinet door like their life depends on it. They press their forehead into the shelf, groaning, “That’s not my middle name.”
“I can make up whatever name I want! You know what Dr. Dolan said, and this is so far out of bounds!” Penelope stands in the kitchen threshold with her hands on her hips. She sighs and tugs Emily away from the cereal cabinet by their waist. When their arms are safely lowered to their sides, Penelope puts on her serious face, with her seriously furrowed eyebrows, and her serious frown on her lips. She asks, “Do you, like, want to injure yourself? Is this your new favorite hobby?”
Emily is petulant. “No, I want breakfast, and it’s on the third shelf. Let’s just pretend you got it for me, okay?”
Penelope grumbles her frustrations under her breath as she pulls down the family size box of Lucky Charms. She flurries around the space until she’s collected a bowl and spoon and settled them on the other side of the kitchen counter, where a bar stool and carton of milk wait for Emily.
“Sit,” Penelope orders. Emily complies with a glint in their eyes.
“Thank you,” they say, saturating their words with genuine love.
“Oh, stuff it.” Penelope pecks a kiss to their cheek regardless. She tries not to think about how cute Emily is when they’re smug, but it’s a losing battle. The way their nose scrunches, the smirk; not helping. Instead, Penelope picks a smidgeon of a fight.
“Your hair is greasy.”
And Emily’s face falls flat and exasperated. They let their spoon rest in the pool of marshmallows. “Can we do this after I eat?”
“Oh, lovebug. Absolutely not,” Penelope smiles knowingly. “You haven’t washed it in like, four days, which tells me that it’s not as easy as you said it was. Y’know, I was wondering who said washing your own hair was too much work immediately after having an operation? It would have to be someone super smart and beautiful and funny and—”
“It was you, Penelope. We all know it was you.”
“Funny; it was, wasn’t it?”
But Penelope lets them finish their cereal. She was about to eat her own Eggo waffles, after all. Once the dishes are rinsed and in the washer, she marches Emily straight into their bathroom. The tub thankfully doesn’t share a wall with the toilet, making it easier for Emily to scoot in next to the faucet. Penelope folds Emily’s towel (the towel that is dark purple, and not spring green, which Penelope keeps carefully out of the splash zone) (unlike Emily, who does not mind if their towel is damp long after it should be dry, and probably growing some type of mold) (okay, it’s not growing mold, but Penelope insists that it will eventually become mold-ridden if Emily doesn’t start hanging it up more consistently) along the side of the tub. Emily fits the towel under their neck, and Penelope guides them into position.
“Your hair is so thick,” Penelope comments.
Emily says, “You tell me that once a week.”
“Because it is. Now close your eyes.”
Penelope detaches the removable showerhead and lets the water warm her hand. When it’s a comfortable temperature, she douses Emily’s head. She maneuvers carefully around Emily’s forehead to avoid hitting their face, though Emily’s eyelids flutter when they worry the stream is near. Penelope thinks with their long eyelashes, they look like butterflies about to take flight.
She works the shampoo in with a gentle, but thorough touch. It’s when she rubs the lather into Emily’s scalp that Emily lets a soft moan break, and Penelope smiles. She takes pride in her work, whether she’s at her desk or in her soapy bathroom.
The shampoo swirls down the drain as Penelope rinses Emily free. Emily opens their eyes and tries to sit up, but Penelope pins their shoulders to the tub.
“Hold on! I haven’t conditioned yet.”
“Isn’t shampoo enough? We’re going to be here again in three days. It’s a hassle.”
Penelope does not think so. For the low price of two-thousand dollars and the risk of post-op complications, Penelope’s seen her girlfriend relax for the first time in, maybe ever. She’s going to drag it out as long as she can. Which, for right now, means dumping a handful of conditioner into her palm and rubbing it through the tips of Emily’s hair.
The final rinse is cleansing, like the weight falls from Emily’s shoulders. Penelope swipes the towel from Emily’s neck and cocoons their hair inside. She manages to keep their shirt dry, for the most part. Emily sits up with a pain in their shoulders, and does their best to hide it.
“What’s wrong?” Penelope prompts. Their best is not nearly good enough, not when Penelope has the analytical eye of someone who loves them. Penelope plants Emily on their shared bed for the first time since their surgery, already grateful to have a little of Emily’s smell in the room again. She sits behind them and overlaps their legs with hers. Penelope digs into the knots wound through their back as if she's torturing for information.
“It’s almost like you have a stressful job or something,” Penelope says.
Emily snorts. “Yeah, something like that.”
Penelope massages her way down until Emily feels looser under her fingers. She leans her head into the crook of Emily’s shoulder and presses a kiss to their skin. “We could ask for more time off,” she offers.
Emily slouches against Penelope’s body. “We could. But we have to go back at some point.”
“Let’s pretend we don’t.”
Emily exhales. “Sounds good to me.”
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I have tossed up whether or not to post this, but I've decided to just go ahead and see how it lands. It is very personal to me, and I'm posting it because today is 2 years since I had to say goodbye.
This is basically a rambling vent that came out after the most traumatic period of my life so far. I needed to write it all down, chronicle it and get it out of my head, and the original destination for it was (my other) fandom.
It is more detailed than the story I posted earlier in the week, but it requires all the same warnings for some pretty unpleasant stuff. Please take heed before continuing.
Warnings for Death Illness Hospital Cancer (Medical) Drugs Medical Procedures CPR
Deep breath Late in 2018 my husband, S, began complaining of a sore throat. He's the kind of male who won't go to the doctor unless he is literally dying. He finally went to his GP in January and was told there was an issue that needed more investigating. He was supposed to go back to the GP in 2 weeks, but we were on holidays then, so he ended up not going back until mid March. GP sent him to a specialist, but the earliest appointment was early April. Consultation, camera down the throat and $400 later the specialist says Cancer - two of them, one in the mouth, one in the throat. Next appointment is the biopsy. By now S has lost almost 20kg because he struggles to eat (and because apparently Cancer can do that to a person anyway). Now there are appointments at the local hospital with the Radiation Therapy Dr, the specialist in Chemotherapy and a dental team (who wanted to take all his back teeth out at first, but changed their minds when they saw where the mouth cancer was, and how hard it was for S to open his mouth wide). During all this I'm still juggling work commitments as we are building up to one of our busiest periods, which covers pretty much the entire month of May. I'm sharing appointment chauffeuring duties with his Dad. It is decided that due to S's weight loss and difficulty eating it is advisable to put a feeding tube (that they call a peg) in his stomach. This is basically a precaution in case he can no longer swallow anything at some point during early treatment. Surgery after Chemotherapy begins will be difficult to recover from. As it turns out the peg is never actually used for feeding S. The first cycle of Chemotherapy begins on Wednesday 8th May. The plan was to do at least 2, probably 3 cycles of Chemo and then begin combination Radiotherapy/Chemo. At first things seem to be going okay. Three medications are administered as part of the Chemo - 2 are done on the Wednesday at the Cancer Clinic, and the third he has to carry around with him for 5 days, returning on Sunday to have the rig removed once that one is done. The peg starts leaking during these 5 days. He is given advice over the phone not to worry about the leak - but I wonder about that advice. I can't be with S all day - work is busy, and he's a grown up who can ask for help if he needs it. Only he's the kind of male who will not make a fuss if he's feeling "not okay". By Tuesday (14th May) S is not feeling much like "eating" - which consists of swallowing soft stuff like milkshakes, jelly (jello), custard and the like - and I basically have to force him to go for a walk around the block with me, just to keep him from lying on the couch all day. (Tuesday is my regular day off). He seems okay, in the "so-so" sense rather than the "fine" sense. He's not particularly nauseous, just a bit Blah. Wednesday - while I'm at work - S stays home all day, which is unusual for him. He is a social butterfly who can't resist going across the road to the Bowling Club just to sit with his mates for a bit. The peg is still leaking, and he feels tired and a bit yuck. By now I have asked him a few times if I should be calling the hospital for advice and he says no - doesn't want to make a fuss. I don't stress too much because he has an appointment at the hospital on Thursday - it's with a Social Worker, but I know that he will be at the hospital, where they will ask him how he's feeling, and if they think he needs something they will take care of him. Thursday comes and he doesn't want to get out of bed. I go to work, telling him to make sure he gets to his appointment, even if he doesn't feel like going. His Dad calls me at lunch time and tells me S didn't go to the appointment. He got in the car, they got down the road, then S told his Dad to just take him home. His Dad tells me S doesn't look good, he thinks S should be in hospital and I wonder why he didn't take S straight there if he was that worried. I get home just after 5pm and S is in bed feeling miserable. I don't get much of a good look at him - the room is dark - but he talks
to me. He's not feeling nauseous, not throwing up, but also not eating or moving much. Over the next few hours he's up and down to the toilet at least once an hour. I ask if he has diarrhoea, because if he does I should take him to hospital. He says no, "not much is coming out". It's after 10pm, Thursday 16th May, when he calls out to me from the bathroom. Something about the way he calls out makes me get straight up to see what's wrong - normally I yell back "what's wrong?" or "just a minute", but this time I think I had an instinct that said something was wrong. I find him sitting on the toilet, slumped forward with his head between his knees. He can talk to me at this point, but I have to help him sit up - he really can't move - and his skin is quite yellow (which alarms me). By the time I have him sitting upright he's not talking to me any more, his eyes are only half open and not blinking and he can't squeeze my hand. I run and get my phone and call an ambulance. Now his breathing is laboured, and as the emergency call taker is asking me to "say now every time he takes a breath" his gasps are getting further apart. I have to get him clumsily onto the floor of our tiny, narrow bathroom and give him chest compressions. 2 ambulances are on their way. Minutes later I have 4 ambulance crew members working on my husband in our tiny bathroom, and I have no idea what is going on. By midnight S is in emergency at the local hospital, and I'm in a private waiting room, alone. I call my Mum - I've already called his Dad on my way to the hospital in my car (they didn't take me in the ambulance). It's about 12:30 when a doctor comes to talk to me. Infection. Kidneys and liver struggling. Blood pressure through the floor. No white blood cells. This is by no means good. By the time I get to see him in Emergency I have my Mum and his Dad with me. S is basically in an induced coma and about to be moved up to ICU. It's about 1:30am. Once he's moved to ICU we wait in another waiting room for more news. A surgical consultant comes and sees us - I think it's nearly 3am - she says surgery is not an option. The infection is in his digestive system. There is no clear area to surgically remove, and his system is so weak it would not take well to surgery anyway. S's Dad leaves soon after that. This is hard for him. It was only 3 years ago that he was here in this very ward with his wife. This is where she passed away after an infection she just could not fight. He tells me "don't let them put him down" - I guess because he had to make that decision for his wife/S's Mum. I think it's after 6:30am when I decide to go to the intercom and buzz the nurses station to find out what's going on. They let us in to see him. All they can tell us is that they are throwing every kind of medical support they can at him in the hope they can help him fight off the infection - blood products, meds to raise the blood pressure, antibiotics. He's been ventilated through a tube in his mouth since the ambulance. They have to run a heating vent to raise his body temperature. They let me into the room, but I see no point in holding his hand or anything - he is unconscious, he won't know I'm there. We go home. I had about 3 hours sleep. By the time I could crawl into bed it was about 8am. By 11am people are starting to text me asking what's going on, checking if I'm okay. I had managed to text my boss about needing to call an ambulance while I was in the emergency waiting room. He's now replied to say I don't need to be at work today, but in the back of my mind is the fact that I have a show to work on, starting on Sunday - we are so busy that there will be no one else who can replace me on this show. (And we had a Federal Election on Saturday as well, so I was going to have to fit voting in around visiting S). At some point on this day a doctor calls me to get permission to administer a drug to S. This drug is not approved for use in Australia, but it is approved in the US. As a result they will have to ship it in from interstate, because there is not much
stock in the country, and I have to sign my permission for them to use it. It is a reversal drug for the 5 day chemo medication. It works best if administered soon after the chemo treatment - we are already past the ideal timeframe, but it is our best shot at helping S. S is unconscious and fighting for the next couple of days, and I'm half dreading that call that says things have taken a turn for the worse, come now! Instead, I see him for a short period each day, but he doesn't know I'm there. And I keep doing the work I have to do - at least this show is close to home for me, and close to the hospital. He is being supported by the blood pressure medication (Noradrenaline) which they are slowly able to reduce in dose, his temperature is stabilising, and the chemo reversal drug has had some positive effect. His white cell count is coming up - probably with the help of the blood products he's been given. By Tuesday 21st May S is awake and aware, and they have been able to remove the ventilator tube. The Physio is concerned about how weak he is - movement in his arms and legs is limited. He is breathing on his own, but it's hard work because his muscles are weak. His lips and mouth have been bleeding a bit around where the tube was. Still, we are seeing slow, small improvements and hoping for the best. On Friday they have to re-insert the breathing tube - he is too weak to maintain his breathing without assistance. This is a set-back, and comes with a warning that the breathing tube can't stay in his mouth/throat for too long, because it can cause all kinds of complications, especially in his compromised state. They tell me that without marked improvement soon they may have to perform a tracheotomy and insert the ventilator there. By this stage they have moved from nasogastric feeding to Parenteral nutrition (intravenously). The peg is still leaking. I'm now getting into a rhythm visiting S when I can for as long as I can around my work hours, and answering enquiries about his health and well wishes from family and friends on both my phone and his. I no longer have rehearsals every night, and the weekend's performances go pretty well. I know he's still critical, but he's stable and despite the set back S seems to be on a path of slight improvement again. The next set-back comes in the form of a flare up of the infection. The gut is still very inflamed - particularly the bowel. More blood products, more antibiotics, Noradrenaline dosage increased again. There is a mention that he probably has a slow internal bleed somewhere. Clotting is a problem - the bleeding in his lips and mouth is evidence of this too. Before I go to my Friday show I have to sign the permission for them to perform the tracheotomy - they've decided it needs to be done, and an emergency surgical team will do it but it could be a day or two before the operation actually goes ahead. Through this entire week S has been awake and aware, communicating with me as best he can around the breathing tube and the bleeding lips, which are scabby and sore. He is still very much alive mentally, still able to laugh at our corny jokes and request the music be turned up! Being in ICU he's not allowed flowers of gifts or anything, but they did allow me to take in a little blue tooth speaker so he could have the radio on all day. I see him as early as visiting hours allow on Saturday 1st June - his 42nd birthday. I have 2 shows on this day, and won't be able to see him again until Sunday. I leave the hospital soon after his Dad and brother arrive for a visit, around 11:30. Around 12:30, while I'm running sound checks for the matinee show, I get a phone call asking me for permission to do the tracheotomy. At first this confuses me - they have permission already. Apparently they are now doing it in ICU, not in the emergency theatre or wherever. He was more drowsy on the Sunday, after the tracheotomy, but still essentially in the same condition - stable. I cried off sick for work on Monday and spent a bit more time with him - I knew I had to be at work on
Tuesday for a morning staff meeting. The hospital social worker called me before I went to visit S, wanting to arrange a "family meeting" for this week some time. At first we settled on Friday morning, but later they asked me if we could arrange a time earlier in the week. After re-arranging my work schedule we agreed on 3pm Tuesday, even though S's Dad would not be able to be there anymore. Then I arrived for my Monday visit with S. We had the radio on - S likes to have music playing, even when he's falling asleep - and the announcers were talking about the State of Origin (a Rugby League series of 3 matches between rival state teams, New South Wales and Queensland). I told him I'd make sure we put the radio on the right station on Wednesday night so he could listen. Suddenly the most important thing in the world for him was finding a way to be able watch the game! I told him I'd find a way. Tuesday comes and I get through my staff meeting and a few other things on my now half day before running back to the hospital for this family meeting. It turns out this is just me, S, his ICU team, his oncology team and the social working re-capping what S has been through so far, and then scaring me (and more so S) by saying out loud the words "Palliative care". Essentially they are telling us we are out of further options. He is being given everything possible to assist recovery - the blood pressure meds are now at a low dose, but they still have to support his blood pressure, he is still on a ventilator to assist his breathing, the infection is still not improving, but it has not got worse, they have run out of different antibiotics to throw at the infection, it still seems the bleed is present, the scabs on his lips are still apt to bleed more than they should if they are disturbed. If his organs start to fail there will be nothing they can do - surgery will more than likely not be an option, and one failure will lead to another until his heart, then brain will go and that will be it. So, if we start to see organ failure palliative care becomes the only option. This is the point at which I am in disbelief. He can't be that bad. He is still totally alive mentally. How can we be discussing "making him comfortable until he dies"? And S is even more disbelieving and scared than me at those words. Yes S has looked better, yes he has spent over 2 and a half weeks in ICU, yes he has a lot more hard fighting to do if he's ever going to beat this, but his brain is fine, he is completely aware of where he is and what's going on around him - just a bit inclined to tire quickly. I stay with him longer than I intend to that night because he starts to complain of stomach pain. It gets worse. Really bad. They give him morphine. He says it doesn't help. His breaths start hitching, like something is stabbing him or something. He finally gives me the description "like hiccoughs, but sore". I can see how swollen his stomach is - fluid retention. And he is also complaining that he wants to lie on his side. We have to wait ages for the right number of people to be available to turn him on his side, to a more comfortable position. But his stomach is still giving him intense pain and whatever spasms are causing the breath hitches and grimaces. I have to leave him like that - in pain, but with the nurse on duty doing whatever he can to ease the discomfort, administering Morphine whenever possible - visiting hours are over and I'm asked to leave. On my way to work on Wednesday morning (5th June) I get a call from the head doctor in S's ICU team. He wants to know what time I can be there today - S has had major abdominal pain since last night (I know, I was there!), and they are investigating the cause, but it looks like the kidneys are failing. He tells me he will update me via text when he knows more, I tell him I will get there as soon as I can after work. I get no texts all day. I get to the hospital around 4:45pm - armed with the all important iPad mini for him to watch the State of Origin game on (yes, that is still a priority for S! God
love him!!). I'm told S has been taken for a scan and I need to come back in about an hour. So, when I return and he's back from the scan, I get the iPad hooked in to the Wifi and open the app he needs. Then I have to have the conference with the doctor. His kidneys have failed. Fluid is building up in his stomach. They want my permission to put a drain directly in his belly to ease the pressure. I give it. I have to wait outside while they get this done. There is a brief discussion about surgery - but that would literally be futile. Again we have the conversation about palliative care. This is the beginning of the end. His body is shutting down. S can't fathom this. He says the words that still break my heart, pointing to his head to indicate his mind he mouths "I'm still alive". He has so much to say, but we can't understand him through the scabs on his lips and his inability to make any real sounds. We try to get him to write things down, but his hands are really too weak. The doctor has asked if he wants to have the pain medication increased so he can slip away peacefully. The sentence he writes is "I just want to see how I go" - he wants so badly to keep fighting. He doesn't want to die. Once the doctor is sure he is comfortable for now he leaves us to watch the game - no S has not forgotten the game! He does not administer the pain medication, but he gives the authorisation for its use once S requests it. And although I had not planned to stay and watch the game (which starts around the time visiting hours end), I do. They let me stay. He nods off a bit during the second half, but I know how much seeing it means to him, so I rouse him for the good bits, and make sure he sees the end - a good result for him, a come-from-behind win for his team. I say my goodnight and leave S to get some sleep. I have told my boss how dire things are, and he has told me I have leave starting now for as long as I need. I get a call around 9:30 on Thursday morning asking me what time I will be getting to the hospital. Apparently S has been asking for me. I had a couple of things to do before I could get there, so I arrive just after 11:30am. S is not as awake and aware as he was last night. They have started giving him the pain medication (Fentanyl) the doctor was talking about, and it has affected S's ability to focus, and therefore communicate. He has apparently been asking what's going on - last night he knew the story, now he's unclear. I wish they had held off on administering the drug. I would have liked to speak to my clear headed husband today. His kidneys have failed, the liver is failing. We are out of options. His Dad and brother are in and out today - we are kind of rotating our breaks until early afternoon. A Palliative Care consultant, and the social worker and the nurse looking after S want to have a meeting with me, and it takes me longer than it should to realise that this meeting is for me to give the final word on the beginning of the end. They are focusing on making sure I am okay with what's about to happen. Making sure I know that I have the final say, and once I give the go ahead they will stop all meds that aren't making him comfortable - the Fentanyl dose will increase, but the feeding, the antibiotics and finally the Noradrenaline will be stopped. It will then be a matter of minutes or hours before he is gone. I know they are trying to be helpful, but having them ask if I'm okay, having them tell me how strong I have been for him and how much of an advocate for him I have been is only making my heart break more. That afternoon, his brother, sister-in-law and their 4 kids, my brother and sister-in-law and 2 of their kids all come in to say their farewells. The Fentanyl dose has already been increased, so S knows they are there, but he is so drowsy it's hard for him to open his eyes. His sister-in-law wants to stay with me. She doesn't seem to understand I need to be alone with S for this. But, at last she gives me space. I'm the one who has to give the green light. It's really hard to do, but I know we
are out of options. As soon as they stop the blood pressure medication (Noradrenaline), S opens his eyes and looks at me. He is as focused as I have seen him all day, his grip on my hand is desperately strong, and I explain to him one final time what is happening, tell him I love him, tell him I'm sorry things turned out this way, sorry for all the things we had planned that we won't get to do together, and tell him it's time to stop fighting and just let go. I try to tell him not to worry about anything or anyone, that it's okay to go. I hope he understands. It must be about 40 minutes before he is unconscious. They stop the ventilator. I turn off the radio - he can't hear it anymore, and he and I have different taste in music! I know he can't feel it anymore, but I won't let go of his hand until he's gone. He holds on for over an hour without the ventilator. Then there are no more breaths. I know he's gone. His hand is already much cooler than it was an hour or so ago. I am a widow. It has happened so fast. It feels strange, but I don't think the full weight has hit me yet. I am bursting into tears at random moments. I am thinking of stupid things like "what am I going to do with all these Fruit Loops - he eats those, not me!", instead of dwelling on the hard things like having a funeral to arrange, and dealing with all the people who keep wanting to do things for me, or stay with me.
That was two years ago now. In excess of 300 people came to his funeral service - a testament to how many friends he made, how many lives he brightened just that little bit with his generous spirit and ever-present smile. Of course, I still miss him. I still have my teary moments. I still struggle with guilt. But I remember his smile, his laugh, the way he would sing along to the music and make up his own words (often to make the song about us), his spontaneous dancing and all the love!
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Affliction. Yandere Giorno x Reader [COMM]
a/n: tw for descriptions of injury, and blood. implications of abusive relationships.
here is the sequel!
There are many things in life that once you experience it too often, you may come to tire of it.
However, that could never be said for the initial second you open the creaky doors of your apartment building; the delightful scent of salt water hitting your nose. Rays of sunlight kiss and warm your skin in coordination with the ocean breeze that whirls around your hair.
For a moment, all you desire to do is stay still, drinking in the environment of fresh air and sounds of bustling city life that surround you. Another time, you think to yourself, as you set out on the comfortingly familiar winding streets of Naples. You whisk by beckoning street vendors, their empty promises of good deals falling on deaf ears.
A part of you feels pity for the tourists that fall for these coaxing traps, but you can understand the vendors' plight. Not only do they have to maintain their business to feed their families, there are also protection fees that must leave their pockets. Although from the rumors going around town, the new boss of the mafia has a less ruthless streak than the previous one. But the mafia still finds ways to be ruthless, you suppose.
After walking these paths your entire life, you’ve found yourself discovering new shortcuts. The walk to the market isn’t long enough to warrant a drive on nice days like this one, but it can be tiring to take the main paths. You soon arrive at a familiar alleyway entrance that saves you a few minutes when you take it, confidently walking into it. It’s convenient to have a shortcut so close to your residence.
Still, it’s a path you’d never think to take once the sun sets in the sky. Alleys do have a reputation in Naples for unsavory exchanges. But with the former drug issue in the area becoming less of a pressing concern, you’ve felt more at ease venturing into areas like this one. As long as you mind your own business and walk briskly, you doubt you’ll encounter any trouble. It’s the silent mantra of your mind to avoid trouble.
It’s difficult to not feel on edge as you walk through the alley, tall buildings on either side of you looming. The claustrophobic sensation of only having a single place to run away heightens your senses, your eyes desperately searching every visible nook and cranny for trouble. Each step you take echoes within this isolated world, the sounds of comforting society far behind you.
It’s a common sight to see dumpsters against the brick walls of this area, the added blind spot serving only to unease you more. Always leaning on the cautious side, you take care to look for any human life they might hide from your normal line of sight. Holding your breath at the first upcoming one, you discreetly peak your head around to see if the coast is clear.
What you see instead of an awaiting burglar, is a bloodied body of a young man. The sight causes your jaw to go agape, pupils dilating as your mind processes the shocking information. Your years of training overwhelms your desire to run away, not wanting to leave someone in such a sorry state. Leaning forward, you press your middle and pointer finger to the young man’s neck in search of a pulse.
‘It’s weak, but he’s still alive!’
Hands trembling ever so slightly, you quickly mull over your current options. This area doesn’t have a hospital in the close vicinity, and you don’t have your phone on you to call for an ambulance should he need it. However, your apartment building is only a minute away from here at the most. With stored medical supplies that you bought to assist in your studies, maybe it’d be best to treat him there instead…?
There isn’t any more time to waste, as you glance down at the sprawling wound across his chest. Without a second thought, you bend down to grab a hold of his limp arm, heaving him up with all of your might. Shakily exhaling, you begin to limp forward while being weighed down by his unconscious body. Your stomach churns at the thought of not making it to your apartment in time, but all you can do is throw the thought into the back of your mind.
It isn’t an easy task, but you find a rhythm of moving forward while ignoring your aching muscles. Gritting your teeth, you eventually come to the familiar alleyway entrance that sits beside your apartment building. Even at the sight you refuse to relax, instead urgently rushing to bring him inside. Balancing his limp body against your own, you struggle but still manage to open the door to your building.
It’s never been a prospect you felt grateful for in the past, but now you feel immensely thankful for your apartment being on the first floor. You can already feel exhaustion weighing down on you, but there’s still much more work to be done. With deft fingers, you pull your jingling keys out of your pocket. Balancing him against your side once more, you fiddle with the lock before managing to burst inside.
The reality of the situation now fully dons upon you, as you realize you need to act fast. As gently as you’re capable of, you place his bloodied body onto your cheap couch. With his weight being lifted off you, you take a deep breath; before scurrying around frantically for your medical supplies. In the bathroom cabinet you find your first aid kit, grabbing it in a rush before running back to him in record time.
Hearing nothing but your own hammering heartbeat, your eyes run over the contents of the first aid kit with familiarity. The blood doesn’t appear to be gushing out at an uncontrollable rate. You can safely disinfect the wound without the looming concern of him going into shock. After cleaning the gaping wound to the best of your knowledge, you gingerly apply an antibiotic ointment over it to prevent infection.
Following suit, a series of gauze is wrapped around the affected area of his torso. Letting out a deep sigh after what felt like an eternity, you lean back and consider your handiwork. Even if you’re not officially a doctor yet, you can’t help but feel a sense of pride in the clean addressing of the wound. Bits of blood seep through the white colored gauze, but it’s nothing that won’t clot in time.
After disposing of your dirtied gloves and washing your hands, you return to your currently occupied couch. Amidst the whirlwind of panic finding a bloodied body brought with it, you never got the opportunity to look at the person you’re treating well. He dons a strange hairstyle you’ve never seen before, bright golden locks tied back into a braid. Along with three, circular like fashioned bangs on his head.
Tilting your head, you notice the outfit he’s wearing showcases his fit physique. His facial features sharp, but his slightly parted lips appear soft and pink. You get the feeling this individual takes care of himself, seeing how well groomed he is. As embarrassing as it is to admit it, you have to confess he’s attractive.
‘What do I even do now?’ you think to yourself with a frown.
His pulse is stronger than it was before, and from your swift treatment you know he’s not in any critical condition. It doesn’t make much sense to you how the wound on his chest incapacitated him. It wasn’t as deep as you expected from a glance at his condition. And from what you could tell there wasn’t any head trauma that’d cause him to pass out.
So what could’ve occurred to set all this into motion?
In this area you can’t help but assume some form of foul play. While it might be rude to question him about it, you decide to ask him what happened when he wakes up. It’s always been your personal philosophy to care for others in need, it’s what fueled you to study medicine in the first place.
As odd as it is having a stranger sleeping on your couch, you carry on for the next hour tending to some chores while monitoring his condition. There are so many things you want to ask him when he wakes up, the anticipation making it difficult to focus on anything for long.
Time continues on, the sunset on the horizon and microwave beeping to signal your meal is finished warming. All of that physically demanding movement is starting to wear down on you, the painkillers you took an hour ago finally starting to dull the ache. Humming to yourself, you open the microwave to reveal risotto that you had made the day prior.
Plopping yourself on the other side of your occupied couch, you greedily begin to chow down on the leftovers. Hints of basil and garlic intermingle with the fresh tomato you had used, all creating an abundance of flavor on your palate. You find yourself so occupied with savoring your meal, you fail to notice a distant stirring.
A loud squeak leaves your mouth as he shakily sits himself up, his face grimacing. Quickly placing your meal down, you rush over to his side.
“D-don’t move please! If you move too much, the wound might reopen,” you call out hastily, settling down next to his side to check the bloodied gauze’s status. He blinks at the sight of you, understandably befuddled by the situation in front of him. “Actually, it might be a good idea to change this bandage now…”
Gnawing on your lip, you hover your hands over the bandage on his torso.
“Please, don’t worry about it.”
He finally speaks up, bringing your attention to his face. Blinking in surprise, you realize you can’t change it against his will. Sitting back, you fiddle with your hands while you think of how to handle this awkward situation. Your curiosity from before makes a cautious return, but you suppress it for the time being.
“I should introduce myself. My name’s [First], and uh, this is my apartment. I saw you kinda… passed out and patched you up,” you begin to explain with a sheepish smile. “I’m sure you’re overwhelmed right now, but you’ll be okay. Physically I mean. I cleaned your wound with antibiotics and dressed it a little over an hour ago, but it should be changed soon.”
The young man in front of you doesn’t flinch at your not so subtle desire to apply a fresh gauze, instead focusing on introducing himself as well.
“I can see you took good care of me. Thank you, [First],” he responds with a soft smile of his own, glancing from his chest to you. “... I’m Giorno.”
Where most in a situation like this would be panicked, Giorno seems to have a firm grip of himself. Your eyebrows knit together at this, wondering if he may have damaged his head somehow after all. His entire person is well put together, even covered in bloodied bandages in a stranger’s apartment.
Suddenly, he glances towards one of his pockets, seemingly assessing something.
“You didn’t take my wallet.” Giorno points out, his facial features too controlled to read. You stare at him for a moment, before realizing the implications of his words.
“O-of course not! I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” you rush out a small defense, voice raising in pitch.
“That makes you a rarity then,” Giorno comments with esteem, turquoise eyes taking in your appearance. It feels like he’s trying to get a read on you in the same way you’re trying to understand him. “I hope I didn’t cause you too much trouble.”
A timid laugh leaves your lips, waving off his concern. “I’m actually used to this stuff. I’ve been training in medicine for what… around four years now? Although I normally don’t do it in my apartment, and it’s always on a dummy,” you ramble, feeling your cheeks warm as Giorno seriously listens to your words. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking so much. I’m sure you’re already overwhelmed.”
Giorno hums quietly, shakes his head once. “I don’t mind. It’s best that it was you who found me rather than anyone else.”
His words feel well put together, their intention of complimenting you evident. The feeling of someone putting you in high regard is flustering, you only did what you thought was right. Still, you attempt to get a hold of yourself, not wanting to seem like a bumbling fool in front of Giorno.
“Ah, you must be in pain. I have some over the counter painkillers, if you want. It’ll still take a while to kick in though. But it’s better than nothing.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
Nodding in affirmation, you scurry off to your kitchen cabinet to find your generic painkillers. Bringing a bottle of water with you, you return to Giorno who is now sitting up. It’s still remarkable to you how he’s not showing any signs of being in pain. Any adrenaline that would’ve dulled the pain earlier should be long gone by now, so why isn’t he so much as flinching when he moves?
Giorno starts to sit up to meet you, but pauses when your eyes widen in panic.
“It’d really be best to move as little as possible for now.” you plead, bringing the items over to him. Giorno doesn’t object to your request, instead giving a quiet thank you and taking the pill you handed him gratefully.
“How do you feel?” you inquire, sitting down next to him. You resist the temptation to check his pulse again, certain that now he’s awake he doesn’t want a stranger to touch him. Giorno seems to think about your question for a moment, as if wanting to pick out a good answer.
“I have a high pain tolerance, something like this doesn’t bother me much.” Giorno offers in response, setting the bottle of water down on the coffee table in front of him. The unhesitating movements perplex you further, could anyone have that high of a pain tolerance? It’s certainly possible.
“Giorno… I’m sorry if I’m being presumptuous, but, can I ask what happened?” you ask tentatively, biting your lip to quell any anxiety. Your crushing interest is too much to deny any longer, but you hope the question doesn’t make him uncomfortable.
Giorno doesn’t show any signs of offense, instead closing his eyes as if he’s recalling the events himself. “It’s difficult to explain.”
Your shoulders slouching, you find it difficult to mask your disappointment in not learning what happened. Your mind had gone wild with countless possibilities that might explain his injury, but it makes sense he wants to keep it private.
Sensing your defeat, Giorno decides to indulge you some. “It was something like a fight, if memory serves.”
‘Aha! Theory number two was right!’
It still doesn’t explain his bizarre indifference to pain, but it’s enough to sate you for the time being. Your eyes light up while a realization dawns on you.
“You must be starving! I don’t have that much in terms of food, but I could order you some take out if you want. Oh, and I have a little bit of tomato risotto that I was experimenting with yesterday,” you offer, clasping your hands together. “Okay, maybe experimenting isn’t a good word for it. I followed the recipe, I promise, if you wanna give it a shot. Otherwise there’s this great pizza place nearby, they should still be open… I think I have a coupon for it somewhere...”
Cutting yourself short, you realize that you had started rambling again. Most would find it an irritating habit, but Giorno never seems to mind. He looks at you with his full attention, truly taking in every word you’re saying.
“Now that you mention it, I am a bit hungry,” Giorno agrees, eyes glancing to the risotto you put down in haste earlier. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to try this risotto of yours.”
You’ve rarely met anyone as polite as Giorno. There’s something about his character that emanates self confidence, yet remaining courteous. While leaving to warm up the rest of the risotto, you wonder how someone as mild mannered as Giorno got into a fight.
‘Happens to the best of us, I guess.’
Giorno eyes your risotto with interest, thanking you once more before taking a bite. Leaning in slightly, you try to gauge if he finds your half decent cooking skills impressive. He shoots you a smile, humming lowly.
“Your experiments paid off. It’s delicious, thank you.”
You can’t help but return his smile, beaming at his praise. No one’s ever complimented your cooking before! It always feels good to be acknowledged, and you feel like he’s being genuine. Before you know it, Giorno finishes the remainder of what’s left. His eyes glance around the room, as if looking for something.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Oh!”
Springing up, you lightly hit your head at having forgotten to mention the time. Of course he wants to know that after waking up, anyone would! Looking down at the phone in your pocket, you read off the time to him.
“It’s currently 7:24,” you tell him, before pausing. “P.M, don’t worry. You weren’t out for that long.”
Giorno doesn’t respond with the same briskness from before, his eyes remaining on your wrist. Looking down to see what might have caught his attention, your breath hitches as you realize your sleeve had lifted up enough to reveal some bruises. Biting your lip, you swiftly pull your sleeve down and look up to see Giorno looking with an unreadable expression.
“I-I burnt myself the other day when cooking,” you lie in a quiet murmur, before going to deftly change the conversation. “Anyways, don’t worry about it. I’ve been treating it. Do you have anyone you could contact? Family or something?”
Giorno parts his lips momentarily, as if wanting to contest you. His facial features relax, eyes closing while he considers your words. “I do have someone, yes.”
A sense of relief washes over you that he drops the previous subject. Leaping at the chance to put it further behind you, you continue the conversation.
“You can use my phone if you’d like to call them.” you offer, glancing down towards your pocket once more.
“There’s no need to trouble yourself,” Giorno responds with a gentle smile. “I can use a payphone.”
Nodding your head in affirmation, Giorno goes to stand up once more. From your previous interactions with him you realize there’s no point in chastising his lack of rest. He’d have to leave sooner or later anyways. Could the pain killers have kicked in that fast?
Giorno grabs his empty bowl along with yours, leaving you to blink in minor confusion.
“Allow me to wash the dishes for you at the very least.”
It doesn’t seem like a question, and if he’s moving this freely without clear signs of pain you might as well let him. Returning his friendly smile, you get up to show him to your humble kitchen. It’s an odd sight to say the least, watching as Giorno meticulously washes the two bowls and corresponding silverware. His gaze briefly flickers to your drying cups, before returning to his task.
His outfit makes you wonder if he’s well off. You’ve never seen any fashion quite like it before, finding the ladybug fashionings to be of particular interest. It’s something to remember him by at least.
Drying his hands with a towel, Giorno returns his attention to you. You realize that as it grows darker outside he must be feeling more inclined to head home. It’s a bit of a lonely aspect. Even though you haven’t known Giorno for long, he’s pleasant and considerate of you. It sparks a warm feeling within.
“I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, [First]. I don’t want to impose on you anymore than I already have though.” Giorno gives a slight bow of the head, to which you laugh airly. You can’t think of anyone that’s ever spoken to you with such formal language, but it seems to suit him well. His voice has a pleasant ring to it as well, low and flowing like a river.
Pushing aside your personal feelings, you decide to make the parting easier for the both of you. All good things must come to an end. Even if the beginning of your meeting wasn’t good, you still found your time with him quaint.
“You haven’t imposed! You’re actually really nice to talk to.” you respond, almost surprised by your boldness. Giorno’s eyes widen for a moment, seemingly taken aback by your compliment. Clearing your throat, you go to change the subject as your face warms.
“I, um, can walk out with you if you want.”
He smiles.
“Please do.”
---
Your abrupt meeting of Giorno, and subsequent taking care of his wounds, has been on your mind the past few weeks. You often wonder how Giorno is doing as time goes on. Hopefully he’s been changing his gauze and reapplying antibiotics, even if he didn’t admit to being in any pain. Someone as kind as him doesn’t deserve to get an infection, but you doubt he’d let that happen for some reason.
Life goes on all the same.
Within the whirlwind that is life, you’ve felt that your waitressing job has been easier to enjoy. While your boss has never been especially cruel to you, any mistakes you make are overlooked as if they never even occurred. Along with that, even tips have been more generous. Karma was never something you thought about much, but maybe you’re being repaid for your caring deed?
The only misfortune you ran into was noticing one of your cups was missing. But as random as that is, items like that can be easily replaced.
It’s all still weird though, you reason. It’s as if something is off, but you can’t figure out why. There’s been a new regular that you had never seen before appearing in this time as well. You never caught his name, but his outfit made him hard to forget. Donning a light blue sweater crop top, and red hat with a variety of patterns. He always treated you well, and tipped even better.
After a long yet fulfilling day of work, you had begun the trek back to your apartment. The sky is more overcast than you normally prefer, but the mild weather makes up for it. Spring is always a delightful season, allowing you to walk around more than in other times of the year. The wildlife returning from winter makes you feel at ease, hearing birds chirping on the way home.
Having finally entered your apartment, you haphazardly throw your keys onto your coffee table. While walking into the kitchen to get a drink, you’re met with the sight of your boyfriend at your small dining room table. You freeze at the sight, taken aback.
“M-Matteo?” you inquire with a shaky voice, heart racing. The person in question looks up upon your arrival, his head resting on his fist. “How did you get in?”
“Did you really forget? You gave me keys.”
‘Have I? He’s probably right…’
It’s uncommon for him to come over without notice, the two of you haven’t gotten to see one another much lately. You didn’t want to pester him for the details, but he’d been leaving for large chunks of time without returning your texts or phone calls. He had murmured something about needing to take up an extra job to you, if you remember correctly. Which doesn’t make much sense since he’s a manager at his current one, but you didn’t press on it.
“It’s nice to see you again.” Matteo greets, getting up to get you a water. You hold your breath as he approaches you, eyeing his hand as he outstretches it towards you. Taking the water, you allow the cold liquid to calm your warming body.
“Not so much as a thank you?”
You bite your lip. “Ah, I’m sorry. Thank you.”
Matteo hums at your response, before returning to his former place at the table. You wrack your brain with thoughts of what to say. Maybe you can offer to make dinner? He normally says you should when he comes over, but you haven’t bought groceries for the week yet.
“--[First]? I was asking about your day. Are you listening?” Matteo interrupts your train of thought, tilting his head at your distracted person.
“I’m just tired, that’s all,” you offer in response, sheepishly sitting down in the seat across from him. “It’s been good, actually. Work has been I mean. How about you? I’m sure you must be exhausted.”
Matteo lets out a long sigh. “Exhausted doesn’t begin to cover it. Listen, I don’t want to beat ‘round the bush. I could really use a favor from you.”
“A favor?”
He leans back in the chair, steepling his fingers together. It isn’t often you’ve seen him this serious, he normally has more of a carefree air to him. It serves to further put you on edge.
“I’m in deep right now. Passione raised their protection fee for no fucking reason! They want 30% of our revenue now, the pricks. Acting all high and mighty just cause they have some manpower,” Matteo grits his teeth, shaking his head. “I didn’t believe ‘em. Who else pays such a high fee? No one, that’s who. So I didn’t take ‘em seriously. I just paid the amount they wanted before.”
Matteo runs a hand through his hair and grimaces. “Guess the fuckers were serious. Some asshole in a hat came in the other day and roughed me up, saying I need to come up with 3,000 or I’m dead. Needless to say I need that money now.”
Processing Mateo’s urgent plight, you find yourself not too concerned for his well being. While it doesn’t make any sense for Passione to have increased their protection rate on only a single business, it was stupid of him to not comply with their new demands. Matteo doesn’t take your silence in kind.
“I don’t have that kind of money. My credit’s still fucked, so loans are a no go,” Matteo grumbles with disdain. “Listen [First]. We’ve been together for what, a year now? I really need you to help me out on this. I know you’ve been saving for your school stuff.”
Inhaling sharply, you can immediately tell where this is going. Your stomach drops as he continues.
“You’ve gotta have something around that right? Bail me out this once. I’ll pay you back within a few months, I just wasn’t expecting this shit.”
It doesn’t feel like he’s asking you for your help, rather than demanding it. Pursing your lips, you feel a bead of sweat going down your temple. Aside from Matteo’s agitated tone, he doesn’t look like a man on the brink of death. Confidence still radiates from his person, his posture upright and gaze free of sorrow.
He already thinks you’ll say yes.
“Well?” he asks with clear impatience.
“I-I don’t know. That’s… that’s my entire savings. I have rent due on Friday, and my next paycheck isn’t for another week,” you gawk, looking down at your hands as Matteo narrows his eyes. “I can help with some of it. There’s got to be someone else you can ask right? What about some of your friends?”
Matteo pinches his nose, shaking his head in disbelief as if you had asked something stupid. “You think I haven’t asked? None of ‘em want to give me shit. You’re all I’ve got. Are you really willing to let me die?”
“No, that’s not what I--”
“I never took you for someone like that,” Matteo interrupts you, his voice lowering. “Really… I’m just… wow.”
Lips trembling, you ball your hands into a fist by your side. None of this makes sense, the weight of the situation crumbling down on top of you. The thought of all of that money leaving your account for an undisclosed amount of time makes you pale, stomach fluttering with anxiety. You’ve worked so hard, sacrificing so much. And if he doesn’t pay you back...
But Matteo isn’t finished with you yet.
“It makes sense you don’t trust me. I know I haven’t always been the best to you, but know that I try. I’ve tried so damn hard for you,” he begins, looking you dead in the eye. “Just help me out this once. You can stay at my place, to hell with your rent. I don’t have much time.”
An unwelcome lump forms in your constricting throat, as you avert his gaze. There really isn’t any other option here, is there? All your hard work will have to go to keep him alive. You’re not close with anyone else in Naples aside from Matteo, your family living in the countryside. The entire reason you came here was to have a better college to study medicine under.
You’re startled by the sound of Matteo slamming his fist on your table, glowering at your indecisiveness. “Does my life really require so much thought from you?!”
“Some things don’t have much worth.”
Looking behind you in the direction of the new voice, shock overwhelms you at the familiar source. It distracts you from a small ladybug that lands atop your hand.
“Giorno...?”
Your tone is one of disbelief, if not confusion. Giorno looks the same as you last saw him, eyes calculating and ever serene. His outfit reveals his bare chest, yet not showcasing any signs of scarring where he was once wounded. Everything feels so surreal, but you’re brought back to reality at the sound of a chair scraping.
“The fuck? Who is this?” Matteo demands from you, sensing your familiarity. He stands abruptly, clearly looking for a fight with the intruder.
“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.” Giorno speaks only to you, as if you were the only one in the room, seemingly caring less for Matteo. Words escape you entirely as you stare in bewilderment, but you snap back into reality as Matteo stalks over towards him.
“I don’t know who you are, but get out before you regret it.” Matteo growls, lunging for the collar of Giorno’s suit. Giorno steps to his right with ease, dodging the attack as if it were nothing. Matteo stumbles with his movements, snarling in his direction. You feel your heart racing.
“Matteo, stop it, I know this person!” you exclaim, hoping to avoid any violence. Matteo doesn’t so much as look at you, a part of you wonders if he heard you at all. You know Matteo’s history, and that he’s been involved in scraps often. Even if you weren’t very close to Giorno, the thought of him being hurt by Matteo makes you feel sick.
“Are you with Passione?” Matteo asks tentatively, a sudden realization dawning on him. His former fighting stance relaxes, stiff muscles replacing it. It’s almost a talent how he changes his demeanor as fast as a finger snap. You can already see his plan shifting, most likely looking to bargain with Giorno should he answers yes.
But Giorno looks at Matteo with apparent disinterest, a visage you’ve never seen him take before. Did they have some kind of history you didn’t know about? It doesn’t look like Matteo even knows who he is. Nothing makes sense.
“It’s not like it’ll matter if you know the answer.” Giorno responds, voice indifferent. His once lively eyes take a duller tone, causing a shiver to go down your spine. The way he speaks to you is full of warmth in comparison.
Matteo takes a challenging step forward, Giorno unflinching. “Listen! I’ll have what you want soon. I thought I had more time.”
Giorno doesn’t even pause to consider Matteo’s words, having already made up his mind.
“Normally, yes, you would’ve,” Giorno waves his hand dismissively, tone flippant. “Until I learned of your… association with [First].”
Matteo stares in pure confusion, jaw slackening. “My girlfriend? What are you on about--”
It happens too fast for your eyes to process.
Giorno doesn’t move a single muscle, yet an overwhelming force strikes into Matteo’s torso. He lunges back, eyes widening immensely at the sudden impact. You cry out, watching as his lifeless body hits the wall with a sickening crack. What even attacked him?! If it weren’t for the clear impression of a fist on Matteo’s chest, you’d have thought it was a strong gust of wind.
Giorno stares at you with a frown as you run over to Matteo’s crippled form. He coughs out globs of blood, barely capable of even lifting his head. Repeating his name, you find Matteo ultimately unresponsive other than wheezing desperately for air.
Placing a hand on your shoulder, you flinch as you realize Giorno is behind you. Breathing shakily, all you can think to do is ask for mercy. Why is he doing this? What does he gain from this? The way he’s acting strictly contrasts the polite manner he showcased himself as being to you.
Was he even human...?
“I wouldn’t dream of hurting you, mio cara. Don’t bother yourself with him, I’m not letting him die anytime soon.”
The affectionate nickname falls on deaf ears, your focus returning to Matteo’s now dulling eyes. Giorno’s assured phrase of prevent Matteo’s death doesn’t make sense.
“H-he is going to die! We need to do something, please!”
Giorno lets out a disappointment sigh at your further insistence, his frown deepening further. You get the feeling he’s irritated, which further serves to confuse you.
“I hate having to repeat myself. I told you, I’m not letting him die yet,” Giorno leans down next to your shivering form, his arms wrapping around you. “It’s a shame you had to see this, but it serves as an important lesson. Ingrain it into your mind.”
“W-what… what are you talking about…?” your voice is nothing but a whisper, waning in strength. Giorno runs a hand over your back, attempting to soothe you. You flinch at the unwelcome touch, eyes stinging with the threat of tears.
“He’s nothing to cry over.”
Giorno’s close, way too close. His lips next to your ear, warm breath ghosting over your glistening skin. The hand that was rubbing on your back worms its way to your bruised wrist, causing you to wince in pain.
“He did this, didn’t he?” Giorno mutters, thumb caressing the purple and blue skin. Unable to hold your tears back any longer, your face dampens as they fall from your eyes. His disgust is evident at the mere thought of Matteo, for reasons beyond you.
Giorno’s touch is light as a feather, deliberate. A foreign sensation tingles in the area of your skin that he touches, the sight of the bruises diminishing. Instead, soft new skin takes its place before your very eyes, Giorno seemingly content with the action.
“I don’t understand… why are you doing this...”
“For us, bella.”
You feel like you’re floating. Everything is so far away, yet remains too much to understand. Giorno gingerly picks you up, smiling gently as your body goes limp against his own. He never allows his hands to leave you, gladly allowing you to steady yourself against him. Giorno prompts you to walk out of the kitchen, as if nothing that transpired has an effect on him.
“There’s a car waiting for us out front, [First]. Will you be good for me and come along without any difficulty?”
Words escape you entirely. All you can manage is a weak head nod, afraid of what will happen if you resist. The fear for Matteo’s well being is now replaced for fear of your own, as an unknown future lies ahead of you.
Fluttering his eyes shut, Giorno presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. His hands gently wipe away the tears leaving your eyes, shushing your sobs. Giorno then slowly leads you to your door, putting care into keeping you steady.
“I have so much I can give you, amore. Let’s put all of this behind us, and start our new relationship off on a good note,” Giorno runs his hands through your hair, deeply breathing in the scent. “I am Giorno Giovanna, Don of Passione. And I want nothing more than to have you love me.”
#giorno#Giorno Giovanna#giovanna giorno#giorno x reader#yandere giorno#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere reader insert#giorno giovanna x reader#yandere imagine#yandere scenario#my stuff#commissions#JoJo's Bizzare Adventure#jojo's bizarre adventures#jjba#yandere jjba
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Feel It (Ethan Ramsey x MC)
Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Elle Valentine)
Warnings: Death at the beginning, very explicit NSFW scenes
Notes: This is my second very angsty fic that has been sitting on my laptop for the best part of a year, I’ve been slowly chopping away at it. I aimed to post it before the start of OH2 but that didn’t happen. I have modified it slightly but some details (re: Aurora) may be a little behind canon. I have also changed the name of my MC from Lucy to Elle (from my first fic “Awake”). All characters belong to Pixelberry/Choices. Hope you enjoy.
Word Count: 5k+
*********************
Ethan glanced at his watch, and then at ECG on the defibrillator. Asystole, still.
“Elle,” he said, his tone defeated.
Not moving her gaze from her palm, the young woman continued to pound steady compressions against the small chest.
“Elle, it’s time. You need to stop.”
“No…we need to keep going,” Elle panted, blonde strands from her messy ponytail falling all around her face. “One..more..round”
Ethan glanced at the nurses, who were standing motionlessly around the resuscitation trolley. Their heads were bowed, expressions solemn.
“We’ve already given 3 loads of amiodarone-”
“Three…more…seconds!” Elle gasped, then finally stepped back from the child’s motionless body to watch the defibrillator. The 2 minutes of the latest round of CPR was up.
Nothing.
Ethan watched as Elle’s eyes, wild with adrenaline and desperate hope, filled with tears.
“She’s gone, Elle. We need to let her go.”
He gently touched her arm, her skin glistening with exertion and burning hot underneath his fingertips. Finally, she met his gaze, and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
Ethan took a deep breath, and then looked at his watch.
“Time of death, 22.16.”
Elle stepped forward, surveying the little girl in front of her. She reached for her hand and squeezed.
“I’m sorry, Katie.”
Without another word, she turned and left the room.
Ethan put his hands behind his head and sighed, as the nurses soberly moved over to the bed and began to clear up.
7-year-old Katie Phillips had been transferred over to diagnostics at Edenbrook just under a week ago, with a case of atypically-presenting sepsis, which had delayed her diagnosis at her previous hospital. Together, Ethan and Elle had figured out her condition within the first 30 minutes of her arrival, and commenced treatment, to which Katie had responded extremely well.
Katie had no parents, and lived in a children’s home. She had also taken a terrific shine to Elle.
On many an occasion, well after her shift had ended, Ethan would pass by Katie’s room and see Elle sitting on her bed, both of them erupting with laughter, or drawing together. Two days ago at around 3am, Ethan was walking through the diagnostics ward on his night shift, and heard a pretty voice singing a soft melody. Following the voice took him to the doorway of Katie’s room, where he found Elle holding the young girl in her arms, stroking her hair and singing to her as she whimpered from the pain of the intravenous antibiotics.
But, they were working.
It was all looking so good.
They were unable to take any family history, of course, on admission, or perhaps they would have decided to order an echocardiogram. Katie had no cardiac symptoms at all, until she began to arrest just under an hour ago. A quick ultrasound in between cycles of CPR showed she had hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.
Katie had presented with such a complex illness, but the combined brilliance of Ethan and Elle’s minds had cracked it, she was getting so much better, making so much progress, she was going to live. But it was so devastatingly simple, and yet so unavoidable.
Sudden Cardiac Death.
***
Some time later, after finishing his paperwork at the nurses’ station, Ethan turned instinctively towards the family room. He suddenly felt a pang in his chest, remembering no one was waiting inside for Katie. There were no parents to inform, no family, no one at all.
Ethan expected to feel somewhat relieved at not having to undertake the usual sad process, but his heart felt all the heavier as he took in the silent, empty room.
The one person who he knew would feel Katie’s loss so deeply was…
Elle.
The thought of her flooded Ethan’s mind.
A tapping on the computer behind him roused Ethan from his thoughts, and he turned to see one of the nurses who had approached the station.
“Hey…have you seen Dr Valentine anywhere?” he asked.
“I saw her heading towards the shower room,” the nurse replied.
“Thanks,” Ethan replied, hurrying off down the corridor.
***
Ethan hadn’t been in the changing rooms for years, since his intern days. It was dark when he entered, but the auto lights torpidly flickered on.
Empty.
“Elle?” he called out.
He poked his head around to the shower cubicles, and saw the floor was wet. Someone had been in here not long ago, and he was sure it was Elle. The steamy air was filled with the scent of her shampoo.
It wasn’t even odd to Ethan that he remembered the exact smell of Elle Valentine’s hair. Two months ago, his face was buried in it as she reached up around the back of his neck, his hands on her hips as they made passionate love. He had memorised every tiny detail of that night, including every smell, taste, and feel; the last time they would be together before “everything went back to how it was.” Every night since, Ethan had replayed those moments in his mind, laying awake in bed. On many occasions, the memories even followed him into his dreams.
They even chased him to the depths of the Amazon rainforest, which Ethan had fled to in his hopes to get over her. Instead on his return, every moment alone with her, every touch of her hand, every moment of eye contact that lasted just a little too long, had made his longing for her intensify.
Ethan shook his head, sighing, and made his way back out of the locker room.
***
After grabbing his coat from his office, Ethan made his way wearily back down the hospital halls, a feeling of unease growing in his stomach. He had no idea where Elle was, and she was obviously in a state of distress when she had left the room. He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he walked into the parking lot, concern for the young doctor eclipsing his dislike of texting.
He had only managed to pull up her name in his contacts, before he saw her. She was leaning against the wall of a shrub bed in the middle of the parking lot, half hidden in darkness. Ethan sighed, putting his phone back into his pocket.
Elle didn’t look up as he approached, staring down at her interlocked hands in her lap.
“Hey. Are you ok?”
She didn’t reply. Stupid question, Ethan thought.
“I was just about to text to see where you were. I…was worried, about you.”
Finally, Elle looked up at him.
“I had a cry in the shower,” Elle said, letting out a short, humourless laugh. “I’ll be ok. Not right now. But I will be. You don’t need to worry about me.” She returned her gaze to her hands.
“You need to know, Elle. I know you built up a really good bond with her, but there was nothing we could have done. The sepsis treatment was working, and there was no way we knew about the cardiomyopathy, there was no way we could have known.”
She didn’t reply, so Ethan continued, checking off mental notes in his head, almost strategically.
“Wasting time on an echocardiogram would have been a pointless test that would have distracted from the sepsis treatment. Besides, there was no indication to even order an echo. There was-”
“Ethan.”
She suddenly looked up, meeting Ethan’s gaze. Her green eyes were sharp and wide under the parking lot lights. Ethan found himself quite speechless, perhaps from the interruption, or maybe from the intensity of her gaze.
“Ethan, sometimes things are just shit. You don’t always have to try and fix everything. You don’t always have to solve someone’s pain, like you’re solving a case. Sometimes the best thing is to just be there, and let them feel it.”
There were a few moments of silence, as Ethan took in her words.
“I’m sorry this happened,” he said finally.
“Me too.”
Ethan hesitated for a moment, and then, almost awkwardly, raised his arms. Elle looked at them, and then at him.
He wondered if it was a mistake, and was about to lower his arms and apologise, when she slowly stepped forward from the wall. He saw his own hesitancy mirrored in her features, but nevertheless, she stepped forward into his embrace.
A flood of bittersweet warmth surged through Ethan’s body. This was the first time he had held her in so long, and oh how he missed the way she fitted so perfectly into him, her petite frame enveloped in his arms. She too seemed to relax into his embrace, her head resting against his chest, undoubtedly hearing his pounding heart beneath. Ethan tightened his hold on her, which she reciprocated. He rested his head on top of hers and closed his eyes. He let the feel of her warm body and the sweet cocktail of her hair and perfume envelop him.
They stood together, swaying on the spot slightly. Ethan wasn’t sure exactly how long they had been embracing, but it was the mental feeling, that it was too long to not be something. A silent line had been crossed, unspoken feelings straining in both of their chests, screaming into the silence.
After what felt like both not long enough and an eternity, they pulled away. A gust of cold autumn wind whooshed over them, and Elle shivered.
“It’s freezing out,” said Ethan, eyeing the tiny leather jacket she was wearing. “Let me drive you home.”
“No,” she said suddenly. “I…don’t want to go home.”
“My roommates are having a movie marathon tonight,” she hastily explained. “Elijah’s invited his new girlfriend too. I’m not really in the mood, I’d just want to go straight to my room and then I’d look rude.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Ethan said. “Or to your roommates if you did go to your room, for that matter. You worry too much about others’ feelings, and not nearly enough about your own.”
“I-”
“But I quite understand. We won’t take you home just yet.”
Ethan removed his thick black coat from his shoulders, offering it to her.
“Oh no, I’ve got one, you’ll be cold.”
“I insist. Your hair is still wet too,” he added, gesturing to the damp tips of her blonde locks. “Let’s get you in the warm.”
Elle offered him a small smile, before slipping into the coat.
“Come on,” Ethan said, placing a hand on the small of her back and leading her towards his car.
***
They shared a comfortable silence on the short ride back, both enjoying the sound of the gentle concerto from Ethan’s stereo. The warmth of the car served a welcome contrast to the bitter cold air outside.
Elle glanced over at Ethan as he finally pulled the car to a stop.
“I see we’re at yours.”
“We are indeed. Is that…is that okay?” he asked, somewhat anxiously.
Elle smiled.
“Yeah, it is.”
He opened the car door for her, and they made their way up to his apartment.
“Make yourself comfortable. Wine?” he offered, as they both stepped inside.
“Please.”
Ethan headed over to the kitchen, watching Elle over the counter as he opened a bottle of Merlot. He smiled to himself as she carefully removed her ankle boots, placing them neatly next to his own running shoes by the door. Typical Elle. It reminded him of when she apologised for the non-existent mess in her spotless bedroom when he had stayed at her apartment.
He really should stop thinking about that night. It was one thing doing it alone in bed, late at night, but the memory felt all the more tangible now she was in his apartment, just feet away from him. He had almost forgotten it had all been real.
“What?” Elle asked bemused, clocking his expression.
“Nothing, just simple observation,” said Ethan, a small smile playing on his lips.
Elle raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly.
“Your people-watching sessions are a little less incognito when it’s just the two of us in your apartment, Ethan.”
“My apologies. Just admiring your attention to detail,” he smirked.
It was so damn cute, he thought.
Elle rolled her eyes, but a slight blush crept on her cheeks as she peeled off his coat and her jacket.
Ethan sat down on the sofa, as she turned away from him and stretched up to hang them both on the coat rack. Ethan couldn’t help but stare at her short jumper dress, clinging to the all the right places on her body. How his hands yearned to roam it again. Ethan blinked hard, forcing himself to look away. He drank deeply from his wine glass.
Elle settled down on the sofa beside him, picking up her own drink. Ethan watched carefully as she took a long swig, then swirled the remaining contents around the glass, staring into space.
He racked his brains for something to say. He didn’t want to try and distract her completely from the rawness of Katie’s death- how could he- but he didn’t want to focus on it either. He tried to think of small talk. He fucking hated small talk. He had never felt the need to. But for her, he was trying so hard, to fill the silence, to make things that bit more bearable for her, in any way he possibly could.
What was happening to him?
“So,” he started, “how are you finding Boston then? You’ve been here a while now.”
“You mean to suggest I don’t spend every waking hour at the hospital working on cases?��� she scoffed. “I mean, yeah, it’s good. I’ve found some good running spots, some nice cafés, I guess. It’d be nice for me to get out with people and explore it all a bit more, but I can’t remember the last time me and my roommates all had the same shifts off.”
“You all seem pretty close.”
“They’re my rocks,” Elle beamed, taking another drink of wine. Ethan smiled at the way her face lit up when she talked about her beloved friends. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without them.”
“Have you found a new roommate yet?” Ethan asked. She had mentioned to him before that Dr Olsen was transferring to Mass Kenmore, and he’d seen flyers up advertising the spare room pinned up around various break rooms.
“Not yet. I offered it to Aurora, but-”
“Aurora?” he asked, surprised.
“Yeah, she doesn’t want to stay with Harper anymore. I think it’s a good thing, her stepping out on her own.”
“No, I heard about that. I’m just surprised you reached out, I always thought she seemed quite cold to you last year.”
“Yeah well,” Elle shrugged. “Harper was putting a lot of pressure on her. Plus, half the hospital fangirling over her because of her surname, it’d be enough to put anyone’s back up. She’s not as bad as everyone says, people just need to put themselves in her shoes.”
Ethan watched her carefully. That was the thing- one of many things- about Elle; she always saw the best in people. No matter how cold they may appear, how brusquely they may act towards her, she had such warmth, such empathy, she could see past it all and understand.
Even him.
Inexplicably, he felt a wave of tenderness wash over him, and suddenly had the desire to just reach out and be close to her, to touch her, to hold her hand. Almost involuntarily, he found himself shifting slightly closer to her on the sofa.
“And then, if Aurora doesn’t want to move in, Bryce said he’d be interested.”
Ethan stiffened, and it must have been enough for Elle to notice that he had come closer, because she looked up at him.
“The scalpel jockey?” It was a piss poor attempt to keep his tone indifferent, casual. He knew exactly who Bryce fucking Lahela was.
“Yeah, him,” said Elle.
He knew they were friends, but Ethan had seen the surgeon checking out Elle’s ass on far too many occasions for him to know it was more than friendship on his mind. He was clearly a touchy-feely kind of guy; slapping his senior surgeons on the shoulder, throwing arms round his friends when he joined them at the nurses’ station, but for Elle…it was different. Ethan had seen his hands settle on her waist, on the small of her back, in all the non-platonic places, for just a little too long.
Ethan drained his glass, then rose from the sofa to retrieve the bottle of wine from the kitchen counter. Elle watched him; noticing the change in his demeanour.
“I bet he’ll love that,” Ethan snorted, refilling their glasses.
“Why?”
“Because,” said Ethan, placing the bottle down a little harder on the coffee table than he had meant to and dropping back down to the sofa, “he makes no secret of the fact that he likes you.”
“Bryce is just a friend,” Elle laughed.
“He doesn’t seem to think so.”
“Bryce is a quick fuck in a shower kind of guy, not the romantic dinner and candles type.”
Ethan almost spat out his wine.
“Excuse me?”
“Look,” Elle sighed. “Me and Bryce are friends. I know he has a bit of a thing for me, the girls have told me. But I don’t like him like that. He came on to me at our housewarming party, after everyone had gone, and offered…well, that.”
“I see,” said Ethan stiffly. Jealously began to rage in him like an inferno, yet his blood seemed to turn cold. “And was it good, your ‘quick fuck in the shower?’”
Why the on earth did he ask that, why did he even care? He knew he sounded like an asshole, he was supposed to be making her feel better, but instead he was prying. The wine felt potent in his stomach- maybe that was part of the reason why his tongue was loose- but either way, he just needed to know.
This time, it was Elle’s time to choke on her drink.
“Ethan!” she spluttered. “No, I didn’t have sex with him!” she giggled. “I do friends, not friends with benefits, and it’s much harder to friendzone a guy after you’ve had sex. Me and him laugh about it now.”
As relief flooded through Ethan, Elle started to roll around the sofa laughing, the last dregs of wine in her glass teetering precariously close to the edge. But Ethan didn’t care. She was so damn beautiful when she laughed, and he was so glad to see her laughing. It was hard to imagine that a couple of hours ago, she had been performing chest compressions on a child.
He laughed too, although he didn’t think it was that funny. The wine was definitely a good idea to lighten both their spirits.
But as suddenly as she started laughing, she stopped.
“Elle?”
“No…no I can’t.”
“What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer. Ethan scooted closer to her, and her entire demeanour had changed. Suddenly, she was so still and sad. He stretched an arm around her shoulders, placing his other hand on her thigh.
And that was all it took.
The simple intimacy of the action was a static shock between them, and her eyes snapped up to his in the dim light of his living room. Suddenly Ethan felt his heart pounding in his chest. He looked at her face, and it was as if he had just realised how impossibly beautiful she was for the very first time.
“Elle, what is it?” he whispered gently, his fingertips pressing ever so slightly into her thigh. There was a mere millimetre between skin and skin, the flimsy fabric of her tights.
“Oh god, what am I even doing?” she breathed.
“What do you mean?”
“I should be feeling shit about Katie, I watched a child fucking die tonight! I should be feeling shit about Bryce, I should be feeling shit about missing Elijah’s movie night, he’s been going on about it for ages. And I do feel shit…but I’m also sitting here getting drunk with my boss, and fucking enjoying it! And wanting to…”
Ethan desperately wanted to ask her to finish her sentence, wanted to know what she wanted. Wanted to know if it was the same as him.
Instead, he focused, as much as his mind would let him, on the fact she was in a bad place. He needed to step up, and offer some emotional support. This was why he had taken her back to his place after all, wasn’t it?
“You don’t have to feel any kind of way. It’s like you said, just let yourself feel it. Grief is a complex, multi-dimensional thing. You think how you’re acting isn’t right, but there is no right. Whatever you feel right now, in this moment, is right. How do you feel?”
Both of their breaths were heavy, and Ethan could feel his fingers pulsing on her thigh.
“I feel…I don’t know.”
“That’s okay, to not know. If you don’t know how you feel, go with what you want. What do you want?”
Her eyes pierced his, Ethan swore she could see right into his soul. Suddenly, there was no wine, no living room, nothing else. Elle was the only thing in the whole damn world.
“What do you want, Ethan?” she whispered.
Their gazes met; his eyes full of ravenous hunger. Unconsciously, almost, his hand reached up to the back of her neck, twining in her golden locks.
“You. Only you. Always you.”
He saw the look on her face only for a second, before he crashed his mouth into hers, his hand still at her neck, the other gripping her thigh for dear life. She kissed him back, hard, her arms snaking around his shoulders. The dam was broken.
Only when she bit the bottom of his lip, and Ethan let out a moan of pleasure, did they finally come up for air.
“Ethan…” she breathed heavily.
“I need you, Elle. Please-”
Before he could finish, Elle answered him with her mouth. Ethan pulled her tight onto his lap, her knees straddling him. His tongue danced with hers, relishing in the warmth of her mouth, their lips never breaking.
His hands slid up her thighs, grabbing the hem of her jumper dress and pulling it up and over her head. Ethan’s eyes drank in the sight of her torso.
“You’re incredible,” he breathed.
He brushed his fingers over the rise of her heaving breasts, bulging out the top of her black lace balconette bra. Elle gasped as he slipped his fingers into the cup.
“This is too small for you,” Ethan growled, hands tearing ravenously at the clasp. There was a loud ripping sound. “I’ll have to buy you more lingerie,” he muttered, somewhat apologetically.
Impatient, Elle reached behind her back with nimble hands and unclasped the torn bra herself, tossing it to the floor.
“My god, Elle…” Ethan groaned, drinking in the sight of her bare chest. “You are a goddess.”
He seized her ample breasts in both hands, kneading and massaging carefully. Elle let out a groan of pleasure.
“Ethan…oh!”
He took one of her breasts in his mouth, circling her hard nipple with his tongue, his thumb taking care of her other. They felt so good; so heavy and warm and full on his face and hands. He wished his head could be buried between them forever, these breasts carved by the angels.
Elle threw her head back in pleasure as Ethan alternated between sucking and biting. She began to grind in his lap, and he could feel her heat through her thin tights against his stone hard cock, the sensation arousing him even more. Not removing his mouth from her breasts, he snaked his hand underneath the waistband of her tights.
“Fuck!” Elle gasped, immediately rocking harder against his fingers that hadn’t yet slipped under her panties.
Ethan almost lost it at the feeling of her hot arousal all over her fingers. Steeling himself, he focused intently on prolonging her pleasure, pushing past her panties and massaging her clit.
“Take..them…off,” Elle commanded between gasps.
With pure carnal desire, Ethan ripped the tights clean off, and pushed her panties down her thighs. At the same time, Elle fumbled with his belt and flies, making quick work of exposing him quickly.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he moaned, “Elle, oh my-fuck!”
Panties tossed to the floor, Elle re-positioned and sat on him fully, and Ethan almost came there and then from the feeling of being inside her once again. Oh how he had longed for this, for so long. She was so slick for him, so perfect and tight, and he fitted into her perfectly. It was although they were made for each other, Ethan thought, in more ways than one.
Throwing her head back, Elle began to grind on his lap, and Ethan could not withhold his primal moan. He closed his eyes, drowning in pleasure, but forced himself to open them, not wanting to miss the sight of the woman on top of him.
Her hips danced tantalising circles on his cock, circling, bouncing, grinding.
“I’ve dreamed of you like this…for months…every…fucking…night.”
Fire roared in Elle’s eyes as she took in his words, the confession appearing to spur her even more.
‘Oh my god,” Ethan groaned as she changed her pattern of gyration in just the right way.
How was she even real, how could sex be this fucking good? It was otherworldly.
“Since the Amazon?” Elle panted.
“In the Amazon. Every night. And before then…before I fucked you for the first time….and every night since…how could I ever forget?”
He traced his hands over her mesmerising hips, gripping them hard, as if seizing on to the moment itself, making sure it was real.
Elle was such a vision. Her blonde locks cascaded over her shoulders, her bare breasts bouncing up and down, her taut stomach moving in time with her hips. And her face; her beautiful, perfect face, a picture of bliss and pleasure, all for him.
He moved his hands down to her ass, roving over the soft, full cheeks. Elle moaned with pleasure as he slapped and squeezed, hard. He guided her up and down, and returned her vigour with his own thrusts, in perfect harmony.
“Oh…Ethan…I’m so close…I want it to last,” Elle gasped as she slowed down, and Ethan looked up to see her face a mix of strain and pleasure, trying desperately to withhold her climax.
“I know sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning up to kiss her breasts again. “Come for me. Let yourself go, I’ve got you.”
“Ohhh!” cried Elle a few seconds later, her eyes hammering shut as she lost herself in pleasure. Ethan watched as she threw her head back, the sounds she was making and the look of pure ecstasy on her face making him delirious and come, hard.
“Elle!”
He could feel her contracting around him as he filled her, her thighs shuddering and twitching as she rode out the last of her orgasmic waves.
After a few moments, they began to come down from the high. Suddenly filled with a surge of determination, Ethan sat up, lifting Elle effortlessly into his arms, and strode towards the bedroom. The empty wine glasses shattered onto the floor in their wake, like the barriers that had been shattered between them.
“Ethan!” Elle yelped, as he kicked open the door and laid her gently on the bed, by the pillows.
“I’m not done,” he said huskily. “I want to make you feel so good, Elle.” He hastily unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it on the floor. “Look at you.”
Moving slowly towards the bed, he drank in the sight of her naked form; he a lost man wandering the Sahara; her body a desert spring.
“You have no idea what it does to me when you look at me like that, Ethan,” she whispered as he crawled on to the bed, running his hands over her body.
“And you have no idea what you do to me by just existing.” He planted hot kisses over her neck, slowly making his way downwards. “What it does to me when you’re in the same fucking room as me,” she shivered deliciously as his beard scratched her collarbone. “When you take off your white coat and I see you’re wearing one of those goddamn fitted dresses, and then I can’t stop thinking about what I know is underneath.”
His kisses lingered on Elle’s breasts; his hand travelling to her clit.
“It’s harder now…” he breathed; the sweet moans coming from her mouth at his ministrations were music to his ears. “Before the first time, I could only imagine what it was like to have you…but now I know how sweet your pussy is. I thought those two months would make me forget…but it’s only made me want you more.”
Suddenly, Elle knelt up, and Ethan gasped as her hand curled around his cock, hard again already.
“Show me,” she demanded, eyes wide and blazing with desire.
“All those times I know you’ve held back, when I hold your hand, when you touch my cheek, when it’s just us alone together. I want you to show me everything you’ve been holding back. I want you to fuck me, hard, Ethan. I need to feel it.”
Her assertiveness roused Ethan even more; she pressed her lips to his and worked her hand up and down his cock to assure him further of her consent. That was all he needed.
Effortlessly, he curled a hand around her tiny waist and flipped her over on the bed onto all fours.
“Mmm…yesss,” she moaned, arching her back to invite him in.
Ethan took just a few moments to indulge himself, relishing in the sight of her like that, willing and ready for him. Then, he couldn’t wait any longer.
They gasped simultaneously as he plunged into her smooth, soaked folds.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled, beginning to rock against her. “I love being inside of you.”
Elle arched her back even more, crying out in pleasure as the angle of his penetration hit her in just the right spot.
“Oh my god…Ethan.”
She threw her head back, and Ethan reached forward, pulling on her blonde locks.
“YES!”
He picked up the pace, the sound and feel of her ass clapping against his hips drawing him ever closer to the edge. His fingers roamed beneath her, seizing as much of her bouncing breasts as his hands would let him. He circled his thumbs over her hard nipples, and Elle groaned and pushed back against him.
“Harder Ethan…don’t-fucking-stop!”
Grabbing her hips, he rammed himself into her furiously. All the restraint, every modicum of self-control, all the excruciating, agonising professionalism that had been towering between them, dissolved away more and more with each thrust.
“I’m going to come again…” Elle’s fingers curled into the bedsheets, knuckles white. “Oh-oh-OH, ETHAN!”
Elle’s repeated cries of his name became lost in whimpers and moans as he reached around to massage her clit, and she exploded into blissful climax once again. Ethan knew he was a matter of strokes away from the same.
Ethan slowed himself, gently holding her waist, supporting her as her knees buckled on the come down from the high.
“You can finish in me again,” she panted after a few moments, “I want you to.”
She began to arch her back again, but Ethan turned her over to lie on her back with a surprising tenderness.
“I want- I need to look at you, Elle.”
The thick desire in his voice was suddenly mixed with a gentle tenderness. He entered her again, his strokes slow but firm.
Something in the atmosphere had changed. The raw, animalistic passion and pent-up lust, had morphed into something else. Something more.
Ethan moved one hand to brace himself against the headboard, the other caressing Elle’s cheek.
“You’re so beautiful.”
He moved his hand to hers, lacing their fingers together. She squeezed, and he squeezed back.
Their steady rhythm led Ethan closer to his climax. He stared into her brilliant green eyes, and she returned his gaze with wonder.
“Ethan..”
Her eyes became glassy, and she reached up to touch his cheek. Inexplicably, Ethan felt a tear of his own began to fall.
“You’re everything to me, Elle. Everything.”
Finally, Ethan felt the heat that had been steadily building in his lower abdomen roar into flames.
“Oh, sweetheart, Elle…ELLE!”
He cried out her name, desperately. There was a loud crack as the headboard that Ethan braced himself on split, but neither of them seemed to care. Ethan let his vision fill with the face of the woman below him. If this was his final sight before he died, Ethan would die a happy man.
After a few hazy seconds, Elle let go of his hand, and reached up to stroke his back, almost cradling him from beneath. Ethan removed himself from her, panting hard. He laid down beside her, gathering her into his arms.
“That was…that was..” Elle began.
They both chuckled lightly, and Ethan squeezed her close.
“Incredible,” he finished for her, and pressed a tender kiss to her lips.
They laid there, wrapped in each other for a long while, before Ethan reached up again to caress her cheek.
“Are you ok, Elle?”
“I’m…”
She trailed off. The ecstasy was over. The pain of the world and the previous events of the night slowly ebbed back into reality.
“I’ve just had amazing sex, and I’m here with you, Ethan. I’m ok.” She smiled.
Ethan knew that she was still in pain, and a feeling of guilt swelled in Ethan. He knew so much of that pain was from him, from not being together. Pain she did not deserve, pain Ethan wished he could take away completely.
“Elle, I…” he propped himself up on one elbow, staring into her eyes. The familiar storm of conflict and desire played out within him. Another tear fell down his cheek.
He wanted so badly to say the words, those words. The words he felt for her with his entire being, and had done for such a long time.
Elle reached up, wiping his tear away.
“I know.”
There was a deep and bittersweet understanding in her eyes.
She pulled him back down for a kiss, before snuggling closely in his arms.
***
Ethan and Elle slept deeply that night, curled up in each other. There was so much pain in their life, in their profession as doctors, so much pain between them. But so much of something else.
Even if he couldn’t say it yet. But that night, he wanted to make sure that Elle could feel it.
And felt it, she did.
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Mystery Bullet Part 3
This is the third and final part to this series, thanks for joining me on the ride! Part 1: Here Part 2: Here
The phone rung a couple of times before Sherlock answered. “Awh John, you’re missing the fun.”
“She’s okay, just had a bad reaction to the antigens in the blood they gave her during surgery.”
“Did they give her the wrong blood?”
“They claim they didn’t, but that is the only thing that makes sense.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant! The bullets weren’t made of ice, they were made of blood. That explains everything.”
“I’m not sure I follow,”
“Think about it the bullet disappeared. She had a bad reaction to antigens. Ice wasn’t dense enough, but the blood would be perfect. Someone used human blood to create a projectile that when froze with liquid nitrogen and shot by pressurized air would resemble a bullet. It wouldn’t leave an exit wound and would dissolve. It also explains why she said the wound site was cold.” Sherlock explained.
“She’s awake now, you should come and see her. She’s asked about you,” John replied.
“I’m glad she is okay, I will come to visit when I have solved the case” Sherlock replied.
“Sherlock, she is still in critical condition, you do understand that right?”
“The auction is tomorrow, we are running out of time,” Sherlock answered before hanging up.
John wanted to call him back, but he knew that it was no use. He instead went into your room and sent Molly home for the night. When you woke up he explained what had happened and Sherlock’s blood bullet theory.
“Have you found the paintings yet?” you asked.
“What do you mean?”
“The real paintings are still in the Museum somewhere. There is too much traffic, extra security, and outside security cameras for them to have been removed. None of the other security cameras were tampered with and no other guards were affected. It had to be an inside job because someone walked in and out of that well-lit room without drawing suspicion and left the same way. They had to be in there well before they actually shot the security guard. Between that and the looping footage, I would assume that the guard was in on the heist and then was double-crossed. Regardless, there is no possible way that the art was removed it is somewhere in that room. I called the art restorator that you met, he said that he would meet with me to check over the paintings. He wanted me to come in that night, but I told him it would have to wait. Oh my god, it was him!” you realized.
“How so?” John asked.
“He knew that I was on to him and he knew you and Sherlock wouldn’t be home. He had access to the facility and no one would question where he was going. He has worked at the gallery for a while and would have had plenty of time to plan everything out.” you explained.
John was laughing and pulling out his phone.
“What?” you asked.
“You are insane, that is what. I need to get normal friends,” he answered.
“Is everything okay?” Sherlock answered.
“Yes, but you need to go to the museum, I’ll meet you there.”
“Why?”
“Because Y/n solved the case and we need to go pick up the paintings and culprit. I’ll explain when we get there. Call Mycroft.” he said and hung up.
“Okay now, you are going to lay here and rest. No exceptions. Sherlock and I will come by when it’s over and we will see what we have to do to get you out of here. Is there anyone you’d like me to call?” he asked.
“Nope, I think I’ll take a nap. Be careful,” you answered.
Sherlock and John went to the museum. It didn’t take them long to discover where the real paintings were being hidden. They then went to Dr. Argonza’s office, to no one’s surprise he wasn’t there. They did find a cryogenic dewar which could have easily been used to store the blood bullets. There was an airbrush and pipe that Sherlock was sure could provide enough velocity to cause the injuries. The entire rig would easily fit under a coat and be hidden. Sherlock filled his brother in and together they came up with a plan to switch the duplicates back with the originals and wait for Dr. Argonza at the auction where they would pick him up.
Convinced that not even Mycroft’s men could screw this up, John and Sherlock prepared to leave. John had them stop by the flat to pick you up some spare clothes for your return trip. He was surprised to see that Sherlock had cleaned up the blood and everything from his experiments earlier that day. He was glad that this was almost over and that things would soon be back to normal.
When they arrived at the hospital they were told visitation hours were over and made some type of excuse using their “badges” to get passed the nurse. John led the way to your room and Sherlock followed. They were surprised to hear talking from your room. That surprised turned to concern when they realized that your door was locked.
Meanwhile:
You were tired and understandably so. But how were you supposed to get any sleep when nurses were constantly coming in and poking and prodding you. This nurse was different, you hadn’t seen him yet. He came over and prepared to inject another medication into your IV.
“I had my last round of medication an hour ago,” you spoke confused.
“This is a post-op Antibiotic, Doctors’ orders,” he said nonchalantly.
“Which one?” you asked painfully forcing yourself to sit up to get a better look.
“Carbenicillin? That can’t be right. I have a severe reaction to Beta Lactums.” you explained.
“Hmm, it doesn’t say that in your chart,” he replied before injecting it in.
You immediately tore out your IV and tried to hit the Nurse call button, shouting for help.
“Shut up! Shut up!” he shouted coming over and placing his hand over your nose and mouth forcefully. You tried to fight against him but your body was too weak and the fear was taking over.
“If you would have just stayed out of it, none of this would have happened. I didn’t want to kill you, but you’re too much of a liability now,” he explained.
You were beyond scared now tears running down your cheeks. You fought against it with everything you had but it was too much. The burning in your chest took over and the black circles grew.
That is when Sherlock and John burst through the door. Sherlock ripped Dr. Argonza off of you and threw him on the ground. You gasped and struggled to breathe. John had him at gunpoint until security was able to collect him. Even then, he waited with him until Mycroft showed up with his men to take him away. Back in your room, the nurses had kicked Sherlock out so they could thoroughly check you over. You were understandably a mess and demanded AMA forms. You gave them no choice and fought through the pain to remove all of the monitors that were hooked up to you. You sat up sheepishly and started putting on the clothes that John had brought. The nurses tried to reason with you, but you weren’t having it. That is when one of them decided to let Sherlock in to see if he could talk any sense into you.
“What is it that you think you are doing?” he asked concerned.
“I’m leaving. Are you going to help me?” you replied clutching your head.
“Y/n, you can’t leave. You need to stay here and let them take care of you, you’re in no condition to go home” he tried and then he saw something that shook him; you started crying.
“I can’t stay here, please don’t make me stay here” you cried.
He felt like he was entirely unequipped to handle this situation and wished that John was there.
“It’s okay Y/n, everything is going to be okay. Just lay back down.” he tried.
“I want to go home Sherlock, I’d rather die there than stay here,” you sobbed.
He went over to your side and did something that was very rare for Sherlock, he gave you a hug.
“I was so scared” you revealed.
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s over now,” he soothed.
“I can’t stay here, Sherlock,” you added.
“I know, we’ll figure it out. Just relax,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry,”
“You have nothing to be sorry for Y/n, just lay back down until John returns,” Sherlock instructed taking a seat next to you. It wasn’t long before you fell back asleep. And shortly after that both John and Mycroft walked in.
“What is all this?” John asked referring to you sleeping in your clothes and not being hooked up to the machines.
“She doesn’t want to stay here. She signed AMA’s and tried to leave.” Sherlock informed.
“Well she doesn’t get a choice, she needs to stay and be looked after,” John replied.
“You know, I have never seen her cry before today.” Sherlock whispered, “She literally said that she rather die at our flat than to stay here.”
“We can’t take care of her in this condition,” John reminded.
“Mycroft, do you think that I can cash in a favor?” Sherlock asked acknowledging his brothers’ presence for the first time.
“You are running low on those, what do you want this time?” Mycroft returned.
“The VIP suite here until Y/n can safely check out,” Sherlock replied still not taking his eyes off of your sleeping form.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said as he exited the room.
“We almost lost her three times today John,” Sherlock realized.
“She’ll be okay though, and that’s what counts,” John reminded.
The next two days were spent in the VIP suite of the hospital. Sherlock refused to leave your side even though you told him it was okay. The Art Gallery covered the entirety of your medical expenses as compensation for you saving the auction. When you were finally allowed to go home, you were ordered to take it easy for a week. Sherlock refused to take any cases during that time, which was quite out of character. This mystery was one of the few which never made it on the blog, and that was okay.
#sherlock#sherlock holmes#sherlock bbc#sherlock benedict cumberbatch#sherlock imagine#sherlock imagines#sherlock series#sherlock x reader#sherlock x you#sherlock holmes imagine#sherlock holmes imagines#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes series#john watson#john watson imagine
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Anonymous Vet.
I just wanted to write somewhere what I was thinking about. And it feels like a lot.
I hope it gives a little insight to what it is like on the other side of the exam table at the veterinary office.
Today was another hard day at work. It was very busy, and I found myself being thankful for the 2 cancellations in the afternoon. We had four walk-ins to take their place. Not to mention, a technician is on a well-deserved vacation (staycation), but we also have another technician out sick - so this makes us short-staffed. In the morning when we walk in, there are three technicians, one receptionist, and a doctor to accommodate what I call the 10AM rush (along with whatever the rest of the day holds); typically, two scheduled doctor's appointments, one technician appointment, and three drop-offs (along with about 3-5 walk-in appointments show up calling at the same time which ties up the phone lines). You may think we are just overbooking ourselves, but we are booked out three weeks solid, AND STILL have people walking in to wait for the doctor or technician to see their pet.
I still have yesterday's lab works to call back and make communication with pet parents of all the sick dogs and cats that I saw the prior day. And when the lab work results come back from last week, this morning, I still have to review the medical history of those patients before I call the owners (because I saw maybe a hundred or more other patients since I last saw them). When am I going to see those drop off appointments? In between scheduled day appointments. I also must call every person and talk to multiple people on the phone.
My staff is busy the entire day also, answering phones and taking requests to book an appointment and answering random questions for the pet owner that just wants to know if their pet needs to be seen urgently for a freckle they just found on its rear end, and safely transporting patients to and from cars, comforting pets while samples are collected in the clinic, calling in prescriptions to local pharmacies, giving cuddles to the drop off patients (yes, they make time for that) while they take them out for potty breaks and stretches, taking medical histories over the phone for appointments, checking in appointments that have just pulled in and getting that new clients information entered into the system, and getting other tasks done in between.
How is it that I still have people yelling at my techs over the phone for their hold time? And people who get frustrated because they had to wait 30 minutes to 3 HOURS to have their pet seen as a walk-in? Or those who feel the need to berate the receptionist who did not have the owner's flea prevention ready right when they called, but would not go ahead and pay before they arrived? Why are there those that question, jokingly, to me as the doctor, "when are you gonna start giving away free samples of one hundred dollar bills?" as if our services aren't valuable enough to them, for them to pay their bill with gratitude? Why do some people get upset when they cannot get in during our lunch hour? Why, during what you would think would be the hardest time for a pet parent, they still find it in themselves to be rude enough to bring a technician to tears?
My plea is this.
Please be patient when you must hold on the line, use that time to take a few breaths and be okay with slowing down. Please understand that we are doing our best to accommodate the walk-in patients. Please say "thank you" more often. And please be gentle to our staff, during a time that perhaps you need serenity as well - we all grieve for the loss of every patient, and do not take it lightly. We also have a great weight to bear with all the other expectations we are met with throughout the day up until that very moment.
Please continue to be the person who does not mind waiting patiently for five minutes on the hold line. Please continue to be the person who thanks the technician profusely over the phone for answering a few non-urgent questions. Please continue to ask inquiring questions, and really reap the benefits of what you are paying for. Please continue to come in for your pet's recheck appointments, and give the full course of antibiotics, and pay attention so we can work together when something goes awry with your pet. Please continue to be patient as a walk-in, and then thank us after you waited for three hours, for getting you squeezed in. Please continue to send us little snacks and cards as a token of your appreciation. Please continue to be patient and kind with us. Kindness breeds kindness. It gives us energy to continue moving forward and helping.
At the end of the day, my stomach growls and I remember the snack I ate earlier while I had continued to work through my lunch hour. I am emotionally, physically, and mentally drained from the day. The highs of seeing a new puppy and sharing in the happy news of a pregnancy with some pet parents, and the lows of learning a referred patient did end up having bone cancer as I had suspected, having to deliver bad news regarding lab results, and having to help a patient peacefully pass - are all taking up space in my heart and mind. Before I get in my car, I remind my staff how much I appreciate their hard work, and then encourage them to have a relaxing day off tomorrow.
We will do it all again on Thursday.
#NOMV#veterinarian#veterinary#vettech#kindness#emotionalhealth#animals#medicine#expectation#reality#toughstuff#notonemorevet
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When the Walls Come Down
Happy Birthday to @maikkuax, I hope that you’ll have a wonderful day! Here’s some post-kidnap whump and Tony & Clint friendship for you.
Thanks to @whumphoarder for beta reading even during your vacation.
This is also for the hurt/comfort prompt of @writersmonth, written for the MCU fandom. Trigger Warnings for PTSD and the aftermath of torture, but nothing too graphic.
__________________
“This is so good,” Tony sighs as he ravenously tears bites from the days-old sandwich Clint found in his bag. “Really, I haven’t had anything like this in weeks.”
Clint knows that many people have to make do with even worse throughout their lives, so the billionaire living off scraps during his kidnapping probably reestablished global equality a tiny bit. But something about the way Tony wolfs down the food as if he’s afraid it will vanish before his eyes breaks Clint‘s heart a little.
“Honestly, the food was probably the worst,” Tony continues in a conversational tone. “The rest wasn’t so bad. Less torture than last time, and I didn’t even have to build a suit to get out – thanks for that, Birdy, by the way.”
And Clint would almost believe him - would almost buy the engineer’s repeated assertions that he’s fine, that he just wants to get home and why on earth do we have to stay in a crappy motel now? But the way Tony’s eyes are darting across the room, how his face continually looks just a bit alarmed, how his hands just won’t hold still, makes it obvious to Clint that he’s not. Thanks to SHIELD, the archer has been on both sides of the prison door more often than he can count, which means that he recognises the signs all too well.
“God, is there really no way we can just ask Nat to bring the quinjet here?” Tony complains, gesturing at the water-stained walls of the tiny motel room. “This place sucks.”
Clint rolls his eyes, but he isn’t actually annoyed. He understands how much Tony must be missing home after three weeks in the clutches of “the most unprofessional kidnappers ever” (Tony’s words, but the fact that one of them actually lost their mobile phone in Tony’s cell probably speaks for itself).
“We would need clearance from the local government, and we don’t know who was involved in the kidnapping,” Clint explains yet again. “We can’t let them know where we are before we’re positive who was behind all that.” They’re going to fly civilian, but the earliest connection to the states isn’t until the next morning.
Tony grunts disdainfully and swallows another mouthful of sandwich.
He looks a bit better now than he did when Clint blasted through the cell he’d been held in, no longer dizzy from hunger and ready to pass out. But he’s still pale and shaky and tired and thin, like a low-quality photocopy of the Tony Stark they all know, and Clint guesses it will take a long time until he returns back to his usual showman appearance.
He’s also full of blood, grime, and dried sweat. With the mission successful and the adrenaline finally tapering off, Clint can’t help but notice that the man stinks.
“How about a shower?“ he suggests. “Seems like you could use one.”
Surprise flashes in Tony's tired brown eyes, as if he hadn’t even considered that possibility. Then he beams and pushes himself up with one arm on the dirty table. It doesn’t escape Clint’s notice that he’s swaying slightly from exhaustion.
“Sounds great,” Tony declares, grabbing a towel from Clint’s bag and making for the bathroom. “But don’t finish my sandwich, Bird Brain.”
*
A shower sounds great indeed.
God, Tony’s missed this so much. He’s gotten so used to the layer of grime on his skin, the foul smell surrounding him, and the itching of the greasy hair on his skull that he’s almost forgotten what it is to be clean. He undresses quickly, suddenly eager to rid himself of the clothes he’s been wearing for weeks, then flinches when they scrape over the wounds and bruises covering his body.
Some of the burn wounds are clearly infected, which might be the source of the low-grade fever he’s sure he’s been running for days. He knows they’ll need proper dressing and probably antibiotics to heal. Clint offered several times to examine him, but Tony refused adamantly. He’ll have to show them to the doctors either way, probably tomorrow once they get back to SHIELD and he’s forced to go through the whole-ass process of debriefing and recounting and getting every inch of his skin checked over. But for now he’s just happy to have his body to himself. Nobody kicking what they aren’t supposed to kick, no burning irons and god-knows-what scorching his skin, nobody touching where they aren’t supposed to touch.
Tony gets into the shower, and god, it feels so good. It’s like heaven, except that the shower is too small to sit down and the water pressure is a bit too low and he sort of misses the customised massage functions that the Tower’s bathtubs offer. But hey, after three weeks with a rusty bucket of ice water, his standards aren’t exactly what they used to be.
He‘s half under, feeling the hot water run down his aching back, cleaning layers of dirt off his skin. He moans with relief before stepping in fully, reaching for the small packet of shampoo on the basin’s edge. Then the next thing he knows, he’s on his knees on the floor, the showerhead hitting the ground with a bang, and he can’t breathe anymore.
“Tony?” Clint immediately calls from outside.
I’m fine, he wants to shout, I’m a-okay, stop worrying Bird Brain, but all that comes out is a choked cough. Tony’s breaths are heaving, his heart is running a marathon in his chest.
“Tony? Answer me, or I’m coming in!”
“‘m good,” he manages to croak. “Jus’ slipped.”
He can’t hear whether Clint replies anything, but at least the other man doesn’t enter. Tony manages to maneuver himself into a sitting position against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees, the shower spilling water between his toes. He’s trembling hard and the breaths still won’t come, leaving him on the verge of hyperventilating. Even the thought of getting his head back under the shower spray causes his chest to constrict and the panic to rise up, flashbacks threatening to take over.
Fuck. These assholes even managed to ruin this for him. It had taken him years to stop getting nightmares of drowning after his time in Afghanistan, and now four rounds of waterboarding were enough to bring all of it back. Fuck his life.
After what seems like centuries, Tony finally manages to get back to his feet. He cleans himself off with his hands and the towel, standing as far away from the shower as possible, and pointedly avoids the cracked mirror on the wall.
When he reenters the room wrapped in the towel, Clint gives him a long look, his eyes lingering at the barely healed cuts and scorch wounds on his arms and on his visibly unwashed hair. He doesn’t say anything, and Tony doesn’t know whether he should be grateful or worried that the obvious marks of torture don’t seem to faze the archer in the least.
*
It doesn’t take long for Tony to drift off against the sound of the TV, which is really more white noise than anything because neither of them understands the local language.
Clint has had years of practice learning to exist in a state that is not really asleep and not really awake. He rests, knowing that tomorrow will be a long day, but doesn’t let himself slip too deeply into unconsciousness. So when Tony starts twitching in his sleep, his face screwed up in obvious distress, and lets out a low moan, Clint is immediately alert.
“Hey,” he soothes. “Wake up, shellhead.”
When this doesn’t yield the desired effect, he reaches for Tony’s shoulder. A light touch is enough to cause the man to jerk upright, his hand batting Clint’s away reflexively even before he is fully awake. Clint has enough training to evade the hit and catch Tony’s hand mid-slap, guiding it back down. He frowns when he realises that Tony’s skin feels warm to the touch.
“Hey,” he repeats. “Tony, it’s me. 2013. Europe. Shitty motel, remember?”
Tony looks at him, recognition slowly flooding back into his eyes, then nods at Clint’s hand on his wrist. “Care to let go?”
Clint does as demanded. “Care to explain why you’re running a fever?”
Tony glances away. “Nothing serious,” he deflects.
Clint scoffs.
“Fine, if you must know - a few of the burns got infected,” he amends. “Nothing that some Penicillin can’t fix.”
“Because you can judge that, Stark MD.” Clint raises an eyebrow. “You should let me look at them. You know that you’ll have to get a complete medical examination as soon as we’re back at HQ anyway, right?”
“Yes, and that’s why I don’t need your hands on me now,” Tony spits back, but the look he gives Clint is almost pleading.
Clint remembers Texas - two months held in captivity by a bunch of neo-Nazis who found a perverted pleasure in using his arms and back as a human ashtray. He remembers the feeling of his body not being his own anymore, how it took weeks until he would stop flinching at Laura’s gentle touch. His skin didn’t look much different from Tony’s then.
“Okay,” he concedes. “But minor burns - that’s all there is, right? Fury’s gonna be up my ass if you kick the bucket on my watch after being rescued.”
“Pinky promise, Barton,” Tony mutters. He’s laid back down and is almost out again. Clint has never seen Tony voluntarily go to sleep in front of anyone before and it worries him a bit. He can’t get them back to New York quickly enough.
The fever rises, leaving the engineer alternately shivering under the blanket and kicking it away. Tony’s made it clear enough that touch is not an option at the moment, but Clint still tries to make him a little more comfortable by draping a wet undershirt over his forehead in the absence of any clean washcloths, refreshing it every half hour to keep him cool.
It’s almost four in the morning when Tony wakes with a strangled cry, panting.
“Tony,” Clint says firmly. Calmly, he leans over to switch on the bedside lamp. Tony’s wide eyes follow him, his breaths still coming out fast, but once the light flickers on, he visibly relaxes.
“That bulb’s from the 70s,” he remarks hoarsely when he’s caught his breath, nodding at the lamp. “Let’s get out of this shithole.”
It’s obvious that neither of them is going to go back to sleep, so Clint prepares a meagre breakfast with instant coffee and the sandwich that’s left. Tony sips at the coffee listlessly, his head leaned heavily against the wall.
“What’s wrong?” Clint nods at the sandwich that Tony hasn’t touched. “Yesterday you were so wild about it.”
Tony shakes his head. “Kinda nauseous,” he admits.
“Well, you need to have some of it if you want meds,” Clint states the obvious.
“Yeah mom,” Tony retorts, staring at the bread with a distinct lack of enthusiasm before biting off a tiny piece and then reaching for the painkillers across the table. The blanket falls off his shoulders, and Clint notices spots of blood all over the loose SHIELD t-shirt he’s lent to the other man.
“You should let me dress those wounds,” he tries once more. “It’s a long flight. No sense in letting that fever climb higher.”
Tony gives him a long look, his eyes a bit glassy. Finally, something softens in his expression. “You got stuff for that here?” he asks.
Clint snorts. “I’m a SHIELD agent on a mission. What do you think I carry in my bag, cupcakes and lipstick?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Tony mutters with a shrug. “You know how to suture?”
His expression is dead serious, but Clint catches a sparkle in his eyes that’s not caused by the fever. He doesn’t even bother to give an answer.
*
Tony pulls the shirt over his head, all of his muscles protesting. Every cell in his body aches, his bones feeling heavier than lead and his skin on fire. Tony’s vision is a bit blurred, giving the world a surreal quality, which doesn’t really help convince him that what he’s seeing now is any more real than his nightmares were. He’s nauseated. He’s tired. He wants Pepper, now. He wants to be home, like, three weeks ago. But it’s not as if the world ever listens to him.
He definitely doesn’t want Barton to stitch him up, but then again, he knows that a 12-hour plane ride won’t be fun with his fever on the rise, and it doesn’t make much of a difference whether it’s Clint now or SHIELD Medical later who get their hands on him. At least the archer is someone he knows, someone he – well, trust is a strong word and not one Tony likes to use carelessly, but he guesses that it comes close to what he feels for the team.
Tony tells himself not to flinch when Clint starts with the first of the wounds, but as soon as the needle pierces his skin, he does anyways and catches the other man glancing at him with knowing eyes.
Oh, fuck that. These assholes had to show up just when he thought he’d gotten a grip on the PTSD that was his little souvenir from the whole New York experience. He really hopes Clint’s dealt with all of his kidnappers the same way he did with the guard in front of Tony’s cell door. His memory is more than fuzzy, but he’s pretty sure that the man had been writhing in a puddle of blood when they’d left the place.
“Lean forward,” Clint directs, and Tony does as he’s told, exposing his back to the archer and letting his feverish head rest on the cool wood of the rickety table.
The needle stings a bit and the disinfectant burns, but he’s had much, much worse over the past few weeks, and once he’s convinced his brain that Clint is not going to start beating him up any minute, it’s almost pleasant to have someone take care of his bruised and battered frame.
Tony feels himself drift off, thinking of home and his bed and JARVIS and Pepper, of movie nights with Happy and Rhodey, of Bruce and their lab work, of Nat’s and Clint’s bickering and Steve’s angrily raised eyebrows. He allows himself to look forward to them as something real, something in reach, not just a vision to hold on to in order to get through the next round of torture. It still feels surreal to be free, as free as anyone can be with the memories hovering just at the back of their mind.
“All done, Frankenstein,” Clint states after a while, rousing him from his almost spaced-out state. “Ready to go home?”
His eyes still closed, Tony nods against the hard surface of the table. Home. Yes, home, that sounds wonderful.
__________________
All my fics
Taglist: @toomuchtoread33 @yepokokfine
#writersmonth2019#tony stark#hurt tony#The title comes from the Kings of Leon song 'Walls'#if anyone was wondering#clint barton#kidnapping#torture#hurt tony stark#tony stark has a heart#fever
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HOSPITAL! DRAMA!!
written for @brokenwoodfanpage‘s fic week - prompt was ‘hospital’
this is absolute crack. also available on the ao3
--
9.30am at Brokenwood Regional Hospital. It’s not the biggest of places, but it’s got a reputation for the cleverest puns, the steamiest situations, and a whole host of miracle cures.
People come from miles around to be cured of their ailments, and for the most part, Diagnostician Mike Shepherd and his team solve their case in a matter of days. It’s truly newsworthy.
Etc.
But you’re not here to listen to the sciencey stuff. You’re here for the drama. The excitement! The perfectly M-rated raunchiness that can only be shown on TV at 8pm. That kind of thing.
Like I said, it’s 9.30am, and shiz is already going down.
Immunologist Jared Morehu strolls out of one of the cleaning cupboards, clothes only slightly dishevelled, with another doctor in tow. He winks at the camera. It’s pretty obvious what’s been going on.
The other doctor - who probably should have a name or something, so we’ll call him Doctor Smith - backs him into a wall, staring him down intensely. The music swells, and we pull into a close up on their faces.
Doctor Smith, with much drama, “Will I ever see you again?”
“I don’t know, e te tau.” Jared says, with a very dramatic sigh, because he might be played by a Maori actor, but he certainly talks like he was written by an all-Pakeha writing team with no cultural consultant. “Taku kuru pounamu. I’ll see you.”
“Ohhh.” Doctor Smith sighs, and glides off dramatically down the hallway away from him, doctor’s coat swept up behind him as he goes. “I’ll never forget you, Jared.”
“Thank you!” Jared calls, but he’s secretly forgotten the other doctor’s name already.
(It’s Doctor Smith).
10am brings our intrepid team together for the first time of the day. There’s a new case. Neurosurgeon Kristen Sims has a mug of coffee she brewed at the office’s kitchenette. The pot is also on the table, but no-one else wants one (because she’s truly terrible at brewing it. Truly.)
Infectious Disease Specialist Sam Breen has his own cup of coffee, which he purchased at the coffee cart down the road, because he might be generally afraid of germs and what tiny little infections can be found floating invisibly through the air, but he’s more afraid of Kristen’s coffee.
Mike’s there, also. He’s got his head stuck in a report, because he might be the lead character on a hospital soap, but he’s also the only one who actually does work.
They’re all just waiting for Jared. But, they all know Jared, and this is a sexy, sexy hospital that occasionally solves medical mysteries. He’ll turn up.
10.05am. Breen and Kristen aren’t even pretending to work now. Mike is still reading his report. Jared is nowhere to be seen.
Breen clears his throat. “Mike-”
At that very moment, Jared runs in, his clothes, once again, heavily dishevelled. (To no-one’s surprise.)
“Sorry.” Jared gasps, out of breath. “Weather- y’know, bro?”
Everyone knows that’s a lie. But, they don’t mention it. It’s commonplace in this workplace. Hardly an issue.
“Of course.” Mike says, and puts down his report. He holds the tension, just a little. “...Did you know we’ve got a case of smallpox in this hospital?”
“Smallpox?” Breen echoes.
Kristen gets it. This is a worry for him. Not just because of the pandemic risk, but also because overtime this week means he’ll probably have to miss his anniversary dinner for the third year in a row.
At this rate, no-one will actually think he has a girlfriend.
Kristen honestly isn’t so sure.
“Yes.” Mike replies, and passes copies of the case file out to them all. “Presenting with a rash, fever, vomiting, vertigo and sores in the mouth. The Ministry of Health is on-route.”
“Shouldn’t it be left to them, then?” Kristen asks. “Stave off a pandemic, and all.”
“Yes…” Mike says, slowly. “But I don’t think it’s smallpox.”
Cue a rip-off of the Shortland St Theme!
12pm puts Kristen and Sam in the lunchroom. A grey-haired man with a cane sits at a table opposite, deep in conversation with a brunet. It's American. Sarcastic. Oddly reminiscent of something else...
Anyway. Kristen has a salad. It looks delightful. Sprouts, feta, kale, sunflower seeds - healthy stuff for healthy people.
Breen has a milkshake. It is… less so. Think of a McDonalds milkshake, then add a whole lot more angst and ice cream. It’s very unhealthy.
“Smallpox?” Kristen asks, eating her salad. It’s all very healthy and beautiful and stuff, and shines with a beautiful healthy glow.
(This writer has solely eaten bread today and is pining for vegetables. Don't judge.)
Breen nods, pensively. “Smallpox.” He sips at his milkshake in a way that is very, very annoying.
The two Americans get up from the other table, with the grey-haired one shooting Breen an irritated look. There's no argument though, and the Americans leave. It's probably for the best.
"Well, you definitely drove them away." Kristen says.
"I did not." Breen stops drinking his milkshake. "It's not like this place needs to be silent, though. Do you know them?"
"Not really." Kristen muses, fork halfway through a kale leaf. "The brunette works in oncology. I think the man with the cane is trying to get Mike's job."
"Well, he won't give that up easily."
Before the pair can say anything resembling anything remotely intelligent, an alarm goes off. The normal bright white lunchroom lights switch to red. Steel shutters slam down over the exit doors and across the window locks.
It is all very dramatic, and certainly far too ridiculous for a middle of the road hospital in rural New Zealand. However, that’s what happens.
“Quarantine?” Breen asks, putting his milkshake down.
“Quarantine.” Kristen affirms, and looks over to him.
A look passes between them. As to what that look is, no-one knows! It’ll be revealed in about three hundred words’ time.
Good.
Down in the morgue, Gina blinks at the shutters for a moment, then turns back to the corpse she’s examining. Things like this don’t phase her, it’s not like she’s under Russian quarantine.
Now we’ve gotten that scene out of the way, we jump to Mike and Jared, who are also trapped together. However, they’re actually doing science, and not just eating their lunch, because they’re actually good doctors, though potentially very foolish ones.
The patient is in front of them. Outside in the corridor, MoH people wearing significant PPE are milling about, generally quite pissed at them. However, they can’t do anything about it, because Mike and Jared have willingly exposed themselves to the virus by locking themselves in the room.
“I really hope you’re sure about this, bro.” Jared says, looking over at his boss a little nervously. “‘Cause if you’re not, you’re putting a lot of faith into our immune systems.”
“If we were going to catch it, we’ve caught it already.” Mike says, and fiddles with a piece of medical equipment. “Now, look at this.”
Great! That wasn’t a pointless scene at all. Now, back to Kristen and Sam.
They’re arm wrestling. Kristen, unsurprisingly, is winning. She pushes Breen’s arm right down towards the table, and yeah, it’s real tense.
Then, with one final push, she slams his arm right down against the tabletop. “I win!” She declares, though there’s really nothing to win.
Sam winces and shakes the pain out of his arm. “Not fair. I’m not left handed.”
“Neither am I.” Kristen replies, and grins over at him, only a smidge toothily.
With an odd look in his eyes, he smirks, reaches out and-
Jared is examining something under a microscope. “What do you think, Mike?”
Mike leans in, takes his place. “You’ve got it-”
Back to Kristen and Sam.
“I can’t believe- You have a girlfriend!”
“Had. Had a girlfriend. And that doesn’t mean anything anyway these days. Just let me-”
Kristen exhales heavily, and trembles a little. “Sam. Please.”
Jared and Mike appear to have hit on something.
“If you look at the historical journals of where the patient was diving - there’s an inconsistency.” Mike says, pointing at a specific paragraph of said journal.
“You’re not kidding, bro.” Jared says, squinting out towards the MoH officials. “Do you think any of them speak Spanish?”
Kristen wanders away from the table, clothes a smidge dishevelled, and looks out the window. They’ve been in lockdown together for a full three hours and honestly, she’s sick of it.
Breen is eating her salad, looking sweaty. Through a mouthful of leaves, he says, “Do you think they’ve forgotten about us?”
She shoots him a withering look. “Doubtful.”
“Mhmm.” He stands up, wanders over to the window as well. He squints out into the sunlight. “Do you see Helen out there? She’s the best cat. 68 years old in cat years or something like that. Very not racist. Last time she let me pat her I almost felt honored.”
“Mhmm.” Kristen replies. Then, after a moment, it hits her. “Breen. The journals. The cat in those journals.”
“The cat?” He blinks, takes a second. His eyes widen. “Rickettsialpox.”
Kristen’s already got her phone out of her pocket, and she’s dialing Mike.
“I can’t believe we were stuck in here for three hours for nothing.” Breen sniffs, looking out at Helen. “She’s a lucky cat, y’know.”
In the end, it’s all wrapped up very simply. It’s not smallpox, but rickettsialpox, something that can easily be treated with antibiotics and a good night’s sleep. The MoH disappear as soon as they came, and Kristen and Sam are let out of the lunchroom.
Another day well spent, the team all sits down around the office table with fish and chips.
“What were you two doing while we were working?” Mike asks, curious despite himself.
“Arm wrestling.” Kristen says.
Breen shrugs. “I was mostly looking at cats.”
“Breen has a boyfriend.” Kristen exclaims. “Never even said. All this time I thought he was with Roxy.”
Breen shrugs, again. “People change.”
“Bro.” Jared says, looking interested, “You’re a hit with the tāne too?”
Breen shrugs, for a third time. “What can I say - who wouldn’t want this?”
Kristen snorts. Prolongedly. “Sorry, I just-”
“What, so you two never-” Jared glances between them, and the implication is obvious.
Mike, obviously not in the mood for gossip, rolls his eyes, takes his fish and chips, and leaves the table.
“What?” Sam yelps.
“Never.” Kristen says, looking horrified. “No. Never.”
“Never in a million trillion years.” Sam finishes, looking over at Kristen. “Never. Ew.”
“Defensive.” Jared raises his hands in mock surrender. “I wasn’t implying anything.”
But the thing is, he’ll never actually know the truth, and neither will you.
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Take Care Of You
Combining @ms-delos request: Can I have Logan refusing to go to a doctor?🤣 all macho man! with @funerals-with-cake Could you do ‘A not understanding why B’s doing doing this because ‘nobody has ever taken care of me before’’ from the SicFics, with Logan pleaseeee!! P.S. I adore your writing, it’s next level :)
Thanks for the requests, guys! I hope you like your sick Logan!
*gif not mine*
“I’m not sick,” Logan sniffled.
“You’re sick,” you said back.
“No,” he sniffled again, “I’m fine. The picture of health.” He coughed. “You’re sick.”
“Okay,” you put your purse down and approached Logan, who was lying on the couch wearing nothing but a pink mink coat, “Let me feel your forehead.” He nuzzled into your hand with a soft sigh. He was burning up. “Aw, baby.”
“I’m fine,” he said, face still pressed against your hand, “I just need to get dressed, we have plans tonight.”
You clicked your tongue. “We had plans tonight, but you have a fever. Come on, let’s get you in bed.”
Logan stood up slowly, wobbling a bit until you put your arm around his waist to steady him. “I like where this is going,” he gave you a weak grin as you led him back to his bedroom.
You helped Logan in bed, stripping him of the coat and forcing him to put on a pair of boxers instead. You wrapped him in blankets before running to the kitchen to grab him a bottle of water. You looked in his medicine cabinet but only found condoms and sleeping pills. Great. You walked back into the bedroom, hands on your hips. “I’ll let you rest for another 30 minutes, then we’re going to the doctor.”
Logan sat up, glaring at you with watery eyes. “I’m not going to a damn doctor,” he protested.
“Logan—”
“—I haven’t been to the doctor since I was 19 and so high that I could hear colors,” he went on, “and the only reason I even went was because I’d had a hard-on for 18 hours straight. That’s too much, even for me…”
“You have a fever, and you need antibiotics,” you countered, “It’s only going to get worse.”
“I’m a man,” he huffed, wrapping himself up in his blankie, “I’m gonna tough it out and get over it and it’ll be fine.” He smirked. “Then I’m gonna shower, change the sheets, and fuck you until you also agree that I’m a man.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “I know you’re a man, Logan. I know it very well. I also know that you’re sick and you need medicine—”
“—I’m not going to a doctor,” he said, “I admit that I might be…a little sick,” he choked on a cough but went on, “I probably have a cold. But I’m not going to the doctor!” He coughed again, his body shaking with the force of it.
“Okay, okay,” you sighed, running over to him and rubbing his back, “no doctor. Fine.” You handed him his water bottle. “Drink.” He gulped it down. “Lay back.” He did as he was told—for once. You ran your fingers through his hair, sighing again as you felt the heat coming off of his skin. “Have you eaten yet today?”
“I had a glass of wine and half a cinnamon roll,” he reported.
“Jesus, Logan, how are you even alive?” You fluffed his pillows and helped him tug the blanket up around his chin. “What have you been doing all day?”
“Trying to get ready for tonight.”
“In Burberry pink mink?” You asked.
He shrugged. “I wanna treat you right. Had reservations and everything,” he looked up at you with puppy-dog eyes, “We can still make it if we hurry.” He blinked up at you. “You look so pretty.”
Laughing, you ruffled his hair, making him huff in protest. “I’m wearing sweats.”
“You’re right, you’d look better in nothing. Grab my mink coat, baby, I wanna see you wear it.” He grinned.
“Maybe after I get back.” You said, giving him a quick kiss on his warm forehead.
“Get back? Where are you going?” He pouted.
“I’m going to get you some medicine and chicken noodle soup and tea,” you said, going over to the wall and flicking the lights off, “Take a nap, baby.”
He snuggled into the blankets; a pout clear on his face even in the dim room. “I sleep better when you’re with me,” he muttered.
You giggled. You walked back over to him and kissed his forehead one more time. “I’ll be back before you know it,” you said, “Get some rest, baby.”
Logan’s eyes were fluttering closed, but he turned his head in your direction. “Get back soon, baby.”
You hurried to the store, eager to be back with Logan, but there must have been some kind of virus going around, because everyone in New York suddenly needed tissues and soup and cough medicine, so you had to go to three different places to get everything Logan needed. Three hours had passed by the time you walked back into Logan’s place, and you hoped he’d slept the whole time.
He did.
He was still in bed, on his side hugging a pillow to his chest with two blankets over him. You could see him shivering, even though he was sweaty when you touched his forehead. You went to the kitchen and got to work fixing his soup and organizing the armful of meds you got for him. Another hour passed before you heard the sound of Logan sluggishly getting out of bed and hobbling to the kitchen. He was wearing his boxers and his fluffy navy-blue robe, and he looked adorable.
“Hey baby,” he greeted you, his voice barely a whisper.
You melted. “Hey,” you wrapped him in your arms, and Logan dropped his head onto your shoulder, “I’m sorry it took me so long, every store was packed—”
He turned so his face was nuzzled against your neck. His beard and breath tickled you as he spoke, and you weren’t sure if it was the fever or just Logan that was making you so hot. “No need to apologize, baby.” He hugged you to him. “I’ve never… No one’s ever taken care of me before. I…” He looked back at you, the confusion clear in his face. “…how can I pay you back?”
Now you were confused. “Pay me back?” You repeated.
“I mean—I ruined date night, made us lose our reservation and now you’re taking care of me—”
“Because I want to, not because I want something in return,” you clarified, running your fingers through his hair until he put his head back on your shoulder. You rubbed his back with your other hand. “How you feelin’?”
He sniffled. “Throat hurts. Head hurts. ‘M cold. Achy.” His hand traveled down to your ass, giving it a feeble squeeze. “’M hungry.”
You laughed. “Let’s get you to bed, and I’ll make you something to eat.” You helped Logan back into bed, turning on the TV for him. “I got some different kinds of tea; I’ll make you a cup while you wait.” You kissed his forehead. “You’re not allowed to get on your phone,” you said as you walked out, “No work!”
Thankfully, you were able to get Logan to take some medicine with his tea, (you had to bargain “medicine here or go see a doctor!” to get it, but it worked), and he ate his soup with no complaints. In fact, between the soup, the medicine, and you cuddling with him in bed while Pretty Woman played softly in the background (“she’s just like me!” Logan had excitedly slurred when it came on), he was starting to get drowsy.
“Baby girl,” he said, head against your chest as you rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head, “I gotta ask you somethin’.”
“Yeah?”
“When you’re little, who’s supposed to take care of you when you’re sick?” He asked, dark eyes blinking up at you innocently.
You stared down at him. The fact that he would even ask that question was heartbreaking. “Your parents,” you answered simply.
He hummed, closing his eyes. “Mine never did. Our nannies took care of us, and they were paid for it.” He smiled, looking more like himself in that moment than he had all day. “No one’s paying you, though.” His smile turned into smirk. “I mean, I’m paying you in mind-blowing sex…”
You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’m taking care of you because I love you, you ass.”
Logan looked at you, his dark eyes a little watery and drowsy, but still gorgeously alive. “I love you, baby.” He smiled. “Thank you.”
You kissed his forehead again, knowing the chances of you getting sick too were getting higher and higher but not caring. “You don’t have to thank me,” you said gently, cradling his head in your arms as you ran your fingers through his thick, messy hair, “Relax, baby. This is your favorite part…”
You and Logan watched the movie together until he dozed off, snoring softly into your chest as the movie went on. You ended up falling asleep as well, and when you woke up, Logan was gone.
Stretching, you wandered into the kitchen to find your boyfriend, shirtless, standing at the stove. “What are you doing?” You asked.
He turned, a spatula in his hand. “Good mornin’, baby,” he said, shooting you a smile, “I was gonna make you breakfast in bed.”
“How are you feeling?” You asked, coming up behind him to give him a hug. He still felt warm, but he was already looking better.
“Better,” he answered, smiling down at you, “My throat still hurts, but I think the medicine kicked in.”
“I told you so,” you teased, turning him around with your hands on his hips, “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll finish breakfast?”
“But baby,” he whined even as you moved him to sit at the table.
“No buts! You’re still sick, you need to rest.” You kissed his temple. “How about orange juice, toast, and some pills?” You offered.
“And a kiss?” He asked. You pecked his forehead again. “I meant a real kiss.”
“Not until you’re confirmed as non-contagious,” you sang.
He pouted. “Confirmed by who? You?”
You grinned, pouring a glass of orange juice for him, taking great care to give him a good look down your shirt. He took the bait—just like you knew he would. Your smile was as sweet as sugar when you straightened up, looking down at him while batting your eyelashes. “A doctor.”
His mouth fell open, scandalized. You went about preparing his breakfast, humming as you laid his medicine out for him. Finally, he spoke. “…Can we go to the doctor today?”
You nodded. “Yes we can, baby.” You went over to him and kissed the top of his head. “And after you get a clean bill of health,” you promised, cuddling him to your chest, “I’ll let you take care of me…”
You could feel his smirk against your skin. Even if you did get sick, it would be more than worth.
Logan was always worth it.
*******************************************************************************************
Fun fact: My throat started to hurt as I was writing this :’) Comments and reblogs are always appreciated!
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I wrote a thing.
UF!Grillby/Reader
Reader’s sister needs someone to babysit.
“Hm…fuck no? Is that a good answer?” Grillby said, crossing his arms and shifting his weight back away, effectively closing himself off. You leaned against the table, pressing your lips together. That was precisely the kind of reaction you were expecting to get, honestly, but you were going to give it your best attempt instead of letting the topic slid there.
“It’s only for a week, and I’ll be the one looking after ‘em. I’m their last resort, anyways! Everyone else is either busy or doesn’t have the time,” you explained, allowing your voice to take on a hint of begging. You may be proud, but with your boyfriend, you weren’t above begging. He rolled his eyes, or the approximation of the action as he didn’t have eyes really to roll.
“I don’t care if you were the last person on Earth,” Grillby gritted out, “I am not allowing a kid into this apartment.”
“Why not?”
“Five reasons,” Grillby held up a hand, he lowered one finger per excuse. “One, I hate kids. Two, they’re messy and sticky and get shit everywhere. Three, I can’t swear in front of them. Four, a week with a kid in the apartment means a week where I can’t have sex. Five, what would Sans say if his bedroom was occupied?”
You held up your hand and with each counter point you raised a finger, “One, you don’t hate kids you just don’t know how to act around them. Two, she’s not a messy kid. Three, you can swear in front of her since her parents do. Four, we can still have sex we just got to get creative and make sure the bedroom door is locked. Five, if you’re really that concerned about Sans’ sleeping arrangements he can sleep with us in our bed when he gets black out drunk.”
He scowled at you for that last one, then ran a hand down his face, “Why do you care? Can’t they just hire some nanny or some shit like that?”
“Not everyone’s as rich as you, Grillby,” you pointed out.
“What if I hire someone for them instead?” he gestured to himself.
“I don’t trust you to hire someone with the right credentials,” you admitted, giving him an apologetic grin.
Apparently that had been a huge blow in his ego, but eventually you had gotten him to agree to babysitting your sisters kid for a week. Not a day more. You honestly weren’t excited to take care of a kid for a week, but it was for your sister and she’d owe you big time for this. You had kissed him and thanked him, saying that you owed him. He grumbled about it, and was still grumbling about it.
Especially considering the fact that you had subsequently gotten really fucking ill the day after your sister dropped off your niece. You had woken up dizzy and sweating. Grillby had taken one look at you, sworn, and taken you to the doctor. He’d almost forgotten to bring your niece as well, and you weren’t in any mindset to actually remember. You could barely remember how to zip up your jacket let alone that you had a small child to look after. Your niece was cuddled up in your arms in the waiting room as your boyfriend sat with his head in his hands.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, leaning against him, the simple act felt way too much for you.
“It’s not your fucking fault,” he replied, turning and kissing your forehead. It surprised you, he normally wasn’t an affectionate person in public, well not that sort of affection. Though, you were feeling chilled and the warmness against your forehead was delightful so you leaned further against him.
Grillby wasn’t used to seeing you so…weak. Pale. Awful. You could barely hold onto the child in your arms as the three of you walked back to the car. So, Grillby reluctantly held his arms out towards you. You looked at him tired confusion in your eyes. “Gimme the kid,” he muttered, and you slowly shifted the sleeping kid over into his arms.
Well.
This was weird.
He couldn’t say he liked it.
The child was small, and stared up at him with as much apprehension as he stared down at her with. She was stiff as he attempted to hold her like you had been holding her. Then again, that was probably because he was stiff as well. With a grimace, he shook off the awkwardness of the situation and placed a hand on your lower back and guided you over to the car. You were ill and you needed antibiotics for the next week until whatever this was had passed. Which meant, instead of you looking after the kid.
He was going to have to look after a child that wasn’t his, and look after his sick girlfriend.
He didn’t mind the latter of those responsibilities, but the first? He didn’t care for your sister too much, and thought her husband was a bastard, so looking after their child was not something he wanted to do at all. He’d only allowed the kid to be in your apartment because you said you’d take care of her.
With a sigh, he fumbled with the car seat until you brushed him aside and did it before you got into the front seat. By the time he got to the drivers seat, you were well on your way to passing out, arms crossed and slouched in the seat. He hoped to the stars that you would be lucid enough to at least tell him what to do, and deal with the kid while he was at work. Grillby was not going to miss work because of a dumb kid.
When he pulled into the parking stall, he nudged you gently awake. You blinked sleepily before getting out of the car, he worried when you swayed slightly. Then he was hit with the sudden need to get you away from everyones eyes. So, he scooped the kid out of the car as fast as he could and got you onto the elevator. You were weak. Defenseless. Not only that, but there was also the weak, defenceless child. At least with the kid he knew none of his enemies would bother with it. No one would harm kids, after all.
The panic about your safety faded the moment he locked the door to the apartment.
You fumbled with your zipper and he assisted you getting your winter gear off before handing you the kid. You stared at the kid for a second and then looked up at him confusedly. “What?”
Fuck.
Just what he needed.
“I don’t know how to take off the snow suit shit you put on her,” Grillby said, giving the baby a small wiggle. She giggled and kicked her feet.
You made a ‘oh’ noise before reaching forward and taking the kid from him. He breathed out a sigh of relief as you worked the snowsuit off the kid. Grillby watched you as you talked to your niece cheerfully, even exhausted and sick as all hell you were still being super sweet and cute to a kid that wasn’t even your own. You stood up, wobbly, and he quickly placed a hand on your back to steady you.
“You should rest,” Grillby pointed out, “I don’t want to have to take you back to the doctor because you cracked your skull open.”
“I’ll be fine, I got medication,” you retorted waving a hand, and scooping up your niece. “Plus I said I’d look after Alex, so look after her I will.”
Grillby didn’t bother fighting you, but kept a close eye on you and the kid. He lounged on the couch with a book so that he could keep an eye on you as you did various activities with the kid. At one point, the chubby little shit got up and headed over to him and held up a crayon drawing. He looked at it, and then glanced back at you. You looked even sicker than you had earlier, but you gave him a thumbs up.
“Looks good,” he muttered, “What is it? An eggplant and a potato?”
“It you,” the kid pointed at the purple shaped object, “n’ auntie.”
You giggled at that, but in a way that made him realize that you were becoming loopy. Grillby sighed, biting back his normal saucy response and instead sat up.
You should sleep,” he said, directing his attention towards you. You rolled onto your back on the ground.
“Gotta watch Alex,” you replied, giving him another thumbs up.
“Doesn’t the kid need a nap too or something? Wasn’t that what your sister said?” Grillby gestured towards the kid who had placed the drawing on his lap and was heading back over to the crayons on the living room floor. He really hoped there wasn’t any crayon on the wood. When you just made a fart noise he sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I’m not your babysitter.”
“I’ll sleep when you go to work,” you said before rolling back onto your stomach and sitting up. “I need to give Alex a bath.”
Grillby sighed deeply before waving a hand, “Don’t drown in the tub. I can’t help you out if you do.”
You stuck your tongue out at him as you got to your feet and scooped up Alex. She complained as you disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him alone in living room. He checked his watch. A little over two hours before work. He could go early to get everything ready, but he didn’t really feel comfortable leaving you alone while you were sick. So, he listened closely, hearing the kid complaining about not wanting a bath fading into giggles from both you and the kid.
Eventually, he got up and peeked into the bathroom to ask what you wanted for dinner.
You were drying the kid off, a fond look on your face as you booped her on the nose.
“What do you want for dinner?” he asked, shoving down the strange fluttering in his SOUL at that sight. He didn’t have time to unpack it and quite frankly, he didn’t care to at all. Cus, fuck that.
“Something light,” you replied, tucking the blanket around the kid. “I don’t know if I can hold anything too heavy down.”
He nodded, and headed into the kitchen. When he finished, he went to find you to let you know that he’d made some soup, but he was met with the sight of you passed out on the bed with Alex flipping through one of the books her mother had left with them. Grillby sighed heavily. Great. Could he even leave you alone with the kid tonight? His bar was open for nine hours…
Closing his eyes, he rubbed at them roughly for a second.
Then he stepped out of the room and called up Sans.
“to what do i owe the pleasure?” Sans said as he answered the phone.
“Come to my apartment,” Grillby practically ordered before hanging up.
It took longer than Grillby would’ve liked before Sans popped into existence in the middle of the living room. Sans scratched at his skull, staring down at the crayons and papers still strewn about. “arts n’crafts grillbz? didn’t take ya for the kind of monster.”
Grillby explained the situation simply instead of allowing himself to rise to the bait. “I need you to make sure neither of them ends up killing themselves.”
“what? no.” Sans held up his hands, “i ain’t a babysitter.”
“I’ll cut your tab in half,” Grillby insisted, and saw Sans’ face twitch.
A second passed and then Sans groaned, “fine, fine. i’ll make sure they don’t off themselves.”
“Good,” Grillby said and then placed a hand on Sans’ jacket. The scent of burning cloth rose up, “If even a hair on their head is injured-“
Sans shrugged off Grillby’s hand, “ya trust me ‘nuff ta look after yer mate and a kid, and i ain’t about to break that trust, grillby.”
Grillby nodded stiffly before turning and heading back into the spare room. He carefully picked you up from the bed and brought you into your actual bedroom. After waking you up briefly to explain what was happening, giving you medication, he tucked you into bed and headed back out.
Alex was staring at Sans with as much apprehension as a little kid could have.
“I’ll be back at two sharp,” Grillby informed Sans as he pulled on his jacket. Alex trotted over and tugged at Grillby’s hand. “I go too?”
“No?” Grillby pulled his hand from Alex. As he turned, the little girl tugged at his hand again.
“I go too.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Grillby picked up Alex, holding her at arms length and strode over to Sans. He placed her beside him. “Stay.”
“Go!”
He ignored her and left.
Sans looked down at the kid, who was glaring after Grillby. Then, she burst into tears.
You woke up the next morning, feeling a bit more clear-headed. You pushed yourself up slightly, groaning. Okay, strike that. You were aching. You probably should take a warm bath, or get a massage from Grillby to help with the aches and pains. Speaking of…Grillby wasn’t lying beside you which was strange. He always slept in later than you, as he didn’t need to work until later in the day. You slowly got out of bed, pulling on a sweater to fight off the chill, and left your bedroom.
Grillby was cooking pancakes in the kitchen and Alex was babbling away to Grillby as she ate some mashed fruits messily.
The apartment was an absoloute nightmare.
“What happened?” you asked looking at all the toys, books, dishes and everything strewn about.
“Sans is never allowed to babysit for me again,” Grillby spat out, gesturing towards the mess, “Sure, you two didn’t die but! The apartment’s a fucking nightmare!”
“Fucking!” Alex mimicked, and then held up her spoon towards Grillby. He stared at it for a second, and only after she offered it to him again he sighed and bent down and accepted the mashed fruit with only a bit of reluctance. You fought the smile on your face.
“I’ll clean up-“
“You are sick, sit your ass down,” Grillby said, “I can clean the apartment.”
You hesitated but sat down in the chair at the island that he gestured to. Alex was sitting on the counter, which if Grillby wasn’t the one watching her you might’ve had an anyersum. You knew you sister would if she saw it, but you weren’t going to tell her. Alex scooped up some more fruit and offered it to you. You shook your head, “I’m sure Uncle Grillby would love some though.”
You saw Grillby’s flames snap oddly at being called Uncle, and he gave you a look, “Just Grillby.”
“Jus’ Gwillby,” Alex repeated, but offered the spoon towards Grillby again. He once again reluctantly accepted the food. Then he put a smaller pancake on a plate and placed it in front of her.
He made a slightly bigger one for you, and you didn’t know if you should eat it…but you did because you’d never turn down Grillby’s cooking. As you and Alex ate, he explained how he had left Sans in charge when he went to work, and that he had come back to Sans passed out on the couch, Alex passed out in the bathroom with the faucet running, and you had apparently attempted to get out of bed at one point but decided that walking was too much energy and had curled up on th floor in the hallway. He’d kicked Sans out, and put you and Alex to bed. Last night he’d been to just exhausted to deal with the mess that was the apartment but insisted that it had been worse when he had gotten home.
You apologized once more, and he just gave you a blank look. “You’re sick, again not your fault. You owe me big time, but not your fault.”
You smiled, “Course, you’re the best boyfriend ever.”
He puffed up slightly as you fed his ego with just those few words.
Thankfully, that was the last fiasco. Your medication was helping, and you had a clear enough head for the rest of the week to look after Alex when Grillby went to work that you didn’t need a babysitter in the form of Sans.
Grillby wasn’t any where close to what you’d call affectionate with Alex, but he seemed to tolerate her enough that sometimes their interactions were cute. At one point, she wanted to know what he was reading, so he read out loud to her as she sat beside the couch and peered up at the book. When she tried to crawl into his lap, he picked her up and gave her to you instead. The one time that Alex woke up from a nightmare and snuck into your room, he had been startled as the tiny form crawled over him and nearly fell out of the bed. You’d simply groggily asked her what was wrong before allowing her to cuddle up next to you for the rest of the night.
When your sister finally came to pick Alex up, you had smiled and said everything went swimmingly. No issues. You totally weren’t sick. Grillby totally didn’t at one point let her try a sip of his whisky, and she totally didn’t pull the ‘ew gross’ face before asking for more. She totally didn’t walk in on you and Grillby getting it on because he forgot to lock the door like you had told him. She’d also definitely did not eat an entire crayon. You still weren’t sure if she did but it was missing from the crayon collection and you couldn’t find it anywhere.
It wasn’t until a few days later that your sister phoned you up.
“Why is Alex calling her father ‘bastard man’?”
You turned and glared over at Grillby. “I honestly have no idea why Alex is calling your husband a bastard. Grillby????”
Grillby merely gave you a grin that was reminesent of the knife cat meme.
So close to your sister, thinking you were the best babysitter.
So close.
#uf!grillby/reader#oneshot#fanfiction#fanfic#myfanfics#my fanfics#undertale fanfiction#uf!grillby#fluff
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Outsider Pt. 17
Pairing: Step Dad!Tony Stark x Teen!Reader
Word Count: 1.7k
Summary: An opportunity arises for Reader, and the Team finally catch a solid lead.
Warnings: A death threat.
A/N: I’m just gonna drop this here and pretend it hasn’t been almost a year since the last update.
<< Prev . Series Masterlist . Next >>
Every tip that came in, they checked. No matter where it came from, or how unlikely it was that it was actually you, they personally checked it out. They’d gone through all your things, your favorite movies, books, etc., taking note of where they took place in a far fetched hope that you’d been taken to one of those locations. Each time, they came back empty handed.
Sam was in no fit state to aid in the search, so his contribution was limited to research from within the tower and taking phone calls. And of course, watching Dean.
It’d taken three days from when he came to be lucid enough to understand what had happened, and he was pissed. Pissed at Sam for not following orders, at Bucky for not saying anything beforehand, but mostly at himself for leaving you when you needed him most.
He couldn’t sleep, and the pills the doctor gave him were no help. He’d tried to sneak a bit of whiskey from Tony’s stores, but as everyone knew he was on a strict no alcohol order from the doctor, FRIDAY would alert someone before he got too close. After cursing the ‘nosy robot lady’ for what seemed like the hundredth time, he eventually gave up, accepting his suffering as punishment for letting you down.
He wasn’t the only one.
Bucky only returned to the tower every few days, and only because Steve wouldn’t stop lecturing him if he didn’t. Steve would go on and on about how you needed him to be alright, then Bucky would snap and tell him what you really needed was to be found. He’d argue there’d be plenty of time to rest once you were safe, but Steve was persistent, and it would annoy him to no end.
Your mom would return when she felt like she was about to collapse from exhaustion, as would Tony. Only he’d get stupid drunk before passing out. Even so, he was the first one out, bright and early, checking out the next lead.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Cletus didn’t return before you tired and went to bed, and when you woke, your usual breakfast was on the table with no other sign of him. Your first instinct was to toss it, as you usually did when he wasn’t there, but your strength was dwindling, and you were going to need all the help you could get if you were going to try to escape.
You decided to eat a spoonful and wait, seeing if you felt strange before eating any more. While you waited, you checked on your wound, using the water he’d left for you to drink to try to clean it.
It was leaking, and the pain from just removing the bandage was almost unbearable. The water did little to soothe the burning, or abate the smell. You knew it was useless to ask to see a doctor, but maybe you could get him to find you a first aid kit. Some antibiotics would be ideal, but you couldn’t trust anything he gave you. Maybe if you played nice, he’d even get you a puzzle or a book or something to entertain you. You also wanted a shower and some fresh clothes, but you knew that was pressing your luck.
Since you hadn’t felt any worse from the food, you forced the rest down, leaving the empty bowl and spoon on the table where he’d left it. When you heard the door begin to unlock, you turned toward it and smiled, but it quickly fell when you saw the mood he was in.
He was muttering to himself, scowling at whatever was going on in his head. As he approached, he checked the bowl, making sure you’d eaten, before tossing it into the bucket. He reached into his pockets, pulling out at small assortment of snacks and tossed them on the bed.
“Thank you,” you whispered, chancing a look at him. He paused, meeting your eyes only for a moment before turning to walk back out the door. You heard him lock it, and you weren’t sure if you were more pleased or disappointed he didn’t stay. Your gaze landed on the vase, and you figured as long as he didn’t remove it, you still had hope. In the meantime, you would do what you could to be ready when the time came. Right now, that meant nourishment.
It was the first time he’d brought you anything prepackaged, and you were grateful for it when you checked them and saw they still had airtight seals.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
He didn’t stay with you over the next few days, only showing up with either oatmeal or snacks and water a few times a day. Each time he was more agitated than the last. Sometimes you said hello, but he rarely replied. Once you asked him what was wrong, and he’d screamed that everything was going to shit.
You didn’t dare hope he’d meant you were close to being found. But, seeing as how your meals now consisted of what you guessed were shoplifted snacks and a seemingly never ending supply of oats, it was hard not to.
“Cletus?” you prompted once when he wasn’t as angry. “Why don’t you eat with me anymore?”
“I’m busy.”
You unwrapped a candy bar, making sure he saw you eat it. “Busy with what?”
He eyed you suspiciously, but his heart fluttered at the soft, expectant look you gave him. “A fence.”
“Oh.” So that’s why he was stealing; he was out of money. “Are they hard to find?”
“No,” he growled, balling his hands into fists as they began to shake, “but none of them will deal with me now your father has THE ENTIRE COUNTRY AFTER US!!!”
You shrank away as he stood there, shouting and banging his fists against the wall. Remembering the vase, you scooted toward the edge of the bed, but realized he was too far for you to surprise him. As you made your way toward him, you realized you were also too slow.
“Stop, please, you’re hurting yourself.” He breathed heavily, still angry, but letting you inspect his hands. “I have an idea. Why don’t I write him a letter?” He glared at you, and you knew you were on thin ice. “Just something short, telling him to leave us alone. Maybe then he’ll realize it’s what we want.”
“No tricks?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. Because I’ll gut you if you do.”
“No tricks,” you promised, swallowing the lump in your throat. “And can you maybe see if you get us first aid supplies? So I can clean your hands?”
You rubbed your thumbs just under his bleeding knuckles, hoping to keep him from thinking too hard. He nodded, and walked out, locking the door. When his footsteps faded, you released the breath you were holding and began to think of something to write. If you hesitated, he’d know something was up, and you wanted to keep your insides on the inside.
He returned hours later with some paper, more wet wipes, and a box of bandaids. You tried to stay positive as you cleaned his hands and placed bandaids on his wounds, remembering you still had a letter to write. Still, your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, knowing you could die if he caught onto you.
He sat beside you, watching as you prepared to write. He tried to tell you what to say, but you argued that it had to be in your own words, or they’d never believe you meant it. You wrote quickly, and as promised, it was short. You underlined the word ‘Nothing’, smiling at him in an attempt to curb any doubts he had.
When you finished, you handed it to him and began to label the envelope as he looked it over. Your heart nearly stopped when he looked up at you with an unreadable expression.
“Do you mean it?”
Releasing a shaky breath, you reached up to caress his cheek. “Every word.”
You were met with his creepy grin, and held your breath as he leaned in. It took everything not to hurl as his lips moved against yours, and when it felt like an appropriate amount of time passed, you pulled away, taking the letter from his hands.
“We should get this sent,” you said. “The sooner they stop the search, the better.” You folded the letter, sealing it into the envelope as quickly as you could and handed it to him. With the same grin on his face, he walked out, locking the door.
You just hoped he would actually send it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
“TONY!” Happy called, running out of the elevator, a letter clutched in his hand. He reached your mother first, and handed it to her. “Is that her writing?”
Your mom saw the return address, which only had your name, and a sob escaped her. “Yes!” She tore it open and began to read it, frowning at your words. “It’s her writing, but it doesn’t read like her.”
Tony,
Since you seem to need it spelled out for you, we don’t want to be found. This is the first time in a long time I’ve felt happy, and you’re ruining everything. Leave us alone. Let us be happy. I’m fine and looking forward to my future with him. No one understands me the way he does, and Nothing will keep us apart.
Yours no longer,
Y/N
Both Happy and Tony read over her shoulder. “Maybe he told her what to write,” the former supplied.
“No,” Tony said, smiling for the first time in weeks. “FRIDAY, call everyone back to the tower, those that are here, into the conference room.”
Sam and Dean were already there when they arrived, and Steve, Vision, and Clint trickled in right after. Everyone else was either still searching the city, or following up on a tip.
“This just came in today.” He gestured to the large projection of the letter. Before he could explain any more, Sam grabbed a notepad and pen from the table and began to write. “You see it.”
“Yeah. How did she get it past him?”
“I don’t understand,” your mom stared at the projection, willing whatever it was to just jump out at her. “What am I missing?”
Tony pointed at the word ‘Nothing’, underlined for emphasis. “Here. Why capitalize and underline it? Why not capitalize the whole word? Surely one or the other would get the point across, wouldn’t it?”
“Except for hers and Tony’s name, the capital letters spell something out. FRIDAY.” The A.I. projected Sam’s notes alongside your letter, making the room go quiet.
‘STILL IN NY’
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Family.
Hello! This is one of the most special things I ever wrote. Not only because it’s emotional, but also because it was requested by one of the sweetest people this blog gave me the pleasure to meet! I hope this was what you wanted, @purplerain85 ! Thank you for trusting me with this one!
Prompt: You’re a single mom to a little girl and Tom absolutely falls in love with both of you and wants to start a family.
Warnings: Besides wanting to have babies with Tom, none.
Ps: I know what you’re thinking. “Maria, are you going to give the exact same names to the children on every story??” Yes, I will. Fight me.
like 3.5k words.
---
You were sitting on a restaurant with your 3 year-old daughter in front of you. You started to notice she kept looking at the table behind you and giggling. "Elena, leave the people alone." You tell her.
She looks at her food for a moment. Then she grabs a friench fry and lifts her little arm to show the stranger.
"Stop that." You laugh and turn around to see if there is another child behind you.
But it wasn't a child. It was a tall and extremely handsome man. You thought he looked familiar, then it hit you. It was Tom Hiddleston. You blushed so much.
"Hi, I'm sorry, but she's adorable." He said politely.
"It's okay, thanks." You smiled at him, but just wanted to run away from that place.
"What's your name, princess?" He asks your daughter.
"Elena." The little girl said proudly.
"What a beautiful name." He reaches to shake her little hand. "Mommy saw it on a history she told me." She tells him.
"What story?" He acts fascinated.
"Has looooong name." She says dramaticaly.
"Midsummer night's dream" You get more embarrased every second.
"Oh... Do you like Shakespeare?" You thought you saw him blushing now.
"Yes, very much." You smile at him.
"Oh, sorry, I'm Tom, by the way." He offers his hand to you now.
"Y/N." You shake it.
The conversation is interrupted by your daughter dropping a fork on the floor.
"Elena! Be careful." You jump at the sound of it.
"Was a pleasure to meet you, Elena." Tom says, picking the fork up and returning it to her. "And your mom too. But I better go now."
"Pleasure." The little girl repeated and you both laughed at her.
After he left, you were completely speechless. Not only you saw an actor you admired but he was also very kind to you and your daughter. And well, any mom knows the best way to make them like you is to be nice to their children.
You knew you probably wouldn't bump into Tom Hiddleston again, it doesn't simply happen like that, but you'd always remember that lunch.
---
Three weeks passed since that day.
There was a festival in town with Shakespeare's most famous plays, and that night would be your favorite: Midsummer night's dream. You left Elena at your mother's house and went to meet a friend in front of the theater, so you could watch it together.
The play would start 8pm, at 7:40, after waiting there alone for half an hour, you decided to call your friend. You called twice with no answer. Shoving your phone into your purse, you sigh annoyed.
"Y/N?" You hear someone call from behind.
Just as you were about to start yelling at your friend for making you wait so long, you realize it wasn't your friend.
"Tom?" You froze.
"Hey, it's nice to see you." He smiles. "Is there something wrong?"
"Yes... I invited a friend to watch the play with me, but looks like he's not coming." You shrug.
"I'm so sorry." He says looking at you like you were insulted in front of him. "Well... I'm on my own too, maybe I could keep you company?"
"Oh..." You were surprised. "Sure."
He smiled and the two of you entered the theater. You knew he was just trying to be nice to you because of your friend and, even though his intentions were good, you hated that.
When you sat down, you two started to talk about Shakespeare and ended up talking about art and literature in general, finding out you had a lot in commom. The conversation went pretty well, you talked like two old friends. When the character Helena appeared for the first time, he gently touched your arm and whispered "That's your little girl". That made your heart melt. Not only he remembered your name, but he knew exactly who you were and what you told him 3 weeks ago. When the play was over, he seemed a little tense.
"Where you planning on going out for dinner with your partner?" He asks.
"No, I ate before coming." You reply. "But he's not my partner, just a friend."
"I see." He looks at his feet.
"This wasn't supposed to be a date, you don't have to feel sorry for me." You joke.
"I know this is none of my bussiness, sorry." He smiles at you. "Maybe we should go for a drink."
"Why?" You ask feeling butterflies on your stomach, like a teenager.
"I enjoyed your company." He shrugs. "I didn't want to say goodbye now."
You look at him for a moment and felt he wouldn't do you any harm.
"Okay, we can go but... I can't take too long." You reply before you can think twice and give up.
"That's fine." He smiles widely.
He took you to a pub very close to where you were. You sat there and talked like you did earlier, you had a lot of fun. But when you looked at your watch, it was almost midnight, you knew your mother had probably put Elena to bed already, but it didn't feel right to leave her like that.
"Look... I'm sorry but I better get going." You tell him and see his smile fade.
"I understand." He replied. "Can I have your phone number? In case destiny stops making us meet randomly."
"Tom...I..." You sigh and just can't think of something to say.
"It's okay if you don't want to." He smiles, but he looked hurt.
"Look... There's nothing wrong with you, I actually liked you very much." You try to explain. "But I don't think I could ever think about dating someone right now. Since Elena's father left me, I decided I was going to take care of her and myself. And I wouldn't be telling you all this if it wasn't for the alcohol, would I?"
You both laughed.
"Maybe you could give me a chance." He suggests smiling. "I'm not saying we would be dating, just going out and having fun like tonight. I'd never want you to put yourself or Elena aside. Also... She seemed to like me. I could be her friend too."
"Pretty convincing, Thomas." You roll your eyes and write down your number on a napkin. --- The time passed and you started to see each other on every opportunity you had. Sometimes, it would be just you and him, sometimes Elena would join you. She really liked him.
But it took you four months to finally admit you two were a couple.
It was on the same day your first kiss happened.
You had to run to the hospital with Elena, because she had a fever in the middle of the night and wouldn't stop crying, thanks to an unbearable earache. The problem was that your car wouldn't work.
You didn't had time to think, and the first person you thought who could help you was Tom.
Not even half an hour after your call, you were entering the hospital with Elena in your arms and Tom by your side.
While the doctor was seeing her, you felt your heart heavy. You just wanted her pain to go away. Maybe you were visibly nervous, so Tom brought you to his chest on a tight hug, telling you she would be okay.
The feeling of being in his arms like that not only made you feel calmer, but it made you feel complete. What other man would get up 2am to take someone else's daughter to the hospital?
Thankfully, it was nothing serious. She just had an ear infection that could be cured with some antibiotics for a week. The doctor also gave you a medicine to relieve her pain. You opened the door of your house and Tom entered, carrying Elena's sleepy body. You lead him to her room and he placed her in bed gently, covering her and placing her favorite teddy bear beside her.
You couldn't help but smile. That was one of the most beautiful scenes you had ever seen. Right after that, you made him a cup of tea and you sat at the living room in silence for a while.
"Thank you so much, Tom." You finally break the silence. "If it wasn't for you, I don't know what I would have done."
"It was nothing." He smiled. "You can call me for whatever you need, okay?"
"You don't have to do anything for us." You say looking at the floor.
"I know." He says placing two fingers under your chin, lifting your head so you would look at him. "You don't need anyone to take care of you, you are the strongest person I've met. But I want to help you. I want to be part of this beautiful family."
You nodded and started to get closer to him, keeping your eyes locked on his, until you were close enough to feel his breath on your lips. It was a quick kiss. But it meant you trusted him and said it better than your words could. --- Your relationship with Tom developed really well. You two took your time to appreciate every step of it, and you could say you had never been so happy in your life.
A year and a half since your first kiss, Tom asked you to move in with him. At first, you wondered if it wasn't too early. But Elena started to beg you to do it. Later, you found out Tom promised her a puppy if she convinced you. You got mad at him for manipulating your daughter, so you said no. He apologized and that became a funny story between you, so you finally said yes. But it just wasn't enough for him. Everyone already saw the three of you as a happy family, but he wanted it to be official. So one day, after he picked Elena up from school, he took her to eat ice cream.
"I'm gonna need your help. To ask your mom something." He confesses to her.
"What if mommy gets angry again?" She asked with the face covered in chocolate ice cream.
"It will be different now." He smiles and helps her to clean up. "I wanted to ask her to marry me."
"Like a princess!" Her little eyes were shining. "Then you will live happily ever after!"
He smiled, being thankful for reading all those fairy tails to her over and over again.
"Tom..." The little girl got serious suddently. "Do you remember my birthday party?"
He nodded heartbroken. When she turned five, you and Tom threw a little party for her. Everything went pretty well, until it was over and you were putting her to bed. She started to cry, because the other kids pointed out she didn't have a father. Tom didn't know what to do, so he told her even though he wasn't her father, he loved her just like he was. It seemed to work, because she never talked about that subject again. "If you marry my mom..." She thought for a little while. "Will you become my dad?"
He froze.
"Listen..." He tried to choose his words carefully. "If you want me to, I can. I'll take care of you and..."
He was interrupted by her jumping on his lap to give him a hug.
"I'll help you, Tom." --- "Remember, you can't tell your mom anything." He sat down reminding Elena of what they had been planning for weeks.
The little girl nodded and they waited for you to come home to start.
You opened the door and found them sitting quietly on the sofa. Tom's heart was beating so fast.
"What is going on?" You look at them suspiciously.
"Nothing." They reply at the same time.
You don't believe them. Those two are never that quiet. But you decide to wait til the truth appears on it's own.
"Alright... Come on, Elena, it's time for your shower." You call her and she comes quickly, which doesn't happen often.
"Can we go to my bedroom when I finish my shower, mommy?" The little girl looks at Tom, then at you. "I wanted to talk to you."
"Okay..." You agree, taking her to the bathroom. "Actually, I have to talk to you too."
Their plan was simple: Elena would distract you on her bedroom while Tom would set a romantic dinner for the two of you in the kitchen. The diamond ring your daughter helped him choose was already in his pocket.
As promised, you went with her to her bedroom and sat beside her. "I just wanted to say that... Hmm" She didn't really think of something to say while they were planning all this. "That you are the best mommy in the world and I'm happy we live with Tom now. He lets me eat ice cream before lunch sometimes, even if it makes him very sad."
"See??" You hold back your laughter. "You can't eat ice cream before lunch, unless you want Tom to be sad..."
"I don't want him to ever be sad!" She panicked a little.
"Then think about it, next time." You tell her, not really being able to be mad at her right now. "But listen... I have something really important to tell you right now, okay?"
The little girl nodded and sat closer to listen.
"I'm glad to hear you like Tom so much." You smile at her, but you're a bit nervous. "You know I love him. And we love each other so much that... Well... I received a present? Hm... Tom... I mean, life gave me... Oh, Elena. You're going to have a little brother or sister."
At first she sat there trying to understand the confusion you made. But when she realized, she jumped on you for a big hug.
"I LOVE IT, MOMMY! YOU REALLY ARE THE BEST!" She screamed excitedly.
"Shhh..." You laughed at her, relieved she liked the news. "Tom doesn't know it yet. Would you like to help me to tell him?"
"Tell me what?" Tom appears to finally call you for dinner.
"Not now!" Elena looked at him. "He has a surprise for you, but I have to wait here."
"Thank you, little one." He smiles.
"But you told me I could watch cartoons on your phone while you..." She reminds him and he quickly hands her his phone before she says too much. You look at them confused. So that's why they were quiet when you arrived... They are hiding something.
"Come with me." He leads you towards the kitchen, closing Elena's bedroom door.
"Tom... I already told you we shouldn't do things we wouldn't like her to catch us doing while she's at home... Or awake, at least." You moan.
"It's nothing much, darling." He smiles. "I just wanted to do something special for you."
You enter the kitchen to find it decorated with flowers, candles and a small table with your favorite meal on it and a bottle of wine.
"Wow... This is so beautiful..." You turn around to kiss him.
"You are beautiful." He strokes your face. "You deserved a lot more, but I think that simple is more special."
He started to overthink. What if it was too simple? You deserved so much more. Of course you would say no. He should throw all this away and take you out. To the most fancy restaurant in the world. Close an entire country just for you.
"No, this is perfect." You worry at how nervous he is. "But are you okay? You're sweating. And your hands are shaking, love..."
"I'm fine. I just..." He runs his hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. "Y/N... I am just nervous because I have the most amazing woman in the entire world right in front of me and... What could I ever give you to pay for everything you've given me? You not only gave me the best moments of my life, being always by my side when I needed, always putting a smile on my face and happiness in my heart, but you also let me love and protect your beautiful little girl like she was mine too. And I want us to be a family like we both always dreamt to have, so that's why I ask you, Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?"
He got down on one knee and showed you the most beautiful ring to ever exist.
"Yes!" You covered your face full of tears with your right hand, while he placed the ring on your left hand.
"Thank you." He hugged you, then you kissed a few times. "Should we celebrate now?"
He was about to pick up the bottle of wine, when you stopped him. "Wait." You say, feeling that all the anxiety he had before was now all over you. "I can't drink today."
"Oh... I know we're in the middle of the week, love." He smiles. "But it's a special day, don't you think?"
"Yes, babe. That's not what I meant." You knew there was only one person who could help you at that moment. "Look... I'm sorry to ruin everything, I know it should be a special night for the two of us... And the two of us only, but... Can I call Elena here just for one moment?"
"Of course, darling." He says confused. "Elena?" You knock on her door.
"DID YOU SAY YES?" She opens quickly.
"Wait..." You connect the dots. "So you already knew all this? You helped him?"
She nodded and laughed.
"Oh! Great!" You smile at her little laugh. "So now you have to help me too." You and your daughter arrived at the kitchen to find a worried Tom sitting there.
"If you went to ask her if it was okay, she already knew it. She helped me, actually..." He tried to explain himself.
"No, it's not that, Tom" You tried to calm him down. "We just have news for you."
"You're going to be a daddy!" Elena announced throwing her arms into the air.
"What?" He asked, thinking it still had to do with him becoming her father after he married you.
"Tom... I'm pregnant." You confirm.
He looks at both of you smiling like a fool and gets up to hug you so tightly, lifting you from the floor.
"This is the best night of my life." He says covering you with kisses. "This is amazing, I'm so happy right now."
He looks down to hug Elena too, but she isn't there anymore. You both look around and find her in the living room, sitting on the floor with a toy in her hands, but not really playing with it.
Tom gives you a worried look.
"I don't know what is happening." You look at him. "You saw how happy she was a minute ago."
"I'll talk to her." He offers and you nod.
He gives your belly a quick kiss, then walk into the living room, sitting on the floor, beside her.
"Hello." He smiles at her. "Is there a sad princess in this house? We don't want that, do we?"
"Tom..." She says without taking her eyes off her toy. "Now you're going to have your own baby. You won't need me anymore."
"That's not true." He says heartbroken. "You arrived first in my heart. And I'm going to love my baby very much, but not a little bit more than I love you. You're my baby too, even if a piece of paper says I'm not your father."
"Tom!" She says dramatically. "I'm not a baby anymore, I'm already five."
"Oh, that's true." He apologizes. "You're the big sister now." --- A few months after that, you gave birth to another girl. You thought Elena would be jealous, more of Tom that of you. But she wasn't, she loved her little sister and wanted to help you take care of her.
They were growing up and getting closer to each other every minute. Until one day it happened. You knew it would happen eventually. You knew Tom always wanted that, but never asked, because he was afraid you wouldn't like it. But it really melted your heart.
"Dad! Can we go to the park later?" Your youngest asked Tom.
"Please, dad!" Elena accidently coppied her sister. "I mean... Tom!"
Your heart almost stopped. Tom looked at you with the biggest smile you had ever seen.
"Dad is fine, Elena. I like it." He told her gently, afraid she wouldn't do it again.
"Thank you, dad." She ran to hug him.
"Alright." He tried his best not to cry. "Now I'm going to take my two beautiful daughters to the park."
You smiled at that scene. You knew that, from now, Elena would get anything she wanted by calling him "dad". But could you blame him? It was so good to hear.
---
Taglist:
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@theoneanna
@inlovewith3
#tom hiddleston#tom hiddleston fanfiction#tom hiddleston fanfic#tom hiddleston x reader#tom hiddleston x you#daddy tom hiddleston#tom hiddleston imagine#tom hiddleston oneshot#loki#loki x you#loki x reader
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So many reasons- Part 5
Another instalment of my latest Roger Taylor series, thank you to everyone for the lovely feedback and messages.
Taglist: @marshmallowmae @langdonzvoid @butlegendsneverdie @jennyggggrrr @rogertaylorsbitontheside @caborhapch @luvborhap @chlobo6
Series taglist: @scarecrowmax @rogertaylors-lipgloss @demo-wise @asquiresofftime
Series masterlist
Enjoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A shiver ran down Roger's spine as he glanced to the clock on the wall, it was nearly time for him to leave the studio so he would be within time of his radiotherapy. He was currently two weeks into treatment and it was taking a rather worsening effect on the drummer.
With the treatment being done near to his stomach it was making Roger irritated, causing a loss of appetite and with Roger being rather skinny already, weight loss was not something that he needed. This also caused sickness but the worst part was the tiredness he was faced with. Even before he reached the hospital Roger felt like curling up and going to sleep right then and there on the floor. So when he had treatment he was often dozing off during it and then dragging himself back to the studio to carry on with work. The clattering of the drums woke him up but didn't take away the overwhelming desire to lay down and go to sleep.
For the past three days, Roger had been too sick to go back to the studio and blamed it on having a bad reaction to antibiotics everyone thought he was taking for his fake pneumonia. The boys told him to take it easy and that was just what he was doing, he usually had his appointment at two in the afternoon so simply went home afterwards.
The lying was becoming hard though.
Roger didn't know what he was meant to tell everyone when he needed to disappear every day at roughly the same time. It was becoming too hard to keep coming up with excuses. Last week he had told them he went for lunch and then felt too sick to go back to the studio, after that he said he had a doctor's appointment to change his meds, another lie indeed. Then he just kept telling them he was going home and to carry on without him. Having to keep lying to (Y/n) and telling her to stay on working and that he would be alright.
Clattering his stick against the cymbal, Roger dropped the sticks from both hands onto the carpeted floor. His body leaning to the right to grab the small tub he'd left there on the off chance he felt ill. His body shuddering as he unleashed what little he'd managed to eat for breakfast into the tub that he placed on his knees. An awful choking sound vibrating around the soundproof walls as Roger gagged into the tub so much his eyes began to water. His throat feeling like their walls were trying to press together as he simply began to wretch, having nothing left to heave up. Every part of him shaking as he gagged once again before finally being able to breathe properly.
"I... I wanna go home." Roger breathed, looking to the boys as if they were his school teachers needing to give him permission to let him leave. He needed to go to the hospital and get his medication for sickness before having his radiotherapy. Before he could go home to his bed that was screaming for him.
"Should one of us drive you?" John questioned, his face falling when Roger's eyes half closed before he started to wretch again. Causing the singer to walk over to him, rubbing a hand up and down his back to try and calm him down and be of some help to him. Something was not right with their drummer, maybe his pneumonia was getting worse or maybe he was getting some other illness as well. Whatever it was, they didn't want him here overworking himself he needed to go home and get some rest and recover properly.
"Come on Rog, I'll take you home." Brian stated kindly, setting his guitar down on the rack set up against the wall before going over to the drummer. Helping to ease him to his feet, a sad look appearing on his face when Roger held the tub to his chest just in case he couldn't make it home without wretching.
"No... I need to grab my meds from the chemist. Just, drag me to the car, please?" Roger did need to get some medication, just not from the chemist. If Brian could just drag him outside to his car and get him seated them Roger could try and stop himself from heaving as he drove the twenty-minute drive down to the hospital. He had nothing left in his stomach to let out, all he could do now was to cough and try and hold back. He had driven down in this state before, he just needed to wind the window down and stick his head out the window like a dog. The radio also helped calm down his erratic mind. Brian couldn't say no to that.
Wrapping his arm around Roger's shoulders he looked to Freddie and John, a silent look in his eyes that told them he wasn't going to come back. Brian wasn't having his friend have some kind of accident on the road he needed to help him. Neither of them said anything as they made their way down the long corridor, turning right before heading down some stairs. Reaching the back door to the studio where they parked their cars.
"Let me drive you, I don't like the thought of you driving in this state." Brian pleaded, his eyes simply begging for Roger to give in. But for that to happen, Roger would have to come clean and he didn't want to do that.
"Fresh air is helping, I don't need a babysitter Bri. Thank you." Roger tried to smile but he didn't have the energy to do so. He simply handed the tub to Brian before practically falling into his car when unlocked. His body screaming in relief at being sat down. Eyes glancing over to Brian as he started the car before he slowly drove out of the car park.
Brian didn't think twice before dumping the tub next to the door scrambling to get his keys from his pocket and head to his car. He didn't trust the drummer and he wasn't getting a phone call in an hour telling them Roger had fainted at the wheel and caused a crash. He needed to make sure Roger got home safely to (Y/n) as it was her day off. It wasn't that hard for Brian to catch up to Roger who was driving slowly to be on the safe side. The guitarist hanging back so he wasn't caught, his eyes narrowing as Roger missed the turning that would lead near his house. What chemist was he going to?
Roger felt his lips curving at seeing he could park in his usual space, he liked having a schedule and organisation like that. Parking in a spot that was close to the door so he could stumble inside and get guided out by a kind medic passing by which had happened last time.
Last week Roger had been so drained on Friday that he'd had to get a taxi home and pick his car up the next day to get into work. He was more than grateful that he didn't have his treatment at the weekend, giving him two days to recover before he had to go back for more gruelling help. In all fairness, all Roger had to do was lie down on what looked like a table with a small pillow. Closing his eyes for half an hour as a beam of radiation was concentrated on his left side smack bang in the middle of his chest and lung to get rid of what cancerous cells were lingering within him. It usually passed quickly, the doctor's rhythmic voice occasionally asking him how he was doing only to earn a groan in response that showed Roger was as fine as he could be.
Roger lurched forward when a pair of hands held onto both his arms, stopping him from falling and keeping him upright. This was the first time a stranger had grabbed him from behind to help like this.
"W-what the fuck, Brian?!" His anger was outdone by his exhaustion and clear lack of energy. His eyes half-lidded though they narrowed as he glared at one of his best friends. The sneaky son of a bitch had followed him here.
"What are you doing here Rog, this isn't the chemist." Brian responded, clear agitation in his voice as he didn't want to be lied to. He knew Roger had issues with talking to people, he never wanted to feel like a burden to anyone and he certainly didn't want to be looked at in sympathy which Brian would do when he found out. Roger didn't need to have people doting on him hand and foot and giving him encouragement. Thousands of people were going through what he was going through, he just needed to get this over with, talking about it wouldn't do anything good.
"Prescription. Get the hell of me and go home." Roger snapped back, pulling away from his friend whilst managing to stay stood upright without swaying. Some of his energy coming back to him as he tried to carry on walking through the car park to get inside, not wanting to be late because he always liked to be on time or early.
"Rog, you got your new meds last week, what prescription runs out that quickly, or are you an addict now? I need to know so I can help, what are you really doing here?" Brian wasn't stupid, Roger had stated he needed to change his antibiotics last week to ones that weren't having this kind of effect on him. What prescription gave such a little dosage out that Roger needed to go back every week for a refreshment? Roger wasn't an addict either, he liked booze but he wasn't addicted to that and he didn't have a thing for taking tablets either. Brian knew him better and he could see he was lying right now. "Tell me or I'll go and ask (Y/n) why you're really here... or doesn't she know either?"
Brian saw that he had hit the nail on the head when Roger shuddered at his words that sounded like a threat. Talk or you're done for.
"Radiotherapy. Happy now?" Roger's cheat began to ache when it started heaving from his sudden deep breaths to calm himself down. Lying to Brian never worked and it only caused arguments. He couldn't hide it now but he needed to hide this from (Y/n), she couldn't know.
"Rog..." What was he meant to say to that?
"I've got cancer in my lung, Bri. I had an op to get rid of it and the fucker came back again. Come on or I'll be late." Roger started walking, beckoning for his friend to come with him. Rather having Brian coming inside than standing out here with so many questions and a hell of a lot of confusion. Neither of them said anything as Brian tried to process the news, following Roger as he knew exactly where he was meant to go. Leading Brian up to the first floor and down a hell of a long corridor before turning right into the radiotherapy area. Signing in at the small reception desk before moving to sit down and wait.
"How long have you known?" There was no denying the hurt in Brian's voice at knowing that Roger had kept quiet about this. Deciding that the band and even (Y/n) didn't deserve to know what was wrong with him.
"Few months, I thought the op would get rid of it and that was it. Bri, listen, please. I like doing this on my own, I don't feel sad or angry or betrayed or anything, this is just life and I can do this alone. But you cannot tell (Y/n) I won't have her look at me like you are now." Brian's jaw dropped at the sudden rule that he seemed to be forced to follow. He could know what was happening to Roger now but he couldn't tell (Y/n) and he clearly wasn't wanted to tag along to appointments and such.
"And what if you collapse again or your lung collapses and gives out? (Y/n) deserves to know and doing this alone-"
"She deserves to know that I'm ill but have a good chance of getting through this? You want me to tell her, watch her suffer and then act like I'm dying? Brian this is my disease. This is my body and I choose to do this alone because I don't mind, honestly I don't but I don't want people knowing it is my choice not to tell anyone. If you tell (Y/n) I will never forgive you." Roger's voice dropped an octave lower than normal as his eyes burned into those of the guitarist who felt stuck.
Brian knew that if or indeed when (Y/n) found out what was happening to Roger she would feel betrayed and hurt that he didn't say. If she realised that Brian now knew as well she would further be hurt by him for not telling her and for both of them keeping this a secret and both John and Freddie wouldn't be best pleased either. But if Brian went against Roger's wishes it would be a betrayal that he would never forgive himself for. At the end of the day, Roger was right, it was his body and therefore it was his choice who knew what was happening to him. Brian couldn't make that choice for him no matter how much he felt he needed to.
"Alright, I won't tell. But you need to take time off from the studio, wait until you've gotten used to treatment or even until it finishes." Brian bargained, watching Roger reach out and shake his hand with a small smile to seal the deal between them.
Roger couldn't keep coming to the studio for half the day and then going home because it wasn't fair to the band and it was worse for Roger. He was pushing himself to get treatment and work at the same time when the treatment took a lot out of him. He needed to recuperate and get his strength back and working and overdoing it wouldn't help his recovery it would only make him feel worse. The drummer knew he couldn't sit at his drums holding a sick bucket for the next few weeks and he couldn't continue to keep driving down here and then back to the studio and such. He needed to stay in bed other than being at the hospital. At least now Roger could confide in Brian and request a lift to the hospital if he felt he couldn't drive himself.
The only problem was, now Brian was dragged into Roger's web of lies that was only getting bigger.
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